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lokigodofmyheart · 4 months ago

Text

INTOXICATED

Pairing: Severus Snape x Reader

Words: 2.4k

Summary: Lupin and Y/N are affected with sex pollen by accident and she goes to Snape for him to help her.

Warning/Content: smut, sex pollen.

MASTERLIST KINKTOBER MASTERLIST

She would kill Remus as soon as she fixes that. Great idea, why not open the suspect power he got from a student and smell it. Y/N groans, walking down the dungeons, hoping that Snape was still awake. Noting the light under the door of his classroom, she knocked softly before opening the door. There he was, working some potion when she entered.

Snape soon noticed Y/N entering, looking at her oddly. It wasn’t common for her to be there, especially that late. “Are you alright?” He asked, looking at her.

Y/N was sweating slightly, feeling her body warm and her face was probably red by now. She would kill Lupin for that, that’s for sure “No…”

He took notice of her flushed appearance and he immediately felt a sense of concern and a bit of confusion as he approached her slowly “What happened? Are you sick?” He asked, trying to keep his voice neutral even as his worry for you grew.

“No...” Immediately, Y/N took a step back, not wanting to be close to him, especially in those...conditions. Oh, she would kill Lupin. “

Snape took another step forward once she took a step back, as a reflex. He paused at her taking a step back again, feeling more confused “Then why are you sweating?”

“I...” How would she tell him that? “Merlin, this is embarrassing...” Y/N looked down, trying to control her breathing and her mind, that kept telling for her to just forget everything and jump on the man right in front of her. And his deep voice wasn’t helping her case.

Snape tilted his head in confusion, his concern slowly turning into irritation “Spit it out, I don’t have all night.”

“So...” Y/N started “Lupin confiscated a small vial from a boy on his class... and he decided we should check it...”

“And?” His eyes darkened slightly as you mentioned Lupin, he disliked the man like the plague, and he had to hold back a scoff.

“And it had this kind of powder...”

Snape as getting even more irritated as she being proposedly vague in her answer “What powder?”

Y/N looked at her hands, ignoring his question “And we thought ‘hey, we should check this...”

He was starting to grow frustrated now, his patience wearing thin, as she ignored his question. He took a step closer, his voice growing a bit sharper “I asked you a question. What powder?”

She sighs, looking back at him “It was a pink powder...it seems like...like an aphrodisiac or something like that...”

“You’re joking…” He said, trying to remain composed as he looked at Y/N, his mind going over a thousand scenarios suddenly.

Y/N shakes her head, biting her lip before she spoke again “Yeah...funny thing though. Lupin accidently spilled on us and we end up inhaling it.”

If his eyes widened more, they would pop right out of their sockets. “You what.” He said lowly, his voice taking on a dangerous edge as he stared at her, his entire body growing rigid.

“We didn’t know what it was!” She quickly says in her defense, but she had to agree that it did sound stupid.

“Are you two idiotic?” Snape snapped, his voice now filled with a mixture of disbelief and annoyance. He couldn’t understand how two adults who worked at a school could be so careless, and honestly, neither did she. “Spilling and inhaling any form of powder without knowing what it is...You could have poisoned yourselves beyond repair!”

“It was an accident.” Cleary, she didn’t have much to defend herself and Lupin. It was stupid, but they didn’t think a student would have a poison. But considering some students...they should.

“If you would have been poisoned you could have died, you understand that, yes?” He asked firmly, his eyes never leaving her face, suddenly thankful she was still breathing.

Y/N sighs. Snape was right, like always. “Not our brightest moment, I admit.”

“Not your brightest moment?” He repeated, his voice taking on a mocking edge as he looked at her “You should know better. The both of you. Grown adults. Careless enough to do this.”

“Please, just tell me you have some potion that can help me with...this.” She looked at him, almost begging. The effects were worse by the moment, being here, with him, alone, wasn’t helping. His mind was racing to come up with any solution as she spoke the words, and he silently cursed the situation in his head. Cursing Lupin for being an absolute idiot, cursing Y/N for being so careless.

“You’re sure it’s an…aphrodisiac?” He asked lowly, narrowing his eyes slightly as he looked at her.

Y/N rolled her eyes at him “Yes. I’m very sure.”

He returned her eye rolling, his expression hardening “I’m just trying to make sure I give you the correct information. What are you feeling, exactly?”

“I’m feeling warm and...you know, aroused.” She says, her voice a little lower now. Snape whole mind went blank for a split second. He hadn’t expected her to be so straightforward with it, and he didn’t know how to handle it.

“Warm, and…aroused?” He echoed, his voice sounding hoarse as he spoke.

“Yes. Aroused.” She felt like he was doubting her? No, it was something else. “What else do I need to say? That I feel my panties soaked? That I just want someone to fuck me right on this moment so this will pass? That I feel like I’ll die if I don’t get a dick right now?”

His eyes darkened as she spoke, the words going straight to his body and making his mind fill with more thoughts he tried desperately to push down “No, there’s no need for that…” He said firmly, a hint of agitation in his voice as he clenched his jaw again. Merlin, why was this situation suddenly so much torturous for him?

Snape took a deep breath before continuing, trying to pull himself together “I’m not sure there’s a specific potion for this sort of predicament.”

Y/N groans frustrated, leaning against the wall. Great. He could practically see the frustration rolling off of her. He took another step toward her, despite feeling as though he should do the opposite “I’m trying to find a solution, have a bit of patience, will you?”

“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one affected by the aphrodisiac.” Y/N says a little sharp than she intended.

He couldn’t help the slight twitch of irritation that crossed his face as she snapped at him “Oh, forgive if you and Lupin can’t use a single brain cell to think that open an unknow powder would be a bad idea.”

Another sigh of frustration left her lips “I know, I know. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you. It’s just...hard to think right now.”

“It’s fine��don’t apologize, just give me a moment to think…” He was irritated, yes, but he also understood what she was going through.

She nods and put some more distance between them. “I feel like I’ll die if I don’t fuck.”

“That’s the effect of the aphrodisiac. I’m trying to find a way to help.” Snape was thinking of every potion he knows, every book he ever read about the subject but he couldn’t think of nothing to help her with the effects of the powder.

“You can help.” She says, looking at him. Yes, probably her brain turned to jelly right now for her to be saying that. But she couldn’t help, she couldn’t stand anymore what she was feeling, all the desire, all the lust she have for him taking over.

“How can I help?” He said, his voice suddenly sounding a bit huskier than before. He was starting to struggle with his own thoughts.

Y/N takes a few steps forward to him “You know how.”

His body tensed as he looked at her, the words sinking in, and he found himself torn between trying to fight his own thoughts and desires, or giving in to the situation “You know I shouldn’t…I’m your colleague...”

“I don’t care right now.” She says while her hands reach the buttons of his robes, opening one by one. A shudder traveled over his body as he felt her hands working on his black robe, her fingers slowly moving across the buttons. His heart began to speed up further, his breathing growing a bit harsher as he looked down at you.

“Merlin…” He breathed, his voice a strangled tone.

The robe had a lot of buttons, but soon she finished, discarding somewhere on the floor. She started opening the white button shirt. Snape no longer trying to fight against the situation. He knew there was no point, not anymore. And he wanted this. He wanted her. His shirt soon fell to the floor, leaving him in the undershirt and pants, feeling the heat in his body spreading over his body like wildfire as he stared at you.

“How many layers do you use?” She asks while she pulls the undershirt off his body, also discarding with the other pieces of clothes.

Snape couldn’t help a small chuckle at her question while she left him in just his pants now, before he spoke “Too many…I’m starting to regret that decision…”

Y/N was fast to pull all of her clothes off, she was desperate for his cock right now. She didn’t waste any time and soon she was naked in front of him pulling his pants down with his underwear.

He didn’t protest as she free him from the last pieces of clothing, his own eagerness to be free from the tight material fueling the movement more than his own actions. He was finally completely naked in front of her. Y/N pulled the potion master to a kiss, a messy and desperate kiss while their bodies were finally together.

His arms immediately wrapped around her, pulling her even closer to him as his tongue quickly made its way into her mouth, tasting her desperately.

A low moan left her mouth both from the kiss and from the feeling of his body against her. His hands began to roam over her body as the kiss continued, his touch desperate and hard as it slid over every inch of your skin. Her hands did the same. He started to maneuverer both of them towards his desk, his mind consumed by his need for her now that he has her right there.

He lifted her by her waist and placed her on the edge of the desk, his body pressing between her. Her hands kept exploring his body, until she stopped by his hard cock, slowly stroking him.

“Careful…don’t tease me unless you want this to end quickly…” Snape says, looking her with lust in his eyes.

“Merlin, no.” she chuckles softly before she wrapped her legs around him to pull him impossible closer. She then whispered on his ear “I need you now.”

A soft growl escaped him as his hands moved to her hips, pulling her closer against him as he positioned himself against her entrance. His eyes never left hers when he slowly entered her with ease.

Y/N moans, the feeling even more intense because of the effect of the powder. Snape’s mind went blank for a moment, his body shuddering against hers as he finally became completely enveloped inside her. He let out a strangled moan, struggling to keep any form of control as he starts to thrust.

“Faster.” She says with a small moan. She needed more. He didn’t respond verbally, but his body reacted automatically, his hips snapping against hers as he fastens his pace.

“Yes...”Y/N moans again as he speeds up his pace.

It didn’t take long for Snape starts feeling her tightening on him and he knew she was getting closer, and in that moment, he wanted nothing more than to hear she coming for him. He was breathing hard, his mind lost in the sensations as he continued to move against her, his pace growing faster and more desperate.

The sounds of their moans started to get louder as did the sound of their skin against each other. Y/N couldn’t hold back anymore. Her orgasm hit her harder than any time before. Her back arched and her eyes rolled from the intensity.

Snape felt the clenching around his cock and it didn’t take long for him to cum, spilling his hot seed on her.

The aphrodisiac finally stopped working as she tries to control her breath. She felt relief like she never felt before after being so affected by the powder. She finally found her voice to speak “Thanks...”

He looked at her as he pulls out of her, his breathing still coming out in harsh pants as he spoke “You’re…welcome…” Y/N suddenly started laughing, confusing Snape. It was almost absurd that a situation like this ended with her laughing, but here she was “What’s so funny?”

“I can’t believe you just fucked me on your desk.” She says between her laugh.

He chuckled, his expression still a bit amused “You find it funny that we did it on my desk…and not the fact that this whole situation occurred because you were affected by an aphrodisiac?”

“That too.” She says, chuckling and slowly getting off the table.

Snape chuckled again, watching as she slowly stood up. He quickly reached for his wand, cleaning the mess of the desk before speaking “I suppose this means the aphrodisiac is no longer a concern, then?”

Y/N nods, grabbing their clothes from the ground and giving his to him.

He takes his clothes back, a somewhat awkward feeling beginning to settle as he began re-dressing, not looking at her “And I assume you’ll want to forget this whole…situation, yes?”

She did the same with her clothes “I...”

As she spoke, he paused, his hands stilling at the button of his shirt as he finally looked over at her with a slight raise of his eyebrow “You what?”

Y/N looked at him, all dressed “It would be too bad if I said I don’t?”

Snape paused for a moment, his heart giving a slight flutter as he heard her words “Are you…saying what I think you’re saying?” She looked at him, apprehensive of his reaction. Maybe this was one side thing. He held her gave for a moment before walking over to her and kissing her. The kiss was different. It was more gentle, more soft. He finally pulled away, his hand coming up to play with a piece of her hair "Remind me to thank Lupin for being an absolutely moron."

#severus snape #severus snape x reader #severus snape x y/n #severus x reader #professor snape #snape fandom #snape smut #harry potter fandom #harry potter smut #kinktober 2024 #kinktober

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itneverendshere · 5 months ago

Note

ex!reader who loves the game and wants to support her team but hockey captain!rafe is on the ice. he thinks she’s there for him but when she comes in with a date? and when they get put on the kiss cam? rafe slams into the glass to scare them? hate sex????

someone who lets you break them twice - hockey!toxic!rafe x ex!reader (+18)

warnings: veryyy long and 99% smut🙂‍↕️ the things i do for you...

The cold air inside the rink always made your skin tingle. Your breath curled in front of you like smoke as you moved uncomfortably on the bleachers, pulling your jacket tighter around you. This is why you hated fall. It was too cold to be outside, too early to be winter. But tonight wasn’t about the weather—it was about hockey.

Hockey and, well, the fact that you hadn’t missed a game since… well, since Rafe and you broke up.

“Everything okay?” The voice beside you pulled you back to reality.

Elijah, the guy you’d been seeing for the past couple of weeks, smiled at you, oblivious to the bullshit taking over your mind, and you gave him your best smile back.

“Yeah, just cold,” you said, trying to focus. You weren’t here for Rafe, not anymore. You loved hockey. You loved watching the boys skate across the ice, their power and grace.

Or at least that was what you kept telling yourself.

Elijah wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer to him, and you leaned in, feeling his warmth. The game was just about to start, and the arena lights dimmed slightly, casting shadows over the rink. The roar of the crowd drowned your thoughts for a moment as the players took the ice.

And then, as if the universe was personally trying to screw with you, you saw him.

Rafe.

Of course, he looked good.

God, why did he always have to look so fucking good? His broad shoulders filling out his number 17 jersey, that stupid confident smirk as he skated out with the rest of the team. His dark blonde hair peeked out from under his helmet He was captain this year, and it made sense—he’d been working his ass off since…ever. You couldn’t think of anyone more deserving than him.

He always had to be in charge, on and off the ice.

He still had that same cocky swagger that made you wanna scream… for entirely different reasons now.

You knew better than to be here, yet somehow you ended up courtside anyway. Probably because you’d never let him run you out of your favorite game. Not even if he was captain now. This was your team, the one you’d been coming to see since before Rafe even knew what a slapshot was.

You sank further into Elijah’s side, forcing your eyes away from your ex. But it wasn’t until you caught the dark blue of the jersey you were wearing in the corner of your eye that you realized… You’d put on Rafe’s jersey.

His number. The one you’d always worn to support him when you were together. Out of all the team merch you owned, of course you had to wear his.

“You really like hockey a lot, huh?” Elijah asked, glancing down at your jersey.

“Yeah,” You mumbled, feeling your cheeks heat up. “I’ve been following the team for a while.”

Lies. You loved hockey, sure. But you loved Rafe a little more. Or, you used to. Or, well, maybe that was still complicated.

The puck dropped, and the game started. For a while, you tried to focus on the action. Rafe was all over the ice, playing like the goddamn superstar he thought he was. You couldn’t help but notice how his gaze kept darting up toward the stands, like he knew you were there. And maybe he did

Halfway through the second period, he slammed into an opposing player, sending him crashing into the boards. The sound echoed through the arena, and the crowd went wild, but you could feel your stomach knotting up. That had always been Rafe—intense, aggressive, unable to hold back. On the ice or off.

You tried to focus on Elijah, laughing at something he was saying, but your heart wasn’t in it. And then, just when you thought you’d survived the worst of it, the kiss cam flashed up on the big screen. Your laughter died in your throat as you realized what was happening, your face heating up instantly. You weren’t exactly embarrassed, but this was... awkward.

“Aw, how cute,” He said, grinning as he pointed to the screen.

You followed his gaze, heart dropping. They were zooming in on the two of you. You could feel the crowd around you start to cheer and whistle as Elijah leaned in closer, clearly getting ready to kiss you.

You could see him coming toward you, could see his lips getting closer, but all you could think about was—

Bang!

In the span of a second, a body slammed into the boards right in front you, the sound so loud it made you jump. The entire section gasped, and you turned your head just in time to see Rafe standing there, glaring up at you from behind the glass. His eyes were locked on you, jaw clenched.

He looked like he was ready to tear Elijah apart, or you, or both of you. His chest was heaving, eyes blazing, standing mere inches away from where you sat. He had skated right into the glass.

Your heart was practically in your throat, and it wasn't from Elijah being close. The look on Rafe’s face as he stood on the other side of the glass?

That was what had your pulse racing. You could barely focus on Elijah anymore. The way he laughed, oblivious, made your stomach churn because Rafe—Rafe—was staring like he owned you. He always had this way of making you feel like no matter what, no matter who else was around, you were his.

And you hated that you still kind of liked it.

Then, still staring at you, he mouthed the words, "I dare you."

Why couldn’t he just leave you alone?

Those stupid words. Silently mouthed, but somehow loud enough to hit you like a punch through the glass. I dare you. God, what was wrong with him? He knew exactly how to push your buttons. And of course, it was working. He wasn’t just playing hockey—he was playing with you.

You could feel Elijah shifting next to you, still oblivious to the whole freaking drama unfolding right in front of him.

He was so sweet, too sweet, and it was almost infuriating right now because Rafe was standing there, with his stupid intense eyes, all but daring you to move on. Why did he have to look at you like that—like he knew you were still his.

The breakup had been brutal, the kind of messy, loud explosion where neither of you were willing to be the first to walk away. You were both too stubborn, too prideful. And now here you were, months later, still dealing with the fallout.

Elijah finally leaned in, lips brushing yours, and you kissed him, but your heart wasn’t in it. All you could feel was Rafe’s stare burning into you. The kiss cam lingered for a few seconds, and the crowd cheered, but all you felt was... empty.

When the kiss ended, you forced a smile at Elijah, but your mind was a mess. Rafe’s eyes were still on you, and you could practically feel anger radiating off him, even through the thick glass.

You glanced down, avoiding his gaze, and tugged at the hem of his old jersey, suddenly feeling like you didn’t belong in it anymore. You leaned into Elijah, mostly out of spite at this point. You could practically hear Rafe’s teeth grinding from across the glass. Good. If he thought he could just walk around, acting like he owned the place—and you—then he deserved to stew in it a little.

But, of course, he wasn’t the kind of guy to just let something like that go. You watched as he skated back into play, but his eyes kept flicking up to where you sat, like he couldn’t stop checking to make sure you were still there. Still with Elijah. His shoulders were tense, movements a little too aggressive, like he was about to snap.

You tried to focus on the game again, but your mind kept drifting back to him. You hated this. You hated that he could still make you feel this way, even now, after everything.

After the fights, after the breakup, after swearing you were over him. Why was it so hard to let him go?

The third period started, and Rafe was everywhere, throwing his weight around like he had something to prove. And maybe he did. Every hit was harder, every pass sharper. It was like he was playing angry. And you couldn’t help but feel a little satisfied, knowing you’d gotten under his skin.

But then, with less than five minutes left in the game, things escalated. He slammed into one of the opposing players so hard that the guy went down, and the whistle blew immediately. The crowd was roaring, but Rafe didn’t back off. He stood over the guy, glaring down at him like he was ready to throw a punch.

"Jesus," Elijah muttered beside you. "What the hell’s his problem?"

You didn’t answer. You knew exactly what his problem was.

The ref skated over, shouting something at Rafe, but his eyes weren’t on the ref. They were still on you, even as the other guy on the ice slowly got back to his feet. The arena was buzzing, the crowd getting rowdy, and for a second, you thought Rafe was going to lose it right there. His fists clenched, jaw set—he looked like he was ready to drop gloves and start swinging.

And then he smirked.

It was that same cocky smirk you knew so well, the one he always flashed right before doing something reckless. The ref sent him to the penalty box, and he skated off, still with that fucking look plastered on his face. Your heart was racing, your body tense. Elijah had leaned back in his seat, totally unaware about everything.

“Man, that guy’s intense,” Elijah said, shaking his head, eyes still on the ice.

You didn’t answer. Intense didn’t even begin to cover it.

Rafe was sitting in the penalty box now, helmet off, running a hand through his hair like he didn’t just about murder a guy on the ice. You could feel his eyes on you, even from all the way across the rink. You hated it. You hated that he could still get to you like this.

