#I have spent the last 18 hours reading | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

anxiouscherubs · 29 days ago

Text

find you in my heart

✦ summary: the one where you get dumped and your best friend is there to help you realize what you truly deserve… what’s been in front of you all along.

✦ warnings/tags: MDNI! 18+, explicit, smut, slight angst, some fluff, oral sex (f receiving), oral sex (m receiving), fingering, throat fucking, big dick yh, unprotected sex (be safe!), yh is desperately in love, best friends to lovers, mutual pining, mentions of cheating (past relationships), yh and reader met as baristas, pet names, au where jeong yunho can actually cook, yunho is a lil possessive

✦ pairing: nonidol!yunho x reader

✦ author’s note: as a yunho ult, a yh best friends to lovers has been at the top of my list of things to write. i started this fic after yun posted these photos because i just could not get the vision of late night walks with him out of my head! i am new to writing so any feedback is appreciated. i hope you enjoy ♡ as always, thank you to my lovely best friends for enabling me and proofreading my depravity. love you guys forever. ♡

✦ word count: 12.9k

✦ read it on ao3: here

Two years. Two years down the drain because your ex decided he “wasn’t feeling it anymore.” You had a sneaking suspicion his change of heart had to do with his hot new coworker, but you couldn’t think too far into it or it would rip you apart more than he already had.

He had grown distant, and you chalked it up to the stress of his new job. But when he started staying late every other day and missing your sacred Thursday date nights, you knew it was the beginning of the end. You were happy together (most of the time), but you were never certain you could see yourself spending the rest of your life with him. There were certain things about him that you tolerated, but you wanted your forever to be spent with someone who felt perfect for you. And he… didn’t.

Even though you knew he wasn’t who you’d spend your life with, it stung just the same to receive his messages.

loser: hey y/n… i’ve been thinking about this for a while now but i think it’s time for us to part ways.

loser: we’ve had a good run, but i’m just not really feeling it anymore. i hope you understand.

loser: wish you the best. xx

You’d changed his contact and blocked his number immediately, saving yourself from the hurtful words he’d throw your way if you tried to ask for any reasoning or clarification. He always turned into a different person the moment you tried to express your emotions.

“She’s just a coworker, y/n, stop being crazy. You don’t have to worry about her.”

You push his words out of your brain again before they take over. So what if he left you for her? They probably deserve each other. You knew you were better off, that wasn’t the issue. It was that you settled for two years, letting this man who clearly didn’t respect you treat you like an afterthought the entire time. The more you think about it, the more you blame yourself for placing such little value on your own time and energy.

You sit on your couch, your coffee table littered with tear-soaked tissues and instant ramen cups. You haven’t left the house since you got The Texts last night, and you've watched a season of your favorite crime show and eaten your body weight in Buldak since then. You know you can’t sit here and wallow anymore or you’ll start to lose your mind, so you drag yourself to the bathroom to assess the damage. Eyes red and puffy from crying, hair tangled and tied loosely in a scrunchie, tear drops lingering on the same sweatshirt you’d been wearing for the last 24 hours. You look like hell.

“I need to get out of this apartment,” you say to yourself. You pull out your phone and send a quick text to your best friend before hopping in the shower. After washing your hair 3 times, shaving your legs, and exfoliating the sadness away, you’re finally starting to feel human again. You wrap yourself in your favorite towel before checking your phone again.

y/n: yunnie… are you free tonight?

yunho: for you? absolutely. you ok? haven’t heard from you all day.

Of course he’d notice you going MIA for a day. You and your best friend texted every single day, sending quick little updates or funny videos. He’d probably been worried sick, but he never wants to pry. He’s always respected your space like that.

y/n: long story. i’ll explain later.

y/n: meet me in front of blossom in 30?

Blossom was the cafe you and Yunho met working at. You were both burning the candle at both ends working nearly full time as baristas during your senior year of college. Your closing shifts together kept you sane during finals, blasting music and sharing your life stories while you cleaned up the shop. He’d even walk you home, after every closing shift, never wanting to let you walk alone so late. You both gave your two weeks notice right after graduation, but promised each other you’d make up for all the time you wouldn’t spend working together anymore.

That was four years ago, and he’d been such a stable presence in your life since then. You’d grown closer over the years, spending countless movie nights and BBQ dates together. He knew everything about you (after a movie night with too much wine and lots of oversharing) and hadn’t gone running for the hills, so you knew he really cared. You didn’t really have time to make friends in college because you were either working, in class, or studying, so he was really all you had. He was your safe space. You both stayed close by after graduation, staying in your apartments in the city 2 blocks from the cafe on either side. It was nice having your best friend so close by, and the cafe remained a staple in your friendship as a middle point between your two homes. In your reminiscing, you realize you missed your Saturday morning coffee date with him.

yunho: of course, bean. i missed you this morning.

Your heart fluttered in your chest at the nickname. It always does. That, and when he calls you sweetheart. Your heart almost came up your throat the first time he pulled that one. Yunho started calling you bean after you spilled an entire bag of light roast on the cafe floor trying to refill the hopper for the openers. He’ll never let you live that one down. You remembered giggling and scooping coffee beans off the floor on your hands and knees together, his hand brushing over yours when you both reached for the dustpan, your eyes meeting, breath quickening…

You shake the memory from your brain, coming back to reality just as you both had snapped out of it in the moment four years ago, scattering to finish cleaning up and avoiding eye contact the rest of the night. You always dismissed the electricity you felt when his skin touched yours, blaming the exhaustion from working a closing shift after being up all night studying. He had a girlfriend at the time, he wouldn’t have been interested in you that way anyway. He’s your friend, y/n, be realistic. You’re reaching. You send another quick text before getting dressed, and he of course responds right away.

y/n: i missed you too, i’m sorry i should’ve texted. it’s been a shitty 24 hours. i’ll see you soon

yunho: no need to apologize. i’ll be there, see you in a bit.

25 minutes pass and you somehow manage to make yourself look somewhat presentable. You dried your hair and pulled half of it up in a claw clip, leaving some pieces out to frame your face. You threw on some concealer and a bit of blush, trying to hide how puffy your eyes still were. It was a chilly fall night, so you opted for your favorite pair of light wash jeans and an oversized black sweater, accompanied by your beat up black chelsea boots and your gray wool coat.

After a quick 5 minute walk you round the corner to see Yunho standing in front of the cafe, his back facing you. Of course he’s right on time. His broad shoulders fill out the black jacket he’s wearing, his crossbody bag tucked under his arm. The neon sign in the cafe window leaves a purple hue reflecting off his freshly dyed dark gray hair. He turns his head at a car passing by, and you catch yourself smiling at the lost puppy look in his eyes. He must’ve seen you approaching in his peripheral, his head snapping in your direction. A subtle smile plays on his lips as he locks eyes with you. His warm brown eyes are full of an emotion you can’t quite name.

Your chest aches at the realization that your ex, in the two years you were together, never looked at you like that. Why did you ever think you were important to him? Your throat suddenly tightens and your vision starts to blur, tears welling in your eyes for the millionth time today. Yunho’s smile drops, his brow furrowing as he takes two long strides to meet you.

“Y/n, what is it, what happened?” He reaches for your shoulders to hold you steady, but you push forward to bury your face in his chest. He wraps his arms around you without hesitation, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other snakes around your shoulders. Your hands find his waist, gripping his shirt underneath his jacket. His familiar scent of jasmine envelops you, and you realize how badly you needed your best friend to help you through this.

”H-He dumped me,” you sniffle, letting out a shaky breath into Yunho’s chest, “he d-dumped me yesterday, through a fucking t-text message,” another unsteady exhale as you try to level your breathing.

“He did what?!” He pulls you in closer to him, the disbelief lacing his tone reassuring how rational your feelings are.

“It’s over,” you blink away your tears, tilting your head back to look up at your best friend. You’ve never seen the expression on his face before, like anger and worry are battling it out in his brain, and he can’t decide which one should take center stage first. “He texted me last night, saying he ‘wasn’t feeling it anymore’ and he ‘wished me the best,’” your mocking tone repeating his words reignited the angry flame in your chest.

“Wished you the best,” he scoffs, “is he kidding?” He rolls his eyes. “That’s how you end a two-year-long relationship?” He tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, taking a half step back to give you some more space to catch your breath.

“I can’t believe I wasted two years of my life with someone who just kicked me to the curb without a second thought,” you pinch the fabric of his shirt between your fingers, your eyes lingering on his collarbone peeking out from his slightly unbuttoned shirt. “I’m convinced he left me for a coworker, the one he told me not to worry about.” A humorless laugh leaves your lips, the burning feeling behind your eyes returning as more tears come. “I’m more upset with myself for letting him treat me like this for so long,”

“Hey, look at me,” Yunho cautiously brings his hands to your face, cradling your head gently. You lean into his touch, dragging your gaze up to meet his.

“He doesn’t know what he just threw away, sweetheart,” Yunho holds your teary cheeks in his hands. “You are the most beautiful creature this world has ever seen, and if he doesn’t see that, he doesn’t deserve you.”

“You think I’m beautiful?” You choke out between sniffles.

“Oh y/n… of course I do. I always have,” he wipes a tear from your cheek before it reaches your lips, “since the day I met you.”

Your breath catches in your throat at his admission, your chin wobbling as you try to hold it together.

His eyes search yours, that unspoken emotion taking over his features again. You almost catch the moment he shakes it away, reminding himself that he’s here to support you. His hands fall from your cheeks to grab your hands instead, that familiar electricity prickling your skin as he rubs his thumbs over your knuckles.

“Do you wanna go inside? I called ahead and ordered you a maple latte and a raspberry scone as soon as I got your text.” He tilts his head in the direction of the cafe next to you.

You look inside to see two to-go cups and a brown paper bag sitting on the counter. “And an iced caramel latte for you, I’m assuming,” you poke his stomach teasingly, “thank you, Yun, you didn’t have to do that.”

“Of course I did,” he gently squeezes your hands, a warm smile taking over his features. “Come on, it seems like we have a lot to catch up on. I have a feeling you have a lot to get off your chest.” He lets go of one hand, keeping hold of the other to walk you to the door. You lace your fingers through his, and it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

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You’d spent the last hour sitting in your favorite booth with Yunho, hashing through every single thing you hated about your ex. He was appalled by the things you’d told him, wishing he knew sooner so he could’ve tried to help you see you deserve someone better. Someone who valued your emotions, understood your needs, respected your boundaries… Someone like —

“Yunho, are you with me?” Your voice shakes him out of his daze, bringing him back to the conversation.

“Sorry bean, I just can’t believe he was such an asshole behind closed doors,” he recovers, “I wish you told me sooner. I feel like I wasn’t there for you when I should’ve been.”

”It’s not your fault, I could’ve told you and I didn’t. I think I was in denial,” you scoff. ”I was settling and I knew it, I was just trying to pretend things were better, but I think I’d been checked out for a while.” You swirl your coffee around in your cup, avoiding the concerned look in his eye. If you looked at him too long, you’d risk reading something deeper in the way he cares about you, something that made your heart flutter and ache all at once.

”Y/n, do you remember the girl I was dating when we met?” His tone shifts, a slight vulnerability creeping in. You stop moving your cup, watching the drink settle. You nod hesitantly, still avoiding his eyes.

Of course you remember her. You had developed a crush on Yunho in your first week working together, but you had to smother it at the first mention of her. Any hope you had left for a chance with him disintegrated the first time you saw her — she was the kind of beautiful you only saw on TV. Flawless skin, no split ends, a perfectly sculpted body. Even her voice was smooth. She seemed perfect for him.

“She cheated on me.”

Your head snaps up to him in disbelief. “Excuse me?”

You remember him telling you they broke up in passing — it had been a month after you started a relationship of your own. Part of you always wondered if you had just missed your window to pursue something with Yunho, but you pushed that thought out of your head so you could be present for your best friend. He didn’t want to go into detail about the breakup at the time, and he never did in the two years that followed.

“For the last six months of our relationship, she’d been sleeping with someone she reconnected with from high school. They realized they loved each other, and she ended things.” He offers a sad smile, but the bitterness lingers beneath the surface. You feel a tightness in your chest wondering why he didn’t want to share his pain with you while all of this was going on.

”Oh, Yunnie,” you reach for his hand across the table, holding his large palm in yours. “I’m so sorry. I don’t understand how anyone could ever do that to you. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Maybe we can call it even?” He lets out a breathy laugh, ignoring your question. “You didn’t tell me your relationship troubles, I didn’t tell you mine. Now it’s all on the table and we can leave it in the past.” He squeezes your hand, waiting for your response.

“Fine.” You flash a tight lipped smile, wanting to hash this open again with him at a later time. You didn’t keep secrets from each other, so why was he avoiding getting into this with you?

“Well, it’s almost closing time.” Of course he’s gonna change the subject. “Do you need a night alone or are you coming home with me tonight?” He forces a smile from across the table, and you could’ve sworn his ears turned the slightest bit red asking you to spend the night. Sleepovers weren’t out of the norm for the two of you, but this proposal felt different for some reason.

“I think if I’m alone at my place tonight I’ll revert to the sad couch potato I was before I texted you earlier.” You don’t really believe that, feeling like you’ve moved past the depression stage of grief and slowly inching toward acceptance. But you still wanted the company.

“I’d love to come home with you, Yunnie.”

“Then let’s go, sweetheart.”

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Your neighborhood was so beautiful at night. The soft streetlights cast a gentle glow on the sidewalk, illuminating little puddles of water from last night’s rain. The fall air feels cool and crisp, carrying the faint smell of the changing leaves. This late at night, the stillness is calming… usually.

You two had found this to be the perfect environment to have your deepest talks. Taking regular nighttime walks with Yunho had become one of your cherished rituals, especially when one of you needed to get something off your chest. You’d shared fragments of your lives, from your family drama to his frequent arguments with a stubborn coworker at his new job. But tonight, a suffocating silence swirls around you.

You’d taken a full lap around the neighborhood in silence since leaving Blossom, the familiar path devoid of your usual chatter. As you approach Yunho’s place, his brisk pace and hands shoved deep in his pockets told you he wasn’t going to be the one to acknowledge it. He was never one for confrontation. If he wouldn’t tell you what’s going on voluntarily, you’d have to coax it out of him.

You stop walking, the cool air feeling sharper on your skin. He takes three more strides before he stops too, spinning back around to face you, confusion etched on his devastatingly handsome features.

“You okay, bean?” he asks, tilting his head at you, genuine concern flickering in his eyes.

“I feel like I should be asking you the same thing,” you reply, barely above a whisper. Maybe you weren’t one for confrontation either.

He takes a step closer to you, “I’m fine,” he says with a quick shrug and a slight shake of his head.

“Then why haven’t you spoken to me since we left Blossom? Did I say something to upset you?” You try your hardest to grab your frustration before it bubbles up, but you can already tell it’s too late. His dismissive tone, both here and at the cafe, gnaws at you. It triggers something inside of you from your recently ended relationship, and you feel on the verge of either shutting down or letting your emotions spiral.

“I just thought you might want a quiet walk is all.” He can barely look you in the eye, and that’s when you know something is very wrong.

“Come on Yun, you know that’s not what’s going on. Something is bothering you.” The frustration claws higher and higher, an unwelcome tightness gripping at your chest. Don’t cry, y/n.

He opens his mouth, the words hanging on the tip of his tongue, but stops himself, his hands finally pulling from his pockets to rest on his hips. He stares at a fallen leaf swirling in a puddle between you.

“Is it because we talked about your ex?” He winces just a little at your words. “I didn’t mean to open old wounds, I just thought after everything we’ve shared with each other that you’d want to talk to me about it.” You don’t mean for your words to sound accusatory, but based on the way his body tenses, you realize they must have.

“It’s not that, y/n, it’s not about…” his voice trails off into a sigh. His eyes search yours, his mind racing trying to decide if he wants to get into what’s really going on, what he’s been keeping inside for so long.

“Then what is it?” You’re grasping at straws, desperately trying to get him to give you anything to go off of. When you’re met with more silence and an indiscernible look in his eyes, you push forward.

“I just don’t get why you wouldn’t tell me she cheated on you Yun, we help each other through everything.” Anger wells up in you, more at yourself for not asking him to open up to you about it at the time.

“Y/n, please, it’s more complicated than just her cheating, and I just don’t know if now is the best time to get into it, you’re still—”

“Still what, Yunho? Grieving my own relationship? Just because I just got dumped doesn’t mean I can’t be here for you!” Your voice rises, each word sharp, the tension in your throat threatening to break. “You don’t get to decide what I can and can’t handle, that’s not up to you—”

“Fine,” he interrupts, “do you wanna know the real reason I didn’t tell you, y/n? Is that what you want?” His ears redden, and you can’t tell if he’s angry, embarrassed, or a combination of the two. You nod hesitantly. “I didn’t tell you she cheated because I didn’t care, okay? I didn’t care. Her heart wasn’t in it anymore, but neither was mine.” His chest heaves, squeezing his eyes shut tight for a brief moment to brace himself.

“I didn’t care that she cheated, because I didn’t want her anyway.” He lets out a shaky breath. “I wanted you.”

Oh.

His eyes burn into yours as his words hang in the air between the two of you.

“Yunho…” You take a step toward him only for him to take a step back. Your heart is pounding so hard in your chest, you wonder if he can hear it. What is happening right now?

“I’m sorry y/n, I can’t keep it to myself anymore. I’ve held it in for so long, and I just can’t do it anymore, I—” He stutters over his words, “I wasn’t grieving my relationship, I was grieving yours. You found someone just before she ended things with me, and I realized maybe you and I weren’t meant to be. That we’d never have the chance to try.” His eyes gloss over with pent up emotion, thinking about all the time he spent wondering what could’ve been. “I wanted you, but I had to act like I didn’t, and we were becoming such good friends, I didn’t want to ruin it, I just—”

”Did you think I didn’t feel the same?” You interrupt him. “That I don’t feel the same now?”

He tilts his head at you, the tension in his body visibly disintegrating. “What are you saying?” Brows furrowing, cheeks blushing, so many emotions flying through his features at a speed neither of you can process. He runs his hands down his face before resting them on his hips. “Sweetheart, what are you saying?”

“I wanted you, too, Yun…” The words tumble out of you, a rush of honesty that feels both exhilarating and terrifying. “I want you too.”

He takes another step toward you, his mind racing as he searches for answers to never ending questions. “You did?” Another step. “You do?”

“Yes, and yes,” you nod, feeling warmth flood your cheeks at your admission—both to Yunho and to you. You realize you’d never said it out loud before, not even to yourself.

“Say it again,” he urges, closing the gap between the two of you. One hand finds your waist while the other gently cradles the back of your neck. His touch lights a fire on your skin, his hands feeling heavier on your body than they ever have before. Your hands find their way to his waist, tugging him closer to you. Chests heaving, hearts racing.

“I want you, Yunho.”

The tension between you peaks, your grip tightening on one another, like if either one of you lets go, the moment will slip away. Yunho’s eyes search yours, looking for confirmation.

He gently cups your face, his thumb brushing your cheek, wiping away the remnants of your tears. His touch sends a shiver down your spine, igniting the familiar spark that had always lingered between the two of you. Your breath hitches in your throat, caught between the fear of moving too fast and the undeniable pull you have always felt towards him.

You bring a hand up to his cheek, your fingers gliding over his skin, feeling the warmth radiating from him. You linger for a moment before wrapping your fingers around the back of his neck, pulling him closer to you.

“Y/n,” he whispers, “sweetheart,” his gaze drops to your lips, and you swear you can hear your hearts beating in time with one another in the quiet.

You take a deep breath, searching his gaze for the same spark of desire you feel coursing through your body. He inches closer, breath mingling with yours, heating the space between you.

“Is this okay?” he asks softly, his voice trembling slightly.

You nod, breathless, as you lean in just enough to finally close the distance between the two of you.

