#// I've always been tempted to pick her up | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mrs-weasley-reid · 6 months ago

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JUST SAY WHEN

Spencer Reid x writer!reader

Synopsis: You always choose Spencer Reid, but is it the right choice? Word Count: 3500+ WARNING: ANGST. not proofread!!! A/N: oh, here we go again... the angst plot in my head. this one feels disorganized. like my writing is all over. i've had this one in my drafts for over a month. but today i have the courage to hit post. honestly have mixed feelings about this. it's a new type of reader I'm dabbling in so i really am anxious about this. tell me what you think!

“You should’ve seen him when he first saw me.”

THE PURCHASE.

Vast lavender field soaked in chamomile tea. Dusty sunset through the window pane. Overwhelming aroma of old books. One figure tiptoes to the eighth shelf. Arm stretched to reach an old copy of The Scarlet Letter.

Whenever Spencer is asked what he felt at that moment, he thinks, “Like I saw an angel freshly descended from heaven.”

“Shit—” Gasps by the said angel.

A book and body drop on the carpeted floor.

Spencer runs to your aid. A failed attempt to prevent the seething pain you momentarily felt. First of many.

“Are you okay?” He asks, kneeling next to you. Spencer reflexively offers his hand.

You chuckle, taking his hand, and you feel him tense. “Don’t worry, I’ve had it worse.” You retract your limb to focus the pads of your hands on dusting yourself, squatting down to pick up the book.

Spencer nods unknowingly despite the confusion and the knots in his eyebrows. He glances at the book, “That’s a great book.”

Following his gaze, you hoist it up with a grin. “Very,” You emphasize. “I’ve read this, like, ten— thirteen times?” You brag excitedly, sparkling eyes as you meet his big brown sight.

“Eighty-four.”

You hum, raising your brows.

“I’ve read it eighty-four times.” Spencer shyly smiles, tight lips in a curved line. His hands grip the strap of his leather satchel. Socializing has always been his worst skill, let alone talking to someone as beautiful as you. He can��t help but feel his tongue twist itself into knots he can’t untie.

You blink—slowly and adorably innocent. “What?” You chirp. It’s not every day you meet someone who’s read a book more times than you. Plus, the boy in front of you is quite the charmer, and you’re distracted by the glow of hazels in his eyes.

Spencer nibbles on his lips, and a faint reddish glow creeps all over the land of his skin. “I— uh, I have to go. Bye.” He shuffles as if his body can’t figure out where to direct itself and ends up malfunctioning in the process. In the end, he walks past you, rushing to another aisle.

It takes you roughly twenty seconds to process that he’s no longer in front of you, twisting your body to his trail. “Eighty-four?!” You exclaim, baffled.

Your feet chase after him. “Wait!” You try to match his pace, almost jogging to catch up. “How is that even possible?” You get past him, completely blocking his way. “You just love this book so much that you read it on a loop, or what?”

“It really isn’t that big of a deal…” He mumbles, eyes glitching from one title to another, to towers of spines except you. A book with such a beautiful cover, his hands itch to reach and flip every page into memory.

You place your hands on your hips, furrowing your brows. “Tell me how you read it eighty-four times. I won’t leave you alone until you do. And I swear I’m the most annoying person you’ll ever meet, so it might be in your best interest to get rid of me quickly before you go insane.” You shrug like it’s a normal thing to say to a stranger.

Curiosity brims from your eyes, like a big doe's eyes begging a prey to bite her limb for the sake of adventure. And like a pirate tempted by a siren, Spencer takes the bait.

“My mom loves the book, so I read it to her all the time.” He admits, a hand behind his neck. It’s the start of a long explanation. You don’t dare stop him. Your eyes are fully fixed on his moving lips. He can feel it. And he fights not to meet yours because he just might explode.

Right then and there, you know the small contact from his hand completely stole your heart. And his words hold you into a willing prisoner because you saw him first from afar. Because you specifically chose the book in your hand despite having two copies of it to avoid first contact. Because you didn’t want him to know how long you’ve been staring.

Spencer gets abruptly cut off by a patron bumping into him. You fight every willpower in your chest to keep yourself from making a scene in a mall’s bookstore, shifting your attention to him.

“Want to talk more about it over coffee?”

“I was mesmerized. The beauty of his mind was so intricate I couldn’t stop myself from falling even if I tried. I wanted him to own me. And it happened just as I wanted. I just didn’t know it’d be torture… Reaching his hand out was his fatal mistake. Taking his hand was my demise.”

THE FIRST CHIP.

Disheveled. Broken. Sharp.

Big brown eyes dull in the dead of the night. Spencer stands before you with indifference.

He’s changed.

But the grip on the neck of his satchel tells you your Spencer is still there behind the walls he put up. The first of many false hopes you convince yourself to believe.

Five months. You’ve been dating Spencer Reid for only five months. And you’re in love with every fiber of his being. Only five months, and you know you’d love him for the longest run.

When people ask why you love him, you say, “Because I know he’ll never hurt me.”

Then it happens.

Tobias Hankel.

You loathe the name the moment you hear it. Accidentally burn yourself in the middle of making dinner when you receive a call from Penelope Garcia that Spencer’s been kidnapped by a serial killer.

In the moment, you panic. Almost causing a huge fire in your apartment building as you babble over the phone, asking Penelope where the hell your boyfriend is being held as if the word kidnapped meant a mark on a map.

Then, you worry. You beg Penelope to let you in on the progress of his search. You pace in your living room. You read every true crime book on your shelf. You pray on each page that an answer will dawn on you and that you’ll have something of use to locate Spencer, as if you knew everything when, in reality, all you knew was that he’s held captive by some sick villain in your story.

You felt like every sidekick in a hero’s movie. Useless.

When Penelope tells you that he’s on his way home, you’re never too tired or sleep-deprived to drive to his place. You waited hours outside his doorstep. You ignore the shivery breeze all over your skin, as you’d forgotten to change into something more weather-appropriate. You don’t worry about the unattended kitchen, the food you are excited to make.

You only think about one thing: be the first person Spencer sees when he comes home.

He arrives in the sixth hour, close to dawn. There's a gauze on his temple. His eyes are glued to the wooden floor.

It’s a strength not to cry out from the sight. Worry courses throughout your body. But the relief that he’s made it home safe cancels the anxiety out of your head. All you want is to cradle him, wrap him in your arms to remind him of home, of safety, of being loved.

You take Spencer into a tight hug. “I was so worried.” You whisper in his chest, breathing in his wake. He’s safe. Everything should be okay. “I’m glad you’re safe. I care about you so much.”

Only for him to say, “You should go home. It’s late.”

“I’m not gonna leave you by yourself.” You shake your head, pulling away to stare at his empty face. Your palm cups his cheek, and it’s cold. He doesn’t lean against it. He simply winces like your touch is dangerous.

“I’m too tired to entertain a guest.”

You.

A guest.

There’s a small sting inside your chest that you ignore don’t notice. Your heart feels similar to a teacup with a chip on its rims. Delicately painful to the touch.

You swallow the thick air in the middle of your throat, nodding as you bite the tears from the back of your eyes. “Alright, my love…” You softly enunciate, not wanting to sob at the sight of Spencer avoiding your image.

The spark in him that you love so much is nowhere to be found. Only hatred and something you can’t figure out swim behind his irises. He doesn’t even reach for your hand. Doesn’t hum in delight like he always does when your skin caresses him.

A prominent chip marks your being. As if you had been dropped from two floors down.

You shove the thought away.

You tell yourself that Spencer needs his space. Tell yourself that he needs time to process, to heal. You tell yourself it’s okay because Spencer’s had a long week. You tell yourself it’s not about you.

You leave a kiss on his cheek, “Rest well. Call me if you need anything.” You walk down the stairs with a weight you don’t discern.

Spencer doesn’t say he will.

And he didn’t.

“It takes a while before I realize the chip he caused. And even then, I said, what is love if I never get hurt? What is love if there’s no struggle? Besides, there are moments when the chip didn’t hurt. Minimum effort filled the aching void. Simplest gestures blinded me. Sweetest words impaired my hearing. I wasn’t hypnotized or caught in a spell. It’s plain and simple. He had a hold on me. I chose not to break free.”

THE VOICES IN HIS HEAD.

“Oh, here we go again.”

You feel yourself physically shrink.

Spencer rolls his eyes, pushing one hand into the depths of his right eye socket. Heavy sighs drool off his lips. The pounding in his head makes his vision blurry. And you’re convinced some type of voice tells him you’re no one important in his life.

You had asked him if he’d like to take a break from his files. After he’d said no, you carefully made a point that he hadn’t eaten anything the whole day. Then, you’re back to the now, where Spencer snaps at the mere mention of taking his fingers off the thin edges of the case.

A year into loving him. A year into being his solace—his words that now seem to be a lie—and you feel your entire body tense with every twitch and narrow of his eyes.

“Can’t you just leave me alone?”

Your chest tightens. A tug hitches your breath. A strong pressure sits over your lungs, deflating every air out without any chance of inflating back.

Since that night, Spencer changed. And you don't blame him. Completely understanding the stake of his trauma. Motivated to make his days better, to make him feel better.

The first month since that evening, Spencer didn’t text or call. He didn’t answer yours either. He isolated himself, and you’d heard from JJ that they even had a hard time talking to him.

So, you thought you weren't alone. That you weren't the problem. Because if everybody else can't reach him, then Spencer must want his solitude.

You climb on your shelf. You patiently wait for him to want you again. You let it happen. Let him consume you despite the ache that gnaws in the back of your mind.

And when he comes knocking on your door. You swing it so fast, eager to have him back in your arms. You lock the tingly feeling inside a vault. Because Spencer said he loves you that day.

“I’m trying to do my job. It’s a difficult job, unlike yours, where you just scribble on paper or tap on your annoying keyboard and be done for the day.”

It cracks. Every fiber of your being cracks. The colorful memories are stricken with connected lines, slowly turning into a depressing gray.

You crack internally. A glass hit with force enough to break but not enough to shatter apart. Your skin holds up every broken part like a puzzle piece.

He’s just mad. He doesn’t mean it. You chant inside your head. You don’t know who you’re lying to.

Spencer said he loves your writing. Love every word lined by your weaving hand. Love the stories formed from mundane moments and late nights. Love the emotions that brim within spaces and punctuation marks.

And you wonder if you should've kept not believing it. If you should've stayed appreciative but never convinced.

“There are people’s lives at stake. I’m saving people’s lives, not filling their free time by reading your made-up stories.”

A target made to be maimed. Spencer aims at the center with precision. And you’re stricken with every shot.

Your feet step back on their own. A subconscious pull for safety. Heart beats in fear, in ache.

“I’m sorry.”

It dies in your throat. Your body shakes in so much pain you don't mind the way your heart and lungs shrink. Afraid that tears may fall, willing them to stay in place—in the back of your eyes where Spencer won't find them.

His migraines worsen. You tell yourself.

He’s still in pain. You remind yourself.

His job is more important. You convince yourself.

Excuses after excuses. You make it a habit. Make excuses for him to distract the piercing agony.

“W-why don’t I give you some space? Refill your cup?” You offer a smile like it’s a job you must carry successfully.

Spencer gulps, hands in his pockets. “That would be great. Thanks.” He replies, getting back on his seat as if he hadn’t just cut through you like a sharp ax splitting a small trunk in half.

You flinch when he shuts the door as soon as you step out of the room. Each piece vibrates in place, waiting for the last hit.

“Litany of reasons come after that. I woke up each day with yet another excuse. A shameful attempt to sell what was rotten. Until I took a bite of it myself, and I tasted the sickening truth.”

THE DESTROYED SAND CASTLE.

It's deafening.

The sound of you shattering into a thousand pieces. Sharp edges cut through every fabric of what you thought was true, what you thought was real.

“I love her.”

But you're not her.

You’re not the great Dr. Maeve Donovan. The woman who kept his migraines at bay, if not anything, cured them. The smart, beautiful, successful woman who rang every local pay phone in his vicinity. The woman that occupied his waking days. Days he went through next to you.

Dr. Maeve Donovan. Spencer’s great love.

And he’s never seen her in person until her last breath. But her voice is enough to steal him away from you. Enough for the color in Spencer’s skin to light back up after years of your failed attempts. Enough for Spencer to fall in love with her. Enough to stay in love with her despite her being gone in the wind. Despite you sleeping next to him every single night.

She was enough. The idea of her is enough.

“I love her.”

Love. Present tense. Spencer loves her.

You don’t remember the last time he’d ever said those words to you. Don’t remember the genuine emotions that radiate along those words. Don’t remember the last time you’ve ever felt loved by him.

“Hey…”

You walk past Penelope. You don't realize it until she catches your arm, distracted by the fatal explosion inside your chest. You can see the way your world crumbles like a sand castle kicked by the meanest bully.

“Sweetie, what’s wrong? Did you not find Reid? Is he not in Hotch’s office?” Her eyes soften at the sight of your tears flowing like a steady river. “He’s safe, I promise. Just a little graze, you’ll see.” She tries to console you, rubbing the side of your arm.

Just a little graze.

Spencer has been carving little grazes on you for years, and the final blow causes your entire life to shatter in fine dust—close to nonexistence.

“Do you mind telling Spencer that there was an emergency, so I had to go?” Your voice breaks with each syllable, fighting the sobs from spilling out. It’s numbingly painful. Every part of you is sore and aching.

Penelope furrows her brows, “Sure, but is everything okay? What emergency?” She pries, no bad intentions, simply a sign of her kindness.

You take a rough gulp. “I…” You look into her eyes, begging for her not to ask further.

She nods, giving you a soft squeeze on your arm and a warm smile. That's when you knew that she knew exactly the source of your nonstop tears. Maybe no longer than you did because you can see the anger in her eyes. At least she's on your side. And it's enough for you. “Call me if you need anything, love,” Penelope says, pulling you into a bone-crushing hug. “I’m always here for you. I’m always ready to be on your side.�� She adds against your neck.

And you're heading towards the elevator without a second thought.

You hear your name as the doors close, lifting your head to find Spencer coming out of the bullpen. Penelope is true to her words, blocking him from reaching where you stand. His voice makes your insides churn. The sound of your name rolling off his tongue is sickening.

Your body collapses on the floor. The sobs finally echo within the tight space. The tears endlessly flow in raging torrents between floors. You wrap your arms around your torso, holding yourself together.

But it's way too late.

Every piece of you has already shattered into messy pieces. Spread out in broken parts, unfit even if you tried to glue yourself back together.

Spencer has destroyed the castle you've built. The castle you made just for him.

You wonder if it's all for show. If Spencer chose to keep you just to avoid his boredom when Maeve’s unreachable. If he only tolerated you to fill her physical absence.

But you should’ve known that it was a matter of time. His kisses were merely ghosts. His touch was stinging cold. His words were hallow.

The signs were clear in plain sight.

Spencer stopped loving you a long time ago.

"It's my fault." You say out loud, as if thinking it isn't painful enough.

You made a choice. Each day, you choose to make up new reasons why Spencer is distant. You convince yourself that you aren't hurt by his cold glances. You tell yourself that it’s not torture if you love him.

The elevator dings to the last floor.

“Remnants of myself dried up inside that box.”

Tongue runs over the softness of your lips as the final lines of your book approach with the same heart-wrenching ache. For the audience, at least.

You flip the page, lifting your gaze. You scan the mass of teary eyes and silent sobs.

There, you find two familiar faces. Penelope sniffs next to Rossi, who’s smiling proudly. The sweet blonde became your secret ray of sunshine. And the Italian mentored your way to a New York Times bestseller.

"In that tight space. In the center of those four moving walls. I wished so much that he'd only said when. When everything felt too much. When I was unwanted. When he stopped loving me. I would've understood. Because I always did."

What you don’t expect is the third familiar figure. It stands in the farthest back. A shadow if you don’t know any better. You take a deep breath.

The next words are etched in your brain. The first words you’ve ever written in the making of the book under your palm. The words that still ring in your ears.

“I must say, it’s not that I never learned. I learned so much that within the cracks of my broken self, I filled them with empty promises. Promises I never kept. Promises I broke because I believed I’d be fixed in a couple of days. I believed that the space between pieces of me would mend if I made the choice to stay.”

His hair is unkempt. His eyes are as brown as the healthiest earth. His build is leaner. His face is worn out by horrors you don't dare imagine.

Flashes of his pleas, his tears, his knocks on your door. You remember them like they were just yesterday. The pain that left a prominent indentation on your heart.

Tattoos of pain adorn his face. Has he been there the entire time? Do you really care if he was?

You lock eyes with Spencer, pausing for a moment. You let the past seep in. You unlock the vault of your broken pieces. Let them sing in agony. Let him hear the melody of your suffering.

And then it stops. They vanish through the air of peace. The relief of moving on.

You smile at him. The one that started everything.

“It’s important to know that I always had a choice. And with that is the acceptance that each time I chose wrong.”

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seriiousgiirl · 4 months ago

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𝐼𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 — 𝒮𝒽𝒶𝒹𝑜𝓌𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓅𝒶𝓈𝓉

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ݁𝒿𝒶𝓂𝑒𝓈 𝓈𝓊𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓍 𝓉𝑒𝒶𝒸𝒽𝑒𝓇!𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇.⊹ ₊ ݁.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 . ⊹ ₊ ݁. alternate universe - canon divergence, post-silent Hill 2, angst and fluff and smut, touch-starved, redemption, grief, mourning, psychological trauma and horror, mutual pining, James adopted Laura, age difference, smut, vaginal sex, rough sex, rough kissing, aftercare, daddy kink, James deserves his happy ending, James is desperate and pathetic, based on the Silent Hill Games and mostly the remake

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ 𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 . ⊹ ₊ ݁. It's in this chapter that the smut warning applies.

❛ Part 1 ⋅ Part 5 ⋅ masterlist ⋅ ao3 ⋅ requests ❜

➜ ┊ a/n: Hello everyone, sorry for the short notice. I've had a tough few days (insomnia, mostly), and had to take a little break. But I'm back and hope to be able to post chapters 5 and 6 in the next few weeks. Thanks again for your support and patience!

Some people have also asked me to create a James bot on C.AI or Janitor.AI based on this story, I don't know if anyone would be interested?

➜ ┊: chapter 4/?.

It had been a few days since you’d ventured into James's world, and with that, a peculiar silence had settled over everything, thick and suffocating. The morning after your dinner together had dawned heavy with a sense of dread that gnawed at your stomach, but it was quickly overshadowed by the sight of James slipping past you like a shadow, his gaze averted as if your presence were a ghostly reminder of something he couldn’t bear to confront.

You tried to catch his eye, hoping for a fleeting moment of connection, something to bridge the chasm that had formed between you. Yet, he always seemed to look away at the last possible second, as if he feared the intensity of your gaze would draw forth feelings he wasn’t ready to face. Each time he turned his head, it felt like a small wound, reopening the ache of unspoken words and unresolved tension.

It hurt more than you expected.

He’d been around, of course, often dropping Laura off at school, looking as handsome as ever but visibly worn down by an invisible burden. On one particular evening, you caught a glimpse of him through the dim light of the setting sun, his features sharp yet shadowed, eyes heavy with fatigue. The sight pained you; it was a reminder of the struggles he was wrestling with, of the grief that seemed to cling to him like a second skin.

At school, he continued to avoid you like the plague, slipping in and out during drop-offs and pick-ups. Each encounter made your heart race, a confusing mix of longing and disappointment washing over you.

One afternoon, as he picked Laura up, the air felt charged. He glanced in your direction for a fleeting moment, and your heart soared, only for it to plummet when he quickly turned away, his expression unreadable. In that instant, you caught a glimpse of his profile—handsome, defined, yet somehow haunted by the spectres of his past.

You longed for him to break the silence, to bridge the gap between you with words or even a gentle touch, but he remained ensconced in his own silence, treating you like a spectre haunting the corners of his life. And deep down, you couldn’t help but wonder if he saw you that way, too—just a ghost lingering in the echoes of his memories.

As you recalled those fleeting moments you had shared, a heaviness settled in your chest. The warmth of his body against yours, the way his large hand had cradled your face and hips, and the soft whisper of your name escaping his lips—it all felt vivid, alive in your memory. Yet, each recollection came with the stark reminder of Mary, the wife he had lost, her absence casting long shadows over everything that might have been between you.

Guilt began to intertwine with your yearning, an insidious companion that lingered in the recesses of your mind. Had you tempted him into something he wasn’t ready for? Was it selfish of you to wish for him to lean into those feelings, to seek solace in you while his heart still mourned the love he had lost? The conflict twisted within you, a complex blend of desire and sorrow that left you feeling hollow, as if you were reaching for something just beyond your grasp.

But as the days turned into an endless cycle of longing and uncertainty, it became increasingly difficult to ignore the ache in your heart—the longing for connection, for understanding, for the warmth of his touch. With every glance, you couldn’t help but wonder if he felt it too or if he was simply drowning in his own sorrow, oblivious to the chaotic whirlwind of emotions swirling within you.

It was an afternoon like any other, with the classroom quiet and still, the hum of the school day long gone. The children had all gone home, and you were left tidying up, humming softly to yourself as you wiped down the desks, erasing the chalk from the board. The fading light of the setting sun streamed through the windows, casting a warm glow over the room, and you were almost ready to head home yourself.

Until you heard his voice.

“Y/n?”

The sound stopped you in your tracks. Slowly, you turned toward the door, and there stood James, leaning slightly against the frame. The sight of him made your heart sink. His eyes, deep and brooding, seemed weighed down by something heavier than just exhaustion. His whole demeanour—shoulders slumped, head bowed slightly—was one of someone carrying far too much on his own. He looked utterly pathetic, and it wasn’t just fatigue; it was something deeper, like a man on the edge of breaking but holding himself together out of sheer necessity.

You had never seen anyone look quite so lost. He looked so lost, like a sad puppy that had wandered too far from home. His sadness was so palpable, it made the air in the room feel thick, pressing against your chest. There was no hiding it, no masking it behind small talk or a forced smile. It was right there in his gaze, that flicker of torment that hadn’t left since you’d first met him.

It hurt to see him like this—more than it should have, more than you wanted to admit.

He was always handsome, even in his weariness, but today he looked like a ghost of himself. Before, when you didn’t know the full story, his sadness had seemed almost abstract, a mystery you couldn’t quite solve. But now, with everything you knew about his past—about Mary, Laura, and the guilt that haunted him—it was impossible to not feel his pain as if it were your own.