The last few minutes of the game passed in an instant. You weren’t really paying attention anymore, not to the score, not to the plays. You were too busy trying not to think about Rafe, about the way he had looked at you. About the way it had made you feel.

When the final buzzer sounded, the crowd erupted in cheers. Elijah stood up, stretching, turning to you with a smile.

“Ready to head out?” he asked.

You nodded, forcing a smile. “Yeah, let’s go.”

As you made your way toward the exit, weaving through the crowd, you could feel the tension building in your chest. It wasn’t over. It never really was with Rafe.

And you knew—somehow—you weren’t getting out of here without seeing him again.

You reached the bottom of the stands, where a crowd had gathered near the exit. Elijah was still chatting about the game, still clueless. But you were distracted, scanning the crowd without even realizing it.

And then you saw him. Of course, you did.

Rafe was leaning against the wall, still in his gear, helmet tucked under his arm. His eyes locked on yours the second you stepped into his line of sight. He didn’t even pretend to care about the people around him—his gaze was dark, intense, like a predator waiting for its moment.

You hated how your heart skipped.

Elijah noticed you freeze and followed your gaze, his smile faltering when he saw Rafe standing there.

"Isn’t that the captain guy?" he asked, glancing between you and Rafe, confused.

You swallowed hard, forcing your feet to keep moving. “Yeah. That’s him.”

As you passed by, Rafe pushed off the wall, stepping right into your path. Elijah, sweet, unsuspecting Elijah, paused beside you.

"Leaving already?" Rafe’s voice was low, casual, but his eyes were locked on yours, ignoring Elijah completely. "Didn’t even stick around to congratulate the team?"

You clenched your jaw, fighting to keep your cool. "It’s late, Rafe. We’re heading out."

But he wasn’t letting you off that easy. He took a step closer, his towering frame making Elijah shift uncomfortably. "You didn’t used to leave so soon," he said, voice dripping with that familiar cockiness. "Used to be the last one out."

Because you’d always let him fuck you in the locker room.

Elijah cleared his throat, trying to stand his ground. "Uh, yeah, we’ve got plans after this."

Rafe’s eyes flicked to him for the briefest second, before landing back on you.

"Plans, huh?"

Your pulse was hammering, and you could feel the heat rising in your cheeks. Why did he always have to do this—why couldn’t he just let you go?

“Rafe, we’re done,” you said through gritted teeth, trying to hold on to the last shred of your composure. “You don’t get to pull this shit anymore.”

He glanced at Elijah briefly, his gaze cold and dismissive, then back at you. “You sure about that?” he asked, “Because it doesn’t look like it.”

You clenched your fists, nails biting into your palms as you tried to calm yourself. You didn’t need this right now. Not with Elijah here. Not after everything.

“Let’s go Elijah,” you said, tugging at Elijah’s arm, desperate to get out of there before things escalated. But Rafe wasn’t having it.

He stepped in front of you again, blocking your path like he had some kind of claim on you. And God, the worst part was—you weren’t sure he was wrong.

You glanced at Elijah, who was staring at the two of you like he had walked into the middle of a conversation he couldn’t quite follow. “Look, dude,” he started, awkwardly laughing, “I don’t know what this is, but—”

“It’s nothing,” you cut him off quickly, your voice tight. “Let’s just go.”

But Rafe wasn’t about to let it go.

“Yeah, Elijah,” His voice dripped with sarcasm. “It’s nothing.” His eyes flicked to you, dark and daring, and before you could stop yourself, you met his gaze with the same fire.

Elijah’s phone buzzed, and he pulled it out, frowning.

“Shit,” he muttered, distracted. “I’ve gotta take this call real quick. Give me a sec?” He stepped away, leaving you and Rafe standing there in the middle of the hallway, your body practically vibrating.

He was on you in an instant, grabbing your wrist and pulling you toward the locker room door.

“Rafe, what the fuck—” you hissed, but he wasn’t letting go.

You tried to resist, but something inside you broke down—the anger, the unresolved pull between you two. And maybe it was the way he still had that stupid hold on you, the way your body responded when you shouldn’t want it to.

Or maybe it was the fact that you’d never fully closed the door on Rafe.

He shoved the door open, pulling you inside the dimly lit hallway that led to the locker room. The second the door closed, you spun around, shoving him in the chest hard.

“You’re such a fucking asshole, you know that?”

Rafe barely flinched, his gaze smoldering as he crowded you against the wall.

“Yeah? You didn’t seem to think so when you were wearing my jersey tonight.”

“That was an accident.”

“Bullshit,” he growled, leaning in closer, so close you could feel the heat radiating off his body. “You knew exactly what you were doing. Bringing a date with you. Do you want me to kill someone?"

Your heart was pounding, and not just because Rafe had you pinned against the wall like he always fucking did— God, why did he have to be so damn close? The scent of his cologne mixed with the sweat from the game, sending your mind spiraling. He was overwhelming, and you hated it. You hated him for still making you feel like this.

“Get off me,” you snapped, but it came out weaker than you intended. The way his blue eyes were boring into yours, like he could see through all your bullshit, wasn’t helping.

Rafe’s smirk didn’t falter. If anything, it grew.

“C’mon, baby, don’t act like this wasn’t what you wanted. You show up, wearin’ my number, sitting there with some random guy like I don’t still own you.”

He stepped closer, caging you in completely. You pressed your hands against his chest, but it wasn’t like you were really pushing him away. And he knew it.

“You don’t own shit,” you spat, glaring up at him. But even as the words left your mouth, you knew you didn’t believe them. The truth was, part of you had always been his.

Rafe’s lips curved into a smug grin as if he could read every thought running through your head.

“Really? ’Cause from where I’m standin’, you’ve been thinkin’ about me all night.” His breath was hot on your skin, and you hated how much you wanted to close the distance between you.

Your jaw clenched as you tried to muster the strength to tell him to fuck off, to leave you alone, but he was right. As much as you tried to convince yourself otherwise, he was still in your head, under your skin. The way his body hovered over yours—it was like nothing had changed. Like you hadn’t spent the last few months trying to forget him.

His hand found your hip, fingers pressing into your skin through your jeans, and you felt your body betray you. You cursed yourself silently as heat pooled low in your stomach. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, didn’t want him to know how much power he still had. But damn it, he knew. He always fucking knew.

“I hate you,” you muttered. It was a weak defense, and you both knew it.

Rafe leaned in, lips brushing against your ear. “Yeah?” His voice was a low rasp that made your knees weak. “Funny, you never sound like you hate me when you’re under me.”

Your breath hitched, and you swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickened.

“Don’t—”

But he was already kissing you, hard and rough like he owned you, like you were his and his alone.

And the worst part? You kissed him back. His hands were on you, grabbing at your waist, pulling you closer until your bodies were pressed together. You wanted to shove him away, to slap that stupid look off his face—but your body had other plans.

This was so wrong, on so many levels.

You broke the kiss, gasping for air, but Rafe didn’t back off. He was staring down at you like you were his next meal, like he’d been starving without you.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” you bit out, trying to cling to some sense of control.

Rafe’s grin widened, wicked and knowing. He leaned in again, lips ghosting over yours. “We both know that's a lie.”

You clenched your fists, frustrated beyond belief. Frustrated at him, at yourself, at how easy it was for him to pull you right back in.

“Fuck you,” you hissed, but the breathless tone in your voice told a different story.

Rafe’s eyes darkened, the corner of his mouth lifting in that infuriatingly sexy way he always did.

“Oh, you will.”

And God help you—you knew he was right. That fucking arrogance. It crawled under your skin, set your blood on fire in ways it shouldn’t.

You wanted to punch him, shove him, do something to wipe that smug expression off his face. But instead, you grabbed his shirt, pulling him back toward you, kissing him with all the fury you felt.

His lips crushed against yours, and it wasn’t gentle—there was nothing soft or sweet about this. It was all heat and frustration, months of unresolved anger bursting out in one chaotic, messy kiss.

His tongue slipped past your lips, and you bit down, hard, just to remind him you weren’t going to make this easy. He groaned, low and rough, pulling back just enough to look at you, his gaze dark. "You always did like it rough."

Your fingers tangled in his hair, and you yanked him down, kissing him like you needed to get all of this out of your system. His hands roamed your body, possessive, rough, and you hated how much you craved him, like you were still his.

You weren’t his. You couldn’t be.

But every heated breath you took, every desperate movement your body made, was telling you otherwise.

When his lips moved down your neck, teeth grazing your skin, you gasped, tilting your head back as your resolve crumbled to pieces. He knew exactly what to do, how to make you fall apart, and it pissed you off that he still had that power.

His hands gripped your thighs, lifting you with ease, pressing you harder against the wall. Your breath hitched, the cold tile behind you making you gasp. His mouth was on you, hot and demanding, and for a moment, it was like nothing else mattered.

Not Elijah, not the fact that this was so damn wrong, not the months of hurt and anger you’d been holding onto.

There was only Rafe. The way he touched you, the way he kissed you like he was trying to stake his claim all over again. Like you hadn’t been apart at all.

"Tell me you don’t want this," Rafe muttered against your lips.

You bit down on your lip, trying to stop the words from spilling out. You did want this. You hated that you did, but fuck, you couldn’t lie—not to him, not to yourself.

“I—” You choked on the words, eyes meeting his, and for a split second, you thought maybe you’d find some kind of resolve, some way to pull yourself back from him.

But he wasn’t having it. His grip tightened, his mouth capturing yours again in a kiss so raw, it was borderline filthy. And that was it. Your last piece of control vanished, and you were lost in him all over again.

“Fuck,” you gasped, head spinning as his hands explored your body like he had every right to. Like you hadn’t spent months trying to break free of him.

Rafe pulled back just enough to smirk down at you, breathless and flushed. “Yeah, baby. That's what I thought."

His hands gripped your ass hard enough to leave bruises, you let out a frustrated, muffled groan, your fingers still tangled in his hair. It was a lot longer than the last time you’d seen him.

You could feel every inch of his muscle through the thin fabric of your shirt. It was suffocating in the best way, and you hated yourself for how much you wanted it.

How much you wanted him.

“You’re such an ass,” you gasped between kisses, your breath hitching when his mouth moved down to your neck. You felt him grin against your skin, the bastard.

“You say that like it’s supposed to stop you.” His voice was rough, low in your ear, and it sent a shiver down your spine. “But I don’t think it is.”

You were about to fire back, but his hands slid under your shirt, fingers grazing your skin, and whatever you were going to say was swallowed by the heat rushing through you. You hated that he still knew exactly how to get to you—how to pull you apart and leave you helpless against him.

“Rafe, this—” Your words were cut off when he bit down gently on your collarbone, sending a shockwave through your body. You clutched at his shirt.

“This what?” he taunted, pulling back just enough to look at you, his blue eyes intense. “This a mistake? Because I don’t think that’s what your body’s saying.”

You just glared up at him, trying to catch your breath. You hated that he was right. Again.

Always.

“I told you,” you managed to say, though your voice was shaky, “this doesn’t mean anything.”

Rafe’s grip on you tightened, and he leaned in, his lips brushing yours as he whispered, “You’re still here, aren’t you?”

Your heart was racing, and you could feel the heat of his breath on your skin. There was no denying it—you were here, and you weren’t leaving. Not yet.

Maybe not for a while.

And Rafe knew it.

His hands moved lower, fingers grazing the waistband of your jeans, and your breath hitched. This was dangerous territory. You knew that.

“Last chance,” he murmured, his lips ghosting over yours. “You want me to stop?”

You should’ve said yes. You should’ve shoved him away and walked out of there with what little dignity you had left. But instead, you kissed him again—harder this time, angrier, like you needed to prove something to yourself. And maybe you did.

He yanked your shirt over your head in one rough motion, and you weren’t gentle either, tugging at his jersey until it was off and tossed aside. His hands were everywhere—on your back, in your hair, slipping under the waistband of your jeans, pulling them down with the same reckless urgency you’d been feeling since you laid eyes on him tonight.

“I hate you,” you whispered as your nails dragged down his chest, leaving angry red lines in their wake.

Rafe just laughed, “No, you don’t,” he growled, his hands grabbing your hips as he settled you onto one of the locker room benches. “But keep telling yourself that.”

Your jeans hit the floor, and he wasted no time, his hands gripping your thighs as he positioned himself between your legs, pressing you down on the bench, his body heavy against yours.

Everything was messy, and rushed, like neither of you could get enough. Like you were trying to erase the months of distance, of frustration, in the way you kissed him back, bit his lip, tugged at his hair.

You hated how much you needed this.

“Still think this doesn’t mean anything?” Rafe rasped, his voice hoarse as he pressed his forehead against yours, breathless and wild.

You could barely think, let alone speak, but somehow, you managed to gasp out, “Positive.”

Rafe’s mouth moved down your neck, biting and sucking, leaving marks you knew would still be there tomorrow. “You’re such a fucking liar.”

It was wrong, it was toxic, but fuck—there was something about the way he touched you. And body, traitorous and weak, responded like it always had.

You were furious with yourself, with him, with everything, but the anger only made it all hotter, more intense.

His fingers brushed against the seam of your panties, teasing, barely touching you, but doing enough to have you drenched.

“You’re soaked,” he murmured, almost amused, slipping one finger under the fabric to run along your folds, barely dipping inside before pulling back out, "Was this all for Elijah?"

Sonofabitch.

“Stop talking,” you spat, but your voice was shaky, showing him the way you were falling apart under his touch. Rafe chuckled low in his throat, his finger moving back, this time slipping inside you, deep and slow.

You gasped, your head falling back as he began moving his finger, curling it inside you in just the right way. Your body responded immediately, hips jerking against him, desperate for more, but he took his time. He added another finger, stretching you out as his thumb rubbed slow circles over your clit, making your legs tremble beneath him.

He sped up, his fingers thrusting deeper, faster, hitting that spot inside you that made your mind go blank. “You’ve been wanting this, haven’t you? All those nights pretending you don’t think about me, but look at you now.”

Your nails dug into his shoulders, legs shaking as you felt yourself teetering on the edge, his fingers driving you closer and closer to the orgasm you so desperately needed.

His thumb pressed harder against your clit, sending shocks of pleasure through you. “Tell me how bad you need this.”

“Rafe—” you gasped, your hips bucking wildly against his hand. The tension inside you was coiled so tightly, so close to snapping. You hated him, hated yourself, but the words slipped out anyway. “I need it.”

He groaned, pleased, and that was all it took. He thrust his fingers harder, faster, until your body gave in completely. You hadn’t had a proper orgasm in months. Nothing could get you off properly. Your walls clenched around his fingers the pleasure tore through you. You cried out, your nails leaving half-moon marks in his skin as you trembled beneath him, lost in the sensation.

But he didn’t stop. He slowed down just enough to draw out every last bit of pleasure, his fingers still moving inside you as you rode out the aftershocks. When you finally caught your breath, he pulled his fingers out, his hand moving to cup your jaw, forcing you to look at him.

He shoved his pants down, not bothering to take them off completely, just enough to free himself. Your breath hitched when you felt him against you—hard, hot, and ready—and every rational thought you had left disappeared in that moment. He lined himself up, teasing you just enough to drive you crazy.

Before you could respond, he pushed into you in one hard, deliberate thrust. Your gasp turned into a low, breathless moan as your back arched, your hands gripping his shoulders for something to hold on to. The sensation of him stretching you, filling you, was overwhelming, almost too much, but exactly what you needed.

Rafe didn’t give you time to adjust. He pulled back and slammed into you again, setting a punishing rhythm that left you breathless, gasping for air.

There was nothing gentle about it, nothing tender.

His hands gripped your hips, fingers digging into your skin as he fucked you like he was trying to remind you who you belonged to.

And you hated how good it felt.

“You’re mine,” Rafe growled, his voice rough as he thrust into you, each movement deep and brutal.“Doesn’t matter who you’re with, doesn’t matter how much you try to deny it—you’ll always come back to me.”

“Shut up,” you hissed, but your body was betraying you as you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper.

He leaned down, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, “Tell me you haven’t been thinking about this every night since we ended.”

You couldn’t.

The words were right there, on the tip of your tongue, but instead, a moan escaped your lips as he hit that perfect spot inside you. Your body arched against his, and you cursed yourself for being so weak.

“Fuck,” you gasped, eyes squeezed shut as the pleasure built, every nerve in your body on fire.

“That’s what I thought,” Rafe growled, his pace quickening, the force of his thrusts making the bench creak beneath you.

The sound of the bench, the way his body pressed into yours so perfectly, the heat of his breath against your neck—it all made it impossible to think straight. You should have been disgusted with yourself for letting it get this far, for letting him have this kind of control over you.

“I fucking hate you,” you managed to gasp out between breaths.

Rafe chuckled, “Yeah? Then why do you sound like that, huh?” His voice was taunting, filled with the arrogance you hated, “This pussy still mine, huh?”

You loved the way he grabbed you like you were his, even though you’d sworn, sworn, you were done with him.

You were still in love, weren’t you? Even after all the shit, all the screaming matches, the nights spent crying because of him. That was the part that pissed you off the most.

Before you knew, his hands were flipping you over so fast your knees hit the bench before you could react.

“Rafe—mmh,” you gasped, but your words died in your throat when he shoved you forward, pressing your chest flat against the cold wood of the bench. You barely had a second to brace yourself before his hands were gripping your ass, spreading you open for him.

He didn’t give you time to catch your breath. He was already dragging the head of his cock through your wetness, teasing, knowing how much you wanted it, even if you wouldn’t say it.

You squirmed, hating how desperate you felt, hating how your body responded to him like this. “Fuck, Rafe, stop teasing—”

“You want more?” he cut you off, voice dark and dripping with arrogance. He slapped your ass, just enough to sting, and you yelped, your back arching instinctively. “You’re gonna have to beg for it.”

"Like hell," you spat back.

He leaned forward, his chest pressing against your back, his mouth right by your ear.

“You can act tough all you want, but I know how much you want this,” he gritted out, his cock sliding against your folds again, torturously slow. “I know how much you need it.”

Before you could snap back, he thrust into you hard, filling you completely in one brutal stroke. You cried out, hands gripping the edges of the bench, and Rafe didn’t even give you a second to adjust. He pulled out almost all the way before slamming back in, faster this time, deeper.

The angle had you seeing stars. The bench was narrow, forcing your legs closer together, making everything tighter, more intense. You couldn’t stop the way your body responded to him, hips moving back to meet his thrusts even though your mind was screaming at you to get a grip.

His hands gripped the fat of your ass, pulling you back onto his cock with every thrust, and the sound of skin slapping against skin filled the small room, mixing with your moans and his ragged breathing.

“God, you feel so fucking good,” Rafe groaned, his voice low and rough as he thrust into you, each movement hitting that perfect spot inside you, making your legs tremble. “So fucking tight for me.”

He pressed his thumb against your clit, rubbing in slow, deliberate circles that had you on the edge in seconds. You couldn’t stop the moan that ripped from your throat, your hips bucking wildly against him as the pleasure built, higher and higher until you felt like you might break apart.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” He rasped, his voice thick with lust. “I can feel it. Fuck.”

You tried to hold on, tried to keep some control, but it was useless. He knew exactly how to break you.

“I’m gonna come,” you gasped, your voice barely more than a whimper as you felt the pleasure rising fast, threatening to consume you.

“Do it,” Rafe growled, his fingers rubbing harder, faster. “Come for me, baby.”

And you did.

Your orgasm crashed over you so hard your vision blurred, your body shaking as the pleasure tore through you. You cried out, your walls clenching around him, and Rafe groaned, his grip on you tightening as he fucked you through it, relentless, brutal, until your entire body was trembling.

But he wasn’t done.

