#message from your guardian angel | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jeondesu · 30 days ago

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ೀ⋆ 🍂 LOVE ME HARDER !

── ✧ ˚. ꒰ 𝓹airing ꒱ ˒˓ idol!han jisung x f!reader ˒˓ established relationship 𝓰enre/𝓽ags. fluff, a bit angsty in the beginning but fizzles out quickly, kissing, semi-suggestive but nothing explicit, reader is implied to be shorter than jisung, 𝔀ords. 2.0k

[ 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆. ] — i had originally wrote this on my old blog for taehyung but i rewrote some parts and made it a little better. let me know what you think <3 pls feel free to reblog/leave a nice comment, it always helps me out ヽ(>∀<☆)ノ

𝓼ong 𝓲nspo: love me harder by ariana grande

Lazy Sundays were your favorite day of the week for a good reason. One of them being that you got most stuff done on Sundays as you felt more in a productive spirit. It became your ritual, dedicating the day to deep cleaning your room, tackling piles of laundry, and tending to the much needed self-care you so often neglected during the week.

You lightly hum as soft lofi music played in the background while dusting off your pretty antiques and fold your clothes. Time slipped through your fingers like silk, the afternoon fading before you could fully grasp it. By the time everything was in it’s place, you felt that familiar ache of burnout settling into your bones.

Jisung was supposed to come over today but he hasn’t texted you back in hours— you were almost positive by the time you were done he would’ve texted you but nope. No text. No call. Pure radio silence.

You kept checking your phone periodically, as if each glance might summon him— like a message would magically appear on your screen by sheer will.

It never does though unfortunately.

Sighing and huffing, you throw your phone across the bed in frustration. What’s the point in even having a phone if he isn’t going to properly communicate with it?

You head downstairs to make a smoothie to keep yourself occupied, hoping the motion would quiet your thoughts, but your mind subconsciously betrayed you. All you could think about was Jisung. His voice, low and velvet-smooth, replaying in your head like a song that you couldn’t turn off, a distant memory that was out of reach. The more time you spent away from him left you needing to fill the void, constantly keeping yourself busy not out of habit, but out of necessity; because the stillness always brought out your melancholy, and you weren’t sure how much more of that you could bear.

It wasn’t easy at all dating someone like him— not knowing when he’ll text you, not being able to just call him whenever you feel like it. Those intense feelings of yearning cloud your mind and turn you into a lovesick pup. You also don’t want to come off as clingy and text him too much since you know he’s probably working.

You hear a set of keys jingle from outside, unlocking the door. You felt frozen in time, not making any sudden movement— it was like the universe had bent in your favor and a guardian angel just answered all your prayers.

Slowly walking up to the door, heart fluttering in anticipation, you see the man who’s been occupying every corner of your mind. A smiling Jisung in front of you with a large bouquet of pink roses in his hands.

“Surprise!” Jisung beamed through the open doorway, voice bright and familiar.

What a pleasant surprise indeed. You’ve been quietly longing for this moment practically the whole day, waiting for him to come through that door and chase the ache out of your chest. His blond hair fell messily into his eyes but you could still see that he looked a bit tired. It was nice of him to give you the flowers and all, but you still felt sort of neglected by him not calling or texting. You’d spent majority of the day wondering if he’d forgotten how much space he took up in your heart.

“Wow, these are beautiful! You really didn’t have to Ji, thank you.” You flash a soft, appreciative smile as you set the flowers on the table.

“That’s my apology gift for not being able to call you all day,” he spoke earnestly, inching his way closer to you. “Things just got hectic and I didn’t have time to. I saw this really beautiful flower spot on the way here and wanted to get you a little something. Again, I’m really sorry…”

Sometimes you wonder if he’s a mind reader, he always seemed to know when something was off— doing his best to resolve a problem before it gets too out of hand. He doesn’t handle conflict very well and shuts down if the argument gets too heated.

“It’s okay Ji, I get it. You’re a busy man… you’ve got more important things to worry about than me.” The words left your lips before you could stop them— and the second they did, regret followed like a shadow. You hadn’t meant to guilt him. You just… missed him. More than words could ever convey.

“What’re you talking about y/n? You’re the most important person in my life.” Jisung expresses, voice heavy with disbelief. “I can’t believe you’d say such a thing like that.. maybe I need to do better in showing how much I love you. How much I appreciate you.”

As if he were worried you would disappear right in this moment, he steps forward, tightly pulling you into his arms. You felt as though you could cry, but you held your tears back— you couldn’t fall apart, not when he was finally here, you had to remain strong in front of him.

“N-no Ji, you’re perfect just the way you are please don’t change! It’s just… the communication could be a little better on your side.” You tried to phrase it carefully, choosing your words in a way that wouldn’t hurt his feelings.

He simply nods in agreement, “you’re absolutely right. From this day forward I’ll try my best to communicate with you better. I truly never realized how much of an effect that can have on you. I’m so, so sorry.”

“Jisung please, it’s fine. Stop apologizing so much, I’m just… I’m glad you’re here with me right now.” You nuzzle into his chest and play into the palm of his hand, allowing the beat of his heart to calm any of the persisting doubts that loomed over you.

“Me too y/n, me too.”

‧ ꙳ ੭ * ‧ ⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ‧

You cuddled in bed with Jisung for the rest of the day, the glow of random Netflix movies flickering across the dimly lit room. Not that either of you were really watching to begin with— your mouths found each other too easily, too often, kisses bleeding into each new scene as if you were writing your own story between each breath.

His leg was sprawled over yours with his arm wrapped around your waist, peppering gentle kisses to the side of your face, pressing up against you— both your body heat combined was hot enough to light a match. It didn’t matter how long you’ve been with him for, the tension between you two was beyond frustrating.

Jisung never pressured you into things though, he liked it better when you initiate something more because he knows you’re having a good time. He cared more about you than he did himself and what you said earlier still weighed heavy on his mind.

“Am I a bad boyfriend to you y/n? Be honest, I can take it..” Jisung asks on a whim.

You blinked slowly, caught by surprise. “No, what the hell? You’re not at all, I love you so much my JiJi.”

“Then why do I feel so bad for what you said earlier? There’s gotta be some truth behind you thinking that you’re not important to me.”

You sighed as your head hung low, tracing idle patterns across his chest. “I don’t know why I’d say that… it just came out I’m sorry. I know you value me, I know you love me, I was just upset in that moment and should’ve have said it. We both have things to work on so I’m glad we’re talking more about this actually.” You feel better now that you were able to healthily communicate with him about all this.

“Yeah, I agree.” Jisung admits, running a hand through his hair. “I need to work on actually looking at my phone sometimes. I’ve just been so tired from all this back and forth traveling, I get jet-lagged easily.”

“I get it, it’s hard and although I may not understand I can definitely sympathize. I’m here for you whenever you need me Ji, I’m your ride or die until the end, right?” You look up at him again, getting closer in proximity to his face.

“Right.”

He leans in to capture your lips into another kiss, which leads back to you making out yet again. Things grew a little too heated when his hands sneak down a bit lower than they’re supposed to. You tsk at him and he turns red as a tomato, looking away at you with a sheepish grin.

“Later Ji, I was sweating a bit earlier and would like to freshen up before we get into… all that.” You know he definitely doesn’t care and a little bit of swear wasn’t going to turn him off but he wants to do what’s best for you anyway— he always respected what made you feel most comfortable.

You rose from the bed to get ready for your shower and he gets up to examine all the things on your dresser. Eyes curiously scanning over the newly reorganized collection of beauty products— neat rows of perfumes, palettes, and perfectly arranged lipsticks.

“I never realized you had this much makeup y/n, how do you even keep track of it all?” Jisung probes, fascinated by all the different kinds of makeup there were.

“You literally wear makeup too… you should know that it’s always important to have lots of options!” You exclaim, shaking your head at him going through your different shades of lipstick.

He spots a pretty light pink color and applies it on his lips, dramatically turning towards you to show off the final look.

“You think this shade suits me?” He points at his lips that formed a tiny pout and jokingly winks at you.

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Honestly? That color looks way better on you than me, you should keep it!”

Curse this man’s insanely out of this world good looks.

He chuckles at your comment and continues looking through your stuff, swatching the eyeshadows on his wrist, he looked like he was having a field day.

“You seem to be really enjoying my things, huh?” You inquire, eyeing the vibrant colors on his skin.

“I just think it’s cool,” Jisung mused, still aimlessly swatching colors across his wrist like tiny brushstrokes on a canvas. “I find things like this to be artistic in a way. Makeup can be used as a form of self expression, you know? I always liked that.”

You love how your boyfriend can be so secure in his own masculinity, that it doesn’t matter for him to find interest in these things. It’s what made you even more attracted to him, his inner femininity shined through so beautifully.

He wasn’t scared to break norms with you either, he enjoyed doing the cooking (if he didn’t burn the house down), house cleaning, and running small errands for you without even asking. His love for you stretched so far that he’d do anything to prove he deserved you. It was a very healthy and balanced relationship but still, he did get in his head a lot about if he was good enough for you.

Before you get in the shower, Jisung holds your arm in place to say one last thing.

“I know I’ve probably said this for the millionth time today but, I love you y/n. Truly, I do. There’s not a single person in this world I’d imagine being with other than you. Thank you for being so patient with me and sticking by my side. You really are my person.”

He pulls you in for another warm hug, holding you like this was his last day on earth— he slightly towered over you, he could just kiss the top of your head. You couldn’t stop smiling at him, it was precious moments like these that you cherished near and dear for the rest of your life.

“I love you so much Ji, you’re everything I need and value in a partner. I know that as long as we have each other, we can get through anything.”

perm taglist: @justwonder113 @emilyywhyy @leeknowslefteyebrow @min-doesnt-know @velechi @kayleefriedchicken @jeonginsbaee @thelittletobsterthatcould @queenofdumbfuckery @met30rc1ty @mouthfullobats @geni-627 @amarecerasus @emma-your-goofy-girlfie @n4tr3ad5 @cowboylikemalika @obsessivemuso-withnofriends @skzfangirl143 @mmarusa @velvetskize @seungmyynie @trixiekaulitz | if you wanna be tagged in any of my future posts fill out this form here. ♡

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rotagnus · 3 months ago

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advice for your specific situation---<3

hi babies!! i hope all of you are doing okay. you can ask this about any situation you want, i'll try to be general, but there may be some more specific messages littered along the way.

this is a bit of a heavy reading and it deals with certain topics, so as always, be wary!

pile 1.

you guys are absolutely hopeless for some reason. shot down multiple times, it's hard to keep your head up, but your relentless hope is the only thing that's gotten you through tough times in the past, so you keep your head up even though you're crawling. there's a lot of disharmony in matters of the heart; a lot of you could have been very naive towards some problem of an emotional nature, and you may be feeling as if your heart is shattered, or perhaps tender. you are curious about the world, and have an innate belief in the goodness of people even though you keep getting backstabbed over and over again. you've probably asked for a sign recently; a sign to keep your hope, to keep your heart open regardless of the troubles you've experienced. you should look inwards; stop focusing on the minute details of the physical world. you probably have problems with self-sabotage and causing yourself to be in pain, take that as you may. it's hard to not fall back into old patterns, to keep your head up, especially when you've convinced yourself that the ending to this situation is bad. the answer is, you must keep your hope. you must, you must, you must. it is the right thing to do. you will be victorious, in the end, my bleeding heart. that phrase describes you very well. sensitive, emotional, but you prize those aspects of yourself. continue to do so. nurture yourself. you worry about other people, about their problems, but the truth is that you must focus on your faith.

a lot of you seem to have lost your belief in something, going through a dark phase. many are already on a journey to self-discovery, but you feel like you've taken a major step back. you may see other people getting what they want in life, people who are further behind you, and you ask God, why not me? truth is, you have a deep desire to grow. all these people you worry about chose the easy way out and will have a lot of problems to unpack later on in their life. you have your guardian angel to support you, you have many, many pillars of support. soon, everything will clear up, and you will see the answer. don't force yourself to choose an ending before it's time.

a cycle is ending for you. you must let this dark phase come over you. a lot of you might get your period soon or perhaps experience some stormy weather, going through the winter of this ending phase. for this situation to bloom, you must set out boundaries and lay out the ground-flooring for the next cycle to come. what do you want out of your life, darling? not what your parents want, what your friends want, what was laid out in front of you. a lot of you want to be seen. i think you'll get that, but only when you allow yourself to be. this new cycle will bring truths; truths you avoid. it'll bring your true self to the light, and you'll feel belly-up. i think this will be a focal point in your life, for it will either be a cycle you have to keep relearning, or you will finally accept that you must be yourself, authentically. this situation is entirely dependent on you, and how you face these adversities.

pile 2.

you guys are convinced you know everything, through and through. you are on hell of an assumption-maker, my friend. you guys are also givers. you guys are extremely self-aware of your duality, yet you beat yourself up for doing anything out of the extremely high morals you've set for yourself. some of you are guilty about a certain situation; God is telling me that you must forgive yourself. forgive yourself. you can't always be pure and good. your goodness comes from your ability to forgive, and your ability to grow. a lot of you are discovering patterns in your life and patterns in your thinking, which in itself is a very hard process, so i applaud you for that. you've got skeletons in your closet, and they're all coming out, and you're convincing yourself that you are a terrible person because you've gone through shit. FALSE!!! a lot of those things were out of your control. relax, baby. a lot of you are feeling as if this situation is hopeless. partially, some of you felt like everything was going well; it was going great, in fact, and recently something destroyed this perfect world that you had. it may have collided with your new, fresh belief in good things. you are tired of growing through pain. i think a lot of you are pretending that self-love isn't part of the journey. honey baby, you must love yourself very deeply before you can throw yourself onto a sword. yes, life has risks; but a lot of you seem to self-sacrifice yourself to the point that you are marred with nothing but scars and bruises. you view yourself as dirty. you need to develop better self-love and self-respect instead of letting people walk all over you.

your hard work isn't going unacknowledged. you need to set up the basic infrastructure for your life before you can start adding players to the game. you have a pure heart, and sometimes, what the heart wants...isn't necessarily what the heart needs, or deserves. you need to accept that. what you think is perfect for you, may not be perfect for you. also, it may be a better thing to keep a stone-face for a while, to people who you are not very close with. do not tell them your good experiences; people can be jealous, and share your sweet things with sweet people. i feel as though you will get what you want when you grow as a person; you can't start a habit for 10 days and decide that it's all permanent on the 10th day. it takes time. it takes lessons. you asked to be strong, for growth, and this is what you get.