You hesitated, unsure of what to say. The weight of his presence had stolen your voice. You tried to think of something casual, something that wouldn’t betray how much seeing him like this affected you, but everything felt inadequate. How could you offer comfort when you felt so tangled up in your own feelings for him?

Finally, your voice, soft and tentative, broke the silence. "James... why are you here?"

He looked up at you, almost startled, as if he wasn’t expecting you to acknowledge him. His eyes met yours for only a brief moment before dropping again, his fingers fidgeting slightly at his side. He looked embarrassed, maybe even ashamed to be there, as if he didn’t belong anywhere anymore.

“Laura…” His voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper, like it took everything in him just to speak. “She forgot her maths book.” He paused, swallowing thickly before continuing. “We started her homework, and it was only then she noticed it was missing.”

His explanation was so simple, so mundane, and yet the way he said it made it feel like so much more. Like this wasn’t just about a forgotten book. It was about him reaching out, searching for something—perhaps even without knowing what. You nodded, trying to keep your expression neutral, though your heart ached for him.

He was a mess, a man so clearly lost in his own grief and guilt, and it pained you to see him standing there, barely holding himself together. He looked like he could fall apart at any moment, and yet, here he was, making the effort for Laura, for something as trivial as a schoolbook. You swallowed the lump in your throat and turned toward the shelves where you kept the children’s books. “I see... Let me find it for you,” you said, your voice gentle, careful, not wanting to add to the weight he was already carrying.

As you moved to locate the book, your mind raced. James had always been distant, but today was different. He looked shattered, a man barely hanging on, and the worst part was knowing that nothing you said or did could fix that. His sadness was his own, something too deep and personal for anyone to reach, but it didn’t stop you from wanting to try. Even if you couldn’t save him, you wanted to at least ease the burden, to remind him that he didn’t have to carry it alone.

When you turned to see James, he had already stepped into the classroom, closing the door behind him with a soft click. The sound sent a shiver through you, sharp and sudden. You hadn’t expected him to come any closer, but there he was, just a few feet away now, the air between you suddenly thick with something unspoken.

Your heart began to race, and you could feel it in your chest as you inhaled the faint scent of his cologne—a subtle, masculine fragrance that was almost too quiet to notice. Yet it wasn’t too quiet for you. You had spent so many days since that afternoon thinking about him, about every detail of him, that missing his scent would be impossible.

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your composure as you retrieved the book from the shelf, but when you turned back to hand it to him, your fingers trembled. You reached out, the textbook in your hand, but instead of just taking it, James’s hand brushed against yours. His touch was gentle, but there was something intentional about it, something that made your breath catch in your throat.

He didn’t pull away.

His hand remained on yours, fingers curling slightly around the book, but he didn’t move. He just stood there, his gaze locking with yours for the first time in days. His eyes, so full of sadness and longing, seemed to search for something in you, something he couldn’t say out loud. And for a moment, everything else disappeared—the classroom, the empty halls, the world beyond those four walls. It was just you and him, standing there in the stillness, the weight of all that had been left unsaid pressing down on both of you.

You couldn’t move. His eyes held you in place, and you saw something in them you hadn’t seen before—a hesitation, a vulnerability that made your chest tighten. His lips parted as if he were about to speak, but nothing came out at first. He just stood there, his body tense, his hand still on yours, his expression torn between so many emotions that it was almost painful to witness.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, two simple words finally broke the silence.

“I’m sorry.”

His voice was soft, barely more than a whisper, but it hit you like a tidal wave. The apology was raw, carrying with it all the weight of the things he couldn’t say—the regret, the guilt, the pain that had been eating away at him since that day. And in that moment, you realised just how much he had been struggling, how much he had been carrying alone. Your breath hitched, and you felt your chest tighten again, this time with the surge of emotions you’d been holding back. His hand was still on yours, his touch warm, but there was a distance between you now that went beyond physical space. It was the distance of two people caught between what had happened and what could never be undone.

You wanted to say something, anything to reassure him, to tell him it was okay, that you didn’t blame him for what happened between you. But the words wouldn’t come. All you could do was stand there, trembling under his gaze, as his apology hung in the air between you like a fragile, broken thing.

James’s lips trembled again, as if he wanted to say more, but he didn’t. He just stood there, looking at you with those sad, haunted eyes, and for the first time, you saw how close he was to breaking.

But then, slowly, his other hand rose, trembling slightly as it reached toward you. You didn’t move, your breath catching in your throat as his fingers gently brushed a strand of your hair. The contact was so delicate, almost reverent, as though he feared you might break if he held on too tightly.

He pulled the strand toward his face, his movements hesitant and slow, and before you could fully comprehend what he was doing, James pressed the strand of your hair against his nose. His eyes fluttered closed, and he inhaled deeply, breathing you in as though he had been starved of the scent, like it was something he’d been longing for since the last time he held you close. His chest rose with the depth of his breath, the movement laboured, as if the act itself was painful.

The sight of him, standing there with your hair pressed against his face, was intimate—achingly so. There was a vulnerability to him that broke something inside you, as if you were seeing a part of James he had kept hidden, even from himself. His expression twisted, and though his eyes were shut, you could see the torment etched across his features—the crease of his brow, the tight line of his jaw, the way his lips parted with an unspoken agony.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again, his voice trembling. He sounded broken, the words choked out like they were tearing him apart from the inside. “I’m so sorry.”

It was like he couldn’t stop apologising, each repetition heavier than the last, as though he were trying to atone for everything. His hand in your hair trembled, but he didn’t let go, as if holding onto that small piece of you was the only thing keeping him grounded.

His apology was raw, relentless, his voice cracking with every word, and you could feel the storm of emotions he was fighting to contain—grief, guilt, desire, all wrapped up in that one act of holding your hair to his face like it was his lifeline. You wanted to say something, to comfort him, to reach out and tell him it was okay, that you didn’t regret what had happened between you. But all you could do was watch him, your heart pounding in your chest as his pain washed over you. His other hand still rested on yours, and for a moment, it felt like the only thing connecting him to reality was the physical touch between you.

James’ breaths grew heavier, and his chest rose and fell with the force of his emotions. His eyes remained closed, his face buried in that single strand of your hair, as if he could hide from the world in that small, fleeting connection.

“I shouldn’t want this,” he murmured, his voice almost inaudible. His lips trembled as he spoke, and when his eyes opened again, they were filled with the kind of torment that twisted your stomach. “But I can’t help it. I’ve tried.”

Your hand moved almost instinctively, fingers trembling as they brushed against James' cheek. His skin was warm beneath your touch, rough from the stubble that had grown in the past few days. He flinched ever so slightly at the contact, but then, as if he had been waiting for it—desperate for it—he leaned into your hand, pressing his face against your palm like a man starved of human touch.

The vulnerability in the gesture broke your heart. You could feel the tension in his body, the weight of the guilt he carried like a burden too heavy for one person to bear. His eyes fluttered shut again, and a shuddering breath escaped him, his body trembling as he leaned further into you.

"It’s okay," you whispered, your voice soft, trying to offer him some comfort, some relief. "You didn’t do anything wrong, James."

His brow furrowed at your words, as though they caused him physical pain. He shook his head, not moving from your touch but rejecting your reassurance with a stubbornness that spoke of the battles raging inside him. He couldn't accept it—couldn't allow himself to believe that he wasn't at fault. That this connection between the two of you wasn’t something to be ashamed of.

"No," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "It’s not okay... I... I shouldn’t... I—" His voice cracked, and he drew in a sharp breath, his shoulders trembling as though the emotions were too much to contain.

You could feel him holding back, the restraint in the way he stayed so close but didn’t dare cross the line again. His lips were parted, and he kept stealing glances at you as though he wanted to say something more, to let it all out—but couldn’t.

"James..." you started, your thumb gently stroking his cheek. His hand was still on yours, holding it against his face like he couldn’t bear to let go. "You don’t have to keep punishing yourself. You’re allowed to feel, to want something... someone."

A tear slipped from the corner of his eye, but he said nothing, just kept his eyes closed, focusing on your touch. The silence was heavy, and it pained you to see him like this—so conflicted, so torn between what he felt and what he believed was right.

“I shouldn’t want this," he muttered again, voice choked. "I can’t. Not after everything I’ve done… not after Mary."

His words hung in the air, and the mention of her name felt like a knife to the chest. You knew this wasn’t just about you—this was about the weight of his past, the ghosts he couldn’t escape. His guilt over what had happened to her, the pain he still carried even though she was gone. But as he leaned into your touch, it felt like he was clinging to you, searching for something, someone to pull him out of the darkness that had swallowed him whole.

"James," you whispered again, your voice soft but firm. "You’re not alone anymore. You don’t have to be."

His breath hitched at your words, and for a brief moment, you saw something in his eyes—something raw and desperate, a need that went beyond anything physical. But then, just as quickly, he pulled back, breaking the contact, his face a mask of anguish.

"I can't," he whispered. "I don't deserve this... I don’t deserve you."

The words hit you hard, and you could see the pain behind them, the deep-seated belief that he was beyond redemption. He tried to pull away from you, as if punishing himself further, but you didn’t let him. You wouldn’t let him.

Without thinking, you leaned closer, closing the distance between you. "You’re not the monster you think you are," you said softly. "You’re a good man, James. And I’m here. I’m not going anywhere."

He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing as he fought back the torrent of emotions.

You sighed softly, the weight of the moment pressing down on you as you searched his face. His pain, his guilt—it was unbearable to witness. You wanted to do something, anything, to take it away, to make it easier for him. You didn’t know how far you were willing to go for him, but the sight of him breaking down before you was too much.

"It’s awful to see you like this, James," you whispered, your voice barely audible as you looked into his tormented eyes. "If it would help... if it would relieve you, then you can claim what you want. Whatever it is, I’m here, I… I won’t say anything, it’ll be a secret. Like nothing ever happened."

The words slipped out before you could fully comprehend their weight, but you meant them. The offer hung in the air like a lifeline, and as soon as they left your lips, something inside James seemed to shift. His eyes darkened, a spark of something raw and desperate flickering to life. Hunger. The same hunger you had seen before but held back by layers of guilt and self-loathing. Now, at your words, it began to surface, threatening to consume him.

The maths book you had handed him slipped from his grasp, falling forgotten to the floor with a soft thud. His movements were slow, deliberate, as if he were afraid to break the fragile tension between you, but he leaned down, his hands trembling as they cupped your cheeks. His touch was firm yet gentle, his fingers grazing your skin as though he couldn’t believe you were real.

His nose brushed against yours, his breath warm on your lips, and the closeness was intoxicating. You could feel the raw emotion radiating from him. It was palpable, and in that moment, it felt like the entire world had shrunk down to just the two of you. Nothing else mattered. Not the past. Not the guilt. Not the pain.

Just him.

"I... I don’t know if I can stop," he whispered, his voice strained, almost pleading as though he were asking for permission to give in to what he wanted. "I’m so tired of fighting it..."

His lips hovered just above yours, the warmth of his breath sending shivers down your spine. You could feel his hesitation, the battle waging inside him. But the hunger in his eyes was undeniable now. You closed your eyes, your heart pounding in your chest, and whispered, "Then don’t."

It was all the permission he needed. James closed the distance, his lips crashing against yours in a kiss that was hungry, desperate, and full of all the emotions he had been holding back for so long. His hands tightened on your cheeks, pulling you closer as though he couldn’t bear the thought of letting you go.

His need for you was overwhelming, and in that moment, it was as if nothing else existed but the two of you, lost in a sea of desire and emotion that neither of you could control anymore.

James's tongue delved into your mouth, claiming you with a desperation that bordered on feral. He licked along your tongue, sucking on it, as though attempting to devour you from the inside out. His hands gripped your hair, holding you in place as he plundered your mouth. Between frantic, sloppy kisses, James tore his mouth away just enough to gasp out, "We shouldn't... This is so wrong..." Even as the words left his lips, his body betrayed his true desires. His hips rocked against you, grinding his hardening length against your core.

You pulled him closer, your fingers tangling in his hair, urging him on with breathless whispers. "Take what you need," you coaxed, your voice thick with want. "I'm yours, James. Let go and just feel..."

A low groan rumbled in his chest as James surrendered to the all-consuming need coursing through him. His tongue tangled with yours, licking into your mouth with a hunger that stole your breath. He sucked on your bottom lip, nipping at it with his teeth before soothing the sting with his tongue. "Fuck, you taste so good," James panted against your lips, his voice raw with desperation. "I've wanted this for so long… But I shouldn’t…"

But even as the words left his lips, his actions told a different story. His hands were roaming your body now, as if seeking to memorise every curve and dip through your clothes. He groaned when his palm brushed over your breast, giving it a rough squeeze. "Tell me to stop," James pleaded, his voice ragged with need. "Y/n, please... I don't know if I can hold back if you keep encouraging me like this."

He punctuated his words with another searing kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth possessively. You could feel the evidence of his arousal pressing insistently against your thigh, his cock straining against the confines of his pants. James' hands slid around to grip your ass, pulling you flush against him. With a low groan, he turned and pushed you up against the bookshelf, pinning you there with his body.

"I want to hear you moan for me, Y/n," he growled, his voice rough with desire. His hands caressed up your thighs, slipping under your skirt. He nipped at your earlobe, his hot breath making you shiver. "I need to feel how wet you are for me." His fingers brushed over the damp fabric of your panties and you couldn't suppress the breathy whimper that escaped your lips. James rumbled his approval.

"Fuck, you're soaked," he groaned, rubbing his palm against your clothed slit. "I can feel how much you want this. How much you want me." He slipped a finger beneath your panties, teasing your slick folds. You gasped at the first touch, your walls fluttering around the digit. James curled his finger, stroking over your sensitive nerves and drawing out needy moans.

"That's it, baby," he crooned, working you with his fingers. "Let me hear how good I make you feel. I want everyone in this school to know who you belong to." He captured your lips in another searing kiss as he fingered you harder, his thumb circling your clit. The obscene wet sounds of your arousal filled the air, mixing with your wanton moans and the creaking of the bookshelf as James rutted against you.

Lost in a haze of pleasure, you could only cling to him, surrendering yourself to the intensity of his touch. In that moment, nothing existed but your rejected love and the overwhelming need consuming you both.

Your moans grew louder as James' fingers delved deeper, stroking over your most sensitive spots. Electric pleasure sparked through your body with each thrust, your walls clenching greedily around his digits. "Oh god, James!" you cried out, your hips rolling to meet his touch. "Don't stop, it feels incredible..."

He grinned, a wicked gleam in his eye. "You like being fingered in the middle of the class, don't you? Waiting for me to come claim you, to touch you like this where anyone could see." James curled his fingers just right, rubbing insistently over your G-spot. Your knees nearly buckled at the intense sensation, a flood of wetness coating his hand.

"Answer me," he commanded, his voice low and rough. "Tell me how much you love being touched by me, even if someone walks by and hears what a needy little thing you are." To emphasise his point, James slipped his fingers out and pushed two back in, spreading them wide to stretch you open.

You keened at the lewd intrusion, your pussy fluttering wildly. "Please..." you whimpered, not even sure what you were begging for. More, harder, anything to relieve the building pressure inside you.

"Please what?" James teased, pumping his fingers slowly. "Use your words, Y/n. Let everyone know how badly you need to be fucked."

He twisted his wrist, rubbing over that spot deep inside that made stars burst behind your eyes. Your moans reached a fever pitch, echoing off the bookshelves. Distantly, you registered the risk of discovery, but it only seemed to heighten your arousal. In that moment, pinned between James' hard body and the shelf, you didn't care who saw or heard. You just needed him to touch you more, to claim you completely. Consequences be damned.

Your body tensed, muscles pulling tight as your orgasm crashed over you. "Oh fuck, James!" you cried out, voice breaking on his name. Pleasure overwhelmed your senses, your pussy spasming uncontrollably around his fingers as you came hard. James groaned, working you through it, his fingers gentling. He rubbed soothing circles over your clit as you rode out the waves, drawing out your bliss.

"That's it, sweetheart. Let go for me," he encouraged. "You're so fucking beautiful when you cum."

As your climax ebbed, James withdrew his hand, bringing his slick fingers to his mouth. He licked them clean, savouring your taste with a low hum of appreciation. "Mmm, you taste as sweet as I imagined," James purred. "Seeing you fall apart for me, knowing I did that... Fuck, it's almost enough to make me cum in my jeans."

He rocked his hips, grinding his clothed erection against your thigh. You glanced down and saw a damp patch spreading on the fabric where his cock twitched urgently. James was right on the edge, aching for release. "Do you want to feel me cum?" he asked, voice strained with the effort to hold back. "Want to see me lose control for you?"

“Y-Yes, please.” You said, your voice still trembling with the aftermath of your orgasm.

James fumbled with his fly, freeing his throbbing cock. It sprang out, flushed and leaking, the tip slick with precum. He wrapped a hand around himself and stroked, hissing at the sensation. "Fuck, just like that," he grunted, working his shaft faster. "Watching you cum got me so hard, Y/n. I'm gonna... Ungh!"

With a final few tight pumps, James threw his head back with a guttural moan as his orgasm hit. Thick ropes of cum spurted from his cock, splattering obscenely across your skirt. He milked himself through it, riding out the intense waves of pleasure. Panting, James slumped against you, his softening cock still in his hand. He captured your lips in a languid kiss, sharing your taste between you. When he pulled back, his eyes were dark with satisfaction.

"That was... Wow," he breathed, pressing his forehead to yours. "I don't think I've ever cum that hard in my life."

Your legs trembled, the aftershocks still singing through your nerves. You'd never experienced anything so intense, so all-consuming. James had ruined you for anyone else, with a single touch. You knew you were addicted to the way only he could make you feel.

James helped you smooth your skirt back down and straighten your clothes, his touch gentle but almost impersonal now. There was a new tension in his shoulders as he tucked himself away and refastened his jeans, movements sharp. When he turned back to you, his expression was unreadable. Gone was the vulnerable, broken man who had confessed his feelings. In his place stood a stranger, cold and distant.

"We're keeping this a secret, right?" James asked, his tone almost accusatory. "Like nothing happened."

You blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift. Was this really the same man who had been kissing you so passionately and worshipped your body just minutes ago? Shame and confusion warred within you as you nodded mutely.

James searched your face for a long moment, his jaw clenched tight. "Good."

You swallowed back the hurt, forcing a stiff nod of agreement. "Of course. I won't say a word," you murmured, your voice small.

James' expression softened slightly at your acquiescence, some of the anger draining from his posture. "I didn't mean... Fuck. This doesn't change anything, okay? You're still the teacher of my daughter. I can't cross that line again." The mixed message confused you further. If he regretted what happened, why the anger?

But before you could respond, James was already turning away, taking Laura’s maths book on the floor. The dismissal was clear. Whatever connection you thought you'd felt, it was gone now. Just a fleeting illusion born of heat and proximity. Numb, you collected your own books, pieces of the puzzle clicking into place. James wasn't angry because he regretted what you shared. He was angry because he didn't.

Because he liked it too much, wanted it too much. And that scared him.

Because it terrified you as well, the intensity of your reaction to his touch. The way your heart raced and your body ached, even now. This thing between you... It was dangerous. Forbidden. But God help you, a traitorous part of you wanted to do it all again. To hell with the consequences.

Shaking your head to clear it, you slipped past James without another word. You had to get out of here, had to put some distance between your bodies before you gave in to temptation again.

As James left without another word, you fled the classroom just minutes later and you couldn't help but wonder what this meant for your future. Could you really go back to a normal parent-teacher relationship after this? Or would the memory of his hands on your skin, his lips devouring yours, be enough to drive you to distraction? Only time would tell. But one thing was certain - your feelings for James would never be the same.

And that terrified you more than any other outcome.

───────────────

Following that afternoon, you had braced yourself for James to disappear from your life, retreating back into the shadows of his grief and responsibilities. Yet, to your surprise, he returned.

James would go to great lengths to ensure these meetings remained shrouded in secrecy. He would meticulously arrange for someone to look after Laura, his little girl blissfully unaware of the storm brewing in her father's heart. The logistics felt cold and clinical, but you understood his reasoning: if Laura saw you at his home too often, she'd start asking questions. And questions were the last thing he wanted to deal with. When he suggested booking a hotel, you sensed it was more than just practicality. It was as if he wanted to keep the entire affair compartmentalised—a small, dark corner of his life that could remain untouched by the chaos of his emotions.

James often reminded you that it “meant nothing,” and part of you wanted to believe him. You had to. It was easier that way. You understood that his heart was still tethered to the past, to the memory of Mary, and what you shared could only ever be physical. Yet, despite the rationalisations, the moments you spent together ignited a fire within you, leaving you both breathless and craving more.

You wrestled with that notion, knowing deep down that it was true. It was just a carnal pleasure for him—an escape from the suffocating weight of his past and the present responsibilities of being a father. And yet, you found it hard to convince yourself that it didn’t mean anything to you, too. Every time he wrapped his arms around you, his touch igniting a fire within you, it felt more profound than mere physicality. You longed for it to be something real, but reality kept slapping you in the face, reminding you that this was just a distraction for him.

You were drawn to him, and every shared breath and fleeting glance ignited a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, he could find a way to let you in. But with every whispered promise exchanged in the dim light of the hotel room, the reality of the situation settled over you like a heavy cloak, reminding you of the limits you—and then James had set, the walls he had built to protect himself.

It was one of those evenings. The hotel room was nicer than usual, you noticed, dimly lit by a warm, ambient glow that softened the edges of the night. You were lying on the bed in your underwear, your body sprawled across the sheets in anticipation. The room felt empty, save for the heavy silence that hung between the moments. You could hear your own heartbeat in the quiet, and the soft rustle of the door as it clicked shut announced James' arrival.

He still wore his jacket, but it looked like a burden, one he was quick to shed as he stepped into the room. The jacket fell to the floor with a heavy thud, and for a moment, he stood there, unmoving. His expression was clouded, a mixture of exhaustion and something far deeper that you’d come to recognize over these past weeks. James was multi-faceted, a puzzle of emotions that never fully aligned. Most of the time, he wore sadness like a second skin, carrying it with him like a cloak he could never quite shake off. But sometimes, beneath that sadness, there was anger—deep, raw, and bitter—or even hate. It was rare to see him happy, truly happy. The version of James that laughed or smiled felt like a ghost of who he used to be.