He pulled out suddenly, and before you could catch your breath, he yanked you up, turning you around. You barely had time to register what was happening before he lifted you up, your legs wrapping around his waist as he pressed you against the cold locker. His cock was back inside you in seconds, filling you again, and you moaned, the new angle sending jolts of pleasure through your already overstimulated pussy.

He pounded into you, his grip on your ass bruising, and you clung to him, nails digging into his broad shoulders as he fucked you against the lockers. The sound of metal creaking under the force of his thrusts only made it hotter, more desperate. You could feel another orgasm building, and you hated him for it—hated how easily he could pull them from you.

“You’re mine,” he growled, his voice rough as he buried his face in your neck, his teeth scraping against your skin. “You’ll always be mine.”

And you hated that some twisted part of you wanted it to be true.

Your legs tightened around him, pulling him impossibly closer, deeper, as if you couldn’t get enough of him.

And God, you couldn’t.

His grip on your ass was rough, bruising, but it only made you moan louder. You were on the verge again—your body still tingling from the last orgasm, but the way he moved inside you, the way his teeth grazed your neck, it had you spiraling toward another one, faster than you thought possible.

“Look at you,” Rafe groaned, lifting his head just enough to lock eyes with you. His pupils were blown wide with lust, a wild look on his face that sent a thrill down your spine. “Fuck, you love this, don’t you?”

You did. Because no matter how much you hated him, how much you wanted to hate him—there was a part of you that still belonged to him. A part of you that couldn’t walk away.

His lips were everywhere—on your neck, your collarbone, your jaw—and you couldn’t stop the sounds escaping your throat as he kept driving into you.

“Say it,” he growled, “Say you’re mine.”

You bit down on your lip, trying to hold it in, trying to fight back, but every nerve in your body was betraying you. The way his body fit against yours, the way he moved inside you, it was all too much. You were coming again, and you hated it.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and wild. “Say it.”

You wanted to spit in his face. But your body was telling a different story, hips bucking against him, legs tightening around his waist again.

“R-Rafe,” you whimpered, hating how weak you sounded, how desperate.

His smirk was infuriating, but fuck, it was hot.

“That’s what I thought,” he murmured, his pace quickening, each thrust deeper than the last. “You’re mine. Always have been.”

And then he slammed into you one last time, hitting that perfect spot inside you, and the orgasm tore through you, leaving you gasping and trembling in his arms. You cried out, head thrown back against the lockers as your body shook with the force of it, your nails raking down his back.

Rafe groaned, his grip on you tightening as he rode out your orgasm, his movements growing sloppier, more erratic. His forehead pressed against yours, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

“Fuck, baby,” he moaned, his hips jerking against yours as he finally let go, his release hitting hard. You felt the warmth of him spill inside you, as he held you against him, buried deep.

The second his breathing slowed and his grip on you loosened, reality came crashing back in.

What the fuck had you done?

You pushed at his chest, trying to put some space between you, but he wasn’t letting go that easily. His arms stayed wrapped around you, his body pressed against yours like he still had something to prove.

“Get off,” you muttered, your voice weak, but sharper than before.

He chuckled, that low, arrogant sound that drove you crazy. “That’s not what you were saying five minutes ago.”

You shot him a glare, shoving at his chest again, harder this time. “I’m serious, Rafe. Move.”

Reluctantly, he let go, stepping back just enough for you to slide off the locker and onto shaky legs. You stumbled a bit, and Rafe’s hand shot out to steady you, but you jerked away from him, pulling your jeans back up with shaky hands.

He leaned against the locker, smirking like he hadn’t just torn your world apart all over again. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

You wanted to scream at him, to throw something at his face. But instead, you grabbed your shirt off the floor, yanking it over your head as you tried to steady your breath.

“Good luck finding your date.”

Elijah. You’d come to the game with Elijah.

You shook your head as you zipped up your jeans and ran your fingers through your hair, trying to look somewhat presentable. You avoided looking at him, knowing that if you did, you’d see the smug satisfaction on his face that would only make you feel worse.

He pushed himself off the locker and took a step closer to you. You flinched, stepping back instinctively. “This can’t happen again.”

His smirk slipped for a moment as he looked at you. H e closed the distance between you in two strides, his hand reaching out to grab your wrist, pulling you toward him before you could react, “You’re choosing him?”

You yanked your wrist out of his grip, your heart racing as you forced yourself to take a step back, putting distance between the two of you, “You’re the one who chose yourself.”

His eyes darkened, searching your face, like he couldn’t believe what you’d just said. Maybe he thought he still had you wrapped around his finger.

“You’re the one who walked away,” you added, hating how your voice trembled, “So don’t act like I owe you anything.”

Rafe’s hand hovered like he was about to reach for you again, but he didn’t. “That’s not how I remember it.”

Your stomach twisted, “I’m not doing this anymore. I can’t—” You glanced at the door, feeling the weight of Elijah waiting for you. The one person who was good for you, who actually wanted to be with you.

But the worst part? You were still thinking about Rafe. Even after everything, you were still here, breathless, a mess because of him.

He took a step closer, his eyes locked on yours, and for a second, you thought he might apologize. Maybe say something real. But Rafe Cameron didn’t do apologies.

He raised an eyebrow, “Really?” His hand lifted, brushing a strand of hair out of your face in a gesture that was far too intimate, given everything that had just happened. “Then why are you still standing here?”

You flinched, stepping back. Why were you still standing there? You had no good answer, at least not one you were ready to admit.

“Go back to your date,” Rafe continued, his voice mocking now, “Pretend like he’s enough for you.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to keep the tears at bay. You couldn’t give him that satisfaction, not again. “You’re wrong.”

Rafe let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “I don’t think I am.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, throat tight, trying to push back the tears. This was all wrong. It was always wrong with Rafe, “Stop.”

It sounded like a plea—a plea for him to stop talking, stop looking at you like that, stop making you feel so small and yet so overwhelmed all at once.

Rafe sighed, stepping back just a fraction, and for a second, his gaze lifted. But it wasn’t enough. It never was. “I’m not trying to hurt you,” he said, his voice softer now, like that made a difference.

“You always do,” you shot back, finally meeting his eyes. The truth slipped out before you could stop it, and there it was.

His jaw clenched, "I don’t mean to," he muttered, his voice low. "You know that."

"Does it even matter?" You felt the bitterness rise in your throat, along with something else—something fragile and painful. "You still do it. Whether you mean to or not."

Rafe stayed quiet, and you hated that silence. He didn’t have an answer. He never did, not for this. Your fingers fumbled with the zipper of your jacket, something to keep your hands busy so you wouldn’t look at him, wouldn’t say something you’d regret. But regret was already everywhere, suffocating you both.

“I thought we were past this,” you said finally, barely more than a whisper. “I thought I was past this.” But clearly, you weren’t. Clearly, some part of you was still here, with him, in the wreckage you’d both created.

He ran a hand through his hair, looking frustrated, torn. “It’s not that simple.”

"It should be." Your voice cracked. You hated how much this hurt. How much he could still hurt you.

It wasn’t fair. You weren’t supposed to still care this much. You weren’t supposed to still feel this.

Rafe sighed, taking another step back, giving you space. But it wasn’t the kind of space you wanted. It wasn’t the kind that would make things easier. “I don’t know what you want from me,” he admitted quietly, his eyes searching yours for something he couldn’t find.

You swallowed, the lump in your throat making it hard to breathe. "I don’t want anything from you."

That was the truth, or at least it was supposed to be. You didn’t want anything he had to offer, not anymore. Not when every time you reached for it, it slipped through your fingers like water, leaving you emptier than before.

But there was still that ache, that feeling between you two, the one that dragged you back here even when you knew better. You wished you could kill it, cut it out of you like some infected part, but it was tangled too deep. And maybe a small part of you didn’t want to.

“You keep saying that,” he murmured, his voice almost tender, like he was seeing right through you. “But you’re still here.”

“I don’t know why,” you whispered, blinking back tears. Fuck, you hated this. Hated how vulnerable you felt, how easily he could unravel you, even now. “I shouldn’t be.”

He didn’t say anything, just stood there, watching you, like he was waiting for you to make the next move. Like he wanted you to figure it out on your own.

But you didn’t know how. You never did when it came to him.

"I’m sorry," he said, and this time, it felt real. There was no arrogance. Just Rafe, standing there, as broken as you felt. "I don’t know how to fix this."

You let out a bitter laugh, wiping at your eyes with the back of your hand. “There’s nothing left to fix, Rafe. We’ve already destroyed it.”

His face twisted, like he didn’t want to believe it. Like he was still holding onto some small piece of hope. "We could—"

"No," you cut him off, shaking your head. "We can’t."

You couldn’t keep doing this. The push and pull, the endless cycle of hurt and apologies that never really fixed anything. You couldn’t keep pretending that something would change, that he would change.

Because you both knew he wouldn’t.

He took a breath, exhaling slowly, and you could see it—the realization sinking in.

He knew it too. "I never wanted to lose you," he admitted quietly.

You swallowed hard, your chest tight. "You already did."

1K notes · View notes

little-jana · 2 months ago

Text

"She Said No"

Pairing: Spencer Reid x f!reader

Genre: fluff

Warnings: jealous Spencer, a guy flirting with reader, kissing

Words: 1.5k

Summary: After a case, a guy starts flirting with the reader. Spencer doesn't like that at all.

The bar was crowded, buzzing with music and voices overlapping in a chaotic harmony. The team had chosen this place to unwind after a long case, and though it wasn’t my scene, I didn’t want to be the only one to say no. I figured a couple of hours with a fruity drink and good company couldn’t hurt.

I stuck close to the bar while the others scattered—Garcia dragged Morgan to the dance floor, JJ and Will found a quieter corner to chat, and Emily and Rossi were already laughing over glasses of whiskey. Spencer was somewhere, probably lost in thought or nursing a single beer, but I couldn’t spot him right away.

I was halfway through my drink when a man slid into the seat beside me. I didn’t notice him at first, too busy scanning the room, but his voice broke through the noise.

“Looks like you’re flying solo tonight.”

I glanced at him, startled by his sudden proximity. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and wore an expensive suit that clashed with the casual vibe of the bar. His confidence was palpable, his smile overly polished.

“Not exactly,” I replied politely, lifting my drink. “I’m here with friends.”

“Friends?” he asked, leaning closer. “So, not a boyfriend?”

I frowned, my grip tightening around my glass. “No, just friends.”

“Good,” he said with a grin. “That makes this easier.”

I blinked, caught off guard. “Excuse me?”

He gestured to the bartender to get me another drink, ignoring the confused look on my face. “You looked like you needed some company. A guy like me can’t let a girl like you sit here all alone.”

My polite smile faltered. “I’m fine, really. But thanks.”

“Come on,” he said, undeterred. “It’s just a drink.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but before I could, a familiar voice cut through the tension.

“She said no.”

I turned, surprised to find Spencer standing just behind me. His hands were shoved into his pockets, but the tightness in his jaw and the sharpness in his eyes told a different story.

The man raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “And who are you?”

“I’m her friend,” Spencer replied evenly. His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried a weight that made the man pause. “And she’s not interested.”

“Friend, huh?” the man said, smirking. “Doesn’t seem like you’re her type.”

Spencer didn’t react to the jab, his expression calm but unyielding. “She already gave you her answer. I suggest you walk away.”

The man chuckled, shaking his head. “Whatever, man. Good luck.”

He turned and disappeared into the crowd, leaving me standing there, my heart racing.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I said, glancing up at Spencer.

“Yes, I did,” he said, his gaze still fixed on where the man had walked off. “He wasn’t listening to you.”

“I had it under control,” I insisted, though my voice lacked conviction.

Spencer turned to me then, his hazel eyes softening. “I know you did. But he had no right to put you in that position.”

There was something in his tone that made my breath catch. It wasn’t just protective—it was possessive in a way I’d never seen from Spencer before.

“Why does it bother you so much?” I asked, my voice quieter now.

He hesitated, his eyes darting away. “It doesn’t.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Really? Because it seemed like it did.”

His jaw tightened, and he let out a quiet sigh. “I didn’t like the way he was looking at you,” he admitted. “Like you were… something to win.”

My heart fluttered, and I took a step closer to him without thinking. “And how do you look at me?”

He blinked, caught off guard by the question. For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Then, finally, he sighed.

“Like someone I don’t deserve,” he said softly.

My breath caught, and I felt my cheeks flush. “Spencer…”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “I just… I couldn’t stand there and watch him treat you like that. I couldn’t.”

The words hung between us, heavy and charged. I didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to process the warmth spreading through my chest.

Before I could respond, Morgan’s voice broke the silence. “Hey, Pretty Boy, you good?”

We turned to find the rest of the team watching us, their curiosity evident. Morgan raised an eyebrow, clearly picking up on the tension.

“Yeah,” Spencer said quickly, stepping back. “We’re fine.”

Morgan didn’t look convinced, but he let it go, turning back to the others.

When we were alone again, I turned to Spencer, my heart still racing. “Thank you,” I said softly.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he replied, his voice quiet.

“I know,” I said, smiling. “But I want to.”

He smiled back, that shy, boyish smile that always made my heart ache.

“Can I walk you out?” he asked.

I nodded, and as we stepped out into the cool night air, I couldn’t help but feel like something had shifted between us—something I wasn’t ready to let go of.

As Spencer and I stepped into the crisp night air, the hum of the bar faded behind us, replaced by the distant sounds of the city. The cool breeze brushed against my skin, sending a slight shiver through me, but it wasn’t just the cold that made my chest feel tight. Spencer walked beside me, his hands tucked into his pockets, his head slightly bowed. There was a quiet tension between us, a palpable shift that neither of us had dared to fully acknowledge.

“Spencer,” I said softly, breaking the silence.

He glanced at me, his hazel eyes warm but uncertain. “Yeah?”

“I meant what I said earlier. Thank you.” I stopped walking, turning to face him. “Not just for stepping in tonight, but… for always looking out for me.”

He stopped too, his gaze locking with mine. “You don’t have to thank me for that,” he said, his voice low. “I’d do it a hundred times over.”

The sincerity in his words sent a wave of warmth through me, and for a moment, I forgot about the chill in the air. “You mean that?”

“Of course I do.” His voice was steady, but his expression softened, as if he were letting a part of himself show that he usually kept hidden. “You mean… so much to me.”

My breath caught in my throat. He’d always been careful with his words, always measured. But there was nothing calculated about the way he was looking at me now, like he was on the edge of saying something that could change everything.

“You mean a lot to me too, Spencer,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

He smiled, that shy, vulnerable smile that made my heart ache. “You know, I’m not… the best at expressing how I feel. But tonight, when that guy wouldn’t leave you alone…” He paused, running a hand through his hair, clearly searching for the right words. “It made me realize I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel this way about you. I can’t keep pretending I don’t—”

“Spencer,” I interrupted gently, stepping closer to him.

He froze, his eyes searching mine. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to make this awkward or ruin anything, but I—”

“You’re not ruining anything,” I said, cutting him off again. “I promise.”

He blinked, his mouth opening and closing as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

So, I took the leap for both of us. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted you to say something like this?” I asked, my cheeks warming as I admitted it out loud.

His eyes widened slightly. “You have?”

I nodded, a soft laugh escaping me. “You’re kind of oblivious, you know that?”

A small, embarrassed smile tugged at his lips. “I’ve been told that before.”

I stepped even closer, so close that I could feel the warmth radiating from him. “You don’t have to be afraid, Spencer. I feel the same way.”

The tension between us seemed to shift then, no longer heavy with uncertainty but something lighter, warmer, filled with hope. He let out a breath he must have been holding, and his shoulders relaxed slightly.

“Can I—” He hesitated, his voice trailing off.

“Yes,” I said softly, not needing him to finish the question.

He didn’t move right away, his eyes scanning my face as if committing every detail to memory. Then, slowly, he reached out, his hand brushing against my cheek. His touch was gentle, almost hesitant, but it sent a shiver down my spine.

And then he kissed me.

It was soft at first, tentative, like he was still afraid of crossing a line. But as I leaned into him, threading my fingers through his hair, the kiss deepened. There was something intoxicating about the way he kissed—equal parts tender and desperate, like he’d been waiting for this moment just as long as I had.

When we finally pulled apart, we were both breathless, our foreheads resting against each other. His hand was still on my cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against my skin.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

I smiled, my heart swelling at the vulnerability in his words. “You don’t have to do anything, Spencer. You’re enough just as you are.”

His eyes searched mine, and for the first time, I saw something in them I’d never noticed before—hope.

“I don’t want this to change anything,” he said quietly. “I don’t want to lose what we have.”

“You’re not going to lose me,” I promised, my voice steady. “This just makes what we have even better.”

He smiled then, a genuine, unguarded smile that made my chest feel warm. “I don’t know how I got so lucky.”

I laughed softly, brushing a strand of hair out of his face. “I think I’m the lucky one.”

We stood there for a while, wrapped in the quiet of the night and the warmth of each other. The world around us seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of us in this perfect, fragile moment.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, I wasn’t afraid of what came next.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds one shot #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid fanfiction #matthew gray gubler

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pathologicalreid · 4 months ago

Text

lock and key | s.r.

in which an act of violence - and subsequent serious injury - brings the truth to the surface and initiates a change

margotober masterlist

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: abduction, car accident, knife, stabbing, stabbing with knife, greek mythology, jareau!reader, rewrite of 8x12 "zugzwang" (just because maeve isn't here doesn't mean i'm letting spencer get by trauma-free), the girls who get it, get it, secret relationship, hospitals, not proofread, yes the zugzwang thing gets dropped but that's because it was never the kidnapper it was always the replicator, did i miss something probably but i can't see straight rn word count: 4.86k a/n: i rewrote this entire fic because i decided i didn't like it two hours before it was supposed to go up. and now here we are. almost 5k words later. it's 2:30 a.m. going back to my jareau!reader roots and rewriting an entire episode.

He frowned at the text that you’d just sent him. Just one word, a chess term. Spencer wasn’t entirely sure you knew what it meant, more so, he wasn’t sure why you’d text it to him at seven-thirty in the morning.

He’d expected you to beat him to the office this morning, knowing you left his apartment before the sun had the chance to rise so you could get a fresh change of clothes and repack your go bag. Your apartment was closer to Quantico, so it wasn’t presumptuous of him to assume you would make it there first.

Spencer stood corrected when he walked in, finding your desk completely devoid of your active presence. He looked around for you briefly, knowing you sometimes liked to catch up on sleep in JJ’s old liaison office when you were the first to arrive in the morning, but all he found was your sister, a scowl on her face while she spoke with Hotch in his office.

The two of them noticed him lurking, Hotch opening the door and nodding at him in greeting, “Let’s meet in the roundtable room, Garcia’s waiting for us.”

“What’s going on?” Spencer asked, following them around the walkway to the briefing room, only receiving a shake of the head from JJ in response.

Penelope looked disturbed in a way that Spencer hadn’t seen her in years. That much made sense to him, the only reason Hotch would start a briefing before the rest of the team got here was if there was a case that matched the level of urgency. “This morning the FBI system was tripped because Y/N’s location was glitching. It flashed from Los Angeles to Moscow to Cancun until finally settling on an unmarked location somewhere in this general area.”

Spencer frowned, looking at the map that was being displayed on the screen in front of him, “That’s nearly eight hundred miles of ground to cover.”

Sighing, Garcia nodded, “Because of whatever the UnSub did to hack into the locator in her phone, we can’t get an accurate location. I’m working on refining it, but that could take hours.”

A pit settled in Spencer’s chest as he looked over at JJ, a dark, hollow look on her face as she stared at her phone. He couldn’t commiserate with her—nobody knew the two of you were even dating. “JJ,” Hotch spoke up, “You were the last person to see her before you left yesterday, did she say anything about going to meet someone or do anything?”