10 is very significant for you guys, i am hearing. OOOUUU girl okay okay. i see. so my deck has hearts instead of swords, and two of hearts fell out, as well as the magician. i think that the magician represents the universe while the two of hearts represent you and someone else, or something else. a lot of you seek perfection with this other subject; you want everything to be orchestrated on YOUR timing. this won't happen! the magician is orchestrating things to happen on divine timing. you can't rush things; right now, focus on making sure that you're the version of yourself you want to be in order to get this blessing. things move on their own timing, with the chariot; you are simply a passenger in this moving vehicle, you cannot tell the driver to go faster. look out of the window and observe the beautiful landscape instead of rushing. the car ain't gonna go faster anyways LOL. 333 is significant, too. change is coming. your intuition is on point; a lot of you already know what you must do for this situation. the lovers fell out again; i think that this may be about romantic love, for some of you. you guys have a lot of dead things you're burying, and you're not done yet; when you'll finish this cycle, you'll get what you want. sailor song may be significant for some of you; i like the way you kiss me by artemas, too. enjoy this journey.

pile 3.

you guys are lost on what to do and where to go. you feel like you've finished a certain cycle in your life, but now you're at a cross-roads, and your heart, soul, body, and mind, all want different things. which do you follow? i feel like a lot of you may have gone ghost on some people; frozen in action is what i'm hearing. maybe you stopped telling people about things in your life, because people from the past wonder about you. it's important for you not to fall into past patterns, dear. a lot of you are very deep feelers, very deep thinkers, and you see people for who they are; their bads, their goods, you understand it is all part of being human. the truth is that people can be both good and bad simultaneously while not deserving a role in your life. it's your movie, baby, and you don't need to have everyone as a star in it. you're such a sweet thing, and you deserve sweetness in your life. a lot of you may be growing closer to your friends, and i advise that you hang-out with them, or talk. you grew up either very alone, or with a very close-knit group of people, forged out of pains and sufferings. you're a realist, and you have a very straight view of the world, not allowing yourself to see it as something extremely optimistic, as pile 1 does. when you do, it makes you overwhelmed; it feels as if your heart has multiplied, beating in so many rhythms it confuses you. you're reminiscing on people, specifically; you, my love, have a deep love for humanity. a commitment to bettering the world is very significant here. you've distanced yourself from society, in a way, but you still want people to bloom. you are wise beyond your years.

but that doesn't mean that you have to be so strong all the time. it's alright to break down and cry. you don't have to be the parent, you don't have to carry all this weight on your shoulders. i promise you, the universe/God will listen to all your burdens. cry. speak to whatever you have faith in. cry again. i feel like a lot of you just need to blurt out whatever you're feeling so you can understand what you feel. whisper at night, write it down in a journal, speak to the stars, speak to a person. you are so treasured. a lot of you feel like you have to perform for others. everyone's always watching you, watching you, for a stumble. you MUST let go. stop caring what others think. they ain't gonna like you if they ain't like you already. their opinions don't matter. you have a voice that could start wars, and the right people will stand behind you and not betray you. there are still good people out there, and for your situation, YOU MUST UNDERSTAND IT IS NOT ALWAYS GOOD TO BE BY YOURSELF. being alone is good, for self-reflection...being alone because you're scared of opening up is bad. you see people as weapons, weapons of love and pain--look at them as people. honey, you are so wise, but sometimes, simplicity is the answer.

a lot of you have to be strong right now. everyone's watching you--you're the star of the show, to God, to higher beings, to the people in your life. be confident; you are in this beautiful role for a reason! dance, be yourself. people's feelings will reveal themselves, if you feel as if there are liars or untruthful people in your life, a lot of the things you're worrying about will reveal themselves to you. you just have to accept your beauty and work on your self-love. a lot of you doubt your own self, and you have an awkward perception of yourself as a person. kick yourself out of this state, and look at yourself, baby, you're the whole bag of cookies and MORE!! you're a damn deal! you're gorgeous, beautiful, smart! read those affirmations. do the work. you'll be a-okay, honey!

#love reading #pick a card #pick a pile #tarot reading #pick a picture #tarotblr #pac reading #rotagnus #divine guidance #intuitive reading

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obsidian-pages777 · 3 months ago

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Message from your Guardian Angels about your love life.. [Pick an Image]

Top Row Left to Right 1->2. Bottom Row Left to Right 3->4

What messages do your guardian angels have for you concerning your love life? Pick an Image and Go through your reading below.

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Pile 1.

Patience is a Virtue – Divine Timing is at Play

"Do not rush what is meant to unfold in its own time. Love is not something you chase—it is something that finds you when your soul is truly ready. Every moment of waiting is not a delay, but a preparation. We are aligning you with someone who will match your energy, your heart, and your dreams. Trust in the unseen, and know that what is yours will never pass you by. In this time of waiting, fall in love with your own journey, and when love arrives, it will be more beautiful than you imagined."

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Pile 2.

Build Your Life, and Love Will Follow

"Your future love is not separate from your purpose—it is intertwined. As you lay the foundation of your career and personal ambitions, you are also creating space for a love that will complement your growth, not hinder it. Do not wait for love to begin living fully. Find joy in your work, embrace your talents, and build a life that excites you. When love arrives, it will not be a missing piece but an addition to the abundant life you have already created."

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Pile 3.

Your Circle Shapes Your Love Story

"Energy attracts energy. The people you surround yourself with will determine the love that comes into your life. Be mindful of your circle—choose those who uplift, inspire, and reflect the kind of love you desire. Avoid settling for environments where your heart does not feel at home. Your soulmate is not in places of doubt, fear, or chaos—they exist in spaces of light, growth, and alignment. Walk where your soul is honored, and love will meet you there."

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Pile 4.

Become the Love You Seek

"The love you desire is already seeking you, but you must first align with its energy. Be the kind of person you wish to attract—cultivate kindness, patience, confidence, and self-respect. Do not search for love as if it is something missing; instead, embody the love you dream of. The more you nurture your own heart, the more effortlessly you will call in a partner who reflects your light. Love does not complete you—it amplifies the beauty that is already within."

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#pick a pile #pick a photo #psychic readings #guardian angel #love letters #love life #love language #love yourself

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obsessivel0v3r · 2 months ago

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Ask game:

"What Kind of Anon Are You?"

🏳: I am a devoted follower when it comes to you.

🏴: I always check you're account on a daily, whenever I get a chance.

🚩: I love your presence, but I'm far too envious that everyone else gets your attention too. I'm not willing to share.

⚠️: Will being friendly help me get closer to you? Or would you prefer I try to manipulate my way into your life?

🔜: Are your dms open? I'm tried of being an admirer from the sidelines, I'd be fine with being your friend if that's what you need right now.

🔴: I've seen every single post you make and when you make it. But I don't interact in any way so that you have no way to know who it is that's stalking you.

🔵: I'd keep you company, cheer you up, and play my part of being the perfect anon, even if I may or may not be more that just one anon.

⚪️: I see you as a perfect friend and wish to be closer to you.

⚫️: I wish I could know every thought you've had, every feeling you've felt, and the one who gives you everything you need.

🩰: I think you're fun/interesting, if I spam like your posts, would you notice me? Even for a moment?

🛑: You're no good for me, I should stay away, but I keep crawling back hoping maybe, somehow, something will change.

☔️: Even in the bad, and sad, I'd hold your hand through every step of the way.

🪽: I could be your little guardian angel.

🫐: I can not stand seeing others sending you asks, anons, or messages. The idea that others interact with you and you interact with others? It drives me mad. Can I make you focus on just me?

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jjsloverre · 6 months ago

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introducing… bestfriend!jj x sweetheart!reader

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bsf!jj who… is the cuddliest friend you’d ever have, his hands never left your body. if it was on you hand or your stomach or even your feet. he’d be all over you.

bsf!jj who… was your number one supporter when you and your boyfriend broke up.

bsf!jj who… always had a crush on you but was scared of commitment and scared of ruining your relationship.

bsf!jj who… was a fuck boy and was fucking anything that moved. but when it came to you, he vowed to take his time with you if he ever got the chance to take your virginity.

bsf!jj who… always took care of you when you smoked with him, he’d let you cuddle on his chest until you fell asleep and he would kiss your forehead every time.

bsf!jj who… basically taught you almost everything since your parents didn’t really pay attention to you, they paid attention to your sister more. so jj was there to help you when you needed it.

bsf!jj who… was your guardian angel. he’d protect you with his life if you needed it. when you needed him, he’d be there in under 5 minutes to help you or be there for you.

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sweetheart!reader who… loves pink, and hanging out with jj, since her parents focus their attention on her older sister; she was always in jj’s arms or in his presence.

sweetheart!reader who… had a few boyfriends here and there, but when they demanded her to stop hanging with jj, all bets were off and she immediately broke up with them.

sweetheart!reader who… always tried her best to keep jj out of trouble. when kooks tried to get him to fight them, she’d step in and led him away from the crowd. instead they’d go to their favorite ice cream shop for him to cool down.

sweetheart!reader who… always put everyone before herself, which caused people to take advantage of her, but her best friend always stood up for her when she couldn’t.

sweetheart!reader who… let jj stay over her house when him and his dad got physical. she’d cuddle him while he cried, and make him a meal when he didn’t eat.

sweetheart!reader who… was jj’s guardian angel, she’d pick up what he thought were his broken pieces. she’s cater to him when he needed, clean his bruises and cuts and even break him out of jail with her parents money.

sweetheart!reader who… would do anything for jj, she loved him with all her heart, even if she didn’t know if it was friendship love or romantic love.

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a/n: feel free to send requests on what you would want me to write!

taglist: @sturniologirlzz @sturns-mermaid @aaliyahsturniolo @sophand4n4 @ethanthequeefqueen

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masterlist:

bsf!jj taking your virginity (smut)

taking care of jj when he comes to you after a fight with his dad (angst & fluff)

jj letting you touch his soft dick (smut & fluff)

jj styling your braids (fluff)

jj and readers messages (fluff, angst, & suggestive)

jj and sweethearts first official date (fluff)

jj rough fucking sweetheart (smut)

jj asking sweetheart to be his girlfriend (fluff, smut)

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#jj angst #jj fluff #jj maybank smut #jj smut #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank #obx #outer banks #outerbanks #obx cast #jayj𓆉

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cupidsworstcrime · 1 month ago

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[...fauxcest (brother/sister) , (the illusion of) non/dubcon , catfishing as foreplay]

step brother!johnny x f!reader

smut , obviously

the words "inbred" & "incestuous" used in a kink sense but not in a literal way , consenting & non-blood-related adults being unhinged little freaks

AN: they were not raised together, despite somethings johnny says , thats just him being on some absolute FREAK shit

He tells himself it's harmless.

A fake account. A few messages. Maybe a picture or two. You’re a tease anyway—you always have been, even if you don’t mean to be. Walking around the house in those soft little shorts, brushing past him in the hallway with your sleepy voice and your stupid pet names. Johnny. J. Big bro.

You’re not his sister. Not really. Just a few years of living together and suddenly everyone thinks he’s supposed to be your guardian angel or some shit. Nah. Not when you look at him like that. Not when you curl your legs up on the sofa and sigh his name like it means something.

The first time you sent a picture—half-joking, half-daring—he had to bite down on his fist to keep from groaning. Almost came in his fucking joggers. And when he messaged back from his burner, pretending to be some online boyfriend of yours?

You didn’t hesitate.

He jerks off to you every night now. In the garage. In the shower. Face down in his mattress, biting the pillow, moaning into the sheets like some pathetic bastard. He can’t stop. Can’t look at you without imagining your cunt wrapped around his cock, your throat filled with his name.

You're so good for him. So eager. So trusting.

And so fucking stupid. God, you’re stupid, aren’t you? You think you’re safe in this house. That "Johnny" would never. That your step-brother's just some dumb soldier with a big mouth and a soft spot for you. You don’t see the way his hands shake when you bend over. You don’t see how he stalks your bedroom door some nights like a wolf.

You don’t know.

You can’t know.

Because if you did—if you even guessed—you’d stop. And he’d go mad.

So he keeps the lie alive. Keeps messaging you while you sit in the same house. Asks for more. Coaxes it out with filth. Tells you what he wants to do and laughs when you send it like a gift.

Tonight you sent him a video. Slow fingers. Wet sounds. Whispering the name of someone you don’t even know. Someone who doesn’t exist.

And Johnny came in his hand so hard he nearly blacked out.

He’s in his bed now. Phone open. Staring at the freeze-frame of you spread open for him, lip caught in your teeth.

He types:

"Wish I could taste you. I’d ruin you for anyone else."

Sends it. Watches the little "Seen" icon appear.

Then you type back.

"I should invite you over next time J deploys... <3"

His blood freezes. Every molecule in his body goes silent.

He stares at the screen like it’s cursed. Like it’s bleeding. Like it just cracked open and called him out.

His cock twitches. Almost types: Just come to my room.

No. No no no no—he closes the app. Paces. Breath ragged. Eyes wide. You can’t know. You can’t. You’d hate him. You’d scream. You’d run.

Unless—

He sinks into the bed.

And starts getting hard all over again.

It starts with a dare.

“No bra today. Bet it’d make it easier to take pics for me, sweetheart.”

He’s already sweating when he types it. Heart thudding like a drum. He adds a little emoji to soften it—just in case. Just in case you hesitate. Just in case the guilt dares to wake up in him again.

But you don’t hesitate.

You send a photo from the kitchen. From his kitchen. Arm pressed across your chest, nipples barely covered, shirt so thin it’s basically see-through in the morning sun.

“Like this?”

He doesn’t even make it to the bathroom. Just fumbles his joggers down in the hallway, cock hard and aching, jerking himself raw while staring at the screen like it’s a shrine. Like you’re a shrine.

He tells himself he’s doing you a favor. Teaching you how to be sexy. Making you feel wanted. That someone should.

But he’s not that clean. Not that noble.

He’s a fucking freak, and he knows it.

So he keeps going.

“Tiny shorts. No panties. Need to know you're a good girl for me.”

“Sit on the couch like before, love. Snap a pic while someone’s around.”

“Touch yourself in the hallway. Just a little. Think about me.”

You do it all.

And it breaks him.

Because sometimes you do it even before he asks. Wearing those little cotton things that ride up your ass, leaning over the counter like you don’t know he’s watching from the doorway, chest braless, thighs soft and spread on the leather cushions.

He can smell you on the sofa.

And the worst part? He swears you're getting bolder.

Once, you dropped your phone in front of him and bent down without thinking. He saw everything. No panties. Just skin and a little string of slick, catching the light. He nearly groaned out loud. Had to bite the inside of his cheek until it bled.

You smiled at him after. Sweet. Innocent.

He had to go jerk off in the garage like a fucking feral animal, fist pounding against the wall after he came, panting your name like a curse.