Tonight, though, he looked utterly tired, the kind of weariness that dug into his bones and weighed him down. He sat at the edge of the bed, his shoulders slumped, his eyes distant. His hand found your leg almost instinctively, caressing your skin absentmindedly, as if searching for something—comfort, maybe. But you weren’t sure he could ever really find it.

You shifted slightly under his touch, the feeling of his fingers against your leg sending a small shiver up your spine. You glanced at him, watching his profile as he sat there, lost in his own thoughts. His hand traced slow, idle patterns against your skin, but his gaze was far away, his mind somewhere else.

"Long day?" you asked softly, your voice barely breaking the silence.

James didn’t answer right away. His fingers paused for a moment, then resumed their gentle motion. You could tell he was carrying the weight of something, but it wasn’t your place to ask—at least not anymore. Not in this arrangement, where your time together had become a strange kind of ritual, bound by unsaid rules.

He finally exhaled, a deep sigh that seemed to come from the depths of him. "Yeah," he muttered, his voice rough. "Long day."

You wanted to reach out to him, to offer some kind of solace, but you knew better by now. James was a man trapped inside his own pain, his own regret, and as much as you wanted to break through that barrier, you also knew he would push you away if you tried. So instead, you let him sit there, his hand on your leg, and you stayed quiet, letting the silence speak for itself.

His hand lingered, caressing your skin with a kind of absent tenderness that always seemed at odds with the darkness in his eyes. This was the James you had come to know—someone who needed, who sought out comfort in the most fleeting ways, but who could never fully let himself feel it. Someone who wanted but would never allow himself to have.

James shifted beside you, his movements tense and restless, until he finally laid down against you, pressing his body close, almost too close, as if afraid you’d slip away. His head found its way to your chest, clutching at you, not with tenderness but with something more desperate—like a drowning man clinging to a lifeline. The moment felt heavy, loaded with all the things he wasn’t saying but you could feel the tightness of his grip, in the ragged way he sighed.

You threaded your fingers through his ash-blonde hair, trying to soothe the tension in his body, but even your touch didn’t seem to be enough tonight. He was different—more on edge, more fragile, and the air between you was thick with unspoken need. James pressed his face deeper against your breasts, his breath hot against your skin, and you could feel how hard he was holding back, how much he was crumbling inside.

“I have nightmares,” he whispered, his voice raw, almost broken. It wasn’t just tiredness. There was something deeper in his tone—desperation, like he was running out of time, out of hope. “I don’t sleep well. Not anymore.”

You frowned, your heart aching for him. You knew he didn’t sleep well, but hearing him admit it, the way his voice trembled, made it real in a way it hadn’t been before. “What kind of nightmares?” you asked, though part of you wasn’t sure if you wanted to hear the answer.

James stayed silent, but his grip on you tightened, his fingers curling against your skin like he was holding on for dear life. He didn’t want to tell you, couldn’t bring himself to. Instead, he buried his face against you, his body trembling. “It’s bad,” he finally muttered, voice shaking. “Some days it’s worse than others. Today’s one of those days.”

You swallowed, feeling the weight of his words settle over you. He was coming apart, breaking down, and you weren’t sure how to fix it. “James…” you whispered, but he didn’t let you finish, and he groaned in protest, his head over your breasts. His pain was palpable, suffocating, and you could feel the anguish in every breath he took.

After another moment of heavy silence, James shifted slightly, his body tense as if bracing himself for what he was about to say. It was so rare for him to talk, especially about anything that truly mattered, and when his voice finally broke through the quiet, it startled you.

After another stretch of silence, James shifted again against you, but this time, instead of falling deeper into that quiet, his voice emerged, fragile yet determined. "Mary," he whispered, the name hanging heavy in the air between you. It surprised you—he hadn’t spoken about her since the time you saw her picture at his home, and you had assumed he never would. "I… I felt so guilty. When she got sick, all I could think about was how much I missed her—her warmth, just holding her like this." His grip on you tightened, fingers pressing into your skin, as if trying to ground himself through the contact. "But I couldn’t."

His words came out slowly, as if it pained him to say them aloud, but he couldn’t stop now that he had started. You stayed quiet, your hand still in his hair, listening as he unravelled.

"It wasn’t just the sickness, though," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper, as if confessing a sin he had long kept buried. "Even when she wasn’t sick, it wasn’t... right. Our intimacy." His lips twisted in discomfort, and you could feel him tense against you. "There were things I wanted to do, things I thought we’d share, but she didn’t want any of it. She couldn’t, or wouldn’t, I don’t know." He sighed heavily, the sound filled with frustration and sadness. "We’d end up arguing—these cold, distant fights that never solved anything. And then we’d—" He cut himself off, swallowing hard.

"And then we’d have sex, just to stop the fighting," he finally finished, his voice flat, emotionless, like the memory was draining him. "But it was always… it felt so conventional. Like it was just something we were supposed to do, not something we wanted. Not something she wanted, as if I was pressuring her to do it."

James shifted again, burying his face in your chest, his breath warm and ragged against your skin. His hand still clutched you tightly, as if afraid to let go. The pain in his voice was clear, the regret, the guilt, the yearning for something that had always been just out of reach. "I loved her, but… I needed more." His confession was quiet, almost lost in the space between you. "I needed this. I needed what we never had."

It felt like a deep wound had been reopened, and you could feel the rawness of it in every word he spoke. He had been carrying this pain for so long, locked away inside, and now, lying here in your arms, he was letting it spill out. His guilt, his longing, his shame. And even though he didn’t say it, you understood—he wasn’t just missing Mary, he was missing the connection he never had with her. Something deeper, something he was still searching for.

Maybe even in you.

James stayed close to you, his face still pressed against your cleavage, his breathing uneven as the weight of his words hung in the air. You could feel his vulnerability, a kind of desperation that rarely surfaced, like a dam had broken, and he couldn’t stop the flood of his emotions. For a moment, you didn’t know what to say, unsure of how to respond to something so deeply personal. But you knew he needed you, your presence, your understanding.

You gently stroked his hair, giving him time to collect himself. After a long pause, you whispered, “It sounds like you were always left wanting something more.”

James’ grip tightened on you, his fingers digging slightly into your side, as if the truth in your words pained him. He nodded against your chest, a faint, tortured sound escaping him.

“I don’t know why,” he muttered, his voice hoarse, heavy with frustration. “Maybe I was too selfish. Maybe I wanted too much. But I couldn’t… I couldn’t talk to her about it. I didn’t want to hurt her more than she already was.” His voice cracked, as if the weight of that guilt threatened to crush him. “But I was lonely. So damn lonely. And when we… when we were together, it felt like she was just… enduring it. Like I wasn’t allowed to want more from her, to even ask.”

He pulled back slightly, his gaze meeting yours with an intensity that made your heart ache. “I needed things I couldn’t ask her for. Things I couldn’t even bring myself to admit.” His lips trembled, his expression torn between shame and an unspoken longing. “And she’d just… shut down. It made me feel like I was a monster for wanting anything.” You listened quietly, sensing the pain in his voice but also the deep frustration that had been buried for so long. It was as though he had locked away all these feelings, all these desires, believing he was wrong for even having them. But now, with you, he couldn’t hold it back anymore.

“It wasn’t just about sex,” he continued, his voice rough. “It was about needing to feel connected, to feel wanted. I loved her, but… She never made me feel like I mattered that way.”

Your hand rested gently on his cheek, your thumb brushing lightly across his skin. “You’re not a monster, James,” you said softly, your voice full of reassurance. “You just… wanted to be seen. To be close to someone.”

He closed his eyes at your touch, leaning into it like a man starved for affection. His breathing hitched, and you could feel the tension in his body, like he was fighting to hold himself together.

“But I never got that,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “With Mary, it was always… proper. Reserved. And after a while, I stopped trying. It just… wasn’t worth the fights anymore. We would go days without touching, without even saying much to each other. I’d come home, and she’d just be there, like a ghost, and I’d miss her… even though she was right in front of me.”

He let out a bitter laugh, though it sounded more like a sob. “God, I was such an idiot. I thought things would change, that one day she’d wake up and… see me.”

“I’m sorry, James,” you whispered, your voice thick with empathy.

He opened his eyes, tears glistening at the corners as he looked at you. “But what if… what if I am just selfish?” he asked, his voice shaking. “What if I always needed too much? Too much from her… too much from you.”

You shook your head softly, your hand cupping his face as you met his gaze. “No,” you said firmly, your tone gentle but resolute. “You didn’t ask for too much. You just asked to be seen, to be loved. That’s not selfish, James. That’s human.”

He let out a shaky breath, his hand coming up to cover yours, his thumb tracing the lines of your palm. “But I’ve already messed things up,” he whispered, his voice filled with regret. “With you… I’ve taken so much from you, and I… I don’t even know if I can give you anything back.”

You felt your chest tighten at his words, the rawness in his confession. He was scared—scared of hurting you, scared of repeating the mistakes of the past. But he was also scared of letting you in, of giving himself to you in a way he had never been able to with Mary.

“You don’t have to give me anything,” you said softly, your voice steady. “I’m here because I want to be, James. Not because I expect anything in return.”

His eyes searched yours, filled with a mix of longing and fear, and you could see the war raging inside him. He wanted to believe you, but he had been hurt so deeply before, left feeling empty and undeserving.

“I just… I don’t want to mess this up,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “I don’t want to hurt you like I hurt her.”

You leaned in, your forehead resting gently against his. “You’re not going to hurt me,” you whispered back, your breath warm against his skin. “I’m not Mary, James. I’m different.”

For a moment, he was silent, his eyes closing as he absorbed your words. And then, slowly, his grip on you tightened, his hand moving to the back of your neck as he pulled you closer. His lips brushed against yours, tentative and unsure, but the need in his touch was undeniable. He was searching for something—comfort, release, maybe even redemption. And for the first time, you felt like he was truly letting you in.

You held his gaze, your hand still resting on his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin under your palm. James’ eyes, so full of pain and guilt, flickered with uncertainty as you spoke softly, trying to ease the weight he carried.

“James,” you began gently, “sometimes two people can love each other so much that it ends up hurting them. It doesn’t mean you did anything wrong, and it doesn’t mean Mary was at fault either. It’s just… sometimes things fall apart, and it’s not about who’s to blame.”

James’ brow furrowed, his lips parting as if to say something, but no words came.

“It was a bad time,” you continued, your voice low but filled with compassion. “You both went through so much, and there wasn’t a way to fix it. Sometimes… love just isn’t enough to heal everything.”

James’ eyes closed, his breath trembling as he let your words wash over him. You could feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles tensed and relaxed beneath your hand as if he were battling with the acceptance of what you were saying. “It doesn’t make you a bad person,” you whispered, your thumb brushing gently across his cheekbone. “It doesn’t mean you failed her. You did the best you could with what you had.”

James’ grip tightened on you for a brief moment, and then he let out a deep, shaky breath, his head dipping slightly as if the weight of your words was too much to bear. His forehead pressed against yours again, his breath warm and uneven against your skin. “I just… I keep thinking, maybe if I’d done something differently,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe if I’d been better, or tried harder—”

You silenced him with a gentle shake of your head, your fingers moving through his hair. “No, James. Don’t do that to yourself. You loved her, and she loved you, but sometimes that love isn’t enough to stop the hurt. It doesn’t make either of you bad people. It just… happened.”

For a moment, he didn’t respond, the quiet stretching between you as he absorbed the truth of what you said. His hand slipped to rest on your waist, and you could feel him relax slightly, as if the burden on his shoulders had lightened, even just a little. “I don’t know how to let go of it,” he finally whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

Your heart ached for him, for the weight of guilt and grief he carried every day. But you knew he couldn’t keep punishing himself forever. He deserved to find peace, to let himself heal, even if it took time. “You don’t have to let go of it all at once,” you whispered, your hand sliding to the back of his neck, holding him close. “Just take it one day at a time. You’re allowed to feel everything you feel, but you’re also allowed to move forward. You deserve that, James.”

He stayed still for a long moment, his forehead still pressed against yours, his breath coming out in soft, ragged sighs. And then, slowly, he nodded, the faintest hint of acceptance in his touch as he held you close. “I don’t know how to do this,” he whispered, his voice breaking slightly. “I don’t know how to not feel guilty.”

“You don’t have to know right now,” you reassured him, your fingers gently stroking the back of his neck. “Just know that I’m here. You don’t have to carry it all alone anymore.”

His grip tightened on you, and for the first time, you felt him truly lean into your touch—not out of desperation, but out of a need for comfort. It wasn’t about running away from the pain anymore; it was about finding a way to live with it, and maybe, just maybe, to start healing.

You held James close, his head resting against your chest as you softly stroked his hair. His body felt heavy against yours, weighed down by all the unspoken emotions, the guilt, and the unresolved pain. In the silence, a thought crossed your mind—one that had been lingering in the background of your conversations. “What is it, James?” you asked gently, your voice a soft whisper in the dim light of the hotel room. “What did you always want to do… but never could?”

He was still for a moment, as if processing your question, caught off guard by the depth of it. His fingers lightly gripped your waist, and you could feel the tension building in him again, as if the memories were flooding back too quickly. His breath hitched slightly, and you knew you had touched on something buried deep.

“I—” he started, but his voice faltered. His head shifted slightly against your chest, and he didn’t meet your gaze, almost shyly. “I don’t know if I can talk about it.”

You continued to gently run your fingers through his hair, reassuring him with your presence. “It’s okay, James. You can tell me.

You could see the conflicting emotions playing across James' face - the fear of revealing too much warring with the desperate need for release, for absolution. His breath came faster, his fingers digging into your skin as he wrestled with himself. "I've always..." he began, his voice hoarse. "I've always wanted to dominate. To take control. But I never knew how. I was always too afraid."

He lifted his head to look at you then, his eyes dark and intense. "I want to be the one in charge, Y/n. I want to own your pleasure, make you beg for me. Like… more intense?" His words sent a shiver down your spine, a thrill of excitement mingling with the tenderness in your chest.

"Show me," you whispered, your hands framing his face. "Show me how to be yours."

Something shifted in James' expression, a flicker of relief and determination. He surged forward, capturing your mouth in a searing kiss that stole your breath. His hands roamed your body, claiming every inch of you.

"You're mine," he growled against your lips. "All mine. And I'm going to make you feel so good, baby girl. Gonna take such good care of you." He nipped at your jaw, your throat, marking you as his. His touch was firm, commanding, stoking the heat between your legs. You arched into him, surrendering completely.

James' hands roamed your body with a newfound confidence, squeezing and caressing every curve. He slid his fingers under the waistband of your panties, teasing along the sensitive skin. "Fuck, you're so wet for me already," he groaned, feeling the dampness. He hooked his fingers in the fabric and yanked, ripping your panties off with one swift motion. The cool air hit your heated flesh and you shivered. James threw the tattered lace aside, his eyes dark with lust as he took in the sight of your glistening pussy.

"You like that, baby? Like me taking control?" He reached out and ran a single finger along your slit, collecting the slick on his fingertip. He brought it to your mouth, painting your lips with your own arousal. "Taste how fucking wet you are," he commanded. James pushed you back on the bed, looming over you.

His clothes were still on but you could see the huge bulge straining against his zipper. He ground his hips against yours, letting you feel how hard he was. "Gonna worship this pretty little pussy," he promised, voice low and rough with desire. "Gonna lick up every drop, make you scream for me."

He pushed your thighs apart, settling between them. His hot breath ghosted over your sensitive flesh as he inhaled deeply. "Christ, you smell amazing," James groaned. "Can't wait to taste it."

He dragged the flat of his tongue up your slit in one long, slow lick. Your back arched off the bed, a gasp escaping your lips. James growled at the response, the vibrations sending sparks of pleasure through you.

He sealed his mouth over your clit and sucked, flicking the sensitive bud with the tip of his tongue. Two fingers pushed inside you, pumping in and out as he ate you out like a starving man. Obscene slurping sounds filled the room, mingling with your unabashed moans.

As James buried his face between your thighs, your moans echoed off the hotel room walls. His stubble-covered cheeks brushed against your sensitive inner thighs, the delicious friction sending electric shivers up your spine. You could feel his nose nestled against your pussy, his hot breath teasing your already drenched folds. "Oh god," you whimpered, tangling your fingers in his hair. "James, please..."

He pulled back just enough to look up at you, his eyes dark with lust. "Please what, baby?" he purred, dragging his tongue along his bottom lip. "Use your words."

Your gaze locked with his, hazy with need. "I need you," you breathed, writhing beneath his intense stare. "Please, James... I want to feel you."

A wicked grin spread across his face. "That's not what I asked, sweetheart. Try again."

His words sent a bolt of heat straight to your core. In that moment, you realised exactly what he wanted to hear, what he needed to know. Craning your neck, you cried out, "Please, Daddy! I need you!"

The words seemed to ignite something primal in James. With a possessive growl, he surged forward, claiming your mouth in a searing kiss. His tongue plundered your mouth, dominating every inch. His fingers dug into your hips, gripping you so tightly you knew you'd be marked tomorrow.

James broke the kiss with a gasp, panting harshly against your cheek. "That's right, baby girl. Call me Daddy," he rasped, voice dripping with dark promise. "This needy little cunt belongs to me."

To emphasise his point, he sealed his mouth over your clit and sucked hard, making you arch off the bed with a strangled moan. He lashed the sensitive bundle of nerves with his tongue, wringing desperate cries from your throat.

"Daddy, please!" you sobbed, fisting your hands in the sheets. "It's too much, I can't..."

James only redoubled his efforts, two fingers plunging into your soaked heat. He pumped them in and out, curling against your inner walls. The mix of pain and pleasure was exquisite, overwhelming. Your thighs trembled around his head, your toes curling into the mattress.

"So good," you panted, head thrashing on the pillow. "Fuck, James, your mouth feels amazing."

When his thumb found your clit and rubbed tight circles, it finally tipped you over the edge. Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, stealing your breath and whiting out your vision. James worked you through it, drawing out every last aftershock until you collapsed bonelessly against the bed.

Pulling back, James wiped his slick mouth with the back of his hand, looking immensely pleased with himself. His hair was tousled from your desperate grip, his lips swollen from your kisses. "Goddamn," he breathed, drinking in the sight of you. "You're so fucking gorgeous when you let go like that. My perfect girl."

He crawled up your body, hovering over you. You could feel the thick ridge of his erection pressing insistently against your hip, hot even through his jeans. James captured your lips in another searing kiss, devouring you, consuming you. You could taste yourself on his tongue, musky and heady. "Suck me," he commanded, voice low and authoritative. "Get that pretty mouth on Daddy's dick and show me what a good girl you are." He asked, taking off his tie and shirt.

Your heart raced at the new dynamic between you, this confident, dominant side of James awakening a primal hunger in your core. You sat up and reached for his belt, eager to obey his orders.

You gripped the base of James' cock, angling it towards your eager mouth. You dragged your tongue along the underside, tracing the prominent vein from root to tip. Reaching the weeping slit, you swirled your tongue around it, lapping up the salty-sweet precum that beaded there. "Mmm, you taste so good," you purred, your words making James' cock twitch against your lips.

You wrapped your lips around the head, suckling gently as you savoured his flavour. Inch by inch, you worked your way down his shaft, relaxing your throat to take him deeper. James groaned above you, one hand coming up to tangle in your hair. "Fuck, just like that," he praised, guiding your head to bob along his length.

You hollowed your cheeks and sucked harder, determined to give James as much pleasure as he'd given you. You let him guide your movements, surrendering control as you focused on pleasuring your Daddy with your mouth. Above you, James' abs flexed and his breath came in short, sharp pants. His grip on your hair tightened and his thighs tensed, signalling his impending release. You doubled your efforts, desperate to taste him.

With a low, guttural groan, James came undone. His cock pulsed against your tongue as he spilled his seed down your throat. You swallowed every drop, relishing the intimate connection. As James softened, you released him from your mouth with a final, loving kiss to the tip.

James pulled you close, peppering your face with tender kisses. "That was incredible, baby girl," he murmured, voice rough with satisfaction. "I've never felt anything like that before." You snuggled into his embrace, giggling, happy to see him enjoying himself.

“But we aren’t done, yet,” And James rolled you onto your hands and knees, positioning your ass in the air. The new angle made you feel exposed, vulnerable, but also incredibly aroused. You could feel his eyes raking over your body, drinking in the sight of you laid out before him like a feast. "Fuck, you're gorgeous like this," James growled, his voice low and rough with desire. "All ready for me."

He delivered a sharp smack to your right cheek, making you yelp in surprise. The stinging sensation quickly melted into a throbbing heat that spread through your core. James soothed the abused flesh with his palm, kneading the plump globes of your ass. "Count them, baby girl," he commanded, punctuating his words with another smack to your left cheek. "Let Daddy hear how good his little girl is taking her punishment."

"One," you gasped out, your voice hitching as James continued his sensual assault on your backside. Each stinging slap was followed by a moment of intense pressure, the heat building within you until it exploded into pure, molten need. By the time James reached ten, your ass was flushed a deep pink and you were panting with need.

You shifted your position, moving to straddle James' hips. His semi-hard cock nestled against your slick folds, already stirring back to life. You ground slowly against him, coating his length in your arousal. Above you, James groaned, hands coming up to grip your waist.

"Already so wet for me again," he praised, voice low and rough with renewed lust.

“Of course James,” You rolled your hips, sliding your slick heat along his hardening shaft. The head caught on your entrance with each pass, teasing you both with the promise of what was to come. James' fingers dug into your skin, his control fraying at the edges.

Unable to hold back any longer, you reached down to guide him inside. With a single, smooth thrust, James sheathed himself fully within your welcoming heat. You both cried out at the exquisite sensation, bodies trembling with the force of your connection.

"So fucking perfect," James panted, fighting the urge to rut into you wildly. "Gonna make this last, baby girl. Gonna worship this sweet little pussy." He set a deep, steady rhythm, pulling out until just the tip remained before sliding home again. Each drag of his cock along your sensitive walls stoked the flames of your desire higher. Your nails raked down the sweat-slicked skin of his back as you matched his pace, meeting him thrust for delicious thrust.