JJ blinked in confusion, “No, she didn’t tell me about any plans or…” Her voice trailed off, “I think she was seeing someone knew. She’s been acting different, being cagey about plans.”

Blake and Rossi walked into the bullpen, their arrival catching Hotch’s attention as he stepped out of the roundtable room to speak with them. Spencer followed, “Hotch.”

“I know, Reid,” he said, holding his hand up in a waiting gesture. Of course, he did, because in your tirade to hide your relationship from the general public, you had insisted on telling Hotch, wanting to get the HR paperwork out of the way.

Spencer sighed, the pit in his chest growing exponentially as he turned back into the roundtable room, slipping his phone out of his pocket and handing it to Garcia, “I got a text this morning from Y/N,” he explained, his eyes following his teammates as they filtered into the room. “It came in after her phone’s location was hacked.”

Shaking her head, JJ looked over at Spencer, “Why would she text you first thing in the morning?”

He shrugged in response, “I’m not entirely sure,” he half-lied. “I do know what the word used in the message means. Zugzwang. It’s the term used in chess when a player realizes they’ll inevitably be checkmated.”

“When did the two of them break up?” Hotch asked, looking over at JJ for the answer to his question.

They were headed to speak with your ex-boyfriend, there was nothing they had found that would implicate him in your disappearance, but it was the best chance they had at a lead. Spencer bit his tongue to stop himself from revealing the answer.

JJ hummed, “A while ago, a year maybe? She didn’t really talk about it, one day, she just stopped bringing him up.”

Sixteen months, nearly to the date, it was a few days past at that point since the night you’d called Spencer in tears, needing him to pick you up from the same house that the SUV was pulling up to now. The two of you had been together for nearly a year, on and off again, before he finally snapped.

Some of the things he said to you were things that you’d never repeated, even to Spencer. Pulling into the driveway made him feel sick to his stomach as he recalled the way you cried in his apartment that night.

“Reid?” JJ’s voice broke through his reminiscence, she had already gotten out of the car, standing outside and waiting for Spencer to step out before the three of them approached the porch.

He reached into his pocket for his credentials, staying at the back of the pack while Hotch knocked on the door before pulling his badge out. Your ex-boyfriend opened the door, “Hello?” He was confused, rightfully so—it wasn’t every day that a group of FBI agents showed up at your front door. He eyed Hotch and JJ before he met Spencer’s eyes. Garrett’s eyes narrowed, “You.”

Hotch’s head snapped to the side, glaring at Spencer for a moment before facing forward, “Garrett Graves?” The Unit Chief’s voice was commanding, staring at your ex with a preconceived notion that your relationship had fallen apart because of him. He was the leader of the team, and he took any attack against the members of his team personally.

“Yes?” He said, obviously bewildered at the sight of the agents on his porch, “Where’s Y/N?”

Crossing her arms in front of her chest, JJ looked up at Garrett, “That’s what we’d like to ask you.”

Spencer had to give him credit, Garrett looked absolutely stunned at your sister’s revelation, but nothing that Spencer knew about him led him to believe he’d act innocent if he was truly guilty. He had the personality type that would confess to the abduction but lead the BAU on a wild goose chase from an interrogation room.

No, the person who had you didn’t want to be caught, and he didn’t want the team to find you. This interview would be a waste of his time, there was absolutely no information about you that Garrett could provide. Spencer knew every important, esoteric detail about you—your ex-boyfriend wouldn’t have anything useful for him.

Garrett peered back at Spencer, “I’m sure anything you want to know, he can tell you,” he said, bitterness altering his tone.

Hotch looked over his shoulder to Spencer, “Why don’t you sit this one out?”

Ignoring the fact that he had just been told to kick rocks, Spencer retreated to the SUV, shoving his hands in his pockets and leaning against the passenger door while JJ and Hotch were invited inside the house. He hoped you weren’t somewhere outside, the temperatures dropped to below freezing at night this time of year, and he didn’t remember you wearing a jacket when you left his apartment this morning.

Finally alone—away from your sister, at least—Spencer had a moment to process the reality of his situation. You were missing, likely abducted as a result of your job, and he didn’t even have an exact time to go off. His chest felt tight in a way it hadn’t in years, the sheer joy of knowing he had you in his life felt like it was fading away because he didn’t have you. He had no idea where you were, and for a brief moment, he considered the fact that the loss of you might kill him too.

You were the only one who knew how to bring him back down to earth anymore. Snapping him back to reality whenever he started to spiral.

This time, the sound of his phone ringing pulled him out of his Charybdis of fear, “Hello,” he answered the phone, holding the device to his ear as he pretended the last five minutes of thought had never happened.

“Hey, kid,” Derek greeted over the phone, an unavoidable solemn note in his voice. “Garcia managed to track down Y/N’s car, it’s down on a side street, it looks like she was avoiding the highway.”

Spencer looked down at his shoes, “The exit that she needs to take to get to her apartment closes for construction at night.” The explanation flew from his mouth before he could remember that he wasn’t supposed to know that, but his brain was moving at an altered pace right now, unable to think past anything other than finding you.

The other line was silent for a moment, “Right,” Derek said doubtfully. “It looks like someone rear-ended her,” he noted, the sound of cars rushing by cluing Spencer into the traffic.

“That time of night on that road it would’ve needed to be on purpose, there’s no reason to be following someone that closely on an empty street,” Spencer processed the information, pulling up a map in his head of the area where your car was. “So, it was a bump and grab,” Spencer thought aloud, it wasn’t a particularly sophisticated crime, but with all of the other evidence, he hadn’t expected it to be.

Morgan reaffirmed his suspicions, “I’m surprised she wasn’t more on edge that early in the morning. What do you think she was doing all the way out here anyway?”

His stomach churned; you had been leaving his apartment. It was his fault you had been out there at that time. “It was early, her inhibitions were down, she was probably tired,” he rambled off. “Besides, you heard JJ, she thinks she has a boyfriend,” he bit out.

“Uh huh,” Derek responded, “And what do you think about that?”

Leaning his head back, Spencer stared at the sky, “Did you find her phone? Was it in the car?”

There was no way Derek didn’t get why Spencer ignored his question, but he moved on anyway, “Yeah, that’s the other thing. There’s no sign of that text message.”

Another mystery to add to the plethora, Spencer closed his eyes and sighed, “Thanks for letting me know.”

“Kid,” Derek said, stopping Spencer from hanging up, “Why did the text go to you and not JJ? Wouldn’t that make more sense?”

Spencer paused, staring at the backs of his eyelids, “I’m not sure.” His answer, at least, was mostly truthful. It would make sense for the message to have gone to JJ, but JJ wouldn’t have understood the meaning.

That meant the person who sent the message likely knew about you and Spencer’s relationship, and that did very little to comfort him.

Helpless was not a term that Spencer liked to use to describe himself, but as the orange glow of the sunset sept into the BAU, he was beginning to feel that way. You were still missing, and with every passing moment, Spencer knew that the statistics grew increasingly bleak.

Stepping away from his computer monitor, Spencer made his way to the bathroom, he didn’t need to use it, but the silent hum of the fan was better than the constant chattering in the bullpen. Everyone imaginable had been pulled in on this case, everyone wanting to pitch in to find a missing FBI agent, but not for the first time, Spencer wished everyone would just shut up.

Turning on the tap, he cupped his hands under the water and splashed his face, focusing the cold water on his eyes, hoping they could hone his focus. He tore a paper towel from the dispenser and pressed it into his face as the door swung open, the familiar tapping of boots sounded from behind him until they stopped.

“You know, from my count, it’s been about eight months,” Rossi said, meeting Spencer’s eyes in the mirror, his hands in his pockets as he raised his eyebrows, waiting for a response.

Sighing, Spencer turned off the water, “Nine,” he corrected, foregoing his usual habit of providing more precise time frame. He wasn’t surprised that Rossi had it figured out, he always did, but still, he asked, “How did you figure it out?”

Rossi shrugged, watching as Spencer moved to throw away the paper towel, “I am very good at my job.”

Spencer laughed, a mixture between a laugh and a scoff as he looked in the mirror just to find that he still looked like a disaster. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do,” he confessed, the first time he had let his desolation truly show to any member of the team.

“You’re gonna go back out there, and we are gonna do what we do best,” Rossi insisted, “We help the people who need us.”

Nodding, Spencer took a deep breath before heading back out to the bullpen, following Penelope through the glass doors as the technical analyst made her way over to JJ. It shouldn’t bother him that everyone went to JJ first, but it did, even though no one knew any better. “Does the last name Delphino mean anything to you?”

JJ frowned in response, “No, why—should it?”

His lips parted, not worrying about holding himself back, “Paul Delphino is the name of Y/N’s next-door neighbor.”

Garcia made a dinging noise, quickly moving on to continue her explanation, “Paul Delphino did not show up for work this morning. Why is this significant? His family, the Delphinos, owns a lot of commercial property in the DMV and a suspicious 911 call just came in from one of those properties stating that there’s a light on in a building that is slated for demolition tomorrow. The caller said they heard screaming coming from the building.”

Hotch looked around at the team, “Morgan contact SWAT. JJ, Morgan, you’re with me, Blake, Reid, with Rossi. Garcia, send the address to our phones.” Everyone was already moving as he distributed orders, heading to the elevator, and getting one step closer to you.

He’s been watching you for months. From the exact moment he moved into the apartment next to yours, Paul declared himself your soulmate. You recognized his name when you first met, and it came up in one of your late-night Wikipedia binges. Paul Delphino was a member of a disturbingly wealthy family, up until his parents disowned him for suspicious cash transactions.

Your head hurt like hell, drips of blood were encrusted along your hairline, and you were fairly convinced that you were dying. Your vision blurred around the edges when you followed the noise of your captor around the room with your eyes, your body slightly suspended in the air by your arms, standing on your tiptoes to prevent too much strain on your shoulders.

Seeking comfort in your memory, you remembered this morning, kissing your sleepy boyfriend as he tiredly asked you to stay, but you needed to go back to your own apartment. You told him you loved him, which was the truth, but you needed a morning with your things.

If needing a morning with your things led to an untimely demise, then at least the last thing you told Spencer was that you loved him.

Long, unending scratches ran down your arms and legs, they weren’t deep enough to scar, but as they scabbed over, they began to itch. Cuts and scrapes weren’t going to kill you, but the knife in your abdomen likely would.

You tried to keep yourself as still as possible, your personal experience with stab wounds was lackluster, but you knew that the blade could be preventing any further bleeding. You weren’t sure if you should be grateful that Paul couldn’t get it up, seeing as he elected to stab you for a sexual release.

The black of your t-shirt concealed any blood on your torso, so you weren’t sure exactly how much blood you’d lost, but judging by the way the world was losing its color, things weren’t looking good for you.

You breathed out slowly through your nose, watching Paul pace back and forth in front of you, faint lantern light being the only thing illuminating whatever hellscape you were in. “Paul,” you said, your voice nearly a gasp, “I need help.”

At this point, you had no idea what your plan was, seriously considering asking him to let you heal so that he could come back and stab you again in a few weeks. What else did you have to offer him? He scoffed in response, continuing his pacing until his steps faltered and he stalked over to you, causing you to flinch. “Did you call them?”

You groaned in pain, “Who the fuck could I have called?” You yelped like a wounded animal when he pulled the knife from your stomach.

He pointed the knife at your face, the metallic tang of your own blood filling your nostrils as you fought off a wave of nausea. “Why would you call the FBI on me?”

Tears flooded your eyes at his words. My sister’s here, you thought to yourself. Spencer’s here. “I didn’t,” you choked out, trying to remember how to breathe while you were dying.

Paul’s head snapped to look behind him, the rustling of SWAT and agents scaring him enough that he dropped the knife to the floor before taking off, leaving you alone in the room for someone to find.

Grunting, you tried to free your hands on your own, but you no longer had the physical strength to do anything except for hang. Tipping your head back in an attempt to keep your airway open, you called out, “JJ!”

You never thought the sight of your sister’s blonde ponytail would make tears run down your face, but as soon as she made her way into the room, saltwater left marks on your blood-stained face. “He went that way,” you jutted your head to the side, watching as the people in front of you stayed true to themselves. JJ ran off to chase Paul, and Spencer holstered his weapon to help you down.

“Hey,” he whispered, holding you while a SWAT member used a knife to undo your restraints, and Spencer caught you before your legs had a chance to give out.

You looked around the room, Morgan had gone with JJ to play cat and mouse, but Blake stayed behind with Spencer while they tried to get you sorted out. Everyone else would panic, announcing to the rest of the room that you were seemingly very slowly bleeding out would send the space into a frenzy, so you didn’t.

Spencer draped an FBI jacket over your shoulders, one of the spares that was kept in the SUVs.

“I need help,” you mumbled, your lips barely parting as you tried to save your strength to walk to an ambulance. “Spence,” you gasped, using your own hand to apply pressure to the wound.

He nodded, instinctively pressing a kiss to your forehead, “I know, I know.” His voice was tight, and you hated yourself for doing this to him.

Groaning, you shook your head, “I’m bleeding,” you murmured, watching as realization set into his features, wavering between horror and determination, Spencer nodded at you.

“Reid?” Blake called after the two of you, now noticing the drops of blood that were where you were standing, now being tracked through the building by your shuffling footsteps.

Spencer didn’t answer her, his attention was entirely on you as he kept you upright, bringing you closer and closer to the flashing lights of the ambulance. The cold of the night burned your nose as the fresh air gave you a new sense of determination, matching Spencer’s. “I’m sorry,” you told him, but you weren’t sure he could even hear you as you approached the ambulance.

“You need to get her to a hospital,” Spencer insisted once the EMTs were in earshot, his chest heaving as your feet dragged more and more with every step. “Please,” he begged them, helping you onto a stretcher before hauling himself into the rig, a one-track mind thinking of nothing else other than getting you the help that you need.

Fifty-fifty were the odds that you gave yourself once you found a firm enough grasp on consciousness. There was a fifty percent chance you were going to open your eyes and be met with the harsh fluorescence of a hospital. There was a fifty percent chance that bastard Minos was going to send you straight to the Fields of Punishment.

You changed your bets once the scent of antiseptic burned your nostrils, you flinched at the smell, earning some soft shushing from the person on the other side of your eyelids. Sighing, you open your eyes just a sliver, “Hey, J,” you greeted her, your voice raspy from lack of use and probably a breathing tube.

Hospitals made your stomach churn, hunger and blood loss certainly contributed to the feeling as you tried to reorient yourself with the land of the living. “Hi, Ducky,” she whispered, taking your hand in hers and squeezing it reassuringly, “You’re okay.”

Humming, you closed your eyes again, being awake in stages, “Haven’t heard that one in a while,” you murmured, smiling softly. “I feel like shit,” you groaned, trying to shift in the bed just to be met with a shooting pain in your abdomen. Pieces of the puzzle started coming back to you.

“The doctors said you were really lucky, the knife didn’t hit any organs or blood vessels,” he told you, giving you an update on your condition. Waking up in hospitals always gave you an odd feeling, being surrounded by a group of people who knew more about how you were doing than you did.

Frowning, you let your eyes flutter open, “Yeah, lucky,” you breathed. “That’s exactly how I feel right now.”

JJ smoothed some of your hair away from your forehead, “He’s dead, Ducky.”

You furrowed your eyebrows, “Did you shoot him?”

She shrugged slyly, “I let Morgan take the shot.”

That was a lie you let her get away with. If JJ had been the one to shoot Paul, there likely would’ve been an investigation opened because of your familial tie—Strauss would’ve had her hands all over that one. This way, there was no question about ethics. “Thank you,” you whispered to her, “I’m…” your voice trailed off as you noticed someone else in the corner of the room.

Following your gaze, JJ looked confused, “He hasn’t moved all night.” Spencer was almost comedically folded in a hospital chair, his wrist bent beneath his chin as he slept. “He rode with you to the hospital, and I’m not sure—”

“I’m in love with him,” you cut her off mid-sentence. You watched your sister’s confusion morph into shock as she looked from you to Spencer and back again. “Spencer and I have been dating for the last nine months, and we haven’t told anyone. It wasn’t because we wanted to keep anyone in the dark or because we didn’t want you to know, we just liked having something that was ours.”

Surprise was clear on her face while she searched her mind for clues into what you were telling her. You could tell she was thinking, you recognized her thinking face as well as you would if you were looking in a mirror. “You and Spencer?”

You nodded stiffly, moving your upper lip to adjust your nasal cannula, “Yeah. Me and Spencer.”

“So, when I tried to pin the two of you together last fall… you were already together?” She asked, recalling a night spent as a team at O’Keefe’s.

Giving her a lopsided smile, you held your hands out in mock surrender, “Yeah,” you echoed.

She just continued staring at you up until her phone rang, she apologized to you before picking it up, greeting Will over the phone, and stepping out into the hallway.

You tilted your head to the side, getting a better look at Spencer sleeping in the chair, “Spence,” you called out to him, remembering that you’re in a hospital and raising your voice is frowned upon, even as a patient. “Spencer,” you crooned, trying to wake him up without startling him.

He didn’t so much as budge, you tried again, but when he didn’t stir, you had to turn to violence.

With an aching arm, you grabbed a pen from the table attached to your hospital bed and flung it at him, gasping when the pen hit him in the head. His eyes opened, looking at you groggily as he stretched out his wrist.

“Hey,” he said, instantly over his irritation of being pelted with a BIC pen, “You’re up.” Spencer looked around the room noting no sign of your sister before he took her seat at your bedside, “You look good.”

You laughed slightly, the movement felt good spiritually, but physically it pulled at your stitches. “I look like shit,” you corrected him, you didn’t even need a mirror to know that.

Spencer smiled at you fondly, fingers carefully dancing along your hairline. His touch was tentative like he was afraid a single touch would break you, “You’ve certainly looked better,” he admitted.

The grin that bloomed on your face felt foreign after a day of pain, but it relieved you to stretch those muscles. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, noticing the way his hand faltered in its movements.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he reminded you, not even sure which it he was referring to, he simply wanted to know you weren’t to blame for any of it.

You hummed, adjusting yourself on your pillows, “But I took advantage of you.”

In response, Spencer reached out a hand, placing the back of it on your forehead, checking for a fever as if you weren’t hooked up to a vital monitor.

Swatting his hand away, you looked at him solemnly, “No, I took advantage of your rational minds when I asked you for help outside of the warehouse. I made the decision to ask you because I knew you would help me first and panic second.”

“Honey,” Spencer said, gingerly moving strands of hair off of your forehead, “You are severely underestimating my abilities if you think I wasn’t panicking while I was helping you.”

You pressed your lips together thoughtfully, looking at him, “I wanna go home,” you murmured, looking up at him with wide eyes.

He looked at you sadly, “Tomorrow, probably. I’ll bring you home and unpack the first load of your things in my place. You can sit on the couch and tell me where everything goes.”

“Spencer,” you said, gentle chide in your tone.

Your boyfriend hummed, “You didn’t seriously think I’d let you keep living in that apartment, did you?”

Honestly, you hadn’t had the time for the thought to cross your mind, but Spencer had always thought you lived in a bad part of town. He was right, of course, but this was a lot to digest all at once. “You don’t have to; I can just find a new apartment.”

He leaned over the bed, “It’s too late. I already asked Penelope to come over this weekend and help me go through my closet and dresser.”

“Did you tell her?” You asked him, reaching a hand up and tucking a strand of his hair behind his ear.

Spencer shook his head, “No, but I suppose we’ll have to.”

Chewing on the inside of your lip, you raised your eyebrows, “Well, I told JJ.” You informed him of the fact that you’d abrogated the seal of silence on your relationship.