He’s not sleeping anymore. Just watching. Wanting. Messaging you from the other side of the wall.

He dares you to go further. Pushes it. Tests you.

“Rub your thighs together at dinner.”

“Don’t close your door when you change.”

“Sit on John's bed when he's not home.”

He can’t tell if you’re playing dumb or playing along.

And part of him doesn’t want to know.

Because if you’re doing it for him—if you know it’s him, and you’re still teasing him like this—then that means you’re just as fucked up as he is.

And that?

That makes it so much worse.

So much better.

It was supposed to be a normal night.

Dinner. Dishes. You laughing at something on your phone, his messages, the ones he sent to ruin you. The ones you think belong to some random guy you met online, the one you've been showing your tits to for weeks like it’s a normal thing.

But tonight?

Tonight you walk into the living room in those tiny shorts—the ones. The ones he told you to wear when you're "feeling needy." No bra. Hair messy. And no shame. None.

You bend over the couch, reaching for something on the floor. Phone in one hand. Face down. Casual. Oblivious.

And he sees it.

The curve of your back. The way the shorts ride up—completely split you open. You didn’t even pretend to wear underwear. Your cunt is right there. Soft, glistening. Inviting.

His throat goes dry. His cock’s already stiff in his jeans. Blood roars in his ears. He takes a step forward before he even thinks.

And then he sees it.

Your phone screen. Camera on. Recording.

You’re recording yourself—facedown on his couch, ass arched up, cunt peeking out beneath those shorts—and you’re doing it for him. For your “online boyfriend.”

For him.

As if your fucking step-brother cant fucking smell the sin leaking out of you.

"His" name leaves your lips, the one on that stupid fucking account, whispered low for the camera. "Hope you like the view..."

And that’s it.

That’s the moment he breaks.

He doesn’t remember crossing the room. Just the burn in his chest. The ache in his cock. The rage and the desire crashing together in a single molten scream behind his teeth.

Your body jerks as he grabs the phone from your hand, slamming it onto the coffee table. You whip your head around, eyes wide—but not scared. Never scared.

You’re smiling.

“Johnny,” you breathe, sweet as sin. “You finally gonna stop pretending?”

He doesn’t speak. Just grabs your hips with both hands and pushes your back down, until your chest is pressed to the cushion and your ass is tipped up just the way he likes.

He palms your cheeks, spreads you open, and growls—growls—at the sight of your cunt glistening for him.

“Fuckin’ little minx,” he hisses, voice shredded. “You knew. You’ve known this whole time.”

You nod. Gasp. Wiggle your hips. “Wanted to see how long you’d last…”

He bites your shoulder. Not gently.

“You think this is a game?” he snarls into your skin. “You’ve been walking ‘round my house—my fuckin’ house—like this, for me? For my cock?”

You nod again. “Who else would I do it for?”

That’s when he loses it.

One hand pins your wrists to the small of your back. The other rips your shorts down, so fast the seams pop. You’re bare in seconds, cunt dripping, back arched, breath hitching.

And Johnny?

Johnny is feral.

“This what you wanted, baby?” he breathes, grinding his hard-on against your ass. “Wanted big brother to fuck the brat outta you?”

Your moan answers for you.

He kisses your spine like a man dying of thirst. Bites your hips. Tells you you’re his now—always were.

And as he finally pushes inside, sinking into you with a guttural moan, one thought tears through him louder than the rest:

She knew. She let me. And she still wants more.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he groans, hilting inside you with a sharp snap of his hips, “tightest fuckin’ cunt I’ve ever had—‘course my little sis would be the one to ruin me.”

Your breath hitches. He feels it.

The way your walls flutter around him, all soft and soaked, like you like hearing it.

You do.

You do, don’t you?

“Ohh, you fuckin’ freak,” he grits, grabbing your hair and yanking your head back just enough to hear you pant. “You like it when I call you that? Like bein’ bent over the couch by your big brother?”

You moan something that might be “yes” or “more”—doesn’t matter. He’s gone.

“Actin’ all sweet ‘n innocent ‘round me. Callin’ me Johnny like you don’t spend every night spreadin’ your legs for me behind a screen. Like you don’t love this sick fuckin’ game.”

He thrusts hard—cruel and deep—and your whole body jerks. Couch cushions shift beneath you, muffling your whines. He keeps your wrists pinned behind your back, your ass tipped perfectly for him, so he can watch your hole suck him in again and again.

“You liked knowing I was watchin’, didn’t you?” he growls. “When you wore those fuckin’ shorts—no panties, tits bouncin’—you knew it was me. You wanted to tease big brother ‘til he lost his fuckin’ mind.”

He leans down, voice a snarl in your ear.

“Well, congrats, baby. You broke me.”

His free hand slips down, fingers finding your clit, rubbing tight little circles just to hear the way you whimper. You clamp down around him like you’re gonna cum soon.

“That’s it, fuckin’ take it,” he mutters, half-lost in his own filth. “Take big brother’s cock. So proud of my little slut—makin’ me come in my hand every night. Leavin’ your scent on my fuckin’ pillows. I should’ve known you knew.”

Your legs start to shake.

“Oh, you gonna cum?” he taunts, hips slapping into your soaked thighs. “Gonna cum on your brother’s cock like a dirty little inbred whore?”

You sob out a yes.

He grabs your throat, pulls you up so your back arches, so he can whisper filth straight into your ear:

“Cum for me, little sis. Cream on big brother’s cock so I know you’re mine.”

And you do.

Hard.

Shaking and gasping, cunt pulsing around him like you were made for this.

And Johnny?

Johnny’s not far behind.

“Gonna fuckin’ breed you,” he growls as his hips slam forward, burying himself to the root, balls tight, cock twitching. “Fill you up right here on the fuckin’ couch—where anyone could walk in, where Mum used to make us sit for family photos—fuck—”

He groans low and ragged as he spills inside you, hot and filthy, hand clamped over your mouth to keep you from screaming too loud.

After, he doesn’t pull out.

Doesn’t let you up.

Just lays there over you, breathing hard, chest heaving against your back, cock still twitching inside.

“You’re never gettin’ away from me now,” he murmurs, voice thick with sweat and come and obsession. “Not after this.”

Not after you made big brother your personal ruin.

You're still face down on the couch, twitching under him, his cum leaking down your thighs.

But he’s not done. Not even close.

His fingers dig into your hips as he starts to move again—slow at first, then harder, meaner. His cock’s still thick, still buried deep inside you, and now it’s soaked in slick and his own mess.

And he leans in, whispering filth right into your ear.

“You ain’t even my real sister,” he mutters, kissing the side of your throat like it’s a confession, “but fuck if I don’t wanna pretend you are.”

Your breath catches.

“You like it when I say that, yeah?” His hips grind against your ass, cock hitting the deepest spots. “Like hearin’ your big brother call you a fuckin’ incestuous little whore?”

You moan. You hate that you moan.

But God, it ruins you.

“You’re not even blood,” he growls, voice shaking, “but I think about it all the fuckin’ time. Pretend you are. Pretend I watched you grow up, used to sneak into your room just to see what kinda panties my little sis wore—used to jerk off with your name in my mouth.”

You whimper under him, thighs trembling again.

“Dirty little thing,” he hisses, hand wrapping around your throat. “Would it be worse if you were mine? If we had the same mum and da? Same blood? Still wouldn’t stop me. I’d still fuck you just like this.”

He pulls back just to watch—watch the way your body stretches around him, how you drip for him. How you’d let him do anything.

“I’d still bend you over the couch. Still ruin you. Still fill your womb every night like it’s my fuckin’ right. Like you were born for me.”

His breath is hot against your back. His thrusts start to shudder—harder, deeper, sloppier.

“Say it,” he pants. “Say you’re my little sister. Say you like it.”

Your voice is shaking, raw, almost crying—but not from pain.

“I’m your little sister, Johnny,” you whisper.

His hand tightens on your throat.

“Say you need your big brother’s cock.”

You sob it—needy, wrecked. “Need it—need my brother to fuck me—always have—”

That’s all it takes.

He cums again, burying himself so deep you swear you feel him in your gut. Hot, filthy, possessive. And he doesn’t pull out. He won’t.

Even if you’re not blood, even if it’s pretend—he’ll keep fucking you like you are. Keep whispering filth into your ears until you forget what’s real.

Because it’s his fantasy now.

And you’re never getting out of it.

#ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ cupids fauxcest au #tw fauxcest #tw stepcest #like seriously its gonna get weird #tw dubcon #tw catfishing #johnny mactavish x reader #johnny mactavish x you #johnny mactavish smut #johnny mactavish #soap cod #soap x you #soap x reader #i hate tagging so much #find my fics via vibe instead #once again i dont really like fauxcest that much i just like him a little fucked up and unhinged and its so him... cant explain it

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sillyswriting · 29 days ago

Text

: ̗̀➛ doomsday's luckiest

ㅤ ₊✩ˎˊ˗ apocalypse simon 'ghost' riley x reader

01 : as the world craves in

cw : smut, past toxic relationship, mention of eating disorders, mentions of self-harm, scars, twisted perspective of sex, chubby reader. words : 7k

ㅤ collection - prev ⋆ next

Miserable. That was how you’d describe your life right now. Jobless, barely functioning after finally escaping a toxic relationship, and most of your friends had taken your manipulative ex-boyfriend’s side. The few who supported you? They were busy tonight.

Thursday night. Not many people were willing to leave their houses for a “fun” night out with you. You were the only jobless one, after all.

Fuck it.

You grabbed your keys, locked your door, and before you knew it, you were sitting in your car, driving toward the nearest lively city: Manchester. It wasn’t your favorite, but Liverpool was even farther away, and you'd already have to drive thirty minutes. It’ll do for tonight, you’d thought.

Maybe it was your guardian angel whispering in your ear. You'd come to be grateful for choosing Manchester.

The pub was shitty, dead, as expected on a weeknight. Most of the people were regulars, drunks, or teenagers sneaking their first taste of beer.

Pathetic.

But then again, so were you.

You’d made a small effort tonight. Dressed up, pretty, but nothing over the top. You weren’t even sure why anymore, not with the crowd here. Most of the men were pushing fifty. Not that you had a problem with older guys, but not that old. You drew the line at thirty-seven. Hell, maybe forty on a good day.

Going in strong, you ordered shots—straight vodka. It would help clear your mind, or at least blur it enough.

Checking your phone, you saw a notification from your ex. You opened the message just as you finished your fourth shot. A wall of insults greeted you, body-shaming, followed by sweet, manipulative words. He always did that. Tore you down, shredded your self-worth, then tried to convince you he was the only one who’d ever truly love you.

On bad days, he’d call your body disgusting. Say your stomach made him sick. Mock the scars on your arms like he wasn’t the reason they were there. He made you feel guilty over the smallest snack, shamed you for eating anything that wasn’t "clean." That guilt spiraled into disordered eating, your body crying out for what you denied it. Then came the binges. Hours spent eating everything in sight, followed by the cruel purge.

Leaving him hadn’t been easy, walking away from him was one thing, but walking away from his voice in your head was another. Still, it had to be done. You were killing yourself slowly. And something in you finally said: enough.

As you put down your fifth shot, your eyes landed on a man standing alone in the corner of the pub. Your brain was already fuzzy, drinking on an empty stomach never ended well. But something about him cut through the haze.

Even with his face hidden behind what looked like a skull-patterned balaclava, he radiated an almost unreal presence. Solid. Massive. Built like a mountain. And right then, with liquor courage pulsing through your veins, you decided a little climbing wouldn’t hurt.

Grabbing two beers—you had a feeling he was a beer kind of man—you started toward him.

The closer you got, the stranger it felt. His eyes had locked on you the second you stood up. There was an intensity there, dark, unreadable, magnetic. You could feel it even from the bar. Not even your ex had ever looked at you like that. It was unnerving. Thrilling.

Something inside you sparked. A tingle, low and electric.

As you went to put the drinks of the table, you almost spilled them, your body already on a drunker haze from the shots. The stranger stabilised both beers with one hand, while he grabbed the table with the other. How was a simple thing so hot? You might have been drunker than you thought.

"Lost your way, eh love?" His deep voice resonated inside you, sending chills down your spine.

Giggling like a schoolgirl, you plopped down across from him. He didn’t seem to mind—an amused glint danced in his eyes, catching the dim pub light just right.

Even in the shadows, with his hood up and his face covered by the skull-patterned balaclava, he looked handsome. Striking, even. His body seemed carved by some ancient god with a wicked sense of excess. From where you sat, you’d bet he was big everywhere.

He lounged with an easy confidence, arms stretched across the back of the worn-out sofa like he owned the place. His shirt clung tightly to a solid, soft-looking belly—strong and unapologetic, connected to even stronger pecs. Thick thighs were spread wide, his posture relaxed and unbothered, and it looked like his trousers were one deep breath away from giving out at the seams.

A gentle whistle brought you back to his face. You couldn't see it, but you knew he was smirking under there.

Distantly, you heard panicked voices coming from the TV. The usual football game had been replaced by a news broadcast for some reason—reasons you couldn’t care less about at the moment.

"I saw you… all alone," you slurred, the words sticking together a bit. "Figured I'd… y'know… keep you company. 'Cause I’m alone too."

Your shyness had been eaten away by the liquor running through your blood—along with your shame—as you kept eye-fucking the stranger in front of you. In your defense, he didn’t seem to mind one bit.

Pushing one beer toward him, you went to lift yours for a sip when you were stopped by a strong, but soft, hand.

"I reckon I'll have that one too, love," the man said, pulling the second beer toward him.

In any other situation, you might’ve found his move patronizing, but in this moment, it was the hottest thing a man had ever done to you. Your brain was fuzzy and cloudy, and the fact that he wasn’t trying to take advantage of your state made you blush a little.

A small, deep chuckle could be heard as the man pushed his balaclava up, revealing a soft blond beard. You wouldn’t have guessed he was blond. A deep scar ran from above his full lips down to the bottom of his chin—a clean cut, surely healed for years. It should have scared you, but instead, it turned you on even more.

“Name’s Simon,” he said gently after swallowing about half of his pint. “What about you?”

For hours, you talked, as the bar was getting even quieter. About trivial things at first, and then about your ex, about your old jobs, about your shitty friends. He didn't talk much, he listened, making remarks here and there so you knew he was listening. Even if, you were strongly oversharing and trauma dumping.

The beers were long gone, and you had been drinking water even since, while Simon sipped on a—now warm—whiskey.

You were in the middle of your argument over why dogs were—objectively—better than cats when the distraught pub owner approached your table, sweating like crazy and begging you to leave immediately.