The tip of his nose brushes against yours, the contact making your head spin. You’ve thought about this moment countless times, and being here feels so right.

“Yunho,” you breathe, “please kiss me alr—“

His mouth molds to yours before you can finish your sentence, pulling all the remaining air from your lungs. The world around you explodes in a flash of warmth and tenderness, all the hurt you had been feeling melting away into a puddle at your feet.

You feel a rush of emotions— relief, joy, and a deep, intoxicating desire— as he deepens the kiss. Your hands tighten around the back of his neck, pulling him closer as he sweeps his tongue across your bottom lip. You lose yourself in the sensation, the taste of him and the feeling of his lips on yours erasing everything else you’ve ever felt.

His fingers tangle in your hair, holding you as if you might disappear. This moment, this kiss, feels like a declaration— a culmination of all the unspoken words, the hidden glances, the years of longing between the two of you. It’s exhilarating.

He finally pulls away, resting his forehead against yours, your heavy breaths the only sounds on the quiet street. Your hands slide from his neck, traveling down his chest before settling on his waist.

“Sorry sweetheart, I didn’t mean to cut you off,” he chuckles, brushing a strand of hair from your face, “I’ve just been waiting a really long time to do that.” He drops a gentle kiss to your forehead before wrapping his arms around you to pull you close.

“You can cut me off anytime if it means I get to kiss you,” you nuzzle into his chest. The steady thud of his heartbeat slows yours to match.

“Oh yeah?” He looks down at you, a teasing glint in his eyes.

“Yes, abso—“

His lips connect to yours again, a fire igniting in your belly when his tongue tangles with yours. He tastes like caramel, the sweetness of his latte lingering on his tongue. Wide hands wrap around your hips, dragging you closer, rolling your body into him.

You snake your hands up his lower back, digging your nails into his skin through his shirt. A low groan rumbles deep in Yunho’s throat at the sensation, sending a bolt of heat straight to your core. A whimper crawls up your throat before you can stop it, and Yunho smiles against your mouth. He draws your bottom lip between his teeth, biting down gently.

“Your lips are even softer than I imagined they’d be,” he gives you one more lingering kiss before pulling back. His deep eyes find yours, his blushed cheeks glowing under the streetlights.

“You’ve imagined kissing me?” Shyness creeps in at the realization that Yunho thought about you in the same way you thought about him.

“Among other things, yes,” he brushes your hair out of your face, his palm settling to cup your cheek. “You’re cute when you blush.”

“I am not blushing!” You hide your face in your hands. “Maybe I am, but how can I not when you talk to me like that,” you muffle into your palms.

“I’ll talk to you any way you want if it means you’ll react like this,” he teases, gently pulling your hands from your face to hold them in his. “Your hands are freezing, sweetheart,” he brings your hands to his mouth, holding them between his and blowing his hot breath onto them to warm them up.

”Well we have been out here a while,” you shiver at the feeling of his breath on your skin.

“Am I still allowed to take you home tonight, or would that complicate things?” He’s either nervous, or hesitant. Either would make sense, you just got dumped and 24 hours later you’re confessing your feelings for your best friend (and kissing him). Anyone with a brain might wonder if you’re rushing, or worse, rebounding. Once you get out of this cold, you can talk things through.

“Yes, please, let’s go.” You take his hand in yours, kissing his knuckles before pulling him in the direction of his place.

“You got it, baby.” He slings an arm over your shoulder, planting a kiss to the top of your head. Your heart flutters as you walk toward his apartment.

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As soon as you walk through Yunho’s front door, he breezes past you to grab two wine glasses and a bottle of your favorite rosé while you kick off your boots. As you shed your jacket, he sets two full glasses on his simple wooden coffee table, heading back to his kitchen to grab a bag of chips and some chocolates. He returns with his hands full, confusion lacing his features when he finds you standing in the middle of his living room stifling a laugh.

“Is something funny?” He chuckles at your reddening cheeks as you let out a giggle.

“When did you get so nervous to have me in your apartment?” Part of you feels bad for teasing, but he looks so cute when he’s flustered, you can’t help it. “I’ve never seen you move so fast to get me a glass of wine.”

“Well, when you decide to tell me you want me in the middle of the street, that tends to change things, baby,” he grins at you, clocking you for the second time now having a physical reaction to his newest pet name for you. You thought sweetheart sounded beautiful coming out of his mouth, but baby is a whole new level of intoxicating.

”You said it first, but I guess that does change things, huh, baby?” You cross your arms, challenging him. “Do I make you nervous, Jeong Yunho?”

“You make me a lot of things, sweetheart, but nervous isn’t one of them.” He pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue, the gesture making your head spin. After setting your snacks down on the coffee table, he finally takes off his jacket and kicks off his shoes. He plops down on his couch, patting the empty cushion next to him. “Come sit with me,” the deep, inviting tone of his voice has you moving to him immediately. Grabbing your wine, you sit next to him, folding one leg up onto the couch to turn to face him. He copies your position, his knee resting just an inch from yours.

“What do I make you feel, then?” You swirl your wine in your glass as your gaze flicks over his handsome features. Landing on his eyes, your heart jumps at the way they shine for you.

“Fulfilled,” he starts, scooting closer to you so your knees are just barely touching. “Cared for, understood,” the corner of his mouth quirks up slightly, “and loved.”

A bloom of warmth floods your chest at the word. This is what you’ve been missing the last few years. You thought your ex would give you this sense of gratification if you gave him more time, but what you were searching for was in your best friend. You always knew in the back of your mind that it was him. The one who held you when you cried, who made you laugh until your stomach hurt, who would drop everything to be there when you needed him. You take a big sip of your wine.

“I was settling,” the words fall off your lips before you can stop them, the alcohol warming your cheeks right away. “I thought that if I kept giving him everything he would eventually give me half of what I was craving, but in the back of my mind I think I knew he’d never be what I really needed… I settled for him.”

Yunho offers a soft nod, zero judgment, only understanding. “And what is it you were craving?” He moves even closer to you, your shins now pressed together.

“You,” you sigh, his deep eyes boring into yours, waiting for more. You tap your fingers on your wine glass, contemplating your next words. “The connection, the comfort, the joy, the love that you gave me,” your throat tightens thinking about the nights you spent longing for your best friend. “I wanted you, how you made me feel…but I settled for him.”

“Right person, wrong time,” Yunho scoffs, a gentle shake of his head, “kind of applies to us, right? We’ve wanted each other for years now, but we just never had the chance.”

“I should’ve told you sooner, Yun,” your hand rests on his, his fingers immediately lacing between yours. “We’ve wasted so much time,” hot tears blur your vision, but you blink them away before they fall.

“Hey, we have all the time in the world, baby,” he brings your hand to his mouth, planting a gentle kiss on your knuckles. “All the time in the world,” he muffles against your skin. You turn your palm to hold his cheek, and you notice his eyes roll back before they flutter closed.

“All the time in the world,” you repeat, threading your fingers into his hair. A future with Yunho flashes through your mind. Lazy Sunday mornings, celebrating milestones and holidays together, late nights tangled in the sheets, his body taking over yours —

“Y/n…” His deep, smooth voice brings you back to the moment, the sound of your name on his lips heating your cheeks.

“Hm?”

He gently takes your wine glass from your hand, setting it on the coffee table next to his untouched one. When his eyes find yours again, warmth pools in your belly at the darkness that’s taken over his features. “I really want to kiss you again, but I feel like we should talk first,” he takes both your hands in his, and your heart pounds a beat faster in your chest. “If you spend the night tonight, there’s no going back. Once I have you, I don’t think I can let you go.”

“I don’t want you to let me go, Yun,” you squeeze his hands in yours. “I’ve waited too long to get here, I don’t wanna go back… You already have me, don’t let me go.” The thudding in your rib cage intensifies with every second of heated silence.

“I couldn’t if I tried,” he finally says, pulling you in, crashing his lips into yours. His hands find your waist, his tongue exploring your mouth, and you wrap your arms around his neck as he pulls you into his lap. You straddle him, resting your knees on either side of his hips, deepening the kiss as his hands wander to cup your ass, pulling you closer to him. You roll your hips against him, his grip tightening on you as he drags your body over him. A groan rumbles in his chest and you feel his cock stiffening beneath you, grinding on him slower and harder.

“I can’t believe you’re finally mine,” Yuhho’s hand snakes up your back and into your hair, gently removing your clip and tossing it to the floor before gripping your locks and tilting your head to the side, exposing the sensitive column of your neck to his mouth. He nips at your skin, licking the spot with his tongue, moving up to the tender spot under your ear. “My beautiful girl,” his hot breath in your ear has your entire body blooming with goosebumps.

”Yunho,” you roll your hips over him again as his lips travel down your neck to your collarbone, a whimper crawling up your throat at your rough jeans catching on your swelling clit. He feels harder and harder underneath you with each rock against him, and you’re cursing yourself for wearing such thick pants. You just want to feel him.

“Yes, sweetheart?” He tightens his grip on your hair, kissing back up your neck until his lips connect with yours again. You moan into his mouth as his other hand guides your hips back and forth, shamelessly grinding your bodies against each other like horny teenagers.

“Touch me please,” you beg, catching his bottom lip between your teeth, sucking on it gently.

“Only because you asked so nicely,” he teases. He snakes an arm around your waist and smoothly rolls you onto your back, laying you down in the soft cushions. He kneels, settling between your legs, spreading them wide to roll his hips into your needy clothed core. His mouth finds yours again, tangling his tongue with yours.

The hand in your hair loosens, trailing down your body, ghosting over your breasts, down your belly, and lifting your sweater slightly to get to your jeans. He makes light work of the button and zipper, his nimble fingers undoing the fastenings with ease, all while keeping his mouth on yours. You feel him tapping on your ass, signaling you to lift your hips. When you do, he shimmies your jeans down your legs agonizingly slowly, breaking the kiss to admire the bits of your skin he’s dreamt about for years.

He tosses your jeans on his living room floor, and a timidity slithers up at the realization that you’re in your underwear on your best friend’s couch. His broad hands rest on your thighs, letting you close them slightly, your shared shuddering breaths the only sound in his quiet apartment.

“Getting shy on me, sweetheart?” He teases you, reading your mind. He knows you so well. You giggle as he slides his hands to your sweater, dragging it up your body, exposing your panties, shifting it higher and higher until the bottom hem of your bra is barely showing. He slides his hands under your top, expertly cradling your bra-clad breasts in his hands, letting out a restrained groan. The energy shifts and you whimper, watching his eyes locked on the way his fingers swim beneath the fabric of your sweater. You let your legs fall open slightly as Yunho slots himself between them, peppering your belly with gentle kisses and thumbing one of your pebbling nipples through the thin material of your bra.

“Yun…” you sigh, running your fingers through his hair as he kisses you lower and lower, “please,”

“Mhm,” he nods against your soft skin, shifting down to lay on his belly between your legs, hooking your knees over his shoulders. You feel his searing breath over your pussy, cooling the growing wet patch in your panties, making you clench around nothing. He picks up on your reaction, gripping your hips before blowing a steady stream of air over your sensitive heat.

“Oh,” you breathe, wriggling under his strong grasp, spreading your legs wider for him.

“You’re so reactive,” he murmurs, biting down on your inner thigh, soothing the spot with his tongue. You yelp at the sensation, covering your mouth in shock of the sound that just came out of you. Yunho chuckles darkly, “don’t hold back, baby, I wanna hear all the noises you make.”

He hooks an arm over your hip so his hand rests on your mound. He grips your panties in his fist, pulling them up until the fabric slips between your wet folds, gliding firmly over your clit. You stifle a sob as he tugs them harder, biting you once more.

“I thought I told you not to hold back, sweetheart,” he licks your skin again, soothing the angry bite mark that will surely be bruised by morning. Another tug of your panties has you mewling, one hand gripping his hair for dear life, the other blindly searching for anything to ground you.

“Yunnie, please, stop teasing me,” you never thought your sweet and wholesome best friend could have you whimpering and begging beneath him, hardly having touched you. He has such a dark, dominating presence about him in this moment, and it’s making your head fuzzy.

He lets go of your panties, swiftly pulling them to the side, exposing your wet heat to the cool air. You suck in a sharp inhale, finally bare to him.

“Fuck,” he moans, “look at you, baby,” he runs two fingers through your heat, the sudden contact making you cry out. He spreads you wide to see every inch of you, taking his time. “So pretty,” he breathes.

“I need you, please,” you whine, “are you gonna make me keep begging?”

“Baby, I’ve wanted to touch you like this for years,” he drawls, “let me savor it a little.” Before you can protest, he teases your entrance with two fingers, slowly thrusting them deeper and deeper inside you, little by little, until his palm is flush with your cunt. Your head falls back into the cushions, your chest heaving. You had daydreamed about how his fingers would feel inside of you, but nothing compares to the real thing. He pumps in and out a few more times before he curls his fingers, hitting the spot that makes your back arch. You grip his hair, tugging on it harder than you mean to, but you can’t help it. You miss the way his eyes roll back, his mouth hanging open at the pain.

Yunho lets you guide his mouth to your core, his fingers keeping a steady pace as he uses his free hand to spread you open, swirling his tongue around your clit.

“Yunnie…” you whimper, grinding your hips on his mouth. He nods against you, sucking your clit into his mouth, rolling his tongue over the swollen bud over and over in time with his fingers moving in and out of you. Pleasure blooms in your belly as he works you, each flick of his tongue bringing you closer to the edge.��

“Feeling good, sweetheart?” He replaces his tongue with his thumb, circling your clit softly to ease you into the sensation. You push yourself down into his hand, needing more. He chuckles, applying more pressure until he feels you melting under him.

“Yes, so good Yun, fuck,” the pressure low in your belly builds rapidly, and you know if he keeps going at this pace, you’ll fall apart in no time. You prop yourself up on your elbows to look at him, and once your eyes lock with his you know you’re a goner.

His hair is mussed from your tugging on it, his cheeks flushed, his mouth glistening, a bead of sweat dripping down his temple as he picks up the pace ever so slightly. He smirks at you, letting your legs fall from his shoulders so he can kneel between them again, sitting back to get a good look at you, never slowing his ministrations. You make the mistake of glancing down, your mouth drying at the sight of his cock pressing against the confines of his jeans. He hits that spot deep inside you again, and you fall back into the cushions, breathy curses falling from your mouth over and over.

“You look so beautiful like this, fucking hell,” he drops his free hand next to your head, caging you in beneath him, watching his fingers pistoning in and out of you faster and faster, circling your clit in a matching pace. “Mine, mine, mine,” he repeats over and over, like he can’t believe this is finally happening. He brings his lips to yours, mumbling the words against your mouth as you nod wordlessly in agreement, the taste of yourself on his tongue making you dizzy. He kisses you down to your neck, nipping at your sensitive skin, praise after praise whispered into your ear.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he emphasizes his words with a sharp thrust of his fingers, and you cry out at the sensation.

“I’m yours, I’m yours— fuck!” You feel the cord in your belly tightening and tightening.

“Good fucking girl,” he whispers in your ear, nipping at your earlobe, “come around my fingers, baby,”

“Oh, oh,” you shudder underneath him, his words pushing you over the edge as your orgasm rips through your body, pleasure burning from the inside out. He kisses you hard, slowing his pace bit by bit to ease you through your climax, your body trembling in his hold. “Yunho,” you mumble into his mouth, “I’m yours,” you whisper.

“You sure are,” he peppers your cheeks with soft, tender kisses, your brain slowly coming back online as he slows his fingers, coming to a stop. “And I’m yours,” he kisses you gently, easing his fingers out of you, slipping your panties back into place. He lays down on the couch next to you, pulling your favorite throw blanket over your exposed bottom half, tracing hearts and stars on your skin while your breathing steadies, running his fingers through your hair as you let your eyes flutter closed. You snuggle into him, the warmth of his body keeping the flame in your core burning.

“You are incredible, Jeong Yunho,” you giggle as he kisses every inch of your face, his soft lips mapping the details of your skin. He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him.

“Why, because I made you come in 5 minutes flat?” His low drawl has desire coursing through your veins, part of you feeling embarrassed he can turn you on so easily with just his words.

Your breath hitches as you nod, trying to keep your cool, but he knows you better than that by now. “You really like when I talk to you like this, don’t you, baby?”

“Apparently I do,” you turn to look at him, a teasing glint in his eyes, his fingers dancing across the bare skin of your belly. “I’d love to hear what else you have to say,” you tease.

“Well for starters, I want to take you to bed” His mouth hovers over the shell of your ear, the combination of his hot breath fanning over your skin and the vibrations of his deep voice have lust taking over your thoughts once again. “I want to fuck you properly, and we just don’t exactly have the space for that here,” you can hear the smile in his voice.

“Oh,” you giggle, his straightforwardness taking you by surprise. Just like that you’re throbbing for him again, your mind racing thinking about where your night with him is going to go. “I’d like that.”

Before he can catch you, you jump up from the couch, leaving your throw blanket behind, beelining for the hallway toward Yunho’s bedroom, giggling the whole way.

“Hey!” He laughs, clamoring up to chase after you. A few long strides and he’s caught up to you, right in the doorway of his bedroom. He hooks an arm around your waist and you yelp as he spins you around to face him, the momentum of both your running carrying you to the foot of his bed. The backs of your knees hit the mattress, but he holds you upright, pressing your body against his. Your eyes lock, both of you breathing heavily.

“Someone’s excited,” Yunho chuckles, giving you a firm kiss before pushing you back onto his bed. You let out a breathless laugh as you plop down on the mattress, pushing yourself to sit upright.

“A little,” your hands find his torso, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. He smirks down at you as you run your hands under his shirt and up his stomach to chest. He lets out a shaky breath at the feeling of your hands on him, and pulls his shirt off over his head, discarding it on the floor. You’d seen him without a shirt a handful of times, but this close he looks ethereal. Your fingers dance across his bare skin, reveling in the feeling of being able to touch him like this. You want to see more of him, touch more of him, taste more of him.

“Yun,” you start, hesitant to take the lead. You slide your hands down his body until your fingers feel the smooth leather of his belt. Your eyes meet his, not breaking contact while you smoothly undo his belt buckle. “Can I?” You whisper.

“You can do whatever you want to me, y/n,” he breathes, looking down to where your fingers are undoing the button of his jeans, sliding the zipper down slowly. You pull his jeans down, and he kicks them to the side, standing before you in only his boxers, his hard length pressing against the confines of the fabric.

His fingers lace through your hair, gripping it gently to tip your head back. Keeping your eyes on him, you slowly pull your sweater over your head, letting him let go of your hair to take it from your hands and toss it to the floor. You reach behind you, undoing the clasp of your bra, slowly sliding it from your body and dropping it next to your discarded sweater. Yunho’s chest heaves as he pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue, drinking this image of you in, dragging his gaze across your exposed chest.

“So beautiful,” his voice has dropped even lower, a tone you’ve never heard from him, the deep timbre stoking the fire deep inside you. “You are so beautiful,” he cups your face in his hands, bending over to kiss you softly. He parts your lips with his tongue as you rest your hands on his abdomen, sliding one down to palm his cock over his boxers.

“Fuck,” he groans into your mouth, your fingers wrapping around him as much as you can through the fabric, stroking his impressive length as he licks deeper into your mouth. You pump him from base to tip, running your thumb over the wet patch at the head of his cock, drawing another guttural moan from his lips. Your mouth is watering at the feeling of him, but it’s not enough.

You dip your fingers under the waistband of his boxers, and Yunho breaks the kiss to watch you pull them slowly down, down, down, until his cock springs free, hanging heavy in front of you. You absentmindedly lick your lips at the sight of him, feeling the wetness in your panties growing. Lust prickles across your skin thinking about feeling him inside of you.

