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cameronsbabydoll · 3 days ago

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rafe cameron au ideas in my notes app! 🗒️ 🤍

let me know which you want to see!! ALSO PLS DO NOT STEAL ANY OF THESE!! THESE ARE MY IDEAS!

🛸 abduction survivor au

you were kidnapped for months and returned with no memory. everyone treats you like glass. rafe was your ex—the one you left before you vanished. now he’s back in your life, obsessed with protecting you.

only he knows where you were.

because he’s the one who took you.

�� ex-rockstar!rafe

he had it all: the fame, the girls, the coke. but he disappeared mid-tour, vanished into the carolinas. now he’s living alone in a lakehouse. you’re the girl who finds out who he really is—and instead of pushing you away, he lets you stay.

but you don’t know why he left.

or who he killed.

🛞 nascar driver!rafe southern golden boy, all charm and danger. he wins, crashes, bleeds, repeats. you’re the PR girl assigned to fix his image. he calls you “darlin’.” you hate it. he calls you at midnight. you answer. and when he crashes again, you’re the only name he says.

�� travel blogger!rafe (toxic edition) he documents his life online—beautiful cities, women, hotels. you’re the only one who shows up in every photo. but not by name. not tagged. you’re his secret. and he likes it that way.

🎢 amusement park!rafe

he runs the ride you’re terrified of. tattoos, sunglasses, always chewing gum. flirts shamelessly as he locks your safety bar in.

you come back again. and again.

he gives you free tickets.

you don’t know he got fired weeks ago—he’s just been showing up for you.

🛟 lifeguard!rafe

red swim trunks, lazy attitude, always wearing sunglasses inside. you’re the nerdy summer hire.

you get heatstroke your first week.

he carries you to the first aid room and acts like it’s no big deal.

but now he watches everything.

won’t even let you near the deep end unless he’s there.

🧳 bellboy!rafe (but secretly rich)

he works at a luxury hotel, carrying luggage and judging everyone. you’re a guest—soft, girly, rich.

he hates your perfume. your little skirts. your voice.

but he keeps getting assigned to your room.

and he does not take tips.

because he already owns the place

🎤 failed soundcloud rapper!rafe he’s your older brother’s friend. he lives in your garage. he records songs about “loyalty” and “betrayal” and posts thirst traps. you laugh at him once. and now he writes every verse about you.

🎥 indie director!rafe pretentious film bro who only shoots in black & white. he casts you as the lead in his “gritty” student film. you’ve never acted before. he says that’s what makes you

🛥️ boat tour guide!rafe (washed up rich boy era) he used to be someone. now he’s tan, barefoot, bitter—working tourist gigs on the island. you’re the girl who booked a solo ride. he thinks you’re naive. you think he’s broken. and when the boat "accidentally" drifts into a private cove... he doesn’t take you back.

🎮 esports champion!rafe (spoiled toxic gamer)

he’s 23, rich, and still acts like a reddit mod. his fans love him. his teammates hate him.

you’re the shy girl who wins a charity meet & greet.

he thinks you’re boring.

until you beat him.

and then he can’t stop DMing you.

🪚 woodworker!rafe (grumpy small town recluse)

he lives in the woods. builds furniture. barely speaks. you inherit your grandma’s house and hire him for a repair.

he touches your wrist to measure something.

you blush.

he stares.

“i could build you something softer.”

👨‍👧 single dad!rafe

he’s rough around the edges, has custody of his daughter, and never dates.

you’re her new preschool teacher.

she draws you in every crayon picture.

and he starts showing up early. stays late.

asks if you like wine.

🛌 sleep specialist!rafe (medical-ish, creepy edition)

you go to a sleep clinic because you’re waking up with bruises and no memory.

rafe is your assigned doctor.

you fall asleep hooked to wires.

and he watches.

because it’s not your body that’s restless.

it’s what’s inside you.

💒 wedding planner!rafe (obsessive & unhinged) you’re a blushing bride. he’s the planner your fiancé hired last-minute. detail-obsessed. unsettlingly calm. he starts changing things—your dress, your colors, your venue. then your fiancé disappears. and rafe smiles. “i’ll make it perfect, sweetheart. just like you.”

🕷️ pest control!rafe (genuinely horrifying) you call someone to deal with the weird scratching in your walls. he shows up. says it’s not bugs. starts coming by every night. asks if you’ve been having bad dreams. asks if you’ve fed it. starts staying over. you’re not sure if he’s protecting you or keeping you still.

🪞 mirror salesman!rafe (supernatural possession au) you buy an antique mirror. he delivers it. and then you start seeing him in the reflection even when he’s not there. he says he’s just checking in. he says you’re his. and you believe him. even when your reflection starts moving without you.

🎯 carnival worker!rafe (gritty & obsessive) he runs the ring toss. has scars. chews toothpicks. calls you “princess.” you win a cheap stuffed animal. he asks for your number. you say no. and now your face is in every funhouse mirror.

🏰 medieval knight!rafe (lowkey unhinged protector) he’s your sworn guard. you’re promised to another man. he kneels before you. calls you “my lady.” tells you he’d die before letting someone else touch you. but when war breaks out… he doesn’t die. he kills. and steals you in the night.

🧼 laundromat owner!rafe (obsessed loner type) he watches you through the security cams. always turns on your favorite machine. leaves little notes. a folded sock. a chocolate bar. you think it's cute. until you find one of your shirts in his car. folded. and kissed.

🐍 snake handler!rafe (low growly animal man) he works at the weird exotic pet shop. slow, southern drawl, hands always dirty. you flinch around the snakes. he laughs. calls you “fragile thing.” one day he lets you hold one. says “they only bite if you’re scared.” and puts his hand around your throat.

31. 🎞️ 1950s diner boy!rafe x soft sockhop reader he flips burgers, smokes behind the building, says things like “what’s a pretty girl like you doin’ out this late?” you wear cardigans and saddle shoes and always say thank you. but you sit in his section every saturday. and he starts spiking your milkshakes with secrets.

32. 🕶️ 1960s cult leader!rafe x flower child reader you follow the caravan out west, looking for peace. he finds you barefoot in the desert and calls you an angel. feeds you berries, whispers about fate. you believe he’s gentle until you try to leave. and he smiles like god.

33. 📼 1980s mall goth!rafe x prep reader you wear pearls and read cosmo. he shoplifts eyeliner and writes his name on the bathroom stall. you kiss at the roller rink and he tastes like metal. he keeps your picture in his wallet and a knife in his boot. and the first time you cry, he laughs and says, "good. now you’re mine."

34. 📹 1990s video store clerk!rafe x shy reader you come in every friday to rent romcoms. he never speaks until one day he slides you a blank tape. you take it home. it’s footage of you. through your bedroom window.

35. 📟 2000s warehouse rave dealer!rafe x academic honors girl reader he sells molly in a strobe-lit room. you get dragged there by your roommate. he sees your cardigan, your ballet flats, your physics textbook peeking out of your purse. asks if you’re lost. you say no. you are.

36. 🪖 1940s war nurse!reader x soldier!rafe (psychologically broken) he’s injured, bleeding out, calls you beautiful even as he chokes on blood. you stitch him up. he won’t stop looking at you. won’t let anyone else near. says he’s gonna marry you. says he’ll go back to the front if you say no.

37. 🎤 1970s rockstar!rafe x sweet christian reader you meet backstage. you’re volunteering. he’s high and calling you “baby.” you say you don’t believe in casual sex. he laughs. then writes an entire album about corrupting you. and dedicates it to “the one who ran.

38. 🕹️ 80s arcade owner!rafe x weird tomboy reader you hang around all day, chewing gum and beating the high score. he calls you trouble. gives you quarters for free. starts letting you into the back room where the real games are. the ones that don’t belong in public.

39. 📻 1930s radio host!rafe x mail-order bride reader you win a contest: marriage to the “most eligible voice in america.” he sends a train ticket. you arrive to a broken-down house and a man who doesn’t look like his photo. he smiles, says you’ll adjust. says your voice is even better when you cry.

40. 🧤 1920s bootlegger!rafe x flapper reader (rebellious but naive) he finds you singing in a speakeasy. calls you “baby doll.” gives you pearls and gin and a gun. you think it’s glamorous. until you see the blood on his cuff. and he asks you to help hide the body.

41. 📼 y2k party boy!rafe x good girl reader he’s the rich kid who throws house parties. you only came for extra credit. he kisses you during seven minutes in heaven, says he likes the way you blush. and now he won’t stop calling your house phone. won’t stop showing up at your school. “you kissed me first, remember?”

42. 📚 1930s librarian!reader x rich heir!rafe he keeps coming in, ruining the silence, asking dumb questions. but he watches you like a wolf. drops crisp bills in the donation box. asks why you never smile. you say he doesn’t scare you. you lie.

43. 🧿 psychic!rafe x cursed!reader you were born under a bad moon. bad luck follows you everywhere. he’s the psychic in a dusty roadside town who touches your hand and goes still. says “i’ve been dreaming of you.” says “you’re mine in every lifetime.” says the only way to break your curse is to stay with him. forever.

44. 🔪 detective!rafe x missing girl reader you’re the face on the flyers. the girl who disappeared. he finds you. brings you home. but he never files the report. never tells the department. because he’s the one who found you. so now you’re his.

45. 🔒 prison guard!rafe x inmate!reader you got locked up for something you didn’t do. he believes you. believes in you. tells you he’s gonna protect you. he starts slipping you things—notes, snacks, keys. but when your release date comes… the paperwork goes missing.

46. 🕳️ neighbor!rafe x homebody reader (creepcore) you never leave your apartment. he likes that. you keep your curtains closed. he likes that too. but when your packages start going missing, you knock on his door. he’s already dressed for you. already knows your name. already has a shrine.

47. 💻 hacker!rafe x influencer reader you’re perfect on camera. filtered, loved, adored. but he sees the metadata. the real you. hacks your phone. watches you through the lens. starts changing your passwords. texting you from numbers you don’t recognize. telling you what to wear. what to say. and then one day, he shows up at your door—uninvited but expected.

48. 🍓 farmhand!rafe x city girl reader (isolated, slow-burn psychosis) you inherit a farmhouse. alone, city-born, clueless. he helps. teaches you things. fixes your roof. you call him sweet. he calls you “his girl.” and then your car won’t start. the phone line’s cut. but the fridge is full. and he says “you’re safe here.”

49. 🕰️ antique clockmaker!rafe x reincarnated reader he’s immortal. you’re the same girl in every lifetime. he always finds you. always loves you. and every time, you die too soon. this time, he says, he’s not letting you go. this time, he’s going to stop time.

50. 🐚 lighthouse keeper!rafe x washed-up girl reader (gothic horror vibes) you wake up on the shore. bruised. dazed. he finds you. says the sea brought you to him. you ask for a way back. he says “there’s nothing to go back to.” the waves crash harder when you try to leave.

51. 💉 emergency medic!rafe x reckless reader (toxic obsession) you keep showing up in the ER—bruised, sick, dizzy. he patches you up. lectures you. gets colder every time. until one night he leans down and whispers, “i don’t like watching you break yourself for people who don’t deserve you.” and the next time someone hurts you— they disappear.

52. 🧼 obsessive cleaner!rafe x feral girl reader you live like chaos. dirty dishes. wine-stained pillows. he works for the cleaning service your landlord hired. he starts staying late. scrubbing harder. starts folding your underwear. starts buying things “for you.” until one night he says, “you don’t have to live like this. let me take care of you.” and moves in without asking.

53. 🩻 radiologist!rafe x sickly reader (medical kink, twisted caretaking) he sees you on the screen first. your scans, your file. starts requesting your case. calls you “my little patient.” tells you you’re special. you don’t even realize you’re getting sicker. but he does. and he likes it.

54. 🔭 astronomer!rafe x insomniac reader you can’t sleep. he works at the observatory. lets you in late at night. says the stars are watching you. calls you “celestial.” writes your name on every constellation map. starts sending you letters in morse code. you think it’s romantic— until he stops using a telescope and starts using a camera.

55. 🧷 psychiatric orderly!rafe x inpatient reader you’re admitted for a breakdown. he’s the only one who treats you gently. but he never lets you near the phones. always adjusts your dosage himself. tells you your family stopped calling. tells you the world outside isn’t safe. but he is.

56. 💼 1950s door-to-door salesman!rafe x housewife!reader he knocks at your door every tuesday with a new vacuum, new grin, new excuse. your husband’s always away. you always say no. until one day, he doesn’t leave. just sets the box down and says, “you don’t have to pretend anymore.” and steps inside.

57. 🍸 1960s ad man!rafe x secretary!reader (mad men-coded) he smokes menthols and drinks gin by noon. calls you “doll,” “baby,” “sweetheart.” you bring him coffee. you see him watching you from the glass wall. he tells you you’re the only girl in this building who’s not fake. and when the lights go off, he makes you prove it.

58. 🧺 1950s milkman!rafe x lonely housewife!reader your husband is never home. your neighbors whisper. rafe shows up every morning with fresh bottles and warm eyes. leaves little notes. asks how you slept. asks if you’re cold at night. then one day your husband doesn’t come home. but the milk keeps arriving.

59. ☎️ 1960s switchboard operator!reader x cop!rafe he keeps calling the station line after hours. says he’s just checking in. asks what you’re wearing. you tell him to stop. but the calls keep coming. until you see him across the street. smiling. not holding a phone.

60. 🧽 1950s neighborhood watch!rafe x younger reader you’re the sweet girl next door with curlers in your hair. he’s older, clean-shaven, everyone’s favorite “community man.” he says you shouldn’t walk home alone. he says boys your age don’t respect girls like you. he says he’ll drive you. but he never takes you straight home.

61. 🕶️ 1960s undercover fed!rafe x secretary!reader (cold war paranoia) you get assigned to a new boss. he’s stiff. serious. strange. but he’s always asking about your life. your schedule. your friends. and then your friends start disappearing.

62. 🧑‍🔬 1950s scientist!rafe x subject!reader (atomic age horror) you signed up for a government-funded health study. he runs the tests. he tells you your body’s changing. he keeps you longer each visit. starts calling you his. says you’re not safe out there anymore. not with what’s inside you now.

63. 🩰 1950s ballet instructor!rafe x obedient student!reader you’re the softest, smallest girl in the class. he calls you perfect. but when you misstep, he grips your waist too tight. breathes down your neck. says “try again, darling. or I’ll break you in.”

64. 📚 nerd!rafe x mean!popular!reader (but you bully him first) you were paired with him for a group project. you make fun of his glasses. his pants. his pens. he acts like he doesn’t care. but he’s writing fanfic about you now. violent fanfic. and one night, you find it. and instead of being disgusted— you smirk and say “you want to try it?”

65. 🎮 gamer!loser!rafe x camgirl!reader (toxic simp energy) you’re a camgirl who plays dress-up and blows kisses. he’s been your top tipper for months. you say his name once on stream and he loses it. prints it out. writes it on his walls. starts showing up to your P.O. box. and now he thinks you owe him something.

66. 🖋️ creative writing major!nerd!rafe x popular!reader (he writes dark drabbles abt you) you’re loud, hot, always late to class. he sits in the back and watches. when it’s his turn to share his story, it’s about a girl with your name. about the things he’d do to her. everyone laughs. you don’t. and when you ask him if it was really about you— he just says “do you want it to be?”

67. 📸 photography club!rafe x cheerleader!reader (voyeur-coded) you agreed to let him take pics of you for the school exhibit. what you don’t know is he’s been taking them since before you said yes. in your car window. through your blinds. and when you ask to see the proofs, he shows you the folder labeled “mine.”

68. 📚 tutor!nerd!rafe x flirty dumb!reader you ask him to tutor you in econ. you don’t know how to stop biting your pen. he doesn’t know how to stop staring. you get every answer wrong. but you bat your lashes and go “oops.” and suddenly he’s gripping the desk and telling you, “say oops again and i’ll fucking ruin you.”

69. 💼 tech support!loser!rafe x bratty!rich!intern!reader you keep forgetting your password. he keeps resetting it for you. you call him a dork. a lifesaver. a little genius. he saves every voicemail. and when he hacks your laptop and turns on your webcam, he says it’s just so he can protect you.

70. 🎓 teacher’s assistant!rafe x spoiled dumb!reader you keep showing up during office hours in mini skirts. he says you’re wasting time. you pout and say you’re trying. he knows you’re lying. knows you want attention. and one day he snaps. locks the door. says “you want an A? earn it.��

71. 🧠 stem major!rafe x sweet but dumb!reader he’s cold. brilliant. always correcting people. you wear bows and pink headphones and never get the formula right. he tells you you’re embarrassing. tells you to focus. but he starts walking you to class. starts carrying your books. and when someone calls you stupid, he doesn’t correct them—he threatens them.

#rafe cameron au #rafe cameron #rafe cameron headcanons #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron x yn #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe obx #cameronsbabydoll ⋆. 𐙚 ˚#rafe outer banks #rafe cameron prompt #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron fanfiction

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sweet-s0rr0w · 14 hours ago

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for @drarrymicrofic prompt wound - red string of fate silliness, 700 words.

***

The first time Harry felt his string was in the dusty aftermath of the Battle. Most of him hurt, and the rest felt numb, and so it was a few days before he registered the tugging, or discovered the length of scarlet thread wound around his little finger. A soulmate, he thought, with no small degree of bitterness. Something new to worry about.

There was no time for worrying that summer, though. That summer was already spoken for: first Scotland for the rebuild, then back home for the trials, and by the time the wind turned autumn-sharp, Harry’s string had disappeared.

It came back at Christmas.

“It’s nothing,” Harry insisted, as Ginny scrambled off the bed, pale-faced. “Whoever she is, she’s probably in Australia or something. Who cares?”

Ginny did, as it turned out.

She wasn’t the only one, either. Most people pretended it didn’t matter at first, but amid the dying gasps of each failed relationship, there it was again: something sour, something rotten. “I’m not your soulmate, anyway,” they’d mutter, as though they’d been tricked. As though Harry had tricked them.

He began to hide it: wearing gloves over the holidays, tucking his hand beneath long sleeves for those same two weeks every June. He’d feel the pull starting and make his excuses, Apparating home or disappearing upstairs. Alone, though, strangely, he found he didn’t mind it. He rarely saw the red of the string, which disappeared off into nothing; usually the only sign was a bloodless indent, just below the nail bed. He’d run his finger over and over the notch and picture a formless someone doing the same at the other end.

But who? And where?

“I mean, it’s got to be worth checking out, right?” he said to Ron, tugging on his rucksack outside the Portkey station. “Maybe it’s why I have such shit luck in love.”

But she – or he, as Harry increasingly suspected – wasn’t in Australia, after all. No matter; surely, with this, there was no rush. His instincts took him to the great gardens of Japan, the white sands of Bali, the bazaars of Jaipur. Then, frustrated, he continued west: northern Africa, southern Europe, where he paused in Rome for a brief, unsatisfying affair, then up through Germany; still, there was no sign of the thread.

“You’ve got to come back,” Hermione told him, voice staticky over the international Floo. Harry was in Dinard by then, heart-sick, belly heavy with beer and Breton crêpes. France had been the closest yet, he was sure of it. That first night, in Bordeaux, he’d been pulled abruptly from a dream, could have sworn he’d felt –

“It’s his tenth birthday,” Hermione reminded him. “He’ll be so disappointed if you miss it.”

“Yeah, mate,” Ron chimed in, from somewhere in the background. “It’s been months. Face it, you have shit luck in love because you only date arrogant pricks.”

He was still bitter about Ginny, Harry reckoned.

Reluctantly, Harry Apparated in to the party, though it had been so long that he mistimed his jump, and ended up in Andy’s kitchen. He staggered forward, dropping both his suitcase and Teddy’s badly-wrapped present on the tiles.

“Excuse me,” came an affronted voice from somewhere near the fridge.

“Sorry, I–”

Then the man straightened, adjusted his collar and – oh god, it was Malfoy. And oh god, Harry was staring. It was just – he hadn’t expected this, hadn’t expected Malfoy at all, and certainly hadn’t expected him to look like this. Malfoy was broader now, tanned, freckled, and he was wearing a linen shirt, open halfway down his chest. He looked like every one of the arrogant pricks Harry had dated. Harry’s mouth watered, and his heart pounded, and his little finger throbbed. Distracted, he flexed it, then when that didn't work he shook his whole hand in annoyance.

Malfoy inhaled sharply as the motion caught his eye. He stilled, almost dazed, then extended his own hand towards Harry.

Harry knew, of course, before he looked down.

“It doesn’t mean–” Malfoy began, cautious, at the same time as Harry said “we don’t have to–”

They both paused, laughing. Looped between the two of them, their red string shook.

Time slowed down. Around them, everything grew bright. Harry stepped forward, wound the thread loosely around his hand, and reeled Malfoy in.

“Hi,” he said.

#drarry #a birthday microfic from me!#i treated myself to some writing time <3 #ss writes #another non-micro micro

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joces-wrld · 2 days ago

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IN WHICH— chris keeps putting you back together, just for you to break yourself again

| sort of angst, not proofread.

| the REST of this writing marathon!!

you knock on his door at 12:47 a.m. again.

you don’t even have to say anything when he opens it. your eyes are red, makeup is smudged, hoodie sleeves are pulled over your hands like you’re trying to disappear. he doesn’t ask questions. he just steps aside, lets you in, and holds you when you fall apart for the third time this month.

third time this week, really.

your ex said something cruel again. made you feel small. like you were too much and not enough all at once. and somehow, some—fucking—how you still love him. still think he’s the one.

chris doesn’t get it.

he never will.

but he holds you anyway. makes tea you won’t drink and puts on your favorite comfort movie. he pulls the blanket over your shoulders and presses a kiss to the top of your head like that alone could fix everything.

he knows it won’t. but he still hopes.

“i don’t know why i let him do this to me,” you whisper. “i feel so stupid.”

you’re not stupid. just soft. just hopeful. just too willing to believe a boy, who doesn’t deserve you, will suddenly change.

but chris can’t say that, not without sounding bitter.

so he just says, “you’re not stupid,” and pulls you closer.

you fall asleep on his chest, breathing slow and warm against his hoodie, like this is home. and for a second, he lets himself pretend it is.

you’ll wake up tomorrow, and everything will be okay for a while. you’ll smile at him in the kitchen, steal his phone to take pictures, laugh at something dumb he says. you’ll promise you’re done for good this time. done with the boy who keeps breaking you. done with hurting.

and for a few days, maybe a week, you’ll mean it.

you’ll text chris first. you’ll let him hold your hand in public. you’ll tell your friends how much he’s been there for you, how he always makes you feel better, how he never makes you cry.

but then he’ll text you. him.

and suddenly chris is just a safety net again.

a soft place to land.

a temporary fix.

because you’ll go running back to him, again.

“i just needed closure,” you’ll say. “it didn’t mean anything,” you’ll insist.

and chris will nod like it doesn’t gut him.

because what can he say? he’s just your friend. the one who loves you in all the quiet ways you never seem to notice. the one who memorized your favorite snacks, and your late-night cries, and how you like your hair held back when you’re sobbing on his bathroom floor.

he’s the one who fixes you.

but never the one you choose.

and it’s killing him.

he promised he’d be there till the end, but maybe this is the end. maybe the softest kind of love is the one that learns when to stop being your bandaid. when to stop letting you come back only to leave again.

but tonight, you’re in his bed, asleep, heart shattered. your body curled into his like muscle memory.

and he knows how this ends.

he just doesn’t know how to walk away.

not yet.

maybe not ever.

a/n: this was written in a hospital, sorry if its not the best! i'll probably do another version of this later on

tags— @clairo4life @xsturnkay @h3arts4isa @mf-divaaa-08 @bugs-tags @moond0llie @izzylovesmatt @courta13 @twylas114 @sturniolos1uts

#sturniolo triplets #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #sturniolo fic #sturniolo tumblr #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo #send help

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esote-rika · 3 months ago

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𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐧 | 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

Series masterlist Pairing: Spencer Reid x femBAU!reader Category: smut 18+ MDNI, angst Summary: Attending Rossi's wedding while nursing the betrayal of your boyfriend, you find solace (and revenge) in the arms of Dr. Spencer Reid. Content: 7.7k porn with a plot. Mentions of smoking and drinking, reader wears a dress, heels, and make up, and cheats on her shitty bf, semi-public sex, oral (m and f receiving), softdom!Spencer, fingering, overstimulation, squirting, reader is called naughty girl and good girl, very slight degradation, lots of praise, big dick!Spencer, size kink, unprotected p in v, creampie, rumination and references to sin and Eve and religion in general, probably blasphemous, Jeid mention, unhealthy coping mechanisms, this is kinda toxic but it's sexy I swear (I HOPE; yell at me nicely if i missed anything) A/N: this fic had been MARINATING for more than a month. Probably overwritten and self-indulgent, years of Catholic trauma rlly just spilled onto my docs ya know. Tried very very hard to make the smut worth it because there's so much build up and I'd hate for the smut to be meh. Lost the plot multiple times. Reached the point of i’m sick of this fic pls let it end but ultimately it's a piece that I’m actually proud of. Dedicated to user @notlongtolove for the yap fest and brainstorming, iykyk!!! Pls enjoy while I rejoice; this mammoth is finally over. Special request to leave a comment so I feel accomplished, pretty please tyyyy.

Rossi's wedding had been your opportunity to introduce your new boyfriend to the team. You've taken great pains to keep your relationship private, a feat that makes you proud because the amount of things that gets past Penelope Garcia is next to nothing. But somehow, in the past four months, you've managed. You've passed the threshold, the personal rule of three months of privacy, of keeping things on the down low, and you had been excited to stroll up to Rossi's fourth wedding in the arms of Cameron, your boyfriend of nearly five months.

Unfortunately, you'd caught another woman's underwear in his car nearly a week before the day of the wedding. He still hasn't admitted to his betrayal, no matter how many times you've pleaded and talked to him. You already know, anyway. It's easy enough to tell from his body language. The twitch of his lips he does whenever he's nervous, the way he overuses the phrase come on, every single one of his tells point to his infidelity. You've used every trick in the profiler handbook— interrogation, an attempt to seduce, anger— none has worked.

Your pathetic boyfriend would only repeat that he loves you so much, why are you acting like this?

So you're a depressing cloud on Rossi's big day. You hide it behind a big smile, which would normally be unconvincing, but everyone is too wrapped up in the festivities to look too closely at your hastily erected facade.