Admittedly, you were the last ones in the pub, but it was still a good hour before closing time. Neither of you responded at first, too weirded out by his body language, which was all aggression and panic, while Simon simply watched him in silence.

But when the owner suddenly reached for you, he was stopped by a hard hand clamping down on his wrist in a bruising grip.

Rising slowly, Simon stepped between you and the man, shielding you with his body.

“Oi, now,” Simon said, tightening his hold, “we’re off, yeah pal? No need to get physical, right?”

He released the man’s wrist, his eyes never leaving him, and then his hand appeared in front of you.You took it without a word, letting him gently pull you in front of him, guiding you toward the exit with a steady hand resting on the small of your back.

While the alcohol had mostly left your system, exhaustion had taken its place. Exhaustion and desire. A lethal mix that kept your heart beating just a little too fast as you became extremely aware of his height and build beside you.

“You wanna go home?” he asked gently, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. Lighting one, the flame from the lighter flickered across his face, making him look almost ethereal.

When you didn’t answer right away, his eyes drifted back to you—like they had so many times that night. Heat crept up your face, and with a bit too much enthusiasm, you shook your head.

“No?” Simon teased, smirking as he exhaled a slow stream of smoke. “Want me to take you back to mine?” He emphasized the me, his soft mocking sending a thrill straight between your legs.

Stranger danger, right?

You didn’t care. Not a single bone in your body could’ve made you say no in that moment.

Biting your lip, you nodded. Your breathing was already picking up, and you pressed your thighs together in what you thought was a subtle, unnoticeable move—but Simon noticed. Of course he did. He’d told you earlier: part of his job was to observe people, to notice everything.

He nodded silently, extending his hand toward you—and you took it instantly. Laughing at your eagerness, he ran his thumb gently over the back of your hand before adding, “Your car keys, love.”

“Oh,” you breathed out, flustered. Your hands fumbled over themselves as you dug into your purse, finally wrapping your fingers around your fluffy keychain and pulling it out with an impatient tug.

Gently taking the keys from your hand, he waited for you to lead the way to your car.

You were in your own little world, eyes fixed on how small your keys looked in his hand, when they already felt pretty large in yours. Thinking back to the men you’d had in your life, none of them came close to Simon’s sheer size.

You’d always been chubby, and some past lovers had made a point of reminding you—commenting on your stomach rolls and dimpled thighs, making you deeply self-conscious. Your last ex certainly hadn’t helped you rebuild any confidence. But as you looked at Simon, desire warm in your chest, that cruel little voice, the one that always told you you were too big, that you’d crush them, was suddenly silent.

Patiently, the man smoked his fag in silence, letting your eyes roam over his figure. He’d never minded a pretty bird’s gaze on him—and after everything you’d overshared tonight, he sure as hell wasn’t going to make you uncomfortable with a shitty joke. So he let you look, subtly adjusting his movements just enough to make his muscles flex beneath the tight gym shirt and almost-too-small trousers.

He’d been home for quite a while now. The weight he’d lost on his last deployment had come back, thanks to the homemade meals he’d been cooking for himself. And as he exhaled smoke one last time and dropped the cigarette to the ground, he noticed something clear in your eyes.

Desire. Want. Heat.

His eyes on you made you suddenly realize you hadn’t moved in minutes. Gently turning around, you started walking toward where your car was parked. It was a short distance, but thanks to Manchester’s parking nightmare, it would still take you about five minutes.

A low whistle stopped you in your tracks.

Turning around, you saw Simon approaching at a lazy pace, like he had all the time in the world. Only then did you notice—you’d been rushing.

As he reached you, he gently guided you toward the shops instead of the road, his hand settling on the small of your back, just centimeters from your arse.

“Go on now, kitty. Strut away,” he teased, smirking.

There was a mocking edge to his voice, but it was playful, nothing like the cruel digs your shitty ex used to throw your way. Once again, a rush of heat surged straight between your legs. You prayed he wasn’t just all talk—but with the way confidence and quiet dominance came so naturally to him, you knew you were in for a good night.

On the way back to his place, your brain was still too fuzzy to fully register how dangerous this could be. Letting a man you’d known for only a few hours drive your car through a city you barely knew. For all you knew, he could take you to some dark forest, kill you, and bury your body.

Yet something about Simon intrigued you. And you trusted your gut.

Although... every time you’d trusted it before, it had led you straight into the arms of a gaslighter. Sadly, you’d never been the best judge of character. Naive, they’d called you. Easy to deceive. Easy to break down and reshape into the perfect doll for selfish men.

But Simon felt different. He seemed genuinely interested, not in some version of you, but you. And for the first time in a long while, you had a feeling that maybe, just maybe... he might like you exactly as you are.

Shaking your head, you reminded yourself—it was just a shag anyway. Hopefully a good one, but nothing more than that. The man looked good enough to kill… but he also looked like a killer. Brooding silent men had never really been your type. You usually went for the chatty, sunshine types, people like you. Sure, you had your dark days, but most of the time, you were a damn ray of sunshine.

Even if he wasn’t exactly your type mentally, his physique had nothing to envy from any man who’d ever crossed your path.

Quiet music played in the background, your phone connected after you’d grown tired of the radio stations rambling about some epidemic, interviewing panicked voices even in the dead of night. You’d brushed it off and let your playlist take over.

Silently, your eyes traced the shape of his arms. You’d never thought driving could be sexy, but every time he shifted gears, something in your brain short-circuited. And his thighs—thick and flexing with every subtle movement—were impossible to ignore. You couldn’t even think about them without feeling your knickers grow damper.

It was a fairly short drive, you noticed, as Simon parked right in front of a fancy-looking building. As he rounded the car to open your door, you couldn’t help but notice how out of place he looked, dressed in all black, broad and built like a bodybuilder, standing in front of what looked like the kind of place filled with lanky finance bros.

"You're like... rich rich," you blurted out as you stepped into the building, instantly met with an elegant hall, a grand staircase, and a sleek, high-end elevator. It was all so posh, nothing you were used to.

Sure, you weren’t poor, but city rent was brutal. You’d ended up living thirty, sometimes forty minutes outside the city, in a small, cozy apartment. It wasn’t much, but it was yours—or at least, you’d made it feel that way.

Now, though, it was tainted. Stained with painful memories you’d been trying to outrun when you drove into Manchester tonight. You hadn’t planned to sleep out... but now, you were glad it worked out this way. At least tonight, you didn’t have to face the hole in your bedroom wall—left behind by one of your ex’s tantrums.

The soft ding of the elevator and Simon’s quiet laugh pulled you back to the present.

“Job pays well,” he said, watching your reaction. “Don’t have much to spend it on but rent.”

There was something in his eyes, something unreadable, that sparked a flicker of panic in your chest. Rushing to fill the silence, you blurted out your thoughts in a stream of anxious words.

“Not that I care, you know. It’s not like I knew before coming here! I would’ve come even if you were broke, seriously. I don’t care about money—never really did. You should see where I live, it’s pretty cheap—"

Simon gently cut off your ramble with a hand on your chin, tilting your head up. Then, without a word, he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your lips. Just a small peck, enough to short-circuit your spiraling thoughts.

“Calm that little brain of yours,” he said with a half-smile, kissing you again, just as briefly. “Didn’t mean anything by it, yeah?”

Although his technique was a bit blunt, it worked. Your brain shut down instantly, and your body softened, leaning into his. Not that he minded.

He really hadn’t meant anything by it. You had been the one to buy him a drink, not the other way around. And it’s not like he’d shared much about his life—of course you’d be surprised to see a place this fancy. That didn’t mean you were a gold-digger.

Once inside his place, Simon settled on the couch, watching you. Like a stray cat he might’ve brought home, you began poking around—examining the furniture, the small decorations and bits of clutter, the books lining the shelves, the DVDs stacked beside them. He let you roam, curious little thing that you were. Every now and then, you’d comment on a book you’d read too, or mention a movie you’d always meant to watch.

What could you say? You liked to snoop. Always had, always would.

The flick of a lighter snapped you out of your snooping trance. When you turned back toward the couch, you nearly choked on air.

Here he was, lighting another fag, his balaclava tossed haphazardly on the coffee table. His brown eyes locked onto yours, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. He was, without a doubt, the most handsome man you had ever come across in your short life. Blonde hair stuck to his head and forehead—a mix of sweat and pressure from the hood—full eyebrows, a strong nose, high cheekbones marked by acne scars, and a scruffy beard. His forehead and eyes were lined with faint wrinkles. He hadn’t told you his age, but from the look of him, you guessed he must be around thirty-five, or close to it.

“Like what you see?” he taunted, exhaling smoke in a slow, deliberate way. “‘Cause I sure do,” he added, his eyes roaming over your body without a shred of shame. They lingered on your chest before drifting down to your stomach and hips, darkening as they traveled.

You were about to approach him when sudden commotion and distant screams echoed through the hallway. Glancing toward the front door with a frown, you wondered how people could make so much noise in such a fancy place—especially at almost 1 a.m.

Looking back at Simon, you caught a flicker of confusion cross his face before it vanished behind his usual unreadable mask.

Still, he got up and made his way toward the door, gently nudging you toward the couch as he passed. When he opened it, he was met by his upstairs neighbours, both weighed down with baggage and rushing down the stairs in a panic. The two men were speaking harshly, urging each other to move faster—that they had to get out before everyone blocked the roads.

Frowning again, Simon figured there must be some kind of celebration tomorrow, something he’d forgotten about. Shaking his head, he brushed them off and closed the door, locking each bolt with care.

Better safe than sorry.

Turning back around, he was met with the sweetest sight, you, quietly seated on his couch, hands folded in your lap, looking up at him with wide, curious eyes. A gentle smile tugged at his lips as he walked over, offered you his hands, and softly guided you toward the bedroom. As if he was afraid he might break you.

Still silent, you followed, nervously biting your lip. It had been a long time since sex had felt like something to enjoy. For months, it had been all about your ex’s pleasure, your needs left in the background. You hoped Simon would be different, would see you, consider you.

He sat down first, watching you with a quiet softness as your curious gaze wandered once again, this time across his plain, undecorated bedroom. Simon had never seen the point in making it cozy. He wasn’t here much, and when he was, he spent most of his time in the living room or the building’s gym. No need for art or plants. They’d only die anyway.

Observing you, he thought about a certain Scot who was just as curious about him as you were. Shaking his head, now wasn’t the time to think about his sergeant.

Patience. He could do that. He was very good at that. He waited for you to get a bit more comfortable. He saw how your toes wiggled in what he assumed was a mix of excitement and anxiety. Same with your fidgeting fingers, and the way you kept biting your lips.

Behind your eyes, he could see how much you were probably overthinking everything, subconsciously tugging on your shirt to hide your belly.

Oh no.

He was a patient man, yes—but he wouldn’t let you fall too deep into self-conscious thoughts.

As gently as he could—careful not to startle you—he grabbed your hips and pulled you toward him. With a small push behind your knees, he guided you into his lap. Before any protest could leave your lips, Simon spoke.

“I had to carry one of my sergeants over my shoulder for an entire afternoon across the desert, and he was twice your size, darling.” His voice had shifted—deeper now, more commanding, more military. “Nothing about you is going to hurt me. Or disgust me.”

Taking your delicate hand in his calloused one, he guided it down to his pelvis, where you could feel the weight of his semi-hard cock.

“All this, already, just from you looking pretty in my room, yeah?” he said, though it wasn’t really a question. One brow arched in that calm, nonchalant way of his—almost commanding. “And now, I just want you to look pretty on my bed... and let me take care of the rest. Can you do that?”

This was new.

Sex and you had always had a complicated relationship. It wasn’t something you enjoyed most of the time—but you knew that had more to do with your partners than with you. Every time you took care of yourself, it felt better than anything they’d ever given you.

But now, here was this god of a man, promising you pleasure and attention. You almost wanted to cry—he seemed so genuine, like nothing would make him happier than giving you exactly what you needed tonight.

Too quickly, you nodded in excitement.

Eager little thing you were.

“Need words, sweetheart,” Simon murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes,” you muttered.

“Good girl.”

And then his lips were on yours.

It was nothing like the quick pecks in the elevator. Those were desperate, starving, something else entirely. His hands were everywhere, gliding from your thighs to your hips, gripping the nape of your neck to pull you closer. They brushed over your stomach and your breasts, caressed your arms with a reverence that made your skin buzz.

You felt euphoric. No one had ever kissed you with this much purpose, this much enthusiasm.

When his lips left yours, you almost whined, would have, if he hadn’t kissed your jaw the moment his mouth broke away. With a rhythm that was both urgent and patient, he trailed kisses along your jaw, down your neck, across your collarbones, even as his hands gently worked to lift your shirt.

As the cotton passed over your face, you couldn’t bring yourself to open your eyes. Anxiety gnawed at your mind, whispering that you were disgusting. That he’d hate the soft rolls of your stomach, the faded scars on your wrists. That your breasts were too small, your nipples too strange.

One of your shitty exes had said that once—and the words had never really left you.

“Fucking gorgeous,” was all you heard before you felt his lips on the top of your breast, his fingers already toying with the clasp of your bra.

Looked like you weren’t the only eager one.

Two simple words, but somehow, they jump-started your brain. Your hands moved on instinct, tugging at his tight shirt, pushing him back just enough to free yourself from his mouth as he urgently pulled his own top off.

Your breath caught in your throat as your eyes took him in.

Scars. So many. Bullet wounds, stabs, burns… all mingling with tattoos scattered across his skin.

“Do you think it’s ugly?” Simon asked, though there wasn’t a trace of self-doubt in his voice.

“No,” you answered quickly, the word spilling out with raw sincerity.

“No?” he added, a small smirk tugging at his lips. Then, shaking his head slightly, he went on, “Then don’t go assuming your own disgust me, alright?”

Once again, he guided your hand—this time to his soft belly. The defined six-pack was long gone. At home, he didn’t care much for aesthetics. He ate well, hit the gym enough to stay in shape, but he didn’t obsess over it.

“You think that’s disgusting, love?” Another rhetorical question. You shook your head again, and he felt your fingers curl against him, gentle and hesitant, like a cat kneading a warm spot.

Then he brought his hand to your belly, massaging it with unexpected tenderness, rolling the softness between his calloused fingers.

“Well, I fucking love that,” he murmured. “I like my women fed and healthy. Don’t put those silly boy standards on me, kitty, yeah? I’m well past rubbing one out over a supermodel.”

As if to prove a point, he pulled you even tighter into his lap, grinding your clothed cunt against his now fully hard cock. You let out a breathy moan at the friction, a soft, helpless sound that made his grip on your hips tighten.