You cried out at the sudden stretch, walls fluttering around his thick girth as he filled you completely. James stilled for a moment, giving you time to adjust before starting a slow, deep rhythm. Each drag of his cock against your sensitive walls sent sparks of pleasure racing up your spine.

"Fuck, you feel amazing," James groaned, picking up the pace. His hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as he drove into you with increasing force. "So tight, baby. Like you were made just for me."

The wet sounds of your joining filled the room, punctuated by your shared moans and gasps. James' hands roamed your body, mapping every dip and curve as if committing you to memory. He captured your lips in a searing kiss, tongues tangling as he consumed you thoroughly. "My beautiful Y/n," he rasped against your mouth, the intimacy of your name on his lips making your heart race.

His words, coupled with the relentless pleasure building in your core, pushed you closer to the edge. Your inner muscles fluttered around James' pistoning cock, signalling your impending climax. He reached between you to circle your swollen clit, the added stimulation sending you flying.

You rolled onto your stomach, presenting yourself to James. He gripped your hips, pulling you back against his hardness. With one swift thrust, he buried himself inside your slick heat, making you cry out in pleasure.

"Fuck, you feel incredible," James groaned, setting a relentless pace as he began to move again.

He pounded into you from behind, the lewd slap of skin against skin filling the room. Each powerful thrust sent shockwaves of ecstasy through your trembling body. James' hands roamed your curves possessively, squeezing and kneading your flesh as he claimed you again and again.

"Harder, James,," you begged, arching your back to take him even deeper. "I want to feel you in the morning."

James growled, slamming into you with renewed vigour. He hooked one arm under you, forcing you up onto your knees as he railed you with abandon. The new angle allowed him to hit spots you didn't even know existed, driving you wild with lust. For hours, James took his pleasure from your willing body. You let him explore every position imaginable, determined to bring you to the brink of madness with ecstasy. You lost count of the number of times he came inside you, his hot seed painting your walls and filling your womb.

Through it all, James remained insatiable, his stamina and appetite for you seemingly endless. He worshipped every inch of your skin with his lips and tongue, marking you as his own. By the time he was finally spent, you were a quivering, sweat-slicked mess, utterly satisfied in a way you'd never known before.

As James pulled you into his arms, both of you basked in the afterglow. The shy, reserved man you once knew was gone, replaced by a confident, dominant lover who reveled in bringing you pleasure. And though the future was uncertain, you knew that you would gladly surrender yourself to James desires again and again.

You snuggled closer to James, marveling at the newfound intimacy between you. His strong arms encircled you, holding you tight against his firm chest. The warmth of his skin seeped into your own, "Tonight was incredible," you murmured, tracing idle patterns on James' chest with your fingertips. "I've never seen you let go like that before, so free and uninhibited."

James' eyes fluttered open, meeting your gaze. There was a vulnerability there that made your heart ache. "I've always wanted this," he confessed softly. "To lose myself in you completely, to worship every inch of your beautiful body until you screamed my name. But I was afraid, afraid of my own desires and what they might do to us."

You pressed a tender kiss to his jaw, understanding the depth of his confession. "Don't be afraid anymore, James. This is us, this is what we're meant to be. Just like this, skin on skin, hearts entwined."

James pulled you closer, his lips finding yours in a slow, sensual kiss. You poured all of your love and acceptance into it, hoping to chase away the last remnants of his fear. When he finally pulled back, there was a peace in his eyes that hadn't been there before.

Smiling, you rested your head against James’ chest, listening to the slow, steady beat of his heart. It was a comforting rhythm, one that made you feel safe, despite the complicated nature of what you shared. His arm was draped over you, holding you close, as though he couldn’t bear to let you go. The room was filled with a peaceful silence, broken only by the soft sounds of your breathing mingling together.

You closed your eyes, savouring the moment, knowing that these quiet, intimate nights were rare—fleeting even. Yet, you couldn’t help but cling to the hope that this, whatever it was between you and James, meant something more than just a temporary escape. The thought lingered in your mind, bittersweet, as you traced your fingers absentmindedly along the contours of his chest.

James shifted slightly beneath you, his fingers brushing against your back in slow, absentminded circles. There was a tenderness in the way he touched you now, different from the desperate, carnal need that had driven him earlier. It was softer, more vulnerable—like he was allowing himself to truly feel, even if just for a moment.

“I don’t know what this means for us,” he murmured after a long silence, his voice low and rough from exhaustion. “But… I don’t want to lose this. I don’t want to lose you.”

You lifted your head to meet his gaze, your heart squeezing at the raw honesty in his eyes. For a man who had spent so long hiding behind his grief, his guilt, and his fear, these words felt like a fragile offering. You could see the uncertainty in him, the way he was torn between wanting to keep you close and fearing that he didn’t deserve to.

“You won’t lose me,” you whispered, brushing a lock of his hair away from his forehead. “I’m here, James. I’m not going anywhere.”

He closed his eyes at your words, a sigh of relief escaping him as he pulled you even closer. His hold on you tightened, like he was grounding himself in your presence, in the warmth of your body pressed against his.

For a long while, you stayed like that, wrapped up in each other, as the weight of the night’s emotions slowly settled. There were still so many unanswered questions, so many unresolved feelings, but for now, in this moment, it felt like enough. You could feel James’ breathing slow, his body relaxing as exhaustion took hold, and you knew he was finally allowing himself to rest.

As you lay there, nestled in the warmth of James’ embrace, the words slipped out almost without thought, carried by the tenderness of the moment. "Could you stay here tonight?" you asked quietly, shyly. It felt natural—right even. The way his body fit against yours, the way his breathing synced with your own. For the first time, it didn’t feel rushed, like the encounters that had come before. Tonight, it felt… different. Deeper.

But the moment the question left your lips, you felt him stiffen beneath you. His once relaxed body tensed, his hand that had been resting so peacefully on your back froze, and you could feel the subtle shift in his breathing—faster, more shallow. The warmth you had just been enveloped in seemed to evaporate all at once, leaving a chill in its place.

"James?" you whispered, lifting your head to look at him. His eyes were wide, almost panicked, darting around the room as if he were suddenly trapped. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. His gaze met yours for a fleeting second before he tore it away, staring up at the ceiling instead, his jaw clenched.

"I… I can’t," he finally breathed out, his voice tight and strained.

"Why not?" you asked softly, a sinking feeling forming in your chest. Tonight had been so right, so good. Why was he pulling away now? You reached for him, but he gently pushed your hand away, his movements almost frantic.

"I can't stay," he repeated, sitting up abruptly and pulling himself from your embrace. His back was to you now, and you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands trembled as they reached for his discarded clothes. "I shouldn’t even be here."

"But James," you began, your voice catching with the sudden wave of confusion and hurt. "It’s different tonight, right? It felt right."

He shook his head, pulling his shirt over his head, still refusing to look at you. "It can’t be more than what it is," he muttered, his voice barely audible. "This was a mistake."

Your heart plummeted at his words, the air in the room growing thick with the weight of them. "A mistake?" you echoed, struggling to keep your voice steady. "You don’t mean that."

But James didn’t respond. Instead, he stood up, buttoning his pants with shaky hands, his back still turned to you. It was like watching him retreat into himself, putting walls back up that you thought had come down, if only for a night. "Please, don’t make this harder," he finally said, his voice breaking slightly. "I can’t… I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve you."

Your chest tightened, and the weight of his words pressed down on you, heavy and unrelenting. You wanted to reach out, to pull him back, but something in his posture told you that any more pressure would push him further away.

“Why does it always have to be like this?” you whispered, the ache in your voice undeniable.

But James didn’t answer. He pulled on his jacket, his back turned to you as he tried to collect himself. You could see the tension in his shoulders, the struggle in his silence. It wasn’t just fear—it was torment. The closer he got to you, the more it hurt him.

You wanted to argue, to tell him he was wrong—that this wasn’t just about deserving, that it was about the connection you shared, the way he opened up to you tonight. But as you sat there, staring at his back, you realised that no matter what you said, it wouldn’t change the deep-rooted guilt and fear that had consumed him. It was too much for him to handle, and the reality of that hit you like a punch to the gut.

"James, wait… what happened tonight—it's okay," you tried, your voice soft, reassuring. You wanted to tell him how much you had enjoyed it, that it was more than just meaningless, that it meant something to you. But before you could get the words out, he cut you off sharply, his voice hard and cold in a way you hadn’t heard before.

“No,” he snapped, turning to face you with a desperate, almost frantic look in his eyes. “What happened tonight… it’s not me. I’m not a man like that. I shouldn’t have—" His voice wavered, but the panic in his tone was unmistakable. “You need to forget about this. Forget it ever happened.”

The words hit you like a slap, leaving a hollow ache in your chest as you sat there, clutching the sheet to your body. You opened your mouth to protest, to tell him how much it mattered, how much he mattered. But before you could speak, James’ next words sent a shockwave through you.

“You better take your pills tomorrow,” he said, his voice cold and matter-of-fact. “Make sure you’re not pregnant. I don’t want to be responsible for anything that comes out of this.” His words were biting, harsh. “I can’t—I won’t support anything related to tonight.”

The bluntness of it stunned you into silence. His words felt like a door slamming shut between you, a reminder of just how temporary this had always been for him. You stared at him, wide-eyed and speechless, the reality of his detachment settling in like a heavy weight in your chest. You wanted to say something, anything, to make him see that what you’d shared tonight wasn’t something to just brush off.

But it was like he was already gone, emotionally cut off from you.

“And don’t… don’t think this changes anything,” James continued, his voice rough with guilt and something else—self-loathing, maybe. “I still love Mary. I’ll always love her. This,” he gestured between the two of you, his face hardening, “you’re nothing like her. You’ll never be close to what she was to me.”

His words pierced through you, each one like a knife twisting deeper into your heart. He was distancing himself from you, pushing you away, making sure you understood that what happened tonight wasn’t about you—it wasn’t about love, or even connection. You were just a temporary distraction, a way for him to feel something, anything, other than the constant grief and guilt that plagued him.

As he grabbed his jacket and made his way to the door, he finally turned to look at you, his eyes filled with sorrow and regret. "I’m sorry," he whispered, his voice barely a breath. And before you could respond, he was gone, leaving you alone in the quiet, empty room.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you lay back on the bed, staring at the empty space beside you where he had been just moments ago. The warmth of his touch, his embrace—it all felt like a cruel illusion now, a fleeting moment of connection that had evaporated into nothing.

The door clicked shut behind him, and the silence that followed was deafening. The warmth of his body, his touch, his voice—it was all gone, leaving you with nothing but the cold reminder that, no matter how close you got to James, he would always pull away in the end.

And despite everything, you couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe… this was all you’d ever get.

“Of course you’re sorry,” you whispered, crying yourself to sleep.

#silent hill #silent hill 2 #silent hill 2 remake #silent hill james sunderland x reader #james sunderland #james sunderland x reader #smut #james sunderland/reader #x reader #female reader

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milfsloverblog · 1 year ago

Text

Secret Benefits (NSFW)

Part 2 (part 1 here)

Sugar mommy!Larissa Weems x fem!reader

A/N: This took a while, but it's finally here. And good news, I've got most of part 3 written already! In this part, Larissa and reader enter the vicious circle of both thinking the other one don't want them like /that/. We might be in for some slow burn, people! Hope you’ll enjoy! <3

You startled awake, hair clinging to your sweaty forehead and an unpleasant, incessant throbbing between your legs. You had dreamt of her, again.

It had been four days since you’d met with Larissa, and you’d been having those wet dreams ever since.

It always started the same way, you’d go through the evening you’d shared at the restaurant, and everything was exactly the same except for what happened when she’d drop you off at your place. You’d invite her in and she’d agree to follow you. You’d barely have time to step into your flat when her lips would attach themselves to your neck, kissing and nipping at the sensitive flesh and making you lose all sense of time and space.

The rest of the dream would happen very quickly, Larissa would have you on any surface of your flat she’d see fit - which had included your sofa, the wall, the kitchen counter and your dining table. She’d hike up your dress and get rid of the lacy thong she’d bought you, shoving it inside her handbag.

“Don’t pout, sweetling,” she’d whisper in your ear, her slender fingers finding their way to your heat. “I promise to buy you more.”

You could only writhe and whimper as she teased you, her digits moving in excruciating slow circles on your clit until she’d decide you’d have had enough and would push two of her fingers knuckle deep inside you, making your breath hitch in a loud gasp.

Larissa’s eyes would never leave your face as she’d relentlessly pound into you. She delighted in the way the right corner of your mouth twitched with each thrust of her fingers, how your brows furrowed deeper and deeper each time she stroked that sweet spot inside you.

You would feel the coil tightening dangerously behind your navel, bringing you closer to your well-deserved release as you’d beg your lover to keep going. Please, Larissa, please, please, please.

And then you’d wake up. You’d find yourself staring at the ceiling of your bedroom, your core aching from another ruined orgasm.

You groaned loudly as you peeled yourself from your bed and headed to the bathroom, taking a single glance at your dishevelled form in the mirror before shedding your pyjamas and stepping in the shower.

How easy it would be, to slip your hand between your legs and give yourself the release that you’d been denied for the last four days. But it wouldn’t be right. You didn’t want this, whatever this was between Larissa and yourself, to turn into something sexual. She would provide you with money and you would provide her with company, as you had both agreed on. Nothing more.

Your phone buzzed on the bedside table right as you walked back into your bedroom to get dressed. You didn’t need to check it to know who it was, Larissa had been sending you good morning texts for the last few days.

You finished getting ready for the day before picking up your phone to read her message.

Good morning, darling. I hope you slept well! Have a good day. Xx

You were almost tempted to tell her you hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in days but eventually refrained from doing so.

Good morning! Slept okay, hope you did too. Have a lovely day :)

You shoved your phone into your bag and hurried out of your flat, knowing you wouldn’t be getting another text from Larissa.

She’d text you once in the morning, then once or twice around noon when, you supposed, she was on her lunch break. After that, you wouldn’t be getting any news until at least 6 pm. At least, because once she hadn’t texted you before 8. You still didn’t know what her job was, but you couldn’t imagine being up at six in the morning only to finish your day so late at night.

As expected, you didn’t receive any more text until your own lunch break. You were out at a local cafe with your best friend, munching on your sandwich when your phone buzzed on the table.

Thinking of you, sweetling. Xx

A blush crept up your cheeks which you desperately tried hiding by taking a sip of water, but it wasn’t lost on your best friend.

“Is that your woman?” She smirked.

“Larissa is not my woman.”

“Oh right, sorry. Is that your sugar mommy, then?”

“Shut your mouth!” You groaned, swatting your friend’s arm.

You had told her about your evening with Larissa. Well, most of it. You didn’t mention the lacy thong or the fact that she’d picked your food.

“You still don’t want to do it?” She snapped you out of your thoughts.

“Do what?”

“Her.”

You rolled your eyes and put your sandwich down, wrapping it in its paper bag to finish it later.

“I’ve told you, I don’t want to feel like I’m selling my body for money.” You explained for what seemed to be the fifteenth time that week.

“Oh, come on! I would let a woman like her fuck me for free any time she wants.”

“Don’t be crass,” you said, shoving your sandwich into your bag. “Larissa is not like that, and neither am I. Now move, we need to get back to class.”

You typed in a quick answer to Larissa as you walked into your next class and sat down at your usual desk.

Thinking of you too. Wanna call tonight? I’d love to hear your voice and have a chat. No worries if not :)

Larissa was pouring herself a cup of coffee, her fourth that day, when she read your answer. You wanted to call her, to hear her voice. A small smile pulled at the corners of her lips as she sipped on her coffee and texted you back.

I would love that. I’ll text you when I’m done working. Xx

And so she did. You had been home for a couple of hours when your phone started ringing, making you run from the kitchen to the sofa to make sure you’d get it in time.

“Larissa! Hi!”

“Hello, darling. I hope it’s not too late?” Her British accent filled your flat as you pressed on the speaker button.

“No, no it’s not. Did you have a good day?” Truth be told, she did sound a little tired but you would never dare to bring it up.

“It was alright, not the worst day I’ve ever had.” She chuckled lowly, sending a shiver down your spine. “It’s a good day now, though. It’s nice to hear you.”

“It’s nice to hear you too, I thought it’d be better and easier than just texting back and forth.”

“Mhm…” Larissa hummed and you heard the distinctive ‘pop’ of a bottle being opened.

“Wine?” You asked, earning another chuckle from the woman on the phone.

“Red. Just one glass to help me relax.”

She needed it. She really needed it after the stunt that Wednesday had pulled that day.

“I wish I could share one with you,” you said, hearing Larissa pouring the wine into a glass.

“Do you?” Her voice seemed to have dropped an octave, and you wondered if her nostrils had flared like they’d done back at the restaurant.

“Yes, yes I do. I’d let you pick the wine, of course. I’d watch you pour it and wait for you to bring the glass to my lips.”

Larissa let out a shuddering breath, suddenly feeling extremely hot in her shirt. Her fingers swiftly moved to take care of unbuttoning the constricting piece of clothing, leaving her in a white bralette.

“Larissa?” You called when she hadn’t answered for a while.

“Yes, I’m here, darling. Simply lost in my thoughts.” Larissa admitted before taking a sip of wine.

“Are you thinking of me again?” You asked, deciding to try your luck.

Wine dribbled from the corner of Larissa’s mouth, rolling down her chin to quickly drip onto her chest. It would leave a stain, Larissa thought as she watched the crimson liquid soaking the lacy fabric of her bralette.

“Would you like that? Me thinking of you?” She eventually answered after another long silence.

“Maybe, yes.”

There was another silent moment as Larissa took another couple sips of wine before placing her glass on the coffee table.

She sighed loudly, wanting nothing more than to hike up her skirt and let her fingers explore her sex. It was such a shame that you weren’t interested in being intimate with her, she would have loved to listen to your heavy breathing as you’d touch yourself on the other side of the phone.

“I want to take you shopping this weekend, if you’re free,” She eventually said.

“Shopping?”

“Lingerie shopping, specifically. I want to treat you to a couple of sets. Would you be interested in that, sweetling?”

“Yes! Yes, I would love that. I’ve never really been lingerie shopping before.” But you wouldn’t pass on such an opportunity.

“Good. How about you call your work tomorrow, and let them know you won’t be able to be there on Saturday? I’ll take care of you.”

You knew what she meant by that, she’d hand you another one of those envelopes filled with a couple hundred dollars.

“I’ll call tomorrow.”

“Good.” Larissa sighed again.

She had emptied her glass, her right hand was groping at her body while the other one kept the phone pressed to her ear. She’d have to hang up soon, before she’d start fucking herself.

“Larissa?” You called again.

“Mhm? Yes, darling?”

“I should go, still need to take a shower and get everything ready for tomorrow… It was so nice to hear you, I hope we can do this again soon.”

“Any time you want, you only need to text me.”

“I will.” You promised. “Well, have a good night, Larissa.”

“Have a good night, darling.” She answered, biting her tongue as she thought of adding think of me.

You listened to her breathing for another second before hanging up and dropping yourself on your sofa.

God, that woman was hot. Her voice through the phone had made you soaking wet and it had taken everything within you to keep your hand out of your pants.

Back in her quarters, Larissa didn’t have as much self-control as you did. Her skirt had been hiked as soon as you had hung up, her legs parting to let her move her panties to the side.

“Oh, darling…” She breathed out as she eventually let her fingertips brush on her clit.

You had bewitched her, it seemed. If she didn’t know any better, Larissa would have wondered if you maybe were a siren.

The tall woman was halfway through fucking herself, the coil in her lower stomach tightening with each thrust of her fingers, when she suddenly realised how wrong this was.

She immediately pulled her fingers out of herself, her cheeks burning in embarrassment. You had made it clear that you didn’t want to have sex with her, and it wasn’t right for her to be touching herself thinking of you.

Larissa made her way over to the bathroom to thoroughly wash her hands, eventually opting for a full cold shower to clear her mind from any more sinful thoughts.

As you both got into bed that night, only a few miles away from each other, you both shared the same thought.

How on earth am I going to survive a lingerie shopping session with her?

———————————————————————

taglist: @raspburrythief @weemssapphic @readingtheentrails @larissaoftarthweems @principal-weems09 @kimiinou @winterfireblond @im-a-carnivorous-plant @geekyarmorel @h-doodles @azu-zu @barbarasstar @witchesmortuary @vigelvictoria @m1lflov3rrr @dumbasslesbi @crow-raven-crow @fridays-coven @lilfartbox1 @shawncantwrite @autumn-leaves-chasing-breeze @gwens0girl @aemilia19 @the-bagel24 @lvinhs @thefutureisus2020 @gela123 @a-queen-and-her-throne @rando-mango @wheresmyboo @my-silver-spring @hillary-nicks @ablsk @natasha29romanoff @tallvampirelady12 @canyoufeelmyheartsayinghi @moonyboyjay @i-love-nerdy-stuff @1-800-milfdilf @musicallovinggal @scarlettssub @jasperobsidian-blog @anoymous614372 @i-write-sometimes-maybe @brienne-the-brave @slytherinthepms @non-binary-frogking @wife-of-gwendolinechristie @anjo-iludidoefudido @imnotafruitt @opheliauniverse

#gwendoline christie #larissa weems x reader #larissa weems #principal weems #larissa weems x y/n #no beta we die like larissa #secret benefits

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puckbunnyera · 1 year ago

Text

Just Friends | Luke Hughes

• ──────────────♡────────────── •

pairing: luke hughes x reader genre: fluff word count: 2.3k warnings: none summary: maybe you were never really just friends

notes: it's been less than 24 hours since i posted my first fic and i've already received a few asks for a part 2 so here it is. i'll link the first part here. thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read it, like it, reblog it, etc. i'm always really nervous to post my own writing so any type of interaction with it feels good to see.

also, i know the timelines of the games played in both fics don't align with the actual events in real time but we are just going to ignore that for the sake of the plot.

• ──────────────♡────────────── •

I sigh as I stand in front of my bedroom mirror, doing one last fit check before Luke arrives. I'm nervous. I come to this realization as I smooth out the nonexistent wrinkles in my shirt. Why? I couldn't tell you. It's been almost two months since the night I met Luke, and we've talked and texted almost every day since. We've even hung out multiple times since then, but I always seem to get all nervous and jittery anytime he presents the offer. My thoughts start to consume me to the point that I'm almost tempted to text him and ask for a rain check, but before I can fall too deeply into them, my attention is stolen by the two girls lying on my bed behind me.