And it’s worked, for the most part. You know it’s not because of your acting skills, but more because there’s too much going on to pay attention to you. And disappearing as part of the crowd allows you to observe and stew in your betrayal, fingertips tingling with the desire to get even somehow.

You wish you could say he’d tempted you. Pursued you with gentle brushes of his hands on the exposed skin of your back, bewitched you with his dimpled smile, so inhumanly beautiful you just couldn’t say no. How could you resist temptation when it is being presented to you by someone who looks like he’s been carved by the hands of God himself?

Because Spencer Reid has always been something akin to divinity, at least to you. As the BAU's newest recruit— appointed and transferred by the infamous Linda Barnes herself—you've had to fight tooth and nail to earn the team's trust.

Now, Linda Barnes is gone, you have a spot on the team, and Spencer Reid remains elusive.

His reputation preceded him, of course, one of the smartest active agents, incarcerated for something he didn't do. He's kind in the moments you've spent with him, with a bumbling earnestness that you've found endearing.

He's also incredibly beautiful.

So who could blame you if you did give in to his advances? People stronger than you have succumbed, after all, and you, in your vulnerable, lovelorn glory, would not have been responsible if you decided to take a bite from the forbidden apple, right? Giving in to temptation is the lesser sin, more forgivable, would absolve you of guilt especially after the betrayal you've gone through.

Except Spencer Reid hadn’t pursued you. The meeting had been accidental, at least that’s what you tell yourself. You’d seen him leave towards the end of the ceremony. Of course you did, you had been watching him all night. Sometime towards the end of the ceremony, while the minister was talking about the importance of second chances, he’d slipped away.

You had been the one to go after him. In your defense, you’ve been itching to get your hands on a cigarette since you got here. Weddings have always made you giddy, excited. It’s a celebration of love, after all, a declaration of two people’s commitment to each other. In sickness and health. But Cameron's infidelity weighs heavily upon your shoulders, and though you've borne more than this—you're a BAU agent, after all, you face horrors on a daily basis—it's still difficult to set aside the burn when you're surrounded by happy couples.

So you’d put your focus on Dr. Reid: handsome in his suit, but something about him seemed distracted. Perhaps he'd been banking upon the wedding as a distraction, just like you had been. Everyone is too busy with the happy couple to pay attention to two lonely souls.

But he's wrong. You've got your eye on him, and you see something in his amber irises that reflect your own.

Loneliness.

Why is Spencer Reid lonely?

It’s the intrigue that ultimately leads you out into the hallways. And when you stumble upon his brooding form, your excuse is truthful, “I'm trying to find the bathroom.”

He kindly escorts you to the correct wing, making small talk. Something about wedding dresses not being white historically. You smile and nod, thanking him graciously as you slip into the ladies room. When you leave the bathroom after basically inhaling a stick of cigarette, he’s still lingering outside. Waiting by the wall, smiling upon your return.

“Oh,” you return his smile, “You’re still here.”

“Figured we could walk back together.” his nose wrinkled a little as you stepped closer, the smell of your cigarette apparently not sufficiently disguised.

You're smile becomes sheepish, shaking your head, “I thought I was being slick by spraying perfume, but apparently not.”

He laughs. It reminds you of the church bells that rang for the wedding. Rich and lilting.

“Not to judge, but why the need for a smoke break?”

“Why should there be a reason?”

“You've told me you only smoke when you're stressed out.” Fuck. “Why are you stressed out?”

“Just having a bad day.”

It's the wrong answer, because his gaze zeroes in on you, oozing with an intense curiosity. “On Rossi's wedding?”

“Not because of it,” You laugh airily, but in the quiet of the hallway, it's much more difficult to pretend that everything is okay. Two can play at this game though. “Why are you out here?”

He averts his gaze to his shoes, brows furrowing in a way that makes you blood spike. He’s hiding something.

“I just needed some fresh air.” he pushes his hands deep into his pockets, lifting his gaze from the floor and dragging it through your form, taking in your appearance in the cocktail dress you’ve donned for the wedding. His voice is strangled when he speaks again,, “You look lovely. I don’t think I’ve had the chance to tell you yet.”

“Thank you. You look very dashing too.” A pause stretches between you. In that quiet moment, it seems like the universe has presented the perfect way of retaliation for you. The nicotine had made you bold, audacious. And if you’d read him correctly, then he’s in need of relief as much as you are, the kind of relief a simple cigarette wouldn’t fix. You step closer, looking straight into his eyes, “Truth be told, I’m not in any hurry to go back.”

You see his jaw clench, the beautiful brain of his going a thousand miles per minute, likely computing every possible meaning of your words. His eyes flicker to your lips, and you decide to help him out, taking another step forward and tilting your head up.

When you kissed him, he didn’t even hesitate to kiss you back. Mouth parting, fingers tightly clenched at your waist, pulling you closer and closer until space felt like a foreign concept altogether. He is an insistent kisser, leaning his whole weight into you as his lips opened and sucked at yours.

The dark corner isn’t ideal, but it was the closest space at your disposal. Neither of you are willing to spend more time looking for somewhere to hide, not when you could spend that time running your hands and lips in places undiscovered. Your lips across the strong angle of his jaw, his stubble tickling your skin. Spencer tonguing the space beneath your ear, fragrant with traces of your perfume. Your hand massaging him into an erection through the fabric of his pants.

He lets out the prettiest moan when you drop to your knees in front of him.

You don’t miss the irony of it as you tugged and undid his belt and zipper, fully conscious of the act you’re about to commit. Kneeling in a chapel, for all the wrong reasons.

“Are you sure?” the words spill from his lips so sweetly, as if he isn't standing before you with his erection only inches from your face. Long and thick and already leaking precum at the tip.

You take him into your mouth as an answer, condemning yourself to your fate. Spencer is beautiful like the devil, and you’re Eve succumbing to the first sin.

Two wrongs do not make a right. You know this. Everyone does. A lesson as old as time itself, written in languages you can’t comprehend. Even mathematics dictates that adding two negative integers does not cancel them out—the negative value merely increases. You should not retaliate on your boyfriend by committing the very sin that hurt you in the first place. By all accounts, nothing good should come from it.

Yet here you are, on your knees for a man as pretty as the devil himself. A man very much not your boyfriend.

Even fucking worse, your coworker.

Tucked in some dark corner—not even given the dignity of a dusty closet. That at least would have given you complete privacy. No, you’re on your knees in some seemingly abandoned hallway, half hidden by a combination of the dim lights, and ostentatious pillars, and him. His lean body shields you from general view as your lips stretched around his throbbing length.

You learn that he is a contradiction. A large hand gathers your perfectly styled curls, holding them at the crown of your head. Gentle, careful. The other rests just beneath your jaw, holding your head still as he slowly pushes his hips forward. Your nails grip his pants as your mouth stretches around his girth. The fabric wrinkles under your clutches as the tip of his cock hits the back of your throat, then begins to push beyond it.

Only half of his length in and you're already choking.

Wide, panicked eyes dart up to meet his deceptively honeyed ones. You consider pulling back, just to catch your breath but you can’t; his hands are holding you steady. Oddly enough, the look in his eyes helps you relax. There’s something inherently trustworthy about those ochre irises, despite the fact that his pupils have blown up so much and nearly eclipsed them. Maybe you’re too used to indifference from Cameron, too used to sex being so clinical and borderline perfunctory, that the unbridled lust in his gaze excites you instead of scare you away.

Still, it doesn’t help the little choking issue you’re currently having.

“Breathe through your nose,” he murmurs. You blink back the tears that have gathered at your lashes, still maintaining eye contact with him. Spencer sighs, pulls his cock out. Mercy. It's not something you deserve, but you take advantage of the moment wisely, following his instructions and breathing through your nose.

The stench of sin is musky and stale. You fill your lungs with it all the same, just as he rams his cock back down your throat and fills your mouth. He hisses when you gag around him lightly, but doesn’t stop. You realize that you’d probably chase after him if he does anyway.

His thumb caresses your cheek, “That’s it, good girl. You can take it.”

Well fuck.

It’s a little too much, balancing on your knees like this while he uses your mouth and throat, but you push through because he says you can. You fancied yourself the seductress, but somehow, the tides have turned and you’re little more than putty in his hands.

His cock glides in and out of your mouth with ease, painting chapped red marks from your lipstick along the veined length with every push of his hips. Finding your balance, you wrap a hand around the base of his cock, stroking up what you can't fit into your mouth. After a few clumsy attempts, you manage to match the rhythm of his hips.

What a pretty figure you make, on your knees, looking up at him with fluttering lashes. You moan around his length, sending vibrations up his spine, and are rewarded by his mouth falling open, a wordless expression of pleasure. He continues to fuck your mouth, never breaking eye contact as he eases his cock deeper with each thrust. Tears gather at your lash line every time he goes down your throat.

You’re sure your throat is distending in order to accommodate his girth, and it makes your own pussy clench at the idea. What would it be like to have such a large cock inside your walls, filling you? It makes you moan again, and Spencer’s hand tightens at your hair. His pace quickens, and you hollow your cheeks, urging him to continue.

You hear his undoing before you feel it, strained groans tumbling from trembling lips, before his hips thrust forward and suddenly your nose is pressed to his crotch, and there’s an explosion at the back of your throat. He holds you there, eyes watering, drool spilling from the corners of your ruined mouth as he blows his load deep in your throat.

Yeah, he definitely needed that.

You swallow what you can, but that’s difficult when there’s a huge cock obstructing your throat.

It ends up being a mess, combination of your saliva and his cum dripping out of your mouth and onto the floor. How fitting. In the back of your mind, you’re just happy that only a few drops landed on your dress. Easy enough to clean. Miraculously. Your conscience, however, is an entirely different story.

Still, some part of you can’t even begin to feel bad. Cameron had cheated first, he’d broken the bounds of your relationship first.

Sure, this is still wrong. You have no moral ascendency to stand on, but who cares about any of that when Spencer Reid is kneeling before you with gentle hands and even gentler eyes?

“Are you all right?” he murmurs, his voice slow and sensual like dripping honey.

Somehow, your voice does not betray you, coming out clear and far more confident than you’re actually feeling. “Yeah, I’m good.”

He smiles, thumbs wiping away some of the residue off your lips, “Are you sure? You look a little dazed.”

You laugh, “I mean, yeah, but I just need to catch my breath.”

He takes your hand, helps you stand back up. “I think another trip to the bathroom is in order.” he says as he guides you to the bathroom again.

When you get there, you are a wreck of the highest order, curls dishevelled despite his attempts to be careful, lipstick smudged around your mouth. Your chin is still a little moist from the drool and cum that had dripped down. Tear tracks drag down your cheeks, but thankfully your eye makeup and foundation are only a little smudged. Nothing a little dab of a napkin won’t fix.

You fix what you can—quick spray of perfume, reapplication of lipstick. Hands steady as you work. You aren't sure if this is a sign of guilt, or lack of it. You don't really care. He's gone when you leave the bathroom now, and the soft, treacherous side of your heart fills with disappointment. You remind yourself that it's better this way, less conspicuous, if he returns to the wedding before you.

Still, swallowing his load with an obstructed throat somehow had been easier than swallowing the bitter disappointment that builds in the back of your tongue.

The ceremony is just about to end when you return to the makeshift chapel, people standing and clapping as David and Krystall Rossi share the sweetest kisses. A celebration of love and second chances. After what you've done with Spencer, you know this is out of your cards now. You've fallen far beyond redemption, shot the remnants of your relationship with Cameron after kneeling in service of another man.

You catch sight of Spencer, standing in the midst of other agents. Clapping like everyone else, but his eyes are trained upon something else. Curiosity gets the best of you and you follow his gaze, trying to approximate what he's looking at.

Or rather— whom.

If you're correct, then he's looking at someone.

Oh.

Blonde hair, a slim frame in a beautiful red dress that perfectly accentuates the long, muscled lines of her arms and legs. Beside her, a man with salt and pepper hair and kind blue eyes. His arm at her waist. Your coworker and her husband. JJ and Will.

Oh.

Your gaze returns to Spencer, and despite your attempts not to dig deep, not to learn why he's looking so forlorn, it’s easy to put the pieces together. Whether or not this is a full blown affair isn’t important; all you know is he wants her, and she's married to another man.

Is this connected to the previous case? You recall the last case, the hostage situation in LA. He and JJ had been in there for a long time, but neither really shared what exactly happened. Nobody knows except for the two of them, the unsub, and the victims. You aren’t about to pull rank and ask traumatized people about the drama between your coworkers. You’re better than that.

Are you?

Yes. You don’t hold much sacred, but your job is important. It is above you. You aren’t about to jeopardize it over some workplace drama.

But still, the curiosity gnaws at you no matter how much you attempt to tamp it down. Does he have feelings for JJ? Does she, for him? She couldn’t possibly; she has a husband, two beautiful kids. Easy enough to deduce that it’s probably Spencer, then, who is pining after her.

As though he feels your stare, Spencer looks over at you. Hurriedly, you avert your eyes, heart pounding faster than you would like it to.

Was he thinking about JJ while he used your mouth?

The thought knocks the wind out of your lungs, and you banish it to the deepest crevices of your mind. It shouldn't matter.

It doesn't. It doesn't.

You don’t have any room to judge, anyway. You’ve dragged Spencer into your own messy relationship by sucking him off in the middle of the wedding. A relationship he doesn’t even know about. So, with a smile, you clap for the new couple, and follow the crowd to the reception.

Joy and excitement are nearly palpable in the room. A small, intimate crowd of smiling faces surrounded by the tastefully extravagant decor, obviously paid for by the wealthy groom. The air is filled with that soft, electric energy that often occurs when people are happy and sufficiently buzzed with some drinks.

The only thing on your mind is him.

How can it not be, when you can still remember the little tryst you'd had prior. The weight of him in your mouth, the fetid mess of skin and cum and the lingering nicotine.

It passes by in a blur. The food is delicious, you gush to Portia, you look so beautiful; congratulations, to the new couple. None of it is fake, but you are possessed by a single, irrevocable urge to watch Spencer. That glance at JJ has intrigued you more than you should be. What sort of web had you stumbled upon? And instead of trying to get out, you're eager to spin more.

Bringing the champagne flute to your lips, you pretend to sip, allowing the glass to obscure some parts of your face while you continue to watch them. They’ve met up at the bar now, deep in conversation, hands clasped together in a way that’s far too intimate to be just friends. You can't tear your eyes away as JJ leaves, returning to the embrace of her husband, and you watch with an almost sick sense of fascination as Spencer lingers by the bar. Longing, pure and unmistakable, is etched upon every line on his face.

Before you can stop yourself, your feet are moving, gliding across the floor until you're beside him. He startles, brows lifting as he gazes at you. Your name slips through his lips with an exhale.

“You don't have to act like I'm a ghost, Spencer.” your lips quirk up in a teasing grin as the bartender refills your glass of champagne.

He looks chagrined, the implications of your words hitting him like a brick. “I’m not, you just seemed like you were having fun with Garcia.” he says, leaning on the counter. His eyes travel down the length of you again.

“You’re right, but you were looking a little lonely,” you take a sip from your champagne, letting the bubbly drink fizzle in your mouth and wash away the taste of him. “So, what was that with JJ?”

He sputters, eyes wide as his gaze darts back to your blonde coworker—now currently wrapped up in her husband’s arms.

“Nothing!”

“Holding hands when you’re a known germaphobe doesn’t seem like nothing.”

“I’m not that bad,” he protests, shaking his head, “I’d hold your hand too, but that’s besides the point.”

“It is,” you agree, tilting your head innocently, as your voice lowers, “Just wanted to know who you were imaging in place of me.”

He looks horrified to be reminded of your little quickie from before, “No one. It’s not—I wasn’t using you to—god, it’s not like that.”

“I’m not judging you if it was,” It’s true. It’s exactly what you’re doing with him, using him to forget about Cameron, to get back at him. Poor Spencer just doesn’t know about your secrets. Your amused look only makes him fluster even more.

“It isn’t,” he insists, “I just –”

“Listen, it’s okay,” you interrupt gently, fighting the urge to rest a reassuring hand on his forearm. The words are true anyway; you don’t wish to unearth whatever secrets he wants to keep buried. You have your own, anyway; it’s only fair he’s allowed his secrecy. Your reasons for approaching him are entirely different, and perhaps a little self serving. But you’ve already condemned yourself to being the bearer of temptation, you might as well take full advantage of it.

“Don’t look so ashamed,” you grin as you lift the recently refilled glass to your lips, “You know I have a room for the night… in case you want to blow off more steam.”

The invitation makes his eyes darken in a way that’s becoming increasingly familiar. “You’re—we shouldn’t.”

“Who would know?” you quirk a brow in response, “Besides, it’s pretty much tradition for people to hook up at a wedding. Why shouldn’t it be us?” Please, say yes.

“We’re coworkers.”

“We’re adults.” you deliberately don’t say single adults, “It’s fine. Listen, I booked a room because I didn’t want to deal with the traffic, so if you want, it’s 309B. Completely up to you.” with a smile, you leave him at the bar and Spencer Reid is forced to watch a woman walk away from him for the second time.

That night, there's knocking at your hotel door—three sharp, no nonsense knocks that seem to mean business—echoes in your room minutes before midnight. You don’t bother looking through the peephole to confirm who’s on the other side. The moment you open the door, there’s not a lot of build up.

He’s shed his suit jacket; wearing only the white button down, slightly rumpled from the day’s events. His crown of light brown curls, carefully pushed back earlier, had fallen all over his forehead, messy tendrils tumbling across his face.

He takes one look at you—still in your lavender dress, but devoid of makeup and no more heels to add inches to your height. In the dimness of the room, you are diminutive, stripped of the ethereal mystique you bore from earlier. Human.

God, he wants you.

Not even as someone to help him forget about JJ. No, he wants you in your entirety, to possess you even for one night.

He kisses you again, but there’s no rush to his movements now. The previous rendezvous had been hasty in every sense of the word, made within minutes in an attempt to alleviate the desperate need all while staying safely hidden and inconspicuous.

Now, you have the entire night. He intends to make full use of it. He kicks the door closed behind him, one hand reaching back to lock it as the other tilts your face up so he can kiss you deeper. Your own arms snake around his neck, hands burying into those messy curls. There’s no more public reception to worry about; you can tug and twist and mess with it as much as you want.

Spencer groans into your mouth, hands tight at your hips, before pulling back slightly, “Jump.” he mumbles against your lips.

Your body reacts as if it’s wired to obey him, launching off the balls of your feet. His hands help to hoist you up, and you wrap your legs around his hips.

“You smell so good,” He whispers as he noses through your neck, before his teeth close around your earlobe. You giggle, urging him on by craning your neck to the side. His teeth tug on your earlobe playfully as he crosses the room to your bed. He toes off his shoes and lays you down carefully, his body hovering above yours while his kisses travel down your neck. Soft and sloppy and wet, they mark you like a brand.

Long, eager fingers hike your dress up, bunching it up your thighs, past your hips, and you hear him groan when your bare pussy is exposed to his darkened gaze.

“No panties?” he runs a finger up your folds, gathering your slick, “Don’t tell me you’re been going around like this all day?”

“Maybe I have,” you grin, legs parting even more to accommodate him. You haven’t—you’d just been touching yourself to the thought of him as you waited, but you’re not about to tell him that.

“Naughty girl,” he mumbles, one long finger pushing past your entrance and curling into you, “And so wet, too. You get off on being this dirty, or am I just lucky?”

A breathy laugh escapes your lips, “Which one would you prefer?” you ask, because tonight, you’re not yourself. Not really. You’re whoever he needs to be, the same way he’s exactly what you need right now. A body to which you can lose yourself.

“I’d like to think this is all just for me,” he adds another finger, the pace languorous and teasing.

“It is,” you gasp as he curls his fingers, then withdraws. Torturously slow, he fucks you with two lengthy fingers, hitting the spot inside you with ease. Your toes curl into the bed, sinking into the soft mattress, “Faster.”

“So needy,” he murmurs, shaking his head as he takes you in. There’s something addictive in the way you look in this moment, spread out beneath him like something unreal and sublime.

Your hips buck up. Something volatile simmers beneath your skin, desperate for more, “Please.”

Spencer chuckles as he watches you, fingers stilling inside your fluttering walls. Hovering above you with soft brown curls framing his face, he looks every bit an angel come to life. The laughter continues, his lips twisting into a sneer as you push your hips up desperately.

“So, so needy.” he repeats, but he acquiesces to your plea. More than that, he sinks a third finger inside you and speeds up. A cry of surprise and pleasure falls from your lips, head thrown back as he works his fingers inside you, “Oh, you’re taking it so well.”

Shame unfurls in your chest. What are you doing? Begging another man to fuck you with his fingers? Enjoying it? Is this truly what you’ve come to?

It’s not something you can dwell on, as Spencer begins to curl his fingers inside you while his thumb finds your clit. It circles the nub slowly, adding a layer of stimulation that has your thighs trembling. With a squeal, you writhe, moving to close your legs as the sensations become red-hot, building up closer and closer to a crescendo.

Spencer tuts teasingly, one leg pressing down on your thighs, and his other hand coming to grip your hip and hold you in place. “No, no, darling, I want to see you coming undone on my fingers.” he says, continuing to make come hither motions inside you.

“God—oh, I’m so—ah!” words trip over one another as you approach your climax, the world coming down into one point of focus. “Spencer!”

“That’s it, good girl,” he murmurs, laying his body over you as his fingers help you through your orgasm, “There you go.”

You’re thankful for the weight of him; it is a grounding presence in the midst of all the flurry. You’ve come undone at the hands of another man—literally. Never mind that Cameron had betrayed your trust first; you are no better than him.

But if sin felt as good as Spencer Reid’s kisses, then you have no qualms indulging.

His lips are upon you again, traveling down your collarbone and nipping at the skin there. You whine and wrap your legs around his waist, sensitive but still eager for more. He laughs against your skin with a tenderness that takes you by surprise.

“Are you always this needy?”

“No,” you’ve had a taste of the forbidden fruit earlier. Thrown out of Eden, you’re already past the point of no return. Might as well succumb and have one hell of a time. “Only for you.”

He hums, pushing your dress up again. It gets caught somewhere around your chest and there’s a brief moment of awkward laughter as he tries to tug at it, force it up and off you.

“Zipper,” you gasp when your brain finally works. Lifting yourself up on your elbows allows him to slide his hands to your back, find the dangling piece of metal and ease it down. The dress loosens across your shoulders and chest, and he’s finally able to pull it off altogether.

“Beautiful,” he sighs, descending upon you once again, “So beautiful.”

His words have you preening, and you wonder how something so insignificant as the word beautiful could make you feel so heavy. You used to associate delight with weightlessness, floating and light, but everything about Spencer is lumbering and grounded especially after he came back from prison.

You feel his lips and tongue making their way down, kissing every inch of your body. He tugs your bra down, not even bothering to take it off completely, your breast spilling forth and free for his touch. He takes one nipple and sucks, while his thumb circles and gently tugs the other. Every single act has you gasping, and you wonder when and where the hell did Spencer Reid ever learn how to do this? You shouldn’t question it though.

When his mouth lands upon your hips, you jerk. “Spencer,” you gasp, looking down on him, but there’s no more teasing from him now, no hesitation. Before you can even formulate what to say next—you don’t have to, I’ve already cum, I’m still so sensitive—his mouth is at your core, tongue lapping up what remains of your previous orgasm and all evidence of your arousal.

“Fuck!” you are not responsible for your actions anymore, not responsible for the way your fingers find his russet curls and tug hard, the way your thighs try to clamp shut around his head. He chuckles against you, the sound sending tingling vibrations that travel from your pussy to the tips of your toes and fingers.

“Settle down,” laughter drips from his gentle admonishment, “Or I’ll stop.”

“Please don’t.” you’re past the point of shame and guilt, eager to beg and obey as much as he wants. The positions have turned since the tryst in the hallway. No longer are you on your knees for him, no longer the one servicing him and choking around his length, yet somehow you’re still at his mercy. “Don’t stop, please, so good.”

He laughs, and you feel something sliding past your entrance. You clench around it involuntarily, as if you can tell what it is from the mere feeling, but then his mouth wraps around your clit and you’re reeling into oblivion once again.

“Spencer!” you thrash against the pillows, overwhelmed and sensitive but still eager to take more, “Spencer, oh my god, Spencer!” you lose count of how many times you’ve uttered his name from your lips. It has simultaneously lost every meaning, yet retained all of it. An invocation of fervent desire from a lowly, undeserving sinner. Thankfully, your god is merciful and giving, because Spencer wraps his arms around your thighs to hold you down, sucks at your clit harshly and thrusts into you again—fingers, you now realize, all three spreading you open and curling deep inside you.

With everything going on, your climax comes as no surprise. You and Spencer are both expecting it, you’re so worked up after all. What makes you both pause is the fact that something gushes out of you as you arch off the bed and cry out his name.

His movement stills for a split second, before he continues and helps you through your orgasm, tongue lapping at the mess between your legs as your body is wracked with the aftershocks, trembling beneath him. After a few moments, he stops, resting his head at your hip.

Looking at him feels like a risk. Fear keeps your eyes squeezed shut, afraid of what you’ll find. More teasing? Disgust? Doesn’t seem like it, from the way his fingertips are trailing over your thighs. You lift your lids again, eyes meeting his own hazy ones. They are nearly black, but what pulls your attention are his lips and chin. Glistening with slickness.

Your slick.

“Oh god,” your words are half groan, half laugh when the reality hits you, “Did I really?”

He laughs again, light and tender. “I believe you did.”

“I’m sorry.” you mutter, feeling utterly mortified that you just squirted all over your coworker’s face.

Spencer’s expression is one of mischief, but his eyes gleam with something darker. “What for?”

“Don’t make me say it.”

Another laugh, “But I wanna hear it,” he coos, pressing his lips to your hip bone, “Come on, darling, what are you sorry for?”

When you don’t answer, he nips at your skin playfully, slowly moving back to your center. Your pussy throbs both in anticipation and overstimulation.

“Spencer.”

“Mhm?”

“Too sensitive.” you try to squirm out of his grip. It only tightens, presses you deeper into the mattress.

A lick, teasing and light. “Tell me why you’re sorry.”

“Spencer!”

“Come on,” He's grinning, the bastard, “Why are you sorry?”

“Because I squirted in your face.”

He bites your inner thigh with more force than usual, “You shouldn't be.”

“Hm?”

“I loved it,” He murmurs, soothing the bite with a flick of his tongue, “Wanna see you do it again.”

You shudder, though you’re unsure whether it’s from his moistened tongue, or his words. “Yeah?”