You might’ve been the cutest little thing Simon had ever had the pleasure of laying in his bed. And he was dead set on savouring every second of it.

Manhandling you with practiced ease, he laid you back against the pillows, your head cradled by the soft fabric, surrounded by the scent of him. When you closed your eyes and tilted your head slightly into the pillow, he knew you liked it. Good.

But he was certain you were going to like what came next even more.

Leaving hungry kisses and teasing bites along your stomach and hips, his hands roamed with purpose, searching for the zipper of your skirt. When he couldn’t find it, you guided his hand to it yourself. As thanks, he gave you another playful bite on your belly—earning a mix of a giggle and a moan from you.

Exquisite.

Once the skirt was gone, he settled comfortably between your legs, lifting them over his shoulders. He paused for a moment, admiring the damp patch on your cotton panties, and when your hands flew up to cover your face in embarrassment, he just smiled.

No one had ever given so much attention to what was between your legs.

Sure, past boyfriends had gone down on you, but it was always rushed, needed. Done more as a means to an end, never for the joy of it. Never for you.

But now?

You were soaked.

A soft kiss to your clit sent shivers all the way through your body. His fingers traced gentle patterns along your inner thighs, grounding you, comforting you, even as the other hand tugged down the last piece of fabric separating him from you.

Then, silence.

You peeked down at him, hands falling from your face, bracing yourself for the familiar sting of judgment. You half-expected some offhand comment about something else that was “wrong” with you.

But instead, Simon winked.

And then he dove into your cunt like a man starved—like he’d just found fresh water after weeks at sea.

Your back arched instantly, a strangled cry escaping your lips as your fingers twisted into his hair. Maybe a bit too hard, because he gave a small wince beneath you.

“Careful, lovely,” he chuckled against your skin. “Not going anywhere, don’t worry.”

His tongue was everywhere, spelling god-knows-what across your clit, licking and sucking, then diving lower to drink you in like he’d never get enough. The room filled with filthy, wet sounds. Your moans. His slurping, kissing, groaning—like he was truly enjoying himself, every second of it.

You didn’t see it—too lost in your own unraveling—but his hips were slowly grinding against the mattress beneath him. Harder with every taste of you on his tongue.

He was a man on a mission—and when he added his fingers into the mix, you were gone.

Soft, practiced strokes circled your clit while his tongue slurped hungrily at your entrance. Then he switched it up. His tongue flicked up to your clit while a single finger eased inside you, pressing against your warm, slick walls.

Working you open was effortless; you were so wet, the second finger slid in without resistance—and this one found the spot instantly. That’s when you let out the most pornographic sound you'd ever made.

Was he some kind of sex god? Or had all your past lovers just been selfish bastards?

“That’s it, kitty,” Simon murmured, his voice dropping low and deliberate. “Just let it go, yeah? I’m right here.”

He gave your clit another kitten-lick as his fingers picked up speed, curling with precision.

“You’re so fucking pretty, taking my fingers so well, lovie…” His voice dropped even deeper, a low rumble that vibrated straight through your core.

Your senses were wrecked. You couldn’t form words anymore—only moans, whimpers, and gasps poured from your lips. Nothing had ever felt like this. Not your fingers, not your toys, and certainly not anyone else.

That strange, overwhelming pressure began building in your belly—rising fast, heavy, desperate. Your thighs trembled against his head, and it took one of his hands to pin you down gently, keeping you from clamping too hard.

“Wait—wait—” you panted, the words tumbling out between moans. “Gonna… gonna pee.”

“No, you’re not, sweetheart,” Simon cooed with a soft laugh, licking your clit again with care. “Just let it go. Don’t worry.”

“No, no, please—” you tried again, but that strange feeling was intensifying. His tongue went back to spelling maddening patterns on your clit. You tried to push at his head weakly, but he wouldn’t relent.

“Simon, I—I—I… oh… oh God…”

And then, stars.

Stars burst behind your eyes as your thighs locked around his head, your cunt clenching around his fingers in pulsing waves.

“There you go… That's it.” Simon whispered, his voice all praise and warmth, fingers still working you through it. “Good girl. My sweet girl.”

When he finally withdrew his fingers, he replaced them with his tongue—eager to taste every last bit of you. The moment your cry shifted into overstimulation, he relented.

Pushing up onto his haunches, he licked his fingers clean and drank you in.

You were blissed out. Cheeks flushed and damp, eyes barely open with tears at the corners. Your neck and chest glistened with sweat, your thighs still trembling against his own.

From everything you’d overshared, about shitty exes and disappointing nights, Simon had assumed you’d never had a real orgasm before.

He’d been right.

Palming his painfully hard cock through his pants, he ached to be inside you. To fill you, stretch you, ruin you for anyone else.

As you watched his hand, you figured it was a silent message to reciprocate. So, still on shaky thighs, you began to lower yourself onto your knees in front of him, ready to thank him.

That was how it worked, right?

Raising an eyebrow at your submissive posture and the way your hands reached toward his zipper, a strange anger surged inside the soldier.

There was something in your eyes that set him off—something that made him feel sick. Like you had been conditioned to believe he only did this to get something in return.

A bit harshly, he grabbed both your wrists with one hand, stopping you.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice tight.

He would’ve gladly let you suck his cock, if he didn’t feel like it was automatic for you. Like a debt to repay.

“What do you mean?” Your voice was still shaky, your body trembling with aftershocks. He could see how your thighs were still spasming now and then.

“I don’t want you to do that,” he said bluntly. Given your fragile headspace, he probably should’ve phrased it more gently, but something about the look in your eyes made him furious at the world.

How could shitty men break something so sweet? Make you think your pleasure had to come with a price?

Not here.

Not in his bed.

Not with him.

When tears welled in your eyes, Simon cursed himself for the sharpness in his tone. Pulling you toward him, he kissed you gently, no urgency—just care.

“None of that, sweetheart,” he murmured, kissing away a tear that slipped down your cheek. “Don’t want you to suck my dick ‘cause you think you have to. That’s what I meant.”

He held you close, running a soothing hand down your shaking spine.

“Now lay down for me, yeah? If you still want to do this. You can say no. Won’t get mad, love."

Nodding your head, you let yourself gently fall back against his pillow. A funny feeling stirred in your belly, a sense of safety, of finally being seen and worshipped. Usually, you were the one doing the worshipping, and you were tired of it.

Brushing the tears away, you watched as he finally took off his trousers and briefs. His dick sprang free, bouncing slightly, making you giggle a little—tears long gone now. It was an angry red, the tip leaking pre-cum as it begged for attention. He was a bit bigger than average, but feeling the wetness between your thighs, you had no doubt he would fit just fine.

Slowly covering you with his own body, he kissed you again. Those kisses were soft—little promises of what was to come. He wouldn’t hurt you; he’d take care of you. Like he did before. You made out for a little while. It was soft and gentle, nobody was rushing, you had all the time in the world. Sometimes, you felt his dick brush over your belly. He would let out little airy whines, and you'd be lying if you said it didn’t make you wetter.

Once Simon felt like neither of you could take much more, he shifted onto his right side, reaching toward his bedside table to fish out a condom. You watched anxiously as he rolled it down his length, giving his cock a few strokes, like he needed more stimulation. Another giggle slipped from your lips.

Smiling gently at you, he kissed you again. “Get on your side for me, baby.”

Oh, that was new as well.

Spooning felt almost too intimate for this situation, and yet, you couldn’t stop yourself from thinking it was meant to be. Like two puzzle pieces fitting right in.

All thoughts about intimacy vanished the moment Simon raised your left leg over his and slowly guided his length inside of you, letting out a low groan directly into your ear.

Ever the observant one, he felt you clench around him at the sound. He did it again, and felt another clench. Sensitive, you were. And very warm and wet. It was perfect. God, he wished he could’ve gone in raw, but that would’ve been too much.

Giving a tentative thrust, Simon was rewarded with another one of your sweet sounds. That, combined with the earlier stimulation, made him go rogue. His hips took on a mind of their own, rutting against you like a mad dog. His lips kept licking, kissing, and biting the back of your neck, your shoulder, your back—anything he could reach.

Yours were no better—biting at his bicep, the one he had placed beneath your head like a pillow, while your nails dug into his arm and thighs.

Getting carried away after a few minutes, Simon pushed you completely onto your belly, laying you flat on his soft sheets, never once pulling out. When no sound of discomfort or hesitation came from you, he resumed his thrusts. His rhythm was messy now—far messier than just a few minutes ago. He was close. The feeling of your cunt clenching hard around his dick was intoxicating.

He let out another groan at yet another clench, almost like it hurt him. But it was quite the contrary.

Feeling he was approaching his climax, he let his weight rest on you, only his forearm keeping him from crushing you.

Cooing encouragement into your ear, praises spilling from his lips like chants, Simon felt your cunt tightening as you neared another orgasm. Words poured out of his mouth—probably more than he’d spoken in months at home—but he didn’t care. He could feel how much you loved his voice, loved when he spoke into your ear, loved when he lowered it, almost growling his words.

"That’s my fucking good girl, taking me so deep. Fucking perfect cunt on a perfect body—fuck, you feel so fucking good." He grunted as sweat dripped from his hair onto your back.

To push you over the edge, he slithered one hand down to your cunt, almost coming when he felt where his dick was entering you, then moved a bit higher, toying with your already overstimulated clit.

You clenched so hard on his dick, he came instantly. Deep groans whispered into your ear, coupled with frantic thrusts and skilled fingers that triggered your own climax.

It was unlike anything before—even better than when he was between your legs.

Still floating, you felt soft hands pulling you gently back onto your side, then onto your back. Gentle fingers brushed away tears you hadn’t even noticed fall and pushed strands of hair sticking to your sweaty forehead aside.

Watching him with half-open eyes, you saw his lips moving, but your ears were still ringing, and you couldn’t catch what he said. Bits of praise and coos reached you, enough to relax your body completely. His lips pressed softly to your temple as a hand patted your hips, demanding your attention.

Focusing on him now, you concentrated to understand his next words.

“I need you to go pee now, alright? Can you do that for me, kitty?” Simon asked, his voice low and gentle, as if speaking to a scared child.

“I don’t—I don’t think my legs work,” you replied bluntly.

“Okay.” The man chuckled softly at your words.

Carefully, he rose from the bed, took off the condom, tied it, and threw it away. Approaching you again, he lifted you as if you weighed nothing, and you were too tired to care anyway.

After he set you down on the toilet, he left the bathroom, telling you to take your time, and that you could take a shower too, if you wanted.

Making your way back toward the bedroom, you felt a bit self-conscious, walking around his place completely naked. But the sight you stumbled upon was truly mouthwatering.

Simon, relaxing in his bed, under the covers. Eyes closed, body completely at ease, basking in the lingering rush of endorphins.

As quietly as you could, you began picking up your knickers, eyes scanning the room for your bra. Your little treasure hunt was interrupted by a low whistle coming from the man just a few meters away.

When your eyes met, Simon shook his head in quiet disapproval before beckoning you over with a finger.

Awkwardly, you made your way around the bed. With a small, exasperated sigh, he grabbed you with ease and manhandled you back into the bed, tucking you under the covers and pressing your soft body flush against his.

"Rocked your world that hard and you still want to walk out on me, sweetheart?" he teased gently, pulling you tighter into his arms. "Thought your legs didn’t work, how were you planning to drive back, huh?"

With anyone else, the mockery might’ve stung. But Simon’s words felt different—genuine, laced with warmth. It was his way of saying he wanted you to stay, without actually saying it. And it was sexy.

You pressed your thighs together, a soft moan escaping your lips in response.

Kissing your shoulder like a quiet promise, Simon added with a chuckle, “Don’t worry, you’ll get plenty more tomorrow. Now go to sleep.”

There was no room for argument—especially not when a light smack landed on your ass cheek.

Giggling with excitement, you finally felt the exhaustion creeping in. Eyes fluttering closed, you buried your head into his bicep—your makeshift pillow—and for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt truly warm.

Warm and safe.

That’s how you fell asleep—wrapped in his arms, as the world caved in.

what an introduction, aye?

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peanutalergy · 2 months ago

Text

guardian angel ʚ ɞ s.r. × reader

in which you realize your boyfriend might just be a celestial being sent to take care of you (or in which you get too drunk at a party and spencer has to pick you up)

tags: FLUFF !?! HIGH SCHOOL AU !! underage drinking (literally the whole plot of this), mentions of throwing up, popular cheerleader fem!reader, guilt that may or may not be religious, popular girl × nerdy boy for as long as i'm alive i will love you, reader is sad and overthinking drunk, lots of misspelling cause they text, religious stuff duh.

w/c: 2.3k

a/n: did this need to be a high school au? absolutely not. why is it a high school au? I don't know. don't ask. I write these as a way to cope with the unfortunate fact that I am indeed not in high school anymore. also if u saw this before no you didn't.

a project due tomorrow. after a while of thinking, far too long, you remember. you and your friend have a project due tomorrow. that's how you got here. that's how you got to her house at five o'clock. to do a project. now, how did you get to her bathroom, sitting on top of the closed toilet lid as you take deep breaths and pray not to throw up? that's a question your drunken mind doesn't really have an answer to.

whose idea was it to start drinking? or to call all these people? you don't know (it was you), but when another wave of nausea washes over you, you know that person is an idiot and those were terrible ideas.

there's a knock on the bathroom door along with the soft sound of someone calling out your name, a harsh contrast to the loud music banging downstairs.

“someone's blowing up your phone,” the voice you don't yet recognize says.

“it's just my mom, no? tell her to fuck off. i'll be home in the morning.”

“no, it's spencer.”

your mind takes a second to process those words, but once it does, the speed in which you jump up and open the door to take the phone should win you some sort of olympic medal. without even looking in their face, you mutter a thank you before locking the door and going back to your seat.

spence <3 (5 missed calls, 11 unread messages)

23:41 Your mom is texting me.

You're not at home?

00:18 Where are you?

Just send me your location or something so we can know you're fine.

Please, honey?

00:54 Your mom just called me again, she's worried sick.

Where are you?

01:03 ???

Are you okay?

Call me back when you read this, please.

01:04 Just tell me you're okay.

01:07 Please don’t make me or your mom call the police.

your shaky fingers move faster than your mind can process the words they're typing. looking at the small words on the small screen only makes your head hurt even more. you can understand the old people with their huge fonts when you have to try reading it a few times until it's all less blurry.

01:08 sarah house

paerty

01:08 Are you okay?

Safe?

01:08 yup

mm tho not reallly

idunno

head hurts

01:09 How much have you had to drink?

01:09 notihng

01:09 You're drunk, though.

01:09 no imnot

okay maybw a litle bit

alot

01:09 Are you with anyone?