“Rossi knows,” he told you like it should’ve been news to you.

You shrugged, “He figured it out months ago. I thought you knew that.”

Your boyfriend frowned, “How would I have known that?”

“He profiled us, it’s like reverse profiling,” you explained.

Spencer chuckled softly, “You’re right, my mistake.” His brown eyes shimmered as he took your hand in his, bringing it to his mouth and pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles.

He never took his eyes off of you, watching you like a hawk at every moment—you weren’t even sure he was blinking properly. “What’s still bothering you?”

Shaking his head, he dismissed your question immediately. You felt safe with him, when your sister returned to the doorway, she faltered at the sight in front of her. Spencer was resting his head on your hospital bed, softly chatting to you about sea otters while your eyes fluttered shut.

Before you fell asleep, she raised her eyebrows and held up a thumbs up, asking if you were okay.

A brief nod in response was all you needed, smiling at her softly while she went back to her phone call.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid angst #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds angst #spencer reid x fem!reader #written by margot #margotober #angstober #jareau!reader

895 notes · View notes

erenjaegerwifee · 7 months ago

Note

Omg, you write so good!

Can you write something about Neteyam a little possessive about his secret crush towards his human female friend? I WOULD LOVE THAT SJSJSJS

OFC I CAN! This is such a fucking cute idea!!!!

✧₊⁺ Crushing

Paring: Neteyam x Fem!Human!Reader

Warnings: 18+, mentions of explicit actions

Disclaimer: my characters are aged-up! If u are uncomfortable reading don’t both interacting with my account

Neteyam grew up with you. From since you were a babygirl he was always around or with you, neteyam was fascinated with your small form. The way you learned to walk long after he did even though you were only months apart.

He thought you were weird at first cause you were so small and not blue like him. You had no tail and no point ears, no golden eyes instead you were kind of dull, the only thing you both had in common was your black hair.

Other than that it was wavy not straight like him, your eyes were a different color from him, your skin was brown? A shade of brown? He didn’t know the name of the color. But one thing he does know, you were absolutely beautiful.

In your teen years when you went through puberty you didn’t think much off it, your body was changing but you changed with it so it wasn’t so shocking to you, but neteyam had a hard time keep his eyes to himself. The way your scent changed slightly every month, your body filled out in ways he didn’t know was possible.

He never knew why you stopped wearing na’vi clothes until he saw you in a little tank top and shorts running around with Yuk. The way you tits bounces in your bra, the way your thighs were squeezed into your little denim shorts, he knew your body would just fall right out of na’vi clothing.

Yet still he found you amazingly beautiful. It was weird but it worked out, he would never get to truly mate with you but his mother already liked you. You were probably the only human girl she allowed around. It was perfect for him yet, Neteyam was so scared to tell you how he felt.

What if you thought he was too big and scary? What if you laughed in his face at the thought of being with him? What if you didn’t like him back? His thoughts pledged his mind, he didn’t want to embarrass himself, he didn’t want to face rejection of the first women he had every loved.

But still, his mind never drifted to another woman. Even his family saw the way he looked at you, like you were his very own gift from Eywa. Neteyam had been the only person that put himself in danger to protect you and no matter how much cuts or bruises he received he was happy with himself knowing he kept his special girl safe.

Neteyam loved the way you tied your hair up, he’d spend hours out of his day watching you style your long pretty hair if he could, and he has a few times. Watching the way you’d make different braided hairstyles or ponytails you called them. He especially loved how cute you’d look when you got mad the Pandora humidity made your hair look like you’ve been electrocuted. He thought it was adorable the way you’d continuously run your hands over your head and nothing seems to keep down the frizzy mess.

He loved your sense of human style even though you didn’t have much to work with the clothes you would make from repurposed avatar clothing when they joined the Omatikaya clan and didn’t need them anymore. Or when you would use big petals and leaves to make cute tops and skirts that always seems to fit your figure perfectly.

Neteyam was undeniably in love with you and he would do anything for you to love him back. Tonight, he walked his way to the human outpost, it was late at night but thanks to the humans moving closer to the clan, your bedroom was only about 4 minutes away from his hut.

Neteyam knows you stay awake all hours in the night so he thought nothing off it when he saw the faith glow through your bedroom window. You had a nice view of the forest from there, it faced away from the clan so people couldn’t see you unless they looked. Neteyam made a habit of checking on you before bed so he went to the window before anything else.

He walked up to it you were in clear view, luckily since your bedroom light was on your window acted as a mirror for you, but he could see you clear as day from outside. He watched you lay in bed in an oversized t-shirt undoubtedly an avatar’s, your legs were bare and shiny, you shaved. Your hair was loose, it curled so pretty over your shoulders and you laid on a big pillow snuggled up to your fluffy sheets and blankets.

You looked like you were drowning under all that warmth you looked adorable. When you got up off your bed and walked across the room to your desk, your back turned to him letting him see the back of your t-shirt.

Neteyam was not prepared. Your t-shirt stopped right under your ass and you bent over to pick up something from the floor displaying for him your pretty pink panties that were riding up your ass just perfectly.

It’s been a long time since neteyam saw some skin on you, it make his cock harden just seeing a sliver of what no one else does. He dropped to him knees by your window sill now only his face was in view, not that you could see him. You were so sexy for a little thing. He wants so bad to lay it down on you.

Neteyam pressed his forehead up against the window starting at your plump pretty ass until you stood back up. Only then did he blink refocusing on your t-shirt and then it caught his eye.

His brain lagged taking in the word he knew all too well, on the back on your shirt was the word big and bold ‘SULLY’ it was undoubtedly his father’s old t-shirt but seeing you sport something with his name on it made him shiver.

You had to be his, you’re literally carrying his name. He swears if you pumped you full of his babies it would be when you had his name written down on your skin, maybe he could convince you to get one of those human tattoos, he had hear they were permanent. He’d love to fuck into you seeing his name displayed pretty on your lower back over your ass, of above your collarbone so he can watch you tits bouce and see his ownership at the same time.

You have to be his. He has to tell you how he feels. He can’t let you get away and fall for someone else no. If Eywa didn’t give him a sign you were meant to belong to him before, she did now. Or at least that’s what he got out of tonight.

Tags: @rivatar @strongheartneteyam @xylianasblog @delusionalwh6re @nilahsstuff @m1tsu-ki @kylimarz @quicktosimp

✨ Part 2 is out! Here!

#neteyam x reader #neteyam sully #neteyam #neteyam avatar #atwow neteyam #neteyam smut #neteyam talks #neteyam fanfiction #neteyam fic #avatar the way of water #neteyam te suli tsyeyk'itan #avatar neteyam #neteyam x human #neteyam x you #neteyam x y/n #neteyam x oc #neteyam x female reader smut #neteyam x

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temporarywelcome · 6 days ago

Text

Sleep - Leon Kennedy

Words: 1.6k

Summary: Leon can't help but crave physical affection from his girlfriend.

CW: language, cold!reader, re4 leon but re2 puppy leon is def lurking, he is a BABYYY, hint of some 2000s toxic masculinity?

_______

Leon was pretty content with his relationship.

Another agent, but in the FBI. A strong and resourceful woman who didn’t mind him constantly being gone on dangerous missions, considering she was busy with her own. She didn’t mind his closed-off personality because she was probably more closed off than him.

And she didn’t mind his dry dad jokes. Another plus.

She also never pestered him for his lack of physical affection. He always gave her a kiss when he would first see her and one when they said their goodbyes. A handhold every now and then. But he barely touched her. She barely touched him.

He was content with that

…Yeah, he was lying.

Sure, he tried to give off a cold and dark vibe. A demeanor that showed he was not one to be fucked with. But damn, even the baddest bitches need to be held every now and then.

Sometimes, his girlfriend would stay at his place for the night. The first time it happened, he didn’t dare admit it, but he was excited. Excited to not sleep alone, to sleep next to the woman he claimed his, to feel her warmth in his arms.

Then, when they laid in bed, she had said a gruff “goodnight”, turned her back to him, and passed out. Not even a kiss. An “I love you”. Nothing.

Did she even love him?

He questioned that often. Why didn’t she ever kiss him? Touch him? Showed him any affection? Then again, why didn’t he? They both gave each other the bare minimum. But that wasn’t what he wanted.

Fuck. Even the baddest bitches wanted to feel loved.

Like right now. He was seated in bed, fiddling with his fingers as she laid curled up next to him. Practically on the edge of the bed, as far away from him as possible. Like he was diseased or something.

Maybe there was something he was doing wrong. Maybe he wasn’t loving her right. Maybe he didn’t deserve to be touched. Didn’t deserve to feel love.

But what did he do wrong? What did he do to not deserve a simple fucking hug from his girlfriend? Why couldn’t she initiate a kiss? Hold his hand? Nothing?

Fuck, stop thinking like that, Kennedy. Be grateful you even have a girlfriend.

And so he laid down, burying his head in the fluffy pillow and shutting his eyes. Back turned to her, like they always slept. Like they didn’t even like each other. He had thought finally getting a girlfriend would make it all better. He wouldn’t feel as lonely and sad. He just wanted to feel wanted.

So why did the bed feel more cold with someone in it than without?

Just stop fucking thinking and sleep already. Fucking loser.

Trying to steady his breathing, he brought the blanket up to his chin, suddenly feeling cold as goosebumps formed on his skin. It was almost fucking spring, for fucks sake. Maybe it was because he had the coldest woman on the planet in his bed that he felt like this.

Yeah, that’s probably what it was-

Wait.

He couldn’t tell if it was a hallucination or a dream, but he could have sworn he felt arms slowly wrapping around his waist. Felt the bed stir slightly as she scooted closer to him, her chest to his back. What the fuck what the fuck what the-

She was holding him. She was actually fucking holding him. Was he in the fucking Twilight Zone? Yes, he had to be, because there was no way his girlfriend had her arms around him.

Holy shit.

Hesitantly, Leon reached down, placing his hands atop hers, feeling… warmth? Feeling something he hasn’t felt in years. Tracing his fingers over her soft skin, her well-manicured nails, feeling her breath on his neck. Fuck, this was just a little touch and he felt so fucking happy. Something so small finally made him feel somewhat wanted.

Honestly sad. This simple gesture was enough to get him giddy.

Giddy and eager to hold her too, slowly turning in her grip. She moved as well, unconsciously repositioning herself on her back, an arm still lazily keeping him close. With a smile, he wrapped his arms tightly around her. Pressing his face in the spot connecting her neck and shoulder. She smelt so good.

Look, Leon was a big guy. Broad-shouldered and muscular. However, this was probably the safest he ever felt. In a long fucking time.

So you can’t judge him for tearing up a bit. A lot. Sniffling against her neck as he held onto her tightly, resisting the urge to cry like a fucking baby.

“Babe?”

Shit.

He laid limp against her, hoping she’ll somehow assume he was asleep and leave it alone. A dumb thought. As if she couldn’t feel his tears on her skin and hear his ragged breathing. Maybe she’d think he’s just having a nightmare. Yes! This wouldn’t be the first time he had a nightmare-

“Babe,” she repeated gently, and he felt her fingers trail from his spine to his hair, lightly scratching his scalp with her nails, “What’s wrong? I know you’re awake so stop playing,”

Before he could respond, she tugged at his hair, not enough to hurt, but to get what she so impatiently wanted. His attention, which she had when he finally peeked up at her, stormy blue eyes meeting hers. “Nothing,”

“Bullshit, you’re literally crying,” she rubbed at his scalp again gently, “Did you have a nightmare?”

“No, I don’t really want to talk about it,” he replied, tapping the pads of his fingers against her hip absentmindedly, “I’m fine,”

“Am I supposed to believe that?” she chuckled softly, lifting his chin up and cupping his cheek, thumb brushing against his cheekbone in a soothing motion, “C’mon, I won’t be able to sleep knowing you’re upset,” He didn’t even know how to respond. Her hot-and-cold personality made it so difficult for him to know what would be considered okay to say.

“I’m… I’m not upset,”

Her brow raised in disbelief, “You’re not upset? Am I imagining these tears then?” With her thumb, she swiped one off of his face, “Hm, no. Not imagining anything,”

“They’re…” he gulped, embarrassed, “...happy tears,”

“Oh? And what caused these happy tears?”

He could hear it in her tone already. She was ready to tease the fuck out of him. So with a huff, Leon sat back up, crossing his arms over his toned chest in annoyance. “Nothing,”

“What do you mean nothing?” She sat up as well, tilting her head to the side as she eyed him in curiosity. “Just tell me what’s up already!”

“You fucking held me!” he broke, burying his face into his hands in embarrassment.

Silence.

“Ughhhh,” he grumbled, swinging his legs over the bed, ready to leave. Jump out the window and dive proudly to the street and die, maybe. Yes, that sounds like a wonderful idea.

“Wait!” he then felt her arms go around his shoulders from behind, “Stay!”

And like a dog, he stayed put. Still with the pouty and embarrassed look on his face, staring straight ahead at him at the window he so desperately wanted to jump through.

“That made you cry?” his girlfriend whispered, head resting on his shoulder, “I was just hugging you from behind…”

He felt a tad bit more pathetic now. “I know. You… you never did that before,” he hesitantly raised a hand to graze her arm, soaking in the physical touch as much as possible.

“I suppose not,” she hummed, pressing a kiss to his shoulder, “You always seem so closed off. I figured you didn’t want to be touched, which is why I always just let you initiate contact,”

“I…” he bit his lip, trying to form the words in his head before saying them out loud. Trying to describe how he felt without hurting his manhood.

But fuck, yes, even the baddest bitches need to be spooned from time to time.

“I do want to be touched,” he mumbled out, “You’re my girlfriend. I want you to touch me, I want to touch you. I thought you didn’t want to be touched,”

“You’re kidding?” she laughed gently, next kiss going to his neck, right on his pulse point, “Literally every night I stay at your place, my arms are around you at some point while we’re sleeping. Can’t help myself,”

That made him shift his body to face her, eyes slightly widened, brows furrowed as he processed his words. This wasn’t the first time? She… did this literally every night she was here? “Really?”

“Mhm,” she nodded, taking his hands in hers, “You know, you could have just told me you wanted some affection, babe.”

“That’s embarrassing…” his eyes darted away again, cheeks flushed red. He could still feel her eyes on him, making his cheeks redden further.

“So unmanly, isn’t it?” she teased gently.

“Shut up,”

She giggled, releasing his hands and laying back onto the bed, head resting comfortably on the pillow. Arms opening, she said, “C’mon. It’s late and we both have to be up early!”

He hesitated. Because, well, he was a dumb ass. Falling asleep cuddled up to his girlfriend like a fucking baby? How fucking embarrassing-

Ugh, sign him the fuck up.

The hesitation lasted a possible two seconds before he laid next to her, accepting the embrace while snaking his arms around her waist as well. Accepting a little kiss to his forehead and a soft “I love you” that left her lips.

Handing her an “I love you too” back before getting the best sleep he literally ever had.

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dyingswanpavlova · 2 months ago

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"Your girl" - Part 5 | The Salesman x Reader

Summary: You tell him about your traumatic past and he has a proposition for you. Could the man, who's slowly destroying your life, also be the one to repair it?

Warnings: dead dove do not eat, kidnapping, mentions of sexual abuse and other traumatic events in the past, numbness, helplessness, violence, mentions of murder and rape, body issues, trauma talk, stockholm syndrome, forced relationship, unhealthy relationship, hinting at depression, manipulation, mentions of sexual activities and desires, not beta-read, if I've missed any please tell me! mdni 18+!

Author's note: This chapter has a great focus on sexual abuse (not rape), so I'd just like to put an extra trigger warning here (That's also the reason I didn't manage to check the text for spelling errors, I just wrote it down and left it at that, so I apologize in advance if there are any mistakes.) And what I'd like to add at this point: If anyone is struggling with anything in that regard, I hope you find a way to deal with it. Please talk to someone! And my inbox is always open. I love you all!

"Your girl" - The Salesman x Reader Masterlist

There was not much you could do. But the waiting was slowly driving you insane.

You remembered his words very well. They kept repeating in your head like a broken record and why wouldn’t they? Each and every one of his words was something between a gentle caress and a stab wound right in the middle of your chest.

A proposition, he called it. A proposition.

Doesn't one need free will to accept a proposition?

“Tell me who it was.” He had said. And you felt your insides clench and tingle unpleasantly once more.

“Don’t you remember what happened just twelve hours ago?” You nearly snapped. Of course it wasn’t really wise to speak to him in a tone that was anything besides timid, gentle and careful, but something bigger took your thoughts and your tongue hostage. “I don’t want to talk about it! I can’t! You saw what it does to me!”

You grasped the way he almost rolled his eyes, but decided against it. Instead he leaned closer, resting his elbows on the kitchen table. The way his sleeves were rolled up made something inside of you tighten. He was so handsome. So terribly handsome. What a bittersweet, sick thought.

“If you don’t talk about it”, he said slowly, “you won’t get over it. And if you don’t get over it, then I can never fuck you. And I want to fuck you. Soon.”

You didn’t understand how he spoke of such wicked things without letting a single muscle in his expression twitch. You couldn’t even say the words. You couldn’t even think them.

“I…”

“For God’s sake, just tell me who he was!” He called out impatiently. “Your father?”

“No!” You gasped out in horror. If there was one person in the world who had respected you and loved you unconditionally, it was your father. God, it had been the happiest five years of your life, back when he was still alive. And after his death, everything crumbled down to shit. Your life became your personal hell. On some days, when things grew particularly heavy on you, you had trouble not blaming him for dying. For leaving you alone. For ever getting married to your mother and having you. How could he have missed what kind of monster she was?

Did he even miss it?

You quickly pushed the thoughts away. In your head, your father had no idea. He was kind-hearted and good and it was going to stay that way.

“No, it wasn’t my father.” You murmured, unable to look up from the kitchen table.

He sighed, growing more and more impatient with the minutes. His tone stayed almost gentle though. Which was probably the most terrifying thing about the whole situation. At least, while he was angry you knew where you were at. Whenever he acted kind and calm around you, you expected him to suddenly lash out and knock the life out of you. Who knew? Maybe one of these days he would. You were growing too comfortable around him, denying him answers, talking back and all that.

“Who was it?”

You closed your eyes. “Please, I really don’t want to talk about it.”

He sighed again. “Let’s pretend this isn’t for the sake of me fucking you.” He said and tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. God, his eyes were so pretty when they were soft and calm like that.

Soft eyes.

Another thought for you to quickly dismiss. He hadn’t mentioned anything about him caressing you or begging you to come back to your senses, as you hadn’t either. And you surely wouldn’t. Because that never happened. That was what you kept telling yourself, for the sake of your own sanity.

It never happened.

You were growing far too comfortable around him.

You had a plan here. Play along, get him to trust you, get the hell out of there. And if that meant having to sleep with him, well, to you that sounded like a rather small price for your freedom and your life.

“What would that change?” You murmured.

“Pretend I’m someone you trust.”

These words surprised you and you looked up with a frown. Was it another test? To see if you trusted him? Oh God, would he pull the gun out again?

But no, nothing happened. He just stared at you with this…this calmness.

“And then?”

He sighed deeply. Obviously he wasn’t as calm as he made it seem. “And then we’ll talk about it. Listen, what was your plan anyway? Going through life for the rest of your days avoiding men and sex?”

You looked down at your hands. Yeah, that sounded accurate.

“Look at me.” He said in a soft tone.

It wasn’t your fault. It was your mother’s, again. And that part of you she had genuinely messed up.

Like every other innocent creature you had no idea of what sex meant, why some things felt good and others didn’t, what was allowed and what wasn’t, who was allowed to touch you and who wasn’t. She never mentioned any of that, because she, herself, was too ashamed to speak about it. Which was probably the cruelest trick she pulled on you.