“Mhm,” he drags himself up, kissing along your body as he does so, “Think you can be a good girl and do it again for me?”

“I think that’s entirely dependent on how well you do.”

Soft, dewy lips curl into a smirk at your challenge, and suddenly he’s sin incarnate, a devil about to pounce. Once again, how are you to deny this man of anything? How could you resist temptation when someone who looks like he’s been carved by the hands of God himself is looking at you as though you were the masterpiece? Liquid gold irises take you in, inspecting every inch of your body with unabashed want, and you’re reminded of the fact that he’s fully clothed, cock straining through his pants, and you’re in nothing but your flimsy bra that’s been pulled down your chest it’s not even covering anything anymore.

You fight the urge to squirm under his gaze, but then his hands come up your sides, ghost over your ribs and your back until he finds the hook of your bra.

“Not really fair,” you say as the last strip of your clothing falls away, your chest heaving from the sheer weight of his gaze, “I want to see you too.” with that, you reach for him, deft fingers quickly undoing the buttons of his shirt.

He doesn’t fight it, doesn’t help, only continues to regard you with quiet intensity.

Once his clothes are off, he meets your lips again. His kisses are slower this time, an almost dreamy tangle of tongue and teeth, but his body is hot and slick with sweat even as he holds himself on his elbows above you. His cock rests upon your lower abdomen, its heft reminding you of how much your mouth had to stretch to accommodate him earlier. How the length and girth had all but blocked your airways as he thrusted into your throat.

You clench around nothing at the idea of that same cock filling your pussy.

His kisses move down your jaw, down the column of your throat, being careful not to suck too hard on the skin and leave marks. You never know when you might be called in for a case, and he doesn’t want any trouble.

“Last chance to back out,” he murmurs, his hand wrapped around the base of his cock, positioning the tip at your entrance.

You grin and shake your head, “No, I want to see if you can make me squirt again, or if that last one was just beginner’s luck.”

Laughter. You’re beginning to find sex with Spencer enjoyable on more than just the physical aspect. He drags the tip of his cock over your folds, combining his precum and your arousal into a heady, natural lubrication. He’s big, you already know that, but right now, you’re so pleasure drunk that you have no problem opening up to him.

You can tell he’s being careful, pushing his tip in slowly, and your entrance flutters, stretches around him. There’s a slight burn, but it’s accompanied by awe, overtaken by pleasure. You marvel at how his cock sinks into your slick, velvety heat, the way every slight thrust makes your body conform to his own as he carves out a space for himself.

As if he belongs there.

As if you’re his.

Every single memory about your cheating boyfriend is expelled from your mind with every thrust of his hips. You moan and clench around him at the thought.

“Fuck,” he groans, hips stilling. His cock is only halfway through, and you already look so fucked out, “Careful with that, darling, or this is gonna end sooner than we’d like.”

Your lower lip trembles, but you nod, spreading your thighs apart even further. “Sorry.”

He kisses that expression away, “Don’t be sorry,” two large hands hold your thighs in place, keeping you spread for him as he sinks in another inch. And then another. You’re so wet, and he’s done such a great job stretching you out that your walls engulf him easily.

“Oh god!” you gasp, eyes squeezing shut as he fills you. You hear a chuckle, before he retreats, pulls out almost all the way, and once again you’re clenching around his length as though you’re trying to convince him to stay buried inside you.

“Stop clenching.”

“Can’t help it!”

“Fuck, you’re so tight.” With a soft hiss, he thrusts back inside, still slow and steady. The curse makes you gasp; you’ve never heard him curse before, somehow it’s even more jarring than when he’s murmuring filth into your ears. When you open your eyes, he’s staring at you, unblinking and focused, watching your every reaction. “You okay?”

“Fuck yes,” you gasp as his thrusts grow steady. The world seems to disappear around you, the only point of importance is where your bodies are coming together repeatedly. You reach up, hands seeking for something to ground you, and finding purchase at his tangled curls, “Oh god, yes!”

It’s funny, crying out for a god you don’t really believe in. Crying out for a god when you’re in the midst of sin, carnal pleasure and infidelity and who knows what else, you were never religious to begin with. You wonder if this is what religion is, this free fall, the blind surrender. But faith as you know it believes in something unseen, the conviction to the intangible and unexplained.

Spencer is very much here, and you can feel him between your thighs, his very existence present in the stretch of your walls around his cock, the soft curls you’ve woven around your fingers. He keeps his thrusts slow but deep, letting your walls feel every single vein and ridge on his cock.

“Spencer,” you moan, one hand falling to his face, soft palm on the stubble at his jaw, “Feels so good.”

“You too,” he turns his face, pressing his lips to the warmth of your hand. He’s very tender, his movements measured to ensure your comfort, “God, you’re taking me so well.”

Your walls tighten around him in response.

Something seems to ignite in his brain, his hand catching your wrist, pulling it from his face and pinning it to the bed. “You like that, my pretty girl? Like knowing you’re doing a good job for me?”

Fuck. The same rush of heat from when he’d had you on your knees fills your stomach. The heat that compels you to do whatever he wants, take whatever he’ll give in order to hear more of his praise. Like a devoted servant, at the service of a benevolent god.

“Yes,” you gasp, hooking one leg around his hips, while the other is bent at an angle, foot pressed to the mattress in order to allow you some leverage to meet his thrusts. It’s sloppy at first, your body not entirely in your control right now.

“That’s it, my darling, you can do it.” he mutters encouragingly, pausing to allow you to join in this tangled, exhilarating dance. When you’ve gotten steadier, he resumes his thrusts, and you’re finally able to buck your hips up to meet them.

The action sends his entire length buried deep inside you, something he’s been very careful to avoid in fear of hurting you. But instead, you let out a cry of pleasure, eyes rolling to the back of your head, “Yes!”

“Right there?” he grunts. You’ve never heard him before, voice low and strained as he slams his hips into yours, again and again. The mattress begins to creak from the force of his actions.

“Mhm hmm!” You meet him thrust for thrust, the impact hitting spots deep inside you that you’ve never felt before. Toes curling in on themselves, one hand buried in his hair, the other pinned by his strong grip, “Oh, god, Spencer, yes!”

He loosens his grip on your wrist, intertwines your fingers together, “Good girl. Look at you, so pretty while you take me.”

No words come from your mouth, only his name, repeated over and over that it begins to sound made up, unreal. Perhaps he is divine. Nothing human can make you feel this way, surely.

He shifts, his free arm wrapping around your hips to elevate you slightly, and the new angle has you keening, every single muscle in your body tightly wound and white-hot as he pounds into you. It’s obscene how easily your body accepts every single inch of him, the way your pussy flutters and yields to the throbbing length of his cock.

“My god, you feel like heaven,” he groans, and that’s it, those words have you screaming so loud he starts to laugh and kiss you just to swallow the sound. You’re shuddering beneath him, crying, the pleasure coiling and building until it bursts and snaps, cascading over you with such fervor he has to wrap both his arms around your limp body to help you calm down.

Somehow, your hazy mind registers the wetness between your thighs, the loud, nearly pornographic squelching of his body plunging into yours. He’d done his goal; he’s made you squirt again. You are boneless in his arms as he fucks you through your orgasm, and chases his own. You only regain agency when he tenses, groaning into your ear.

“Gonna cum,” he says, moving his hips to drag his length out. He’s so long you’re able to wrap your legs around his waist before he’s pulled his cock out all the way.

“No, please, do it inside.”

His body stutters, head falling to the crook of your neck as he ruts his hips into you, not even bothering to argue or ask you if you’re sure. He thrusts into your sensitive pussy erratically, mouth open and groaning into your neck, “Oh my god, oh my — ah!”

Spencer holds onto you, breathing heavily into your ear as you both come down from your high. You feel simultaneously weightless and heavy, melting into your mattress with sweet, glassy eyes.

“That was incredible,” you whisper against his hair. He’s already half asleep on top of you, mumbling incoherently against your shoulder. You don’t bother to move, letting his still hard cock stay buried inside your pussy as you both drift off into dreamland.

Morning comes with a delicious ache in your lower belly. Spencer has you tucked to his chest, his arm around your waist. The air is heavy with the lingering smell of sweat and sex, but also oddly light with the knowledge of a new day. You shift in his arms, yawning as you will your body to wake up and shake off the sluggish feeling clinging to your bones.

He wakes slowly, groaning into your hair, “Morning.” he mumbles.

“Morning,” you reply, but before either of you can say any more, your phone rings. Mindlessly, you reach for it, not even bothering to hide the screen from Spencer, who’s nosing at your temple sweetly.

Cameron ❤️

Your heart sinks. Before you can hit the ignore button, Spencer turns his head, still half asleep as he catches sight of your screen. The name, the heart emoji, the multiple missed calls shakes off every single sleepy cell in his body.

“Who’s Cameron?”

more size kink fics in the BUD Chronicles. Forehead smooches to the many people who witnessed the conception of this fic and patiently listened and helped me as I crashed out and went screaming crying throwing up, hey nachos, @mggslover (who also proofread ty) @beenreidingaboutyou @reidingandallthat @burymagdalene and @ihatethecrowdsyouknowthat good god there's so many, my need for reassurance is actually extremely bothersome and embarrassing but ily guys.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x you smut #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds x you #spencer reid x bau!reader #spencer reid criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #big useless dick chronicles #spencer reid big useless dick agenda #erika after midnight

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iwoulddieforienzo · 2 years ago

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Interacting with fandom is really fun and I enjoy it a lot but also it’s been years since I’ve agreed with general fanon characterization of even minor background characters I don’t think about much. I don’t tend to like most popular ships and when I DO like them I don’t agree with how their relationship is portrayed. I tend to prefer platonic relationships and we all know how that goes. Pretty much every relationship I have ever preferred (both platonically and romantically) is a rare pair. My favorite characters tend to have like 10 minutes of screentime and a lot of Implications. Am I a contrarian or simply Enlightened? The world will never know (it is a secret third option: I am Annoying)

#I have kept my worst self off this blog (with SO much restraint I’m sooo brave)#I do my best to be mild on this blog bc if I let the demons out they will NOT go back in and I don’t want to be Percieved #HONESTLY my takes or whatever aren’t even that weird I don’t think. I like Mess but FUNCTIONAL mess and I don’t like misery (usually)#but they never line up with fanon and I can only ever find like 3 people who I agree with lol #also I’m dumb as hell and have never come up with a galaxy brain idea in my life I just like throwing characters into a box and shaking it #so many people who don’t agree with fanon have such fascinating and fun ideas and opinions #with delicious analysis of the media and it’s themes that I never noticed #while I’m just like. playing with dolls. no thoughts just Vibes #snack time #I keep the fandoms I have the most Thoughts about off this blog bc whooo boy #which is why I disappear for months on end only to come back with like. Genshin impact #lol

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holyblonded · 3 months ago

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sweet 16 | something blue

pairings: alexia putellas x teen!reader, olga rios x teen!reader

summary: olga makes a big deal about a day you don’t even want to celebrate

notes: shout out frank ocean cause i was listening to white ferrari and it inspired me

You can’t remember a single birthday that felt like yours.

Well, except for your quinceañera, but that didn’t count. That day was a blur of discomfort and glitter, the kind of extravagance that felt too loud, too fake. Your parents had come back out of nowhere, like ghosts from a past you tried not to think about, throwing a massive party with people you didn’t know and music that wasn’t even your taste. They’d smiled and posed for photos, pocketed every envelope of birthday money, and then disappeared again, vanishing just as quickly as they came. That night, you stood in the middle of the dance floor, in heels that pinched and a dress that didn’t feel like you, surrounded by strangers and wondering why you didn’t feel happy.

After that, birthdays stopped meaning anything. They were just another day. Usually spent on the pitch, grinding. Because that was the only place that felt real to you.

But this year was different. This year, you were in Barcelona. And this year, you were with Olga.

Unfortunately for you, Olga loved birthdays. She didn’t just like them, she loved them. The kind of person who started planning months in advance, who believed every birthday was sacred, a blessing, a milestone meant to be celebrated to the fullest. And the fact that she’d missed your quince? That lit a fire under her.

Your sixteenth birthday was coming up fast, and Olga had decided it was her mission to make it unforgettable. Which, of course, you were very against.

“Olga, please,” you begged, following her into the kitchen where she was stirring something in a pot and scrolling through her iPad at the same time. “I don’t want a big thing. Just— just let me chill.”

“No,” she said flatly, not even looking up. “Absolutely not.”

“I’m serious! I don’t want a party.”

“And I’m serious,” she said, turning to face you with that stubborn glint in her eyes. “You’re getting one.”

You threw your head back and groaned. “I hate parties!”

“No you don’t,” she said, waving her spoon at you. “You hate weird parties. This one’s going to be amazing.”

“I don’t even know anyone here.”

“So? We’ll invite the girls from the team. Sydney, Vicky, Alexia’s friends—”

“I don’t want strangers at my party!”

“They’re not strangers. You see them more than anyone else.”

You huffed, trying another angle. “I don’t have anything to wear.”

“I already ordered your outfit.”

“My hair’s gonna get frizzy.”

“You have a whole drawer of products.”

“It’s too expensive.”

“I have the budget covered.”

You stared at her. “Are you seriously not gonna let me win one argument?”

“Nope,” she said cheerfully.

Defeated, you slumped into a chair. “This is so unfair.”

“Life’s unfair, cumpleañera. Now, what kind of cake do you want?” (Birthday girl)

Eventually, you gave up. There was no stopping the force that was Olga on a mission. She went right back to planning, flipping through a binder of ideas like this was a wedding, not a sweet sixteen.

You wandered into the living room, dragging your feet, and dropped onto the couch with a dramatic flop. Alexia looked up from where she was lounging on the other end, casually flipping through a magazine. She arched a brow.

“She’s still on her party planner mode?” she asked.

“She won’t listen to me,” you muttered, pressing the heels of your palms into your eyes. “I just want a quiet day. Maybe some cake at home. That’s it.”

Alexia gave a little smile. “Olga doesn’t do ‘quiet.’ Not when it comes to people she loves.”

You peeked at her through your fingers. “But it’s so much. She’s on the phone right now trying to rent out a rooftop venue.”

Alexia glanced toward the kitchen, where she could faintly hear Olga saying something about table arrangements and lighting setups.

“She means well,” Alexia said after a moment. “She just… does it all a little extra.”

You sighed and let your hands fall into your lap. “She’s doing more for this birthday than anyone ever has. I know I should be grateful. I am. It’s just, y’know, too much.”

Alexia nodded. “You don’t have to pretend it doesn’t feel overwhelming. But maybe… let her do this one. For her. For you.”

You were quiet for a long time, watching the ceiling like it might offer answers. Then you muttered, “Fine. But I’m not dancing.”

Alexia smirked. “We’ll see.”

The sun was just beginning to warm the training pitch, but you were already sweating. Passing drills. Touch drills. Finishing drills. A standard day at Barça Femení training, and you were trying to focus, really, but your head was somewhere else. Somewhere between dreading your sixteenth birthday and trying to figure out how to survive Olga’s nonstop planning spree.

You were paired with Sydney and Vicky today, the three of you jogging back to your station after a water break. Sydney nudged you with her elbow.

“You good?” she asked, squinting at you. “You’ve been sighing all morning.”

You kicked a loose piece of turf. “It’s nothing, just… my birthday’s coming up.”

Vicky blinked. “Wait, what? Your birthday?”

You shrugged. “Yeah.”

Sydney’s mouth dropped a little. “You didn’t say anything. When is it?”

“In a few days.”

“Dude!” Vicky said, half-offended. “We had no idea!”

You shrugged again, eyes on the grass. “I don’t really talk about it.”

“Why not?” Sydney asked gently.

You hesitated, then let out a long breath. “I don’t really do birthdays. Like, at all. They’re kinda… complicated.”

Both girls quieted, their attention sharpening like they knew this was important.

“Back home, it was just another day,” you said. “Usually I just went to a park, shot balls into a fence, got in a run. Kept it chill.”

“That actually sounds nice,” Vicky said softly.

“Yeah, it was. Simple. Peaceful.”

Sydney gave you a look, eyes kind. “So what’s going on now?”

You groaned. “Olga’s going all out. Like—party planner, venue, decorations. I told her no a million times but she’s not hearing me.”

“Have you told her why you don’t want it?”

“I’ve tried,” you muttered. “But try reasoning with Olga when she gets like this. She acts like birthdays are sacred.”

Vicky nodded. “Oh yeah, she gets that look in her eyes like she’s already imagined the whole thing. There’s no stopping her once she starts.”

“She’s got this binder, guys. A binder.”

Sydney and Vicky both broke into laughter. “Okay, okay,” Sydney said. “That’s intense.”

You managed a small smile, grateful they weren’t making fun or pushing. Just listening.

“Still,” Vicky said gently, “maybe she’d get it if you really opened up to her.”

“Maybe,” you muttered, though you didn’t sound convinced.

Before they could respond, a whistle blew, signaling the next switch in partners.

You barely had time to look up before Alexia was beside you, sliding an arm around your shoulders like it was decided. “Let’s go, pequeña.”

You shot a betrayed look at Vicky and Sydney, but they just gave you encouraging thumbs-ups. Traitors.

The two of you jogged to your new drill station, working on tight ball control and finishing. For the first few minutes, you stayed quiet, just focusing on the movements, the touches, the runs.

Then Alexia spoke. “So. Birthday stress?”

You kicked the ball a little too hard. “You heard?”

She gave you a look. Of course she heard. You hesitated, trying to stay vague. “It’s just… not really my thing.”

“Not your thing, or something else?”

You didn’t answer right away, but from the corner of your eye, you saw Vicky and Sydney watching. Vicky gave you a look—tell her. Sydney nodded like she agreed.

You sighed. “Look. I’ve never really celebrated a birthday, okay?”

Alexia paused. “Never?”

You shook your head. “The one time I did… my parents showed up out of nowhere. Threw this huge quince. I didn’t know half the people there. They made it a big thing, and then they took all the money I got, dipped again. Haven’t heard from them since.”

Alexia’s expression softened immediately.

“So after that,” you continued, voice lower, “I just… stuck to doing my own tradition. Shoot some balls, run some drills. I like that. It’s simple. Quiet.”

Alexia didn’t say anything for a moment, just nodded slowly.

“I get that,” she said finally. “I do. But for Olga… she missed a lot of your life. She’s trying to make up for it. In the only way she knows how.”

You shrugged. “Yeah. I get it. But it’s overwhelming. All the noise, the people, the decorations. It doesn’t feel like me.”

The drills wrapped up shortly after, and the whistle blew for lunch. You were already plotting your escape route toward the locker rooms when Alexia slung her arm over your shoulder, gently stopping you in your tracks.

“Hey,” she said. “You’re strong for telling me that. I’ll talk to Olga for you.”

Your head shot up. “Wait, really?”

She smirked, amused by how quickly your mood flipped. “Don’t look so shocked. I’ve got some influence.”

You beamed. “Thank you.”

Alexia rolled her eyes playfully. “Go on. Vicky and Sydney are probably already hoarding dessert.”

You jogged off toward your friends, already feeling lighter. Maybe this birthday wouldn’t be so bad after all, not because of a big party, but because people finally saw you

The living room was calm and quiet for once, filled only with the low hum of the air conditioning and the occasional clink of Alexia’s spoon against her teacup. She sat curled up at one end of the couch, phone in hand, legs tucked beneath her, her face relaxed in a rare moment of stillness. Her eyes flicked now and then toward Olga, who sat beside her, laptop perched on her thighs, posture tense, brows knitted in fierce concentration as she scrolled through an online catalog of evening dresses.

“Do you think she’d like red?” Olga asked out of the blue, shifting her body slightly to angle the screen toward Alexia.

On the screen was an extravagant, designer gown. It shimmered with every scroll of the mouse— floor length, with a dramatic slit, glimmering stones across the bodice. It looked more like something meant for a gala or a film premiere than a sixteenth birthday party. Alexia blinked once, eyes scanning the price before flicking up to meet Olga’s face. She reached out and gently closed the laptop with a quiet click.

“Lex,” Olga frowned, confused and a little offended. “I wasn’t finished.”

“You need to be,” Alexia said, her tone soft but firm.

Olga sat back slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“She doesn’t want this, Olga.”

Olga let out a small breath of disbelief, shaking her head. “Yes, she does. She just doesn’t know it yet. She acts like she doesn’t care, but that’s just her thing. She would’ve told me if she really didn’t want it.”

“She did tell you,” Alexia replied, steady and calm. “You just didn’t listen.”

That silenced Olga.

She looked at Alexia, her mouth parted like she was going to argue, but the older woman’s tone kept her still. Alexia sat forward slightly, setting her mug on the coffee table.

“She told me at training today. Me, Sydney, and Vicky. She said birthdays feel… hollow to her. Like they’ve never belonged to her, like they were never really about her.”

Olga’s brows pulled together as Alexia continued.

“She’s never had a real birthday. Not one she wanted. Her parents threw her a quince, yeah—but it wasn’t for her. They invited strangers, made a big show, took the birthday money and disappeared. She hasn’t heard from them since. That’s the memory that really stuck.”

Olga’s face began to shift, her lips pressing into a thin line as her eyes filled. “No…”

“She told me she’s spent every birthday on a football pitch. Just another day. Just training, grinding. Trying to be the best. And she was fine with that, Olga. It made her feel in control, like it was hers again.”

Olga wiped at her face quickly, as if the tears were a mistake. “Why didn’t she say anything to me?”

“She did, cariño,” Alexia said gently, reaching over to rest a hand on her arm. “She tried. But you were so excited, already calling vendors, talking about decorations. She didn’t want to ruin it for you.”

“I thought—” Olga’s voice cracked, and she shook her head as more tears slipped free. “I thought I was doing something good. I thought this would make up for everything she didn’t get. I just wanted her to feel… special.”

“She knows you wanted that,” Alexia reassured. “But this party doesn’t feel special to her. It feels overwhelming. Like a performance she doesn’t want to give.”

“I missed so much,” Olga whispered. “I lost contact with her for so long. If I had known, if I’d seen what was happening to her, I would’ve—”

“You’re here now,” Alexia said, voice firm but kind. “And you love her. But loving her means listening, too. Loving her means showing her that she doesn’t have to prove anything to deserve kindness.”

Olga sank into the couch, eyes glazed, heart heavy with guilt. “She’s just a kid. My baby sister. She shouldn’t have to explain why she doesn’t want a party. She shouldn’t feel like she owes anyone a smile just because it’s her birthday.”

“No,” Alexia agreed. “But that’s the world she grew up in. That’s what she learned. And now we have to unlearn it for her.”

There was a long stretch of silence between them. Olga finally reached over and opened the laptop again, not to keep browsing, but to close every tab she had open. She shut the device slowly, let it rest on the coffee table, and pulled a blanket into her lap. Her hands were shaking just a little.

Across the city, you were sprawled on a grassy patch at random quiet park, surrounded by Sydney, Vicky, Ona, Jana, Patri, Pina, and Salma. You were laughing mid-story, eyes lit up for once, as you described a ridiculous training moment with exaggerated flair. You had no idea what was happening back home. You had no idea someone had finally heard you.

For the first time in years, you weren’t dreading your birthday. You were just being sixteen. And you were safe.

The front door slammed shut behind you as you kicked off your sneakers with the lazy force of someone who’d spent all day on their feet.

“I’m back!” you called, voice echoing through the apartment. “And I swear to God if someone finished the cereal—”

You didn’t even finish the sentence before you heard footsteps, fast ones, and suddenly Olga was there, arms wrapped tight around you like she thought you were about to disappear.

You froze. Like actually froze.

Your arms stayed at your sides, stiff and confused, your body tense. Olga didn’t say anything at first, just held you like she was trying to squeeze every ounce of guilt out of herself. And slowly, cautiously, your muscles relaxed. Your arms came up and curled around her, kind of awkward, kind of unsure. But they were there. You let her hold you.

“…Okay, what’s wrong?” you mumbled into her shoulder, voice wary. “Did someone die? Did I die? Are we in the afterlife?”

Olga gave a wet laugh that turned almost immediately into a sniffle.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, pulling back just enough to look at you. Her eyes were glossy and red-rimmed. “I’m so, so sorry. For not listening. For not hearing you. And for… for not being there sooner. For not saving you when you needed someone.”

You blinked. “Okay, uh… wow. Where’s this coming from?”

“I should’ve known what was happening,” she whispered. “I should’ve found you earlier.”

You frowned, a little overwhelmed, but you reached up and brushed a curl off your forehead. “Olga,” you said, voice quieter now, “you’re here now. That’s what matters. You did save me.”

That sentence just broke her. Like fully broke her.

Her face crumpled, and she let out a soft sob as she pulled you back into a hug, crying now for real. Not soft movie tears. Full-on weeping into your shoulder. Her body shook with it, and your eyes widened as you stood frozen in her arms.

“Uhhhh,” you said, patting her back like she was a malfunctioning printer. “Alexia?”

From the kitchen, Alexia let out a very unhelpful laugh, where she sat perched at the island with a glass of tea.

“Alexia, help me!” you pleaded, your voice somewhere between desperate and traumatized. “She’s leaking! What do I do?!”

Alexia set her tea down, still grinning. “You comfort her.”

“I don’t know how to do that!”

“Just hold her,” Alexia said, smug. “Tell her it’s going to be okay.”

“I’m not a Care Bear, Lex! I don’t do emotions like this!”

Olga was still clinging to you, sniffling into your shirt, while you stared at Alexia like she’d just told you to perform surgery.

Alexia leaned forward, eyes dancing. “This is the funniest thing I’ve ever seen. The overly affectionate big sister who wants to hug the world, and the emotionally stunted gremlin who thinks feelings are contagious.”

“I do not—” you started, but then Olga let out another sob and your arms immediately tightened around her.

You sighed. “Okay, fine. Feelings aren’t contagious. But they’re definitely… wet. Why is crying so wet?”

“Because it’s healthy,” Alexia said, smug as ever.

You rolled your eyes and looked down at Olga, who was still in the thick of it. Her face buried in your hoodie now, her fingers gripping tight like she was afraid you’d vanish if she let go.

You softened a little. “I mean it,” you murmured, rubbing her back a little more naturally now. “You saved me, Mana. Maybe not then. But you did now. So don’t cry over something that’s already fixed, okay?” (Sister)

Olga pulled back just enough to see your face, her own streaked with tears, and nodded. Her lips wobbled into a smile. “Okay.”

You let out a breath. “Okay good. Because I don’t know what I’d do if you started snotting on my hoodie. This thing is vintage.”