01:10 bathrooom

by myslef

01:10 Can I go pick you up?

01:10 nononoononononno baby dont worry ill get a ride home dont owrry you dont have to

ill get a ride from maria

01:10 Who's Maria?

You don't know any Marias.

you stop and think. yeah, who is maria? you really don't know any marias. and when that goes through your mind, just about everything else does, as well. what you're doing here, what got you here, spencer, your mom, maria(?), sarah, the two beers and three shots you chose to take and the four you were forced to.

you've become what you feared when you were younger. a high school popular cheerleader whose boyfriend has to rescue her from parties when she's almost blackout drunk. that thought train would've spiraled into something along the lines of guilt and regret, but a few sounds came from your phone before you could even start to think about how good you used to be.

01:12 Baby?

Are you there?

Still with me?

01:12 yeah

you dont have to get up and drivw all the way here forme

its late

im okay dont worry

01:13 I'm already on my way.

Just try to stay safe until I get there, yeah?

you blink.

someone's at the door again.

“spencer's here.”

you're sober enough to realize how insane that was, but you're drunk enough to not realize why this says how drunk you are.

wow, he has a really fast car. maybe he teleported here. maybe he flew.

you reach over and unlock the door from the toilet seat. he walks in mumbling more words of appreciation to whoever has been the bridge between you two tonight.

the first thing you notice about him is just how tired he looks. you feel genuinely bad for being the reason this poor guy has to drive all the way to this loud, full, dirty house to pick you up because you have the self control of a five year old. the second thing you notice is just how cute he looks in a hoodie and sweatpants, an attire you rarely ever have the privilege to see him in.

he holds his phone in one hand, key chain ring looped over his finger holding his car and house keys. the messenger bag you'd expected to see thrown over his shoulder isn't there, and neither are the converse he basically never takes off. he's wearing uggs, the matching ones you two bought together a few months back because you didn't want to go into the store by yourself, but you'd only ever seen him wear them at his own house.

his face softens when he sees you mutter his name, “hi, baby. how are you doing?”

“my head hurts.”

spencer kneels over in front of you, taking your face in his hands and wiping the sweat from your cheeks. he whispers as if the sounds coming from downstairs were not as loud as they are.

“how much have you had to drink?”

“like eight.”

“eight what?”

“shots. maybe.” you whisper, glancing down at your fingers as they fidget with the sequins on your top. your top? this top isn't yours. he's about to say something again when you mumble, “whose is this?”

“what, this top?”

“yeah. not mine. i came here wearing my uniform. my cheer uniform. not this.”

“sarah might have borrowed it to you.” before you can say anything else, he adds, “but it doesn't matter now. you can give back her top and we can come by and pick up your uniform later. let's just get you home now, yeah? your mom is worried sick about you.”

“don't tell her, please.” you mumble, looking up at him the same way one would beg their kidnapper to spare their life as he starts helping you stand up.

“she already knows you're not home and not with me. what kind of lie are you supposed to make up?” he asks as the two of you walk back out of the bathroom and into the party, arm looped around your waist while you lean against him like a bruised soldier limping.

“why didn't you tell her i was with you?”

“because you weren't, and i didn't know where you were. maybe if you had told me you'd be at a party, you could've asked me to cover for you, but i had no way of knowing if you were safe or not.”

cover for you.

you rest your head on his shoulder as it starts running over how terrible that is again. he's not mad that it's one in the morning, or that he's insanely overwhelmed from everything surrounding him. if he's even slightly upset, he doesn't let it show.

you really had just asked him to lie to your mother so you could get drunk on a school night at your friend's house without getting in trouble. and still, he gently kisses the top of your hair while he leads you through the crowd like he's splitting the sea and saving you.

as his thumb rubs circles on your side to try and soothe you from the loud house out of which you walk, you think about everything you've done the past few years and just how much you've screwed up and how you don't deserve someone half as good as the boy beside you and how you're keeping him up on a school night to help you and before you know it you're inside his car and he's buckling you up and placing a kiss on your cheek.

“are you okay?”

“you shouldn't be here.” you mumble, staring out the window and into the street where a few cars with too bright lights pass you by.

“why not?”

“it's late and we have school tomorrow and you shouldn't be up and i'm a terrible person.”

his eyes widen at the last statement, “where did that come from?”

“i asked you to lie for me. i’m keeping you up really really late at night. you should be at home asleep, not out here taking care of me.”

when your voice gets small and hoarse, he hands you the water bottle no one besides the two of you can touch, and tells you to drink while he speaks softly, “i wasn't asleep, anyway. if i wasn't here, i'd be at home reading. i'd much rather be with and take care of you when i know you need it.”

“mm, but you'd be much better off reading.” you whisper, throwing your legs on top of the dashboard after handing him back the now empty bottle.

“don't sit like that, it's dangerous.” he says, pointing to your feet, and you mutter a small sorry as you put them back on the floor.

it's quiet for a moment. he turns on the car and starts driving before speaking softly again, “i really don't mind being here. i'd prefer it if you could at least let me know before these parties, though. would make me a lot less worried.”

you give him another apology, which he just blows off with a that's okay before you go silent again.

“i'm never drinking again.” you mumble, voice muffled by the cheeseburger he insisted on getting you after you accidentally let him know you had drunk it all in an empty stomach.

“yeah, i don't really think you should. especially not on weekdays.”

“mm, i'm totally skipping school tomorrow.”

“half the school is, probably.” he laughs after taking a sip of his coke, “i'm sure everyone in the football team was in that house, and they were doing worse than you.”

“i don't even– mm, i don't even know why we were there.” you say with a chuckle before briefly turning your attention to swallowing the food in your mouth, “i remember the project we did. nothing more. i don't know why any of those people were there.”

“from what i heard, someone decided to invite a small group to ‘hang out’” he exaggerates on the air quotes, “one person calls another, who may or may not have a fake id, and that's how you get those parties.”

you know he's not trying to sound as scolding as he does, but the way he says it is annoyingly lecture-y. not only does it make you recall the beginning of the night—the truth or dare played when the only people there were the ones from the group chat, the moment the jocks started arriving, the lights getting turned down and the music getting turned up—in great accuracy for your state, but it also feels like he's reminding you of the responsibility you had in all of it.

“that's rude.” you mutter, feigning offense by pouting and crossing your arms over your chest.

“what is?” he lets out a small chuckle as he asks with a confused tilt to his head and furrow to his brows.

“i don't know. that felt rude, the whole sentence.”

“i didn't mean for it to be rude,” he countered, still staring with an amused smile at your face, “i was just trying not to say explicitly that you're the one who started the party.”

you scoff, dropping the act that didn't have the effect you hoped it would, and taking another bite after grumbling, “how do you even know that?”

“i know everything.”

you used to say that as a joke, spencer knows everything, and he started using it too, once you got more comfortable together. whenever he wanted to tease you, or on rare occasions he didn't want to explain something. it's always said in that obviously fake cocky tone, paired with a big smirk that almost makes you regret having started the bit.

you don't even have enough energy to argue, so in order to let yourself let it go, your intoxicated brain tells itself he truly has some sort of omniscient, metaphysical, cosmic aspect to his being.

it certainly wouldn't be that shocking. as well as knowing almost everything, he is much too good to be a human being, let alone a man. sometimes he does feel like some kind of entity, an angel who was sent to earth to take care of this girl as soon as her decision making skills started deteriorating. the bright light coming from the post behind him, lined up perfectly to create a white aura around him doesn't do anything to disprove that theory.

you only realize the way you're staring at him once he asks with a confused laugh, “what's up?”

“hm?” you blink, shaking your head as he breaks you out of the train of thought that was awfully close to making you religious.

“you got all weird. why are you looking at me like that?”

you go silent again for a long moment before muttering breathily, “you're like my guardian angel.”

he almost considers your answer, until he smells the alcohol on your breath again. with another chuckle, he shakes his head and turns the engine back on, “alright, sweetheart, let's get you home.”

#spencer reid #fanfic #criminal minds #fanfiction #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #high school au #love u #my stuff

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importantstudentbusinessspy-blog · 8 months ago

Text

Academia - Alone Together

Masterlist

Pairing: Aged up Damian Wayne x f reader

Tags: NSFW, academic setting, rivals to lovers, friends with benefits, angst, smut, fingering, penetrative, shower sex, edging, ■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■

He had his work cut out for him with you, and he would start with getting you alone.

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You sat at the corner of your parents' queen size bed, helping your mother fold her clothes for her upcoming trip.

The day before, your mother was filled with excitement when she entered the kitchen, a huge grin plastered on her face. "We won a free trip to New York!"

Turns out her company had held a lottery for the workers, two two-way tickets to New York City.

"I applied on a whim." Your mother shrugged. "Who would have thought I'd actually get it." Her hopeful gaze went to your dad. "We can visit my mother!"

Your father smiled back. "That's amazing, honey. It would ne good for the two of you to see each other."

The overall happiness of the room didn't infect you, who tensed up as soon as you heard your mother announcing that your parents were going away. You swallowed nervously. "When's the flight?"

Your mother checked the tickets. "October twentieth."

Your pulse spiked. So soon. "That's in two days..." Your shoulders lowered.

"Honey, will you be alright here?" Your father reached for your hand.

No. You wanted to say. But when you saw how eager your mother was at the prospect of visiting your grandmother - who she hasn't seen in a year - the word froze in your mouth. "Yes, I'll be fine. You two enjoy your trip."

So here you were, helping your mother carry her suitcase down the stairs. Your father was dressed in his casual flight outfit, fanny pack-clad, as he loaded the trunk of his five year old Toyota sedan on your driveway.

Mama, don't go. You itched to say. What if it's not safe?

You admonished yourself for the childish and selfish thought.

Kissing and hugging your parents goodbye. You can do this, you told yourself. You can stay home alone. You've done it all your life. Why not now?

But when the door closed and the silence took over, bringing with it unease.

You busied yourself with chores. You washed the parkette floor, vacuumed the carpets, and prepared dinner for yourself, all while the tv was blaring in the background, providing some much needed noise. You sent your parents texts asking for updates every hour. You were glad they messaged you that they landed safely, and we're on their way to your grandmother's.

Come evening time, you turned on all of the lights downstairs to drown out the darkness coming in from the windows. It didn't help. The noise blended in with the silence to create a sense of uncertainty, even within the familiar walls of your childhood home. Your breathing grew quick and shallower. You went to your parents' room, closed the door behind yourself, and locked it before taking a seat on the soft carpet floor against it. You tried to calm yourself, steadying your breath. "You're okay, you're okay, you're okay-"

The doorbell rang, making you gasp.

It was him. That man. The awful human being who tied you up, gagged you, and left you drugged and hallucinating your worst fears on the floor of your research lab, with no one able to hear your muffled screams.

Until... he showed up. Robin. Your guardian angel, who tore you from those visions. Who saved and protected you. "He'll come, he'll save me, he will. He will." You convinced yourself, oblivious the heavy footsteps making their way up the second floor.

"Y/n?" Damian’s deep voice muffled through the door you were currently leaning against, making your pulse spike with relief and something else. "Y/n, it's Damian."

The relief washed over you in a smooth wave. You let out a breath and scrambled up and opened the door. You felt extacy as seeing his tall frame so close. Concern etched on his sharp features as those all-knowing green eyes studied you under black hair. Before you could think better of it, you enveloped him into your arms. His warmth was a much welcome sensation against your cold, shivering limbs. Tears threatened to roll out the corners of your eyes as you held onto him like a lifeline.

"Hey, you're okay." His hand came up to cradle your head. It was an oddly comforting gesture from him. So were the reassuring words. You wondered if he'd ever consoled anyone else, consistently repeating, "Everything's okay." Like he was right now, with you.

His voice and touch grounded you in reality, and you managed to pull your breath down to a normal rhythm. He came. He came for you. You were lucky enough to have more than one guardian angel.

"P-please stay," you wispered, not caring how desperate you sounded.

"I'm not going anywhere." His words were a promise.

You let him lead you downstairs and pour you some water. The two of you find a seat in your small kitchen. He sat across from you on the creaky wooden chair as the tea kettle boiled. The entire time, you didn't let go of his hand, so large and safe in your smaller palm. "Would you like some dinner? I made soup."

"Sit. I'll get it." He got up to open the fridge, and you mourned the loss of his touch as you sat back against your chair.

After you and Damian ate the chicken soup you prepared, he got up to put away the plates, freezing mid-step.

"What is it?" You asked.

"Where's your dishwasher?"

"We don't have one." You explained. "Here, let me wash it."

"No, no, I got it." He brought the dishes to the sink, lowering them, then turning back to you. "I'll do it later."

You let out a soft giggle. "You don't have to."

He turned to you, deadpan expression on his face. "You don't think I can wash dishes?"

You shut your lips together, then gave him a shy nod. His tongue poked the side side of his cheek as he raised a brow at you. "Watch this,"

He turned around and got to work, demonstrating to you as he squirted an excessive amount of soap onto the sponge and lathered the dishes with it. Then, he rinsed and held them in his hands, unsure of the next steps. You giggled, taking the plates off his hands and setting them down on the drying rack. "If I used thos much soap each time I washed the dishes, we'd be out of money."

You turned to see Damian huff, and a guilt tugged at your nerves. "You did well, though." You hoped the words reassured him.

"Wanna laugh?" He pursed his lips.

You nodded.

"That was my first time washing a dish."

"Yeah, I assumed." You bit your lip.

His gaze traveled to the floor, and he murmered, "Shut up." Eliciting another string of laugher from you.

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Damian stood at your doorstep, his hand reaching out for you as you talked yourself up to take it.

"I want you to come outside with me." He told you a minute ago. "Just to the end of the porch. Then we'll go back home."

You were about to protest, but he gave you a look that told you not to bother.

With the door opened, you nervously searched around the quiet dark street outside your house. The only light came from the streetlights, and the sounds were rustling of leaves. Other than that, the evening was peaceful. Calm. You swallowed nervously, your hand coming to wrap around his.

"There we go," he reassured, stepping backward onto the porch, pulling you with him. Your breath seized as you jerked your hand back, not meaning to.

You met his gaze. He didn't look disappointed or even upset. In fact, he was simply standing there, holding his hand out to you like he was your boyfriend, picking you up for prom.

"Sorry," you blurted. "I didn't mean to–"

"I know. Let's try that again." He said quietly. "I'm right here."

You nodded. "You're right here."

"Exactly. Walk to me." He instructed gently. "I want to hold you."

Those words had you blushing as you nodded once more. "Okay, okay,"

You took a shakey step and had one foot out of the house. Your breath came fast, but you clenched your muscle, forcing yourself not to go back down. "Damian?" you called out to him.