“Yunho,” you sigh, wrapping your fingers around him, pumping him slowly as he stands up straight, tugging your hair in his fist to tip your head back again. “I want you to fuck my throat,” you whine, “please,”

“Oh, baby,” he grips your hair tighter at your words while you stroke him, the sting making your cheeks warm, “you want me to stuff your pretty little mouth? Wanna wrap those beautiful lips around me?” Towering over you like this, you start to realize just how much he could overpower you, and the thought spreads heat through your abdomen.

“Please,” you nod, “I wanna taste you,” you open your mouth, sticking your tongue out for him, keeping your eyes on his. You pump his length twice more as you guide his hips toward your mouth, dropping your hands into your lap as his tip rests on your tongue.

“Mmh, so pretty,” he whispers, wrapping his fist around his cock, tapping his tip on your tongue before sliding past your lips. “If it gets to be too much, just tap my thigh, okay sweetheart?”

You nod, wrapping your lips around him, sliding your tongue over the sensitive underside of his tip. His head falls back, a beautiful moan falling from his lips as you slowly start to bob your head. You take more of him, inch by inch until his cock taps the back of your throat. You swallow around him, and he absentmindedly thrusts deeper, chasing the sensation.

“Fuck,” he groans, his grip on your hair tightening again as he holds you there. “I’m gonna move now, is that okay?” He brings his free hand to your cheek, caressing it gently as you nod in confirmation. As soon as you give him the signal, he pulls back slightly, rocking his hips slowly, savoring the feeling of your lips wrapped around him and your tongue gliding over him. “So beautiful with your mouth stuffed so full,” he praises you, thrusting deeper into your mouth, down your throat, testing the limits of what you can take. He finds a steady rhythm, and you match his pace, bobbing your head and licking over every inch of him as he pumps in and out of your mouth, the stretch burning your throat deliciously.

You can’t take your eyes off of him, tears blurring your vision as you admire his lustful features. His furrowed brow, his blown pupils, his flushed cheeks. The bead of sweat dripping down the tip of his nose, the tensing muscles in his stomach as he pumps into your mouth… he looks so beautiful. You find yourself rocking your hips, grinding into the mattress, looking for any friction you can get.

He thrusts deep into your mouth, his cock hitting the back of your throat again, and he holds you down on him, your nose brushing over his abdomen. The lack of air makes your head spin, and you want him even deeper. You reach up to grab his hips, but your hand bumps his thigh on the way up, which he takes as your signal that it’s too much.

“Shit,” he pulls out of your mouth, and you gasp for air as he drops to his knees in front of you. “Are you okay, baby? I’m so sorry, was that too rough?” His eyes are full of panic and he brushes your hair out of your face, wiping the saliva that had bubbled up at the corners of your mouth. It all happens so fast, it takes you a moment to process the man waiting in front of you, waiting for a response. Before you can stop yourself, a smile breaks across your face and a giggle rises up your throat.

“Yunnie,” you laugh, cradling his concerned face in your hands, “I’m fine, more than fine,” you try to catch your breath. “I was trying to…grab your hips to pull you closer, but I … bumped your leg by mistake,” his panicked face relaxes, a beautiful smile taking its place, and he lets out a deep sigh of relief. “I do appreciate how quickly you stopped though,” you tease him, your breathing finally steady, “it’s nice to know my boundaries will be taken very seriously.”

“You scared me!” He laughs, dropping his head in your lap.

“It was an accident!” You laugh with him, brushing through his hair with your fingers. “I actually wanted you to be more rough with me,”

He straightens up. “Is that so?” He plants his hands on the mattress on either side of your hips, the darkness returning to his gaze as he stands again, leaning over you. You lean back onto your elbows as he towers over you, his eyes raking over every inch of your body.

“It is,” you whisper, suddenly feeling so small beneath him, all lightheartedness suddenly sucked out of the room. “I would enjoy that very much,”

“Mmh,” he hooks an arm under your waist, lifting you easily and moving your body further up the mattress. You let out a small yelp as he drops you, heart warming as he reaches above you to grab a pillow to prop under your head. Once he’s sure you’re comfortable, he hooks his fingers on your panties, and you lift your hips for him to peel them off of you. He tosses them to the floor, turning his attention back to you, spreading your legs wide open, kneeling between them.

“I would enjoy that too, however,” he runs his hands up your calves, your thighs, until he reaches your center, using both hands to spread you wide open. You watch in awe as he runs two fingers through your arousal, teasingly dipping them inside of you. “I want to savor every moment of this,” he dips down to kiss you softly as he drives his fingers even deeper, prodding that tender spot inside of you, drawing a whine from your lips. “Let me be gentle this time, let me show you how much I–” he pauses, something indiscernible flashing through his eyes. “Let me show you how much I’ve been wanting you,” he recovers. “Then next time,” his thumb flicks over your clit, “I will do whatever you want me to do to you,” he circles the sensitive bud, your mind reeling. “Does that sound good, baby?”

“Mhm,” you nod, “so good,” you whimper as he scissors his fingers inside of you, surely trying to stretch you open for what’s to come.

He reaches for the drawer in his nightstand with his free hand, but you stop him. “You don’t have to wear one,” you interrupt.

“Are you sure?” His fingers keep moving inside of you, stretching you wider with each thrust, but still giving your conversation his attention.

“I’m on the pill and was tested recently, so yes, please Yunnie, I want to feel you,” you mewl, “please let me feel you,”

“So good for me,” he praises you over and over, “are you ready?”

“Yes, please,” you whine when he pulls his fingers from your cunt, desperate for him. He lifts your hips, pulling you closer to him, nestling himself between your legs, being sure to adjust your pillow once more. He spreads you open with one hand, tapping the tip of his solid cock on your swollen clit before rubbing it up and down your slit, lining up with your entrance. You both freeze at the same time as the reality of what’s about to happen finally hits you.

The feeling of this moment is nothing you’ve experienced before. For years, you’ve longed for Yunho, wanting the intimacy of your friendship to go beyond just emotional intimacy. You’ve yearned for him as long as you’ve known him. You wanted him– all of him. Finally, the universe decided it’s time for you two to experience that.

You realize he’s feeling it too, his hand finding your cheek in the silence, brushing away a tear that you didn’t realize had fallen down your cheek. “I know, baby,” he whispers, and that’s all you need to hear.

He presses his lips to your forehead as he slowly pushes inside, easing you into the sensation, gently stretching you out on his cock. You feel grateful that he prepped you with his fingers, the sting you feel only lasting a few brief moments before he’s smoothly gliding into you. He pushes in deeper and deeper, until you’re filled to the brim. He drops his hands to the mattress on either side of your head as he bottoms out. Almost in unison, you both let out a shuddering exhale.

“You feel incredible, fuck” he breathes against your forehead, finally pulling back to look into your eyes, your bodies finally connected physically in the way they’ve felt connected spiritually all these years. “And you look so pretty, my angel,” he whispers, his eyes shining.

“I don’t know how you can still manage to make me blush when you’re literally inside of me,” you pant, shyly giggling as your cheeks warm under his loving gaze. He hisses at the way you squeeze around him when you laugh. “Sorry,” you cover your mouth with your hand to stifle your giggles.

“I’m learning so much about you today,” he pulls hips back slightly before burying himself inside you again, all teasing coming to an instant halt as the tip of his cock presses against your g-spot.

“Oh my–” your back arches at the feeling, “God Yunnie, I feel so f-full.”

“You’re doing so well baby,” he praises you again, giving you a moment to adjust to his size. “Look at you, so beautiful taking my cock.”

“I need you to fuck me,” you scramble to grip his forearms, feeling the taut muscles under his skin. “Please,” you wriggle your hips beneath him, “move,”

“Mm,” he pulls out almost completely, just the tip of his cock resting inside of you, “say it again, sweetheart,”

“Fuck me Yunnie, please,” you beg, trying to push your hips down on his cock.

“God, I’ve waited so long to hear you say that, I’ll never get tired of it” he slams into you, and you cry out as he bottoms out inside of you again. He sets a steady pace, rolling his hips into you over and over, the feeling of him pumping in and out of you more delicious than you could’ve ever imagined. He kisses you hard, licking into your mouth, swallowing all of your pretty little moans.

He cups one of your breasts in his wide palm, running his thumb over your nipple, stoking the fire in the pit of your belly. He straightens, admiring how beautiful you look while you take him. Your lips red and puffy, your eyes half lidded, your breasts bouncing with each thrust.

“So pretty, taking me so well,” he praises you as his hand coasts up your chest, fingers gently wrapping around your neck. He holds his hand there for a moment, making a mental note of the way your eyes light up when he briefly squeezes the column of your throat.

“F-feels so g-good,” you choke out between thrusts. His thumb slides along your jaw toward your chin, prodding at your bottom lip, coaxing your mouth open. You wrap your lips around his thumb, sucking on it briefly before he pops it out of your mouth, trailing it down your body until he reaches your clit. The contact has your head spinning, the cord in your center tightening and tightening as he flicks your sensitive bud.

“Baby, look,” his voice cuts through the foggy lust in your head, grabbing your attention. He nods down to where your bodies are connected, gesturing for you to take a glance.

One look at him splitting you open has your climax threatening to wash over you, warmth running up and down your spine at the sight of your arousal shining on his cock as he pistons in and out of your heat relentlessly. He swirls his thumb around your clit faster at the feeling of you squeezing around him.

“You close, sweetheart?” He’s breathless as he fucks you, hitting so deep inside you that you can feel it in your stomach.

“Mhm, fuck, yes,” you cry out, scrambling for his free hand, lacing your fingers between his.

“Come on, I want to watch you fall apart around my cock.” He’s fucking you impossibly hard, each thrust hitting just right, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. “Let me feel you, love,”

“Oh my god,” you stammer out a string of curses as your second orgasm washes over you, your heart thudding in your ears as your body tenses underneath him. He barely slows his pace, keeping his thumb resting on your clit, fucking you through your high.

“There she is,” he coos, slowing little by little until your body starts to relax. He thrusts all the way inside, bottoming out, collapsing over you.

“Wow,” you laugh, bringing your hands up to cradle his flushed face. “That was,”

“Incredible?” He finishes your sentence, kissing your sweaty forehead over and over. You let out a soft moan in agreement, and his cock jumps inside of you at the sound.

“Mmh,” you whimper, the warmth creeping back into your belly, and you squeeze around Yunho’s cock.

“Wanting more already?” He teases, pushing his hips against you, thrusting himself in even deeper.

“Absolutely,” you squeeze around him again, craning your neck up to capture his lips with yours. “Fuck me however you want, baby,” you whisper against his mouth. His cock twitches inside you again and you giggle, waiting for his next move.

“Flip over,” he pants, “I wanna fuck you like this,” he slips out of you and you whine, feeling empty. He helps you roll onto your belly, kneeling behind you as he pulls your ass in the air and plants a hand in the middle of your back, guiding you to arch for him. You squish your cheek into the mattress, trying to look back at him. “Fucking hell,” he palms your ass with both hands, admiring your delectable form, “you are unreal.”

“Yun, please, I need you,” you whine as he bends over your body, planting hot, wet kisses up your spine until he reaches the nape of your neck, bringing his lips to your ear. You feel his cock bump against your backside, his body flush against yours.

“You are insatiable, my love,” your heart flutters at the word, but your lust pushes any overanalyzing to the back of your mind in favor of how desperate you are for him.

You push back into him, feeling the tip of his cock bump against your heat. He straightens at the feeling, rubbing circles into your hips with his thumbs as he watches you move. You roll your hips, catching the tip of his cock between your folds, wiggling and rocking to find the right angle before it finally slips inside.

“Oh, fuck,” he whimpers as you push back, taking him deeper and deeper until your ass is flush against him. You start bouncing your hips, taking him in and out, slowly at first, the sounds of his moans filling your ears and soaking your center.

“Feel good, baby?” You muffle from beneath him, moving your hips quicker with each bounce on his cock. You open your legs a little wider, the new angle rocking his cock against your g-spot.

“The best thing I’ve ever felt,” he rolls his hips to meet yours, the sound of skin slapping filling the air of his bedroom. “I can’t believe how long we’ve waited for this,” he grips your hips, meeting your thrusts in earnest, fucking into you impossibly deep. You match each other’s pace immediately, moans and whines filling the air.

He threads his fingers through your hair, tugging you upwards until your body is flush against his, your sweat-slicked bodies rocking together. His hand drops from your hair to wrap around your neck, holding you firmly in place as he threads his other hand between your legs, his middle and ring finger easily finding your swollen clit.

“I want you like this forever,” he whispers in your ear as he drives into you, your motivation to bounce on him melting into the mattress beneath you. You want him to take you however he wants you, your body molding into his grip.

“Forever,” you nod as he kisses your neck, “you have me forever Yunnie,”

“Again,” he groans as you tighten around him, his fingers swirling around your clit, your third orgasm of the night building rapidly low in your belly. “Say it again,”

“Forever,” you repeat, “I’m yours forever,”

“Fuck, sweetheart, I’m so close,” he growls into your ear, “you take me so well, like you were made for me,”

“I was, Yun,” you assure him, “I was made for you,” he rubs your clit faster, “and you were made for me,”

“God, yes,” he kisses your shoulder, his pace faltering as he gets closer to the edge, “I love you, y/n, fuck.” His fingers swirl around your clit as his hips stutter, spilling hot and fast inside of you. “I love you, I love you, I love you,” he repeats over and over as he ruts into you.

“I love you, Yunho,” you cry out, your heart exploding as your orgasm follows, your body shuddering against him as you come together, your words and his swirling around you in the afterglow.

He holds you tight against him, guiding your spent form back down to the mattress, kissing every inch of your skin as you both come down from your highs. He slips out of you, lowering your hips, massaging your sore muscles before rolling onto his back next to you. You mimic his position, flipping over so you’re both staring at the ceiling, processing the words you both just confessed. You lay together in silence, the sounds of both of you trying to catch your breath filling the room. You let your eyes close, processing the moment.

“Jeong Yunho,” your voice is hoarse once you speak. “Tell me you love me.” Your eyes flutter open, turning your head to see him already beaming at you. He rolls onto his side, bringing himself nose to nose with you.

“I love you.” He declares, clear and confident, your heart swelling in your chest. His lips brush over yours, both of you smiling as he kisses you softly. “Your turn,” he whispers. You copy him, rolling onto your side, brushing his sweat slicked hair from his forehead as he throws an arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

“I love you,” you giggle, kissing him again.

“One more time?”

“I, love, you,” you emphasize each word with a gentle kiss on his lips,

“I will never get tired of hearing that,” he whispers. “Let’s go get cleaned up.”

You whine in protest, but Yunho eventually gets you into the bathroom, running a hot shower for the both of you. You wash up together, hardly able to keep your hands off of each other. Once you’ve fallen apart in his hands twice more and the water’s run cold, he helps you into a pair of his boxers and his biggest, softest sweatshirt.

“This feels like a dream,” you think out loud once you’re snuggled up in Yunho’s bed together. “Is this a dream?”

“If it is, I never want to wake up,” he smiles at you under the dim street lights flooding through his windows. “This is all I need, forever.”

You kiss him at that, soft and tender, his arms wrapping tighter around you, holding you close. You fall asleep shortly after, nose to nose, hearts full.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

You wake to the morning sun shining through Yunho’s bedroom windows, the sweet smell of vanilla flooding your nose. Stretching your tired limbs, you roll over to find the other side of the bed empty. Panic floods your mind at the sight, your past making you assume the worst. Is he sleeping on the couch? You wonder. Does he regret what he said and now he’s avoiding me? Before you can reason with yourself, you jump out of bed and speed walk down the hallway, stopping dead in your tracks when you reach the kitchen.

“You’re not freaking out, are you y/n?” Yunho drawls, his voice still laced with sleep, low and raspy. He hasn’t even looked at you yet, his focus being on the plate on the counter in front of him, but he already knows where your mind is at just by the sound of your footsteps coming down the hallway. Of course he does. His bare, wide shoulders shake as he laughs to himself. His pajama pants hang low on his hips, the muscles in his back moving beneath his skin as he throws the final touches on what’s in front of him. He spins around to face you holding a plate of pancakes, littered with strawberries cut into hearts. Your heart flutters at the scene in front of you. “You think I’m gonna make love to you, tell you that I love you, and not make you breakfast in the morning?”

Suddenly feeling self conscious over your immediate assumption that he regretted your night together, you cross your arms, avoiding his gaze. “I got scared,” you whisper.

“That I left you in my apartment all alone? Baby,” he puts the plate down, “I would never, especially after last night,” he crosses the kitchen to reach you, pulling you into his warm embrace, his hot skin beneath you melting away the coldness you felt from waking up alone. “I’m not like…him,” he reminds you, brushing his fingers through your hair. “You are safe with me. Safe, loved, protected, respected, I could go on and on. Do you understand me?” He presses a gentle kiss to the top of your head.

You nod against his chest. “I do,” you feel a tear slide down your cheek, spreading from your skin, onto his. He squeezes you in a tight hug.

“Come on, let’s get some food in your system. You haven’t eaten since our pastries at Blossom last night,” he releases you to grab your plate, as well as a second he made for himself, and drops another quick kiss to your forehead before carrying them to the coffee table in his living room.

“Come sit,” he beckons you, and you follow automatically, plopping on the couch. He grabs your favorite throw blanket before sitting down next to you, draping it over both of your laps. No matter how hard you try to ignore them, negative thoughts are still plaguing your mind. You both pick up your plates, eating in silence for a few moments before Yunho speaks up again.

“Y/n, what’s on your mind?” His tone is so sincere, you immediately feel guilty for making him worry.

“I’m just–” you hesitate for a moment. “I’m scared it’s too good to be true.”

“What is? Us?” Worry flickers across his features, his heart aching seeing you so distraught.

“Yeah,” you sigh, poking at one of your pancakes with your fork. You know you’re being unreasonable, and that Yunho has shown you nothing but love and commitment as long as you’ve known him. But your self doubt and your history of awful relationships is screaming at you that you don’t deserve him. You’re so lost in your thoughts that you don’t even realize that you’re crying.

Yunho gently takes your plate from your hands, putting both his and yours back on the coffee table. He shifts his body slowly until he’s kneeling on the floor in front of you, resting his hands on your blanket-covered thighs.

“Y/n, look at me,” he pleads. You wipe the tears from your cheeks, patting the dampness into the blanket in your lap. You rest your hands on top of his, tracing the lines of his veins for a moment before dragging your gaze upwards to meet his. His eyes are glazed over with tears of his own.

“Yunnie, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you, I–”

“Listen to me,” he interrupts. “You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. The most precious thing in this world to me. Each moment that I spend with you fills me with a joy that I never experienced until I met you.” He turns his hands over to cradle yours as his tears finally fall down his cheeks. “I love you. And I will spend every day of the rest of my life proving that to you. And proving to you that you deserve the love that I give you.”

You stifle a sob at his words, trying to take all of it in as the beautiful truth. You know he means it, he’s always meant every word he’s ever said to you, and you know you need to silence your anxieties in favor of what you know to be true.

“It’s gonna take time,” you whisper. “It’ll take time for me to believe that I deserve what you give me,” you wipe your own tears, then his, both of you laughing breathlessly at your own emotions. “But I will get there,” you continue, “I just need you to be patient with me.”

“Of course. I will spend the rest of my life reminding you what you deserve, sweetheart. That’s a promise.”

“I love you.” You cradle his head in your hands, memorizing every inch of his face, savoring the first day of the rest of your lives.

“I love you,” he kisses the tip of your nose. “Let’s go finish our breakfast in bed.”

“Okay,” you giggle watching Yunho jump up to grab both your plates, giddily walking toward his bedroom with a wide smile on his face.

“You coming?” He glances over his shoulder at you, his ears blushing bright red as he waits for you.

You nod, hopping up to follow after him, to your new forever.