Alexia burst out laughing almost spilling her tea.

Olga laughed through her tears, finally stepping back, and you caught her wiping her face with her sleeves, still kind of a mess but a little steadier.

Alexia raised her glass of tea. “To sisterhood. One hugs too much, the other panics at mild human contact.”

You flipped her off without even looking. But when Olga looped her pinky through yours a second later, you didn’t pull away.

You woke up before the sun even touched the skyline.

There was something about birthdays that made your chest feel heavy the moment you opened your eyes. Not because you were excited, not because it was special. Just… because it always felt like something was missing. And maybe that something used to be people. But now? You weren’t even sure anymore. It was like your body remembered something your heart didn’t know how to name.

So instead of waiting around for the feeling to settle into sadness, instead of letting your thoughts spiral the way they usually did on days like this, you got up. Quietly. Carefully. Slipped out from under the blanket. Pulled on your hoodie, tugged it low over your face. Tied your sneakers tight. And then you left, keys in your pocket, phone on silent, the world still asleep around you.

Barcelona’s streets were still half-dreaming. Everything was bathed in blue-gray light, the kind that made the buildings look softer, the roads smoother, like the city had taken a breath and held it. You liked it like that, when the world was slow, when nothing demanded anything from you, when you didn’t have to brace yourself.

You walked quietly, hands in your pockets, head down as your feet carried you to the place that always made you feel a little more grounded.

Your café. The one tucked into the corner of an old street, just out of the way enough to be quiet, just cozy enough to feel like it could belong to you and no one else. With the ivy that curled around the windows and the little mismatched chairs on the terrace. The one that reminded you of home, before things got bad. Or maybe it just reminded you of the idea of home. What it could’ve been.

You pushed the door open. The soft jingle of the bell above the door felt like it greeted you personally.

“Lavender hojicha latte,” you murmured to the barista.

They smiled at you, soft, familiar. “Azulita, right?”

You blinked. Word had gotten around.

You hesitated, then gave a faint smile. “Yeah.”

“I saw you play at the last game again

Atletico. Great job.”

Latte in hand, you made your way to the park just a few streets over. The one no one else ever seemed to use. The goalposts were rusted and crooked. The grass was patchy. But it was yours. You set your bag down, took out your ball, and started shooting.

There were no drills. No cones. No schedule. Just you, the ball, and the sound of your heartbeat in your ears.

It was instinct. Therapy. Religion.

You didn’t think about anything, just moved. Your touches were light. Your strikes were clean. Every shot hit the back of the net with a satisfying thud. And for a little while, there was nothing else in the world but the ball and the sky and the ache in your legs.

By the time you stopped, your hoodie was stuck to your back with sweat, and the sun was high overhead. You checked your phone for the first time all morning.

12:04 PM.

“Damn,” you muttered, more amused than anything.

You packed your stuff and walked home slowly, almost lazily, letting the wind cool you off. When you stepped into the apartment, it was quiet. Peaceful. Still.

You dropped your bag by the door, kicked your shoes off into a corner, peeled off your hoodie and tossed it onto a chair. Then you collapsed onto the couch face-first, arms flopping dramatically to the sides.

Just for a minute, you told yourself. That minute turned into a full nap.

You didn’t stir until you felt fingers brushing your hair back gently and someone whispering your name like they were scared to wake you.

“Azulita…” Olga’s voice.

You groaned sleepily but didn’t move. Then came a hand on your back, rubbing in slow, steady circles. Alexia. You didn’t even have to look to know.

You let out a soft breath. Your body relaxed into the touch before your mind even caught up. “Mmmph… what time is it?” you asked, voice raspy with sleep.

You sat up slowly, rubbing your eyes with the heel of your palm, blinking against the soft light coming through the curtains. When your vision finally cleared, you stilled.

Olga and Alexia stood in front of you, side by side, both smiling, both holding a small cake between them.

“Happy birthday,” Alexia said, her voice warm.

You stared. The cake wasn’t big. It wasn’t extravagant. Chocolate frosting, a handful of rainbow sprinkles, homemade. One candle burning slowly in the middle.

But what undid you completely were the words piped in careful cursive across the top:

“Happy Birthday to my Little Blue.”

Your breath hitched. That name. Blue. It was the kind of nickname that only meant something when it came from her. From Olga. From the days before it all went sideways. When you were just a messy little kid clinging to her big sister’s arm, trusting her with everything. When she would whisper “my little Blue” into your hair as she braided it. When she was all you had, and then, she wasn’t.

You blinked fast, but the tears welled anyway. “This is…” you tried to say, voice cracking. “This is my first birthday cake.”

Olga stepped forward, her eyes soft. “Then it had to be the right one.”

You looked between them, at Alexia’s kind eyes and Olga’s trembling smile. Your chest felt tight in a different way now, not because something was missing. But because something was finally there.

Love. Safety. A home you never thought you’d have.

You looked down at the candle, flickering gently, and tried to breathe through the lump in your throat.

“Make a wish, Blue,” Olga whispered.

Your eyes stung. You closed them. And you didn’t even hesitate.

“I wish you never leave me,” you whispered, so soft only they could hear.

Then you blew out the candle. Silence fell over the room— gentle, sacred. Like even the air knew not to disturb it.

Olga was already crying again, the way she always did when her heart got too full. Alexia gently handed the cake off to set it down, then wrapped an arm around her waist, steadying her, holding her like she always did.

And you just sat there, stunned. Small. Full of something you didn’t even have a name for.

This wasn’t some big party. There were no cameras, no balloons. No forced smiles. Just a cake. A nickname. A wish you meant with everything in you.

And for the first time in your life, your birthday didn’t feel like a bruise waiting to happen. It felt like a promise. Like a beginning. Like home.

#woso x platonic!reader #woso fic #woso x teen!reader #woso x reader #woso community #woso #barca femeni x teen!reader #barca femeni x reader #barcelona femeni x reader #barcelona x reader #barca x reader #barcelona femeni x teen!reader #barcelona femeni #alexia putellas x teen!reader #alexia putellas x reader #olga rios x teen!reader #olga rios x reader #·˚ ༘ something blue

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adhdduckie · 2 months ago

Text

bloodied kisses - m.g. x reader

photo creds to @cribabey w perms.

my masterlist reqs open!!

synopsis: mark grayson, who removes himself quietly from your life as if he was never in it in the first place. as if he wasn't your best friend for years and years. who shows up to your house for the first time in months, beaten and bruised.

wc: 3.8k

a/n: i finished it, posted it, and then i deleted it by accident. had to rewrite ending and i hate myself rn because i deleted it.

your friendship with mark had started when you'd first moved in, just down the road. you'd been young, still baby faced at 11.

you'd been helping your mom move the boxes out of the moving truck when you heard a small "you need any help?"

it made you jump, seeing how you'd not heard him approaching, and when you turned around to face him, he saw the fear on your face and quickly apologised, "oh my god, i'm so sorry. my mom told me to come help"

you'd told him it wasn't a big deal, and he'd introduced himself to you. you'd done the same.

after that, he'd come over so many times, and soon enough, you'd been inseparable.

you'd joined his school once the summer was over, and you spent lunchtimes with william and mark together, always talking about that comic mark loved, seance dog.

while you didn't like the comics as much as they did, you loved to hear them talk about them, especially the way mark got so animated when arguing with william about it.

you realised at some point at a lunchtime during school that you'd liked him a lot more than a friend. he'd been leaning forward talking to you, and when he'd gotten too close, you'd gotten nervous. your heart thumping, palms sweaty kind of nervous.

and that made you scared. he was your friend, first and foremost, and your feelings for him were pushed down, deep, deep, deep. locked in a little box where your heart would have been, in a bigger box, in a bigger box. which was then locked in large steel chains.

a little bit of an overkill, but you really weren't risking shit.

your friendship was sweet, mark was sweet, and he especially was sweet to you. mark was too sweet, too good to you.

kind, charming and funny, always cracking jokes to you in class, teasing you just enough to get you flustered, but only as a joke, which he would say.

it hurt a little, but as you said before, friendship was more important to you.

problem was, as soon as you hit 16, he'd stopped. stopped talking to you in the halls, stopped talking to you in class, stopped coming over. he'd dodge you in the halls, and pretended not to be home when you'd come over.

william didn't get it either, saying how mark wouldn't tell him why he'd been avoiding you, and goddamn, it hurt.

you'd been hurt, so hurt, and you'd had enough. he stopped responding to your messages, and had just stopped leaving you on read, opting instead to leave you on delivered.

that was the last straw for you. so you stopped trying. stopped looking for him the halls, stopped going over to his house to look for him, stopped messaging him, and stopped sitting with them at lunch.

and as soon as you'd disappeared from their normal table at lunch, mark had gone back to sit with william.

you'd seen it happen first time. sitting next to a guy who'd been begging you to sit with you at lunch for months, you'd zoned out from the boring conversation as soon as he'd started. he was going on about something about being on the football team and being the MIP of the team, but you weren't listening.

your eyes were on mark as he made his way through the hustling and bustling cafeteria, his yellow shirt underneath his blue sweater always standing out.

his sleeves were pushed up his forearms, and you'd been able to see the muscle in them, flexing as he carried his tray with one hand. you hated how it still invoked the butterflies in your stomach, and it pissed the hell out of you.

you dragged your eyes forcefully away from him, trying to pay attention to jacob and whatever he was saying about his football. but no matter what happened, your eyes went right back at mark.

him laughing, talking with william and just acting completely unaffected by your absence.

'fuck him'. you thought to yourself.

and just as easy that mark had come into your life, he disappeared from it.

a year had passed since then, and it was easier than it was before, but still not as easy as your friendship had been.

you still loved him, which pissed you off to no end, despite his completely lack of care for you.

initially you had tried to smile at him in the halls as you'd walked by in different directions, but he always stood straight, ignoring you completely, eyes ahead as you stumbled over your steps.

you told yourself it was for the better, that you didn't want his attention anymore, but that little box in of your heart ached every time you thought that.

william and you still spoke, but you'd found another group of friends, only ever talking to william when mark wasn't around.

and then, there was a new superhero.

invincible, (cue title card) or so he called himself. quite frankly, mark was horrible at hiding his identity.

ducking out of class, only minutes later invincible arriving on a scene. he had the same hair, same build and height, and that same….mark feeling.

but you didn't tell anyone, you didn't say anything to anyone, and god, why did it matter if you knew who he was. he wasn't your mark anymore, you weren't even friends.

you'd watched him as he changed over time, growing taller, broader and stronger.

you couldn't help but notice, and yet again it was something you cursed your stupid little heart box for.

in the halls it was easier to notice, he'd shot up over the summer, especially now that he's got his powers.

it's crazy to think that mark is invincible, especially the guy who was once your mark. well, he's no longer your mark, as you should be able to tell due to the complete and absolute avoidance of you.

still, with absolutely no reasoning whatsoever behind it.

william, even a year later, still urges you to speak to mark. but you refuse, saying that "it was completely unwarranted," And that "you didn't do anything that deserved this kind of treatment." all that could have possibly happened would be that he had enough of you.

he just stopped liking you and that there was absolutely no other reasoning behind it. which lowkey sucked but still, men ain't shit (says you who literally sometimes still cry remembering about how fucking upset you were when he just disappeared out your life.)

william is done. he really is. he's had enough of both you and mark, how mark just refuses to talk to you and how you just fucking won't talk to mark either.

it's not really your fault. you tried, you really did, messaging him, showing up, just anything you used to do together.

debbie, who you still see around occasionally, gives you a sad smile sometimes, like she knows what's happening. but you never ask, because maybe you don't want to know. but you also do, which is a big problem.

you're currently just hanging around at williams, watching TV with him when there's a news alert. 'Breaking, invincible in fight with (generic) villain'

you watch with bated breath, watching mark, or invincible, getting absolutely beaten up, quite frankly, and youre really worried for a moment there that you're gonna be attending a funeral.

but somehow, like normal he always managed to get out of it, but it leaves him bruised and bleeding. you're so irrevocably fucked, you want everything in the world to pause just so you can check if he's okay.

but you have to remind yourself you can't do that anymore, he's not your friend.

you're tired, so unbelievably tired. you're missing your conversations together, you're missing just being near him, being allowed to look at him with more than just stolen glances. you're just tired, and you want it all to go back to normal.

fuck normal, honestly.

you're done. with worrying and you don't want to see the news. knowing mark got out is enough, and you want to go home to cry.

william doesn't get why all of a sudden you're so tired, and you bode both him and rick goodbye as you leave, not really wanting to third wheel anymore.

rick's sweet, he is, but you just want to be home alone now, and not with anyone else.

the trek back home isn't a long one, but you soften the walk with some music. it's dark out, a little earlier than usual.

just as you reach your house, you look up to your room to see the light is on, and the windows open, which is strange because you swear you switched it off just before you headed out and closed your windows.

you can see the light shining down through the large oak tree in your front yard, and the way the light filters through the leaves is gorgeous.

you can see the curtains billowing from the night air, and you furrow your brows.

might have been a slip of the mind, you reckon.

nevertheless, you unlock your front door, setting down your coat on the hangers, dropping your keys onto the mantle, before heading into the kitchen to make yourself some quick noodles.

your parents are out again, on a date night, most likely. they won't be home for awhile.

as you're waiting for the water to boil, you're standing there rather impatiently. you just want to collapse into bed, it's been a tiring day.

your hands itch for your phone, to search up if invincible managed to get away compltely alright. but you won't. you have to remind yourself that you don't care, that you can't care.

next thing you know, you're letting out a sigh of relief, seeing that invincible got away alright, and then you're swearing at yourself for even caring.

but it's hard to switch it off like a switch, you just can't do that.

once your noodles are done, you're halfway up the stairs when you hear a shuffle coming from your room.

you freeze.

you're waiting for the sound to come again, and when it doesn't, you think it's just a trick of your mind, and you keep walking up.

stopping right at your door, something makes you pause but you're not sure what it is or why you're pausing, but you force yourself to move past it. you push open your door.

it takes your eyes a moment to adjust to the rather bright light all of a sudden, coming from the rather dark hallway. once your eyes do adjust, you see it.

mark.

he's sitting on the floor of your room, holding a hand to his stomach, eyes closed as he rests his head on edge of your bed, his jaw sharp, his neck taut.

his mask is off, flung to the side. you can see it in the corner, and it's covered in blood. his or someone else's, you're not sure.

but the absence of a large abundance of blood on his face makes you think it's someone else's.

"what the fuck." you say, more annoyed than anything else.

then you process the blood. it's on your floor, which is stone, so it's not so bad to clean up, but his suit is torn, and he looks like he's in pain.

"what the fuck, mark." You repeat, and only then does he open his eyes, to look at you.

"hey." he says.

a year and a couple months and all you fucking get is a "hey" like it's only been hours since he's seen you last?

"don't 'hey' me." you snap, setting down your quick noodles and your glass of water, before you think again, picking it up and passing the glass of water to him. he takes it with a grateful look, trying to smile at you.

even his teeth are stained with blood. his injuries look a lot worse in person, rather than on TV.

you stare at him for a while, before you walk to your bathroom, grabbing your first aid kit that you'd once run out to buy once when mark had fallen from the tree in your front yard when you were 13, the one you had used to clean up his cuts back then.

it had sat unused for four years, just waiting to be used again, in the corner under your sink. you have to brush the dirt off of it.

then you have to wash your hands, for the fear of infection.

you come back out, pulling out everything you think you might need.

"what the fuck are you doing here, mark." you snap at him again, pissed that he just shows up after 16 months of absolutely nothing, pretending that everything's fine when he's covered in blood, and this is the first time you've seen him up close in a year.

you're taking out your scissors, cutting the cloth around his cuts, trying to stop the fabric from sticking to it. you hate how close this makes you, hate how it makes the box in your chest ache, hate how you want to be closer.

"i wanted to see you." he groans, when you pull a certain strip of fabric away from a particularly deep cut. even his voice has changed. it's deeper, far more self assured, and somehow just more…mark.

"you wanted to see me?" you scoff, setting your scissors down and picking up some antiseptic cream and a piece of gauze. "you haven't spoken to me in 16 months. you've ignored and dodged me at school, you've left me on read for months, and. you just show up, bleeding and beaten in your invincible suit just completely out of the blue?" you can feel your throat close up as you finish speaking, tears pricking at your eyes.

you rub at them with your sleeves, making sure that your hands remain clean. you put just a little too much iodine solution on the gauze, pressing a little bit harder than you need to.

he lets out a hiss of pain, and it doesn't make you feel better, unlike what you were hoping. "fuck you, mark" you say to him again.

he's silent. he's just staring at you, his face unreadable.

you can see how much he's changed since the last time you were this up close.

you avoid his eye contact, knowing that if you made eye contact with him, you wouldn't be able to hold back 16 months of anger and pain back.

"will you just fucking say something?" you demand, bandaging him up with the rolls and rolls of bandages, basically wrapping him up like a mummy.

"mark. please." you beg.

you feel his hand cup your jaw, making you look up at him, his eye contact making you nervy, tears threatening to spill over your lash lines.

he swallows, mouth dry before he says; "i just… couldn't be around you anymore."

that admission makes you crumble, and you automatically assume the worst. but the way he's handling you now, so soft and gently is at odds with his words.

"what..do you mean?" it's your turn to swallow now, and you realise how parched you really are.

he sighs, as your eyes hone in on a cut on his upper eyebrow, and you're picking up the gauze and iodine solution again, shuffling closer.

you're hesitant to dab at his eye, holding out the gauze out for a moment, to see if he's alright with you being this close to him.

he nods, once, but you notice. of course you notice. you can count the amount of tiny tiny scars he has on his face from here.

you can see the one that's just under his brow , the one he got from a branch when he fell down from the tree, the one you'd helped him clean.

you dab slowly, gently. you've slowed down a little, waiting for his response. you're trying to avoid direct eye contact with mark, but you can still feel his eyes zeroed in on you.

"mark, what do you mean." you repeat, demanding answers. you've had enough of this cat and mouse, where he's constantly running from you. you're not letting him go till you're getting your answers.

he sighs, seeming to understand that you aren't letting go.

"you know, i just couldn't control myself. i want you. like desperately. like more than a friend, more than a best friend. i knew it was more than you were willing to give me , so i tried to distance myself. and once i did, it was harder for me to go back to normal, so i couldn't."

wow. okay. erm. not what you were expecting. but still, that was still a completely dick move.

"you want me?" you ask him, shy. you're hopeful, needing him to say it. the chain around the boxes of your heart snaps.

"i don't just want you, I need you. do you know how much it killed me to see you sitting with that tool jacob?? you smiling at whatever he was saying, but still looking at me? do you know how hard it was for me to pretend like i didn't see you in the hallways? like it wasn't suffocating to walk by you and not talk to you?" your outer heart box splinters.

you want to say something, you really do, but you can't get anything in with the way he's rambling

"my heart squeezes every time i look at you, and it killed me to stay so far away from you." he says, looking up at you again. your hand has stilled from where you were dabbing at his cut, and you're breathless. when the admission sinks in, another shell around your heart breaks.

"i fucking love you, and i never said anything because i didn't want to ruin our friendship." he whispers, like it's hard for him to say it. it probably is. the final box that was keeping your feelings locked up and tucked away, just fucking breaks. you're crying, and you're trying not to show him.

"and i know, i ruined it by walking away, but i didn't want to ruin it by telling you i loved you. and i'm sorry, i'm sorry… i just can't stay away anymore. it really took me almost dying to realise how much i've been needing you." he says to you, his hand cupping your jaw again. his other hand reaches up to your cheek, and his thumb brushes away a tear.

his head is no longer resting against your bed edge, and now he's sitting up rather straight. he's moving into your space, he's so close you can feel his breath fanning across your lips. he smells like blood and the minty spider man toothpaste he's been using for years. he likes to pretend he uses adult toothpaste, but he used to always go back to it.

"i'm sorry," he whispers, and you can feel the words on your lips. "i'll do anything it takes to make it up to you."

"it really took you almost fucking dying to apologise, huh?" you say, voice cracking, brittle from tears. you're trying to play it off, make it seem a little funnier to show him that it's okay. well it's not okay, but you get what he means.

he's trying, and he's always been bad with feelings, and you know this. 16 months will take forever for him to make up for, but you just want him back. you want him back in your life. you want to sit with him at lunch again, you want to be close to him again.

he laughs, and even he sounds like he's been crying.

"you're too good to me." he says, and you're glad he knows it, because if it was anyone else, they'd have been dropped like hot potato.

when you rest your forehead against his, his hands move to your waist, and he lifts you so easily onto his lap. you forget he's a superhero now, and it's too easy for him it's unfair.

you swat him lightly on the chest, apologising when you hear him grunt in pain.

"are you going to kiss me?" you ask him, voice hushed, excited, nervous.

he laughs, and pulls you closer before he captures your lips in his.

he tastes just like he smells like; metallic and minty, a taste so addicting you don't want to come up for air. he somehow tastes sweet in your mouth too, and he groans when you bite him lightly on his bottom lip.

his hands are warm and heavy on your hips, and your knees are pressed against the stone floor on each side of his hips.

your hands tangle into his hair, pulling lightly at his roots. when your nails scratch gently at his scalp, he groans into the kiss.

his groan vibrates through him into your mouth, and you smile against his lips.

he's unrelenting, all fierce kisses and licks, as if he's trying to devour you.

he licks slightly at the line between your lips, and you open, pliant and obedient for him, his tongue snaking in to meet yours, dancing together.

he tastes sweet, if you haven't said before.

when you finally have to break away for air, you rest your forehead against his, breathing hard. he presses a chaste kiss to the corner of your lip, and you kiss another to the scar above his eye, underneath his brow, that he got when he tried to climb the tree up your yard into your room, the one he'd fallen down from.

"this alone isn't going to make up for 16 months," You tell him, despite the smile on your face. "you're not magically forgiven."

he leans in again, smiling against your lips as he whispers, "i know."

later, you're both lying on your bed, both of you tired and exhausted, leaning into each other, when he whispers to you, "weren't you surprised that i was invincible?"

"not really." you respond, not opening your eyes. your head is resting on his uninjured shoulder, face tucked into the crook of his neck.

"why not?" he asks. you think about telling him that you recognised him almost immediately, from the curve of his back, the strong line of his jaw, and the light scar underneath his jaw.

but those things had only been memorised by you because you'd spent more timing staring at him then talking to him, so you decided not to tell him that. maybe you'd tell him one day. instead, you tell him, "i recognised your voice immediately."

he huffs in response.

a/n: goddamn i locked in for this. i had literally posted it and then tried to edit it to check word count but then accidentally deleted it and had to rewrite the entire thing from the kiss scene onwards. i was crying lowk.

anyway. hope you enjoyed!! as always, thank you if you made it all the way down here!!!

as always, likes and reblogs are appreciated, and let me know if you have any comments!! i love reading them.

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bytemee · 2 months ago

Text

۶ৎ STUNNER — yu jimin.

“my little angel in disguise..."

⌗ in which— you're a painter who hasn't picked up a brush in months. then one night at your best friends gallery, you meet a stranger who inspires you more than you ever thought possible. you don’t know her name. you don’t know that she’ll disappear before morning. you don’t know that when your hands finally remember how to move, how to paint, it’ll be her face staring back at you from the canvas.

but—when your best friend sees your finished piece, she says eight words that change everything:

"why the hell did you paint the princess?"

pairing. princess!karina x painter!fem!reader

warning(s). language, mentions of alcohol and smoking, mild angst, kissing + implied nsfw but not explicit, happy ending.

word count. 5.7k

authors note. @bimkayd for u. i also have to update my masterlist...bad.

when creativity strikes, it strikes.

like, really fucking hard. and it always comes at the worst times—when you’re in the shower, when you’re half-asleep, when you’re five minutes away from an important meeting you don’t even want to be at. but for the past few months, it hasn’t come at all.

time blurs when you’re stuck in the same four walls, staring at blank canvases like you're trying to have a staring contest with them. the paints dry in their tubes, waiting for you to wake up from whatever this is—this rut, this drought, this fucking nothingness in your head.

yunjin tells you it’s a phase. "everyone goes through it," she says over the phone, her voice tinny with excitement, too busy preparing for her own gallery opening to properly pity you. “come to my exhibit tonight. it’ll help.”

so you go to her art gallery opening. you haven't been out of the house in weeks. you haven't painted anything worth showing in months. it's a miracle you can dress yourself and brush your teeth without collapsing.

the gallery is packed when you arrive, an ocean of well-dressed bodies moving in slow currents, sipping expensive champagne from delicate flutes and admiring the artwork. most of these paintings are by yunjin herself—all bold colors and abstract shapes—but there are a few others here, too, and you spend some time wandering around, looking at them all.

your favorite is a painting done in blues and greys, full of sharp angles and harsh shadows. the paint looks thick enough to feel under your fingertips. there's a small plaque in front of it that reads "untitled" and nothing else. you stare at it for what feels like hours, but it must only be minutes because when you look up, yunjin is standing beside you, smiling.

"do you like it?" she asks.

"i love it," you reply. "it's stunning."

she laughs. "that's what i was going for."

yunjin nudges you playfully with her elbow. “so? feeling inspired yet?”

you scoff, but it lacks real bite. “i don’t think staring at other people’s work is going to magically make me able to paint again.”

“maybe not,” she muses, taking a sip of champagne. “but getting out of your own head for once might.”

you don’t have the energy to argue with her. not when she’s right. not when she’s always right.

you then let her drag you through the gallery, introducing you to people whose names you’ll forget before the night is over. collectors, critics, other artists—everyone here looks effortlessly put together, as if they belong in a world you haven’t touched in far too long. you nod, you shake hands, you make small talk. it takes every ounce of strength you have just to act normal, as if you haven't been locked inside your own head for months now. as if there isn’t a black hole where your creativity used to be.

"your work is so… bold," says one woman, sipping from her champagne flute. "i love it."

"thank you," you say, hoping your smile doesn't look as strained as it feels.

you glance around the room, looking for anything that might distract you from this conversation. a familiar face. a bathroom sign. anything. but all you see are unfamiliar faces and unreadable paintings on the walls, and suddenly you feel dizzy.

claustrophobic.

you need to get out of here.

now.