"I still can't believe you're dating The Luke Hughes." One of my friends says causing me to turn my back towards the mirror to look at her.

"We aren't dating." I scoff. "We're-"

"Right, you're 'just friends'." My other friend interrupts, rolling her eyes and using her fingers to make air quotes as she says the words.

"We are." I shrug, moving to sit in my vanity chair so I can put on my shoes.

"You don't have to believe us if you don't want to, but he totally has the hots for you."

"It's so obvious. Any time he has the chance to get away from his job, he's calling, texting, or coming to see you. Even if it's only for a short amount of time. Those aren't typical behaviors of a guy who wants to be 'just friends'."

They continue to go on and on as if they're trying to convince a jury that they're innocent of a crime. The sound of my phone dinging from beside me on the table finally brings their rambling to an end. I pick up to find a text from Luke.

From Luke🏒: i'm here

To Luke🏒: omw

"I would love to stay and continue this conversation," I smile sarcastically as I stand up, "But my friend is waiting for me downstairs." I make sure to add extra emphasis on the word friend.

They both giggle and bid their goodbyes as I walk out of the room. When I make it downstairs to the lobby of my apartment building, Luke, in all of his handsome glory, is waiting patiently by the door.

"Ready to go?" He questions once I'm standing in front of him. I nod in confirmation and he opens the door for us, placing a gentle hand on my back to lead me out.

"What's the plan for today?" I ask once we're settled into the car.

"I need to drop off a couple of things at the dry cleaners since my brother forgot to do it," He gestures to the items in his backseat. "But then I figured we could go to dinner, catch a movie, and then maybe grab some dessert before I take you home."

"Sounds good!" I reply with a smile, with which he returns one of his own before putting the car in drive and pulling away from my apartment building.

Things are going well today. Really well. We're having fun and Luke is being as sweet as always. However, that's the only problem. Despite the stance I took in the argument with my friends, I can't help but let their words get to me. The whole evening, I've been reading too deeply into every little thing he does. Every door he holds open for me, every chair he pulls out for me, every accidental brush of our hands when we walk side-by-side. I'm trying not to let it show, but when Luke's voice rattles my thoughts and pulls me back down to Earth, I know I'm failing.

"Are you okay?" He asks as we sit in the car, waiting for the red light to turn green. "You've been pretty quiet today."

"Really?" I ask, genuinely confused because I hadn't noticed that change in my behavior. When he responds with a solemn nod, guilt rises in my chest. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize I was. It has nothing to do with you." Yet it has everything to do with him.

"Did something happen?" He pushes further.

"No, just have a lot on my mind with work and all, but I'm okay. Promise." I give him a soft smile in hopes that it will give him enough reassurance to drop the conversation. Thankfully he does, but the look in his eyes shows clearly that he doesn't believe me. "So my friends were telling me that you have a home game coming up in a couple of days against your oldest brother's team. Are you excited?" I change the subject quickly.

"Yeah," He nods, a smile gracing his features. "My parents are gonna be in town to watch us face off against each other. All three Hughes brothers on the same ice. I'm hoping it will be as exciting as everyone and the media are making it seem." He chuckles. "I'm also just really excited to see Quinn. We haven't gotten to see each other much since I moved out to Jersey and the season started. I think it'll be nice to have us all back together again, even if it's just for a couple of days."

"I bet it will be."

"I'm glad you brought this up because I've been meaning to ask you something."

"What is it?"

"Would you maybe want to come to the game?"

"Do you want me to come?" I'm praying the hopeful look in my eyes isn't obvious.

"Yeah," He nods. "I really do."

"Then I'll be there." I assure him. "The girls were talking about purchasing tickets anyways, so I'll tell them to make it three tickets instead of just the two."

"Don't worry about it. I got it covered."

"Luke, you don't have to do that." I shake my head, readying myself to argue.

"I know I don't have to, but I want to." The look he gives me makes me forget any rebuttal I had previously prepared. "Plus, I already got the tickets and the seating arrangements set up."

"And you just knew I was gonna say yes?" I reply, crossing my arms.

"No, but I was hoping you would."

"I guess some dreams really do come true." I joke.

"I guess so."

We continue to talk and joke around for the remainder of the drive. It goes by a little too quickly though, because before I know it, he's putting the car in park in front of my building. Being the gentleman that he is, he walks me all the way up to my apartment door. It's not until I have unlocked and opened the door that he finally says goodnight, placing a soft peck on my cheek before walking away. Once he has disappeared into the elevator and I'm sure he's gone, I close and lock the door.

As I'm getting ready for bed, I become aware of the slight ache in my cheeks from smiling so much. As soon as my head hits my pillow, the realization dawns on me. I am in love with Luke Hughes.

• ───────────────────────────── •

I'm still in shock at the fact that he really went all out with the tickets. My friends seem to be as well considering that they still haven't managed to pick their jaws up off the floor yet. Never in my life would I have ever expected to be seated in one of the arena's luxury suites. I feel a little bad the more I dwell on it. There are more deserving fans that could be sitting here, yet some girl who knew nothing about the sport two months ago had them handed to her at no cost.

"Hi, you must be Y/N." An unfamiliar woman's voice pulls me from my pity-party.

"Oh, hi." I greet her as I turn in her direction.

"I'm Luke's mom, Ellen." She smiles and pulls me into a quick but gentle embrace. "And this is my husband, Jim." She gestures to the man beside her.

"Nice to meet you, Y/N." He offers a hand for me to shake.

"You as well." I accept it before introducing them to my two friends, who are not-so-discreetly eavesdropping on the conversation.

We all find a seat and fall into casual conversation. Just getting to know each other and talking about this, that, and the other. Once the teams begin to make their way onto the ice, our attentions shift away from each other and onto the players.

Having admitted to my lack of knowledge of the sport before the game started, Jim and Ellen kindly explained the game to me so I would know what is going on. By the end of the first period, I'm clued in enough that I don't need it anymore and eventually, I become just as immersed in the game as the rest of them are.

It's in the second period that Luke scores a goal and we all stand up, cheering loudly with the crowd. The excitement is so high that I don't even shy away when Ellen happily pulls me into a tight hug before pulling away and continuing to cheer for her youngest son. Third period seems to go by in a flash and then the game is ending with a 6-5 win for the Devils, both Jack and Luke having contributed to the score with goals of their own.

Once the final buzzer goes off, my friends bid their farewells before heading out to go home. However, I hang back with Ellen and Jim upon the request of Luke. I follow the two down from the suite until we make it to where the locker rooms are located, waiting in the hall for the three brothers to emerge. We stand around conversing for about ten or so minutes before the men finally make their appearances.

They all embrace and greet each other as I stand back and watch with a smile. They really are a beautiful family. Once they all break away, Luke turns his attention towards me. He steps forward and reaches for me, pulling me into his arms.

"Congratulations." I speak softly as I wrap my arms around his broad shoulders, his wrapped around my waist.

"Thank you." I can hear the smile in his voice.

Time escapes me as I stand in his arms. I'm not even sure how long we've been holding onto each other. It's his brother's voice that finally has us separating.

"You must be the infamous Y/N." Quinn steps up, a smug grin on his face. "I've heard so much about you."

"I've heard a lot about you as well," I respond politely, despite the blush I'm sure I'm sporting due to his teasing tone. "It's nice to finally meet you."

"Will you be joining us for dinner?" Ellen asks from where she stands, now next to Quinn.

"Oh, um," I look to Luke for an answer. He nods, a pleading look in his eyes. "Yes, I would love to." I finally reply.

With that being said, we all begin to exit the arena and head to the parking lot. We're almost to the vehicles when Luke gently grabs my hand and pulls me to a stop. Once his family is out of earshot, he begins to speak.

"This might seem random and sudden, but I've been thinking about it for a while." He starts, looking away nervously and lifting a hand to scratch the back of his neck. "And feel free to say no because I don't want you to feel like you have to say yes just because I'm asking. Or if you feel like you need time to think it over, feel free to take all of the time you need. Actually, maybe I-"

"Luke," I say his name softly, placing my hands on his reddening cheeks and forcing his gaze back to mine. His rambling comes to a halt. "Breathe."

"Sorry." He inhales deeply before releasing his breath. "I was wondering, would you be my girlfriend?"

It's my turn to take a deep breath. Out of all the things he could have said, I was not expecting this. I take a moment to gather my thoughts as a smile begins to pull at my lips.

"I would love to." I nod, my smile growing larger resulting in his own.

"Well," He takes a step closer to me. "Since you're my girlfriend now, does that mean I can kiss you?" His question flusters me but I try hard not to show it.

"Do you want to kiss me?"

"Really fucking badly."

"Then kiss me, Luke."

And so he does. His lips crash into mine in a soft but passionate kiss. As if he has waited a lifetime to do it. It's gentle yet desperate. As we finally part, he pecks my lips a few more times before pulling away completely. He opens his mouth to say something but is stopped by Jack shouting from where his family is waiting by the cars, surely having seen the whole display.

"If you two lovebirds are done sucking faces in the middle of the parking lot, I would like to leave now. I'm fucking starving." He teases.

We both turn our gazes in time to see Quinn smack the middle brother in the back of the head and both parents shaking their heads at their son's antics. Luke chuckles at the scene as he intertwines his hand with mine and begins to walk to the car. My heart flutters as I finally admit the obvious to myself. Maybe we weren't ever just friends. I mentally roll my eyes as I climb into the back seat, already picturing the two squealing girls in my head and the endless amounts of I told you so's that I'm sure to hear when I fill them in. However, when Luke slides into the car next to me and interlocks our hands once again, I can't bring myself to care. I think I like this little life.

#luke hughes #luke hughes imagine #luke hughes x reader #new jersey devils #lh43 #luke hughes fluff #luke hughes fic #nj devils #nhl imagine #nhl fanfiction #isa.writes

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imfinereallyy · 2 years ago

Text

Bedside Manner

for @acasualcrossfade request for "the infection has spread"

"Some birdie told me that you have been causing a fuss, Wayne, is that true?"

Wayne huffs from his hospital bed, glasses sliding down his nose. He places the newspaper he was reading on the table beside him. "You tell that Robbie of yours to stop exaggerating. It was only a small request."

Steve raises his eyebrows at his favorite patient (Dustin tells him he isn't supposed to have favorites, but he also used to cry anytime he picked up Max before him when they were younger, so what does he know) and gives him a knowing look. "Robin listens to no man, Wayne, you know this. You're better off sending that message through her wife. Besides, small? She was telling me you refused to have any other nurse help you because I wasn't here last night. Which surprised me since you are always pushing me on about taking a vacation. "

Wayne opens his mouth, but Steve presses on. "And the fact Robin was even in the room means they called a psych consult, so I can only imagine how bad it was."

Wayne grumbles like a little kid being scolded for getting his hands caught in the cookie jar. "Yea, well, it was a bad night, kid."

Steve feels his shoulders sag, he takes off his glasses and rubs a hand down his face before placing them back on. "Sorry, Wayne, I had a bad migraine last night. Nance and Robs wouldn't even let me pass the entrance. Bad news?"

"Kid, don't stress yourself out over me. I'm just your patient, and more so, I am just a cranky old man." Wayne patted Steve's knee as he sat down next to him.

"C'mon, Wayne. You're more than that. I'd like to think seeing you in and out of here the last year has made us friends. Although I gotta say, you're the only friend I have that I'll be glad if I don't get to see again, given the circumstances. So, what's the news?"

"The infection has spread."

Steve takes in a deep breath, he tries not to panic, but any infection in a hospital can be deadly, especially for a cancer patient like Wayne. "Incision site?"

Steve must not be as good at hiding his emotions as he used to be because Wayne jumps to ease his worry. "No, kid, don't worry. The surgery was a success. Just got that hospital fever, the good old bronchitis. But it just means I'm here longer than I have to. It also means my nephew is on edge, and I don't know if I can take a second longer of his hovering."

Steve laughed wetly, thankful for the topic change. "Ah yes, the mysterious nephew of yours that I've never met. The way you talk about him almost tempts me into switching to the day shift, sounds like he might be entertaining. But only almost."

"Always wondered why you were always working the nights, most of the others seem to switch. Not a big fan of the day?"

Steve shakes his head gently, "No, I like the quiet here at night. Like getting to know the patients without having to worry about fixing ten million things. Don't get me wrong, it has its downfalls. Like the doctors can be horrible at night, never tell Dr. Wheeler that or Robbie will kill me, and the food is awful. But there is something special about it here at night. So sorry, your ridiculous nephew isn't enough to tempt me."

Wayne smirked, "What if I told you he was a looker and single?"

Steve blushes slightly. He is used to patients trying to pawn him off to their relatives, it came with being a young male nurse, but typically it didn't phase him. But Steve has become close with Wayne, so hearing him suggest he get together with his nephew has him flustered. "I'm good, Wayne, thanks. Gave up on the dating scene a while ago. Not many people can keep up with a guy who works nights and suffers from severe head trauma."

"Shame, Eddie likes the nights too. I'd reckon yal would get along."

"I'm pretty sure we would need more than that, Wayne."

Wayne smiles fondly at Steve. "You don't need a whole lot to build a connection, son. Me and Linda, god rest her soul, only started dating for our mutual love of mugs. And we may not have had long together, but our love was strong. Besides, there is more yal would have in common than just the night shift."

Steve huffs a laugh, "Oh yea, like what?" The least he can do is humor the man.

"Well, you both care about me deeply."

Steve blushes again, "C'mon, Wayne. I'm your nurse. I'm kinda paid to care."

Wayne won't hear any of it, "No, son, it's more than that. You take your break in here every night. You make sure to record the game at home for me because they only have the news here. And last night, you tried to come in with a migraine, even though we both know I am the only patient you can stand right now."

Steve doesn't know what to say back. Wayne is right, of course. Steve has been spending all of his time with the man, giving him extra care. Steve isn't bad with his other patients, he goes above and beyond most of his coworkers, but there is something special about Wayne.

"You got nothing, kid, you know I'm right. Remind me a lot of my nephew. Before visiting hours ended is when I got the news of having to stay longer. Kid almost threw a fit when they kicked him out. Swore he was gonna break in to stay the night with me. I told him not to worry since you would be there, I brag about you too, ya know. When he found out today you weren't here, that boy threw a fit again. Swear he gets his tantrums from his father. Said he was gonna sneak back in tonight. Make sure I had company. That 'the man' couldn't stop him. That if he ran into you, he was gonna have a word with you."

Steve can't help the snort that shakes his body, "I'd like to see him get passed Hop first."

Wayne starts to chuckle, too, "Eds may have had his fair share of escaping the law, but no man moves as fast as Jim in a security uniform."

Steve is fully laughing now, "I know, right? It's like those pants make him aerodynamic or something. No way your nephew is getting by."

It is almost as if Steve's words summon what happens next. There in the doorway is the most gorgeous man he's ever seen, even though he is bent over and out of breath.

"Eds?" Wayne questions, clearly surprised. Steve has to mask his face and quickly before Wayne catches him ogling his nephew. Steve is finding it difficult, though. The man, Eddie, despite his out-of-breath appearance, is stunning. His long curly hair is thrown up in a bun, showing off the piercings up his ears. His clothes are simple but suiting, ripped jeans and a black band tee. Tattoos cover his entire body, and Steve wants to ask about every single one of them.

The most surprising thing about him isn't that he got by Hop (although he has questions for that later), no the most surprising thing to Steve is that Wayne somehow knew his exact type, which most people assume wrong in that department.

Eddie awakens an old craving inside Steve that he thought he had buried long ago.

"Wayne, you would not believe what I just went to get up here. The story I have for you, oh boy. You're gonna love it. Who knew security guards could move that fast. Anyway, I hope that nurse boy of yours is here tonight because I am ready to—" Eddie stops mid-rant when his eyes land on Steve, a lovely blush blossoming across his pale cheeks.

"I believe what you are trying to say is, what was it, Wayne? Oh yea, 'have a word with me,'" Steve laughs softly.

Eddie sputters, "Wayne!?!" His blushing becomes deeper as the seconds pass by.

Wayne just chuckles as Steve stands. "Don't be mad at your Uncle, I think he was just trying to make me feel better. I am sorry I wasn't here last night for the news. Got my head knocked around too much as a kid—" Steve taps his head with his knuckles, "—so I suffer from migraines sometimes. I really did try to come in, but well—you met Jim. He's pretty fast." Steve worries his lip. Eddie's eyes follow.

"Well, I can't be too mad now, can I?" Eddie swallows nervously before a smirk spreads across his face, switching from shy to confident in two seconds flat. Steve shouldn't be turned on by that. "The pretty face helps too. I'm pretty sure you could convince me to give you my kidney right about now. I'm Eddie, which I know you know by now, and you are...?"

Steve puts his hand out for a shake, "Nurse Harrington. But most people call me Steve."

Eddie grabs his hand gently and brings the back of it to his lips. "Stevie, a pleasure, really." A light kiss is placed on Steve's knuckles. Stevie, he thinks. That's a new one. And he isn't mad about it, at all. In fact, the butterflies in his stomach want him to get Eddie to say it again.

Steve catches Wayne's smug face in the corner of his eye as Steve begins to blush again.

"I'm just gonna—I'll be right back." Steve stutters.

"Leaving so soon?" Eddie says disappointed.

Steve has the sudden urge to fix the frown on his face. "No, no! Just, uh, gonna call Jim and tell him not to send out a search party. That it's okay if you stay. I'll keep an eye on you."

Eddie's face breaks out into a brilliant smile, "Really, Stevie? You gonna keep me around?"

Steve's heart skips a beat, "If I can help it."

***

#steddie #stranger things #wayne munson #modern au #wayne likes to play match maker but unlike dustin he is good at it #steve harrington #eddie munson #implied ronance #platonic stobin #nurse steve harrington #my writing #request game #steve x eddie #ficlet

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rosiesramblings · 1 month ago

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I Can't Help But Wonder

Fandom: EPIC: The Muscial

WC: 1.7k

Characters: Athena, Odysseus, Telemachus

A/N: Season's Greasons @amazingmsme ! I am your Squealing Santa this year! I've never written for EPIC before so please forgive any mistakes. That said, I am OBSESSED with the music so this was a very welcome challenge. I picked Athena, Ody, and Telemachus for your fifth prompt (A&B get into a tickle fight, C makes a teasing comment and then A&B team up to get C). I also ended up trying to see how many of the EPIC song titles I could fit in this fic. I counted ten total that I squeezed in - can you find them all? This was so fun to write - I hope you enjoy it!

Thank you so much to @cantsaythetword for organizing this year's @squealing-santa extravaganza! You did a great job, and I really appreciate you keeping the tradition alive! Now, on to the fic!

Even though it would have been nice, the world didn’t stop spinning just because Odysseus was finally home. There was still court to hold and merchant disputes to resolve, not to mention the job of explaining to the citizens of Ithaca what happened to all 108 of the Palace Suitors. With Odysseus recovering from his 20 year journey under the careful supervision of the palace physicians, Penelope hardly left his side, and that meant much of the work of actually running the country fell to Telemachus. It was a burden that he shouldered gladly - an opportunity to both prove himself as a wise and noble ruler, and to give his parents the time to fall in love with each other once again.

And how they fell. Often. In most of the rooms of the palace. Telemachus had taken to loudly clearing his throat before he entered a room after one unfortunate occasion that scarred him for life. He was tempted to flee to the ocean and beg Poseidon to follow through on the threat to gauge his eyes.

Athena was unsympathetic to this particular plight of his - when he told her, she did this hideous snort-scream-laugh that made both his father and his mom come running, thinking there was an animal loose in the palace.

However busy Telemachus was during the day, both with his royal duties and the equally important task of not barging in on what seemed to be his parents’ best efforts to revoke his status as an only child, Telemachus always made the time to eat dinner with them. It wasn’t always easy - Telemachus often found himself red-faced and tongue-tied when his father attempted to make conversation, the right words always evading him. Some nights, Telemachus just spent the whole meal drinking in the sight of Odysseus’ face at the table. Having spent so long dreaming of his father’s homecoming, at first Telemachus found it difficult to believe that he was really there. But with each sunrise and sunset, Telemachus slowly convinced himself that his father was really, truly back. To stay.

*****

Telemachus followed the sounds of sparring through the palace halls until he found his father and his goddess. He wasn’t worried, okay, just like - appropriately concerned? It really hadn’t been long since his father had returned, and he still had a long way to go before the palace physicians granted him a clean bill of health. Sparring with a goddess definitely wasn’t on his list of approved physical activities.

Telemachus stopped in the doorway, shrouded in shadows by one of his mother’s tapestries hanging on the wall next to him. He took a breath. No one was bleeding. Both Athena and his father had wooden practice swords rather than real weapons.

Even though it was clearly just practice, neither Athena nor Odysseus were pulling their punches. Odysseus was doggedly attacking Athena’s blind side, and Athena was swinging hard and fast, knowing that Odysseus’ endurance was shot to Hades.

Eventually, Athena swept Odysseus’ legs out from under him, and he went down hard. She smirked, panting with exertion, before offering her old friend a hand up. But Odysseus clearly wasn’t done yet, and he wasn’t above fighting dirty, either, because he laughed and flung a handful of sand at Athena’s face.

“You cheat!” She shouted, stumbling to her knees next to Odysseus on the ground. She reached for him blindly and he rolled out of the way.

“You’re the one who taught me that trick,” Odysseus laughed, springing toward Athena to grapple while she was still down.

“As a last resort against an enemy,” She said, finally blinking the sand from her eyes as she struggled for the upper hand. “Not against your goddess who is already half-blind!”

Just when it seemed that Odysseus had her in a pin, Athena reached around and drew a finger up his spine. Telemachus looked on in interest as his father let out a yell and dropped the pin immediately, trying to roll away.

“That’s cheating!” He protested as Athena caught his ankle and dragged him back toward her.

Athena grinned, all teeth. “You’re the one who taught me that trick.”

“Bullshit!” Odysseus laughed as he tried to free his ankle and dodge Athena’s now-wiggling fingers at the same time. “If anything, you learned that from Polites. Wait!”

“I’ve done enough waiting,” Athena said, letting go of Odysseus’ ankle in favor of reaching up to squeeze his thigh, just above his knee.

His reaction was instantaneous. He let out a shriek before collapsing back to the floor, kicking out with his free leg and cackling.