You had no idea who was allowed to touch you and who wasn’t.

So, when he touched you, you didn’t say no, because you didn’t know.

“It was our neighbor.” You heard yourself whisper. A wave of disgust nearly made you shudder and your jaw hurt by how tightly you kept it clenched. Your nails dug into your palms and you took a slow breath.

In.

And out.

“Your neighbor.” He said in a whisper. Like he was afraid he might break your fragile composure. Which was very well possible.

“What did your neighbor do?”

You took a deep, shuddery breath as you kept staring down at your hands.

“He…”

You closed your eyes. All the pictures ran through your head like a camera roll. Except for the ones which were hidden away neatly, too deep imprinted in your mind and so your mind locked them away for you. How incredibly considerate.

“You can say it.” He said with a gentleness that surprised you. For a moment you almost forgot who he was and what he did. It felt like talking to a psychiatrist, a friend, a lover.

A lover.

“It…He never raped me.” You immediately said, almost like you were defending him. You always did that in your own head.

He didn’t rape me. It wasn’t that bad. I’m overreacting.

“He didn’t rape me.” You said again. “It wasn’t like that.”

“What did he do?” He asked slowly.

You tried to think of it as a band aid. Just pull it off.

Just spit it out.

“Sometimes he’d wear no more than a towel. Then he pulled me on his lap.” You whispered, unable to open your eyes or unclench your hands. “On other days, my mother made me bring him some leftover food. He’d open the door, fully undressed. I never saw him naked, like...frontal. I just caught a glimpse of him walking away, undressed.” You choked out.

It got harder with every word, but you forced yourself.

Spit it out, spit it out.

“He always called me his mouse.” You croaked out.

God, how you hated that word. If someone called you that, you were sure, you’d straight up punch them. Disgusting. What a disgusting word.

“Always said, we’re friends. Friends. Friends don’t have secrets. Friends are there for each other. One time, I hardly remember it. I just remembered it recently. He kissed me on the lips. Just a peck. But it were my lips.”

Now, that you had begun, you couldn’t stop.

“I remember the smell in his flat. I remember how much I hated it. There was always a cauliflower somewhere. He had one of those old computers. Sometimes he gave me money to buy myself something sweet.”

And by now, your hands were shaking. You couldn’t look at him and you had no idea what his expression looked like.

Horrified? Surprised? Bored?

“But the thing that weighs the worst on me”, you whispered, “the thing that haunts me the most, is the way he touched my waist. Whenever I was on his lap, he’d slowly slide his fingertips along the bare skin of my waist, creeping under my shirt. Sometimes I swatted his hand away. Sometimes I didn’t. I felt uncomfortable. I always felt uncomfortable. But he didn’t rape me.”

You opened your eyes. The look in your eyes was crazed.

“He didn’t rape me. I’m overreacting.”

The look he wore was like nothing else you had ever seen on him. He looked equally as disgusted as he looked angry. His frown was deep and his eyes far away and thoughtful.

He took a slow, long breath to sort out his thoughts and then slowly placed his hand over yours.

“He didn’t rape you.” He said slowly. “But you still realize that it was abuse, right?”

You stared at him, no words on your tongue and no thoughts in your head. You opened your mouth and closed it again.

It was?

You had never perceived it as such. Mostly for one simple reason. He didn’t rape you.

After your mother found out something was off, she did something that was entirely unexpected of her.

She got angry.

No, she was furious.

She didn’t allow you to go anywhere near his door ever again. She didn’t truly talk it out with you and she was most likely aware that it was her fault to the greatest degree.

But she protected you. From then on, she did. At least when it came to other people.

To men.

She never protected you from herself.

Instead of answering his question, you murmured: “I hated being looked at for years.”

When he curiously raised his brows, you continued.

“No one was allowed to look at me. I never understood why. When I changed. When my shirt rode up the tiniest bit. I hate revealing clothes.”

He hummed softly. “I could tell as much.”

“I hate when someone touches me unexpectedly. I hate when someone touches my…my waist. I hate when someone touches me from behind without my knowledge. It makes me feel ticklish. But not in the way it makes me laugh.”

He looked at you with the same thoughtful frown.

“I hate when someone calls me mouse.” You hissed out.

He raised his hands in surrender. “That word is as dead as Latin in these halls.”

You took a deep breath to calm yourself.

“Alright.” He said softly. “How do you feel now?”

For a while you simply thought about it. You felt…better. Safe, somehow. What scared you a little was the fact that all up until now you never realized you’d been abused. You needed someone else to tell you. You were so much worse broken than you first assumed.

“Lighter.” You finally whispered.

He nodded slowly and ran his thumb over the back of your hand.

“Good.” After a beat, he added. “What about the other thing?”

You exhaled through your nose and averted your gaze again.

Of course you knew why you were so ashamed to speak about it. Sex was non-existent while you grew up. She never spoke about it to you. It was shameful. It was no subject for a mother to tell her daughter about.

It was shameful.

And now you were stuck here, in South Korea, unable to say the word penis out loud.

“I can’t speak freely.”

He frowned in a mixture of amusement and confusion. “Because we’re being spied on or…”

“Because I just can’t!” You snapped again. “I can’t…My mouth, it…The words won’t come out. The dirty words.”

That made him smile, but not in a mocking or even an amused way. It seemed almost fond. Like he found you cute. It was probably the first genuine smile you had seen on him. It confused you more and more.

“Try to describe it in your own words.”

You exhaled again. God, this conversation only ever got harder, it seemed.

“Alright.” You said quietly. “It’s just…”

He waited patiently. That made you feel safe enough to continue on your own. “I never told this to anyone. It’s…It’s the thing I’m most ashamed about. You’ll look at me differently.”

Oh God, what did you just say?

Your eyes widened and you quickly added: “I mean, you’ll think I’m a freak. That I’m twisted.”

That wasn’t even close to a good save. You had just admitted that you cared about his opinion and why in the world did you care about his opinion?

Because you realized it was true. You cared. But you tried to keep these thoughts hidden away.

Play along. Get his trust. Get out.

His smile widened, almost teasingly. “Oh, sweet girl.” He purred. “If you think your desires are twisted, there’ll have to be a new word for mine. Go on. Just tell me. No matter how horrible you think it is. For every twisted thought you have, I’ll have three worse to go.”

Your eye brows shot up and you found yourself mumbling: “Really?”

He raised a brow as if saying, do you mean this question?

“Yes. Really.”

Alright.

“Alright.”

You took another deep breath, then you began. Slowly. Quietly. And carefully.

“I realized pretty early on in my life that my fantasies were a little…dark.”

He said nothing.

“When I was younger, I was…” The words died on the tip of your tongue. And so did your composure. Tears welled up in your eyes and you wrapped your arms around yourself, tightly.

His smile slipped and he frowned again. Was that a hint of concern?

Don’t be an idiot. You’re his pet. His toy. His girl.

“I was…”

You choked down a sob and buried your face in your hands. Your body was being shaken by your sobs, faster and faster, until you were sobbing frantically.

You expected him to get angry at your emotional outburst, but you neither heard the clicking of a gun nor a belt.

Instead, and that was really weird, you felt…

You felt…

You let out a loud, surprised gasp, when he pulled you into a tight embrace. It felt like being struck by lightning or getting hit by a bus.

And waking up in paradise.

He felt warm against you and his perfume was so subtle, yet you caught on it. You felt safe. So safe. It felt amazing. You didn’t want it to end.

Ever.

But after a while, long after your sobs died down, he slowly pulled away.

He didn’t need to say it. You could tell, he wanted you to continue. And so you did. Forcing down a new flash of ashamed tears, you did.

“I needed to think about him when I…”

He nodded in understanding.

“That stopped, fortunately. After a while I forgot about him. I barely ever thought about him again and never again during those moments.”

And then you told him everything. Things about being used, called names, hurt.

Things about things about things which you didn’t understand yourself. Not in the slightest.

But you were forced to think about them, whenever you felt the nervous twitch in your lower body.

Normal things did turn you on.

Or well, the thought of normal things. You couldn’t tell for you hadn’t experienced either.

Neck kissing was good. Oral sex was good. Any way of worshipping your body was good.

But to cross the finish line, you always needed to think about those sick, twisted things. And you didn’t even get the time to properly cross the line, because the shame kicked in faster than you could.

“Is that all?” He finally asked, his expression unreadable and his tone of voice calm.

You nodded.

His lips curved up into a delicious smile.

“I have a proposition for you.”

Hours later, while you sat in your bedroom, digging your nails into your palms in your nervousness, you kept thinking about his words in all your dizziness.

And you got more and more nervous by the second.

He’d be here in a while. And then there would be no way back. If you did this now, then you did it. And nothing could ever change the course of things back to how they were before.

Were they really that much better before? You asked yourself. But again, you forced the stupid-as-hell thoughts away and focused on his words again.

“A proposition?” You had asked in a soft whisper. “What kind of proposition?”

He leaned ever closer to you and looked at you with an intensity that made your breath catch in your throat.

“Your first time will be magical.” There was it again. That silken voice, the one that felt like a gentle caress. “I’ll make sure of it. The whole night. Everything is going to be perfect. I’m going to worship you in ways you can’t even imagine. I’ll take care of you. I’ll guide you. I’ll hold your hands. Look into your eyes. I’ll whisper in your ear and I’ll kiss your neck. I promise you, I’ll make you feel better than you ever felt about yourself. I’ll make you happy.”

For whatever reason, that last remark was what got to you the most. Everything sounded incredible obviously (it also sounded far too good, to be honest, but you decided to trust him when he said this), but when he said he’d make you happy, it nearly made you cry again.

Oh, was that a tear? You couldn’t tell, he wiped it away already, all the while you stared at him in stunned silence.

“And?” You heard yourself whisper. “What then?”

His smile didn’t waver. “Your first time will be perfect, my sweet girl, I promise it. I’ll make you feel loved.”

The words were as sweet as they were cruel. If only he had punched you again. Hit your face. Make you lick the floor clean, if it pleased him. But no. He had to say the one thing that tore at your heart like nothing else, the one thing you longed for, the one thing you burned for.

Love.

Hope was such a dangerous thing and especially for you. Which was why you quickly shut your thoughts down and this time for real. You couldn’t afford to have such thoughts and desires.

These were the real twisted desires.

No amount of blindfolds and handcuffs could get close to that.

“Your first time.” He said, his tone growing more serious. “But only the first time. And from then on, I’ll have you any way I want. Whenever I want. Wherever we are. However you feel. You’re sick? I don’t care. You’re in pain? Good. I’m too rough? Finally. You can’t take no more? Shut your fucking mouth and swallow it.”

You knew that something like that would follow. As you already thought before, it had been too good.

And yet, you couldn’t help yourself.

God, you knew it was stupid.

It was crazy.

It was sick.

And yet, and yet, and yet.

“Okay.” You whispered.

“No.” He said firmly. “I want you to think about it. Truly think about it. You can’t just agree, because later on you can’t back out. Do you understand that? I want you to grasp the severity of your agreement. If you do this, you belong to me. More than you already do. Entirely. I’ll be fucking you, sweet girl. I’ll be fucking you for what could be a month, a year or the rest of your life.”

You took a deep breath. Did you even have the chance to say no? What would happen if you did?

And what did the rest of your life mean? A few weeks, months, years? Until he grew tired of you? Or until fate decided it was time for you to go?

All the things wrong with you combined gave way to the worst thing you could ever do.

“It’s a deal."

_________________________________

Author's note (2): First off, I want to thank each and everyone of you for your support, your kind words and all your messages and generally, anyone who takes the time to read this story! I cannot begin to describe how much this means to me. I'll be honest, I've been writing a lot when I was younger, but at some point in my life I stopped because I got really depressed and the things I enjoyed once suddenly became unbearable and impossible. I felt like I forgot how to write. But this story and all of your kind and sweet support has reminded me that I really, really loved to write once and I still do. So, I'm thanking you. Everyone. Thank you. You gave me back the part of my soul that was missing for a long time. Much, much, much love!

Tag list: @mitsuki-dreamfree @kpopsmutty69 @heroine-chique @vkeyy @mizuwki @blu-brrys @z0mbi345 @yourpointbreak @ayieayee @freddyzeppsworld @lola11111111 @indifitel6661 @salesmanlover08 @laurenbenoit70 @lalalaa2210 @lila-marshal @auspicious-lilana @0-aubrie0 @lovelyaegyo @theredvelvetbitch @violentbluess @muriels-lover @dorayakissu @eviebuggg @muchwita @ririgy @strxlemon @obsessedwthdilfs @kiwilov3

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ofteacupsandclocks · 1 month ago

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I’ve seen quite a few people complaining about how quick Will forgave Hannibal for killing Abigail and I have some thoughts

So first of all I don’t think Will (or Hannibal for that matter) loved Abigail.

Will cared about Abigail because he felt responsible for killing her father. I also think he loved the idea of having a child.

After all he doesn’t deny feeling paternal about Abigail and as they later discuss with Hannibal having a step child / surrogate child allows Will not to be scared of passing on his traits he’s afraid of.

So to sum it up Will loves the idea of having Abigail as child. Will cares about the potential Abigail represents, but not Abigail as a separate person.

Hannibal sees Abigail as an opportunity to have an apprentice. She interests him. He sees the groundwork her father has laid and he thinks he can push her to become like him. I think Hannibal also sees Abigail as a tie to Will. A way to keep Will close to him. (Which is also why I think Hannibal doesn’t hesitate to kill Abigail - he wants to hurt Will and he wants to sever that tie he has to Will). So to put it simply Hannibal cares about the potential Abigail represents, but not Abigail as a separate person.

As you probably noticed among the feelings I mentioned - a love for Abigail is not on the list. After all Will’s paternal feelings, Hannibal wanting to get closer to Will and their care for the potential Abigail is does not equate love for Abigail as a person. So Hannibal killing Abigail was not him taking away someone Will loved, it was him taking away that potential.

Second reason I think Will seemingly forgave Hannibal so quickly for killing Abigail is that he didn’t really forgive Hannibal (neither did Hannibal forgive Will for his betrayal). Will and Hannibal’s relationship is complicated. Their love is complicated. Their love isn’t one dimensional. It has enough room for hatred and anger and betrayal. They simply choose to look past it. To ignore it for their own convenience. To love each other despite it. To love each other with it.

As Will said himself their relationship is based on ignoring the worst of each other to enjoy the best.

I think they would view past hurts as steps in the path that led them to where they are.

And the final point: they don’t have a choice other than to forgive each other (in whatever form forgiveness looks like for them). Not really. As Hugh Dancy himself said about their relationship: “imagine you are playing chess and you are the only person in the world who plays chess, and then someone else walks in the room with a chess board”.

They are two of a kind. And for the longest time they both thought they were the only one, that they were unique, doomed to be alone in that uniqueness. And then they met someone like them. Someone interesting. Someone who could understand. They each got a taste of companionship, of understanding, of being seen. And after that, going back to their aloneness would have been a different kind of death. It would have been devastating. After seeing what they could have they just couldn’t go back to how they used to be.

Will and Hannibal have no choice other than to seek the other’s company despite everything because they know they can never meet anyone who could understand them, who could see them. Not how the other can.

Betrayal, killing Abigail, killing Beverly pales in comparison to that extasy of beeing known. They would be willing to tolerate, to accept almost any amount of pain from the other, in return for that pleasure.

They are doomed to each other.

#hannigram #hannibal lecter #will graham #hannibal #nbc hannibal #i am obsessed with them #like seriously #I am not okay

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luveline · 5 months ago

Note

hotch x reader with new baby girl, honestly i have no ideas just anything with girl!dad aaron lovey fluff is all i want, he’s just so lovely ily jadey 💕

thank you for requesting! fem, 1.4k

Hotch is so hungry he genuinely wonders if it is acceptable to collapse and beg you to make him a sandwich. He probably would if Jane hadn’t tired you out so fiercely that morning; learning to crawl is hard on both the baby and the mom.

It’s not his turn to make dinner, but he is, because he doesn’t really care who’s turn it is. He has the tortellini on a low heat, the veggies toasting to a golden brown in the oven.

He wonders if having a baby isn’t what you thought it would be. It’s certainly not how Hotch imagined it, because Jane is gorgeous and he couldn’t be more in love with her, but she’s also very hard work. Hard work you often perform alone. You don’t seem upset, only tired, and so making dinner is his pleasure. It’s as he’s finishing up that he wonders if he should’ve offered to put Jane down instead.

He’s trying so, so hard to be the best father and husband that he can be. He might always find it difficult (but it's an effort he’s always willing to make).

“Dad?” Jack asks.

“Yeah?”

“Dinner almost done?”

Hotch wraps an arm around Jack’s front despite his wriggling. “Almost,” he says into Jack’s hair, “did you wash your hands?”

“I always wash my hands. Did you wash yours?”

Hotch laughs. Steals that extra second with his arms around Jack before he pulls away. “Of course I did. I’m gonna go make sure everything’s okay in babyland, okay? And then we’ll fill in your homework diary.”

Jack nods and goes back to colouring. In babyland, the living room, outfitted with toys and swings and sleepers, you and Jane are slouched on the floor. You’re leaning against the front of the couch with Jane in your lap while she looks up at you. At eight months old she’s more than fond of a cuddle. Her eyes are wide with love and awe alike as you rub the bridge of her nose with your pinky finger, the closer you get to her eyes, the more they squint closed. You repeat the motion over and over again. “You’re feeling sleepy,” you whisper in a funny tone, “you want to nap badly. You’re gonna sleep for a long couple of hours so mommy can have a bath.”

“Mom can have a bath,” Hotch says.

You don’t startle, but your surprise is evident in the way your hand slides up her back. “I’m kidding around.”

“No, it’s okay. You go take a bath, I can have her.”

“She might not like that.”

Jane has clingy syndrome. “Does it matter?” he asks sincerely. If she cries, she cries, and he will try his hardest to comfort her.

You smile slowly, and sweetly. “Okay, I’ll be quick. I don’t want to miss dinner.”

“Dinner’s ready when you are.”

Hotch crouches down to begin the transfer. “Hello, little love,” he murmurs, sliding his fingertips carefully behind her back. She’s warm, her onesie soft. “Can dad have a kiss?”

Jane is a quiet baby. It’s normal that she might not start speaking for a few more months, but beside the occasional ‘bababa’ or giggly laugh, she doesn’t have much to say —not unlike her father. Her communication lays instead in affection. Her emotional intelligence is in the highest percentile, certainly.

Not that Hotch is prone to bragging. “There’s my smarty,” he hums, pulling her gently into his arms before he stands. She looks at him with equal parts curiosity and annoyance.

He can guess what she’s thinking. Why is dad picking me up?

She looks for you with a wobbly lip.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, can’t dad have some time with you? You’ve favoured your mommy all day.” Hotch brings his free hand to her cheek to stroke it. She loves it, immediately tipping her face into his hand, tickled and huffing as he leans down to kiss her nose. “Please, can I have a kiss?”

He kisses her cheek. She gives a spitty one back.

You slink away while she’s distracted and he carries Jane to the kitchen, turning the oven off with one hand, and pushing a chair out with his foot to sit. Jack’s eyes brighten with her arrival, colouring pencils pushed aside. “Hi, Janie.”

Jack waves at her. She waves back.

He shifts Jane further into his arms to press lazy kisses over her ear. “My baby,” he murmurs, nearly inaudible against the hum of the washing machine in the utility room and the gentle patter of rain on the windows. “She’s my smart girl. Just like her brother.” He strokes her head back to see her and her baby-lashes. “Hm? You’re my smart girl, aren’t you?”

She tucks herself into the curve of his neck.

“She knows how to wave already,” Jack says, “when will she be able to say my name?”