#ateez yunho #ateez x reader #ateez fic #ateez smut #ateez fanfic #yunho x reader #ateez imagines #yunho #yunho smut

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kamaluhkhan · 3 months ago

Text

IS IT CASUAL NOW?

pairing: vi x fem!reader word count: 14.6k summary: you and vi are both tired of complicated relationships so try the whole friends-with-benefits thing....and maybe forget the whole point of your arrangement in the first place. warning: lesbian situationships (there is so much angst and yearning), brief mention of (internalized) homophobia and struggles with addiction....but mostly cheesy domestic fluff and smut [oral (vi receiving), fingering (both receiving), thigh riding, slight bondage play, switch!vi has my heart] (18+) ! a/n: merry (belated oops) xmas girls and gays <33 i've probably spent way too much time on this but it's my BABY....kinda based on leighton and alicia's plotline in s1 of sex lives of college girls and ofc casual by chappell roan (there are many other chappell references throughout too hehe). also yes i made a mini playlist that consists of the songs that i think reflect this fic's sun, moon, and rising signs....pls enjoy and happy holidays !!!

♪: "angel baby" by troye sivan (sun); "pretty girl" by hayley kiyoko (moon); "casual" by chappell roan (rising)

“not even one week into the new academic year, violet rose atlas, captain of the varsity soccer team, has been suspended from gameplay due to recent unsportsman-like behavior, sentenced to 100 hours of community service, and banned from the local lesbian bar.”

mel removes her eyes from the screen to raise an eyebrow at you. you just shrug and take a sip of your coffee. you glance over at the clock on the wall.

11:09am.

“to top it all off, she’s late,” you declare, trying your best to hide the anticipation simmering in your stomach.

“what’s your deal, anyways? you totally flirt with her whenever she’s at the bar. not even we get that good of service,” gert points out. they’re searching through a stack of cd’s and cassette tapes for something to play.

“that was before.”

you walk over to sit next to gert, taking it upon yourself to choose the music. you settle on jagged little pill; alanis morrissette’s lush voice is a welcomed addition to your conversation.

“our funding is at risk,” you explain. “it’s like the dean assigned her to us because she knew it would end terribly and the board would have an excuse to finally cut us loose.”

“if they need an excuse, they’ll find one,” gert grumbles.

you shrug. “i just think violet is bad news, which is something i’d prefer we avoid..”

“the article does say that she punched maddie nolan in the face during an exhibition game against the piltover knights.”

“see? bad news. literally.”

“well, i think we lucked out,” sky gushes, though her focus remains on finishing her current project. she’s crocheting so fast that you only catch glimpses of her sparkly pink fingernails. you’re sure she’ll be done with this blanket before violet shows up. if she even bothers to show up. “the yellowjackets might’ve lost their captain, but we get to spend quality time with the hottest butch on campus.”

“whatever,” you sigh, though you don’t disagree with that description. you check the clock again — 11:11am — and settle against the worn couch. “since we have the time — mel, why don’t you read our horoscopes? i’m itching to see what the universe has in store for us today.”

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

vi spent the better part of last night crying and getting wasted in her bathtub with cheap dye burning into her scalp.

she just couldn’t stand the memory of caitlyn kiramman’s perfectly manicured nails running through her formerly pink locks as they kissed, tugging on vi’s hair to bring her closer —

enough. fucking pull yourself together.

cait’s moved on, that much is clear, with someone more like her. someone whose last name is on buildings all around the university of piltover’s campus.

so far, no amount of bar fights or red cards or late nights in some random girl’s bed seem to mend the heart that caitlyn shattered to pieces, but vi doesn’t give up easy.

soon enough, she’ll be back on the field, leading the yellowjackets to victory at nationals; she’ll finish all her classes, graduate with honors and have a great plan for an even greater future; all while having amazing, mind-blowing sex that won’t lead to serious heartbreak.

relationships are overrated, anyways.

the first step in this plan: spending 100 hours with a bunch of angry, bra-burning lesbians.

maybe vi will fit right in.

so, vi walks into her community service assignment with a wicked migraine and hands that look like lady macbeth plotted to murder an oil spill, but with her usual confident swagger nonetheless, as conversation echoes down the hallway.

“according to your rising, there will be a much needed spark in your romantic life. my guess is a fire sign is gonna sweep you off your feet.”

another voice chimes in, a gentle rumble. “could that be your sweet jules?”

“i’ve never asked about her chart,” an achingly familiar voice replies. it brings back memories of dizzying lights and strong whiskey coursing through her blood, but something else, too. a sky full of stars and too-sweet alcohol on her tongue. “paula was a fire sign, though, and that blew up in my face.”

“paula was a walking red flag.”

“yeah, well, apparently red’s my favorite color.”

“maybe that was just the heartbreak you needed to bring passion back into your life. do you feel that with jules?”

“i don’t know — maybe? we haven’t had sex yet.”

“passion isn’t just about sex, you know —”

“gert, i love you, but i cannot handle a sex therapy session right now.”

someone else giggles, bright and bubbly. “hm, i wonder what sign our pink-haired hottie is.”

vi clears her throat to announce her arrival, leaning against the doorway.

everyone turns to look at her then, with varying degrees of shock, and vi feels like she’s just walked into an after midnight roommate vent session.

she isn’t sure what she expected the space to look like, but zaun university’s women’s centre is well-lived in, defined by a sort of organized chaos. each wall is covered in posters and collages, multicolored flags and fairy lights; there’s a shelf in the corner with assorted trinkets and books piled high, a table next to it with baskets of condoms, pads, and tampons and informational pamphlets, and a door in the opposite corner, slightly ajar. a vintage boombox placed on the coffee table plays 90s alt rock, circled by mismatched seating with patterned blankets and brightly colored pillows strewn about.

someone with dark lipstick and an eyebrow piercing is drawing on their converse; a dark brunette wearing glasses is draping a blanket over the arm of a couch; another person is scrolling on their laptop, a gold necklace glittering on their collarbones.

vi’s attention is stuck on you, though, the origin of the aforementioned familiar voice: the very hot bartender from sappho’s, where vi happened to be kicked out of not even 72 hours prior.

you’re wearing a vintage wonder woman t-shirt tucked into faded blue jeans with a carabiner clipped to a belt loop. the sleeves of your shirt are rolled up, displaying your array of tattoos — vi’s already decided that her favorites are joan of arc holding her sword, a pomegranate that’s been cracked open, and lyrics from bikini kill’s ‘rebel girl’ (which admittedly, vi had to look up when she first saw). it’s everything vi’s booze-soaked brain had apparently memorized after many nights of staring at you across the bar counter, licking up whatever honeyed flirtations you’d spill from your lips. vi always noticed your hands, too: the many rings you’ve stacked on your fingers, the lavender sprig sprouting from your middle finger and venus symbol etched onto your wrist, the nails that are always clipped short and painted black.

one of those nails is tapping anxiously on your coffee mug, which has a picture of hayley kiyoko as lesbian jesus.

“pink-haired hottie, reporting for duty. though, i might need a new nickname.” vi grins; you roll your eyes. “i’m an aries, by the way.”

“good to know.” the brunette winks not-so-subtly in your direction before walking towards vi and extending a hand, gold bangles clinking together at the motion. “i’m sky, she/her. we had electromagnetic theory together last spring. it’s lovely to officially meet you.”

vi makes a big show of leaning down and kissing sky’s hand.

“nice to meet you, too, sweetheart.”

“such a gentleman,” sky giggles and leads vi to the patchwork couch. she curls up like a cat, and vi follows suit — the couch is cloud soft, and vi tries not to sink into the cushions. “i’m our supplies and communications coordinator.” she turns away from vi to look around the room. “okay, that’s my intro. who’s next?”

the person with an eyebrow piercing nods at vi, a sort of effortless greeting. “gert, they/them.” they snap the sharpie shut after writing ‘the future is intersectional’ on the tip of their toe. “i curate and design our newsletter, the black rose. i’m also in a band —”

“the sirens of zaun. yeah, i recognize you. you’ve played a few gigs at sappho’s.”

vi looks at you pointedly, and you take this as your cue to disappear behind the door, which appears to lead into some sort of office.

gert seems pleased, though. “then you might also recognize our lead singer….”

the person with the gold necklace, who vi does, in fact, vaguely recognize but can’t quite name, closes their laptop and waves at vi. “i’m mel. pronouns: she/her. i mostly deal with the finances around here. and, from what i understand, you’re already well acquainted with our fearless leader —”

mel is cut off by the sound of her phone alarm.

“shit — it’s already 11:30. our set at campus radio starts soon.” mel gestures at gert. gert picks up the bright red guitar case behind them and secures it around their shoulder as mel packs up her leather satchel.

“damn, i gotta get to class, too. the space-time continuum waits for no one.” sky gets up and gathers her things, too, stuffing yarn into a fruit-printed tote bag. “it was nice meeting you though.” she pats vi’s head affectionately before throwing out a loud: “see ya later, boss!”

mel and gert offer similar farewells, and you shout goodbye from the other room before the three of them are out the door. vi expects you to reappear a few moments later; when you don’t, she ventures into the office.

it’s smaller, but just as decorated as the lounge space. there’s a desk that seems to be more storage than actual use, littered with piles of books and old copies of the black rose. you’re sitting on a fluffy rainbow carpet that looks like every member of sesame street stitched together, writing something in a sticker-covered notebook.

“so, violet —”

“vi’s fine,” she tells you. she decides to sit on the floor next to you rather than the zebra striped chaise lounge.

you nod, rip a page out of your notebook, and hand it to vi. there’s something a bit too intimate about knowing what your handwriting looks like before even knowing your name.

“this is a run down of everything you’ll need to know, but real quick: we do feminist film fridays and trivia tuesdays on alternating weeks; our radical reads book club meets once a month, along with our slam poetry group, and we have a bunch of other events in between — workshops, art builds, discussion groups, and so on. sky keeps everything in the centre stocked, and occasionally the rest of us will pitch in when organizing a charity drive. our newsletter publishes the third wednesday of every month — gert puts it together, but we print in pairs since it could be a lot of work for one person. we have team meetings once a week to share updates, make sure we’re all on the same page, stuff like that. any questions?”

“wow, okay. that’s a lot.”

you smile. “i’m sure you’ll be able to keep up, varsity.”

“so….where do i fit in?”

“that depends on you, really,” you tap your glitter gel pen on your notebook, thinking. “like, i’m assuming you’re not well versed in feminist literature.”

vi puffs out her chest. “based on what assumptions? i’m not a dumb jock.”

“yeah, i know you’ve made the dean list ever since your freshman year.”

vi raises an eyebrow. “keeping tabs on me, wonder woman?” she teases.

you laugh. “don’t flatter yourself. sky’s the one who mentioned it to me. so, unless you mean your very large, unpaid tab at sappho’s...”

“the bar i was kicked out of, you mean.”

“well, yeah, because you —” you take a deep breath. “not the point. anyways, we don’t have a complete schedule for book club, so you can maybe take the lead on one of our meetings. do you have a favorite author?”

vi smiles at you sheepishly. “ah…..you got me there.”

“thought so,” you smirk and vi covers her blush. “if you’re curious, this bridge called my back is a good place to start. oh, and audre lorde is a classic and a personal favorite…..” you pause when you catch vi staring at you. she wants you to keep talking, to appreciate the way your eyes light up so enthusiastically, but you blink away, and a veil of professionalism falls back onto you. “sorry. anyways, we’re having trivia tomorrow — would you be able to help us out with that?

vi nods. “sure.”

“sweet.” you check your phone. “i’ve got a coffee date, so i should get going.”

“wait — you never told me your name, wonder woman.”

“well, it’s not diana prince,” you quip before finally introducing yourself.

“nice to finally put a name to the face.” vi winks at you, standing up. she extends a hand to guide you up. your hand is cold against her skin, your metal rings even colder.

“i’ll see you around, varsity.” before you’re out the door, you turn back around. “oh, and vi?”

“yeah?”

“don’t be late.”

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

you had stepped away for a quick smoke break — a habit you knew you had to kick — but you’re so fucking drained and it’s only wednesday.

you were up all night bickering with your girlfriend. it started with her admitting that she really doesn’t want to meet your friends, which transitioned into her asking you to not talk to anyone about her or your relationship, which prompted you to make a (maybe slightly insensitive) comment about how she’s welcome to stay in the closet but has no right to push you back in.

needless to say, you did not get any sleep.

you’re about to walk outside, and finally get a moment of peace, when your phone rings. it’s your sibling, and the fact that they’re calling instead of texting tells you that this conversation is about to be (A) exhausting, (B) infuriating, or (C) both.

the correct answer is C.

it’s the same story over and over again: your dad drinks too much, your mom is absent. it hadn’t been this bad when you were growing up, but you suppose you’d been around to ease the damage, or at least step in and take care of your sibling as needed.

“just — take a deep breath. you can come stay with me for the weekend, okay? it’ll be good for you to get away from the chaos for a bit….we’ll go apple picking if the weather’s nice, maybe start working on your halloween costume — whatever you wanna do.”

“you know, i’m not five anymore,” they mumble, stifling a small laugh along with some tears. “but…okay. that sounds nice.”

you smile to yourself, shoulder pressing against the door. “it’s a plan then. we’ll sort out the details later. and, don’t worry about mom and dad — i’ll take care of it. love you.”

you hang up and exhale as you finally push the door open, happy to finally get one moment to breathe.

except, just as you’re greeted by a crisp breeze on this beautiful late september evening, you’re also greeted by the sight of vi pressing someone against the brick wall, their legs wrapped around her waist as she kisses their neck.

something ignites in your abdomen, familiar after many nights of seeing vi at the bar, charming her way into another woman’s bed. except, it’s definitely not jealousy, this time.

(okay, maybe it is; but only a bit.)

they spring apart upon hearing the door slam closed. you recognize who vi’s with — maya, a sophomore who’s frequently attended women’s centre events since last year. she’s always been friendly with the team, but never this friendly.

“oh my gosh, i am so sorry!”

“you don’t have to apologize,” you tell her sincerely. her cheeks are flushed, and she’s busy smoothing down her skirt, clearly trying to distance herself from vi, who’s leaning against the wall nonchalantly. “i just need to talk to violet, so do you mind giving us a sec?”

you wait until maya disappears inside to cross your arms and glare at vi.

“so, it’s violet now, huh?” she teases, wiping red lipstick off her smirk.

“you were supposed to be helping facilitate this workshop,” you note.

“well, it is a queer sex ed workshop.” vi rolls her eyes. “i was giving maya a hands-on experience.”

you grit your teeth together. “and you just had to do that now? like you just had to go down on that third year during trivia last week?”

“well, see, i don’t have a ton of free time, and since i’m not allowed at the local lesbian bar….” she trails off, looking at you pointedly. “i’ve had to resort to multi-tasking.”

“multi-tasking.” you let an exhausted, bitter laugh slip from your lips. “you’ve showed up late to every single event in the past few weeks, and once you’re there, you’re either on your laptop, getting drunk, or hooking up with someone. tell me, violet, as captain of the yellowjackets — if someone on your team was acting like this, what would you do?”

vi narrows her eyes at you, like she can’t believe what you’re asking, and admits, “i’d call them out, tell them to do better.”

“right. and if they kept giving you empty promise after empty promise? you’d have to do something more drastic, even if you didn’t want to, yeah?”

no response.

shaking your head, you take out a cigarette. there’s only silence when you flick the lighter open and light it between your lips. you inhale deeply, letting the smoke enter your lungs, exhale slowly, and decide: “i’m gonna ask the dean to reassign you.”

“fine by me,” vi scoffs, but you swear that something close to disappointment flashes across her face. “clearly, this isn’t working out.”

“clearly.” you take another drag of your cigarette, and as vi walks back inside, you can’t help but try to get under her skin. you’ve had a bad week, between family drama and turbulence in your relationship with jules, and you’re just sick of people not giving a shit. “the year’s already started, so i doubt there’s something available. which means you’ll remain on academic probation until spring.”

and, okay — you do get some twisted satisfaction in how that makes vi stop in her tracks. you’re leaning against the wall, and she strides over to stand in front of you, her jaw and fists clenched.

“i’ll miss the whole tournament.”

you shrug, and blow smoke in her face. “i’ve given you plenty of chances.”

“but the team needs me —”

“you should have thought of that before you fucked up, varsity,” you snap. vi’s eyes widen; you’re usually more level-headed. “you’re cocky, irresponsible — ”

“i lost my scholarship,” vi blurts out, prompting you to pause, the cigarette millimeters from your lips.

you blink at her, blood still roaring in your ears.

“i…don’t know why that’s relevant.”

vi just sighs, so deeply that you feel it in your bones. you haven’t seen this side of her before — no flirtatious smile, no overconfident posture. instead, she slips to the ground, knees pressed to her chest. feeling a bit guilty for pushing her buttons, you slide down next to her. you offer her the cigarette, but she shakes her head.

“i…i’m going through a shitty breakup. i’ve been lashing out, and i lost my scholarship. i haven’t asked my parents for money, because the last thing i want is for them to worry about me. so, i started picking up these odd jobs to make ends meet, and the hours are a bit crazy so between school and practice and — fuck, there’s also shit going on with my sister that i won’t even get into now, but it’s a lot — and i also need to do this because i let my team down and i need to be there for them, whatever it takes, and i’m just so fucking —”

“exhausted, yeah.”

you can see more clearly now — the slump in her shoulders, the shadows underneath her eyes; you see her more clearly. you realize that you might have more in common with violet rose atlas than you initially thought.

“so the laptop —”

“finishing assignments.”

“the drinking?”

vi juts her chin out at your smouldering cigarette. “we all have our vices.”

“and the sex?”

her lips curl into a sheepish grin, and she shrugs. “we all need to relieve stress.”

you clear your throat, blinking away from her gaze and trying to ignore how you can feel warmth radiating from her body, so close to yours. “right.”

vi runs her hand through her tar-black hair. that should have been your first hint — nothing says lesbian breakup more than terribly dyed hair and questionable decisions.

“look, i know i can’t do everything, but i have to, and i’m still trying to figure out how.”

“well….as far as excuses go, it’s not the worst,” you admit. “thanks for telling me. i know that couldn’t have been easy.” you take a deep breath and get to your feet. “i stand by what i said earlier, though — this isn’t working out. you just can’t tell us that you’ll be helpful and not follow through. it means a lot, to a lot of people, that there’s a space like this on campus. mel, gert, sky— they all work so hard to make that happen, and that’s something i need to protect. i’m sorry.”

“wait.” vi grabs your wrist before you can leave. “i’m sorry. really, i am. i promise to do better.”

“you’ve made that promise before,” you point out. “why should i believe this time will be different?”

“because…you’re right. i’ve been too caught up in myself, in what i need, in what my team needs. i can see that you really care about your team, though, and i should have respected that. they’re — you’re — amazing, everything that you do to make people feel safe and heard and loved. i’m sorry for taking that for granted.”

wow. okay.

you did not expect that. you’re hoping that vi can’t feel your pulse quicken at her words, but you’re glad that she’s holding on to you, keeping you steady.

“yeah, well…flattery’s not gonna get you far.” you clear your throat. “but, you’re obviously going through a lot right now, and it can drive you crazy, feeling like you’re the one who —”

“has to keep everything together,” vi finishes, sliding to the ground once more. you follow. “seems like i’m cracking under pressure, this time. fucking everything up.”

“you’ve got a reckless streak.”

“must be the aries in me,” she laughs, softly. “apparently it’s my Ieast attractive quality. along with my stubbornness and selfishness.”

“well, i don’t think that’s the whole picture,” you assure her. vi looks at you incredulously. “i won’t lie and say that your actions aren’t….thoughtless sometimes. you’re more self-centred than selfish—”

“hey!”

“but you obviously feel some sense of responsibility, for your team, your family, for what you think is right. hell — the reason my boss asked me to kick you out is because you started a bar fight with that frat boy who was insisting he had the right dick to set lesbians straight.”

vi scoffs. “asshole.”