“This is not fahahahAIR!” He cried as Athena pinched up and down his thigh.

“Oh gods, is that a hickey?” Athena asked, bemused. Still behind his tapestry, Telemachus made a face.

“Shuhuhuhut the fuhuhck up! I hahaven’t seen Penehehehelope in twehehenty yehehears!” Odysseus gathered his wits and latched a hand onto Athena’s upper ribs.

“Yohohou’re incohohorrigible!” Athena yelped, twisting away from Odysseus’ grip.

“Gotta mahahake up for lohohost tihihime with my looove,” Odysseus snickered.

Telemachus forgot himself. “Oh, gross,” he whined.

Athena and Odysseus both whirled toward him, and Telemachus got to witness what might best be described as the facial equivalent to a sunrise as his father recognized him, only to turn worryingly playful when the complaint registered. Athena’s face was stern, but the tips of her ears turned red and her eyes glittered with mischief.

“Telemachus of Ithaca. Is that any way to speak about your father?” Athena asked.

Telemachus turned red, both from the attention and the playful reprimand. He started edging toward the doorway to attempt an escape. “I just call it like I see it. And Father? You and mom. Are gross.”

“Odysseus, are you going to let your son speak to you that way?” Athena, the instigator, prodded.

Father cracked his knuckles and grinned. “Clearly my absence has made my son bold. The sass on this boy, ‘Thena!”

“Can’t imagine where it came from,” Athena muttered, shooting a devastating side-eye at Odysseus even as she crept toward Telemachus.

“Hmmmm. No clue,” Odysseus said as he lunged for his son.

Telemachus threw himself toward the door, but felt his father’s hand close around his wrist before he could make it through. He was yanked into his father’s chest with a yelp, and between the literal goddess of battle strategy and the veteran of 20 years, Telemachus found himself outmaneuvered. Before long, Athena held both of his hands above his head in one of her own, and Odysseus had thrown a leg over his son’s. Telemachus was well and truly pinned.

Humiliatingly, as soon as Telemachus realized his predicament, giggles started to pour out of his mouth. He yanked at his hands, not to escape, but in hopes of covering his rapidly reddening face.

“What’s this? We haven’t even started yet,” Odysseus laughed, incredulous.

“This does not bode well for you, young warrior,” Athena smiled, spidering her fingers in the air above Telemachus’ armpit.

Telemachus whined at the teasing, but couldn’t stop the flood of giggles. “Ihihihi cahahan’t hehehelp it!”

“Hm. I can’t help but wonder, if he takes after you in sensitivity,” Athena grinned at his father.

Odysseus smiled, taking the teasing gracefully. “Well, there’s an easy way to find out,” he said, and brought his wiggling fingers down on Telemachus’ tummy.

Telemachus let out a screech of desperate laughter before falling back into frantic giggles. Athena let her fingers descend into his underarm, scratching at the hollow in the most ticklish way. Telemachus shook his head back and forth frantically. He’d never been tickled by two people at once, and he was in ticklish agony.

“You know something? I sailed across the world for twenty years, and I haven’t found a single sound anywhere that is better than my son’s laughter,” his father smiled, tapping Telemachus’ nose and making him go cross-eyed.

“Ohohoho my gohohods, Dahahad, stohohohohop,” Telemachus whined, squirming now from embarrassment as well as ticklishness.

“Never,” Odysseus grinned, lighting up at the less formal slip. He gave his son’s thighs a few squeezes, relishing in the belly laughs that Telemachus gave in response. Athena switched to fluttering her fingers around Telemachus’ neck and ears, and Odysseus used one hand to bunch his son’s shirt up around his ribs.

“Tell you what. If you can tell me which monster I am, I’ll forgive your insolence,” Odysseus teased.

“Whihihihich mohohonster?”

Instead of answering, Odysseus took a comically deep breath before blowing the world’s longest raspberry right over Telemachus’ bare belly button.

Telemachus shrieked before cackling so loudly that Odysseus was shocked Penelope hadn’t come running.

“Come on, son, which monster?”

“AhahahahAHAHA - CHAHAHARYBDIS?” Telemachus could hardly breathe, let alone recall his father’s stories.

“Ooo, good guess but not quite,” Odysseus laughed. He bent down for another raspberry. “I’m a different beast.”

“AHAHAHAHAHA - SAHAHA -SCYLLAAHAHAHA?”

“Zero for two,” Athena shook her head mockingly. “Can you even call yourself a warrior of the mind?”

Tears squeezed out of the corners of Telemachus’ eyes as he gave it one final guess. “CAHAHAHALYPSO!”

“Wrong again, I’m afraid,” Odysseus smirked at his son, scribbling up and down his ribs. “The answer I was looking for was ‘The Tickle Monster.’”

If it was possible, Telemachus turned even redder. “NAHAHAHAHAHAT FAAHAHAHAHAIR!” he wailed.

“I know, I’m so mean,” Odysseus hummed, finally letting up and rubbing a soothing hand on his boy’s tummy to chase away the ghost tickles. “Lucky for you, I’m in a forgiving mood. No more monsters - I’m just a man. That can be the end of your tickly suffering for today.”

Athena let go of Telemachus’ hands and he brought them down to wrap around himself, still giggling. She got up from the floor and brushed herself off. “Don’t worry kid. Your father’s still worse than you on his back and thighs.” She grinned at Odysseus’ spluttering response and ruffled Telemachus’ hair. “Consider this as my goodbye. For today at least. Perhaps we can form an alliance and exact revenge tomorrow.”

Telemachus curled up so that his head was in his father’s lap. Odysseus’ hand began to run through his son’s hair as if he had done so a million times before. Before long, Telemachus’ eyes slipped closed. Odysseus pressed a kiss to his crown and said, “Sleep, Little Wolf. Dad loves you.”

Telemachus smiled.

#tickle fic #tickling #squealing santa #squealing santa 2k24 #epic the musical #post ithaca saga #athena #odysseus #telemachus #ody when he's in a room and telemachus walks in: my boy!#poor telemachus #both because his father and bff are tickle monsters #and because his parents are going at it like rabbits ok

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wishmemel · 1 year ago

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so high school, ft. fushiguro megumi

synopsis: you’ve known megumi, nobara, and yuuji since freshman year of high school, but it's only recently that you and megumi have started realizing that your feelings might run deeper than friendship (that is, if either of you have the courage to make the first move...) tags: megumi x f! reader, non-curse au, this might be from megumi's pov idk, friends to lovers, all fluff, all characters are about 17, reader is an older sibling, megumi being his usual reserved self, reader is more bubbly, definitely self-indulgent (reader is a sanrio lover), probably ooc but this is just for fun, no beta reader so let me know if there’s any errors cw: i don't think there are any? please let me know if you spot anything, i'll add it! wc. 5.9k posted: 22/10/23 a/n: i've been working on this fic forever and i didn't think i was going to post it at first tbh... most of my fics stay in the drafts but i spent a little more than 2 weeks on this so i thought why not. also, yes, i know you can't legally drive a car in japan at 17, but we will ignore that for the sake of the fic!

Megumi chewed his lower lip, feeling the weight of the necklace stored in the lower pocket of his black backpack.

He and Yuuji had stopped by a comic book store before school started at the latter’s insistence—Megumi had already stopped by yesterday and picked up the copy he’d wanted in secret, stashed underneath his pillow—so he’d split from Yuuji and made his way to the Hello Kitty Shibuya store a few feet down. He didn’t want his friend to see the romance mangas that he was interested in, and he’d already spent most of his allowance on the two copies he’d bought yesterday. He didn’t want to be tempted any more.

Stepping into the store, dressed in all black, heavy eye bags present, his hair unkempt and spiky, he must have frightened the employees, but they’d done their best to greet him with a cheery smile and welcomed him inside. Megumi had pulled down his snapback and wandered around, wondering what he was doing flipping through a rack of cinnamoroll earrings.

By the time he was at the front counter, ears red, using the last of his allowance to buy a pink heart-shaped necklace of My Melody, he was convinced that he was insane. It was the last one on the shelf and it was… expensive, to say the least. He almost put it back on the shelf after seeing the price, but he hesitated, your sweet smile flashing in his mind. To see you rave and gush about him buying this necklace for you, which was supposedly out of stock everywhere online… Well, he really wanted to see your smile.

The employees at the register giggled over his flushed expression and prodded him about who he was buying it for, when he would give it to you, if you were already his girlfriend or if you were just a friend. They wrapped it in a pink box with a white satin ribbon and he left the store with the tiny amount of dignity he had remaining, his ears brick red from dodging all their suggestive questions.

He hardly remembers stuffing the box deep in his backpack, underneath a spare sweater he keeps in his bag, and rushing over to the manga store with his hands in his pockets, nonchalantly waiting for Yuuji outside as if he’d never left.

They’d walked to school together, chattering away: well, it was mostly just Yuuji talking. Megumi listened, but that was the way he preferred it.

He couldn’t remember a time when he’d ever been labelled talkative. Even as a child, Gojo, his guardian, had complained about Megumi’s blunt and silent nature. Yuuji didn’t mind the silence—it just meant that he had a chance to talk. Nobara despised it—she was always rolling her eyes or pressing him about one thing or the other. When it came to you, you liked the comfortable silence. You didn’t feel the need to fill it with conversation, and even when you did, it was because you wanted to, not because of some awkwardness that you felt between the two of you.

The two boys met up with you and Nobara, both of you bleary-eyed and early at school for once.

The two of you had this awful habit of staying up late and talking on the phone to get your homework done and then waking up hours after school had started, practically missing your first period classes.

Megumi and Yuuji used to wait outside the gate for you two in the beginning, but now they knew you too well and usually headed inside, talking at Megumi’s locker. On the off chance that one of you arrived on time, you knew exactly where to find them.

“Where were you two?” you asked, tilting your head to the side with a confused scrunch of your brows. “We looked for you at your locker, but you weren’t there. Nobara and I actually got to school on time! Aren’t you proud?”

Despite your weariness, your makeup was always done to perfection, uniform ironed and straightened, hair silky and shining underneath the scorching sun, so Megumi always thought you looked good.

It was just recently that you had started looking beautiful instead of nice and seemed more funny than even his best friend, Yuuji.

“Megumi and I ran to the comic book store,” Yuuji said, eyes lighting up with excitement. “I got the one-hundred-fifteenth edition of Human Earthworm. Basically, in this edition, Worm Man falls in love with this woman, but there’s a catch! She’s also half-worm, but she’s a worm from the top half of her body and the bottom half—“

“Itadori,” Nobara barks. “It’s too early in the morning for your SuperWorm stories.”

Nobara glares at him, looking like she hadn’t even had time to do her makeup.

Yuuji peers at her. “You look kind of… sick.”

Nobara’s eyes flare with uncontrolled rage and she leaps on Yuuji’s back, wrapping her legs around his waist as she pulls at his pink hair. “Do you want me to kill you?”

Megumi sighs while Yuuji laughs and dodges Nobara’s advances. You just giggle, your arm brushing against Megumi’s, though he wonders if he’s the only one who notices the warmth of your skin on his.

The bell rings, startling them, and Nobara slowly unlatches herself from Yuuji. You bound over to her and fix her hair and she allows you patiently.

“Good?” she asks, checking her phone’s reflection.

“Good?” Yuuji mocks, patting down his own hair.

“You both look hot,” you affirm, giggling at Nobara’s murderous look. You tuck a strand of hair behind her ear and check your phone. Your expression brightens as you glance over at Megumi. “Megs and I have Chem together first. We have a lab today, remember?”

He doesn’t return your smile, mostly because he’s starstruck at the sight, but nods slowly to let you know he’s heard.

Nobara groans. “Yuuji and I have Gym first,” she gripes.

You snort, flicking her cheek. “I don’t want to know why you would ever decide to take that class.”

“It’s not bad or hard,” she defends, but then she puts her fist up and grits her teeth. “But there’s this really stupid teacher who always picks on me for being a woman. He thinks I’m slower ‘cause I have a vagina and that makes me want to pull out his hair.”

“And he hates me because he always says I’m cheating during our run,” Yuuji complains. “It’s not my fault I’ve trained a lot!”

You laugh again before bouncing over to Megumi and wrapping a hand around his bicep. “Let’s go,” you insist. “We have to get the seat at the back before Miwa gets there again! Last time, she took my spot and she knows it’s my spot. I always sit there!”

You drag him with you, calling your goodbyes to a stunned Yuuji and Nobara, the two aware of how much Megumi hates physical touch. They wait, watching for their friend to remove your hand, but he never does. The two exchange nervous looks as they follow you through the front doors.

You’re sitting on a large boulder, your back to him, as you listen to Yuuji and Nobara’s insistent speech. He can almost imagine your confused look: your eyebrows scrunched, lips pouty.

The three of you haven’t spotted him yet, nonchalantly strolling towards you, hands tucked in his pocket, but even at this distance he can hear what the pair are telling you.

“You cannot touch Megumi,” Nobara insists. “He hates being touched.”

“The last time I tried to hug him, he squeezed my wrist so hard I thought it’d break,” Yuuji points out, cradling his arm. “He hates physical touch.”

Megumi sighs and rolls his eyes.

Just when he’d started getting close to someone, his cursed friends had to interfere. Even if their intentions are in the right place, can’t they mind their own business? He isn’t exactly the people-pleasing type: if he’s letting you touch him, it’s on purpose.

Both Nobara and Yuuji share exactly one brain cell, he thinks.

“Oh… really?” Is he imagining the hint of disappointment in your tone? “Ah, I didn’t know. Okay… I’ll try to keep my distance from now on. Thanks for telling me.”

“What are you three talking about?” he asks, stopping at your back.

You still as his leg brushes against your back. You tilt your head back, meeting his eyes with a tentative smile. He’s awestruck all over again, like every time you flash him that smile.

“You,” Nobara answers truthfully, taking his attention off of you.

Yuuji elbows her and laughs awkwardly. “She’s kidding. W-we were talking about Human Earthworm 5! Yeah, Human Earthworm. Obviously. I told them we should go see the fifth—“

You roll your eyes, watching him take a large step over the boulder to stand next to Yuuji. “I don’t know why they’re lying. We were just talking about where to go for lunch. Yesterday, Nobara and I got to pick and we went out for sushi, remember? We thought you guys might have a preference today.”

“That’s what we were talking about,” Yuuji affirms quickly with a painfully bright smile. Megumi isn’t so awestruck at the sight.

There’s a collective moment of silence; they’re all holding their breath, waiting for his answer.

He looks at you. You give him an innocent smile, blinking, and he finds it slightly frightening how easily you can lie to his face like that.

“Okay.” Megumi shrugs, accepting your words. “I’m in the mood for tteokbokki,” he says, despite his lack of allowance, if only to change the topic. He remembers Yuuji salivating over the thought of the street food yesterday in Math class, even after lunch.

“There’s a place near here that has corn dogs and tteokbokki,” Nobara mentions, checking the Maps app on her phone. “It’s a five minute walk.”

“I want tteokbokki with a boiled egg,” Yuuji announces eagerly.

“Tteokbokki is best with egg,” Nobara agrees. “Wanna share?”

“I want the whole egg,” Yuuji warns.

“You can spare me half,” she insists. “I want it too!”

“If we want to go, then we should go now,” you interrupt. “We only have thirty minutes left.”

Both Nobara and Yuuji start bickering over their order and you take that chance to sneak a quick glance at your phone, frowning at the recurring texts you’ve been receiving.

Megumi looks to you, eyes catching onto the worried crease between your eyebrows. You put away your phone at his watchful gaze.

“Sorry,” you say, feigning a smile. “Let’s go.”

He nods, wondering if he should ask you why you had that concerned look in your eyes. But Megumi isn’t good at words; he always stumbles and trips over them and can never quite get his thoughts out properly, unlike you. He’s always admired the eloquent and seemingly veritable way you speak, even when you lie. You’re always able to put on a mask.

He’s not so good with words, so in a rare display of bravery, he resorts to offering you his hand, as if extending his heart to you. His ears turn red as he looks away from you, realizing that Yuuji and Nobara have stopped arguing long enough to watch.

You blink uncertainly, then beam up at him and take his hand.

Your hand is warm in his and much much softer than the callouses that roughen his. Often, you offer him hand lotion in Chemistry and he hasn’t the heart to refuse you. You squeeze a dollop of the rose-scented cream in his hand before doing the same on your own. He gets the pleasure of watching you beam as the two of you rub the lotion into your palms. As a result of your generosity, his hands have been feeling softer than usual.

You thank him for the gesture and he just shrugs, bumping shoulders with you as you enter the address into your Maps app, trying to avoid the awkward atmosphere in the air.

“We can get two eggs,” Nobara attempts, to break the tension.

Yuuji agrees immediately with no argument.

The jewelry box feels especially heavy in Megumi’s bag.

When the three of you reach the restaurant, Yuuji and Nobara immediately fight over who’s paying for the extra eggs. Nobara insists that it should be Yuuji who pays because he should be the one paying penance, while Yuuji wants to split the cost in half. The two of them bicker a little more, embarrassing you and Megumi in front of the cashier before they place their order, and then continue to do so while taking a seat at a table for four.

You just sigh and muster your brightest smile to make up your friends. Megumi hovers closely behind you as you place your order, feeling slightly protective of you in front of the handsome male noting your order.

The man is tall, maybe taller than Megumi himself, and he has this air of easiness that Megumi instantly dislikes. What, with his eager grins and frequent winks sent your way, it’s clear that he just can’t—won’t—take a hint. His name tag reads Haru, which has many many meanings, but the one Megumi decides on is sun. He’s overwhelmingly sunny, much like Yuuji. But while Yuuji’s is a natural sunniness, a disposition that comes easily to him, Haru has this overbearing nature, like when he leans over the register to take your cash and purposely lets your fingers brush his. He has these charming chocolate-coloured curls and he keeps brushing them out of his big, dark eyes. Even through his instant dislike, Megumi can’t help comparing himself to the man.

He keeps wondering: Is this your type? Would you be interested in someone like this, so sunny and bright, almost as much as you are?

“A mozzarella corn dog with cinnamon sugar and the small tteokbokki, no egg,” you’re confirming, cutting through the jealous haze that is his thoughts. You glance back at him, finally taking his attention off of Haru. “Want anything?”

“Naah, I ate earlier,” he says with a shake of his head, sidling closer so that your back brushes against his chest. You startle slightly, but don’t move away. Haru’s smile falters a little. Megumi wants to stick his tongue out at him petulantly like a little kid who’s just won a game of rock, paper, scissors.

Somehow, Megumi can tell you see through his lie, likely because you’ve been with him for almost the entire day, but you don’t argue and he quickly pulls out his phone and distracts himself with the Weather app so that you won’t suspect him further.

A forecast of rain, he notices, startling.

He usually stores an umbrella or two in his bag because he knows you never bring one—it doesn’t rain as often as you’d like, but even when it does, you enjoy the water soaking you to the bone. Megumi usually watches you, Nobara, and Yuuji splash in puddles, his black umbrella already opened up to keep him dry. When the three of you get tired or cold, you can count on him to lend you one, and you often plaster yourself to his side, getting his clothes wet as your teeth chatter underneath the umbrella.

His fond expression breaks when you nudge his shoulder and the two of you make your way to the table where your friends are already seated, Nobara sitting cross-legged on the seat to face Yuuji, hands waving about animatedly.

“You know, you were checking that guy out for an awfully long time,” you tease with a cheeky smile.

Megumi’s mind doesn’t put two and two together. In fact, he feels like it might be short-circuiting. “What?”

None of what you’re saying makes sense to him—isn’t it so obvious that he’s interested in you?

“You know, Megs, if you’re gay, you just have to tell me,” you say solemnly, trying not to let your face crack. “I’m sure Nobara and Yuuji will also support you. Nobara likes girls, and, besides, that’s what friends are for. We’re here for you, even if you’re into the douchey cashier.”

“You thought he was douchey?” he blurts, the only thing that his brain seems to process.

“So, you are gay!” you exclaim, slapping your receipt onto the table where Nobara and Yuuji are sitting. They jump at the thump sound the receipt makes on the table, their conversation interrupted.

“Fushigoru’s gay?” Nobara asks skeptically with a raised brow as she turns around to face the two of you. An amused smile plays on her mouth. “I knew it. I called it first!”

“I said it first!” Yuuji protests. “Remember when he punched Kai in the face and I said that he did it because he thought his was was just too pretty to—“

“I’m not gay,” Megumi snaps, cheeks on fire. “And I don’t like Kai!”

You stifle a giggle, sliding your receipt in Nobara’s direction. “I got a corndog and tteokbokki. We can share.”

Nobara scans the receipt with a raised brow, letting Yuuji read off her shoulder. “Another phone number?” she teases slyly.

“What?” you and Megumi blurt at the same time.

Megumi snatches the receipt from her freshly-manicured nails and his eyes widen in horror at the series of numbers that are, indeed, printed at the bottom in black pen next to a winky emoji. Beside him, you cringe and Megumi crushes it up in his palm and shoves it into his pocket.

He raises a brow, sliding into the booth, and asks, “Did you want that?”

You shake your head almost immediately and follow after him, sitting across from Nobara. She taps the side of your sneaker with her own and you look her way long enough to see a mischievous glint enter her eyes.

“You’ve just been collecting phone numbers left and right, haven’t you?” Nobara sings, wiggling her brows at you to break the silence. “Quite the player, aren’t you?”

“This is the first number I’ve gotten all year,” you protest, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “You know that—you guys are always with me!”

“What about the guy at the vending machine yesterday?” Yuuji asks.

“Kai?” you ask in disbelief. “He’s not—We aren’t—”

Megumi blurts, “Kai asked you out yesterday?”

You groan aloud, burying your face in your hands. “No, he didn’t! He just expressed his interest. I told him I didn’t like him and we left it at that.”

And here Megumi was thinking that the guy had learned his lesson—It was true that Megumi had punched him in the face, but not for the reasons that Yuuji predicted. If Yuuji had truly heard what Kai had said about you, he wouldn’t be nearly as lax with his teasing remarks. And, fine, it was true—Kai did have somewhat of a pretty face and Megumi did have this tiny inkling that Kai had feelings for you, but he’d done his best to ignore that small, jealous whisper and tuck it aside. He never imagined that Kai would act on his feelings.

Maybe Megumi hadn’t punched him hard enough.