“Pretty soon, bud. Babies tend to learn things in little jumps. She’s making sounds, the babbling she does? That’s a stepping stone. Next she’ll say mama, and then mom, and then we can teach her all sorts of words.”

“Like crawling to walking.”

Hotch smiles as Jane leans back against his hand. “Exactly. Jane isn’t the only smarty-pants, huh?”

Jack smiles in return. “You look happy.”

“I am happy. So happy, because I’m so lucky to be your dad.”

“Is it weird?”

“What?”

Jack shrugs. “Being a dad.”

“No, it’s never weird. Sometimes weird stuff happens. Like when we all panicked thinking we couldn’t fine Jane just to realise I was holding her,” —Jack giggles ferociously at the memory— “and, you know, sometimes things get pretty gross.”

“Like spit up.”

“Exactly. But being your dad isn’t weird. It feels like the most natural thing in the world. I’m lucky…” He kisses Jane again indulgently. “To have ended up with another child as perfect as the first.”

“Dad,” Jack says, squirming and pleased at once.

“What?” Hotch laughs. He has spent a long time proving to Jack that he’s not as serious as he was, a long time trying to keep his promise, and he can see now that it worked. Jack shakes his head and goes back to his colouring as a smile apples his cheeks, not for a moment surprised that his dad loves him without hesitation.

Hotch beams to himself, absolutely full to the top with love as he lifts Jane up just enough to make her smile too. “Oh, nummy!” he says, taking a big pretend bite of her belly.

You take a long, long time in the bath. He ends up serving Jack’s plate when his son hints that he’s hungry, and giving Jane another couple of ounces of milk. She grows sleepy on his shoulder. With some soft taps to her spine and a handful of loving shushes, she falls asleep there.

Sentimental, he thinks, Aw, my girl, and begins to rub her little foot through her onesie.

You find him standing in the kitchen, hip to the counter. He’s not doing anything besides holding Jane, Jack’s plate abandoned at the table and his cartoons playing from the living room. Hotch should’ve put Jane down for a nap in the bassinet in the living room, freeing his hands to tackle the mess of dishes he’s made preparing dinner, but he honestly hadn’t thought about moving. He’d been perfectly content to hold her and rub her wiggling foot.

“Sorry I took so long,” you whisper.

“No, no, you take as long as you need. You look better.”

You ease between Hotch and the counter, situating yourself in a snug corner to see Jane’s face more clearly. You look at her with love, and then you lean up to kiss his cheek. “I knew you’d get her to nap. You’re amazing.”

“She likes all the same stuff as you and Jack,” Hotch whispers with a soft laugh.

You pause for a second. Careful, you bring your hand to his cheek, a gentle fist turned with knuckles inward as you stroke his cheek with your index finger. “Can I take a photo of you?”

“What for?” he asks.

“I wanna remember it. And it’ll be nice one day to show Jane.”

“To show her what?”

“You, Aaron. Show her how much you love her.” You drop your hand to his shoulder for a squeeze. “You’ve gotten even kinder since she was born. Did you notice?”

It seems you’re feeling sentimental as well tonight. Your long bath has washed away the stress of a longer day.

“Okay,” he says, too in love with your smile to disagree, “but just one.”

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotch x reader #hotch #hotch x you #hotch blurb #hotch drabble #criminal minds

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freedomfireflies · 1 year ago

Text

Insufferable You*

Summary: The third part to Infinite You*

The one where Harry is still in an open relationship with your best friend, so maybe it's time to remind him what he's missing.

Word Count: 7.3k

Content Warning: 18+, smut, edging, spanking, brief exhibitionism, sir kink, masturbation, brief choking

“Kitten…what are you doing?”

Your whimpers are airy. Light. A string of breathless pleas woven between the soft sounds of your fingers fucking into your cunt. And you can’t answer his question. Can’t find the strength to pull yourself away from the pleasure between your thighs.

“Kitten,” he asks again and it’s firm. “Talk to me.”

He’s panting through his request and the sound—the image in your head of the way he must look, fucking his fist to the melody of your voice almost hurts you.

“I’m…I’m playing with my clit,” you answer. He groans. “Just like you do.”

“Just like me, hm?” He curses on his end of the phone and your legs shake. “How?”

“M’pinching it,” you tell him. “And pulling it. The way you like.”

His noises are louder. Needier. He must like the image in his head, too. “God, I’d give anything to see it, baby. Give fucking anything to watch you touch yourself for me.”

Anything. Anything. You shiver. “Yeah? You’d watch me?”

“Mhm.” He’s getting closer and you don’t want this to end. “Sit there on my knees and take every drop in my mouth when you’re done.”

Your hips buck up and your fingers sink deeper. He ruins you even when he’s not here. “I know,” you whisper. Your eyes squeeze shut. “And I’d let you.”

He makes a sound that might be a laugh but could be a strained moan. You aren’t sure. But you don’t really care because it’s beautiful, no matter what it is. “Kitten,” he exhales and your insides twist. “I need you to cum for me, okay? I need to hear you. God, I need to fucking hear you, baby, let me. Come on—”

There’s something in the way he speaks. Like he’s just woken up. Rough and low and thick. He sounds like sex and you miss hearing it in person. But you were desperate—you had to call him. You had to hear him talk you through this moment and you’re so glad you did.

When you cum, it’s everything. Perhaps not as satisfying as when it’s with him, but still euphoric. And your whimpers of pleasure are what send him over the edge.

The phone fills with the sounds of your ecstasy and you wish you could record the way he moans your name. You wish you could bottle this feeling and get drunk on the way he adores you.

Instead, you indulge in the few moments you have with him. Because you know they won’t last much longer.

“That was good,” you tell him breathlessly and he chuckles. “How are you so good at that? Even over the phone?”

“Could ask you the same thing. Now I’ve got a sticky hand and nobody to clean it up.”

You pout. “Stop, don’t tell me that. It’s not fair.”

He laughs again. “Sorry, Kitten. Couldn’t help it. You all right? You feel better?”

“I do. Thank you for letting me call you.”

“Always.”

Your heart skips. “So…what are you up to today?”

There’s a pause. A long pause and you know what he’s going to say even before he says it. “Rebecca and I are running some errands.”

“Oh.” Oh. Your throat goes dry. “Right…sorry, I’m…you probably need to go, don’t you?”

Another pause. “In a bit,” he says. “After I make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m okay,” you say far too quickly. And far too obviously forced. “Yeah, no, I’m…duh. Obviously I’m okay now. After…yeah. Okay, sorry. You can…I’ll talk to you later—"

“Kitten.”

You stop. “What? I’m…I’m letting you go—”

“Don’t. I want to talk to you a little longer.”

“But you’re busy—”

“It can wait.”

Swallowing, you whisper, “Harry, I’m…I’m just saying—”

“So am I.” He’s firm again. “Don’t do that. Don’t send me away because of her. We can talk. I promise.”

Your eyes squeeze shut. You force the tears back. Why does orgasming make you so emotional? “I know, I just…she’s there, isn’t she?”

Another beat. “Not in the room.”

“But she’s there. In the apartment. Near you.”

“Yes.”

Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry. “See, that’s…that’s why I’m letting you go. So you can be with her. Okay? I’ll talk to you later—”

“Kitten.”

“Harry.” You huff if only to make yourself sound stronger than you feel. “I’m okay. You can go.”

“You’re not okay. You’re sad.”

“I’m…no, I’m not sad, I’m just…I’m tired. I came really hard.”

“I know you.”

“Well…you don’t know me that well. Cause I’m fine.”

“Baby—”

“Just go,” you insist. “I promise I’m okay as long as you are. I shouldn’t have called so early anyway, that was…I’m sorry. That was my mistake—”

“You can call when she’s here, you know that—”

“But I don’t want to.”

Another long pause that feels like an eternity. “Okay,” he finally murmurs and you pull the phone away to take in a shaky breath. “But I want your honesty. Okay?”

“Sure.”

“Are you really okay?”

Truthfully, you don’t know. “Yeah, I’m fine. Swear. Thanks for helping me. I’ll talk to you later?”

“You will,” he agrees. “Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Rebecca’s dinner.”

Fuck. You forgot. “Oh…right—”

“You’ll be there. Right?”

It doesn’t really feel like you have a choice. “I…I don’t know yet, I might be busy—”

“You’re not.”

“You don’t know that. I could have plans.”

“You do. With us.”

Us. Your nose scrunches. “I mean other plans—”

“You don’t.”

“I might—”

“You don’t. If you did, I’d know.”

“Well, that’s presumptuous.”

“Maybe, but it’s true. Because you talk to me. When I ask you a question, you answer honestly. You’re a good girl. I know you.”

Your chest feels tight again. “Well, I don’t tell you everything.”

“You should.”

“You don’t tell me.”

“Because you don’t ask.”

He’s right. You never ask him anything personal because honestly, you’re afraid of what he’ll say.

“Fine,” you agree. “I’ll be there. Are we done?”

He waits a moment before saying, “We’re not done. We’ll discuss this later. But for right now, yes.”

And even if he sounds a bit strict, you can’t help smiling. “Yes, Sir.”

“Mm. That’s my girl. Take it easy today, all right?”

“I will.”

“Good. See you tomorrow, Kitten.”

“Goodbye, Sir.”

He chuckles and you hang up and even despite everything else…you can’t help but grin.

“Oh, my god. He does. Every time. He’s got such a weird thing with feet.”

You laugh. “It wasn’t so bad at first. But then he got a little too comfortable—”

“No, he does that. He really does.” Rebecca smirks as she throws the freshly chopped carrots into her pot. “And it started out cute, but now…”

You both glance into the living room where Harry is relaxing on the sofa. He’s smiling as he watches the two of you work on the food and even if he can’t hear you, he must know you’re talking about him.

“It’s still cute,” you argue in his defense. “Gross…but cute.”

She laughs. “Yeah, I guess he can be cute when he wants to be.”

You grin together and this feels good. You’ve missed your friend. You’ve missed having someone to laugh with, gossip with. And maybe it was strange at first, to come into their apartment and talk to your best friend about sleeping with her boyfriend.

But after a minute or two, you settled right back into the familiar rhythm of your friendship. And it almost felt…normal.

“Has he done the thing where his left leg starts to shake when he gets overstimulated?” she asks and you nearly snort.

“Oh, my god. Yes. The other day. I thought he was having a heart attack.”

“It’s the funniest thing. It just started, too. Couple years ago. He swears it doesn’t but like…I can see it.”

“It’s quite the tell,” you agree and you can’t help the way your eyes drift back to where he’s lounging on the sofa.

He notices and smirks at you.

“What?” you call.

He shrugs. “Nothing. You girls are cute, that’s all.”

“Bite me,” Rebecca says and he chuckles. “We’re not cute. We’re hot.”

“Absolutely,” he agrees. He leans forward. “Let me guess. You’re telling her about the leg thing?”

“Yup. And I was right,” she says smugly. “She sees it, too.”

His eyes roll but he smiles at you. “It’s not that bad—”

“No, it is,” she argues. “You look like a dog. A very cute dog, but still.”

He laughs a little louder and you’re almost jealous of their dynamic. A dynamic you’ve been witness to for almost five years. And it’s never made you jealous before.

But now…

She puts the soup on simmer and grabs your hand to lead you to the living room. “I told you we were gonna gossip about you,” she reminds him. “All good things, don’t worry.”

“I’m sure.” He smiles at you both as you take a seat on the sofa. She flops down right beside him while you cautiously sit on the other end. Exactly where you’d been that first day you agreed to this arrangement. “This is nice,” he says.

She hums. “Yeah, it feels like old times.” She glances toward you. “And it’s not weird…is it? I mean, you feel okay?”

Feeling a little hot under the spotlight, you swallow and force a quick shake of your head. “No, this is…it’s good. This is fun.”

However, she knows you better than anyone and her brows pull together as she studies you. “Do you have any questions? Or anything we can clear up?”

“Uh…I don’t know.” Truthfully, you don’t want to ask. “Is it…is it weird for you guys?”

They both shake their heads, almost as if in sync, and you resist the urge to scrunch your nose.

“Do you…have any regrets?”

“No,” she says and Harry agrees. “None. Do you?”

“No,” you echo. “No, I just…I don’t know. This still kind of feels like cheating.”

They exchange a glance and your heart skips. You’re even jealous of the way they look at each other.

“Rebecca and I have always agreed that whatever the other decides to do is their business,” Harry says. “As long as we communicate, there's freedom there. No judgment, no expectations, no regret.”

“And no jealousy,” she adds, offering you a soft smile. “Or shame. Or anything like that.”

You nod and pick at a loose string on your jeans. “And are you two…I mean do you still…”

“No,” she assures you and you’re thankful she figured out what you meant. “No, we haven’t in a few weeks.”

“Oh…because of me?”

She shakes her head while Harry says, “Not entirely. Most of it is for safety reasons. Keeping things clean and respectful. But it’s also one of our rules.”

“Rules?”

“We have a few rules we like to follow,” she explains. “It just makes it easier. Sometimes it can be tricky and this helps keep us on the same page.”

“And no sex is one of them?”

“Kind of. We don’t sleep together if one of us is seeing someone else. Well, no penetration, anyway.”

You hate the way your stomach sinks. “Oh. And…do you date other people…a lot?”

He looks over at her and she thinks. “Not…really?” she says. “I don’t think, anyway.”

“Jack was the last guy you were with, right?” Harry asks and she snaps her fingers.

“Jack. Right. Yeah. He was cute. And then yours was…Angie? I think?”

He nods. “Last year.”

“She was nice.”

“She was…sure. Yeah. She was nice.”

Rebecca laughs and he grins proudly, happy to have made her laugh. Your nose scrunches.

“She wasn’t that bad,” Rebecca argues. “She was just put in a weird position.”

“Literally and figuratively.”

She smacks his arm playfully and he pinches her thigh. You want to look away.

“Either way,” she finally says, “we don’t very often. And I don’t think of it as cheating. Especially not with you. Because I know he’s a good partner and I know that you deserve someone as kind as he is.”

He gives her a grateful grin before returning his attention to you. “We can stop if you want. Because I agree with Bex. I wouldn’t want to lose you as my friend and if you feel pressured or unsure—”

“I don’t,” you nearly rush to argue. “No, I don’t, I…I’m just really struggling with the dynamics of it. I guess.”

“Trust me, I get it,” she says gently. “It was a bit of a learning curve for us, too. Harry can get incredibly jealous.”

You’re tempted to tell her that you already know but you watch his reaction instead.

His eyes roll but then his stare returns to you and he winks, as though he’s recalling the same memory you are.

It makes your skin feel warm.

“Oop, hold on. I gotta check the soup,” Rebecca suddenly exclaims before jumping off the sofa to rush back to the kitchen.

And now left alone together, your attention is drawn back to the tall, handsome man you can already feel staring at you.

“Any more questions?” he asks softly. He leans forward and places his elbows on his knees and somehow, even that makes you feel safer.

“Just one,” you murmur and he nods. “Does this mean you and I are…dating? Or are we just fucking until I can find somebody else?”

There’s a slight edge in your voice that you hadn’t meant to be there, but he picks up on it instantly.

“Are you looking for somebody else?” he asks.

“Not really. But this whole thing started because you both felt bad for me,” you remind him. “And it’s been a lot of fun. Honestly. But you are kind of on loan. I just…I’m not sure what this makes our situation. If we’re just fucking…or more.”

He takes a moment to think about his answer, eyes flicking between yours almost as though studying you. “Would you like there to be more?”

You bite back huff. He’s very good at redirecting. “I don’t know. Would you?”

“I think more can get complicated.”

Your feel your expression fall. “Right.”

“And I don’t want to lose you from my life for good,” he continues. “You know that. Neither of us want to lose you—”

“Right, yeah. It’s fine. Forget I asked.”

He’s frowning now. “Kitten, don’t do that—”

“No, really,” you argue. “It’s fine. You’re right. Let’s just keep it like this until I can find somebody else.”

The frown turns into a glare. “Kitten—”

“Okay, soup is almost done,” Rebecca announces as she returns. This time she sits next to you and throws an arm around your shoulder. “What did I miss?”

The tension is palpable. You speak first. “I was just telling Harry that I might not need his services much longer.”

Rebecca’s eyebrows raise while Harry’s scowl deepens.

“Oh?” she asks.

You nod. “Well, seeing as we don’t want to do anything to ruin the friendship…I thought I’d give Ethan a call.”

It’s mean and perhaps a bit cruel, but you can’t help yourself. You aren’t trying to hurt him. Because he is right. And don’t want to lose him for good, either, and all this evening has truly done is prove how close he and Rebecca actually are.

You’ll never be able to compete with five years of love and affection. And maybe you don’t want to.

Maybe it’s time to move on.

“Ethan?” Harry repeats while Rebecca perks up.

“Yes,” she squeals excitedly. “Oh, I was hoping you would. He’s so nice, I think you guys would be perfect together.”

“Yeah,” you agree with a pointed look at Harry. “I think so, too.”

He knows what you’re doing. You can tell. And he’s oddly calm as he leans against the cushions and tosses his arms over the back of the couch. “And who the fuck is this Ethan?”

“Guy from my work,” you answer, equally as calm. “Nice. He’s been asking me out for a while.”

“A while.”

“Yeah, a while.”

His brows furrow. “So why do you want to go out with him now?”

“I don’t know.” You shrug. “He was never really my type before but we’ve gotten closer recently. I think it’s only fair I give him a real chance.”

“Really?” He’s curious. Maybe skeptical. “Now?”

You nod. “That way the three of us can preserve our friendship. Since that is the most important thing.”

“Well, I think it’s a great idea,” Rebecca tells you and hugs you to her side. “You’ll have to let us know how it goes.”

You grin and it’s all teeth. “I will.”

Dinner is nice. Tense but nice. You and Harry spend a majority of the meal exchanging icy glances and keeping to yourselves, leaving Rebecca to do most of the conversing.

And she doesn’t seem to notice. That or she merely pretends not to. She catches you up on some drama at work. Teases Harry about his sleep talking. Says she’s planning to visit her parents in a few weeks and then gives you the recipe for the soup.

And you and Harry nod politely, despite the unspoken rage from your ends of the table.

When dinner is finished, Harry offers to clean up and do the dishes. She kisses him on the cheek gratefully and says she’s gonna go take a quick shower since she’s got an early day tomorrow. She tells you that you’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like and then she hugs you tightly and whispers, “I’m so glad we’re still friends.”

You hug her back and agree.

The moment she’s gone, Harry sets down his sponge and turns to you. “Come here.”

You hesitate by the front door, itching to escape. But he’s firm as he watches you from the sink, eyebrow raised and jaw clenched, leaving you no choice but to listen.

“Kitten,” he repeats. Lower. Sterner. “Come. Here.”

You take a tentative step toward him. “What?”

“We need to talk.”

“Do we?”

“Kitten.”

You huff and throw your purse back down. “I really don’t think we need to—”

“I don’t care what you think. I’m telling you that we’re gonna have a chat and you’re gonna come in here like a good fucking girl and talk to me.”

This is how he gets you. This is how he pulls your strings and turns you around until you obediently join him in the kitchen. Like a good fucking girl.

Satisfied, he leans back against the counter. “Now. What’s this Ethan shit you pulled?”

“It’s not shit, it’s real,” you huff. “He really did ask me out and I really am going to say yes.”

“But you haven’t yet.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“I told you. He wasn’t my type—”

“No, I want the real answer.”

You frown. “That is the real answer—”

“No,” he repeats. “It’s not. And you know it.”

You cross your arms and look down at your shoes. “Well, I don’t know what to tell you. He wasn’t my type but now he is.”

The argument lulls and the small kitchen falls silent. You hear him sigh and it almost hurts to hear how heavy his disappointment hangs.