"excuse me," you mutter, slipping away from the woman before she can ask another question.

you don't know where you're going, but it doesn't matter. as long as it's somewhere else. your shoes click against the tile floor as you weave through the crowd, eyes focused on the exit ahead, sliding out the door into fresh air.

the night is cool on your skin, but not cold. you can still hear the sounds of the city echoing off the buildings, muffled music from inside the gallery mixing with distant traffic and the occasional car horn. it's a beautiful night, perfect weather for an art opening. if only you could appreciate it.

you lean back against the wall, fishing your pack of cigarettes out of your pocket. they're crumpled up but still intact, thanks to the tin foil wrapper you put around them before heading over here. you've been trying to quit lately, but old habits die hard.

besides, you figure you deserve this one.

you light a cigarette and inhale deeply, letting the smoke fill your lungs before exhaling slowly, watching as it curls and dissipates into the air. it tastes terrible—like ash and chemicals and bitter regret—but it calms your nerves, just a little bit.

and then the door swings open again.

at first, you think it's security. some guy ready to kick you out for loitering in the wrong place. but then you see her, stumbling out the back entrance of the gallery, looking flustered and annoyed. she's wearing an expensive-looking gown with a slit up one side, showing off her long legs, and heels so tall you'd trip over them yourself if you tried to walk in them. her hair is perfectly coiffed and her makeup flawless, but her expression says she wants to be anywhere else.

you stare, transfixed. she’s all contrast. elegance and frustration. poise and unrest. a picture-perfect masterpiece comes to life.

"do you have another?" she asks, motioning to your cigarette.

her voice snaps you out of your reverie, and you arch an eyebrow. she looks too perfect, too put together, to be standing here asking you for a cigarette. "you smoke?"

a pause. then, "no. never actually."

you laugh to yourself, not in a mean way, more like you're trying to convince yourself this isn't actually happening. "so why'd you ask me for one?"

"because i want to try," she says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "i want to try something new."

she’s so fucking out of place here. all that polish, all that perfection—it makes her look like a mirage, something that can't possibly be real. her hair’s perfect, her makeup looks like it was painted on by a master, and that damn dress? it’s made for a runway, not this alley. she’s like someone dropped a fantasy into a real, gritty world, and for some reason she ended up here.

her eyes don’t leave yours as she waits—most likely for you to respond, to offer the cigarette she asked for, to say something, anything—but you stay silent because your mind is working faster than your body right now, and you need a moment to catch up.

“you wouldn’t like it,” you finally say, once the gears have started turning again, your words sounding much steadier than you feel.

her eyebrow furrowed, her lips turning down just slightly at the corners. not quite a frown, not yet, but a near thing. you've never wanted to capture an expression on canvas as much as you do right now, her face in all its beauty and annoyance.

"why not?" she asks, sounding indignant, almost insulted. "do you not trust my judgment? my tastes?"

she seems to be talking herself into it, the challenge sparking something behind her gaze. and though her posture doesn't change, you can practically feel the determination radiating off her.

you laugh. "you're missing out on the exhibit, you know."

"i could say the same to you," she counters. "why are you out here?"

you could give her a simple answer, something about needing a break, needing air, needing to get away from the suffocating crowd of people who actually have something to show for themselves. but none of that would be the truth, so you simply shrug and say—

"—wasn't really feeling the whole art world pretentiousness thing."

"strange place to be if you're not a fan."

"my friend dragged me." you admit, dropping the cigarette butt to the ground and grinding it out with the toe of your shoe.

she cocks her head to the side, eyes flicking down to the now extinguished butt before looking back up. it's her turn to stare at you. to take in your appearance—the plain button-up, dark dress slacks, and polished black leather shoes. if not for the tattoos peeking out from your sleeves and collar, you'd just look like another patron, dressed to impress and blend into the crowd.

"are you an artist as well?"

you smile at the question, "used to be."

her gaze softens, "used to be?"

"haven't painted in a while."

the pout is back, her eyebrows scrunching together as she stares at you, clearly processing this information, taking in your words and decoding them, working through their implications and how they fit into the context. she settles with, "well, do you plan to ever again?"

it's a simple question. one you should have a simple answer to, but life isn't simple. and art, well, art's a fucking mess. your shoulders rise before dropping.

"why not?" her eyes narrow. "have you given up?"

"not giving up." you tell her. "just stuck."

her lips press together like she doesn’t quite believe you. like she’s debating whether to push, whether to pry, whether you’re just making excuses.

"stuck how?" she asks, arms crossing over her chest.

you huff out a laugh, shaking your head. “you ask a lot of questions.”

“i like knowing things,” she says easily. “and i like understanding people. you intrigue me.”

it shouldn’t affect you the way it does. but those words—you intrigue me—they lodge themselves somewhere deep, twisting and turning like a key fitting into a lock you didn’t realize was waiting to be opened.

you glance down, scuffing the toe of your shoe against the pavement, considering how to answer. the truth is ugly. the truth is that you used to paint like your life depended on it—because, in a way, it did. it was your lifeline, your voice, your way of making sense of things when nothing else made sense.

and then, one day, it just—stopped. the inspiration, the fire, the need—all of it dried up, like a well you kept going back to, only to find it emptier each time.

"you ever look at something so much you forget what made it beautiful in the first place?" you ask instead.

she doesn’t answer right away; she just watches you, eyes flickering over your face. trying to read you is like a puzzle box. or a book. you wonder what kind of story she thinks she finds on your face. what she sees, besides the tired bags under your eyes and the slight tremble in your hands.

when she speaks, her voice is quiet. low. it carries across the distance between you and hits you right where it counts.

"i think everything can be beautiful again. if you look at it the right way."

"yeah?" you say, a little more bitter than you mean to. "that easy, huh?"

her lips quirk, not quite a smile, but close. "i didn’t say it was easy. i just think… maybe beauty isn’t lost. maybe it’s just waiting to be found again."

you swallow, forcing yourself to scoff lightly, to shake your head. "you always this philosophical, or is that just the champagne talking?"

she laughs, soft but real. "i haven’t had a single sip tonight."

"then what are you doing out here?"

"i needed fresh air."

your fingers twitch. she speaks again.

"and maybe you just need a new muse."

you wonder if she even realizes what she’s saying. if she knows that, somehow, without even trying, she’s already painting herself into every blank canvas in your mind.

the night unravels like a half-finished painting—smudged, chaotic, too many colors bleeding into each other. you don’t remember who kissed whom first, only that one second she was looking at you like she saw something worth figuring out, and the next, your hands were on her waist, and she was breathing against your lips.

it’s desperate. messy. her dress pools on the floor of your too-small apartment, and her skin feels like something you’re not supposed to touch but can’t help but reach for anyway. you don’t ask her name. she doesn’t ask for yours. it’s better that way.

and then, when morning comes, she’s gone. no note, no number, nothing. you don't have to guess if it was real or not because the memories are too vivid, too sharp, for it to be anything but. you lie there for a while, staring at the ceiling, replaying everything over and over in your head.

the way she looked. the way she tasted. the way she felt.

your hands are itching, craving the feeling of your brush in your hand.

it’s not a choice. not really.

your body moves before your mind can catch up, reaching for the brushes, the paints, and the canvas that’s been gathering dust in the corner. the moment the bristles touch the surface, it’s like something clicks back into place—like an old wound finally scabbing over.

she appears in fragments first. the curve of her jaw. the slope of her neck. the way her lips parted like she was about to say something, only to change her mind. it’s obsessive, almost. you don’t even think about what you’re doing, only that you have to do it. the need rushes through you like wildfire, consuming everything in its path.

you don’t know how long you sit there, lost in the act of pulling her from memory onto canvas. hours, maybe.

that’s how yunjin finds you.

she kicks the door shut behind her, dropping a bag onto the counter like she’s another name on your lease. "you alive?" she asks, but then she sees you—sees the paint on your hands, your clothes, your face. sees the finished piece propped up in front of you.

and she stops short.

"oh."

her tone is surprised, breathless, then she laughs, loud and disbelieving.

"oh my god," she says, eyes wide with something between amusement and shock. "why the hell did you paint the princess?"

you blink, exhausted. “what?”

she gestures to the painting like it should be obvious. “why did you paint the princess?”

your stomach drops. “the what?”

she stares at you. “you’re joking.”

“i—” you look at the painting. at her.

your pulse thuds in your ears.

“yunjin,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “what the fuck are you talking about?”

it’s a joke. it has to be.

you wait for yunjin to laugh, to tell you she’s messing with you, but she doesn’t. she just stares at you, then back at the painting, then back at you again like you’re the dumbest person alive.

“you seriously didn’t know?”

your mouth is dry. you shake your head. yunjin lets out a sharp breath.

"oh my god. you—you slept with the princess, and you didn’t even know?” the words hit you like a punch. you stare at the painting—at her—but it doesn’t make sense.

princesses don’t sneak out of fancy events. princesses don't try to bum cigarettes off strangers in alleyways. princesses don’t have one-night stands with random depressed artists they meet in the back of art galleries.

you swallow hard, rubbing a hand down your face. “fuck.”

“yeah,” yunjin says, crossing her arms. “fuck.”

you stare at her, then at the painting, and then back at her. the gears turn in your head, trying to connect the dots, trying to fit this new information into the picture. "are you sure?" you ask, even though you know she wouldn't lie about this. "like, absolutely fucking positive?"

"of course i'm fucking positive!" she throws her hands up. "do you not pay attention to the news at all?"

your mind whirls with the new information.

it’s not that she was just some stranger slipping out before sunrise. she's a princess. a whole gorgeous untouchable, have you said untouchable? — princess.

and now she’s everywhere. on the news, in magazines, her face staring back at you from glowing screens and glossy pages. every headline, every camera flash, every fucking update on her. princess karina seen leaving in the royal car. princess karina attending an art gala. princess karina, princess karina, princess karina.

you try to forget. you try to be normal again—whatever that means. you go back to ignoring your canvases, sitting on the couch, flipping through channels you don’t really watch. you even let yunjin drag you out a few times, shove drinks in your hand, and tell you to move on already. but it doesn’t work.

because she’s still in your head.

so you chase.

not in the obvious way. not in the stupid, reckless, get-yourself-arrested-for-trying-to-climb-the-palace-gates way.

you chase in the quiet ways. the ways that don’t make sense to anyone else. the ways that make yunjin groan and say, “you are literally the most tragic idiot i’ve ever met. but i'll help you anyway."

and that's how you find yourself here. in a palace that is stupidly big.

like, what do you even do with this much space? big. it’s all gold and chandeliers and marble floors and suits of armor standing around, looking vaguely threatening. it makes your skin itch.

you don’t belong here. you know that. but neither did she, that night outside the gallery. and if she could slip out of this world for one night, maybe—just maybe—you can slip in.

yunjin had connections. she always did. you didn’t ask questions when she got you in, just pulled the sleeves of your borrowed suit down and tried not to look like you wanted to throw up.

you have a plan. it doesn't go smoothly.

"i'm sorry, miss. only those on the guest list may enter."

"oh, i—" you scramble to find an excuse. any excuse. "i am on the guest list."

the guard doesn't move. he doesn't even blink.

"what's your name?"

"uh—" your mind blanks. "it's a very long name. very, very long. with a lot of letters. like, a lot of them. you wouldn't be able to pronounce it."

the guard doesn’t look amused. or convinced.

"try me."

you throw out the first thing that comes to mind. "it’s, uh… y/n… the first… y/ln… the third."

silence.

then yunjin, from beside you, coughs so hard you think she might pass out. you nudge her with your elbow, but she’s already turning away, shoulders shaking.

the guard, however, does not laugh. he just stares at you like you’re the dumbest person to ever breathe.

"that’s not a real name."

"it could be," you argue weakly.

he crosses his arms. "it isn’t."

you exhale through your nose, willing yourself not to turn and run. not yet. not when you’re this close.

yunjin, finally recovering, clears her throat and steps in. "okay, okay, my idiot friend here—who, i assure you, is actually very harmless—just has a little bit of trouble with names. what they meant to say is that they’re a guest of lady yu."

the guard squints at you both, skeptical. "lady yu?"

"yes," yunjin says smoothly. "you know, lady yu. very high society. loves art. huge fan of… uh, brush strokes."

you resist the urge to slap a hand over your face.

the guard exhales, clearly debating whether dealing with the two of you is worth his time. eventually, he lifts a radio to his mouth, murmuring something you can’t hear. a beat later, he nods.

"you’re clear to enter."

you don’t ask how yunjin pulled that off; just grab her hand and pull her inside before the guy can change his mind.

and then you’re in.

the palace is even more ridiculous further inside. every inch screams money. gilded ceilings, more enormous chandeliers, even shinier marble floors that make you extra aware of how not rich you are.

you scan the room, searching, heart pounding in your throat. and then—

there.

at the far end of the ballroom, half-surrounded by nobles and dignitaries and all the kinds of people who actually belong here, she stands. regal. poised. effortlessly untouchable.

princess karina.

and she’s looking right at you.

you swallow. she arches an eyebrow. her expression shifts, then she's up and moving. in your direction. then, without a word, her fingers wrap around your wrist, firm but not rough, and she turns, pulling you with her.

you barely have time to process what’s happening before you’re weaving through the gilded halls, past guards who barely spare you a glance, past murmuring guests too distracted by their own conversations to notice the princess slipping away with some stranger in a borrowed suit.

she doesn’t stop until you’re deep in the palace, past the public rooms, past the private suites, past everything anyone else has a right to see. only then does she let go.

you swallow hard, rubbing at your wrist. "subtle."

she ignores you, crossing her arms. "what the hell are you doing here? you're not supposed to be here."

your throat feels dry. "i know."

"then why are you?"

you lick your lips, suddenly 1000x more nervous than you were standing outside the palace gates. "i—" you inhale sharply. "i tried to forget you. and i couldn’t."

"that’s unfortunate."

your chest tightens. "is it?"

she exhales softly through her nose. "what do you want, really?"

and it hits you, all at once, all over again. why you’re here. why you had to come.

you take a step forward, closing the distance between you. your eyes never leave hers. "do you know what it means to be a muse?"

that throws her. a small crease forms between her brows. "i—"

"it means you exist everywhere," you cut in before she can finish. "even when i try to ignore it. even when i don’t want to think about you. you show up in every color, in every stroke of my brush, in every painting i try to create. you are impossible to forget."

her mouth opens and closes. "that doesn’t—you can't—"

"it means you stole something from me," you continue, your voice growing softer as you close the last bit of distance between you. "something i didn’t even realize i was missing until you came into my life and showed me what it meant to feel alive again. you're my muse."

her breath catches at that, lips parting just slightly, as if to speak, but no words come out. you take advantage of the moment, reaching up to cup her face in your hands, brushing a thumb over her cheekbone. she leans into your touch, eyelashes fluttering against her skin, eyes falling shut for a moment. and then they open again, dark and intense and so, so beautiful.

she searches your face as her hand reaches up to rest against yours. you want to kiss her, want to tell her you want her in the simplest terms, in a way that even a princess can understand. you lean forward, pressing your forehead against hers, and ask, "do you feel the same? was it real, what i felt between us?"

you barely whisper the question out loud, barely hearing her inhale as she closes the space between you. her lips brush against yours, featherlight but enough to make your stomach flip. “i can't be that for you,” she says against your mouth.

and your heart breaks. you know you were just a one-time thing, just a quick fling for her. it's the whole princess thing. you knew it would be complicated, but you couldn't stop thinking about her, and she's looking at you with such an intense look, a look that says she can't forget you either, and that has to be worth something, right?

you don't realize you said all of it out loud until she pulls away, blinking rapidly. "wait, no—that's not—that's not what i meant," she stammers, suddenly looking much younger and more vulnerable than you've ever seen her. "that night at the gallery, with you, was real. that was—it was the only time i've ever felt that way."

"but," like always

her gaze softens. "we can't. you can't just come in here like this."

she says the last bit as if you've done something wrong, and her hands pull back to her sides. you don't have it in you to care about her rules anymore. her hands fall to her sides, but you stay still, your forehead hovering near hers, your breath mixing.

"i don't care about protocol," you whisper. "i care about you."

"stop," she says, softer than before. "you can't just say things like that and expect me to—"

"expect you to what?" your voice rises, sharp edges showing. "feel the same? you already do. you’re just scared. and i get it. i do. but don’t pretend this didn’t mean anything."

"i'm not pretending," she snaps, taking a step back, composure cracking. "i haven't stopped thinking about you either, okay? but that doesn’t change the fact that this—us—it’s impossible."

"why? because you wear a crown and i wear paint under my nails?"

"because my life isn’t mine!" she yells. "because everything i do is watched and calculated and twisted into something ugly. if they knew you were here—if they saw us like this—"

"then let them see," you say, helpless and stupid and in love. "i'll stand in front of every one of them and say it. i'll tell them how i look at you like the sun rises in your mouth and sets in your goddamn spine. i don't care."

"well, i care!" she shouts, her voice shaking now, full of fire and something just comparable to fear. "i can't afford to want things. not like you do. not recklessly. i don't get to choose who i love."

it's quiet.

"you need to leave."

you don’t move.

"if you don’t, i'll call the guards."

you flinch, and she notices. her jaw clenches. it takes everything in you not to beg.

“don’t make me do that,” she whispers. “please. just go.”

your throat is tight. you nod once.

you turn, heart heavy, the room blurring at the edges. when you open the door, yunjin is waiting, quiet and still in the corridor, like she knew this was how it’d end.

you don’t say a word as she walks beside you down the long hallway, past the grand ballroom, and out of the palace. she doesn’t push for information or ask about what happened. she just lets you stew in your thoughts, and you are grateful. when you get back to your apartment, you collapse onto the bed. you don’t cry—you never really did, even in high school, and now doesn't seem like a good time to start—but you come pretty fucking close.

you lie there for hours. maybe days. hard to tell. just you, your ceiling, and the hollow space behind your ribs where your heart used to sit before she carved it out with a single sentence and left like it didn’t matter.

you tell yourself it was stupid to fall for her. she’s a fucking princess. what were you expecting? that she’d run off with you into the sunset like a fairy tale? that she’d burn her whole world down just to be with someone who wears the same hoodie four days in a row and forgets to buy groceries until you’re eating plain rice and mustard?

but it still hurts.

the gallery night is yunjin’s idea. she throws a flyer at your chest and tells you to “get a grip and make rent.” you roll your eyes, but deep down you know she’s right. you need something to do with your hands, something to keep you from climbing the palace walls like some deranged romantic with a death wish.

you don’t expect anyone to show up, but people come. some friends. some strangers. a few art freaks who talk way too much about your “use of longing and space.” you just nod along, pretending you're three seconds away from yelling in their face.

everything is her. every painting. every messy, unblended brushstroke. every fucking streak of white paint on the canvas because she wore that blue dress when you first met, and now it’s like your brain can’t forget.

the last person leaves, some guy who said a lot of things you didn't understand, and you don't really remember the specifics of it, but you're pretty sure you shook hands, and maybe he wrote down your name and contact info? you don't remember. but there are no more guests. so you’re cleaning up. closing things. mentally debating whether or not you can drink paint thinner and survive.

the door creaks open behind you, and you don’t even look.

“sorry,” you call over your shoulder, wiping your hands on a rag. “we’re closed. private event's over.”

no response. just the sound of the door shutting. then —

“are you always this rude to royalty?”

you freeze.

slowly, slowly, you turn around. and she's standing there, in a white coat with her arms folded against her chest. there are shadows under her eyes, like she hasn’t been sleeping either. it takes everything in you not to run to her. not to kiss her until she forgets all the reasons why she ran the first time. you settle for swallowing hard and clearing your throat.

“you could’ve just knocked."

“i did." she lifts her hand. “twice. and then i panicked and came in anyway.”

you stare. she fidgets.

she looks down at her shoes. looks back up again. looks back down again. like she doesn’t know what to do with herself now that she's here. finally, she takes a step forward. you take a step back. it's reflex at this point, some instinct to keep her from getting too close.

"i came to apologize," she starts, sounding unsure, which isn't like her at all. "for—everything."

karina runs a hand through her hair. your throat goes tight at the familiarity of the action, at how much she reminds you of that night, that stupid dress, and the way she kissed you, indicating that she didn’t care what came next.

you exhale.

"don’t apologize," you say, because the words feel heavy and foreign in your mouth, because she's been living a life you can't even begin to imagine, because none of that matters if she's here, looking at you like this, and you have to believe in something. "you didn't do anything wrong. and if anyone needs to apologize, it should be me. i shouldn't have—"

"you were right," she cuts in before you can finish.

it throws you. "what?"

she swallows hard, glancing down at the floor, at your shoes. then back up again, holding your gaze this time. "i don't know much about art, but i know what you meant…for someone to be your muse." her voice drops low. "and i think you're mine."

you blink. "oh."

a pause. her cheeks flush, eyes widening in panic.

"was that—did that make sense? i probably sound like a—"

"yeah."

you nod, trying not to smile as you watch her rambling, trying not to stare too obviously at how her whole face is blushing now.

you want to tell her everything. to show her everything.

you settle for, "i mean, it does make sense."

it does. it doesn’t. none of this does, not in a normal way. it's the kind of thing you tell your grandkids about someday. or maybe a therapist, if you can ever afford one. either way, it makes something flicker deep within your chest.

you pause.

"so what do you mean, exactly?"

her lips purse. her eyes are pleading now. she looks younger. more human. not so much a princess anymore as she does someone trying to figure out how to tell the world to screw off. you're struck, again, with how much you love her. it feels like a physical ache in your chest.

"i want this," she says quietly, gesturing between the two of you. "i want this so much it scares me."

you're not used to this, to feeling seen by someone who isn't yunjin, and it throws you off. you clear your throat again, shifting from one foot to the other. "i want this too."

a pause. you try not to stare too openly at her lips. you fail miserably.

"we'll figure it out," she says softly. "together. whatever that looks like."

"together."

the word hangs between you, heavy with everything left unsaid. and then—

you don’t even realize what's happening until she's already moving forward, pulling you down to her level. you can smell her perfume. you can see every single detail of her face as she stares back at you. your lips are a breath apart. she hesitates.

"tell me you don't want this," she murmurs. "and i'll go."

your chest constricts, throat tight. you want to tell her it'll never be easy, not when you're you, and not when she's her, not when this could be so much more complicated than either of you are prepared for. but you also want this, want her, want to know what her skin feels like against your palms and whether or not the words i love you sound good when spoken aloud. you swallow hard, hands tightening on her hips.

"i can't," you whisper. "i don't think i've ever wanted anything more."

a smile flickers over her face. it's gone too quickly. "good."

her lips are on yours, soft and gentle, and everything in your life shifts back into focus, into place.

there are things you can't explain. the way she feels pressed against your chest, warm and perfect and yours, for now at least. the way your hands shake when you brush your thumb over the curve of her cheek. the way she tastes like starlight.

and there are things you don't have to.

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yumeka-sxf · 6 months ago

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After two months, the SxF manga is finally back! There's lots of interesting Melinda content here, so let's analyze!

I would say the main thing we learned about Melinda in this chapter reinforces what's been hinted at before - not only does she truly despise Donovan, but she's actually terrified of him. Her expression on this page when she thinks of his souless eyes says it all.

Whether her fear comes from direct abuse, knowledge of what unspeakable things he's done in the past, or something else entirely, has yet to be seen. This chapter also emphasizes the fact that she can't freely do what she wants without being fearful of what he would do. Just like at the end of the bus hijacking arc where she made Damian promise not to tell Donovan that she had come to pick him up, we see in this chapter that she can't let him know about her occult hobby either.

But while it's not clear what exactly Donovan does or has done to her to make her like this, what is clear is that her fear of him is what's caused this inescapable hatred of him, which was so strong that it caused her to also develop feelings of hatred for her son because he's something that connects her to Donovan. But like we've seen before when Anya first read her mind, her dislike for Damian is fickle; one minute she wants him to disappear, but deep down she loves him. While the first incident after the hijacking made her seem more ambivalent, this chapter reveals that her "good" side is her true intent - wanting to be a worthy mother to Damian and see him happy.

But her fear of Donovan is so gripping, that just the thought of confronting him makes her paralyzed with fear. She becomes too exhausted to continue and even starts questioning why she bothers with fortune telling at all. Perhaps it's an unconscious coping method that she uses to try and find a way out of the horrible situation she's in.

Hopefully we'll learn even more about Melinda in the next chapter when she has her appointment with "Dr. Forger." But another thing I wanted to point out in this chapter is reiterating how empathetic Yor is to Melinda's condition despite not knowing what's actually bothering her. And in recommending that Melinda see Loid at work, she's actually helping with his mission! (of course only Anya realized this).

And oh my god, the "grim reaper" joke had me cackling 😂 Their expressions in the first panel were hilarious enough, but then Yor had to make sure Anya knows that she doesn't use a scythe! That's just so her.

Guess it wouldn't be a SxF chapter without one quiet, bittersweet scene, courtesy of Loid this time 😭

I also love how the boys are enamored with Yor. Even foul-mouthed Damian can't bring himself to be directly rude to her, so he just runs away 😆

I know a lot can be said about the Tarot card meanings, but this post is long enough already, so I'll leave that part up to others who are better with that type of analysis 😅 I'm just glad the SxF manga is officially back! I'm relieved Endo is better and giving my best wishes that his health continues to stay good 🤞

#spy x family #sxf #spy family #spyxfamily #loid forger #yor forger #anya forger #damian desmond #melinda desmond #sxf manga #sxf spoilers #sxf manga spoilers

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rememberwren · 8 months ago

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I’ve thought of surrogate!reader with Ghoap but lately I’ve been obsessed with the thought of established Ghost/fem!reader with sperm donor!Johnny and it’s a whole new dynamic okay

Another month, another bunch of negative pregnancy tests. I can see you crying in the bathroom when Simon admits that he went and had himself tested even though you both promised not to, and he knows that he’s the one at fault. Sperm ain’t sperming. You’re not the broken one, he is.

Of course you don’t see it that way. But you finally decide to put away dreams of carrying a child of your own and instead start thinking of adoption.

All the people in your life are having children now—Gaz’s second daughter’s first birthday arrives and you’re surrounded by people politely (and not so politely) wondering when it will be your turn to have a baby. “Always asking you, but never asking me,” Ghost says dryly to make you feel better, hand on his stomach. “Maybe I want to carry the baby.”

Even Price has a child on the way—and Kate and her wife don’t want to adopt but they regularly foster. Everybody has kids in their lives.

Everybody except Johnny.

On the way home from the party Ghost brings it up—Johnny was real good playing with the kids. He’s a nice kind of guy. Good genes. Would you like to have his baby, you think? And what? It breaks your brain a little bit. But you can’t stop thinking about it. So one day Ghost has him over and the two guys go out into the yard and talk, and they’re out there for forever it feels like as you wash the same dish over and over again, watching them through the window above the sink, but then they come back and Johnny has agreed. It’s a yes. Anything for you and for his lieutenant. Ghost has saved his life enough times over in the past years; this is just one way that Johnny can pay him back.