“i was about to throw him out, but you beat me to the punch. literally.” you nudge your shoulder against vi’s, and she chuckles. “and, yeah, you’re stubborn, which can be annoying, but it also means that you’d never give up, that you’re willing to keep trying despite the odds, so….”

“so….?”

vi’s looking at you with the widest, softest eyes. fuck, you never expected her to be this gentle, so much so that it you want to melt to her every need.

“i’m hoping third time’s the charm, varsity.”

vi smiles, the most sincere one she’s probably ever given you, and the scar on her lip stretches; for all your talk about responsibility, there’s a part of you who’d risk pushing your already tenuous relationship with your girlfriend to its breaking point just so you could kiss vi, guilt-free, just once. maybe you have a bit of a reckless streak, too.

“thanks, wonder woman. you won’t regret it.”

yeah. you kind of already do.

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

vi would never admit it, but one reason she fought to keep her community service assignment here is because she wanted to keep seeing you.

she likes getting under your skin, seeing those pretty eyes roll whenever she strides in late for a meeting, that kissable jaw clench any time you catch her tangled up with someone else.

it almost makes up for all those nights at sappho’s you’d spent flirting back and forth, some sort of unspoken agreement between you to never go further.

sometimes, it’s just nice to have a crush in your back pocket, to know that they’ll always be there to admire and admire you back while others come and go.

the more time you spend together, though, the more vi realizes that you’re not just a fictional character in her head, in a fantasy she pictures before bed — no, you’re tangible.

vi watches as you bring special tea for gert when their period cramps are particularly painful; she listens to you console mel after another fight with her mother and offer advice to sky when she was hoping to ask out her lab partner. vi notices how you prefer your coffee with a dash of cinnamon; and she learns that you had your first kiss with a girl in your freshman year journalism class, and that your first tattoo was done by the same person. a stick-and-poke star on your ankle.

she can hear your laugh, feel the cool metal of your rings brush against her skin accidentally when you’re squeezing past her in a crowded room, smell your perfume when you hug her goodbye. you have stories and quirks and expectations and opinions that vi subconsciously files away as she gets to know you better.

you’re not just a crush, anymore.

you’re a friend.

vi likes having you as a friend. really — she does!

you’re a friend who makes vi’s heart jump at the sight of your name on her phone. a friend who smirks when vi blushes after you tell her she has the prettiest cheekbones you’ve ever seen. a friend who mentions this vibrator that gave you one of the best orgasms you’ve ever had, so vi orders the same one and maybe still pictures you before bed, imagining that you’re using it at the same time. except someone else might be next to you.

yeah, vi’s pretty sure you’re dating someone, but that’s something she hasn’t gathered enough information on.

not that it matters. she wouldn’t be interested in anything serious, anyways, after the mindfuck that was her relationship with caitlyn, and the damage she’s still having to heal from.

though, if that hadn’t happened, vi would have never gotten into a fight with maddie nolan, the second striker for the piltover knights, who taunted her during an exhibition game about how caitlyn is so much happier now that she isn’t disgracing herself with a filthy zaunite. vi would have never been banned from the first half of the tournament and chewed out by coach sevika for fucking up the yellowjackets’ chance at nationals.

vi would have never been put on academic probation and assigned to 100 hours of community service, either.

she certainly wouldn’t have been here, now, in the women’s centre office close to midnight on a tuesday, folding the most recent issue of the black rose when you walk in.

“oh. hey, v.” you drop down on the zebra-striped couch, your tote bag falling to the ground. “i thought sky was gonna be here tonight.”

vi shakes her head, removing one earbud and letting it dangle from the cord. “she’s got this huge chem report due tomorrow, had to meet up with viktor to get it done.”

“right…” you sigh and lie back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. a few moments pass, and there’s only your steady breathing. “what are you listening to?”

your eyes are closed when vi settles in next to you. it’s a relatively tight fit, but it doesn’t seem like either of you particularly care. vi gently places an earbud in your ear.

you snort, opening your eyes. “you could have just said the cranberries.”

“i’m surprised you recognize them,” vi quips. “it’s not your usual angry girl music.”

“well, sometimes people surprise you. this is actually one of my favorite songs,” you explain. “it’s in one of my favorite movies, too.”

“you’ve got mail?”

you furrow your brows. “when harry met sally.”

vi shakes her head. “no, ‘dreams’ is definitely in you’ve got mail. but, i agree that when harry met sally is a better movie.”

“you’ve watched nora ephron movies and enjoyed them?”

“well, sometimes people surprise you,” vi teases. “i can appreciate a good love story as much as the next person.”

you let out a short, airy laugh. you tilt your head and you’re so close to vi that you’re practically exchanging the same breath. your eyes land on her lips for a millisecond, and vi starts to lean in before you sit up abruptly.

“i could use some alcohol.” you climb over vi and go to the desk, pull out a half empty bottle of fruit-flavored soju from a drawer. you grab two mugs — the hayley kiyoko one, and another with frida kahlo. you stop short of pouring, looking to vi. she nods.

soon enough, you’ve got your legs strewn along vi’s lap, sipping lychee infused alcohol.

“can i ask you something?”

“anything,” vi answers, squeezing your calf.

“why’d you and caitlyn break up?” the question hangs in the air for a second before you add: “if you don’t wanna talk about it though, i understand.”

shit. it’s definitely not vi’s favorite topic of conversation, but….

“i think she thought that i was one of the good ones, that regardless of the way i grew up or the blood that coursed through my veins, i would be her perfect little charity case. people would be like: future president kiramman definitely cares about the poor — just look at the broke angry lesbian she’s turned into her docile wife!”

you suck in a sharp breath. “fuck that.”

“yeah,” vi laughs sadly. “the worst part is that she wanted me to be vulnerable with her, so i was, because i thought the more i opened up, the more she’d love me, but, in the end….i was too messy. i was too much.”

vi hates the lump that starts to build in her throat, the tears that threaten to spill. she cannot cry in front of you —

you grab her hand. your skin is cool against hers, and it eases her quickening heartbeat.

“you’re not too much, v.” your voice soothes her like honey, trickling down her throat. “it sucks, though, when they ask you to rip your heart out of your chest and get mad at you for bleeding out in front of them.”

“shit, i never thought of it so…viscerally, but that’s exactly what it feels like.”

“well you’re not a creative writing major,” you quip. “i know it still hurts — trust me, i know — but your heart was never hers if she treated you that badly. you deserve more.”

is it the alcohol messing with her brain, or does it look like you want to kiss her?

fuck.

vi clears her throat. “why’re you asking?”

you pull your hand away, take a sip of your drink. “jules broke up with me a few days ago.”

you’re single now. good to know.

“what happened?”

“i caught her kissing someone at a bar. a boy.” you roll your eyes. “maybe she just wasn’t ready, which is fine, but when we had it out, she told me that what we had isn’t what romance is supposed to feel or look like, which sucked. especially after being so….vulnerable with her.”

“you offered her that bleeding heart of yours, didn’t you?”

you click your tongue, pouring some more soju into each mug. “course i did, v. and it didn’t mean anything in the end. because relationships suck.”

“i’ll drink to that.”

you cheers, keeping eye contact.

“and you know what?” you take a big, long gulp. “i know that relationships aren’t just about sex, but i’ve been having to get myself off for months now and sometimes, i just want someone else to —”

“take care of you?”

vi sips her drink, watching you mull over her words.

“not sure if i’d put it like that,” you decide. “i just miss that excitement. when another person wants to discover what makes you feel good, and wanting to learn how to make them feel good, too. i miss having that connection with someone.”

“i’m guessing you didn’t have that with jules, then.”

“ha! no. and paula…the girl i dated before….let’s just say, she didn’t give a shit whether i felt good, in any sense.” you shift in your seat; vi senses there’s a story there, but she doesn’t push. “how about future president kiramman — she take care of you?”

vi can’t help but laugh. “nah. i mostly took care of her. she sure liked it when i got down on my knees for her.”

you hum.

“lucky her.”

you wink at vi, and she chokes on her drink.

i would gladly do it for you, if that’s something you want.

“is that a genuine offer? because, if you’re joking —”

shit. did vi say that out loud?

vi’s heart is beating out of her chest, but she sits up straighter to regain some level of composure. she nods.

no use in turning back now.

“i’m serious, wonder woman.”

you stare at her. “i really can’t have another relationship that’s just gonna crash and burn.”

“that’s not what i’m offering. i care about our - our friendship. i care about you.”

you swallow. “i care about you, too.”

“right, and when our friends need help with something….”

“we help them,” you finish. “so, you’re really just talking about casual sex. right now, on this couch?”

“yes,” vi answers. maybe a bit too quickly. “if that’s what you want, too.”

“that’s what i want,” you reply. maybe a bit too quickly, too. “but none of this one sided bullshit: you do me, i do you.”

vi takes your mug, puts it next to hers on the floor, and repositions your bodies so that she’s hovering above you, hips set between yours.

“sounds perfect to me.”

you finally, finally kiss and it feels oddly…familiar. you taste like lychees and nicotine and cherries, burnt sweetness, and your skin is so fucking soft.

“wait.” you tug on vi’s hair and she has to bite back a moan at how fucked out you already look underneath her, all wide-eyed and desperate. “just so we’re 100% clear: just sex.”

vi nods once. “no strings attached.”

“it’ll be casual.”

“we’re not doing the whole relationship thing.”

“promise?”

vi sticks out her pinky, grinning at you sheepishly. you roll your eyes ever so slightly, but still wrap your pinky around hers.

“promise.”

so, you take care of each other. no strings attached.

because that’s what friends are for, right?

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

v ⚽

are u busy rn? got out of my lab early and im bored

wndr wmn ☆

yeah, im at work

v ⚽️

leave early. im BORED and HORNY

wndr wmn ☆

ofc you are

v ⚽️

pls u love it

u know #6 isn’t just my jersey number ;))

i’m implying that i will give u 6 consecutive orgasms

wndr wmn ☆

yeah i got that

v ⚽️

so….

wndr wmn ☆

….

leaving now

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

“you sure about this, v?”

vi hums, looking up at you through hooded eyes. “isn’t it every girl’s dream to get tied up by the lasso of truth, wonder woman?”

you’re straddling her, still wearing your red and gold bodysuit underneath blue shorts that you’ve decorated with silver stars. your makeshift lasso of truth — really, just some gold rope — sparkles, tying vi’s wrists together to the headboard.

the theme of the women’s centre halloween celebration is always the same — dress up at your favorite female icon — but you’d never seen someone look as good as vi does. she dressed as trinity from the matrix, all tight, black leather and vinyl, showcasing her defined muscles as the gods intended.

now, she’s left in a sleeveless cropped top and black boyshorts, with her pants and jacket thrown somewhere on your apartment floor.

you have a feeling she really liked your costume, too, because she practically begged you to take control tonight.

“if it gets too much, our safeword will be —”

“sappho.” the slight whine of impatience in her voice sends a jolt right to your core.

“perfect.”

you kiss her lips, her jaw, her neck, your lipstick leaving angry red marks. you lodge your bare thigh in between vi’s legs, biting your bottom lip when you feel her already warm and wet, when you hear her whimper as you apply more pressure to where she needs you most. you reach into your nightstand for your vibrator and switch it on, teasing vi’s nipples through her shirt.

vi moans, deep and loud. not even thirty seconds, and she’s already pulling at the restraints, the headboard creaking.

“are you gonna be a good girl for me, violet?” you coo, inching the vibrator lower and lower, feeling her shake underneath you. “because we’ve got all night, and you better not break my bed.”

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

“hey, so — i found these in between one of the couch cushions, thought maybe they might be yours.”

you can only spare a glance at the item mel is holding up — you’re grading freshman papers, focused on this one student’s thesis about gender fluidity in shakespeare’s twelfth night.

“oh, those are vi’s.”

“hm. and just how is it that you know what her underwear looks like?”

you stop writing mid-sentence and look up at mel who’s giving you a pointed look.

you and vi had been the ones to clean up after feminist film friday last week, and one thing led to another….

in your defense: vi had been wearing these low cut jeans that showed off her v-line, and you could tell she didn’t have her usual sports bra on because you could see the outlines of her nipple rings through her tight, white tank top. it took everything in you to wait until people cleared out during the credits of the watermelon woman to pin her down and have her whimpering for you.

“i just…guessed.”

“right.” mel rolls her eyes. “so, you and violet are….what? fucking? dating?”

you clear your throat and take a sip of lukewarm coffee.

“we’re keeping it casual,” is all you say.

“are you sure that’s a good idea?”

you just shrug.

“just — be careful,” mel, always the diplomatic one, eases. she walks towards you, sits on the edge of the desk, and hands you the pair of black briefs. “i know we all teased you about it before, but i don’t want to see you get hurt. i’ve seen you get your heart broken one too many times.”

“it’s fine, mel,” you assure her, grabbing the piece of fabric and shoving it at the bottom of your bag. you’re visiting their owner after this, anyways. “vi and i are just friends helping each other out.”

mel raises an eyebrow. “well, you and i have been friends for years and we’ve never gotten that close.”

“that’s different.”

“how so?”

“i appreciate your concern,” you say, avoiding the question. “but it’s fine. nice, actually.”

“it’s your life,” mel sighs. “maybe don’t fuck on our couches anymore, though.”

your cheeks heat up. you turn your attention back to the essay in front of you.

“noted.”

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

vi starts showing up at your place after soccer.

she’s allowed back on the field during games now, so she appears with a winning grin, a grass-stained uniform and fresh bruises on her knees. one time, she had the remnants of a bloody nose after a header gone wrong, and you could taste copper when she pressed her lips against yours before she hopped in the shower.

you keep her go-to body wash stocked — bergamot and cedarwood scented old spice — but she always walks out of the bathroom smelling like your mango-vanilla shower gel. sometimes even your coconut shampoo. she slips on one of your oversized graphic tees, drapes a light purple towel around her shoulders to avoid staining your shirt with her cheaply dyed black hair, fading back to pink with each wash. she walks over to the fridge in her soft gray sweatpants rolled at the ankles and cracks open one of the spiced-pear red bulls as you pull ingredients out for dinner. usually something quick and simple, since it’s always a long week and neither of you have capacity for anything more.

vi chops garlic and tells you about her game; you boil water for pasta and tell her about the latest drama between students in your literature class.

you pretend you have all the time in the world.

because you both know that vi’s got the strap packed in her gym bag, that soon one thing will lead to another and she’ll be fucking you with it until you’re both sweaty and spent and exhausted in the best way possible.

you’ve established this routine together, agreed upon several unspoken rules: no pillow talk once it’s over; no actually falling asleep in the other’s bed; no crossing that thin sapphic line between friendship and romance.

no breaking that promise.

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

wndr wmn

wanna come over? i’m watching bend it like beckham

v ⚽️

MY FAVORITE!!

i would love 2

but lucky fell asleep on me

we just finished devouring an xl pepperoni pizza

wndr wmn

remind me again why your one-eyed golden retriever likes pizza so much?

v ⚽️

come on it’s cute

[v ⚽️ sent an attachment]

wndr wmn

yeah, you’re cute

v ⚽️

come over here instead?

wndr wmn

omw

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

vi whines, and you can’t help but roll your eyes.

“come on — hurry up.”

“you practically begged for this, v,” you chide.

“yeah, but you’re taking too long and your hands are fucking freezing.”

“it’s the irony deficiency, babe,” you quip. “now, are you gonna be a good girl and let me finish?”

“fine,” vi grumbles. she does stop squirming, though. you hum, pleased.

you certainly didn’t miss the way her breath hitches at the nickname. vi’s right hand, freshly polished, tightens on your thigh.

you’re not sure why she called you at 1:27am for your help with this, or why she couldn’t just do it herself, but you’re sitting on her lap, painting her nails the color of pomegranate juice, a color she had chosen from the options you brought.

sure, you were about to turn in for an early night, but the moment you heard her voice through the phone, you rushed over to her place wearing nothing but your pajamas — plaid boxer shorts and a spiderman shirt that vi wore last time she was at yours, and you haven’t washed since.

you stretch time out as much as you can, meticulous in every stroke, but painting her nails doesn’t take much longer. you start to move off her lap — it’s probably time for you to leave — but vi grabs your hips, a playful smirk on her lips.

oh, right. that’s the type of relationship — friendship — you and vi agreed upon.

shit. you’re pretty sure that you’re wearing your days of the week underwear. is it a turn-off that you’ve got on a saturday pair on a thursday?

it doesn’t really matter, anyways.

instead of initiating a kiss, vi takes the bottle of polish from you, swaps it for black, and gestures for your hand. you blink at her, until you realize what she’s asking.

“oh! you don’t have to —”

“you do me, i do you.” vi grins at you. “i thought that was our arrangement.”

you laugh, feeling warmth radiate from your chest.

it’s kind of….adorable, the furrow of her brow, the way she curses under her breath when a drop of nail polish falls onto your skin. she’s surprisingly gentle, too, one of her hands holding yours for support while the other paints.

while she focuses on getting the polish onto your nails in even layers, you busy yourself by counting vi’s freckles.

violet rose atlas has a constellation of freckles sparkling across her cheeks. you hope there’s enough time in the world for you to memorize every single one.

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

v ⚽️

do u need more nicotine gum?

im at cvs rn

wndr wmn

yeah that’d be great!!

v ⚽️

i’ll get u the cinnamon one

that’s the one u like right?

wndr wmn

yep!!!

v ⚽️

okay cool

im also gonna get u some of those iron supplements

wndr wmn

my hero 🙏🏽

thank you sm

v ⚽️

ofc

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

“that red head was trying to get your number.”

“are you jealous, v?”

vi scoffs, sipping her cherry coke. “of course not. i’m just observant.”

you’d convinced your manager to let vi back into sappho’s. it’s nice, really, to see her back here again.

nice, but different.

gone are the days of staring at her from across the room, where she would be charming someone else, and only flirting with you when she came over to get another whiskey for herself and vodka something for her date. instead, she jokes around with mel, sky, and gert if they’re around, and sometimes brings her teammates in as well to play a game of pool. she usually has one drink, and then switches to something non-alcoholic. sometimes, vi doesn’t even come in for a drink; she just stops by to say hi before a team dinner or a study session.

(it’s fine — never once have you gotten an overpriced coffee from the cafe she started working at mid-october, and you probably stop by once a week between errands. that’s your excuse, anyways.)

so. things are different, but nice.

you lean across the sticky counter. “you want me to get down on my knees for you right now to prove which girl here i’d like to go home with?”

“baby….” vi shifts on the bar stool. it’s hard to tell under the dim multicolored lights, but you’re pretty sure she’s blushing, too.

“i think we both know you’d draw a bit too much attention to yourself. especially when i use my tongue to —”

“my car’s outside.”

you smirk. “my break’s in 15.”

you used to spend your breaks in the alley outside sappho’s burning through a cigarette. now you find yourself knee-deep in the passenger seat, eating vi out like she’s the last thing you’ll ever taste.

“f-fuck,” vi groans.

“feels good, yeah?” you tease her clit with her tongue, sliding two fingers into her easily. you work fast, determined to let her finish before you run out of time.

“so fucking good. i’m gonna —”

she clenches around your fingers; you lap her up eagerly, let her writhe against your face until she’s had enough.

you sit back on your knees once her hips still, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. you crane your neck to check the time on the dashboard, when you notice something in the footwell.

“vi! i thought i lost this.”

vi grins at you sheepishly, chest still heaving as you hold up the complete works of audre lorde, a tattered book with a well-worn spine and dog-eared pages.

“sorry. i meant to put it back on your nightstand once i was finished.”

you open to where she’s placed a makeshift bookmark — the ticket from an underground sirens of zaun show you’d both gone to. you’ve had this copy since freshman year, the scribble of your handwriting in the margins of practically on every page.

“it’s okay,” you tell her. “you like it so far?”