But a moment later, he’s slipping his fingers beneath your chin and raising your eyes to his. They’re soft. Serene. Filled with everything he can’t seem to find the words to say and you hate how quickly your body begins to crave him.

“You aren’t being honest with me, baby,” he murmurs. Your lashes flutter. “You aren’t communicating with me. And I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” you say and he sighs like he knows this is a lie. “Really, I just…I know myself. If I don’t put a bit of distance between us…I don’t think I’ll ever be able to breathe on my own.”

This makes him sad and it hurts you to know you’ve made him sad. “Kitten,” he whispers. He steps closer until his chest is brushing against yours. “If I’m doing something wrong—”

“You’re not. That’s the problem.” You swallow and he brushes his thumb along your jaw. “You’re doing everything right and I’m worried I’m gonna want you in ways that I shouldn’t.”

“Do you not want to want me?”

“Not…like that,” you admit. “Not when you’re still hers.”

He frowns. “I told you, you don’t have to worry about anyone else—”

“But I do. Because at the end of the day, you’re still her Harry. You’re on loan to me until one of you decides you shouldn’t be anymore—”

“Kitten—”

“And I can’t be with you in any way but physically. You said so yourself. More would get complicated and even if you wanted to be with me…I don’t think I could share you.”

He considers this. A long moment passes. “So you’re punishing me,” he says. “You’re going out with this Ethan guy to prove that you don’t need me.”

“What? No.” You lean back but he doesn’t let go of your chin. “I mean…okay, maybe I wanted to piss you off a little but I really do think I need to be with someone else in order to truly move on. I’m not punishing you. I’m…obeying you. If anything.”

He scoffs. “If you really wanted to obey me, you would have talked to me about what you were feeling.”

“I tried. You said more would get complicated.”

“It could. There’s always that risk. But I never said it wouldn’t be worth it.”

“So…what? You’d date me?”

“Of course.”

The answer is quick and it surprises you but it doesn’t seem to surprise him.

You blink. “You…really? You would date me? Like…officially?”

“I would.”

“And…what about Rebecca?”

“What about her?”

“You’d…you’d still be with her? Right? Even if we were together?”

He seems to know what you’re implying and sighs quietly. “Yes. I would.”

“And even if you weren’t…I’m assuming you would still want to be in an open relationship with me?”

Another pause. “Probably,” he admits, and even if you knew it was coming, you can’t help the tears that spring to your eyes. “That’s just the agreement I’ve always felt most comfortable with—”

“And that’s fine. I get it,” you assure him. You sniffle and he seems to wilt. “Really. I just…like I said, I don’t do well with sharing and if…if all we’re doing is fucking, I might as well just find somebody else, right? So that way the three of us can stay friends. And it doesn’t have to get weird.”

“I understand,” he says and you know he does. “I do, Kitten. And I would never keep you in a relationship you’re not comfortable in.” A beat. “But I can’t say that I like the idea of you going out with this guy.”

You smile. Gently. “Oh yeah? And why’s that?”

He looks down at you and takes your cheek in his hand. “You’re my girl,” he says. “No matter what. If you’re with me or not with me. You’re my fucking girl. And he doesn’t deserve even a second of your time.”

You fight a large grin and cling to his shirt. “You can’t say stuff like that.”

“Why not? It’s true.”

“Because.” You play with his buttons. “You don’t get to be jealous when you’re still with her.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m gonna like seeing you with someone else.”

You pout. “That’s not fair, Harry.”

“I know.” He brings his lips to yours. They hover—close—but never make contact. “I can’t help it. Can’t ever seem to help it when it comes to you.”

You want to push up and take his kiss, but he teases you just a little longer. “Harry—”

“Do you know that, Kitten?” His hands drop to your waist and he squeezes. Even though Rebecca is only two rooms away. Even though you can hear her humming in the bath. Even though he can never be yours. “Do you know how much I think about you?”

You swallow. Thick.

“How I think about the way you asked me to take care of you…” He ghosts his mouth down your neck. “The way you begged me to be rough….to spank you. Choke you. Degrade you.”

His voice is a sin and your eyes fall shut.

“Do you want me to degrade you, baby?” His fingers slip beneath your shirt. “Do you want me to pull you on my lap and spank you until you’re crying?”

The image in your head is somehow even better than his taunting. Your knees about buckle. “Harry…”

“You can find somebody else if you want to,” he whispers. “But do you really think they’ll be able to care of you the way I do? The way you want? The way you deserve?”

His kisses find your chest while his knee slots between your thighs.

“I know how naughty you really are, baby girl,” he says and it’s over. “He will never know.”

You grab his hair and he grabs your hips and you’re on the counter before you can even whisper his name. He pushes the hem of your dress up and guides your legs apart. He makes a home there, finger curling around the crotch of your panties in order to get a taste and it’s magic. Always.

And he does this to you only a few hundred feet away from where his girlfriend is innocently taking a shower. He does this, knowing she could walk out and see. He does this and you let him do this because there is no world in which you stop him.

“Harry,” you say—whimper—and he hums. His tongue licks up your cunt and your head drops back. “Har—wait—”

He doesn’t. He holds your thighs beside his cheeks and he sucks on your clit until you begin to squirm. “You promised to stay for dessert,” he says. “This is my dessert.”

The sounds are loud and beautiful and his curls feel good in your hands. You feel good in his.

Things fall to the ground. Bowls, pots, containers. He grins. He likes this, the danger. And he knows you like it, too. Because if you really wanted him to stop, he would.

But you don’t. And you yank him closer to your pussy as though this will be the last time he ever gets a taste.

And deep down, you wonder if it is.

Either way, you enjoy his tongue and his lips and the tip of his nose that nudges your clit so expertly. You wonder how it’s possible to be so addicted to a man you’re not even with. A man that only recently started fucking you and a man that you’ve only ever considered a friend.

Part of you wants to get caught. Part of you wants things to implode. To believe that he’s doing this because he wants her to find out. Because what would happen if she saw? What would happen if he realized he wanted to end things? Would he be yours? Would he decide that your time and your heart and your pussy were infinitely more important than his sexual prowess?

You scrunch your nose. These are all the wrong questions. Harry doesn’t work like that. He never has and you can’t expect something from him that he won’t ever give you.

You return your focus to him. To the way his large hands are curling around your thighs and hoisting them up on the counter. You love his hands. You think they might be your favorite hands in the world.

They’re so gentle but strong. Practiced. You know they’d look good anywhere on your body. Your thighs, your chest, your throat…

You whimper at the thought and he glances up. He’s proud again. Drenched in your arousal and the evidence of your lust for him.

He moves his mouth to the inside of your leg and nips. He leaves marks and memories along the soft skin and you can’t wait to stare at them whenever he’s not around. The way he makes you his in the only way he can.

And you’re so close. You aren’t even sure how he got you here so quickly but he always seems to. And you don’t mind. Instead, you fist his hair and you buck against his tongue and he’s going to make you cum all over his girlfriend’s kitchen counter.

And then he stops.

He stops, he lets you go, and he pulls away.

Your heart drops to your toes as the orgasm fizzles down to nothing. “What…what are you—"

“Get down,” he says curtly. He slaps your outer thigh. “We’re leaving.”

He doesn’t tell you where you’re going. And you don’t ask. Instead, you watch as he wipes his mouth and disappears from the kitchen to wait by the front door.

After straightening your dress and readjusting your underwear, you scurry to his side with a fretful glance toward the bathroom. “Shouldn’t you tell her you’re going?”

He smiles. “She’ll figure it out.”

With that, you leave their apartment so he can take you back to your place and he keeps his hand on your thigh the whole drive. You wonder if he merely wants to keep some sort of claim on you or if it’s habit.

Either way, his thumb rubs circles into your skin, right over the dark spots made by his lips and you smile. You want to lace your fingers with his. Want to hold his hand and pretend like the two of you are on your way home from a date. To pretend like this is normal—an everyday occurrence.

But you lose your nerve and soon, he’s pulling into the parking lot.

“I want you upstairs,” he says and gives you a pointed look. “On the bed. Naked. And waiting for me by the time I come up.”

You nod quickly. “Okay. Are…am I in trouble—”

“That depends on if you obey.” He unlocks the door. “So let’s hope you do.”

Swallowing a giddy grin, you scurry from the vehicle and into your building. You don’t bother with tidying up or adjusting your appearance. You run straight into your bedroom, rip off your clothes, and spread out into a starfish position on the bed.

You hear him follow not much later. Slow, deliberate steps. Meant to taunt you, tease you. Make your stomach flip. And it works.

When you see his tall, muscular figure in the doorway, your pulse skips.

Smiling, you call, “Hi, Sir—”

“No speaking,” he says shortly. “Unless I say otherwise. Is that understood?”

“Yes—no—sorry, I’m…” You stop. Nod.

He frowns but you know it’s only to hide a smirk. “Don’t test me, Kitten. You’ve already done that enough this evening, have you not?”

Another nod.

“And you knew better, didn’t you?” He walks into the room and begins to unzip his jeans. “Knew better than to dangle fucking Ethan in my face.”

You nod again but your eyes are trained on his hands. On the fingers that pull the hem of his shirt up and over his head.

“And you fucking knew…that if I got a taste of such a sweet pussy…I’d never stop,” he murmurs. He crawls onto the bed, wearing nothing more than his briefs. “That I’d forgive you. And let you off the hook.”

You don’t nod this time. You can’t. You’re too far gone in the lust in his eyes. The gentle green that’s now dangerous and luring you in.

“Well,” he whispers and then he smiles. “You thought wrong.”

He grabs your thighs and flips you over. Before you know it, you’re on your stomach, head spinning, while a large palm comes down in a sharp smack to your ass.

You jolt. Shriek.

“Easy,” he says and he’s kinder now. “You’re gonna take your punishment like a good little whore, aren’t you?”

Now you understand. You see. And you settle onto the bed as he smooths the stinging print with the soft of his hand.

You nod.

“Good.” He spanks you again. “I think we should do one for every time you lied to me. For every time I asked for the truth…and you refused to give it to me.”

Your lashes flutter. You suppose that’s only fair, although in your defense, the truth would have only hurt him.

“Let’s see…we’ll start with five,” he says and you exhale a sigh of relief. “Because I know you don’t mean to be a bad girl, do you?”

You whimper.

“You want to be good. Want to behave for me.” He spanks you. Number three. “You want a lot of things from me, don’t you? And maybe I’m bad, too. For not being able to give them to you.”

The air in the room shifts and you attempt to glance back.

However, he lays another firm smack to your ass before you can and then squeezes your hip. “Come on, you’re almost done,” he coos. A beat passes. “Do you remember me mentioning the traffic light system?”

You nod.

“Red for stop, yellow for pause, green for good, keep going?”

Nod.

“Good. Then I want you to use your words and tell me what color you are right now. Honestly.”

“Green,” you whisper, then clear your throat and speak louder. “I’m green. Honestly.”

He hums. “And you’re gonna take your last strike, yes?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And you’re gonna thank me for being so generous to such a selfish fucking whore?”

Your cheeks flush. Oh, he’s very good. “Yes, Sir.”

You still can’t see him but you can imagine his grin.

The last spank of his hand lands against your tender skin and somehow…it feels good. There’s something delicious about his pain. About the way he inflicts it. The way your body responds to it.

You groan—moan—and finally manage, “Thank you, Sir.”

He purrs something devious as he strokes the spot and begins to kiss his way up your spine. “Good fucking girl,” he breathes. The exhale of his praise dances across your back and you shiver. “Took your punishment so well. Wasn’t so bad, was it? Bet you even fucking liked, dirty thing. Didn’t you?”

You nod again and feel his knee begin to nudge its way back between your thighs.

“Let’s check, shall we?” His fingers move now for the mess you already know is there. And when he feels it, he curses. “Fucking shit, Kitten, you’re soaked.”

You are. You are soaked and you’re making a mess of your duvet and his knee and he still hasn’t let you cum yet and you think you might die if he waits any longer.

“Harry,” you nearly cry. “Please…please…”

He brings his kisses to the back of your neck. To the place below your ear that makes your stomach flip. He kisses. Sucks. Nips and violates the skin with his teeth.

“Okay,” he agrees. “Okay, but only because I know you need it.”

You nod again and begin to turn over. He goes to stop you—he wants to try from behind—but you insist.

“I want to see your face,” you say. “Please, I just…I need that tonight.”

The softness in his eyes and the fall of his expression almost hurts you. You don’t want to cause him pain or confusion. Ever.

But he’s not confused. He understands. And he agrees because maybe he needs it, too.

You pull him out of his briefs and he hikes your leg around his hip. Until the heel of your foot is digging into his ass and pulling him forward.

When he first pushes in, you both take a moment of silence to appreciate the beauty of your bodies connecting.

Harry was once your best friend and now he’s something else entirely. A completely different entity and you never imagined you’d see his cock disappearing into your cunt but now you don’t want to imagine his cock anywhere else.

When he’s about halfway in, he pulls back out and begins a steady pace. He’s large and he knows you need a moment or two to find the pleasure before he picks up a faster rhythm. So, he puts the focus on you. On your clit, on your thighs, on the way his lips feel against yours.

He kisses you—soft, sweet. Gentle. And then he kisses your neck. Your chest. Plays with your tits and whispers about how good they feel in his hand.

Then, he buries himself to the hilt as his hips find yours.

You arch and he catches you. There are more kisses, more soft murmurings. And there’s an intimacy here that doesn’t feel like sex. It feels like making love, a term you once scoffed at but now indulge in. Because maybe he does love you, in the only way he knows how. Maybe he does choose your body over hers. Maybe this was the best thing that ever could have happened to you.

You grab his hand and bring it to your throat. Pointed enough that he knows what you want and after a quick glance for consent…he squeezes.

Your lashes flutter and you press on his knuckles. Harder. He obeys.

And you were right. His hand does look good on your body. A necklace to wear proudly and he whispers your name before tightening his grip and allowing the sides of your sanity to go fuzzy before loosening his fingers.

You breathe. Deep. The air tastes like him and you love it.

He smiles. “You okay?”

“More than okay. That was…shit, I really like that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Probably cause you’re doing it.”

He uses this hold to kiss you and it’s a mess of tongues and spit and loud sucking. It makes you giggle.

“You’re making this very hard for me,” he suddenly whispers.

“Well, I prefer you hard.”

He smirks, but this is not what he means. “I want this to work.”

“I know. I do, too.”

He surges forward—a sharp thrust. “It can’t work if Ethan’s in the picture.”

Oh. “Why? Because you need room for Rebecca?”

He sighs and you hate how sad it sounds. “I know I’m not being fair—”

“You’re not.”

“I can’t help it—”

“Well, neither can I.”

He stops for a moment and looks at you. “You have every right to go out with him. I know that. But I think I’ll lose my fucking mind if you do.” He continues to roll his body against yours and you want to purr. “So I want to make a deal.”

“Okay…”

“If you go out with Ethan, you go out with me,” he says. “If you date him, you date me. And I’ll play nice. I’ll share. But only until you realize he’s a waste of time.”

You run your fingers along his shoulders. Along his back. Along the curve of his ass. You think about his proposition. It sounds good, it does. A way to keep him while also keeping your options open.

Because maybe this way, it won’t hurt so much when he still goes home to her.

“Can I think about it?” you ask.

He kisses you. “Of course. Always.”

You resume the languid but fervent pace he previously set. He squeezes your neck whenever he wants to hear you whimper and you scratch your nails down his spine whenever you want him to groan.

And it’s perfect. Truly. Because while you’re on this date with Ethan, he’ll be able to see the marks Harry left on your throat.

And when Harry goes back to Rebecca, she’ll see the scratches down his back made by your hands.

You can’t help but feel satisfied with the idea and it brings you that much closer as Harry presses your hips to the bed and begins to fuck into you harder.

He readjusts his stance above you, knees deep into the mattress and hands clutching the sheets beside your waist. And every thrust is purposeful. Hard. Beautiful. The sounds are symphonic and when you look down to see, you nearly mewl. The way his cock is absolutely fucking covered in you, slipping in and out of your cunt with ease and determination.

He’s beautiful when he’s focused. When he’s about to cum. You just want to kiss him and hold him and love him and be his.

And you fucking hate it.

“Need you to cum, baby,” he whispers and you nod in agreement. “Can you do that?”

“Yes….yes, Sir,” you stammer, already feeling the overwhelming power creep up your thighs. “I’m…I—”

“I know. I know, come on—”

You do. Just like that. Unravel like a spool of thread and dissolve into nothing but pleasure beneath him.

But you don’t feel him follow. In fact, he continues fucking you through your high until he suddenly pulls out and comes all over your swollen pussy.

It’s the most mesmerizing thing you think you’ve ever seen. The sticky substance paints your cunt in masterful strokes. Glistening from your body, your clit, your thighs like stars.

And you want to be disappointed that he didn’t finish inside but soon you understand why.

He takes your hand. Moves it closer and presses your fingers into the mess.

“Touch it,” he whispers. “Fuck it back in.”

Your eyes widen. He smiles but the look in his eye is mischievous and deranged.

“Go on, Kitten,” he says. “I wanna watch.”

Your arms are shaking. In fact, every part of you is still shaking from your orgasm but you obey. You slowly—very slowly—begin to circle your touch around your clit. Feeling the way it nearly throbs as you stimulate it. As you force it into more pleasure.

Harry’s attention is glued to the show before him as he swallows thickly and you swear you can almost see his heart beating against his chest like a cartoon.

You move down. Collect as many drops of him as you can and slowly begin to ease two fingers into your fluttering hole.

When you reach the knuckle, you gasp and he exhales.

It’s perfect.

He scoots back until he can lay on his stomach and place his cheek against your thigh. Close. Close enough that you can feel his breath fan across your hand.

And he watches. Happy. A lazy smile on those beautiful, pink lips. Lashes fluttering every time you whimper or whine.

“I…I can’t,” you whisper. The sensations are too strong. You’ve already cum once, you can’t possibly cum again so soon.

He hums. “Yes, you can. Let me see, baby. Let me watch.”

And you almost want to be embarrassed but something else seems to take over your mind entirely and you can’t help but go faster.

You pinch and curl and flex. You push his offering as far into you as you can reach and then you push in a little more. And it’s easier this time, even if it almost hurts. But you cum. You do, right in front of his very eyes until he’s quickly grabbing hold of you as though he’s desperate to be closer.

You’re more than a puddle this time. You’re practically limp but you’re also so incredibly happy. And he smiles brightly as he pulls your fingers away and puts them in his mouth.

You don’t even have the energy to make a noise this time. You merely watch him—content—until he starts kissing down your palm, along your arm, and to your chest.

Then, he pulls you into his embrace and you both indulge in a moment of peace.

You’re both quiet for a while. Even after your heartbeat has steadied. Even after the sweat on your skin has dried and the room no longer feels so warm.

You run your fingers down his torso. Along the dips and curves of his muscles that seem more defined every time you see him.

“You’re insufferable,” you finally say and he laughs. The sound bounces between the walls of your room—joyous and unencumbered—and it makes you giddy. He doesn’t laugh like this for her. “What? You are.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. I know.”

Another beat. Longer.

Then, you whisper, “Okay.”

He looks down. “Okay?”

“I’ll agree to your deal.”

“Really?” He’s grinning again. Big.

“Mhm. As long as I get to keep you in some way…maybe it’ll be worth it.”

He seems to sadden at the use of the word maybe, but he brushes it off before you can comment on it. Instead, he pulls you closer and kisses you hard. Forever.

And maybe…this won’t be so bad.

Previous Part:

~ Insatiable You* (Pt. 2)

~ Full Infinite You Masterlist

~ Main Masterlist

Amazing divider by @firefly-graphics! 💞

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