At first you all keep it strictly above board. Johnny jerks off in the bathroom into a cup, hands off the specimen and disappears into your living room to let you and Ghost handle the insemination. Cheers.

Ghost doesn’t mean to make it sexy, gently spooning Johnny’s seed inside you—there’s just something taboo and dirty about it that sets you off. Ghost touches you so soft and gently, spreading your folds, playing with your clit, feeding the sperm into your hungry little cunt. And he makes you cum at the end because that wive’s tale is always at the back of his mind, that cumming helps with conception.

And it doesn’t work. The next month you’re devastated—and perhaps just as devastated as you is Johnny. It’s touching, almost endearing the way he takes it to heart so much, feeling like this failure was his own.

Ghost is the one who suggests that the three of you hadn’t done it right. It hadn’t been by the book. Sperm can’t live long outside the human body. The solution is simple: you and Johnny should have sex. You start stammering disapproval of the idea and have listed a whole host of reasons why it’s inappropriate when you notice Johnny’s silence. He’d do that for you. Wouldn’t be a hardship either; you’re a beautiful woman, he’s always thought so. Which is how you end up with your legs wrapped around Johnny’s waist while Ghost sits beside you in bed, reminding Johnny to make you cum. Because it helps.

And the next month, Simon and Johnny are both pacing holes in the floor outside the bathroom while you take your tests. When the door finally opens, you don’t need to say a word. The expression on your face says everything. It worked. You’re pregnant.

That should have been the last and only time Johnny fucked you with Ghost.

But it isn’t.

#ghoap x reader #just thinking out loud

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nikid-aze · 9 months ago

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LOVE PARADISE. ˒˒ ﹙ enhypen ! ﹚

╰┈⪼ in which you suddenly ask your boyfriend if he loves you to see his reaction

pairing ‎⸝⸝⸝ enha member x girlfriend!reader 𓄷 iηcℓudᥱs 𓈓 none!

genre﹙💬﹚⸝⸝⸝ scenerios/headcannons, soft, fluff

warnings ‎⸝⸝⸝ enhypen member being a wimp for their girl, really cute reaction from the member, use of petnames (sweetheart, kitten, sweetie, darling..), jay doing a proposal to the reader (that’s not a real proposal), niki teasing the reader (kinda funny to write actually), really dramatic Jake, kisses and cuddles.

wc ‎⸝⸝⸝ 3788 words

rain’s note ‎⸝⸝⸝ im in love with the idea of this scenario and I hope that you loved reading all of them ! (jay, Jake and niki being my favorite 🤭) hope to see you for my next post, currently working on "TOKYO ON EDGE" first chapter !!

all feedback and reblogs are welcome! ♡

𓏲 𖧷ˊ HEESEUNG

heeseung had just come back from a long day of training and the only thing he wanted was to be in your arms so he could reunite with his girlfriend.

he simply almost froze when he didn't see that you weren't sitting on the sofa like he was used to finding you like at the end of all his days. this simple change in his habits starting to worry him before he heard a noise coming from the kitchen, and a smile appeared on his lips even though he had seen you cooking.

quickly his arms were around your waist as he placed a soft kiss on your cheeks, but before he even said a single word you had cut him off.

“hee, do you love me?” you asked him and he stood looking at you for a few seconds without understanding why you had just asked that question.

he thought that showing you his love every day was enough to prove the love he had for you, but upon hearing your question he quickly understood that maybe that wasn't the case.

“wait are you seriously asking the question sweetheart?” he ended up saying almost as if he had just found his voice and his arms quickly disappeared from around your waist before Heeseung ended up completely disappearing from the kitchen, leaving you alone wondering what he could do.

but he returned a few minutes later with his phone in one hand, and his bag in the other, which he placed on the kitchen table. “Look at me quickly, sweetheart, please..” he asked before seeing you turn around and a smile appeared on his lips.

he then gave you his phone directly. “look at the wallpaper” and he had barely finished his sentence when you quickly noticed that his wallpaper was nothing other than a photo of the two of you that he had taken during a of your appointments. “my password is your date of birth” he added almost immediately before looking inside his bag.

he searched for a few seconds before taking out a small stuffed animal that you had given him on your birthday a month ago, that he had kept with him ever since and that he had with him all the time since he never left his bag.

then he came closer to you simply to show you one of his necklaces with your initials engraved on it, which he had never taken off without forgetting this ring that you had both worn since the start of your relationship.

"I think you must be kidding me for asking a question like that when almost all I have with me are things that remind me of you. im obsessed with you baby."

following which, you were treated to an avalanche of kisses from your boyfriend to once again prove his love which quickly made you laugh.

“i know heeseung, it was just to see what you were going to say..” you had time to say before his lips pressed against yours.

𓏲 𖧷ˊ JAY

you didn't even have the need to ask the question that strangely Jay had already seen this moment coming and so, throughout the day he had been expecting it, but deep down he was prepared. maybe even a little too prepared in fact.

you were both walking in the middle of the night, admiring the stars while the streets were far too quiet, and without knowing why, this question had come to your mind and obviously, you couldn't not ask it and you then turned to face Jay, who was already looking at you as if he had already understood.

"Jay.." you started innocently trying to coax your boyfriend into the future question you were going to ask him.

"yes darling?" he answered you, and this simple nickname made your heart beat faster and your cheeks turned pink, almost forgetting your question but you eventually came to your senses. "do you love me ?"

a soft laugh left your boyfriend's lips upon hearing your question and he knew perfectly well that your question was asked simply to see his response and reaction. he spent several seconds admiring you, his smile growing as he took in your beauty and his hand took yours, his gaze finally settling on your fingers noticing that you almost never wore rings.

his gaze ended up returning to your face, seeing perfectly well that you were waiting for some kind of response from him, he took the time to make you wait and his gaze went back down to your hand.

"what do you say about a darling ring?" he ended up asking you after three minutes without any response and his gaze returned to you.

hearing his sentence you couldn't really understand what he meant and after a few seconds you seemed to realize what he had just said and didn't even know what to say.

"Jay..?" you asked as you looked straight into his eyes and again a smile appeared on his lips, noticing that his sentence had disturbed you slightly and although you only thought it was a joke he ended up feeling a small black box which you were sure contained a ring.

your gaze was fixed on him, unable to know how he was feeling right before your gaze fell on that small box that was in your boyfriend's hands.

although he didn't position himself as a real marriage proposal you let out a little laugh of excitement imagining it as a proposal, and he knew that with this kind of action he was going to make you happy. when he opened the box and you finally saw the appearance of the ring, which was classic but at the same time with this very atypical appearance a smile appeared on your lips and a few seconds later the ring had ended up around one of your fingers and a smile also appeared on Jay's lips.

"Is that enough to prove that I love you darling?" he asked you even though he knew perfectly well that he had almost made you a real marriage proposal and that this simple detail had allowed a smile to remain on your lips.

"It's beautiful Jay..." you replied, looking at the ring now around your finger before your gaze rested on him and you almost immediately jumped into his arms.

a laugh left his lips before he placed a soft and tender kiss on your lips, holding you against him.

𓏲 𖧷ˊ JAKE

"so my girlfriend really doesn't listen to me when I spend hours talking about her when I'm alone with her.." Jake said, realizing the question you had just asked him while he dramatized the whole thing. situation.

"What do you mean? Jake, I've never heard you talk about me.." you replied, slightly confused about what he had just said.

"oh my god this is not possible.." he began as he knelt on the ground, dramatizing the situation even more. "my girlfriend never really listens to me... what have I done to deserve this.."

a slight nervous laugh left your lips while your boyfriend was still overreacting. your gaze fixed on your boyfriend who was now completely lying on the ground as he slowly began to pretend to cry.

realizing that he wouldn't stop until a few minutes later, you took a seat on the couch and turned on the television, knowing that Jake would soon be his old self again.

"And on top of that I have a girlfriend who doesn't care how I feel right now... I don't understand what I could have done wrong to deserve all this ignorance when I'm the best boyfriend ever.." he continued to complain while you still didn't seem to react to his way of being.

and as you had finally imagined, Jake finally stood up and came to stand beside you, his head resting against your shoulder as he took your hand in his.

"sweetheart.. I spend so much time telling you how wonderful you are that I really wonder if you really listen to me and if you even pay attention to me.." he said almost immediately before slightly turn his head to look at you. "sweetheart.. it's such a stupid question that you asked me every day I leave you post-its on the living room table before I leave so that you have a love message when you wake up in the morning and to go to university... do you realize that every day I find new ways to prove my love to you?"

"Jake.." he started, realizing that if you didn't cut him off he was going to continue for hours and hours. "I know very well that you give me little speeches at the end of the day to tell me how much you are in love, you don't need to react like that... even if it's really funny and adorable to see you react so this way.."

after which he simply raised his head, his drama queen acting disappearing completely while a smile tenderly appeared on his lips and he quickly placed his lips against yours.

"I love you little monster.." he whispered against your lips while smiling.

"I love you too jakey.." you whispered against his lips.

𓏲 𖧷ˊ SUNGHOON

"do you love me Sunghoon?"

when Sunghoon had heard your question, his gaze landed directly on you as he held your hands and gently walked you across the ice with your ice skates on your feet.

"do you really think that's a question to ask while we're on a date at the ice rink, sweetie?" he asked as he directly noticed that look of distress when you understood what he was implying.

"I forbid you from letting go of me Sunghoon you know perfectly well that I won't hold on if you don't hold my hand.." you finally said, begging him with your eyes that he doesn't let go of you.

but, almost as if he had no reason not to listen to you, he let go of your right hand, and you directly felt a slight imbalance on the ice as you looked at Sunghoon again, hoping that he wouldn't Don't let go of your left hand.

and yet, that's exactly what he had done before he disappeared from your field of vision and you felt slightly panicked at the idea of being without Sunghoon on the ice when you barely knew how to stand on your own. without you ending up falling.

then, as you felt ready to fall on your butt on the ice, you felt an arm slide along your waist before a laugh was heard to your left. and you knew this laugh perfectly since it was that of your boyfriend, and he had allowed himself to place a soft kiss on your lips before holding you so that you did not fall and just after starting to skate in making sure you were comfortable with the speed he had, and inevitably he ended up whispering in your ear.

"you shouldn't ask me that kind of question when we're in a territory where you're not comfortable sweetie.." he started as he continued on his way with you in your arms, making sure that your meeting at the ice rink is pleasant and does not spoil the moment. "then if you need an answer of course I love you, otherwise we wouldn't spend so much time going on dates just the two of us and, above all, I would never be so worried when you're on ice cream if I didn't like you then next time think about asking a little less stupid questions."

"Yes Sunghoon I understand and I know you love me I'm not stupid.." you replied and you noticed a second time that Sunghoon had finally let go of your waist making you panic slightly before he returns to its initial position when you want to meet at the ice rink, that is to say in front of you, ensuring that where you were moving forward.

but this time, as he took your hands in his he pulled himself against him, and quickly placed a kiss on your lips, a smile forming on his lips.

"now if you want we can resume the romantic aspect of our romantic date.." he told you, although he knew that meeting up here was not particularly romantic, but as long as you were with each other you considered it romantic.

𓏲 𖧷ˊ SUNOO

You and Sunoo were in the middle of a movie, in each other's arms while a blanket covered your bodies so you wouldn't get cold. a bowl of popcorn was on your boyfriend's legs as you snuggled up to him, using any excuse to be close to him.

everything was truly perfect, Sunoo had an arm around your waist to hold you against him while you both completely focused on the movie, only the sound effects of the movie being audible in the room as you enjoyed a real little nice romantic evening since you didn't do it as often as you would like.

but quickly your mind was bothered by a question that refused to go away until you felt compelled to ask it. and after ten minutes of fighting with your mind not to have to ask the question your gaze quickly came to Sunoo who was still completely focused on the movie, and a small smile appeared on the corner of your lips.

"Sunoo.. do you love me?"

hearing your question his heart skipped a beat just before his gaze left the television to land on you, and he observed your cute face and that beautiful smile before simply coming to kiss you, almost as if he didn't didn't want to answer the question but right after he whispered against your lips.

"it would be stupid not to love such a beautiful and incredible girl like you sweetie, so of course I love you. and I love you even more than you can imagine in your head."

then he focused back on the movie as if nothing had happened as your cheeks turned red at the confession he had just made to you, your head returning to rest on his shoulder as you focused back on the movie.

"then you are so magnificent that it would be a shame not to be able to tell the other members of the group that you are already taken just to see their faces when they find out.. I am very happy to have you by my side for let you go and I intend to make sure that you stay by my side as long as possible, hopefully for the rest of my life."

your cheeks had become a little redder when you heard him continue his little confession and simply because he seemed to be going into a very complete monologue you were obliged to come and silence him by placing his lips against yours before a small smile fakes between the two of you.

"I understand Sunoo.. and I love you just as much you know.." you ended up saying while taking his hand in yours and you finally continued watching the film while being in each other's arms.

𓏲 𖧷ˊ JUNGWON

Jungwon had his own ways of showing you how much he loved you, so obviously asking him the question meant having to listen to a monologue from him about the many gestures he did just for you to prove his love. but even that didn't stop you from asking him the question anyway.

putting your phone away when you arrived in front of him, you displayed the most beautiful smile of yours just before realizing that he was unfortunately focused on the screen of his phone and therefore that he did not see you. but that also meant you could ask him so you sat next to him, pretending to be curious about what he was doing on his phone by resting your head on his shoulder.

"Jungwonie.. do you love me?" you asked and only two seconds later his phone screen had gone black as he moved slightly so he could look at you fully.

his hands had slid down your cheeks as he looked at you for a few seconds, and just by seeing his look you could imagine that your question had somehow disturbed him.

"Are you sure you're okay sweetheart? You know perfectly well that I love you with everything I do for you.." he began to explain.

and while he seemed to have gone into a monologue about all the things he loved about you, his right hand came to rest on your forehead to check that you weren't sick and that you didn't have a fever but absolutely no signs of illness.

so he looked at you without really understanding your question since you weren't sick, but, even with the confusion he was still monologueing about everything he did for you.

then suddenly, you noticed that he had gotten up leaving him alone in the living room while you didn't even know where he could go since you were also in the living room.

"Jungwon where are you going?" you had asked but absolutely no answer had been heard and you began to wonder if asking him this question was the right thing to do even if it was still for fun, and simply to know the reaction he was going to have.

a few minutes later, you saw your boyfriend come into the living room again, this time with a box in his hands which he placed in front of you. "I'll let you look inside and you'll understand for yourself that yes, I am madly in love with you, sweetheart."

your hands had gripped the box, curious to know what was inside and as soon as you opened it you discovered many letters all containing Jungwon's writing and, reading the contents of one you understood that They were love letters that he had taken the time to write himself simply for you, and you felt your heart warm just by reading them.

but your surprise didn't stop there because apart from the love letters, the box that jungwon had given you was filled with all kinds of things that you had given him, little notes that you had written to him yourself or even tickets to a concert you both went to. there were also many little red paper hearts, and noticing the effort Jungwon had put in just for that you understood.

he was very much in love with you, and he was certainly the most adorable boyfriend you could have ever had so inevitably, when the box was closed and put aside for his safety you found yourself directly in Jungwon's arms, t having fun then placing numerous kisses on his cheeks or his lips.

so much so that he started laughing when he saw the reaction you had with this little box which certainly contained far too large a dose of love just for you.

"you're adorable Jungwon!!" you said with the most beautiful smile on your lips.

"I imagine that you have understood that I am very much in love with you.." he replied with a laugh before taking you in his arms, and following this action a cuddling session had started.

𓏲 𖧷ˊ NIKI

"niki do you love me?"

no sooner had the question left your mouth than he looked up from his phone to look at you, knowing it was a stupid question you had just asked.

"No." he replied almost instantly with a rather disturbing sincerity.

and as soon as you heard his answer, which of course you absolutely didn't appreciate, you came to his side, taking his phone in his hands to put it next to him, forcing him to look at you, something he had done.

"sorry? you don't love me?" you asked a second time to make sure you heard the answer your boyfriend had just told you.

and, bringing his face closer to yours, almost as if he was about to kiss you, Niki looked at you, keeping a serious look as he repeated that same word a second time. "No."

it didn't take much for you to quickly leave his room, showing both your annoyance and your annoyance at the answer he had given you, but instead of reassuring you he let out a slight laugh, amused of your reaction.

and for the rest of the day you found yourself wanting to avoid him after the answer he had given you, not expecting Niki to answer "no" in that way which had annoyed you but also frustrated because, if this was the only moment where Niki had a good chance of saying yes, it was on this type of question.

of course, Niki, seeing your reaction, he couldn't help but remain in his role as a mean friend who had answered no to your question, and he obviously enjoyed annoying you no matter what he could say to you or do. after all, Niki found any excuse to act like a child when he could, and your question being stupid he was going to act even more stupid for the rest of the day.

it was only in the evening, when you were both under the covers that he slipped his arm around your waist to pull you back against him, knowing full well that you wanted to show him your displeasure but it wasn't working.

he placed a kiss on your cheek before whispering in your ear "you should have asked me how much I loved you instead.. the answer would have been easier and it would have saved you from scolding me all day kitten.."

but no response from you, you just remained silent not wanting in any way to show that you were about to just turn to face him.

"kitten... ask me the question, I promise you will get a positive answer" he whispered in your ear again as he placed a kiss on your cheek again.

"okay.." you finally responded, knowing perfectly well that niki wasn't going to leave you alone until you spoke. "How much do you love me Niki?"

"Really bad kitten... really like crazy"

and this simple answer made you blush almost immediately while a smile appeared on your lips.

"your question this morning was stupid... so obviously my answer was going to be just as stupid"

after which he just left many kisses on your cheeks just to tease you.

"I'm in love with you like crazy and I'm a little more in love with you every day so never doubt that sweetheart.."

thanks you for reading all of this it’s really sweet ! hope that you liked each of the members scenarios and that you enjoyed reading !

anyways loves you, see you soon !! 💗

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lovemomhatepolice · 8 months ago

Note

Hey babessss could you do a drew starkey x reader’s first time together… smut? Love yo<3

31’ - drew starkey

navigation taglist requests

pairing: drew starkey x fem!reader

warnings: first time sex, sexual overtones, age difference (Drew is 31, reader is 21), established relationship, oral sex, unprotected sex (PROTECTED YOURSELF), drunk!drew, drunk!reader, blowjob, a tiny bit of fingering, English is my second language!

belonging: NO NUT NOVEMBER!

type: totally smut with plot, a little bit of fluff (because drew is a cutie pattotie)

word count: 5k

summary: happy birthday beautiful man. there can't be a better gift, right?

more content: drew starkey masterlist, obx masterlist

You nervously adjusted the shoulder strap of your black dress, once again that evening. At the tenth you stopped counting. You were terribly annoyed by its material, its length, well today just everything stressed you out. You didn't know why yourself, and you were angry with yourself, because you were supposed to act as unsuspecting as you could - and it didn't work out.

"Drew, are you ready?" you finally asked, exiting the bathroom after spending a long time in it.

Today was his 31st birthday, which was no small feat. After 30, life starts to get more serious, even for someone like Drew.

Drew heard you open the door and from his seat in the living room he could see you coming out of the bathroom. He swallowed hard as he looked at you - you were as incredibly beautiful as you are every day. But there was something about you today - the way you walked, the way you smiled at him, the way you wore that dress - he couldn't take his eyes off you. In fact, for a few seconds he stopped functioning at all.

“Yes, I'm ready,” he finally said, getting up from the couch.

"Great," You smiled at him and picked up your purse, which was lying on a cabinet in his hallway.

You didn't live together, it was still too serious a step in a relationship you had only been in for less than two months. Despite the fact that you had known each other practically all your lives, by the fact that both of you lived near each other and you were friends with his sister Brooke, your relationship progressed very slowly and you were both probably happy about it. Finally, in such a fast-paced world, you could at least relax for a while and enjoy each other longer.

He walked over to you and grabbed your hand, interlocking his fingers with yours. You were so perfectly fitting in his hand - and he would never get enough of that sensation. A part of him also just liked the way it looked; how he would tower over you and your small hand would disappear in his bigger one.

“Ready to go?” he then asked again, bringing your hand to his lips to kiss it.

"I should be the one to ask you that," you laughed lightly, blushing from the tenderness. Drew was always like that. He always took care of everyone, tried to make no one feel bad. And for that you loved him.

"My birthday boy."

Drew pulled you closer to him and threw his free arm around your shoulders. He began to lead you toward the front door. “Are you sure you're not the birthday girl?”

He let go of your hand so he could open the door, and then opened it for you, holding the other at your back. He teased you. “You're just as excited as I am, or even more so.”

"Oh, because in the end I'm the one who can take you out to dinner and pay for everything," you said, sticking your tongue out in his direction as he closed his apartment.

Drew was already like that - he never let you pay for any of your dates or food. And even when you had to split it in half (which he didn't agree to very readily), he continued to try to wring it out somehow.

He laughed lightly as you headed to the elevator together. He pressed the button and turned to face you, his back leaning against the elevator wall. He lightly combed his hair with his hand, on which his inseparable ring.

“We've been over this before,” he said, still looking at you with a goofy grin. “I won't let you pay anything on my birthday. And in fact, I'd best not let you pay for anything. And ever,” he snarked.

"And that you can not allow, and I'll do it anyway," you laughed and took the lip gloss out of your purse. You turned toward the elevator mirror and started applying it back.

He smiled, looking at you. The man pulled away from the elevator wall and walked closer to you. He then grabbed your hips from behind and pulled you close, gently trailing his thumbs along your sides. Because of the large height difference, he bent down slightly, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“Stop being so stubborn,” he teased in a light tone, placing a light kiss on your head.

"You're the one who should stop being so stubborn," you muttered, putting the lipstick back in your purse.

You turned toward him and put your hands on his white shirt, gently correcting it. "It's your birthday and I want you to just let yourself be pampered."

He chuckled, his arms then moving around your waist while he looked at you.

“You’re the one that deserves to be pampered,” he said honestly and leaned his forehead against yours for a moment, placing a light kiss on it.

"You too. Big grown man" you laughed playing with the button of his shirt.

Drew looked unearthly today. Every day he looked like he was created by angels, but today? Today he outdid himself. White shirt, black pants and matching jacket. Plus his hair, which was now a little longer... he looked like a god. „You’re thirty one today, that's no even a joke anymore.”

He also giggled when he listened to you. He loved the feeling of your hands playing with the button of his shirt. It was such a random and small thing, but it was still soothing. He enjoyed those little moments between you. When it was just you and the whole world was suddenly silent.

“Don't remind me,” he said with a small giggle, and a smile appeared on his lips as he watched you. “I feel old.”

"But you have ten years younger girl, it makes you younger," you laughed and grabbed his hands, which he had on your waist.

He giggled, well aware of this. Well, your age difference was something too big and unusual for many. But he didn't care, it was nobody's business. It was only yours, and you felt the best you could.

“Somehow it worked out that way, huh?” he asked with a smile and moved one of his hands to grab your chin, letting his thumb gently brush your lower lip.

"Oh don't touch or you'll smear my lip gloss" I laughed, feeling his thumb on my lip.

He chuckled again and shook his head, but his eyes were locked on your lips. The way they just begged him to lean in and kiss them.

“It’s not like I haven’t smeared it before,” he said in a teasing tone while he continued to caress your bottom lip with his thumb.

"That's why I had to correct it,"you laughed, looking into his beautiful blue irises, which were now, as always, laughing.

"Don't exaggerate," he laughed and leaned slightly over you, smacking your lips.

You smiled into his mouth, returning the kiss lightly. Now his lips were also shining from your pink gloss, but before you could tell him, the elevator doors opened on the right floor.

You took his hand and intertwined your fingers together, walking out of the elevator in front of him. You headed toward the exit of the building, getting more and more excited about the party you had organized. Drew trusted you and let you lead the way, but as soon as you spotted your present driver parked in front of Drev's apartment building, you stopped for a moment.

"Wait, i have to blindfold you" you said and took out a blindfold from your purse so he couldn't see anything.

In the end, Drew thought the two of you were going to dinner. But in fact you were taking him to his favorite club in Charleston, where all his family and friends were waiting for him.

"And how am I supposed to go the car without seeing anything?” he asked with a smirk.

„I’ll help you dumbass”

He laughed as he listened to you and allowed you to put the blindfold on him.

“I hope you don’t leave me stranded somewhere,” he said with teasing tone, poking your ribs.

You bent under his finger as he stabbed you in the ribs and laughed. “Oh this is just my dream. To leave you here alone blindfolded.” you muttered and took out some more headphones from the purse. “You can't hear either, forgive me darling,” you added and put the headphones over his ears, kissing him lightly on the lips.

“I've lost all my senses because of you,” he muttered, letting himself be led toward the car. “I knew it a long time ago, but to do it in a literal way. Wow. I didn't expect that.” You snorted with laughter and slowly opened the car door for him, being careful not to hit him, because compared to a low car, Drew was a giant and could quickly get a bump.

You got in after him and greeted your driver, who already knew the address well, so he only smiled in your direction. After a while, you set off for your chosen location, which was not that far away, but you had to drive a bit. And you knew very well that if you both had a drink with Drew, you would neither return as a driver nor on your feet.