“yeah.” she grabs the book from you gently, thumbing through the pages. you wonder if vi registers the curves of her own smile, tender and bashful. “honestly, i’m not usually a fan of poetry, but it’s really cool how lorde writes about desire between women in such a tangible way, you know? i really liked this one verse in ‘recreation:’ ‘touching you, i catch midnight as moon fires set in my throat.’ it’s just so - so beautiful, the idea of something so domestic and mundane being almost magical, because that’s what it’s really like when —”

you don’t even realize that you’re staring until vi looks up at you and freezes.

“sorry,” she clears her throat, closing the book and setting it aside. “did i say something wrong?”

you assure vi that she did nothing wrong.

you exit her car, the taste of her lingering on your tongue, the feeling of her keeping your body warm on this cold november night.

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

wndr wmn

hey

are you in town during break?

v⚽️

having dinner at my dads’ on friday but otherwise im here

why? u gonna miss me??

wndr wmn

lol

im having ppl over for friendsgiving on sunday

if you wanna join

v ⚽️

hell yeah

can i bring anything?

wndr wmn

just your pretty face

i’ll take care of the rest

turkey, cranberry, sauce, stuffing, sweet potatoes, pumpkin pie…

etc. etc.

v ⚽️

damn!!!!

full course meal

wndr wmn

yep

im basically wife material

v⚽️

pls we’re so over gender norms

but yeah

you are

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

vi has never been the type to wait by the phone for a girl to text, or to show up at her place after not hearing from her in a while, worried that she might have done something wrong.

yet here she is, standing outside your door.

it’s cool, though. completely platonic behavior.

she knocks.

there’s no answer.

she knocks again.

nothing.

vi waits another second, leaning her shoulder against the door.

“it’s me, wonder woman,” she tries.

hope flutters in her chest as she hears you shuffle, unchain the lock. vi stumbles as you throw the door open, but she recovers quickly to find you: smudged black eyeliner enhancing the shadows underneath your eyes, hair in disarray, clothes disheveled.

“i’m not really in the mood for sex.”

vi can’t help but laugh, even though your comment feels like a punch to the face.

“wow. figured you would think more of me by now than just some horny teenage boy.”

“look, vi —”

vi?

since when do you call her that?

“i’m sorry i missed the meeting today. i texted mel —”

damn, so your phone does work.

you’ve just been ignoring her calls and texts.

“but i’m just… it’s not a good time, okay? i’ll see you around.”

ah.

the classic generic excuse and non-committal statement combo.

you start to close the door on her before she even has a chance to get a word in.

the hits just keep coming.

thankfully, vi’s always been a good fighter.

“wait.” vi places her palm firmly on the door before you can fully shut her out. “i’m just here to check on you.”

your face remains unchanged.

“okay, well, you’ve checked on me.”

“yeah, i’ve checked on you. you look like shit.”

you glare at her. “well i’m sorry i didn’t have the time to get all prettied up for you. i know that you like me better that way.”

“that’s not what i —” vi inhales sharply. she’s a fighter, but she doesn’t want to fight you. “mel dropped the news — about admin officially cutting our funding. i knew how that would affect you, so….” vi lifts the bag of takeout. “i brought some thai food for us to share. a pomegranate, too, because i know you like seasonal fruit. it’s been a while and honestly, i just….i just wanted to spend time with you.”

you exhale, your eyes softening.

there.

a hesitant smile, an invitation to come inside.

there are clothes all over your floor and dishes piled high in the sink. your desk is littered with empty boxes of cereal and cans of an energy drink that normally you’d never touch. the blanket that sky had crocheted for you — lavender and pink checkered — is unfolded on your couch, your laptop half-closed on the coffee table in front next to two stacks of printed essays — ones marked with purple pen, the others untouched. in contrast, your bed is still perfectly made.

you take the blanket and wrap it around your shoulders, sitting at the kitchen table and curling into yourself. vi busies herself in cracking open the pomegranate, putting the seeds into the last clean bowl in your cupboard. the palms of her arm wraps are now stained a reddish-purple, but she doesn’t care.

vi manages to find two pairs of clean chopsticks for the thai food, and the two of you eat in silence.

“so….” vi starts, watching you stab a piece of chicken before popping it into your mouth. “you wanna talk about it, or….?”

“what’s there to talk about?”

“well, for starters, maybe tell me what’s been getting you into full hibernation mode? we haven’t seen each other in, like, a week.”

“six days,” you correct, chewing a mouthful of noodles. “last tuesday, we played pool during my closing shift at sappho’s. i lost. you made me down two shots of tequila because you’re a menace and you know i hate it.”

“yeah, but i drove you home and tucked you into bed with water and advil for later, so i’m also a gentleman. so, just tell me what’s been going on. we’ll figure it out, yeah?”

“it’s fine,” you grumble.

“clearly, it’s not. just tell me what you need.”

“what i need is to not be distracted,” you huff, avoiding eye contact. “i certainly don’t need you —”

“taking care of you, i know.” vi grabs your hand from across the table. she feels you stiffen on instinct, and then ease into the heat of her skin. “trust me, i wouldn’t be here if i didn’t want to be. so — humor me.”

vi squeezes your hand, hoping to reassure you.

you sigh. “i’ve just — i’ve been spiralling trying to figure out how the centre can keep going with, like, half our required budget, trying to see if we can get some external donors and i still need to finalize the venue and equipment rentals for our last open mic….and….and my sibling called again to tell me that things haven’t been great at home, so i want to go down there this weekend to sort everything out, but my car hasn’t been starting….plus i’m behind on grading, and i told my supervisor i’d have a complete draft ready by thursday and i’m not even halfway done, and that’s the same day we’re having that art build for the climate rally on friday, and i’ve been having the worst cramps since this afternoon, and all i wanna do is pass out and sink into my duvet, but i need to keep going —”

vi squeezes your hand again, this time more firmly. “you need to slow down.”

“i can’t.” you huff. “i have to keep everything from falling apart, and if i don’t….”

vi shifts to the chair next to yours, still holding your hand.

“but you can’t do it all if you’re too exhausted to take care of yourself. from the looks of it, you’ve been living off of frosted flakes, red bull, and zero sleep.”

you shrug. “if that’s what it takes.”

“if that’s what it takes, then maybe it’s not worth it.”

“don’t say that,” you tell her. “it’s all worth it. i just wish it wasn’t so…heavy.”

vi nods, because she really, truly understands. she gives you the advice she can see you giving her in another context.

“you ever think that maybe it wouldn’t feel as heavy if you…i don’t know…weren’t too stubborn to ask for help.”

“there are things that are my responsibility, violet,” you tell her, slipping your hand away. you reach for the bowl of pomegranate seeds, meticulously picking up one at a time with your chopsticks and crushing it in between your molars. “i can’t just pass those off to someone else.”

“fine. but what about other things? like the women’s centre stuff — we’re a team, right? so we’ll figure it out together, divide the labor so you’re not doing everything. and, maybe ask your supervisor for an extension, too? and, well, i don’t really need my car this weekend, so you’re welcome to borrow it.”

you pause, narrowing your eyes at her.

“you said…. ‘we.’”

“well, yeah. i’m part of the team, aren’t i?”

“but you’ll be finished with your hours in a week. there’s no reason for you to stay.”

“of course there is,” vi whispers, studying your face as it morphs from suspicious to something else, something gentler.

her heart is pounding as she waits for you to say something, so vi starts to dig into the pomegranate seeds, the juice surprisingly more sweet than sour. some dribbles out from the corner of her lips, and you reach over to wipe it away with your thumb.

“i’d love for you to stay,” you hum, smiling, and vi feels her chest glow with a brightness it seems only you can bring out. “turns out you give pretty good advice.”

“so…you’ll consider it.”

you shrug again. “maybe. i am very tempted to take you up on the car thing.”

“all yours, if you want it.”

“are you sure?”

“it’s fine, wonder woman. i’ll just carpool to practice — it’s better for the environment, anyways. can’t show up to the climate rally as a hypocrite, can i?” she jokes, and you roll your eyes playfully. “and, i’ll try to fix your car while you’re away.”

“wow. you are a gentleman.”

“gentleman? baby, i’m husband material.”

you actually laugh.

“i thought we were over gender norms,” you quip. “but yeah. you are.”

vi’s cheeks heat up at your statement. you most definitely notice her blushing because you break out into a toothy grin

“i missed you, v,” you admit. “any other words of wisdom?”

despite your tender smile, you look exhausted. vi just wants to hold you through it all, tell you it’s gonna be okay. instead, she settles for placing a gentle hand on your cheek, running her thumb over the deep shadow underneath your eye.

“get some rest, pretty girl.”

a few hours later, you wake up alone.

you have a vague memory of warm arms wrapped around you, a heart beating steadier than yours. your sheets smell like old spice, your apartment smells like fresh laundry. you get out of bed and notice that there are no more dishes in your sink, no more cans or containers on any surface. all the clothes you’d been meaning to wash are now carefully folded on your couch.

there’s a bright pink sticky note on your nightstand next to the keys to vi’s car.

you talk in your sleep. something about stargazing? maybe we can go when you get back.

drive safe. text me if you need anything.

xxx

- v

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

zaun yellowjackets vs. piltover knights.

two minutes left in overtime.

one goal standing in the way of their trophy. one goal to end piltover’s monopoly over the title of national champions.

caitlyn probably told her knights to be extra aggressive — win by any means necessary — so it’s been a long game of dirty plays and intentional fouls.

vi always puts her heart into every single game, but this time —

this time, it’s personal.

zaun’s defense works to regain possession and prevent piltover’s attack. ashe manages to intercept a pass between two knights, and is quick in dribbling the ball until mid-field. she sends it over to vi with a swift kick. vi’s quick on her feet, catching piltover’s defense by surprise, sprinting closer and closer to the goal. she makes it to the penalty box.

this could be the winning point.

vi has it, too. she’s so fucking close, about to fake out the goalie and kick into that hard-to-defend sweet spot — until a sharp, pointy elbow collides with her ribs so abruptly, it knocks the wind out of her lungs. she stumbles forward over the ball, knees skidding onto the grass. whoever it is also steps on vi’s cleat for good measure.

“fuck!” she looks up to see who it is.

of course. it’s maddie fucking nolan, who doesn’t spare so much as a glance as the ref doles out a red card. she nods at caitlyn as she walks off the field, no doubt following her captain’s orders.

her teammates help vi to her feet, and the ref makes sure everyone is in position for the penalty kick.

this could be the winning point. vi just has to ignore caitlyn’s icy stare from a few feet away, and the heart threatening to beat out of her chest.

vi takes a deep breath.

she looks to the stands. among the crowd of screaming fans, zaunites and pilties alike, is vi’s family. they’re cheering.

you’re there too, sitting next to them.

everyone is staring at vi, waiting for the whistle, waiting for her to make the shot, but the only person she stares back at is you.

you’ve got this, v, you had whispered to her the night before. she couldn’t sleep, so she called you. vi wishes she was back there, now — tangled in flannel sheets, lucky snoring at the foot of the bed, gazing up at the glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to her ceiling until she finally fell asleep in your arms.

but, vi’s on the field.

and this is the winning point.

the whistle blows.

she makes the shot.

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

“i told you i wasn’t a jinx!” powder sticks her tongue out at mylo.

she’s all sweat and dirt and adrenaline, but, fuck, if vi isn’t so, incredibly happy and proud of her team, of everything they’ve been through, everything they’ve accomplished.

it almost doesn’t feel real.

just like it doesn’t feel real, seeing you talk animatedly with her sister’s boyfriend, laughing along with her siblings, smiling as you watch her dads hug and praise her.

when it’s your turn to do the same, you practically leap into vi’s arms, gushing about how amazing she was, how proud you are of her.

“this looks good on you,” vi hums, as you pull away from another hug. her fingers play with the bottom of the jersey, and she bites the inside of her cheek to ground herself in the moment. you, with her family. you, in her jersey. “thinking of joining the yellowjackets?”

“i think i’ll leave the soccer to you,” you tell her. “you were amazing out there. guess i should be calling you wonder woman from now on, huh?”

“wonder woman! that’s where i remember you from!” vander suddenly exclaims, stepping closer to the pair of you. silco turns around, too. “you once tried to get into the last drop with a fake id, didn’t you? under the name diana prince?”

“shit,” you laugh nervously, eyes flickering between vander and the ground as if you’re once again a teenager caught in the act. “i….probably did.”

“i kicked you out, told you to go home to themyscira.”

“yeah…i….i remember that.” you nod slowly, furrowing your brows. “except, i didn’t want to go home that night, so i lingered outside,” you continue. you turn to vi, and your face softens. “which was when you —”

“brought two glasses of cherry coke and rum,” vi finishes; she sees flashes of that night as you gaze into her eyes. “we climbed onto the roof and —”

that was her first kiss. vi never even realized until now, but —

you were her first kiss.

“i can’t believe i forgot that.”

“weird, how memory works,” you agree, tilting your head curiously, looking at vi with a newfound interest, like a ghost from your past.

“well, isn’t this a story we’ll be sharing on your wedding day!” vander chuckles, ruffling vi’s hair.

“don’t pressure them, darling,” silco chides, but the smirk growing on his face gives him away. he’s loving this drama. “they’re barely 23 — i doubt they’ve discussed marriage.”

“oh, we’re not —”

“yeah, we’re just —”

“friends,” you say at the same time, careful to avoid eye contact.

vi feels like she might burst into flames at the knowing look vander and silco share.

“well, violet, would your friend like to join us for a celebratory dinner?” silco asks.

so that’s how you’re sitting between powder and claggor, listening to them talk your ear off about the young innovator’s competition. vi’s sitting across from you, next to ekko, who occasionally pipes in.

you’re here, sharing the tradition of a post-game meal with vi’s family at the local pizza parlour.

caitlyn never even wanted to meet vi’s family.

a few pizzas are ordered for the table, and you eat and laugh and sip your soda along with everyone else. you make a flower out of your paper napkin and hand it to isha, who’s on the other side of powder, and she gives you a toothy grin in return. you answer all the standard questions about your job and major and plans for the future.

“after graduation, i’m probably gonna take a break, get some work experience,” you explain. “maybe save up some money for law school a few years down the road.”

“you wanna be a lawyer, huh? you sure you wanna be friends with a felon, then?” powder asks, blowing bubbles into her soda through her straw.

vi coughs, choking on a mushroom.

“powder!”

“what! she never told you?”

you shake your head, glancing over at vi who suddenly finds it hard to look you in the eye. your foot has been pressed against hers underneath the table all night; you pull it away now. she takes a big gulp of water; vi looks over at vander and silco for help, but they seem to be caught up in their own conversation.

“oh, damn! ” mylo adds, leaning over. “it’s a great story!”

“guys, maybe don’t —”

“but it’s a great story!” mylo insists. “shows what a badass you are!”

“she didn’t do anything serious, like murder or anything,” powder clarifies. “it was really just her pissing off some enforcers —”

“rightfully so,” ekko adds.

claggor nods. “we were just kids. they were harassing us for some bullshit, disruption of property or whatever, so vi steps in and things get heated —”

“it takes three of enforcers to get her handcuffed, but she manages to get a few nasty hits in before they send her off to stillwater —”

“she spends three days there —”

“i thought it was two —”

“no, it was three —”

“needless to say, this isn’t the first time vi has been sentenced to community service, but it seems she’s really enjoying it this time, thanks to you,” powder finishes, winking at you.

“well that’s….quite the story,” you finally say, voice steady.

“oh! let’s tell her about the time she stole from some enforcers that were hoarding food —”

as powder continues the story, and you listen intently, it’s hard to read your expression.

are you ashamed of being friends with her? disgusted by her family, her past? regretful that you ever let her touch you, let her into your life?

vi’s stomach turns when your eyes collide; she’s been down this road before, and vi’s scared that she knows exactly what you’re thinking.

she pushes her chair back and disappears to the bathroom before she has to watch you walk away.

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

there’s a knock on the door.

“someone’s in here,” vi says. she grips the edge of the counter so hard, her knuckles turn white.

deep breaths.

this isn’t the same as before.

this isn’t caitlyn, who threw vi out like a piece of trash when something better came along.

then again, you never knew this much about vi’s past. you’re well within your right to —

there’s another knock.

“v? it’s me….i have to get going, but i wanted to check on you before i leave.”

“okay,” vi clips. she looks up at herself in the mirror; she had splashed her face with cold water to calm herself down. a drop falls from her chin. “bye.”

“are you sure you’re okay?”

“i’m fine. see you around.”

you sigh, and vi hears you settle against the doorframe.

“violet, let me in,” you press. “please?”

“i’m fine. you can leave.”

“okay, well, i’m not leaving until i see that gorgeous face of yours one more time,” you whisper. “i got all dolled up just for you, and all i wanna do is give you a proper goodbye….”

well, when you put it like that….

vi grabs some paper towel to dry her face and fixes her hair before opening the door for you. you smile knowingly, enter and lock the door behind you.

you lean against the door as vi leans against the counter, the marble digging into her lower back.

“okay, i’ll start because, frankly, i don’t have time to waste,” you state after a few moments of silence. “nothing i’ve learned about you tonight has changed how i see you. it’s just confirmed some things.”

“right. like how impulsive and violent and reckless i’ve always been,” she lists glumly, unable to look you in the eye.

“maybe you are all those things,” you pause. “but, i don’t fucking care. i mean, i do, because it’s part of you and i like who you are. i like you.”

your words do wonders to ease the tension throughout vi’s body, and she feels like she can actually take a breath.

vi’s eyes lock onto yours.

“you do?”

“i like who you are, every part of it,” you tell her. “well, i don’t like that you’ve had to fight your way through an unbelievably fucked up system ever since you were a kid, but the bottom line is that you’re the strongest, most compassionate person i know.”

vi blinks at you.

“funny, i was just thinking the same thing about you the other day.”

neither of you say anything for a minute or so, letting the sentiment linger in the small space between you. once more, you’re the one to break the ice.

“well, you know what they say about great minds….” you step closer to vi. you take her chin between your thumb and your index finger. "can you guess what i’m thinking now?"

vi shakes her head, throat suddenly very dry.

“i’m thinking that i’ve wanted to kiss you all night.”

“what’s stopped you?”

you grin. “i didn’t want to make a fuss in front of your family, but now that we’re alone….”

vi doesn't say anything, but instead closes the gap between your lips.

you kiss her, harsh and messy, tongue and teeth, swallowing her moans as your fingers snake down the waistband of her pants. you pull vi’s bottom lip with your teeth before moving to her neck, nipping along the outline of her tattoo. you bite down harder on her skin, right at her pulse point.

"what’s that you said earlier —” a low groan tumbles from vi’s lips when you start to suck just above her collarbones. another when your tongue soothes over the sting. “about a proper goodbye…?” she tugs your hair so that you’re looking right at her.

it’s quite the sight — your lips swollen, chest heaving, eyes curious and lustful.

“anything you want,” you whisper, all breathless.

vi hums. she slips a hand underneath the frayed hem of your denim skirt, and you gasp as her nails scrape against your inner thigh.

she likes that you’re here. here for her.

"get on your knees for me, sweetheart.”

she pulls down her pants along with her briefs, as you kneel before her without hesitation.

you drape one of her legs over your shoulder, giving your tongue better access to her cunt. vi grips your hair tighter, bringing you in closer, and you moan, sending vibrations up her body.

"fuck," vi hisses. you add a finger, while your tongue works her clit.

you bring her to the edge, stay with her even as her thighs clench around your skull. she expects you to get back on your feet right away, but you stay, adding another finger and sucking her clit. she moans your name.

you pull away slightly. "one more, pretty girl," you promise. your chin glistens with vi’s release; you lick your lips as you gaze up at her through thick eyelashes. "can you do that for me?" she nods furiously, and you get back to work.

after letting her ride your tongue and fingers through another orgasm, you kiss her ankle before releasing her leg. vi pulls you up to your feet, sucks the taste of herself off your tongue.

you pull away slightly, heart racing against vi’s chest.

vi swipes her thumb over the smudged lipstick below your lip. she studies you, admires you, like you’re a fucking work of art that belongs in a gallery, like you didn’t just fucked her through two consecutive orgasms in the bathroom at a pizza parlour while wham's "last christmas" plays through shitty speakers.