"Right here, sweetheart." He answered. "You're doing very well."

"How much more?" Your voice shook as you asked.

"Just down those two steps." He spoke calmly. "I'm so proud of you. You're almost there."

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He was proud of you!

The thought had your heart speeding out of happiness, not fear this time, and you dared another step down.

You had sweated profusely and were shivering at the same time. Damian suggested a hot shower would help you calm down.

"Will you stay outside in my room? Please?" You stammered.

He kissed the top of your head and nodded.

After five difficult minutes of sitting on your bed, arms crossed, and leg bouncing in a state, he would describe anything but "calm." Damian got up and opened your shower door.

Damian made his way into the shower, the steam filling his senses as he found you, pouring soap into your hands. He discarded his shirt first. You noticed him, your eyes roaming down his bare upper half. Ridges of muscle never seemed to end, and you blushed again at the thoughts he inspired in you. You didn't say anything, so he lowered his jeans and briefs, slowly stepping into the hot stream with you. He placed a gentle hand on your hip, turning you to face the wall away from him. Pouring some soap into his hands, he began lathering your skin, starting with your back, then making his way around to your chest. Your breath hitched when his hands took your breasts, soap covered thumbs gently gliding over your hardening nipples, making you shudder.

He spent a couple minutes teasing you there. Fingers flicking, pinching, and tickling your nipples. Your back arching against him, hands coming up to press your hands against the wall. "Ah, ah,"

At last, his palm slid down from your breast to cup your core. The sensation had you rolling your head back as you released a breathy moan. "Damian, please, please,"

He breathed heavily against your ear. "What?"

"Please..." You keen searching for the correct words. "... distract me? Make me forget..."

Seeing you like this - so pliable, so desperate - completely conflicted with his original plan coming here. He showed up with a series of excersize in mind to reintroduce you to the idea of safety - of a normal life again, free of fear and paranoia. But of course, he'd gotten carried away the moment he saw you.

Maybe... that's what you - both of you - needed at this moment. He'd been just as eager to get his hands on you as you were at the prospect of being held by him. You wanted a distraction? No problem.

Slowly, his fingers slid down to your core and spread your folds, baring you open, and lining himself up against you before at last, thrusting into you. You welcomed the wonderful stretch with an enthusiastic embrace - your hand coming to hold the nape of his neck behind you. "Mhnn, yes, yes,"

Then, just as you were reaching your climax, all of a sudden, he stopped moving his hand, and his hardness stopped from driving back into you.

You whined at the hugh you were just cut off from. "Damian?" You murmered weakly. "Why'd you stop?"

"You said you wanted a distraction." His response came as if it was obvious. "I plan on making it count."

You shuddered as his breath carresed your shoulder, making your hair rise even in the steaming water. "Oh, please," you moaned. "Please, Dami -"

"Fuck," he groaned at the nickname. His dark arms wrapped around you in a protective embrace, as he moaned, low and dangerous in your ear. He began slowly pushing back into you. "Fuck, I've missed you,"

"Me too." You admitted. "Please, don't stop."

He huffed darkly against your ear. "Say you missed me again, perfect girl. Say it."

"I've missed you."

"Call me 'Dami' again." His fingers were back on your clit and his thrusts picked up again. "Tell me you need me."

"Hnnh, yes, I need you, Dami," you complied, your voices breaking into gasps matching the rhythm of his hips. "So much!"

"Say you'll never leave me again,"

"..."

"... y/n..." His tone was a warning.

"But..." Your voice caught in your throat. You were also caught between unbearable pleasure and your own inner conflict. Your voice broke when you argued, "But that's not fair."

His hand rose to wrap around your throat, though he didnt apply any pressure. "What's not fair?"

"Y- youre the one who didn't want a relationship with me." You stammered.

He pressed his thumb on a vein on your neck, just under your jaw that made your vision go white for a moment. Your head felt light, your thoughts swam and the continued stimulation from his fingers on your clit became much more sensitive as you bucked your hips against him.

"Well, now I do." He declared.

"Well... thats..." You felt your anger rise along with the heartbeat in your chest. It was a feat, balancing lust, anger, and confusion all at once, but you managed somehow. You were very proud of that accomplishment. You weren't proud of the words you used to carry your point across though. "That's dumb, Damian! You're dumb."

Yes. That'll show him, you thought. Especially when all that came from him was silence, shortly followed by a snort of laughter in your ear. His body shook against you. His fingers pausing their ministration on your clit, depriving you of yet. Another. Orgasm. The climax subsided as you clenched around him uselessly. The action had you grumbling in frustration. Here he was, laughing at you while he had you at his mercy. So... cruel!

And you... you little weakling, let him. Let him exercise power of you. Because damn it, it felt good. It's what you needed. All this time without him was wrong. God, he knew exactly how to play you.

So much for feminism. You clutched your hands into fists against the shower wall as a thought occurred. "The water bill is gonna be insane," you complained.

His laughter died down. "If you're thinking about the water bill while we're having sex -"

"Not everyone's rich!" You snapped at him over your shoulder.

Damian could barely contain himself. You were so fucking cute when you were angry. Looking up at him with those glassy eyes that tried too hard to narrow at him. Your pink lips were pouting, too. Inviting all kinds of bad intentions. He loved seeing your resolve crumble.

"Yeah," He gripped your thigh, his tone taunting. "Isn't it great?" He ground out. "You plebs work twenty-four-seven and get nothing, and I get whatever I want."

His fingers returned to your clit, now making rough little circles in excelerating speed. "Speaking of which..."

You weren't propared for the intense wave of pleasure. Your hands didn't know what to hold onto.

"I wanna see you come for me." He wispered against your ear.

"Ask nicely then!" You managed, determined not to indulge him until you got one win. Which was ironic, considering you were edged for the last thirty minutes, and you really, really could use an orgasm.

He let out a chuckle before biting your shoulder. "I wanna see you come for me. Now." The last words were spoken with fake sweetness as he began to thrust into you again. Roughly.

You tried to respond, but words didn't come to you. He'd done what you asked of him - made you forget. The only thing on your mind was his name: "Damian, Damian," which you panted over and over again.

"Gonna sleep so well tonight, baby." He cooed. "Gonna fuck you till you pass out."

You nodded eagerly, feeling that familiar warm feeling start in your core again. "Uh huh, yeah, yeah-"

The long anticipated orgasm had finally reached. You moaned and writhed through it for minutes, as Damian panted and moaned against you, letting the pleasure connect you as a whole.

You fought and lost to your exhation. Slumping against his hard body. You felt yourself be washed with gentle and careful hands, then wrapped in a towel and carried to your twin bed. You felt a silk material brushing against your skin, and guessed Damian must have found the nighty you left for yourself to wear after your shower.

As you were slipping in and out of awareness, your hand rose to hold him, weakly pulling him to you.

Damian dried himself and lay down behind you, wrapping you in his warm arms and turning you towards him. You were petite and fragile in his arms, so innocent and sweet. His brilliant, perfect girl.

As he watched your chest rise and fall with each calm breath you took in your sleep, Damian vowed three things: 1. He wouldn't let anyone else have a view of you like this. 2. He would bring you back to doing what you loved. And 3. He would never let anyone compromise your safety again.

#smut #damian wayne x you #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne #damian al ghul #batman #batboys #dark academia

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skalfy · 8 months ago

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Misunderstandings pt 2 (aka understandings)

alexia putellas x reader, ~4.9k words, part 2/2

The very long-awaited (by me and maybe no one else) second part to this one!

Ingrid had been shocked, then eventually amused when you finally managed to explain Alexia’s presence in your apartment. You couldn’t help but to share her amusement at the situation, albeit tempered with the frustration at how avoidable the whole situation was. It seemed especially ironic that the crueler Alexia had gotten in defense of her friend, the more it had driven you to rely on Ingrid. Jenni had, of course, found the whole thing hilarious. The dark-haired Spaniard had spared a thought for you in acknowledging that it didn’t make your Barcelona career so far any less hellish, but then immediately dissolved into laughter as she made you recount every detail of the captain’s misguided trip to your apartment. By the time you got off the phone with her, Jenni had brought herself to tears with laughter at least three times, the last as she tried to do her best impression of how awkward Alexia would be as she tried to make up for her behavior.

Jenni had not been wrong.

Alexia had started by apologizing. It was sincere, and she looked so miserable that you had no doubts that she had been thinking about her behavior. You had wanted to be tough, to make her work for it, but when she came up to you the next morning with bloodshot eyes and an apology that took full responsibility for her actions and acknowledged how hurtful she’d been, with the promise of more to come, you had accepted and told her you just wanted to move on.

For Alexia, “just moving on” apparently meant cautiously hovering at all times. On the field, she had turned from your greatest critic to your (mostly) silent guardian angel. She was the first to check on you at any sign of discomfort, and showered you with an assortment of items. Water bottle? Alexia was already handing it to you. Chance of rain? Alexia saw you didn’t bring your jacket and just grabbed an extra one, it’s here if you need it. It would have been a bit annoying if she hadn’t been so perceptive and thoughtful. As she paid closer and closer attention, she got quite good at predicting your needs.

—

A few weeks after the apology, Alexia’s hovering had died down to a less alarming level. She still seemed to be extra concerned with your wellbeing, but there was a lot less of the awkward lingering that Jenni had anticipated.

Without Alexia’s poor treatment to contend with, you had also gotten more into the rhythm of the team as well, and you were enjoying time with the team, especially the regular team events.

At the moment, though, you had been feeling the threat of a cold coming on for the past few days, and that plus a cool, rainy game, had left you feeling even more achy and tired than you expected. It was a bit disappointing to miss out on team bonding, but you hardly hesitated to send a message to Lucy and let her know that you wouldn’t make it to the movie night she and Ona were hosting. You loved the team, but you were certain your head wouldn’t be able to take the laughter and loud chatter, not to mention your shoulders and neck were knotted so tight that anything more active than lounging around on your couch sounded miserable.

A gentle knock on your apartment door roused you from the half-sleep you had fallen into. You were disoriented for a moment, head throbbing angrily as you raised it from the cocoon of blankets you had wrapped yourself in. Pirates of the Caribbean was still playing quietly on the tv, and at first you thought that was what had woken you, then another knock at the door sounded and cut through your confusion.

Dragging one of the blankets along, you crossed over to the door and opened it, revealing Alexia.

Unlike the last time she had appeared at your door, the midfielder didn’t push her way past you. Instead, she stood in place, fingers twisting nervously as she waited for you to acknowledge her. For your part, you just stared as your fuzzy head caught up to the situation.

“Hi,” your voice cracked, so you cleared your throat and tried again with marginally more success, “Hola, Alexia.”

“Hola,” she replied. “You weren’t at the movie.” It didn’t sound like a reprimand, but you felt tears prick at the back of your eyes anyway. You felt so uncomfortable and unwell and the thought that Alexia might be here to tell you off for skipping team bonding was overwhelming.

“Sorry.” You mumbled, tugging the blanket tighter around your shoulders and dropping your gaze to the floor.

“No, not sorry! I mean-- dios mio!” The captain sighed in frustration and your stomach dropped. You squeezed your eyes shut, waiting for her to continue. Instead, you were startled by a cool, dry hand gently cupping the side of your head. You couldn’t resist leaning into the soft pressure, and after a second it shifted from your cheekbone to your forehead. “Lo siento, I just came to make sure you are okay. I did not mean to upset you.”

You opened your eyes as Alexia slid her hand from your forehead back into the loose strands of hair escaping your bun, guiding them gently away from your face. The light touch felt good on your aching head, and you fought a shiver at the sensation.

“You feel warm. Let me help, vale?”

You weren’t expecting the offer, but you also weren’t in a state of mind to ponder it further. Plus, while you weren’t sure how you felt about the captain, you did trust that she meant well this time.

“Vale.” You answered, then turned to walk back to your couch. Behind you, the blonde hesitated for a moment before following you in and shutting the door.

After removing her shoes, she entered the living room and hovered awkwardly above where you had laid back down. You scrunched your feet up to make room for her at the end of the couch, but she made no move to sit.

“Have you had paracetamol?”

You shook your head no, then winced at the shot of pain the motion sent from your neck to the base of your skull.

“Is it your head or your neck that hurts?”

“Both, and my shoulders. Just tight from yesterday.” She nodded slowly.

“Where is the paracetamol?”

“Bathroom. Above the sink.” That was apparently her last question and you listened with closed eyes as she walked away.

You half-drifted off for a few minutes as Alexia made her way around your apartment, eventually setting a few things on the coffee table near you. You heard her knees crack as she crouched down, then felt her fingertips trail along your shoulder softly.

“Can you sit up, cari?” Her tone was kind and you complied with the request, moving gingerly. “Gracias. Have this first.” She passed you a mostly peeled banana. You shot her a look, but obediently took a small bite. The midfielder waited patiently as you ate the whole thing, then traded the peel for two tablets and a glass of water. You took the pills with a sip of water, then reached out to return the glass to the table. Alexia intercepted you and pushed the water back, a smile tugging at her lips as you gave her another look before drinking the rest.

“Buen trabajo.” The praise might have made you blush if you were feeling better, but as it was you just handed the glass back.

Before you could lie back down, Alexia grabbed the pillow you had been using and sat where it had been. Setting the pillow on her lap, she gestured for you to lay there, guiding you until you were comfortable on your stomach with the pillow under your head. Surprisingly, the position felt much better than when you had arranged yourself on one side before.

“Okay if I rub your shoulders? To help with the pain?” She asked, voice a little uncertain.

“Yes, please,” you breathed out, desperate for anything to ease how tightly the muscles were knotted.

“Vale.” Her fingertips sunk gently into the muscles of your upper back, thumbs working carefully against the tops of your shoulders. The pressure was light, but you could feel her warm, steady hands start to soften the tension.

You had nearly started to drift off again when the Spaniard moved to slide one hand up to grip the back of your neck. Caught off guard, you surprised yourself with a muffled groan as she dug her fingers in. Her hand stilled, but didn’t move from where it rested.

“Hurts?” Alexia asked in a low voice.

You kept your face tucked in the pillow, but responded, “Only a little. Feels good.

“Good.” You could hear the edge of a smile in her voice.

It didn’t take long after she resumed the massage for you to slip back into sleep.

—

This time when you awoke it wasn’t to the sound of someone at your door. You blinked yourself slowly into full consciousness, realizing as you did so that you weren’t alone. There was a hand cupped protectively against the back of your head, fingers threaded into your hair, and the warm glow of morning light throughout your apartment.

You were surprised to feel only a mild twinge of pain as you tilted your head to look up at the midfielder who was still sitting under you on the couch. You were amazed to see she was fast asleep, tucked into the corner of the couch, but still mostly upright. It couldn’t have been a very comfortable position, but she looked remarkably peaceful.