Drew instinctively caught your hand and intertwined your fingers, playing with your nails, which you had freshly done. You smiled under your breath and laid your head on his shoulder.

~~~ You have already entered the club without much obstruction, however, further without taking off either the armband or the headphones. You led him out into the middle, letting his friends and family surround him, until you finally gave them a sign that they could shout surprise, when at the same time you took off his headband and headphones at the same time. “Surprise!” you exclaimed along with the others, looking from the sidelines at his reaction.

Drew stood for a moment, as if enchanted. Then he began to look around him, and when he saw all his loved ones, it made his heart warm. Each of them on this one day decided to come and make the man's birthday even better.

You smiled sincerely in his direction, continuing to be surprised that it all worked out the way you wanted. Everyone was there - the entire OBX cast, Odesa, his hometown friends and immediate family. “Surprise?” you asked, laughing lightly at your boyfriend.

Drew tried to say something, but continued to be too surprised. “I-wow…” he laughed under his breath, walking a little closer to you. “Really, thank you.”

His smile continued to grow as he took in the sight of so many familiar faces around him.

“The best things for the best boyfriend,” you muttered, throwing your arms around his neck and pulling him slightly closer to you, smacking your lips. You must have distracted him a bit before his mother managed to blow out the candles on the cake she had prepared.

He laughed again as he wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you close. He placed a gentle kiss on your cheek, then turned to look at his mother, who was now standing in front of him with a birthday cake.

“How the hell did you manage to keep this a secret from me?” - he said, and everyone laughed.

“I guess we never know,” you said and wanted to move away from him so he could stand by the cake himself, but he cut you off.

But before you had a chance to take more than a step away from him he grabbed your wrist, preventing you from moving away.

“I want you here,” he muttered in a low tone only you could hear.

His mother set the cake down in front of him, and everyone started singing “Happy Birthday.” Drew’s eyes sparkled with happiness, and you couldn’t help but admire how his face lit up in the glow of the candles.

When the song ended, he took a deep breath and blew out the candles, laughter and cheers erupting from the crowd. You clapped along, feeling proud of your surprise.

“Alright, let’s cut this cake!” Drew said, reaching for the knife. He looked around at everyone, then back at you, his smile softer now. “I can’t believe you all did this for me. This means so much.”

You squeezed his hand, feeling a swell of emotion. “You deserve it, Drew. You’re amazing.”

As the cake was served, you took a moment to glance around the room. Friends were laughing, drinks were flowing, and the energy was electric. This was what you had hoped for—a celebration of Drew, surrounded by the people who loved him most.

Once everyone had their slices, Drew turned to you, a slice of cake in hand. “Here, let me feed you.”

You giggled, opening your mouth playfully as he brought the fork to your lips. The sweet flavor burst in your mouth.

The two of you sat somewhere in a corner, eating a cake together. Around you sat some of his friends and family, the rest were either getting ready to wish him well and give him a gift, another part was already standing at the bar, starting the celebration.

“Give me your jacket, I'll go put them away in the locker room, and you take care of the guests here.” you said to him, finishing your piece of cake.

"Don't be long," he muttered and gave you a small kiss on the forehead.

“I promise,” you muttered and went to the locker room, putting your jackets away together. In the meantime, his sister Mackalaya accosted you, giving you a tight squeeze. You had known her all my life, too, so it was great to see her again.

"How are you? How are you guys doing?"

Meanwhile, Drew continued to chat and talk to his friends sitting around him, but his eyes were continuously drawn to the direction where you had left moments ago.

“It really couldn't be better,” you smiled sincerely at her. “Drew is so wonderful, we are so damn happy.”

She chuckled happily at your answer, nodding her head with a smile.

"It's lovely to hear, you are just perfect for each other," Mackalaya said and glanced in her brother's direction for a second, seeing how he kept looking toward the locker room, waiting for you to return.

“We may come to you soon, after Drew finishes recording,” I said, squeezing her hand. “I can't wait to see Liliana.”

You saw Drew stand from the table and head to the bar with the others. You laughed under your breath as your gazes met together again and Mackalaya no longer held you.

“Looks like the party is really getting started now! Should we join them?”

She then looked back at you and nodded her head with a smirk.

“I think it’s our cue to join them,” she said, then grabbed your arm and led the way toward the bar counter.

As you approached, you could hear snippets of Drew’s conversation, his laughter ringing out like music. He caught your eye again, and that familiar warmth spread through you. He gestured for you to come closer, his smile broadening.

He moved forward slightly, stretching his arm and grabbing you by the hip, pulling you against him until you were standing between his legs.

“What did you order?” you asked, glancing at the bartender, who was preparing various drinks and grabbed the menu in your hand and looked for something for yourself.

Drew leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear. “I ordered a round of mojitos. They’re the best here,” he said, a playful glint in his eye. You could feel the excitement buzzing around you, the energy of the party enveloping both of you.

“Then I'll take the same too,” you muttered and handed it to the bartender, who added another mojito to his queue.

Drew rested his chin on your shoulder and let out a low chuckle as you felt him inhale the scent of your hair.

“How do you feel?” you asked, looking over his shoulder.

"Happy," he managed to utter before he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, his nose brushing against your skin. "I just want to enjoy the moment. Care to join me?”

The way he looked at you made your heart race, and you couldn’t help but smile. “I’m in. Let’s make it a night to remember.”

The whole evening passed in a wonderful atmosphere. Everyone danced, drank drinks, talked to a lot of people and you all just enjoyed being with Drew on his birthday. The man also seemed to be in awe. He had a smile on his lips the whole time and didn't leave your side for a moment. Whether you were dancing or he was getting a gift from his friends, you always had to be next to him. And you didn't mind at all.

As the night progressed, the air filled with excitement. You found yourself lost in the rhythm of the party, the way he pulled you closer during a slow song, his hands resting on your waist, made your heart flutter.

“Best birthday ever,” he said, his eyes sparkling when he looked at you. Drew started getting slightly more and more clingy with you.

“Can’t help it,” he murmured, a playful smile on his lips as he leaned in.

He pressed soft, lingering kisses along your neck, sending delightful shivers down your spine. Each gentle touch felt electrifying, and you couldn’t suppress the smile spreading across your face.

Drew tightened his grip, making it clear he wasn’t going to let you go anytime soon. As the music pulsed around you and laughter filled the air, you knew this was a night you both would remember—one full of warmth, connection, and perhaps a bit of sweet spontaneity.

You turned toward him and didn't have to wait long for the boy to attach his lips to yours. He didn't give a damn that all his immediate family and friends were around. He knew very well that he was in a trusted circle and no one would judge him or put anything on the Internet. He felt safe here, and with you in his arms, it was even better.

Drew pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours. “I’ve been wanting to do that all night,” he admitted, a playful grin on his lips. There was a light in his eyes that made your heart skip a beat.

Your kiss became more and more intense, but no one paid much attention to you. And even if they did - they didn't expect how great the feeling was growing in both of you. Suddenly you felt his hands on your buttocks as they gently clamped down on them, and you laughed, moving your lips slightly away from his to look into his eyes. This time there was something more intense in his gaze than usual. You knew that you both felt the same way.

His breath was slightly labored from the kiss, and his grip on your buttocks became firmer as he pulled you even closer so that you were practically flush against his body.

There was a hint of hunger in his gaze, a need for more than just a kiss.

“I want to go home,” he murmured into your mouth, smacking it again. “They won't even notice.”

“Are you sure?” you asked, a smile tugging at your lips. “What about all the fun?”

Drew grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “I just want us to end this evening.”

The way he looked at you, filled with that intensity you both had shared all night, made your heart race. “Alright, let’s do it,” you said, a thrill of anticipation bubbling inside you.

You did not wait any longer, you both knew very well how the evening would end. You left the club unnoticed, leaving all your gifts behind. The club was closed tomorrow anyway, so you could easily return for them. You waited a while for your boyfriend, who struggled for a while to find your coats, but fortunately it didn't take long. Drew grabbed your hand and you went outside, immediately seeing your driver.

“I can’t wait to get you home,” he whispered, making your pulse quicken. You exchanged a look filled with promise, knowing that this night was just beginning.

~~~ When you arrived at his apartment, you couldn't keep your hands off each other. Drew had barely closed the door behind him, and he already had you in his arms and was leading you toward his bedroom, showering you with kisses all over your face. You were both laughing, which was typical of you, even at a time like this.

Drew gently laid you down on his bed, letting you take another moment to think about whether you really wanted this. Oh, how much you wanted it, and you knew very well that he did too. This was a big step in your relationship, but you knew you were safe in his hands and merely nodded, reaching up to his shirt collar to pull him close, bringing your lips together again in a kiss.

Your hands wandered in his hair, his all over your body. It wasn't long until you felt yourself starting to get wet from the rush of these emotions. You didn't shy away one bit anymore - you were well aware that your first time would be after alcohol, but you didn't doubt one bit that you wanted it. And so did Drew, whose eyes sparkled more beautifully than ever.

Drew’s touch was skilled and urgent, his hands roaming across your body as he drank in your every move. You could see the desire burning in his eyes, as he gently pushed you back down on the bed, his gaze never leaving yours.

"Fuck" he muttered, breathing heavy. "You're so beautiful"

You sighed, pulling him closer to you with your hips. You could feel that he was also already aroused. His still clothed cock fit perfectly against your body. You both silently cried out for the desired pleasure to come already.

He leaned down slightly, his lips trailing over your neck, his mouth hot and wet against your skin. He left a trail of kisses along your throat, his breath coming out in a warm plume against your skin.

"You feel so good," he said, his voice thick with growing need.

“Drew,” you muttered, moving your hips, feeling how hard he was getting with each passing second. You pulled away from him slightly and nimbly made him bottom out this time. You didn't wait a second longer. With trembling hands, you grabbed his belt buckle and tried to get him off. “Oh, someone is impatient,” the man laughed huskingly, helping you get rid of his belt.

Then his pants flew down and you could see his entire member, which was already standing in his boxers. This sight was bloody painful. You moved your finger over it, which made Drew moan, dropping his head onto his soft mattress. “Baby,” he muttered, looking at you with slightly closed eyes as you removed his boxers and his cock came free.

He was huge. You had seen him in passing before, but this was your first time. And you had never been so excited in your life as you were now.

You took him in your hand and ran your thumb over his pre-cum. Damn, it was such an arousing sight. You quickly replaced your hand with your mouth, taking him all the way into your mouth. He could barely fit inside them, but you wanted to be the best for him. You sucked on him, moving your head up and down, slightly causing yourself a gag reflex. You both giggled, however, you did not stop. You saw that Drew was getting closer and closer with every move you made, so you added your hand and squeezed his testicles. You could have sworn that this made him even closer.

“[Y.N], fuck,” he muttered, stroking your hair. Drew didn't take the initiative at all, giving you full control.

You felt his penis begin to pulsate in your mouth, so you sped up your movements even more. You took him deeper, licking and supporting yourself with your hand. Soon, with a loud exhale, Drew reached inside your mouth, and your throat was flooded with his cum.

It didn't occur to you to do this before, but now you swallowed it all with full confidence, moving your mouth up and down for a while more, helping him come down from his orgasm.

“You're wonderful,” he muttered, pulling you against him. You sat on his naked lap, connecting your lips at once. Drew could feel himself on your tongue, but it didn't bother him at all.

He quickly threw off your dress and attached his lips to your neck. You felt that dark marks would appear in these places the next day, but you didn't give a damn. You wanted the whole world to know that you loved each other. That you loved each other in this way. That you were all his and he was all yours.

Without warning, Drew pressed his lips to your one breast, squeezing the other. He swirled his tongue around your nipple, making you even wet your entire thong, which you were wearing at the time. With an audible smack, he moved to the other nipple, leaving hickeys around it.

“Drew, I need you, I'm begging,” you muttered, pushing him away from your chest. You were as wet as you had ever been, and the man's hungry panting increased that even more. Your words were like a command to him. He immediately changed your position, so that now you were lying under him on the mattress and waiting for him to finally be inside you. “You are so beautiful,” he muttered, placing kisses all over your belly, then your thighs, until he kissed your still covered clit.

You allowed him to slip off your panties and the sensation you felt when his mouth attached to your pussy was indescribable.

“How beautiful,” he muttered, curling eights with his tongue around your sensitive bud. “How wet.”

"Drew, stop teasing," I muttered, shrinking your feet behind his back.

He knew what he was doing with his tongue. He perfectly pressed, sucked and teased your clit, driving you closer to the end with each passing second. Without much warning, he put his finger inside your pussy and began to move it nimbly, hitting that point. "Fuck," you moaned, touching his hair. The boy looked at you, not stopping to caress it with his tongue and finger, then added another, stretching you accordingly.

“Please,” you muttered, feeling that you were close to orgasm. “Drew.”

The boy sped up his movements, pressing more with his tongue against your clit, which was already sensitive enough. You felt a pleasant sense of fulfillment as you reached on his fingers and tongue. “How fucking good you taste,” he muttered, returning kisses to you. You surrounded his neck with your arms, kissing him imprecisely. You threw your legs around his hips, moving your naked pussy along his length, wanting him to enter you already.

“There, wait, baby,” he said, smacking you on the corner of your mouth, ”Do you have condoms?”

You shook your head negatively, but at that moment you didn't give a damn. All you wanted was him inside me, just that. “It's okay, I'll take the morning-after pill,” you muttered, moving your hips, begging him for one thing.

“All right,” he groaned and grabbed his length. He touched you with his tip and you trembled because of it. You relaxed slightly, letting him enter your pussy. “How tight” he muttered, entering you slowly with his entire length. “Perfect.”

Drew moved inside you slowly at first, but seeing that it was only giving you pleasure, he sped up. You both looked at the spot where your bodies joined and smiled at each other. Oh, you have been waiting for this apparently for a very long time.

By how horny you were tonight and how much you were looking forward to it, it didn't have to be long until you both felt you were getting close to fulfillment.

You bucked your hips closer to him, wanting to be as close as possible and to feel him as much inside you as possible. Drew grabbed your hips and instinctively started moving even faster and hitting your sensitive spot each time.

“You're wonderful,” you muttered, combing through his slightly wet hair.

The boy only smiled at you and clung to you with his lips, breathing loudly. And with that moment you both came. You a moment earlier than he did. But when you felt his cum spilling inside your cunt and suddenly it was pleasantly warm there, you moaned.

When it was over, Drew slumped against you, tired but smiling like never before. You also smiled broadly, hugging him to your chest. He was still inside you and you could feel him slowly stop being hard, but it felt too good to end it. “I love you,” he muttered, placing a kiss on your sternum, between your breasts.

“I love you too, terribly,” you muttered, combing his hair from his forehead.

You kissed him in the same place, momentarily holding your lips there. “Happy birthday, sunshine.” The boy lifted his head slightly from your body and kissed you on the lips. “I couldn't think of a better birthday.”

A/N: I know! I know there was supposed to be another chapter, but with Drew turning 31 today, I couldn't resist writing something related to him ;p hope you liked it and that I didn't make any mistakes (there may be a change of narration somewhere, because at the beginning I wrote it in the first person ahahh)

please do not copy and translate my works! in case of any issues related to this - I invite you to discuss privately :)

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twmz-03 · 2 months ago

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Caleb who sees you and Zayne fucking and cant get it out of his head…

MDNI 18+ ONLYYYY !!!!

so i tried to make this a header to give yall some visual… credits to whoever made it. I got it from pinterest.

-Start-

You go to zayne for your doctors appointment and caleb was supposed to pick you up. You had told him to wait in the car and so he did… until he got curious as to why you were taking so long. Its just a quick check up isnt it ??

So caleb… so curious, goes inside and asks the receptionist “hey! Its me again. Just gonna go chat with zayne.” She smiles at him and points towards his office.

Caleb then walks to zaynes office but as he reaches for the handle, he hears noises. At first he couldnt believe what he was hearing. Shocked and disgusted but jealous wishing it was him. The moans got louder as zayne was hitting that spot so good and deep.

Your somewhat loud moans calling out his name made caleb feel angry. Theres no way zayne is doing this in broad daylight AND to one of his patients. He lingers a while hearing your beautiful noises of pleasure suddenly feeling that hes getting hard.

Quickly realizing this situation he has going on in his pants, he goes back to his car in a rush. Caleb slams the car door shut panting, and his face blushed. All he can think about is how he could probably make you feel wayyyy better than him. He knew zayne was a good looking guy but come onnnnnn!!!!

Finally after 15 minutes pass you come back to the car, get in and open the passengers side mirror. You look at yourself fixing your hair and applying more lip color before talking to caleb.

“Took you long enough.” He says in a somewhat irritated tone. You look at him with an eyebrow raised hoping he doesnt find out why you took a long time. “Yeah… I just had to do some exams and talk about my charts real quick…” he gives you a suspicious look before turning facing back to the front before driving off back home.

Since caleb was staying at your place in linkon you let him stay in the living room since you didnt have an extra room. Which meant while you were cozy sleeping good after having a good time today, caleb was slowlyyyy going crazy. Still thinking about what he heard today. “Ugh that damn zayne.” He says before turning to lay on his back.

He thought about how zaynes hands were probably touching every beautiful curve of yours and how your pretty breasts were so close to him and how your wet cunt took him. He then feels hes getting a hard on. He quickly gets up and goes to the bathroom and locks the door.

He finally slouches against the wall before unbuckling his pants and taking out his long hard cock before stroking it a few times. Cum barely leaking out just thinking of you and your scrumptious pussy he wishes he could be eating.

His hand goes faster up and down his length until he gets needy and desperate to finish and starts thrusting into his fist, coming all over his hands. He pants and whimpers feeling so helpless but so good imagining you.

“I dont know about you zayne, but youre not going to be the only one fucking her..” he says quietly to himself.

-End-

So guys i hope this lived up to your expectations. I wrote one fanfic head canon and disappeared for a month. 🥲 I remember saying how i didnt know much abt caleb but after grinding to complete the story line, i love him so muchhhhh!!! Hes so cute and adorable and literally straight up bf material! ❣️

Ive also been trying so hard to get the new spring cards and so far ive only gotten Xavier. Im still happy abt it though. Especially since im f2p. 🥹

I thought abt this the other day and was like hmm not bad. Anyways, if you have any suggestions, please leave a requestttt!!!!

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tojisun · 11 months ago

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!! minors dni; simon x cam girl f!reader; kinda sexting; UNEDITED and RAMBLING // divider by @/plutism <3

yall know those ‘ask me’ thingies in instagram and how theyre not anonymous? mmmprmn thinkin about simon finally giving in and sends cam girl! reader replies (he’s not tech savvy, forgive him 😔)

the questions are always fashioned the same way, he’s noticed. you only ever post those, anyway, when you’re in the middle of editing a new video but it’s taking too long so to keep your loyal viewers interested, you entertain them with little questions.

“which toy next?” you posted, showcasing four different sex toys splayed on your bed—a purple sucking vibrator, that bullet vibrator you’ve made multiple videos on, a rainbow-coloured dildo, and another one that squirts which is simon’s favourite if he’s being honest.

you always did cum the hardest when you’re being pumped full. simon wonders how much more intense would it be if you were properly fucked and filled; stuffed continuously, repeatedly, until your pussy’s all wet and sensitive. until it takes—

overtaken by his desire, he gives in and he types out his answer, “a real prick would look better in you.”

he didn’t expect you to see it, let alone for you to reply, but you did and simon reads it with a huff.

> ok troll

i’d volunteer myself, really. <

> yeah right. like i can trust you

what? you want proof that i can make you feel good? <

your reply doesn’t come in and he knows that you must want the whole interaction to end there, but simon won’t let you—doll, he’s finally managed to talk to the girl he’s been fantasizing about, did you really think he’d let the opportunity pass? you don’t even know how many times he’s fucked his fist to the videos of you bullying a dildo in your sopping cunt or the ones of you squirting while you ride that saddled vibrator that punches out guttural moans from the base of your throat.

jesus, just thinking about you mewling and creaming, your skin shimmering with your sweat, has simon chubbing up in his sweats.

so he gets bolder, changing his accounts—both this and the one he’s used to subscribe to your site—so that you know it’s him. he uploads pictures, exposing enough of himself that it feels real and authentic, and begins to tack on messages to every tips he gives.

it takes about two months until you finally caved.

> so… youre not a troll :(

why the sad face? did you want me to be? <

> course not!

> hby? what do YOU want

simon licks at his chapped lips, his legs unconsciously spreading already.

how about pics? show you what i was volunteering? <

> uh

> you wanna send a dick pic?

yeah. evens out the relationship, don’t it? after all, i just about know how your pussy looks and how it squirts. <

> youre soooo weird LOL

> but sure yea why not ig

simon snorts because try as you may, you don’t sound unbothered at all. after all, he knows you’ve been looking back at him—you followed him back in his socials, you even respond to all his tips and messages, and one time you even moaned his alias out loud during your stream. really, you’re not subtle with your own interest at all.

he pulls his sweats down and takes a pic of his half-chub. it’s a little blurry, and the angle captures more of the tuft of hair than the way his cock’s all flushed and filling-out, but simon knows what a decent dick picture looks like—they’ve all received numerous from mactavish—and this one looks good enough so he sends it to you and watches as his message goes from delivered to seen.

you don’t reply right away, nor after three minutes—he knows because the commercials ended and his game’s back on—and simon wonders if you’re back to ignoring him when—

> oh

> thats a good dick

he laughs, booming.

oh so you want it now? <

a speech bubble appears, then it disappears, then it appears again. this happens for a while and it’s somewhat entertaining to simon, mirth filling him up. then, you finally send your reply and this time simon couldn’t stop the barked out laughter that rumbles from his throat because you sent him your address.

simon’s out the door in minutes, his bike keys clutched in his fist.

#suns #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #basically: i wanted a camgirl/viewer smau but my other phone is dead 🥲 so have this attempt!#''stranger danger!!"' yea but its simon :^( i'll let him do anything to me

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sillyteecup · 4 months ago

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Licking The Bloodstains from your alter

Terry Richmond x black!o.c

Warnings:

18+

Obsessive behavior

Violence

Mentions of murder

Very questionable decision making

Exhibitionism if you squint

Smut

Word count: 6954🧍🏾

A.N: remember how I was supposed to have this up 4 days ago? Fucking hilarious business I tell you, like I'm even slapping my knee and stuff🧍🏾. Anyway, here's my first Aaron Pierre/Terry Richmond fic to keep yall busy while I work on the series I've been yapping about. Thanks for reading, I really hope you enjoy it❤️

~Tee❤️

"7 months?"

"Yes Indi."

"7 months since someone else gave you an ass clenching, toe curling orgasm, head spinning, heart stopping orgasm?"

"Yes Indi."

"And that bum hasn't called you yet?"

"Yes Indi."

Mila watched boredly as her best friend's hands searched frantically for something to grab while her jaw hung open in disgust and disbelief. They had come back from a night out with Indi asking Mila why she didn't take anyone home with her. Mila's answer left Indi essentially crashing out in the driver's seat of her Mini Cooper right outside of Mila's house.

Although she was over it now, the first month of being ghosted by Terrence James Richmond had left her equally flabbergasted. The mystery American man she had met at Sumo last year gave her one of the best nights of her life when she took him home. It was actually the first time she had experienced an orgasm that wasn't self induced, and it was an out of body experience.

Luckily for Mila, Terry became a gift that kept on giving. Sucking her into an all consuming vortex of stormy eyes, expensive dates, late night phone calls and mind-blowing sex, Mila grew addicted to the enigma. Mind always occupied by the memories of him turning her every which way, the heart always yearning for his presence. Every moment, even non-sexual, felt incredibly intimate with him.

Yes, there were many glaring red flags like the fact that she knew nothing about him aside from his (South African) phone number and the fact he was from Louisiana USA. But in the same breath, he knew virtually nothing about her aside from her name, phone number and address. It was a mutual agreement that they would remain mysteries for each other to uncover. There was also his possessive streak. Despite his naturally calm and stoic demeanor, he always made sure to his claim on her when he fucked her; hand prints, hickeys and literal bite marks all over her for the world around her to see. And God forbid another man even thought of breathing in her direction in public: let's just say that Terry had no qualms with gratuitous PDA.

Mila wouldn't say she loved him, no, scratch that she did love him, but she also loved what he brought with him. The excitement, the passion and obviously, the dick. Even while riddled with commitment issues, Terry had hypnotized her into envisioning a future with him in it. She actually liked him and being around him. Mila actually wanted to keep him around.

Until one night when his usual 10 pm call didn't come. Until he never called, or knocked on her door again. She didn't even know any of his friends or whoever it was he stayed with so she couldn't reach him. For 2 weeks she blew his phone up, worried that something may have happened to him. One day she even caved and googled him, hoping to find a social media account or anything to alert her of his whereabouts. The only thing she managed to find was the fact that he served as a Marine for about 6 years before being honorably discharged a year ago. Everything else was a dead end.

Distraught at the sudden loss of someone who had etched himself into the life of a woman who never made space for lovers, Mila eventually grew to accept his disappearance. If anything, he solidified her lack of trust in romantic partners, pushing her back into the realm of strictly causal sex. The only problem was that he had ruined her for the rest of the world. She shuffled through hook-up after hook-up, chasing the high he had fed her during their 2 months together, to no avail. She began to suspect his dick was laced with something because there was no way it was impossible to replicate that feeling. Either way, she would never hear from any of those hook-ups again.

I wonder what that's about.

Maybe I'm just looking in the wrong places, she told herself. But alas, she eventually gave up on that as well, swearing celibacy for the next 2 years. She thought of it as a reset of her mind, body and soul. Maybe after enough time, she would be free from the now blood boiling memories and sex would become fun.

This mini-debrief session was the first time that Mila had spoken to anyone about Terry outside of a throwaway line like, "Gotta go, godly dick is waiting on my doorstep," and "This fuck-ass nigga is ghosting me." No one in her life even knew his name until now.

"No Mila, we need to find this gent and jump him. There's no way-" Indi yelled, smacking her dashboard in frustration.

Mila shrugged nonchalantly. Sure, the topic still stung a little, but she was at a point where she didn't wanna think or care about it anymore. Terrence James Richmond was gone and probably never coming back.

"I'm not doing that; broer probably always has a gun on him," Mila replied coolly. The last thing she needed was having a gun in the hands of a military man in her face because she overestimated her odds.

"It's fine, you just get your father to find him, then I'll organize the firepower for me, you and Sandy," Indi said, suggesting Mila convince her dad who had connections in the US military and the marines from the time of his Marine service.

Mila's eyes went cold at the suggestion. The last thing she wanted was to involve her hot-tempered and trigger happy father in the affairs of her sex life.

"Absolutely not," she stated firmly.

"But Mila-"

"Indiphile I said no. Ebile, let's drop this topic before I get PTSD flashbacks," Mila interjected, knowing that Indi wasn't going to drop it unless she firmly put her foot down.

Indi held her hands up in surrender, acknowledging that there was no room for argument. "Let's go inside then, I'd like to eat something decent before I go back to that baren land I call my apartment," Indi suggested while adjusting her jacket and grabbing her purse.

"Why don't you just sleep over?" Mila asked. Her dad's insistence on getting her a house instead of an apartment was one that Mila never opposed. At least that way she had more space and got to stick the whole apartment hunting and saving for a house process.

The joys of a bald rich dad with a guilty conscience.

"Neh? It's late and I've got toiletries and enough clothes here," Indi said in agreement, never passing up an invite to spend the night with her best friend.

The friends gathered their stuff and exited the car. They reached the front door, Mila sticking her key in the keyhole to unlock it.