"take these off." vi tugs at your tights. you do as instructed, slipping off your underwear as well. she pulls you towards her, and lodges a leg in between yours. your bare cunt brushes against her thigh, back and forth as she guides your hips. "i can't believe you got all dressed up…. wearing my jersey, and this pretty little skirt even though it’s so cold outside. all for me?"

vi flexes her thigh muscles, pushing you down faster and harder. you whimper.

"all – all for you.”

vi feels her pussy clench, with the desperation in your voice, the stickiness of your heat against her skin, the smell of the two of you intertwining. your orgasm crashes into you, and vi holds you through it.

you kiss her ever so sweetly before removing yourself from her grasp, smoothing down your skirt and looking around for your underwear.

"where are my...."

you look over as vi tucks your fuschia thong into the inner pocket of her jacket.

"i'm guessing you'll buy me replacements for christmas."

vi flashes you a shit eating grin before putting on her own underwear. she then pulls up her pants, not wiping your release from her thigh. she likes the idea of walking around with you seeped into her skin.

when vi looks over at you, you’re as fully dressed as you can be and busy checking something on your phone. she only sees a flash of your lock screen, but it’s her. a photo of her and lucky playing at the park; there’s snow, so it had to have been a few days ago.

that doesn’t mean anything, right? people use photos of their friends for their wallpaper all the time.

“i really have to go,” you sigh. you pull a tube of lipstick from your pocket and step closer to the mirror. “hey — do you think we could switch shirts? not sure i should wear this to my next dinner.”

vi nods and you remove her jersey, revealing a matching fuschia bralette. she wonders what’s got you all coordinated — who else you’ve clearly dressed up for.

“so, you’ve got a hot date?” vi tries to act casual as she takes off her jacket, pulls off her shirt, and waits for you to answer. you take your time, fixing yourself in the mirror.

“something like that,” you finally say with a shy smile.

later, when isha’s asleep on powder’s lap in the backseat, vi thinks about how your date might have gone, if you’re taking them home to the same bed vi has fucked you in throughout these past few months.

where do you get off, fucking vi in the bathroom during dinner while her parents are at the table, only to leave for another date, wearing vi’s shirt, too?

“hey, can i ask you something?” ekko asks from beside her, cutting off the angry monologue in her head.

vi reaches over to turn down the music.

“sure, little man. what’s up?”

“what’s the deal between you and wonder woman?”

vi clears her throat, gripping the steering wheel. “what makes you think there’s a deal?”

“oh, please, we all noticed that hickey on your neck after she visited you in the bathroom.”

the car crawls to a stop as the light turns red, and vi adjusts the collar of her shirt.

“we’re just friends.”

“well, powder and i were just friends for ages,” ekko points out.

vi doesn’t notice that the light’s turned green until someone behind her honks. she steps on the gas, but the idiot behind her still cuts in front of her.

“asshole,” she grumbles, throwing them a middle finger for good measure. vi glances to her right at ekko, who’s scribbling something in his sketchbook despite only the streetlamps outside providing light. “so, what made you….realize that you wanted something more?”

ekko closes his book, smiling to himself.

“honestly? it was kinda a million little things, but what it really comes down to is that she’s the only person i could spend every second of my life with, and i’d still want more time. and, in my experience….it’s better to tell someone how you feel sooner rather than later.”

“or, some people prefer to wait a few weeks,” powder mumbles, stirring awake. “nice try, mister, but no interfering. i’m not losing 20 bucks.”

“wait — you’ve bet on my love life?”

ekko smirks. “so it is love.”

vi shrugs, pretends that she doesn’t immediately picture you in your kitchen, making her banana pancakes at 2am when she hears the word love.

“it doesn’t matter.”

because, it really doesn’t matter.

you’re out with someone else right now.

it’s over before it really had a chance to begin.

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

cupcake

Hey, Vi

Just wanted to say good game today

You played brilliantly

Violet

cupcake

No need for the attitude

I was just trying to be nice

Violet

my apologies!!!

thank you SO much for recognizing my talent captain kiramman

i feel like i’m actually worth something now!!!

cupcake

Bitterness isn’t a good colour on you, darling

Violet

im NOT your darling

cupcake

I’m aware

I saw you earlier with that girl

Are you together?

Violet

idk

are you still with maddie?

cupcake

Actually, we broke up

I was hoping you and I could chat

Violet

what’s in it for me?

cupcake

The chance to reconnect with an old friend

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

you can excuse vi no longer attending the weekly team meeting. she finished her 100 hours around thanksgiving, so technically she didn’t need to be there anymore.

maybe you could excuse her ignoring your calls, or leaving your texts on read. it’s finals season, and she did mention picking up a few extra shifts to save up for christmas presents.

but you simply can’t excuse vi walking into sappho’s with caitlyn fucking kiramman, ordering drinks from you like you’re absolute strangers.

“what the fuck, vi?” you seethe.

vi glances at her date. caitlyn’s waiting for her back at a table, the glow of her phone screen illuminating her pretty face.

“what, should i have ordered something else? not every girl likes cherry coke and rum.”

you glare at her from across the counter, but start preparing their drinks nonetheless.

“why are you with her?” you throw some ice in a glass, the cubes clinking aggressively against the crystal. “are you back together?”

vi has the audacity to roll her eyes at you. “why’d you care?”

you catch yourself before saying something you’ll regret, something about liking her more than you definitely should considering the agreement the two of you had made.

clearly, vi doesn’t feel the same way; it’s not worth spilling your guts to her at your place of work.

“because we’re friends.”

“yeah, right,” vi scoffs. “you’re jealous, which you have no right to be because you’re seeing someone, too.”

you accidentally pour a double shot of vodka. you don’t really care, and mix the drink anyways.

“what the fuck are you talking about?”

“i’m talking about the date you went on the night of my championship game.”

“what date?” you slam the glasses in front of vi, so hard that you’re lucky they didn’t break.

“oh, don’t play dumb.” vi spits your name like it’s poison. “this whole thing started because you said you didn’t want a relationship, when really you just didn’t want a relationship with me. you used me until someone better came along. you lied to me.”

her eyes are glazed over, her voice shaking ever so slightly. you’re not sure if you’re more hurt or angry by what she’s saying, but it cuts deep; you continue as though you aren’t bleeding out in front of her.

“i don’t want a relationship with anyone and certainly not with you —”

“excuse me! are we able to order something?” someone with bright green hair and a septum piercing waves their hand in front of your face.

“yeah, just give us a second —”

“look, you and your girlfriend can fight on your own time.”

“she’s not my girlfriend!” you and vi snap simultaneously.

you glare at each other.

vi grabs the glasses from the counter, and walks away.

───── ⋆☆⋆ ──────

it took many brainstorming sessions, many boring conversations with potential donors, and many, many tears, but you managed to secure enough funding to keep the women’s centre going for the foreseeable future.

it was a team effort, of course, so you just want everyone to enjoy this open mic night, the last event of the semester — even though you are weighed down by the absence of a certain someone.

the gallery space on campus that you rented out is both cozy and electric, decorated with fairy lights on the walls, with pillows and blankets on the floor for people to sit and watch performances. there’s a table with drinks and snacks, a corner for people to make art if they’re inspired.

you’re rearranging the food, watching gert perform an original song when mel slides in next to you, wearing a gorgeous white dress with gold accents.

“do you mind running to the office? we’re out of paint.”

“really? people don’t usually use the paint.”

“well, it seems to be quite popular tonight.”

“it’s fine. we still have lots of other stuff. they can just collage or something.”

mel shakes her head. “i really think you should go get more paint.”

“maybe ask sky? i should stay here —”

“you could use a break, too,” mel cuts you off, placing a hand on your shoulder. “you’ve been nonstop all day; the rest of us can hold down the fort for a little while.”

you concede, mostly because she’s right and you don’t have the energy to argue.

when you get to the office, you’re surprised to find the lights on. even more surprised that someone’s already there, sitting on the zebra-striped couch.

“vi?”

she jumps slightly when you say her name.

“mel texted me,” she rushes out like she’s been caught red-handed. “said she needed help with something she’d been planning.”

you frown, until you realize why mel must have sent you here, specifically.

you haven’t seen vi since that night at sappho’s; you’d been quite a mess after your shift, ranting to mel on the phone about how she’d been right and you should have been more careful, how you don’t know what you did that ruined whatever you and vi had, and you really don’t know what you can do to fix it.

you’re both too stubborn to reach out to the other, so it seems like mel decided to take matters into her own hands.

“yeah, i doubt she’s coming,” you tell vi.

“okay,” vi says, but she doesn’t move. “i, uh, i was hoping i’d run into you, though.”

“yeah?” you raise an eyebrow at vi, crossing your arms. “needed another vodka martini for your piltover princess.”

“she’s not — we’re not together.”

“oh,” you exhale. the animosity you were holding towards her evaporates, but doesn’t completely disappear. you watch her, watching you stand by the doorway.

there are so many things you want to tell her, but you don’t even know where to start. you know that you’ve hurt her. she hurt you, too.

but, also:

you miss the cloudy blue-gray of her eyes, the scar on her upper lip.

you miss her.

“do you wanna come sit?”

after being so far away from vi, for what feels like forever, you don’t hesitate to take her up on the offer. your knees brush together as you settle next to her on the couch, a jolt of electricity passing through your body at the contact.

“so, i admit that —”

“vi, you were right —”

both of you stop your sentences short, chuckling nervously. you each urge the other to continue, and only get caught in a similar mess:

“i fucked up,” vi blurts out.

“i lied to you,” you confess at the same time.

an awkward, unfamiliar silence hangs above you; you’re not sure what to do next.

vi takes the leap. she tells you that mel explained everything: that you had to attend a dinner with alumni and potential donors on the same night of her championship game, but you kept it from vi since it was already a big moment for her; that you haven’t been on a real date with anyone else since september. vi apologizes for jumping to conclusions and falling back into caitlyn’s arms, shutting you out when she should have just talked to you.

you’re the girl who was her first kiss, she says. the girl who lingered in a vague memory, appeared in the fiction of her daydreams, and then suddenly became too real.

“i like you. i really fucking like you. and if it has to be as a friend, that’s fine because i don’t want to lose you.” vi takes a shattered breath, blinking back tears. she fiddles with the ring on her index finger, anxiously bouncing her knee. you place your hand there to steady her, and she exhales. “i guess i’m just not sure….when you said you liked me that night at the restaurant….is that what you lied about?”

vi’s practically doe-eyed, waiting for you to respond.

you shake your head.

“i lied when i said that i didn’t want a relationship with you,” you admit, and the hint of a smile dances across her lips. “i had this major crush on you, you know? every time you came into sappho’s….i couldn’t help it. and then you showed up here and we became friends, and then we started….well, you know the rest.”

“duh. i was there,” vi jokes, easing into her usual, playful self.

“i can’t do the whole casual thing,” you continue, rubbing circles into her knee with your thumb. “i know we made a promise, but i just can’t, not with you. it’s like…in every other relationship i’ve been in, i was trying to run out the clock. with you, though, with us, i feel like there’s never enough time —”

vi grabs your neck and crashes her mouth onto yours before you can finish your sentence.

you’ve kissed each other many times, in many different places, in many different ways, but never like this: like you’re both willing to break one promise if it means forging a new one.

“will you be my girlfriend, violet rose atlas?” you whisper as you pull away, lips brushing against hers.

you start to count the freckles on her cheeks as she beams at you, pulls you into her lap.

“i thought you’d never ask.”

3K notes · View notes

javierpena-inatacvest · 1 month ago

Text

Jealousy, Jealousy

Summary: Your brothers take you and Javi out to a local bar when you're home to visit. When you run into one of your old childhood friends, Javi can't help but feel jealous

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader (no use of y/n, established relationship)

Word Count: 3.2K

Warnings: SMUT (18+), unprotected p in v (whoops), creampie, breeding kink (only in the sense that there's no way in hell Javi's pulling out I know, who is she?), semi-public sex (gettin nasty in a grimy bar bathroom), two ass slaps, drinking/alcohol consumption, Jealous Javi, lowkey Javi is a dick (again, who is she writing nothing but fluff?!)

A/N: Shoutout to @yxtkiwiyxt for more horny Javi ideas rotting my brain at all hours of the day!!! 🤠 I can't believe that there has never been a jealousy one shot for these two in the great wide world of the NTL universe, but you bet your ass that Javier Peña is a possessive man to his core and tolerates zero bullshit from any man who dares to even look at you too long 😌 poorly beta'd bc I'm horny and impatient

Can be read as a part of the It's Never Too Late series!

"Another one?"

"Are you trying to make sure I have miserable hangover tomorrow?"

"Me? Never. Just tryin' to make sure you have fun." Your brother David teased, voice oozing with sarcasm as he popped off his barstool, giving you a playful nudge for your accusation.

While you and Javi had made a few trips back to your hometown of Chicago to visit your family since your move to Laredo, most of it had either been spent at your childhood home with your entire family, or at other family events, like your cousin's wedding a few months ago.

And of course, while your brothers, Charlie and David, were a part of your family, there was a substantial difference between spending time with your whole family together, and spending time with just your brothers.

So when they had convinced you and Javi to come out with them to Rossi's, your favorite dive bar in the city, under the guise of a few drinks and time to catch up, you shouldn't have been shocked to find yourself 4 beers and two shots of whisky deep, and preparing for a much longer night ahead of you than originally anticipated.

"'Nother one for you, big guy?" Charlie asked Javi, following behind David to make their way through the hot and sweaty mess of bodies crowding behind the bar for another drink.

"And before you answer, no isn't an option." David added, sneaking up behind Javi and shaking his shoulders.

"God, you are so annoying." You sighed, rolling your eyes at your brother, jabbing your elbow into his side to keep him from wrestling Javi out of his seat, "Just do two more beers. And I swear, if you come back with another shot, I'm pouring it over your head."

The four of you laughed before your brothers disappeared into the sea of bar patrons, leaving you and Javi giggling at your table.

"Fuck, I haven't drank this much since- God, I don't even remember." Javi sighed, running his hand through his hair and down the back of his head, rubbing the dark curls at the nape of his neck.

"Me either." You replied, followed by a long, low burp and more laughter, "I think the last time I was this drunk, I was here with David and Charlie and all their friends watching the Blackhawks lose in the playoffs, but all I remember is Charlie telling me I threw up in a bush and that he had to carry me to our taxi to get home. But don't worry, I promise not to get that drunk tonight."

"Sounds good, party animal." Javi smirked, placing his hand on your thigh under the table, rubbing it back and forth along the denim of your jeans, snickering at your drunken giggles.

The two of you both reached for your drinks, finishing off the last of what was left in your beer bottles, startled when you swore you had heard your name from a voice you knew wasn't Javi's, Charlie's or David's.

"Cubby? Holy shit, is that you?!"

Setting down your drink, you swerved your head over your shoulder, jaw dropping in complete surprise to see Frankie, one of your brother's best friends you had known for as long as you could remember.

"Frankie?! Oh my god, what the fuck?! Hi!" You squealed, shooting up out of your seat to give him a hug, the alcohol already in your system perhaps making you a little more enthusiastic about your greeting you would have been otherwise.

"What the hell are you doing here?! I thought the goons said you moved to Texas after everything that happened!" Frankie asked excitedly, parting from your hug to take a step back and look at you, shocked by your presence.

"I did, but I'm here visiting for the week! Charlie and David are at the bar right now getting drinks, but they'll be back in a second! Frankie, oh my god, I'm so happy to see you!" You grinned, giving him a playful shove.

"Me too. I feel like I haven't seen you in forever! You- You look great-" He paused, trying his best to play off his comment, quickly shifting topics, "Things uh, everything's been going good for you?"

"Yeah, things have been great! How about you? Wait, we have a table right here, do you wanna sit down and catch up? Unless you're busy, I don't wanna keep you!" You offered, gesturing towards the table behind you where Javi was sitting.

"Yeah, yeah, that would be fuckin' great! I'm meetin' a few buddies here later, but I have plenty of time to catch up if you guys have some room to squeeze me in!"

While you knew there would be plenty of room for one more person at your table, even after your brothers returned, what you didn't know is that since the moment Frankie had shown up, everything about Javi's once happy and carefree demeanor had completely changed.

And not for the better.

As soon as you turned around to face Javi, you could immediately sense the shift in tension, watching his brow furrow and hand wrap tighter around the neck of the near empty beer bottle he was nursing, practically burning a hole through Frankie with the way he was staring him down.

It seemed like Frankie could immediately sense it too, looking over at you before looking back at Javi, as if to silently ask who the hell was sitting with you and your brothers, looking like he was ready to commit murder, at the very least.

"Who's uh...." Frankie paused, awkwardly laughing as he nodded at Javi, trying his best to not seem off-put by Javi's clearly uncomfortable expression.

"I'm so sorry, Frank, this is my-"

"Fiancé. Javi." Javi stated, cutting off the rest of your introduction as he stood up out of his seat, sizing up Frankie as he offered a forceful handshake.

"Fiancé? Lucky guy." Frankie replied, forcing a friendly smile as he shook Javi's hand, "Congrats, I had no idea you were engaged." He shrugged, looking back at you with a more genuine expression before awkwardly shuffling around the table to find a seat across from you and Javi.

"Thanks, we got engaged in November and the wedding's in July!" You chimed in, hoping to try and ease Javi's obvious, unwarranted hostility towards Frankie.

"Oh nice!" Frankie nodded, smiling at both you and Javi, the crinkle in his cheeks dropping at Javi's still unamused facade, "Where you guys gettin' married? Here or Texas?"

"Texas." Javi answered, short and snappy with his response.

"Frank the Tank? No fuckin' way man! What's up?!"

The three of you all seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief at David's voice, turning your head to see him and Charlie making their way back, beers in hand.

"What's up, you goons? Long time, no see!" Frankie grinned, standing up to greet your brothers with happy pats on the back.

As the three of them said their 'hello's' you stayed put next to Javi, whapping his shoulder with the back of your hand, forcing him to face the frustrated frown plastered across your expression.

"What the fuck was that for?" You whispered to him, not wanting to draw any attention from your brothers and Frankie as they caught up.

"What?" Javi asked, shrugging nonchalantly before taking another sip of his beer, setting down the empty bottle with a forceful thud.

"W-what- What the fuck do you mean, 'what'?" You frowned, quickly realizing that Javi was trying to play dumb about the clearly uncomfortable interaction he and Frankie had just been through.

Javi silently shrugged again, jaw ticking from side to side as he looked back and forth between you and Frankie before speaking again.

"Just have never heard of Frankie before today. Didn't know you'd be so excited to see someone I didn't even know existed until five minutes ago."

"I've known Frankie since I was like, six years old. He's been one of my brother's best friends for like, ever. So yes, I was excited to see him. Would you like me to disclose every other person I've ever met and not mentioned to you, too?" You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest, feeling your scowl sink deeper into the wrinkles of your forehead.

Both groups of conversations seemed to lull at the same time, Frankie, David and Charlie all turning back towards your table to see the sour looks on both yours and Javi's faces.

"You good?" Charlie asked, handing a beer to you and then one to Javi.

"Listen, it was super nice to see all of you guys, but I don't wanna overstay my welcome or anything. I can just wait at the bar for my buddies if the four of you wanna hang out." Frankie suggested, clearly realizing he must have been the shift for the change of tone at the table.

"What, you're gonna catch up with these two idiots and leave me hanging? Seriously, please stay, we haven't hung out all together in forever!"