Megumi removes his snapback and places it on the table, rubbing the material between his fingertips to soothe the burning in his chest.

Yuuji raises an eyebrow, a mischievous smile playing on his mouth. He looks like he’s about to make another unnecessary comment, but he’s interrupted by Haru, the cashier, serving them their lunch on a long, silver tray.

You make eye contact with him and suddenly regret your decision to sit on the outside of the booth when he smiles at you for long moments while serving, explaining each and every dish with precise detail to you and only you. He flatly ignores your friends and keeps his eyes locked onto you, even while serving—you’re half afraid he might drop something that way. On the positive side, he knows exactly what he’s talking about—each dish, each flavour, each part is explained down to a T.

You know more about canned Coca-Cola now than you ever have in your entire life. Who knew that the drink used to contain cocaine before 1929? Not you. But you’re thinking you could use some right now to get out of this awkward situation.

On the negative side—Yuuji is stifling his laugh, Nobara looks like she might explode any moment now, and Megumi… Megumi is glaring daggers at the man who ignores the icy look and continues his long-winded speech.

You break eye contact and try not to roll your eyes as you lock gazes with Yuuji across the table. He gives you a knowing look, pressing his trembling lips together to hold in the laughter that dances in his eyes.

He seems to be saying this is all your fault.

You just sigh, a smile tugging at your lips. “I’ll pay for your eggs," is what you mouth back at him.

Yuuji’s smile widens and he makes out, “Deal!”, right back at you.

Haru has only just moved on to explaining how tteokbokki is made in their kitchen when Megumi tucks his black snapback onto your head, bringing it down to cover your view. He opens his mouth to argue but is interrupted by Nobara who snaps, “I think we know what we ordered. And Chef doesn’t seem like it’s part of your job description.”

The silence that befalls the restaurant makes your face burn hot with embarrassment. You sigh and cover your face with your hands, wishing a hole would appear in the floor so you could crawl into it, roll around, and just die.

Megumi is not sure whether to feel grateful to Nobara for speaking up or annoyed because he was going to say something first.

Haru mumbles, “It’s not. I’m a server.”

“I think we can handle it from here,” Yuuji coughs awkwardly.

“Thank you,” you mutter under your breath, nudging Megumi with your knee.

“Thanks,” Megumi repeats tersely, unpleasantly reminded of the existence of social etiquette.

“Men take a hint,” Nobara mutters, glaring at Haru’s retreating back. “Level: impossible.”

You snort under a breath and point a set of packaged chopsticks at her. “And you made fun of me for rejecting Kai. He also wouldn’t take a hint and was incredibly insistent—I mean, what kind of guy waits outside of class for you every. single. day. after you reject him?”

Nobara slides her tteokbokki in her direction, seeing as how all of the dishes are placed in a spot advantageous to you. You give both her and Yuuji a pair of chopsticks, then push Megumi’s smaller tteokbokki dish towards him.

“Megumi and I wait outside your classes for you,” Yuuji points out, breaking apart his chopsticks with a skeptical eyebrow raised.

Indeed, Megumi is frozen, awaiting your response with bated breath.

Do you find him creepy or weird when he waits for you? He’d always thought you might appreciate having someone to walk to your classes and chatter with, especially when Nobara isn’t around. He hadn’t considered the fact that you might think of him as a creep…

“You and Megumi don’t count,” you insist, glancing at him with your brows furrowed. “We’re friends. It’s different. Kai would bring me a different flavoured chocolate each day and deliberately hand it out in front of a group of guys that are known to gossip. He’d make these stupid comments, put his hand on my shoulder, and act like we were dating.”

You unwrap a set of chopsticks, snap them in half and offer them to Megumi who takes them with a troubled look.

“Stop it,” you argue, nudging his leg with yours. “I already told you: I’m uncomfortable when Kai does it. You guys are my friends—it’s not any different than when Nobara waits for me.”

“Preach,” Nobara says solemnly, shoving another rice cake in her mouth. Yuuji startles and protests at the fact that he’s been too busy conversing with you to even have a bite, but Nobara just sticks her tongue out at him petulantly.

So now he’s being compared to Nobara, Megumi sulks. He’s not sure which is worse—being likened to a creep or to Nobara.

You nudge him with your elbow this time, shooting him an effortless smile. “Come on, cut out the whole protective older brother thing. I can see it in your face. Nothing happened, Megs.”

Megumi starts, then just nods, though he hadn’t been thinking of Haru. Unfortunately, your words do nothing to ease his mind.

Now you’re referring to him as your older brother… He can’t say he’s not used to it, but… he doesn’t want to be your older brother, nor does he want to act like one.

Nobara smirks. “Yeah, Megs, listen to your—”

He kicks her shin from across the table and her eyes blow wide. “Hey! You didn’t do anything when…” Nobara’s train of thought is cut off when Yuuji elbows her. She settles for glaring at Megumi with a look that says I’ll get you back.

Megumi looks indifferent to her nonverbal threat as he takes the first bite from his meal. Seeing him eat spurs you into action and you open up the container with your mozzarella corn dog.

He knows you see Nobara as a fun, sister-like figure: someone you can laugh with, go shopping with, and call whenever you need advice, gossip, or a pick-me-up. With Nobara, your time flies by in seconds, the two of you always busy giggling and laughing on FaceTime.

You see Yuuji as a younger brother: someone to indulge and take care of, especially because Megumi doesn’t humour him and Nobara bickers with him day and night, much like a sibling would. You ruffle his hair when you’re pleased with him, making him beam, and you graciously tag along to the movie theater with him when a new Human Earthworm movie is released, since he and Nobara staunchly refuse whenever Yuuji pleads.

So, maybe Megumi’s role has been predetermined from the start. He’s always been overprotective of his friends and he nags like a mother hen, especially when it comes to you. Whenever you text him that you’re going out, accompanied with a few pictures, asking him what to wear, he always makes sure that you have your location on, your ringer on, that you aren’t on silent mode, or you haven’t muted his texts. He makes sure he knows exactly where you’re going, when you’ll be back; he makes sure his phone is always nearby so he never misses a text from you, in the rare case that you might message him to pick you up. After all, he is your group’s designated driver. He figures you might need him once in a while.

He chews his rice cakes slowly, trying to ignore the burn in his chest. He glances over at you, busy in conversation. The three of you are used to his frequent silence; you don’t take it as odd anymore, nor do you press for him to join the conversation. You all know he’ll speak up when he wants to.

Is he overbearing?

Actually… he’s not unlike you, in that sense.

You’re the first to remind Yuuji, as always, that he’s left his phone in Megumi’s car, or his books in the classroom, or that his hoodie is in his locker, as always, but you’d picked it up for him because you knew he’d forget. Before he can even tell you that he’s lost his pencil for the third time this week, you’re pressing one into his hands with a skeptical eyebrow raise that asks, anything else? He’s like a little puppy that you look after when no one else will.

With Nobara, he’s seen you often calling her when she’s alone in a taxi and she texts you that the driver is being weird. You stay on call with her, purposely raising your voice loud enough for the driver to hear you ask repeatedly, “Where are you? When are you getting here? We’re all waiting for you.” You always wait on her text that tells you she’s reached home safe before your shoulders loosen and you feel some of the tension leave you.

Before Megumi goes out, you’re over at his house, fussing over his clothes (the same ones he wore a day ago), his hair (that never seems to settle, no matter how much gel or hairspray you use), his face. You pinch his cheeks, tell him to go wash his face again because he still looks half-asleep, toss him a rose-scented lotion tube, straight from your bag, and insist that he keep it. You completely baby him.

And when the four of you go out for lunch, more often than not, it’s you who orders for the rest of them, Megumi tagging along sometimes, if only to insist on paying. You half-listen to their conversation, half-wonder when the food will arrive. And when it finally does, you’re the first to urge them to start: handing them their utensils, breaking apart their chopsticks, and reminding them to eat well.

You’re used to looking after others and putting their needs before your own, as the eldest daughter of your family. Megumi is overprotective as well, but he’s also hyper-independent, used to caring for himself without anyone else. Around you, he always finds his demeanor molding, softening—he acts more spoiled, more sulky, almost as if he’s trying to catch your attention, to make you fuss over him. And you do. You always indulge him, though he’s sure you can see right through his act.

You’re laughing at something Yuuji says when you notice him looking at you, as if he’s seeing you in a new light. You hold your corn dog up to him, a sweet smile on your face.

Megumi blinks, ears reddening, as he shakes his head. “N-no, I wasn’t—“

“Have some. It’s good,” you insist, and he can’t refuse you.

So he leans forward in his seat, his thigh brushing against yours—he shouldn’t feel so flustered by that action, right? But you’re still wearing his snapback on your head and it looks ridiculous on you, oversized and just barely hanging onto your head.

Sharing clothes or accessories isn’t new between the two of you either, nor are brief touches like his leg against yours. For some reason, he’s starting to feel hyper-aware of his every movement around you in a way that he doesn’t feel around Nobara, or even Yuuji.

Often, when the four of you have sleepovers or movie nights, typically held at Megumi’s house (he’s always playing host, but he’s grateful that you help out by always arriving an hour earlier with bags of snacks. Gojo adores you for that reason alone), you don’t shy away from physical touch. You’ve fallen asleep on his arm more times than he can count, laid your legs in Yuuji’s lap while the four of you argue over which movie to watch, and squeezed Nobara’s hand throughout countless horror movies.

And yet… Your thighs brushing through your jeans as he leans close is somehow the most intimate feeling he’s had since his kindergarten crush had hugged him tight on the playground in front of his friends.

You hold your corn dog up to his mouth and he takes a bite, relishing in the stretch of mozzarella as you pull the snack away from him with a laugh. He keeps his eyes locked on your lit smile, unaware of Yuuji and Nobara’s troubled gaze trained on him.

You’re like the sun; wherever you go, you shine so bright, making him want to reflect you: he can’t help smiling back.

Sharing food has never been a big deal between the four of you—well, three of you. Before you had found them and became involved in their little friend group, Megumi used to firmly refuse to drink from the same bottle as Nobara or eat from the same spoon as Yuuji, on account of “hygiene”, he claimed. Then you’d stumbled and tripped right into their world and the easy way you’d steal Yuuji’s gatorade from right under his nose and take a sip or share a bite of the cake pop you’d brought for lunch with Nobara had been enough to make him loosen up too, just enough. Eventually, he’d forgotten about that little rule, all because of you, with no shortage of teasing from Yuuji and Nobara.

He drinks from the same glass as you when you’re over at his house, and when you find yourself parched at school, he’s the first to offer to run to the convenience store and back in time for your first period class, Chemistry, which you share with him. The two of you often pass the drink back and forth in class and he tosses it out afterwards when you walk out together, complaining about the homework or the in-class lesson.

Although, he wonders absentmindedly, if you’re eating from the same spoon as him or sipping from the same can from him, can that be counted as… an indirect kiss?

His eyes are inexplicably drawn to your glossy lips as you beam at him and put together a string of words that flies right over his head. What if he leaned forward, just a little? The sparkles on your lips are illuminated by the warm lighting of the restaurant and he finds himself musing about the flavour of your gloss.

Cherry, perhaps? He’d like cherry. Or even strawberry might be nice, sweet and sugary, he thinks. Anything would do, if it was you.

You call his name again, snapping him out of his daze, and he stammers, “W-what?”

You giggle, tucking his snapback onto his head and covering his face. Why doesn’t he have a voice recording of that precious laugh of yours? “Idiot. I was asking if it was good!”

“Oh. Yeah. Yeah, it’s great,” he mumbles dazedly with no idea of what you’re talking about as he adjusts his hat.

He blinks, trying to clear the fog in his head as you wait expectantly, ignoring Yuuji and Nobara’s snickers in the background.

“I-it was really good. The corn dog, I mean,” he clarifies, gaze dipping to your lips again. “I liked it. But… Lunch is on me next time.”

You snort, looking satisfied with his answer. “Lunch is always on you. Pigs won’t start flying if you let me pay for your meal once.”

Megumi has what you call textbook manners when it comes to things like this; he’s overly stiff, overly formal. He can’t remember the last time he’d let any of you pay for him without returning the favour. It’s more than just a matter of his pride and ego (though that certainly plays a hand.) It’s the fact that he can’t fathom depending on any of you like that. He can’t accept this level of warmth or care without his mind whispering that it’s only a matter of time before you’ll all leave, just like his father, just like his mother.

He exhales deeply and pops open the can of Coca-Cola that you bought him. The bubbles hiss and fizzle before settling down. As soon as they do, he slides the can towards you with a jerk of his head: an order to take the first sip.

You give him an indulgent smile and follow his instructions, leaving behind a mauve stain on the can. Then, you push the can towards him with the same head jerk motion that he gave you. He resists the temptation of giving in to your antics and smiling as a result.

You’re messing with his head, he groans silently. He’s never going to be the same after this. More than that, he thinks, glancing towards Nobara and Yuuji who observe him with matching knowing looks, the two of them are never going to let him live this down.

Maybe you don't know it yet, but Megumi is yours.

comments and reblogs are appreciated!

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faithsxoxo · 10 months ago

Note

hi ! i hope you’re having a good day :) could you write a reagan ridley x fem/gn reader one shot, totally up to you ! i don’t really have anything in mind so feel free to play around with it however you like, would love if it had a bunch of fluff though ! thank you sm, stay hydrated and take care of yourself <33

pairings :: reagan ridley x fem!reader (established relationship) warnings :: none note :: my girl needs WAY more wlw appreciation (i love her)

The mechanical door to Reagan's office slams open, making you flinch. The brunette storms in, clutching a pile of crumpled papers.

"Hey, Reag, you alright?" You stand from your designated spot near her desk.

"I'm fine. No big deal, just my dad screwing me over as always," She grumbles. "He's decided that my work from the past month isn't up to 'Ridley standard' so I have to redo it all."

You can see Reagan visibly crumple as she flips through the pages she spent so long on. You didn't have a clue what any of it was about, but you knew it was complicated.

"I'm sorry," You whisper as you wrap your arms around her torso.

"It's not your fault," She mumbles, leaning into your touch.

"I know. Maybe I could help?" You rest your head in the crook of her neck. "We can go home.. have a spa day.. watch a movie.. stop worrying about this bullshit."

Reagan grins softly and shakes her head. "Tempting, but I have a deadline."

With that you can see the shift in her demeanor. She frowns and pulls away from your hold, reaching for the papers once again.

"No," You grab her arm and gently pull her away. "Not happening. We're going home if you like it or not."

"But-"

"No. I suddenly came on with an illness because I spent too long in the genetics department, and you came to take care of me. No buts," You link her arm with yours and lead her to the door.

"Twenty four hours, no work. Got it?" You give Reagan a stern look.

She shakes her head with a chuckle.

"Yeah, yeah. Got it."

Barely twenty minutes later, Reagan is sitting cross legged in front of you.

"Ugh, it's cold," She winces as you apply the face mask.

"Its hydrating. Alright, pick out a movie. I'm gonna go check on the popcorn," You finish with a peck on the lips, before skipping off to the kitchen of your small apartment. She had only moved in with you a few months prior, for your one year anniversary. Reagan had been desperate to escape from living with her dad any longer.

You take a moment to admire her while shes distracted. Reagan in her full beauty, splayed out on your cream couch. Her face is painted green, yet in your eyes she's still the pinacle of perfection. You take note of how relaxed she looks compared to the tense bundle of nerves she had been previously.

"Are you going to get the popcorn or are you going to keep ogling me?" Reagan calls across the room.

"I dont know, ogling seems pretty tempting," You grin back.

She rolls her eyes with a small huff, but you can see the corners of her lips turning up slightly. You swiftly grab the popcorn and return to your place on the couch.

"Hey," She grins softly at you as you curl into her side.

"Hey. What movie did you pick out?"

"Space Jam."

"Ugh, seriously?" You shake your head and giggle.

"What?" Reagan protests. "It's a good movie!"

"Suuuure. You gonna bring out your old prom dress with it?" You tease.

She smacks you on the arm playfully.

"It would be an honor to see me in that dress, I don't think you deserve it."

"Oh, right, after I've spent all this time giving you a spa day this is how you treat me," You cross your arms and begin to pull away.

"Maybe I'll just go eat popcorn by myself."

Reagan pulls you back towards her, wrapping her arms around your midsection.

"Too late, you're stuck with me," She announces, giving you a kiss on the cheek.

You sigh, leaning back into her.

"I guess I can live with that."

Reagan turns on the movie as you snuggle into her. With the dim light of the TV, both of you eventually drift off in eachothers arms, finally in complete peace.

#faithsxoxo #inside job #inside job x reader #reagan ridley x reader #reagan ridley

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semicolonsspace · 1 year ago

Text

Galvanic- a Stiles Smut<3

Warnings: knee humping, handjob, premature Orgasm, multiple orgasms, Dacryphilia, tit worship(kinda) fingering(f receiving), unprotected sex (p n v), creampie,

Y/n and Stiles have been best friends since Kindergarten. They were so close everyone just assumed they were dating. Neither Stiles nor Y/n were bothered by it. Actually, it was quite refreshing for Y/n. She was always paranoid of other boys, it took her forever to be able to trust Scott.

Every Tuesday the pair would hang out. They'd either watch movies, research together, or go to abandoned buildings. Today they were going to watch a Star Wars movie once again.

But, every time they did so, Y/n had to masturbate. She had to because Stiles somehow riled her up innocently. Whether it would be by a simple hug, a lingering touch, or just the way he looked at her with his big brown eyes.

Y/n sighed and got up from her bed; She just finished for the 3rd time and she reeked of sex. Y/n stumbles off her bed and wobbles to her joint bathroom. She quickly takes a shower and wraps the towel around her curves. She checks if it shows anything before leaving. She walks out of her bathroom and almost screams. Stiles was standing next to her bed, shamelessly holding the dildo, examining it with an analytical face. Y/n snatches it out of her friend's hands swiftly. Her hand still clutched her towel with her other hand and grumbled. "You saw nothing." She quickly walks to her joint bathroom and sets the dildo in the sink, she cleans it and lets it sit there to dry.

"So," Stiles begins with a shaky voice. "I'm early-" He starts but is cut off by his slightly annoyed and extremely embarrassed best friend.

"You are... By a whole hour," Y/n sighed, She couldn't be mad at him with the way he looked at her. But she was never going to forget this... How could she be so stupid? Leaving it on her bed like that?

Stiles smirks at her and sits on her bed. He pulls her closer to him, his hands toying with the hem of the towel. "Maybe I can make you feel good? Instead of watching a stupid movie," Stiles suggests playfully. That's right! Stiles wanted to watch Star Wars but disregarded it just like that?

Stiles and she had always been flirty toward each other but this time it felt different. Just the mention of him doing so made arousal slip down her thighs.

Y/n shakes her head. "Now is not the time with your teasing, you're early! I haven't even got dressed yet!"

Y/n squints at him and shoves him off of her. She turns to her closet to pick out some clothes. Stiles pushes himself off her bed and grabs a shirt from the closet along with his sweatpants that he left over the previous sleepover they'd had. "Get all comfy and cute for me," Stiles jokes with his infamous thin smirk. Y/n rolls her eyes and grabs the clothes, grabs undergarments before he can see them, and walks to her bathroom to change.

Stiles scoffs, his slender hands falling to her hips. He squeezes them in an attempt to reassure her. "No need for that, I've seen you naked before," Stiles shrugs nonchalantly. He had only because they used to take bubble baths together when they were young. Then she hit puberty early, destroying the fun they had in the water. That didn't deter them, they just had fun splashing each other in her pool.

When she was finished she walked out and climbed onto her bed. Stiles was already on her bed, so she snuggled into him like she'd always done. He sighs with content and wraps his arms around her happily. A few moments go by and his arms tighten so tight she knew she wasn't going to be able to escape. "We're gonna have to talk about that toy, Y/n/n." His voice was husky, something she'd only heard in her fantasies.

Y/n struggles one last time before giving in and going lax. "Never," she mumbles. Her pride wouldn't let her go that easy. His strong arms were tight around her torso, his forearms pressed against her hard nipples; He could feel the tempting buttons, begging for his attention. "What are you doing, Stiles?" she asks in a shaky voice. His breath was heavy in her ear, tempting her with all the fantasies she'd had about him.

"Thinking about that toy," he whispers with cracks.

Y/n's breath was now heavy, the second thing she could hear. His breathing, hers, and her racing heartbeat in her ears. Now she could feel his body, feel his arousal pressed against her back, slowly hardening against the small of her back. She squirmed again, trying to fearfully getaway. There is no way this was happening, Y/n thought.

"Your dick is pressed against my back," Y/n groans, squirming again to get away.

"Your squirming is making it that way; Be still, I want to cuddle," he bites back, stifling a moan as her ass just grazed his shaft deliciously.

He moves his knee, not away but further between her legs. "Is this okay?" Stiles asks with faux innocence. Y/n moans when he asks this, bringing her plump lips into her teeth. Her eyes roll back and her toes curl, not expecting such beautiful pleasure just from his knee. Her brain seems to short-circuit when his knees start to rub against her clit. "What about this?" he whispers. Y/n nods, her hips grinding against his knees to assist. "Just- don't stop," she cries, literal tears falling from her eyes. He leans down and kisses the salty glint on her euphoria-filled face.

Y/n doesn't listen and tries to get out of his grasp. He gets fed up and pins her down with ease. He hovers over her, his eyes are hooded, his hair is messy, and his breath is heavy. She could tell he was aroused, not just from feeling his length on her thigh either... His knee pressed against her mound, causing her to arch her back delectably. Her tits were now in his face, she felt his breath tickle her areolas. It was so imperiling to just give in and suck on them.

"Stiles, please. Move your knees. Too sensitive," Y/n breathes.

A wave of pleasure washes over her. Better than anything she's felt with her toys. Stiles couldn't hold back anymore, not after seeing her cry his name in such a Melodic way. He kisses her, groaning when she kisses back almost as soon as their lips connect. "So pretty," he coos as he moves on hand off her wrist to move her hair out of her face. "'You going to be a good girl for me and help out?"

Y/n nods quickly, her eyes big with the yearning. "I'll help," she says as her hand rubs his covered shaft with the palm of her delicate hand. Stiles doubles over, his head falling to her neck. His trembling body caught itself, slowly positioning between her legs while his open-pouted lips petted her neck. Y/n then slips her hand into his sweats, under his tight boxers, and rubs the precum into his tip. He moans pleasantly as she uses the thin amount of liquid as lubrication to jerk his veiny member properly.