It was already unlocked.

Mila and Indi froze, blood running cold at the possibility of an intruder. The worst part was that if they were in the living room, they already heard them try to unlock the door. Quickly, Mila grabbed her phone from her jean pocket and logged onto the app connected to the security system and cameras in the house.

My dad's paranoia is finally doing something for me.

No notification indicating entry and nothing in today's footage. Although it seemed that no one was inside, Mila was her father's daughter, so she grabbed the gun from her purse, cocking it and making Indi gasp.

"I'm over here talking about pulling strings for glocks, kanti you already have one?" she hissed in disbelief.

Mila just rolled her eyes and shushed her. "I don't know why you're so surprised when you've literally known my dad for this long," she replied calmly, hand reaching to carefully open the door.

Indi shrugged, conceding to Mila's point before slowly following her into the house with a teaser in hand.

Mila stepped into the living room, taking slow and quiet steps with the hope that no one was in the living room. Gun aimed at nowhere, her eyes scanned the dark area finding nothing until-

A lighter flickered. Her head snapped in the direction of the sound, finger instinctively pulling the trigger. Mila frowned. She had expected a grunt or a thud, but all she got was a startled scream from Indi, and probably a hole in the wall.

Maybe I'm hearing thi-

Suddenly Mila felt a hand roughly grip her wrist, catching her off guard and effectively disarming her. She tried kicking at the assailant but it was no use, because they either dodged or flat out blocked all her attacks. Indi had huddled in a corner screaming having dropped the taser in the shock of the gunshot, while a now anxious Mila did her best to fight the assailant off in the dark.

The scuffle however, was put to an end when Mila found herself roughly pinned against the wall right next to the switch for the living room lights. Coupled with the hand holding hers above her head, was the cold metallic barrel of her own gun pushing her chin up launching her into a further panic.

"Whatever it is you want: money, jewelry, what-just please-" she had begun to plead before being shushed.

"Shhhh. I'm only here for you sweetheart."

Ain't no way.

Right as the assailant spoke, Mila's eyes finally adapted to the dark. Although his face was covered in a ski mask, those eyes were unmistakable. Factoring in the voice and his scent-oh that rich, woody, spicy saffron mixed with vanilla and cloves...

"Terrence?"

"Sorry!?" Indi yelled from her corner, Mila realizing that she pondered a little too loudly.

The corners of the man's eyes crinkled. If this was Terry, he was cockily smirking under the mask.

He removed the gun from her skin, causing her to release a breath she didn't know she was holding, and reached for the switch behind her. Once the lights were on, he used the same hand to take the mask off, revealing his identity.

And there's that fuck-ass smirk.

Terry leaned in, dipping his nose into the crook of her neck and deeply inhaling her vanilla-peach and cocoa scent.

"So fucking good, just like I remember," he whispered, lifting his head to meet her rather blank looking eyes.

Mila's mouth was slightly agape as she searched her brain for something to say and how to feel. Too many responses flooded her mind all at once, leaving her blank loss of words.

Indi on the other hand had made up her mind. "Rhaaa, isbindi onaso, kaka ndini yendoda! Hayi uyabenza ubunqundu shem. Kwaye ufluent kubo. Hayi-hayi shem ndiyakuvuma! Wena? Eyakho ibrand yobuBitch ass nigga, ndiyaqala ukuyibona. U-Innovative wena ngamasimba-" she ranted in disgust as she walked towards them. Mila was actually scared that Indi would snap and put her hands on Terry. And that was not something Mila felt like dealing with.

As if reading her mind, Terry slowly backed away from Mila with his hands up while she gathered herself. Her uncertainty of her feelings would have to wait as the situation needed to be de-escalated.

"Indi, I need you to please calm down and wait for me upstairs," Mila requested calmly. "Terry and I have a lot to talk about."

Indi frowned before nodding and stomping up the stairs to the guest room she usually slept in, leaving Mila and Terrence alone in the living room.

The latter's gaze was on Mila, longing, and terrifyingly primal. His lips were still stretched in a smirk as he walked over to her. "I never stopped thinking about you," he unconsciously reassured her.

She sucked her teeth in before saying, "Yet you never came back. You never even fucking called," she spat as she took a step back.

Bitter. Mila was bitter, and angry at this man's audacity to disappear for as long as he did, then break into her house and sing her hymns of sweet nothings.

"Sweetheart I never left," his tone was light and sweet, an unnerving contrast to his physical demeanor..

Mila's eyebrows furrowed, face scrunching up in confusion. "Yes you did. You ghosted me for 7 months while you were who-knows-where, ignoring all of my calls and texts," she argued as she pointed an accusatory finger at him.

"That doesn't mean I was gone," Terry insisted, gently placing his hands on her shoulders.

"What do you even mean by that?" Mila asked incredulously, getting progressively baffled and impatient.

He hooked a finger under her chin, raising it for her eyes to meet his.

"I mean exactly that. I've been here the whole time watching you, keeping you safe," he whispered. Although he sounded sincere, his irises twinkled with something sinister. Like there was a darker edge to his revelation.

"Well, except I did leave for about a week, but I was always gonna come back to you. Then my pops called about getting me a job down here, and I couldn't believe my luck when he told me who was offering and what it was," he explained, with a light chuckle.

Mila arched an eyebrow, "You gonna tell me or-" she was interrupted by Terry placing his index finger against her lips.

"So impatient. You really are daddy's little girl," he mused, confusing Mila even more. How the hell would Terry know that when she had never even spoken about him to her?

"But let me cut to the chase. Your pops basically hired me to be your...long distance bodyguard to put it simply," he shrugged. "So like I said, I've been here the whole time, watching you."

Something about the way he said "watching you," made Mila's blood run cold. She doubted he meant it as strictly professional.

"Watching me?" she choked out, terror seeping in at what he could mean.

"Yeah...watching you eat. Watching you sleep. Watching you shower. Watching you go about your routines and shit."

Then he leaned in, head dipping to plant kisses up her neck, and jaw until his lips softly grazed her earlobe. "Watching you let some random niggas touch what's mine," he said before planting more soft kisses on her jaw, eliciting a moan.

However, it didn't take long for her to register his words, and her body stiffened. "Terry..."

"Mmm?" he hummed against her skin.

"Don't tell me you-"

"Got rid of 'em? Tuh, each and every last one...gone!" he laughed menacingly before stepping back to look into her now teary eyes.

"N-no, no, no, NO! What the fuck is wrong with you?!" Mila cried as she stared at him in horror.

"Nah, don't get it twisted sweetheart, this is all on you. I did it all for you!" Terry tried to grab a hold of her hand but she fought him off, disgusted by him using her as a scapegoat.

"You killing innocent people because you're a jealous, possessive, psychotic creep was for me? Try again Terrence," Mila spat venomously.

Terry ran a hand over his frustrated face, doing his best to quell his rising temper as a result of her tone. He desperately dug through the corners of his mind for a way to reason with her, not wanting things to come to a head. Even though they had only argued once before this, Terrence knows that with their combined tempers, a fiery explosion was afoot.

"They couldn't make you cum-"

"Wow-"

"They couldn't satisfy that precious little pussy the way I could. Never had your eyes rolled back, your toes curling, your legs shaking...nothing. And that shit tore you up from the inside out," he said, reminding her of the frustrating aftermath of her sexcapades.

"I watched you, every Saturday , crying and throwing shit around because you hated me for ruining you. You screamed and cried about being broken and that you hated them for not being able to fix you. You were spiraling-It wasn't just them," Terry rambled, making Mila's scowl even deeper.

"Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait...Terry...who else did you kill?" Mila asked, prompting Terry to retrieve a backpack from underneath her coffee table. She watched as he took out a binder and placed it on the table and sat next to it, gesturing for her to come closer.

She complied, albeit hesitantly, taking small apprehensive steps towards the man she once felt safe around enough to be vulnerable with, taking a seat on the edge of the table. Terry opened the binder, the contents of its folders and pages eliciting a sharp gasp from her. Pictures by the dozen, of people Mila had not only slept with, but also had interactions that she vaguely remembered with. Negative interactions being the common theme.

Her ex coworker, Sean, whom she had reported to HR for harassment when he wouldn't stop threatening to tamper with her work if she didn't go out with him. Last she had heard, he had resigned before committing-

Terry.

Her creepy tutor, Simon who tried to solicit her into giving him head for a good word with her professor regarding her latest assignment. Apparently he had left the University 2 weeks before being found dead in Centurion.

Also Terry.

That one aggressive Jehova's witness lady that had tried to accuse her and Indi of shoplifting at Dischem after Indi cursed her out for following them around the store. Mila never really expected to see her again to be fair. In fact she had forgotten all about her.

But Terry had killed her too.

Tons of people, dead from what seemed like mysterious or natural causes. Their biggest sin was being a random stranger that had upset Mila, no matter how minute the situation. He had all their pictures, personal details and reasons for their deaths documented. Also in the binder, we're pictures of Mila herself. Sleeping, eating, showering, reading, talking to her friends, at work, at school, with her family-

And for some sick reason, all of this was endearing to her. What should have scared the ever living crap out of Mila, and had her running to the nearest police station, actually relieved her.

Terry loved her. He didn't even have to say it. This was all the proof she needed that he hadn't just discarded her after everything. He really had been around the entire time, watching over her and trying to keep her happy.

She glanced up at him, a small smile forming as gratitude coated her features.

"Terry you actually did this? For me?"

Terry scooted closer to her, moving the binder to the side and cupping her face. "All for you sweetheart. All for you. You're everything to me, and I'll be damned if anyone fucks with what's mine," he whispered, fingers gently tracing up her back before reaching the nape of her neck. Gentleness was then thrown out of the window when he snatched at the roots of her braids, eliciting a surprised yelp, to push her face closer to his. His eyes had gone from green to hazel, the flecks in his irises darkening as his eyes took her in like she were but his prey.

“But don't think any of this means I forgot that you let some bum-ass niggas touch my shit,” he said darkly, making Mila bite back a moan at the sharp sting in her scalp and the dark promise behind his words. Her thong had already begun to dampen.

Feeling brave, she smirked. “Yeah? And what exactly are you gonna do about it Terrence?” she taunted. If the defiant question wasn't enough, she was certain that using his government name would definitely trigger him.

Terry let out a menacing chuckle accompanied by a slow no. His reaction to Mila's dare had her rubbing her thighs together (something she naively prayed he wouldn't see). His piercing gaze had already been enough to get her wet; at this point she was damn near a dripping faucet.

“First,” he began, punctuating the word with another yank at her roots. “You're gonna tell your little friend to either put on some noise canceling headphones and bump something on full blast, or put in some earplugs, or whatever the fuck else, because tonight I plan to have you screaming at the top of your fucking lungs until your little slut throat gives out,” he explained eerily calmly.

“Then, you're gonna go to your room, and you're gonna wait for me on your bed, in nothing but that little red thong you put on tonight, on all fours like the pretty, smart, and above all…” he trailed off as his lips claimed hers in a soft, but also raw and hungry kiss that took her breath away all the while gnawing at his self-control.

It was like a dance. Terry was the lead and every step he took, Mila followed in line. His tongue glided across her teeth, her jaw made way for entry. He nipped at her bottom lip, she let out a needy moan and slid her tongue over his. Every movement was in sync. An outsider would say rehearsed.

But Terry's resolve was waning. If he didn't pull away when he did, he would have taken her on the coffee table like a rabid animal. He still had a point to prove, and he planned to draw it out for as long as he could. Mila’s eyes remained half closed in a love drunk state, prompting Terry to pat her cheek firmly

“Like the obedient little slut I know you can be.”

Mila had never done a single hard drug in her life. The only high she had experienced was Terry induced, and if she was being honest, solely from what she had heard and read, it was all the same.

Hands planted into the gray satin sheet to support her trembling knees, her skin vibrated in anticipation as he stared at her from the doorway. The awe in his hazel eyes was seasoned with unfiltered lust. His ability to remain restrained for this long surprised Mila. 7 months ago he would've had her against the dresser, holding her immobile body up while he fucked her into another consciousness by now. But that was 7 months ago. Since then he had watched 5 too many people fail her. He had watched from a distance while they left with her that knot he could untie with one touch.

A slight tinge of resentment returned, and from the way Terry's eyes darkened even more than before, Mila knew he had sniffed out. She also knew that the next plan of action would be to snuff it out. As much as she owed him a plate of penitence for letting those lesser beings even breathe near what he held so sacred, he had prepared it with his absence.

At least they had paid for their crimes. It didn't matter that they were unaware of them.

“Fucking beautiful,” Terry mused. He began to walk towards Mila, his piercing gaze, and slow, purposeful steps growing that little knot in her belly.

He squatted at the foot of the bed, meeting her at eye level. “You wanna know what my favorite thing about you is?” he asked gently, completely contrasting his foreboding demeanor.

Mila, breath caught in her throat, nodded eliciting a disappointed sigh from Terry. His hand shot up to grab at her jaw. “What happened to all that mouth from downstairs huh? You ain't have nann issues acting bold and calling me by my government name,” he said condescendingly as he shook her face roughly.

Mila mentally face-palmed at her past self. If that dumb bitch just knew how to shut up.

The shaking stopped when the pads of his fingers dug into her skin, holding her jaw in place. “You know what? I'll just tell you when I get tweaking off this dick,” he promised with a wild grin.

Mila watched Terry undress: each bracelet unclipped, watch discarded, rings slipped off the fingers that would be knuckle deep inside her and around her throat soon, shirt tossed to the side and pants, socks and shoes left in a pool on the ground. Only one thing remained on his (extremely well endowed) body, and that was the usual silver chain he wore. He always left it on during sex because Mila had told him that she lived for how it hung over her face while he dug her guts out during missionary.

Having waited for what felt like an eternity, Mila watched Terry move around and felt the bed dip behind her as he settled in. His calloused hands ran over her thighs, feeling them as he was making sure this was real. Her breath hitched when they planted themselves sharply on the sides of her ass. Her back arched instinctively when his fingers split her cheeks open for a clearer view of her his moist pussy. The tip of his nose grazing her opening with a ghost of a touch as he inhaled her scent elicited a moan. If she hadn't already been internally shaking impatiently, his thumb rubbing light-almost nonexistent circles on her clit definitely brought her to the brink of begging territory.

Like an addict feigning for a hit while somebody else sets a line of coke onto a counter.

But he had barely touched her, and like he said earlier, she still had a long night ahead of her. So she inhaled deeply and bit her tongue while his fingers played her like dough.

“You'll forgive me baby, but tonight I wanna take my sweet time with you and this sweet little pussy. Need to make sure you both know that you're mine, and that you're always gonna be mine by the time I'm done. And fortunately or unfortunately depending on how much you can take, that might take us all night,” he said softly from behind her. Suddenly his fingers plunged into her entrance, curling against her inner walls making her cry out. He tsked as he added another finger, “Unfortunately it is then,” he sighed.

His fingers continued to curl and scissor, putting pressure on her inner wall, causing her to let out choked moans. His other hand toyed with her clit pushing her towards the tides of an early orgasm. Her mind spun as he reminded her of how well he knew her body. It had been too long since a familiar face had shown itself around these parts and that was evident in the way her stomach and pussy had begun to clench. Her knees vibrated in a slight tremble, telling her that if she took any more she'd find herself flat on the bed in a muddy pile.

“Fuck, baby I knew you missed me but I ain't know it was this bad,” Terry chuckled having felt and read the warning signs of Mila’s pending crash.

“Yeah bab-fuck! Missed you so fucking much,” Mila moaned, the pleasure making her confident enough to speak again.

Before she could sputter out her need to cum, Terry beat her to the cut. “Give it to me sweetheart. Make a mess on my fingers for me,” he said, coaxing her into an orgasm with one last curl.

Mila’s knees parted slightly as she sat up. The hand that Terry had previously used to play with her clit, held her up by the small of her back while he readjusted his body and wrist. Comfortable, she began to ride her orgasm out on his fingers, head thrown back in delirium, albeit minimal at the moment. Terry left a trail of wet kisses from the back of her ear down to her shoulder blade as she finally came down.

“D’you like that,” he whispered in her ear.

“Mhmm,” she hummed with a slow head. Her eyes were lidded, head growing heavier from the intoxicating orgasm and growing arousal.

“Good, good. Because there is plenty more where that came from,” he promised as he slowly removed his fingers that were now coated in her essence. He brought them up to her lip, brushing his fingers against them as if asking for entry. Her lips parted, making way for him to drag his fingers across her tongue while she sucked the contents off nearly clean.

“My beautiful little princess,” he cooed as he felt her tongue clean his fingers off before removing them from her mouth.

Mila felt his body shift as he maneuvered his way off the bed, once again standing at its food. Through her eyelashes she could see him eyeing her, taking her body in while he fought the unholy thoughts that threatened to throw all his restraint away. Her dark skin remained iridescent under the dim lights, every curve and their sister line, stretching as she laid back completely and parted her legs for him to see his handy work.

A cunt seeping of pleasure and begging for more.

Terry licked his lips and shook his head in appreciation. “I don't think I'll ever stop gushing about how beautiful you are sweetheart,” he whispered as his hands roughly yanked her ankles and dragged her body closer to him. His hands then ran up and down her calves while he watched her face strain with excitement and wanton.

“My gorgeous, needy little slut. So needy that she just had to get her fix elsewhere. Pathetic, unworthy, bitch ass niggas coming in here and barely scratching the surface of what makes her snap and come undone. And thank God for audio cameras, because I could hear the fake moans too. That shit drove me over the edge, had me wanting to bust in and show them how it's really done. Have you creaming, shaking and drooling, high off the pure shit,” he said as he kissed up and down her inner thighs.

“Made me wanna end their shit right there and then so you knew what would happen if you kept letting these niggas fuck with you. Oh, I bet you'd have liked that huh? Watching me catch bodies for this shit? That shit alone probably would have made you cum, my crazy, beautiful little slut,” he chuckled, deep voice vibrating against the skin right next to her pussy making her moan.

While. Mila never cared to say it out loud, he was right. Terry's possessive streak was one of her favorite things about him. Especially coupled with the knowledge of the threat he posed to the general population. The idea that a man who was strong enough to snap someone's neck in a split second, was willing to go so above and beyond for her, cared for and coveted her, made her feel safer than any of her dad's extra security measures. And now with the information that he had gone as far as killing people for merely breathing wrong in her direction…the mere thought of it added to the arousal pooling between her legs.

Terry kneeled before her, his laser-focused eyes never once breaking away from her half-opened ones. The first press of his lips against her sent a shiver through her system. Her mind reeled at the light swipes of his tongue across her clit. It had been too long, and she was already on a trip so the increasing pressure coupled with his digits drawing her soul out of body with the traces on the backs of her thighs only sent her into a higher orbit. A light graze of his teeth against her bud drew a sharp gasp from her. Her hands flew to tug at his curls which had grown longer than the last time she had seen him.

“Fuck, Terry don't stop,” she begged, her voice ragged from her heavy breaths, her back arching slightly from the bed. Never one to turn down his precious Mila's wishes, Terry unrelented, feasting on her like a man possessed and employing his hands to keep her pinned to the bed.

Sinful pleas for more sprinkled with the occasional famished grunt filled the room. The air was thick with sex and Mila found herself chasing her breath and another hit all at once as Terry quelled any past doubts she'd had of his desire for her. The tremble in her legs had grown more violent at Terry's onslaught. It was like speeding up the highway to heaven, the way her mind fogged up with every swipe of his tongue. Her breaths grew shorter as her desperate mewls and pleas grew louder.

“Baby I-I need to…fuck, I'm about to-” she sputtered, struggling to form a coherent sentence over the mind numbing spell he had breathed into her pussy.

Refusing to separate from his meal, Terry simply nodded for her to let go and give in to the crashing wave of pleasure. Her body's fluent understanding of him registered the silent beckoning and with that she found herself light headed as she floated into her second orgasm of the night. Terry remained attached to her mound, lapping and sucking the fruits of his labour. He had yet to be satiated, his hunger driving her into another, and another, and yet another head splitting orgasm, despite her loud cries for mercy.

By the time Terry deemed himself fulfilled, Mila's mind had numbed. She felt separated from herself, like her soul had merged into the atoms around her. Nothing but dazed pleasure behind her usually cynical yet curious chocolate colored eyes. Terry's touch sent shocks through her has his climbed onto the bed over her. Although barely present, his hands on her now hypersensitive skin and that damn chain over her face grounded whatever was left of her. He pressed his lips onto hers, the kiss desperate and needing. On autopilot, her lips moved in sync to his, giving into his every whim. Her soft groans as he nipped and licked her lips spurred him on, sending him into what felt like a drunken haze; a sudden extra spike in his need for her.

The kisses traveled down her jaw, where he gently sucked at her skin before trailing down. His head buried into the crook of her neck, the pressure of his lips and tongue on her skin increasing as he left dark patches all over her for all to see.

Feeling like Mila's body was beginning to consume him, Terry raised his head to admire the absolute work of art that laid before him. The miniscule conscious part of her found herself drowning in Terry's lovingly hungry gaze. His features were focused as his index and middle fingers worked her sensitive nipples, kneading and twisting at them to melt Mila into a pile of nothing.

“Damn, my little slut’s already greened out huh? I ain't even give you the main yet and you're already full. Can't think, can't speak, nothing,” he commented with a light chuckle. “I can't lie, I almost feel bad. After all this is all my fault. But I'd actually be lying if I said I didn't like how you look right now. Completely and utterly undone, and I ain't even stick the tip in yet.” The lightness in his tone was deceptive. This man's intentions with her were anything but. Mila’s undone state aside there was still a point to be made. “Now I'm gonna you remind you of how it's supposed to feel to have someone take care of you,” he growled in her ear, his fingers tightening around her nipples, eliciting an incoherent curse from her.

He moved to line himself up at her entrance, gently tapping her with his thick tip. He gently pushed into her, the pressure pulling her body up in a light arch while it drew the unholiest cry to leave her lips. Terry inhaled deeply, the feel of her tight walls around him slightly intoxicating. Driving him to do something unusual for them: bottoming out. She had always said she felt he would be too big to have all of him inside of her, but tonight was different. Clearly he needed to remind her exactly who this pussy belonged to, and what better way than to go all the way and ruin her even further.

“Ah-fuck baby. Too much-” she managed to cry out.

But her words fell on uncaring ears as Terry flashed his signature, sinister grin before pulling out slightly and slamming right back into her, staying there for a moment. She erupted into what sounded like a moan blended with a tortured cry, back once again arching from the bed. Her hands desperately reached for his hips as if trying to push him away, only for him to grab them and pin them above her head and hover over her.

“Feel that baby?” he asked as his hips twisted against hers, drawing a choked groan. “Yeah, that's me digging you out. Tonight you're gonna be an exceptional little slut, and you're gonna take it all; I don't care if it's too much or if you feel it in your chest or whatever the fuck excuses you've got loading in that pretty little lump of mush you used to call a brain, I'm giving you all of me, and you're gonna take it,” he growled menacingly before he once again pulled out and snapped his hips against hers, driving himself fully into her.

As Terry continued his unforgiving pace, pressure, and tempo, Mila's cries grew louder and increasingly incoherent. Her previously slurred cries for mercy turned to a symphony of sweet nothing that was punctuated by the brutal force of his hips and low hung balls slapping against her body. His dick pounded in and out of her, arranging and rearranging her insides. Every sense of coherence had been fucked out of her with every brutal stroke.

“Whose fucking pussy is this?” he growled, gently kissing her jaw as he continued to fuck her like he hated her.

Mila, however, was too far gone to form a cohesive thought let alone a sentence. Unsatisfied with her incoherent babble, Terry his hand wrapped around her throat and squeezed hard enough to blur her vision. “I know you're too cock-drunk to think right now baby, but I need you to answer me when I ask you a question. I know my polite little princess is still in there somewhere,” he said softly as he purposefully constricted her breathing before letting go for an answer.

“It's-it's…yours, baby. All yours,” she choked out between gasps for her air and lustful moans to Terry's satisfaction. He rewarded her with an even more unforgiving stroke, which she swore drove her soul out from her body, before returning to his original pace.

Fists wrapped around the ruined satin sheets, Mila found herself nearing her third orgasm of the night. Her vision had begun to blur and her legs had begun to numb.

“Terry, I-”

“Go ahead sweetheart,” he grunted, not faltering even once.

Once again Mila found herself washed under an abyss of pleasure and nothingness. Her head spun as a sinful cry tore from her lips, her pussy clenching around Terry making him close his eyes and growl before regaining his composure.

Terry's pace slowed as she came down, allowing her a brief moment to stew in her third wind. Her erratic breathing grew calmer and calmer as her loud moans quietened into whimpers. Terry peppered a few more wet kisses across her chest, up her neck and to her ear.

“God I missed this shit. I missed fucking this pussy numb. I missed hearing you scream when I'm inside you. I missed the way you look when you're drunk on this dick. Kinda like right now, my sweet, beautiful, dick-dumb princess,” he said as he continued to kiss all over her, soft strokes lulling her into a false sense of security.

“...missed you too baby,” she muttered, barely above a whisper while she tried to collect herself.

Mila felt Terry pull out, assuming they had reached the aftercare segment of their little show. She hummed as he gently began to massage her left calf, relieving it of any tension while kissing it softly.

“You know, you've been such a good girl for me tonight; being obedient and taking me so well like the sweet little slut I know you are. Made me think about ending it here, running you a bath and making something nice for you and your friend before you fall asleep,” he said as he put her calf over his shoulder, repeating his actions with the right one.

“I mean just by looking into your eyes, I can tell there's nothing left in there. You look like you'd pass out if I gave you anymore,” he pointed out, making Mila nod in agreement. Honestly, she could use a hot bath and a good meal. As much as it was only the first round, it was also the third orgasm and it had been brutal. All of that for the first time in 7 months had taken her out pretty early.

“But then I thought, ‘nah, fuck that’.”

His words made her eyes snap open as he gently placed the next calf over his shoulder. He began to lean in, effectively folding her body in half. “We've both waited too damn long for this shit. You cried for this, I killed for it. And I don't know about you, but I feel it would be a waste if all of that was just for you to tap out after one round,” he said, his tone darkening with promise in the last sentence.

Without warning, he pushed into her, fully driving his huge dick back into the depths of her guts. The pained yet lustful cry that tore from her throat made him chuckle darkly.

“I did tell you this was gonna be a long fucking night for you.”

#terry richmond #terry richmond fic #terry richmond smut #terry richmond x black oc #terry richmond x black reader #aaron pierre

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