After another moment of studying the sleeping blonde, you mentally shook your head and began to slowly extricate yourself from her lap. You felt well rested and far better than the night before, but now your body was reminding you that your dinner last night had only been a banana. Just as you carefully started to sit up, Alexia’s hand moved, stroking softly through your hair as she mumbled sleepily.

“Estás bien, dormirse”

Your heart squeezed at the way she instinctively tried to provide comfort.

“Gracias, Alexia. I’m okay.” You replied quietly, gently completing your move to sit up out of her grasp. “I’m just going to make some breakfast, you can lie down and sleep.”

The blonde didn’t acknowledge your words, but when you stood up and draped your blanket over her form she did lean deeper into the couch and burrow into it rather adorably.

—-

As you moved through the kitchen, starting the coffee maker and heating up a pan for eggs, you thought about your visitor. It had been clear already from Alexia’s actions that she was trying to make up for the way she had treated you at the beginning, but the concern and care she had shown last night was more than you had expected. It hadn’t felt like an act either, the midfielder had simply seen you feeling poorly and stepped in to help. If this was the Alexia the rest of the team had all along, then you understood why everyone else held her in such high regard.

You were pretty certain, deep down, you had already forgiven the captain, but last night had certainly washed away any last temptation to hold a grudge. Alexia may have been in the wrong, but she had shown that her opinion of you had changed, and that she felt guilty about how cruel she had been. And, not that it excused anything, but you did understand her motivation in a sense– if nothing else she was trying to be a good friend, you’d grant her that.

The midfielder had been one of the players you were most excited to play with and learn from, so finally realizing that you both might be able to put the rocky start behind you was a relief. You felt almost like a weight had been physically lifted from your chest, though maybe that was just another ache that such a good night of sleep apparently fixed.

“Bon dia.” You looked up from the stovetop at the sound of Alexia’s voice. She was standing in the entryway looking somewhere between sleep-mussed and frustratingly model-like.

“Bon dia, Capi” you replied. “Thank you. For checking on me and for staying to help, I feel much better now.”

She ducked her head, but you caught a flash of pink across her cheeks as she did so. “No hay de qué, I’m glad you are better. Thank you for letting me sleep on your sofa.”

Now it was your turn to feel your cheeks heat. Did Alexia not realize you’d spent the whole night half on top of her, or was she just trying to give you a chance to pretend otherwise in case you were embarrassed. You chose your next words intentionally. “You are welcome to it anytime you would like, though I don’t think I gave you much of a choice when I fell asleep on you.”

The blonde’s bright smile told you that you chose correctly.

“Do you want any coffee? Eggs?” You asked, finally remembering the breakfast you were in the middle of making.

“I would, but my sister has already texted me four times to demand I meet her. I just wanted to check to see if you need anything before I go.”

“No, you’ve done more than enough for me already, don’t make your sister text you a fifth time.” You said, sliding the pan off the heat and stepping over toward Alexia. She stood completely still as you approached, but when you reached up to pull her into a hug, she softened into it immediately, wrapping her arms around your back to hold you tight. It reminded you instantly of the comfort of Jenni’s hugs, and you couldn’t help but feel like you’d missed out all these months of not hugging Alexia.

—

In the weeks since she had spent the night, you felt like you had turned a corner with your relationship with Alexia. You weren’t holding onto the memories of her unkindness, and there was no longer any part of you that feared her attitude might change again. The only problem was that it didn’t seem like she had the same confidence you did. You couldn’t help but feel like the captain was still going out of her way to make it up to you.

It wasn’t that you didn’t appreciate the special attention she was paying you, but what you really wanted was to move on and put the whole thing behind you. Alexia’s guilt over something you’d already let go wasn’t necessary, and there was a not-so-small part of you that feared if you waited too much longer you were going to end up hurt when she inevitably pulled away on her own. Once the Spaniard realized that everything was fine between the two of you, she would go back to being a professional, a teammate and captain and nothing else, and you understood that. It was just that it made your heart sink a little to think about it. You had gotten used to her attention, nothing more than that– but you know that it would be better to cut things off before you got too used to it.

All these thoughts were not far from the front of your mind when you arrived at the last full practice before your first Champions League game. Alexia met you as you stepped out of your car (or, rather, Alexia materialized a foot away from you when you looked up after closing your car door, which startled you the first few times, but now was a normal part of your morning). The midfielder passed you one of the two coffee cups she held, giving you a quick smile in response to your enthusiastic “¡Gracias!”

The coffee thing was a relatively new part of the captain’s arsenal of apology gestures. She had appeared one morning and nearly forced the cup into your hand before walking away quickly. Once you had recovered your wits, you had taken a sip and discovered that it was a dirty chai– your favorite. It had only taken a little wrangling to get the story from Ingrid; Alexia had FaceTimed Mapi from the coffee shop and demanded to be handed over to her girlfriend so that Ingrid could give your order to a highly amused barista. Since then, the morning coffee had become a regular occurrence, and you had managed to get the midfielder to stick around and walk in with you.

You were intent on practicing your Spanish, so the two of you chatted the whole way, Alexia patiently letting you work your way through what you wanted to say without interrupting. She was one of your favorite people to practice with for that reason– so many of your other teammates were quick to finish your thought for you, or just wanted to practice their English instead.

It was exactly this kind of interaction, though, that was troubling you, and you resolved to fix the situation once and for all by the end of the day.

—

Practice had gone well, and you were feeling both nerves and excitement as you walked off the pitch knowing that there was just recovery and a light training session between now and your UWCL debut. The familiar sounds of Patri and Pina’s banter filled your ears as you followed the pair into the changing room, but when they suddenly went silent, you looked up to see both pairs of eyes looking right at you.

“Someone has an admirer,” Pina said, giving you a pointed smirk. You were confused for a moment, then saw past the two of them to your locker. There was clearly a vase of flowers inside, along with a ribbon-tied white box. You felt your cheeks flush. Unable to come up with a witty response to knock the curiosity out of your nosy teammates, you just shook your head and slid between the two to reach your locker and the gifts inside.

The flowers were beautiful, and you moved them carefully off of the box and deeper into your locker. Normally, you might have had the good sense to spirit the gift away from the prying eyes of your teammates, but you were certain you recognized it, and you couldn’t wait a moment longer to confirm. You pulled the red ribbon to release the knot, and as it fell loose, you raised the lid to reveal exactly what you suspected.

Inside were four mouthwatering breads that you knew immediately were from the little bakery near your apartment in Nuevo Leon. It had become a tradition, almost a superstition, for you to stop there on the morning of an important game when you had played for Tigres, and it was a tradition you sorely missed. You felt a sting behind your eyes as you realized what someone had done for you.

You closed the box up carefully, protecting the perfect breads once again before you made your way to shower. As you crossed the locker room, you caught the gaze of your captain already on you. Her cheeks colored, but she didn’t look away immediately, offering you a bashful smile that confirmed what you already knew about the source of your gifts.

—

By the time you finished your shower, everyone but Alexia had filtered out of the changing room. She was quiet as you toweled your hair dry and dressed, eyes glued to a boot that she was holding and… inspecting carefully? You broke the silence as you .

“Someone left beautiful flowers and a very thoughtful gift for me. Maybe someone who did their research and found out one of my old traditions.” At your words, Alexia finally looked up.

“Hmm. A lo mejor.” Her tone was neutral, but the same bashful smile you saw before crept across her face. “They are right? I had to trust Jenni and she likes to… joke.”

“Yes, they’re perfect. Thank you, Alexia.” You crossed the room to pull her into a tight hug, whispering an extra “gracias, capi” as you pulled back.

“You are welcome,” she whispered back, sounding almost breathless. “I just want you to feel happy here like you did there. And I want you to score goals for us in Champions like you scored for Tigres.”

You laughed at her final comment, but even to your own ears your huff of amusement held a dangerous edge of affection for the woman in front of you. A woman who, you reminded yourself, was just trying to be a good captain to you and make up for the weeks of misguided ire.

“Maybe I’ll even score a golazo for you.” You said, cringing inwardly at how much it sounded like a line one of the men’s team players would try on you back in college. You tacked on “As a thank you, of course.” somewhat awkwardly. Alexia’s smile in response was so bright that you couldn’t tell whether she was laughing at you or genuinely pleased by the prospect. Either way, you couldn’t help but smile in return.

“Trato hecho. I will see you tomorrow.” The midfielder gave you one last quick smile as she turned to leave. As you watched her cross the room toward the door, you remembered your resolution from the start of practice. As much as you appreciated Alexia’s kindness, you had to rip off the proverbial band-aid. You called out to the blonde making her way out of the locker room.

“Alexia!”

She stopped and turned immediately at the sound of your voice, walking back over to where you had both stood a moment ago.

“¿Sí? You are okay?” Her eyes scanned across you quickly as if checking to make sure you hadn’t somehow been injured in the last 30 seconds.

“Yeah, I just needed to tell you, um…” you trailed off, wishing now that you hadn’t called her back quite so impulsively. Her eyes had now settled intently on your face and it caught you off guard when you saw the intense, almost hopeful look in them. “You should know that I already forgave you, Ale. A long time ago. I appreciate how nice and thoughtful you have been, and the gifts and everything you’ve done, but I can’t let you keep doing it out of guilt. You can treat me like everyone else now, I just want to have you as my teammate and captain.”

“You.. que?” She furrowed her brows elegantly, face puzzled for a moment before it smoothed over into neutrality as she seemed to comprehend your words. When she spoke, her voice matched the blankness of her face. “Ah. Vale. Okey. Solo tu capitana.”

Her tone and words surprised you, but before you could react, Alexia mumbled a quiet “adeu,” and made a break for the door.

—

You had puzzled over Alexia’s reaction as you gathered up your belongings, flowers and box of panes included, and headed home. You had expected her to be, maybe not pleased, but at least glad to hear that you had moved past the earlier bad blood. She had clearly cared about fixing things, given the amount of effort she had put in to make it up to you, so why wouldn’t it be good news to her that you wanted to move past it?

The moment her face dropped into impassivity still hung in your mind as you set the beautiful vase of flowers on your kitchen table. As you rotated them slightly to appreciate the bouquet, a folded piece of paper caught your attention. It was nestled unobtrusively between soft petals, tucked away discreetly, probably so that prying eyes like Pina’s wouldn’t notice at a glance. You slipped it out carefully, unfolding and smoothing the creases so you could read the words inside.

Hola Y/N,

I hope you like the flowers. The florist said they mean luck and strength. You are already strong, and I know you don’t need luck, but they are very beautiful and extra luck is always good.

There was a crooked smiley face at the end of the sentence, and the thought of Alexia drawing it made you smile.

I am so happy that you are playing for Barca, and I am excited to watch you play in Champions League for the first time. You will be incredible, like you always are. No matter what happens in the game I am already proud of you, and I want to thank you for letting me earn your trust after how I acted.

If you have forgiven me, would you let me take you out to dinner after the game?

Con cariño,

Ale

The unfiltered kindness made your chest burn warm with affection, and you felt a swell of excitement at the invitation. It sounded almost like the captain was asking you on a date, and the idea filled your stomach with butterflies. Suddenly, your heart dropped. If it was an invitation to go on a date, then your words in the changing room must have sounded like an attempt to let Alexia down easy. You had clearly told her that you only wanted her to be your teammate. Thinking that you were freeing her from the burden of winning your forgiveness, saving your own heart from accidentally being strung along by the well-meaning captain, had you ruined the chance of more?

Without thinking, you picked up the phone and called Ingrid.

“Hei du! What’s happening?” The norwegian answered after a ring.

“Ingrid. I think I fucked up.”

You explained the situation to her, speaking so quickly she had to ask you to slow down and repeat more than once. You finally finished with a wavery voice. “Do you think there’s a chance she might… have feelings for me?’

“Y/N…” Ingrid drew your name out slowly, then paused. “I think Alexia has been pretty well in love with you since about two days after she found out you weren’t stealing me from Maria. Herregud, you’ve been the only thing she talks or thinks about besides football. Maria’s been complaining for weeks that Alexia is too busy watching you to notice all the pranks she’s pulled on all children.”

You didn’t know what to say, and for a long minute Ingrid didn’t push you. Then, finally, she spoke again.

“Do you have feelings for Alexia?”

Your instinct was to defer, and “I don’t know” was right on the tip of your tongue, but before you said it, it felt wrong in your mouth. You thought about the way being around Alexia felt, the way you felt warm all over when she praised you, and how incredible it felt to be the center of her attention. You also thought about how good she looked on and off the pitch, the way her whole face lit up with a smile, and how she had looked standing in your kitchen, sleep-mussed from a night asleep on your couch. You bit your lip, cheeks rising in a grin.

“Yes.” You whispered.

“I think you better give our capitana a call.” You could just about hear the twinkle in Ingrid’s eye.

“Thank you, Ingrid.”

You exchanged your goodbyes and ended the call, then after a deep breath, before you could lose your nerve, you called Alexia.

“Y/N?” She answered immediately.

“Alexia, hi. Hola.” You immediately stumbled over your words. “I read your note. I hadn’t read it yet when we talked before.”

“Sí, vale…” She said, imploringly.

“I thought everything you have been doing was to apologize, so that’s why I told you that I had already forgiven you. Because I have, and I like being your friend, and I like when you are sweet to me, and pay attention to me, and ask Jenni and Ingrid what my favorite things are. I was afraid that if you were doing those things because you felt guilty, that one day you would realize you didn’t have to feel guilty anymore, and you would start treating me just like every other teammate. Which would be okay, but it would also break my heart a little. So I wanted to make sure it happened soon, because I thought the later it happened, the more it would hurt.”

You paused, and the midfielder made no move to interrupt your explanation.

“But after reading your note, it made me think that maybe I misunderstood. And it gave me hope that you might have feelings for me. Like the feelings that I have for you. So when I said I just wanted you to be my teammate and captain, I didn’t know that there could be an option for you to be more. So let me try to give you a better answer to the question you wrote in the note: I have forgiven you, and me gustaría mucho ir a cenar contigo.”

“Really?” Alexia breathed out.

“Really.” You replied. “I like you a lot, Alexia.”

“I like you a lot, too.” The smile in her voice was unmistakable, and you felt the last vestiges of worry drop away. You might have gotten started on the wrong foot, but things were looking pretty good after all.

Not planning for a part 3, but if anyone is really interested, let me know and I could be persuaded :)

tag: @marvelwomen-simp

#woso x reader #woso fanfics #alexia putellas x reader #woso imagine #woso imagines #barca femeni #alexia putellas

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