They couldn't bring themselves to say anything. They were too scared and too caught up in the intimacy. Their stomachs were filled with butterflies, twisting and turning with the utmost yen for each other. Their eyes were locked, the bodies feeling the rest for them.

"Oh my gosh, Y/n... Your hand- I'm-" Stiles whines as he finishes on her hand. He cums hard, his teeth baring into her soft shoulder. She continues, easing him down from his high. He shakes and moves her hand off before the overstimulation can hit. She licks her hand clean, looking into his eyes while doing so. This sends him over the edge again as he prematurely starts squirting his sperm on her shirt that she stole and cropped. Y/n giggles at him not fully knowing how he came from just a look. "You're gonna kill me," Stiles whimpers breathily.

"Now now... You aren't dying and getting away from me now," Y/n purrs with synthetic confidence. His eyes practically bulge and he expels a guttural growl.

In an instant, he rips off the shirt that he wore. He grumbled out "You can steal more 'em," before Y/n could complain. He leaves kisses on her perky chest. His mouth latches onto a breast and Y/n's hands go to fist the back of his shirt. She didn't know her nipples were that sensitive.

Her hand entangles with his hair, her head falling back as her eyes flutter. She moves her legs over her thigh, now her ass was pressed against him as he was still on his hands and knees floating above her beauty. Her breast falls out of his mouth as her ass massages his dick as she rocks into him. "I need you, Stiles. Wanna feel you," Y/n pleads. How could he deny her what she asked for when she begged like that? With one hand, his shirt was thrown across her room, then he caressed her face as he pulled her into a long passionate kiss. His hands feel her body, attempting to engrave every detail it touched before and replace it with this memory. He pulls her sweats off, then his, never breaking the dance between their lips.

His hand finds her damp underwear, successfully finding her bundle of nerves. He toys with it, making her struggle to continue to kiss. He notices this and chuckles at her. "Make you all weak, have I? Just wait until later, little girl," he taunts before kissing her lips once more. His hands fumble, sliding down the underwear off. He collects her arousal, at once his finger penetrates her welcoming hole.

She moans into the kiss, tapping his back to get him off her face. She gasped for air, crying as her previous orgasms that day caught up to her. She was so unbelievably sensitive, but she didn't want him to stop touching her this way.

"Please..." she mewls before he enters another finger.

"My pussy is so inviting, baby," he whispers feebly. "So compliant..." he spreads his fingers in a scissor motion, slowly fucking them into her. "I'm gonna need more of this, baby... You'll let me, won't you, dear?"

"Yes- Yes, I- I will. Just don't," she pauses as she feels the delightful feeling about to explode once more. "Don't stop, please. Don't-" He cits her off by adding another finger that easily slides into her dripping cunt. "Oh-"

Stiles emits a dark chuckle she's only heard when he was possessed by a certain spirit. The wretched thought of him becoming so dark pushes her over the edge again, clutching his naked torso as an anchor to reality.

"Do you think you can take me?" Stiles asks slowly rubbing his length. She moans out a response that makes him smirk. His tip teases her folds, agonizingly slow as his dick inches into her. The stretch was unlike her dildo, which was skinnier and longer. Stiles was thick and probably about seven inches.

She babbles once he enters her. Her hands searched for something to grasp onto. He collects her hands and interlocks them. Her hands gracefully accept them and grasps them tight as he fully sheaths into her.

He carefully starts rocking into her, giving her kisses on the neck as she is too cockdrunk to respond to a kiss on the lips. His hips were colliding into hers with love. This wasn't him fucking her, it was slow. Sensual. He was making love to her, and her body was so weak from him doing so, not just because she came four times today. The way he moved into her was messy as well, the sounds of her cunt with her release and as well as his, was just galvanic.

She convulsed around him, feeling like she was going to climax once more. He continues, as well as he continues leaving love marks on her neck and her chest.

"Mmph- Stiles, I-" she tries to tell him. But he hushes her with a brisk kiss on the lips. "I know babydoll," he roused. "I can feel it," he hums approvingly. He was close to the edge as well, teetering over it. He was trying his hardest not to release, wanting to see her face when she cums on his cock. He knew he would become addicted to it, of seeing her face in ecstasy and feeling her finish around him. Hell, he already was addicted to her...

She falls off the edge, causing him to jump off the edge as well from how tight she gripped him. They slow down, the breaths still ragged as they feel each other in bliss.

After they recover Stiles groans as he is already semi-hard again just from her occasional twitches. He pulls out, the creamy liquid gushing out of her. He hums as he stuffs his dick back into her, not wanting any of the love elixir liquid to leave her womb. Y/n cries and slaps his back as he does this and he only laughs. "Gotta make it stay baby, don't want any of it to go to waste." Then he gets a filthy idea and quickly pulls out once more and slurps it up, drinking all of the elixir they had just made.

(a/n yeah😃 wtf did I just write? This. Took. 6. Hours. But- it was worth it, I love it. I hope YOU love it as well as I do! I love you, babes❤️)

#dylan o'brien #teen wolf #stiles stilinski #stiles #tw #stiles x reader #teen wolf smut #stiles x reader smut #teen wolf stiles #Smut #dylan o'brien smut #dom!stiles #stiles smut

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secret-smut-sideblog · 1 year ago

Text

Girl Talk

Astarion x F! Tav

18+ talks of sexuality, implied trauma, safe words, role reversal, breast worship, grinding, fingering (m!), ass play, rimming, prostate orgasm, some gender play, aftercare, porn w/o plot

One late night Astarion turned their conversation to a more sensual topic and was delighted to discover Tav lacked experience with men. Naturally he was more than happy to lend a hand...

"So you've never..." He smiled, laying on his side next to her, the faint miasma of wine around them.

"Never?" She asked, incredulous. "Astarion do you take me for a holy woman?" Smiling cheekily at him. "I thought you surface dwellers thought all Drow are insatiable."

"Well, are they?"

"No comment." She lifted her glass to her lips, sliding her eyes away from him mischievously.

They had been traveling together for a while now and had struck up a fast friendship. Her snarky words and wanton flirtation winning him over. Sharp tongue and sharper eyes.

She leaned back, thinking. "Its more that I've been mostly with women. Sure there was a man or two but they didn't make it far enough to make an impression. Didnt get far below the belt." She shrugged, waving her hand noncommittally.

Of course, in a matriarchal structure she would be more directed towards sapphic pursuits. She had explained that Drow men were not upheld to the most flattering light in her society.

"If you had to pick, in our camp-"

"Karlach," No hesitation. "Oh I'd climb her like a tree."

He blinked, an amused smile teasing the edge of his mouth. "Impeccable taste."

"I have been known to have a refined palate." She smirked.

"Honestly I'm curious but I'm just more comfortable with women, I know their bodies. I can navigate them even without eyes." She laughed.

Ah yes, the eyes. Those haunting eyes.

He had overheard her speaking to Wyll about their shared warlock experience. His, to a devil, to defend his city. Hers, to an eldritch being, to achieve the gift of sight. Tried to smother his frown at the easy energy between them, their instinctive bond.

Logically he knew he should feel this same way about Karlach, with her soft puppy eyes following Tav around camp. But he couldn't keep distaste in his heart for her. Not for long anyway. Wyll on the other hand...

Her demonic white eyes peering good naturedly into his now. He didnt know if he'd ever get used to how they pierced him. She savored every sight and while slightly intoxicating it made him squirm to be looked at so thoroughly.

"Well," He smiled. Leaning towards her conspiratorially. "If you're less experienced with men you could always practice..."

While he found himself enjoying her company, quite a lot if he was honest, he was still looking for an in. And here it was. Plopped in his lap, just a shared drink away.

"Oh please," She rolled her eyes. "My pickings out here are slim to none. Unless I get the sudden urge to get horizontal with a goblin."

"What about closer to camp?" Sliding a little nearer to her, his fingers almost touching the inside of her forearm.

"Astarion," She admonished, drawing out her words. "Wasting your advances? My neck is right here." Turned her head to make her point.

While he was distracted by her jumping pulse point he couldn't help the edge of frustration creeping up him.

He had been putting all of his honeyed words on her, all his soft tempting touches, and she would just dance them off with a light laugh.

She was a natural flirt but there was an air to her that she didn't take his advances to heart. Maybe she thought he was just like that with everyone. That it didn't mean anything.

Given that she was devastatingly beautiful he felt even more pressure to stake his claim. Their companions all circling her constantly. Gods she basically had to beat them away with a stick at the tiefling party.

"What if," He started, tracing his finger languidly up her wrist. "You practiced on me? You can touch me like you would a feminine lover, if that helps."

She sat up on elbows, head cocked slightly to the side, staring at him.

It was suddenly very quiet and he tried not to fidget, finger tracing figure eights into her soft flesh.

"And that wouldn't make you feel... uncomfortable?"

Honestly he hadn't thought that far ahead. This was a person he was free to bed on his own terms, of his own will. And he was rather fond of her. Though he was here with ulterior motives, that didnt mean he couldn't enjoy her company. He could do much worse.

"Oh what's a little exploration between friends..." Looked up at her through his lashes. "Or more than friends."

"I mean, if we're exploring I could get out the strap."

He had been mid drink and choked, sputtering as she laughed, patting hard into his back.

"I'm sorry, just teasing."

"I mean... are you offering?"

She crooked a bemused smile at him. "I think we would have to work up to that, Star. Let's see how the night goes first."

After dinner she gathered her bathing supplies, exchanging pleasantries with everyone as she retreated.

Blowing a cheeky kiss to Karlach as she rose. Her fire erupting in a burst, Gale having to dive off of the log they were sharing. A goofy smile all over her face.

He almost felt bad about what he was planning. She would be much more suited to the tiefling.

Well, it's just sex, it won't mean anything beyond each of their gain. Him, allegiance. Her, pleasure.

He walked on light feet, following her dark auburn hair. The gentle lull of her singing. Playing with the tones and words they had helped the bard Alfira stumble through.

"Moon, Sun, All remind me of your grace, Faith, Care, All the love I can't repay~"

Despite her light and playful demeanor her singing voice was full and haunting. A mournful cello calling out into the night.

He understood why Karlach basically begged her to sing for them around the fire when her little talent was discovered. She had waved her away, insisting that it wouldn't be worth their time. She'd much rather hear Halsin play. Then Halsin had urged her on, countering that he would only pluck a few strings if she joined.

"Fine, prepare to be underwhelmed." She had laughed.

Immediately they went quiet as she started, closing her eyes. He noticed she always closed them when she was concentrating, as if the added sense was too much.

They were enraptured listening to her, even Halsin almost stumbling through cords. Her voice spellbinding them all.

"Gods, Soldier. Are you part harpy?" Karlach hushed after she had fallen quiet.

She smiled, clearly embarrassed. A rare sight. She had an easy confidence, getting her flustered was a feat.

Now, he approached her stealthily at the edge of the river. Faced away, already waist deep, wringing water out of her long hair.

"Are you joining or just hoping for a show?" She smirked, glancing at him over her shoulder.

He was about to scoff, how did she always hear him no matter how quiet he moved?

Seeing his annoyed posture, she smiled. "My ears are more attuned than most seeing people, dont take it personally."

"Noted. I would so enjoy sneaking up on you." He pantomimed, crouching down playfully.

"I bet you would, but you'll have to walk on a whisper to get past me." She winked, sinking down into the water to chest high. Turning to face him. Eyes alight with mischief.

It felt so easy with her. Their banter a practiced dance, the steps surefooted.

"So, are you still dreaming of sharing a night of pleasure?" He mused, pushing his hand on his lower back. A wicked smile on his lips.

She lowered further into the water, only eyes now. Staring at him through her lashes, serpentine. One hand emerging, beckoning him with a hooked finger.

He pulled his clothes off in a sensual show, leaving them in a neat pile next to hers.

As he began to wade in her head submerged. The night water too dark to make out her shape.

He stood in false absence in the water, chest high. Senses alight.

Fingers along his waist, exploring. He looked down and saw her murky shape against his torso.

She rose, chest to chest with him. Pushing her hair slick back over her head. So dark it looked black in the dim light.

"Well, well," He intoned, pulling a damp lock behind her shoulder. "Looks like I caught myself a siren."

"You do know what sirens do to beautiful creatures like you, right?" She cocked her head at him, arms coming up to drape over his shoulders.

Their eyes were level with eachother, nearly the same height. She had teased him mercilessly in camp when it was discovered that she was an inch or two taller.

It felt almost too intimate to be directly across from her, their faces mirrored.

"I'd be more worried for your neck than mine, darling." He purred, flashing her a fang baring smirk.

"Oh I dont know," She mused, pressing her body flush to his. "I think deadly things can be good bedfellows, dont you?"

She brushed her lips against his, pulling away teasingly. "You still want to do this little experiment?"

"I'd love nothing more." He snaked his hands around her waist. "Lead on."

At least he didn't have to do the work this time. Could just lay back and go somewhere else.

Some of his thoughts must have betrayed in his face cause she paused.

"Hey, I'm okay to postpone this. Indefinitely if needed." Her voice was uncharacteristically soft then, pulling away from him.

He grabbed her retreating wrist, leading her back into him.

"Tav, I need this." He hushed, the truth. Though maybe not with the intent she imagined.

She paused again. Gods it made him nervous when she got quiet. Her melodic voice usually floating around the air.

"Ground rules." She stated, her eyes serious. Waiting for his response.

He blinked. Honestly he had given his own boundaries very little, if any thought.

"You first." Stalling for time.

"Not okay with being restrained and I'd prefer if we had a safe word."

He nodded, this was new to him but he did appreciate the idea.

Scouring his mind for definite turn offs but found it difficult. He tried to not be present for most of it so it was hard to say with certainty.

"Dont touch my back or the bite. Also not into restraint. Or force."

She smiled and he felt proud that he had passed this little test.

"We can stop at any time, okay?"

"Naturally, darling. Though I doubt I'll be able to resist ravaging you, I'll behave."

"Those lines work on a lot of women, huh?" She teased, fingers trailing his cheek as she pulled closer.

He felt a slight tightness in his chest but gave her an easy smile. "Well you're here now, arent you darling?"

"True." She whispered, leaning in to kiss his jaw gently. "Though I could say I'm here in the spirit of research."

"And you'd be a liar, a terrible one at that."

She breathed a laugh against him. "You always need to get the last word, huh?"

"Oh, I'll ge-" He was muffled by her mouth, pulling him into a slow exploring kiss.

He felt a little moan escape him, much to his horror. The desire in her touch surprising him.

She held him around his waist, cupping the back of his head. Her lips sliding warm against his.

She pulled away and he found himself following her. "The safe word is Bulette."

He nodded, and she lifted under his thighs and wrapped them around her waist. Walking up to the edge of the water.

His dead heart did race a little bit at that but he figured it was just the role reversal.

Though they were the same height she was much stronger than she looked. Muscle hidden under plush thighs and the soft curve of her stomach. He could feel it when he bit into the defined curve of her neck. See it in her shoulders when she lifted her arms over her head. That little adorable whine when she stretched.

She layed him back on the grass, her hands guiding him down.

"If this is how you treat your women I can see why you've taken so many admirers." He teased.

"You know," She smiled, leaning down over him. "You're beautiful enough it's not a far stretch."

He breathed a laugh through his nose.

"So where would you start, lover?" He purred, twisting a lock of her hair as it fell over him.

She hummed, moving down. "Usually here." Leaning into his neck on his unmarked side.

Kissing and nipping at his throat he found himself giving in to the sensation. Head falling back slightly. He never minded the foreplay.

Her mouth was devotional on his neck, licking and pulling heavenly circles.

He found himself humming with approval. Hand carding through her hair. "That is nice, darling."

"Then I'd move here..." her fingers trailing down his chest, brushing tentatively over his nipple. Asking.

He felt a shiver go down his back. Shocked by the little strike of pleasure.

"And then?" He intoned, hearing the slight rasp in his voice. Definitely intentional.

He felt her smile against his throat. Moving down his front, leaving soft kisses as she went. Thumbing over his nipple playfully.

"I would put my leg here." She hushed, pushing her knee between his thighs. "So she could grind."

"Interesting," He tried for suave, failing miserably. Her fingers softly twisting his peak making him slow and stupid.

"This is my favorite part." She looked up at him through her lashes cheekily. Hovering over his chest. "Hold on, love."

He almost scoffed, surely it wasnt-

Her mouth descended on his chest, licking hard slurping circles around his nipple.

His back arched involuntarily, a loud embarrassing groan leaving him.

She moaned in pleasure, her mouth salivating. Gripping his hips.

Gods she was unhinged, tongue pulsing and insistent. Laving up and down his hard peak. Panting hot against him.

If he had more sense he would have been baffled at how much it seemed she was enjoying just his experience. But he felt lost, head heavy with pleasure.

She pushed her thigh further into him encouragingly and he could no longer resist. Already painfully aroused.

He ground down into her thigh gratefully, feeling her tense the muscle for him.

Her other hand came up to pinch and twist at his nipple as she left it, sliding over to his left side and taking up there. The new sensation making him gasp, both sides of his chest being devastated with equal intensity.

She picked up on the rhythm of his hips and pushed her thigh into him in pulses.

Gods her mouth, rolling her tongue and nipping. Suckling down hard then pulling back to lick long stripes up his chest.

How in the hells was he already close?

He gripped her bicep, wrapping his leg around her hip.

Fuck it. Why not?

"I'm-," He panted.

She moaned into him, biting down on his engorged peak. Rising back up.

He almost whined at the lack of sensation until she latched onto his earlobe.

Oh fuck.

His eyes pulled shut. "Oh Gods, don't stop."

She suckled down hard, a little sweet whine directly in his ear. Her hands gripping his ass and pulling him into her harder. His cock throbbing and sliding wet against her.

One last nibbling suck and he was shattered.

Coming in stuttering cries, head thrown back. His pelvis contracting in great vicious jolts, spurting long ropes against her hip. Distantly aware of the sounds coming out of his lips.

"You with me?" She asked gently after a moment, pulling back. Kissing his face in light caresses.

Suddenly aware of his body again he realized his eyes had welled with tears.

"Ah, yes darling." He ruffled, trying to pull himself together with great effort. "I could actually go again."

She looked at him dubiously, a soft but amused smile on her swollen lips.

"I think you're lying." She purred, leaving a tender kiss on his already bruised neck.

He was. But he had a reputation to uphold.

"All out of moves? Dissapointing." He sighed.

"You're cute," She chided, coming back up to pull him into a searing kiss. "Biting off more than you can chew."

"Oh I've barely been sated, sweet thing. I'm starving."

"On your belly then." She whispered into his ear. Patting his thigh playfully.

"Well, wouldn't you like to be tasted?" He asked, confused. Surely she didnt intend to only pursue his pleasure.

"Hmm, maybe another night." She mused, truly seeming to mull it over.

What a strange creature.

"Are all sapphics like this?" He scoffed, letting her hands twist his waist. Hips up, bracing himself on his forearms.

"More than you'd think." She laughed, massaging his hips from behind.

"You know what you're doing back there?" He teased, shooting her a look over his shoulder.

"Hmm, different from what I'm used to. But I think I can translate." She eyed his backside playfully. "But dont hesitate to give me directions."

She leaned down and tongued gingerly at his hole.

His head fell forward, hands in fists.

"Well that's encouragement." She teased, tongue coming back. Moving in tight circles.

"Ah!" He moaned, pushing back into her.

Though he knew she was new to this she moved with practiced precision. He could tell she was very good at what she did on more feminine bodies.

"I heard this is a good spot." She murmured, her two fingers rubbing back and forth against his taint. The shudder that moved through him making her smile.

Tongue coming back to push slow pulsing heaven into him. Both sensations playing him like a fiddle. His fingernails digging into his palm.

Oh Gods it was too good. And still he needed more.

"Inside. One finger." He moaned into his arm.

She wet her finger inside her mouth, tested it in small circles around his entrance. Other hand still stimulating.

She pushed in gradually, pausing one knuckle deep. "Like this?"

"Yes," He panted. "Slowly."

"It feels so similar." She marveled, finger almost to the hilt. "How lovely."

He clenched at her words and heard a delighted giggle. "Even that! Oh!"

"If that's the same, then what about..." She curled her finger toward his navel.

He moaned loudly, buckling down.

"Oh yes," She smiled, beginning slow pulsing thrusts of her hooked finger. Other hand pushing more into his taint. Hitting his prostate from both sides.

A moaning writhing mess beneath her, he was completely gone.

"Oh how pretty, coming undone like this." She purred, leaning down to lick around her pumping fingers.

He knew he was not long for this world, the building pressure in his pelvis about to burst. Reaching around to grip her thigh with a bruising intensity.

"Such a good girl for me." She hummed.

He cried out, his end hitting him so hard he thought he would black out. A deep shuddering ripping through him. His whole world condensed to nearly agonizing waves of pleasure. Tears spilling down his cheeks he bit hard into his forearm. His cock forcing out what little he had left in him.

He collapsed comepletely flat into the ground, the damp earth holding him up.

She left his back momentarily, coming back with a cloth, wet from the river.

She pulled his slack body up to her chest, his back cradled into her. Softly wiping first his brow then working her way down.

"You dont ha-"

"This is part of it, love." She smiled, running her hand through his hair, cajoling it back into place. "You're getting the full experience."

He leaned into her, closing his eyes. Letting her bathe him clean. He knew future him would be screaming into his pillow at this but he was too blissed out to care.

"Thank you," She gave him one final wipe. Setting the cloth down and wrapping her arms loosely around his middle. "For trying this with me. For trusting me."

"You did everything and you're thanking me?" He laughed, still panting. "You're a strange woman, you know."

"If you're so insistent maybe you can do all the work next time." She pinched his side lightly.

Next time. The anxiety in his heart melting just for a moment. Oh thank the Gods.

"If Karlach doesn't beat you to it, that is."

"You're the devil."

She laughed against his back, his eyes getting heavy.

"Let's get you to your bedroll, we'll have a brand new day of bothering eachother tomorrow."

He would never admit it to her, but he was looking forward to it.

Part 2

#post nut clarity is going to hit him like a truck #babygirl you are sooo normal about her #astarion smut #astarion x tav #lyrics from: you know me too well - nothing but thieves

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