While Javi was able to make it subtle enough to everyone else, you could clearly tell that your invitation was the exact opposite of what he was hoping to hear.

"Only if you're-"

"Yes, I'm sure, Frankfurter, get a drink and sit your ass down!" You insisted, shooing Frankie towards the bar along with your brothers, the three of you howling over Frankie's long forgotten childhood nickname.

If he hadn't made it blatantly clear before, your avid encouragement for Frankie to join your group certainly had.

Right now, Javier Peña was one thing, and one thing only.

Jealous.

"I still can't believe you won't admit that I beat you!"

"Because you didn't!"

"I did, and you know it, David! C'mon you guys, back me up here!"

It hadn't taken much for the five of you to down a few more drinks- For four of you, you let the alcohol flowing through your veins loosen you up even more, laughing and reminiscing about your favorite shared childhood memories, teasing and taunting each other over the silly trials and tribulations of your youth.

For the other, the few beers and glasses of whisky swirling around in his stomach were nothing but a way to keep from saying (or doing) something out of spite that he'd regret.

"I'm gonna be honest with you here, Dave, I'm not gonna say that your sister's right, buuuut...." Frankie smirked, holding up his beer bottle to you, giving you a silent cheers of approval.

"See?! Told you! Thank you, Frankie, at least someone knows what they're talking about." You teased, giving David a jab in his stomach as he rolled his eyes at you.

"Dare I say, Cubby is more of a badass than either of you two clowns, but I don't know if you can handle that conversation yet." Frankie smiled, reaching across the table for a fist bump, "She's a pretty kick ass hockey player, ya know."

Javi had been so focused on picking at the waterlogged label of his beer bottle, he hadn't even noticed that Frankie was trying to talk to him, only looking in his direction after a nudge from your brother.

"Hmm?" Javi hummed, barely bothering to look in Frankie's direction to acknowledge his comment.

"I said your fiancé is a badass. Didn't know if you knew how good she was at hockey, that's all." Frankie shrugged, before taking another sip of his beer.

"Yeah, why the fuck would I not know that? She's my fiancé." Javi huffed, jaw clenching.

"Javi, seriously?" You whispered, shooting him a stern look as you had to quite literally bite your tongue to keep from causing a scene at the way he was behaving.

"Sorry, man, I- I was just givin' her a compliment." Frankie grimaced, shooting you an apologetic look from across the table.

"Yeah, I think you've made it pretty fucking clear how much you like complimenting her." Javi grumbled, just loud enough for you to hear and to having you fuming at your fiancé's enraging behavior.

You took one long, low deep breath, trying to compose yourself as the rest of the table sat in uncomfortable silence, wishing they had a chainsaw to cut through the palpable tension shrouding the air.

"Can I talk to you for a second, please?"

Javi knew just as well as you that even though you had phrased it as a question, he certainly had no choice in the matter, begrudgingly trailing behind you as you silently excused the both of you from the table.

In a stark silence, Javi followed behind you through the sea of drunken strangers that filled the bar until you reached a semi quiet hallway near the back of the building by the bathrooms.

You let out a frustrated sigh as your back bounced against the wall, using it to prop yourself as you stared at Javi, arms folded over his chest and eyes wandering in anywhere but your direction.

"What the fuck is going on, Javi? And don't bullshit me and say that you don't know what I'm talking about because you clearly do." You demanded, nostrils flaring and fists clenched.

"Like I really need to fucking say it." Javi huffed, shaking his head with a sarcastic laugh.

"You don't, because you've made it very clear, but yeah, I'd like to hear you say it."

You could feel the heat seething through your veins as Javi chewed at the inside of his lip, trying to bide whatever time he could to keep from bruising his pride.

"Wow, I really cannot believe this. You're seriously that threatened by Frankie?" You scoffed, stunned that Javi couldn't bring himself to admit it.

"I'm not fuckin' threatened by him." He spit back, eyes peeled to the ground. "He's just way too fucking comfortable with you."

"Oh, you cannot be serious. Because I've known him forever and he's a nice guy? Jesus Christ, Javi."

"I've been watching the way he's been fucking looking at you since the moment he said hello to you. How he's talking to you, acting with you, it's like- Jesus, it's like he trying to-"

"What? Like he's trying to flirt with me? Like he likes me?" You questioned, raising your voice enough to finally get Javi to look at you, letting him feel the frustration you were engulfed in.

"Yes! Jesus fucking Christ, yes!" Javi groaned back, growing more heated by the second.

"And what if he was, Javi? What if he was trying to flirt with me? Do you really in your right mind think that I would ever, EVER pick him above you?" You asked, throwing up your hands in defeat, voice trembling as you fought back tears, "So what if he was? I'm yours, Javi, and I've got the fucking ring on my finger to prove it."

You and Javi stood in silence for a moment, watching each other's chests rise and fall on beat. You swear you can see it in his eyes, the way everything about Javi seems to shift, realizing how badly he'd fucked tonight up.

Before you can get in another word, you can see Javi's eyes lock on the single stall bathroom door that's swung open at the end of the hallway, looking once at you and once again at the bathroom. You weren't even able to protest before he had grabbed you by the hand, checking once over his shoulder before ushering you inside and locking the door behind him.

As the lock clicked, you could feel the heat in your cheeks burning, and not just with anger like they were a few moments ago. The dim light of the bathroom flickered over the shadowy figure of Javi's broad body until he had your back flushed against the sink, pinning you between the porcelain and him.

"Javi, what are you-"

Suddenly, Javi had one hand cradling the back of your head, the other wrapped around your hip as he craned his neck down to let his lips collide with yours.

The angry part of you wanted to push him off you, to berate him with your frustrations until he apologized for how childishly he had behaved tonight.

Every other part of you that was so turned on by the fact Javi was so worked up, he had no other choice than to fuck you in the bathroom to prove that you were his, couldn't have cared less about it.

"You're all fucking mine, you know that?" Javi growled, his words warm against your skin, muffled between messy kisses.

"I'm all yours, Javi." You moaned, fighting to let each word escape from your lips as your mouths became frantic, colliding with tongues and teeth.

Your breath hitched in the back of your throat as Javi's hands slid down your sides, fingers fumbling with the button and zipper on your jeans until he the denim and your underwear pooled around your ankles.

After your jeans had dropped to the ground, his hands were back on your sides, fingertips digging into your skin as he flipped you around, your stomach pressed against the countertop, ass flushed against his hips where you could feel the strain of his cock beneath his pants.

"No one else gets to have you like this. Gets to make you feel like I do." Javi groaned, your core aching at the clanking of his belt coming undone behind you, watching his brow furrow in concentration in the reflection from the mirror in front of you, "Do they, baby?"

"N-No." You whimpered, feeling him run his tip through your folds, collecting the slick that had already begun pooling between your thighs.

"You gonna let me fuck you right here in this bathroom, hermosa? Let everyone here know that you're mine?" Javi mewled, whispering into your ear as he buried his head in the crook of your neck.

"Mhmmmhh." You nodded, whining as Javi teased you with the head of his cock, prodding at your entrance, "Please."

Javi chuckled softly to himself, hearing you gasp as he filled you with every inch of him, hips pressed firmly against your ass. You could practically feel your eyes roll to the back of your head with how full he felt inside you, despite how easily you had taken him from how wet and worked up you were.

"Love this pussy so much, baby. Always so fucking wet and tight for me."

Your eyes opened as Javi began to thrust into you, startled by the already deliberate pace he was setting with each snap of his hips. Staring back at the mirror, you could see the smug smirk spreading between Javi's cheeks, knowing how quickly he could make you crumble.

Your hands shot back behind you, wrapping around Javi's stomach, trying to grab fist fulls of his shirt to brace yourself as he fucked into you. With the grip Javi had around your hips, you shouldn't have been worried about going anywhere, only about the marks that he'd leave in the pump flesh of your skin after he was finished.

"Oh fuck, Javi! Fuck, oh my godddd-" You moaned, all consumed by the feeling of his length sliding in and out of your cunt, perfectly pounding at your g-spot with every thrust.

You tried to let your head dip back, but before you could tilt it any further, one of Javi's hands had shifted, snaking up your front and wrapping around your jaw, forcing your gaze back in the mirror to meet his.

"Nuh uh, mi amor," he paused, gritting his teeth as he swore under his breath, trying to compose himself, "need to see you, Osita. Wanna see that pretty face when I make you cum and fuck you so fucking full of me, you're gonna feel me dripping out of you all night."

His words had seemed to spark something feral in the both of you, moaning his name as you backed your ass up further into him, taking everything that he had to give.

With your eyes locked in filthy glass reflection, Javi's hand slid back down your sides, smacking your ass before reaching around to your front, slotting himself between your thighs to find your clit, puffy and aching to be touched.

"Fuck, Javi! Feels so fucking good." You whined, the newfound pressure of his fingers against your clit causing the tingle building at the base of your spine to grow rapidly.

"Yeah? And who's the only one that gets to make you feel this good, baby?" Javi grunted, hips slapping against your ass, each thrust feeling harder and deeper than the last.

With the way Javi was fucking you, you felt lucky that your brain could manage to string together a coherent thought, let a lone a comprehendible sentence, your words heavy and breathless as you fought against the overwhelming sensation of your orgasm starting to creep through your body.

"You! It's- fuck- it's you Javi! Only you!" You sobbed, praying that the music and chatter of the bar was loud enough to drown out your volume.

"That's my girl." Javi devilishly grinned, feeling the way your cunt was clamping down around his cock, sensing how close you were to finishing, "Gotta cum first for me, hermosa. Fuckin' soak me before I cum so deep inside of you."

Javi began to circle your clit faster, putting just enough pressure on your sensitive bundle of nerves to push you over the edge, your vision going white as your orgasm began to crash through you.

"Fuck, Javi! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuck-ahhhhh!"

You could feel how instantly limp your body had gone, so drunk on pleasure, that if Javi hadn't been behind you, holding you up, you were convinced you would have collapsed over the edge of the sink you were fucking on.

You knew Javi wasn't far behind you, his thrusts becoming sloppy and frantic as he chased his own high, desperate to make good on his promise to fill you with every last drop he had to give.

"That's it, baby. Fuck, I'm- mierda- I'm close. Gonna give you everything. Let everyone know who this pussy belongs to. Feels so fucking- fuck- so fucking good. Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck!"

With one last pump of his cock, Javi was spilling inside you, painting your walls with his spend, burying himself inside your cunt until he you had taken everything he had to give.

The warmth and wetness of your mixed arousal pooled where your bodies met, making a mess between your thighs as Javi began to pull out.

The both of you watched as your bodies rose and fell in the mirror, trying desperately to catch your breath in your post orgasmic haze. It wasn't long until your unhinged jaws were replaced with devious smirks, Javi grabbing you by the waist to flip him back towards him, pulling you to his chest as he kissed you.

"Damn, maybe I should make you jealous more often." You teased, biting down on your lip as you gave Javi a loving poke on his chest before reaching down to pull your pants back up your legs.

"Whatever." Javi sighed, playfully rolling his eyes at you as he did the same, looping his belt back through his jeans. He let out another deep breath, arms crossed over his chest as he looked up at you with a sheepish shrug, "I'm- fuck. I'm sorry about tonight. I was a dick."

"It's okay." You smiled, pressing up on your tiptoes to drape your arms around his neck, planting a soft kiss on his lips, "I love you. And only you. I don't think you could get rid of me, even if you tried. And I think that me letting you fuck me in this dirty ass bar bathroom proves that."

The two of you laughed, turning back to the mirror to readjust the sweaty mats of tangled hair and crinkled clothes in hopes of avoiding any suspicions when you made your way back to the table.

"I know. Still shouldn't have been an asshole about it." He shrugged, stepping behind you so that his chest was pressed against your back and arms were draped across your front, his mustache tickling your neck as he leaned in to whisper in your ear, "This was fucking hot, though."

"It was. Feel sorry for the next person who has to use this bathroom." You grimaced, hoping that you hadn't managed to leave a trace of the ways you had further disrespected the dingy restroom.

"You wanna head out first, or should I?" Javi asked, rocking you back and forth in his grasp, swaying you just enough to make you burst out into giggles.

"It's so late and I'm sure everyone here is hammered, we probably just could sneak out at the same time and no one would notice." You suggested, still drunk enough to not care enough about a proper escape plan.

After one last kiss and smack of your ass, Javi quickly cracked open the door, doing one swift scan before giving you the nod to note the coast was clear.

Javi grabbed you by the hand, looking back at you with a stupid smirk as the two of you left the bathroom, unsuspecting and assuming that you'd be able to make it down the hallway without any run ins.

Unfortunately, Javi hadn't noticed the body across the bar, making a B-line to the bathroom through the drunken crowd towards the bathrooms after his half-assed check.

Before any of you could process it, Javi collided with the other person, both people grunting and stumbling backwards, mumbling apologies as they collected themselves, until they locked eyes.

"Oh, uh- Sorry. Didn't uh- Didn't see you guys coming." Frankie stammered, looking back and forth between you and Javi and the bathroom you had just emerged from, quickly piecing the puzzle before him together.

"All good. See you, uh- see you back at the table." Javi winced, trying his best to keep from laughing as both your cheeks began to turn a bright shade of pink as you slid past Frankie.

"Looks like you may not end up being the only jealous one tonight, Jav."

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nereidprinc3ss · 7 months ago

Text

hourglass

in which spencer disappears from fem!reader's life entirely for three months, right as it seems they were finally about to make things official. when he comes back they reunite, all the while knowing things can't be the same as they were.

18+ (smut, angst) warnings/tags: oh god so many. NOT canon compliant in the slightest, i make shit up, softdom!spence, nipple stuff prob, fingering, oral f receiving, piv sex, unprotected sex, pet names, tara mentioned, depression, mentions of trauma cause its the prison arc duh, passing mentions of alcohol, mentions of spencer losing weight, reader mistakenly thinks spencer tried to kill himself BUT ONLY FOR A SECOND, where is diana reid, nobody knows or cares, probably filming glee, optimistic ending a/n: haven't posted smut in forever but this wip required it and the angst was so angsty i just had to finish it. it was started in jan or feb and subsequently added to and changed months apart and then edited so the writing quality varies from section to section which i apologize for. originally based on good guy by julia jacklin... also the odyssey by homer? can't really explain that one you'll just have to see for yourself anyway byeeee ilysm!!! PLS tell me if you liked it! or if you hated it! but preferably if you liked it! MWAH! wc <12k

It’s been about three months since you last saw Spencer Reid.

About three months since you had an early Valentine’s Day celebration (even though you weren’t a couple) complete with champagne (even though he doesn’t usually drink) and slow dancing (even though you swore you’d be terrible and he spent the first ten minutes laughing at you as you stepped on his toes.)

About three months since you finally settled your head on his shoulder and let the warbling vinyl carry you somewhere distant as the two of you danced slow circles on the parquet floor for what felt like hours.

You’d have liked him to stay later that night. You’d have liked him to stay all night if you were being honest with yourself, but at 11:45 he gently pulled away and told you he had to go.

“Curfew?” you joked, the corner of your mouth lifting a little and you hoped you were hiding your disappointment well.

“Actually, I’m going down to Texas for a few days to speak with one of the leading doctors in experimental Alzheimer's and dementia treatment. I’m going to see if he can get my mom into a clinical trial. I leave early tomorrow morning.”

“Oh my god, that’s amazing, Spencer! What are you doing still here? You should be at home getting ready to go!”

A rosy blush stains his cheeks and he looks down at the ground, laughing that little self-deprecating laugh of his. It makes your heart dance to see him so happy, makes you want to wrap your arms around him and never let him go so that he knows how much you absolutely adore him—but you settle for an affectionate squeeze where your hands have come to rest on his biceps.

“I wanted to see you tonight because I won’t be here for Valentine’s Day... but I still really wanted to spend it with you,” he admits meekly.

If before your heart was dancing, it is now melting.

The dreaded ‘what are we’ talk has been lurking in the dark corners of every conversation you have with each other lately—at least, in your mind it has. What you have with Spencer is not easily defined, and near impossible to explain to your friends—you act like a couple, you go out on dates, he introduces you to his team like you’re his girlfriend without ever putting it into so many words—but this validation that your pseudo-relationship might be evolving is better than any flowers he could have gotten you (although the peonies he brought will look very nice on your bedside table.)

“Four whole days... what will I do without you?” you whisper, brushing a hand along his face, and your chest aches with the heavy truth of it—despite the fact that he often is gone for stretches about that length. They don’t ever start to feel shorter.

“Well, you can start by reading that copy of The Odyssey I annotated for you.”

“Depressing,” you admit. “And a little ominous, considering you’re about to embark on a hero’s journey.”

“I think you’ll like this one,” he smiles.

You chew on your bottom lip, looking up at him as you think.

“Give me something to look forward to,” you say, earnestly.

“I—well, honestly, I just really want to kiss you and I’ve wanted to for a long time now and, you know, if that’s something you’re maybe also interested in then we could, uh, figure out a time to—”

“You want to kiss me?”

“Wh—you couldn’t tell?” Spencer says, like he can’t believe it.

As if on reflex, you lunge up and capture his lips with your own. It obviously catches him by surprise, but when you lower from your tiptoes he follows you, pulling you in closer and holding your face in his hands.

It’s too natural, too right, to be exhilarating. There’s no rush of adrenaline—it's more like stepping into a hot bath or warming your freezing hands at a fire. Like pieces clicking into place. It’s a relief.

You breathe into it, letting more and more of yourself melt against him. He keeps coming back to you deeper and deeper like a rising tide, and you want more than anything to keep getting closer to him—but then he stops. He stays close enough for you to breathe his air, but dodges your kiss gently before supplanting it with a gentle one to the corner of your mouth.

“I really have to go,” he breathes, before moving away from your mouth to kiss your forehead and speak softly against your skin. “If I don’t leave now I’ll be here all night.”

Which is exactly what you want, and the implication does little to make you want him less. But you care about him too much to be so selfish.

At some point, his hands found their way into your hair, and you gently grab his wrists.

“Incentive for you to come home.”

Nearly three months since that night.

At first when he stopped answering texts, you’d assumed he just had too much going on down in Texas. Which you could understand—you knew how stressful this situation with his mother was.

Even when four days came and went without even an alert from him that he was back in town, you thought, okay, maybe he’s been called away on a case. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s disappeared because of his work. But even then, he’d at least text you enough information so that you would know he was alive. Now, radio silence.

So you tried not to be clingy. You tried to act like an adult, to focus on school and your life outside of Spencer, but when Tara Lewis cancelled your weekly meeting due to an “unforeseen work-related emergency”you called her immediately. Tara was something of a mentor, and it was she who had connected you and Spencer to begin with. You had met the other members of his team by that point, yes, but none who you knew as well as Tara.

When she had informed you that Spencer had been arrested in Mexico and was now facing prison time for murder, you laughed.

Laughed until you realized her end of the line was silent.

Realized it was not at all a joke.

In a catatonic state of tranquility, you asked her for more details. Beyond assuring you of his innocence, she couldn’t (or more likely, wouldn’t) provide them. Asked where he was now. Asked all the right things that made sense to ask.

Then you hung up and had a panic attack because Tara said something about 25 years and you saw Spencer evaporate from your future like an apparition.

Slowly, you felt him evaporating from your past, too. Those memories from the night he left, became visions of you swaying with a ghost. Holding nothing but light between your hands as you kissed the peony air of your apartment.

He doesn’t want to see you, she had said into the phone one night, her tinny voice cutting in and out. You’re not on his list of approved visitors.

“You asked him about me?” you had whispered, curled up on top of your made bed in the dark.

I tried. I’m sorry. I’ll call you when I know more.

All your days melded together like a muddied smear of paint. Suddenly you felt you had nothing to look forward to. No anchor, no goal. Yes, a PhD... and then what?

The only thing that punctuated one 24 hour period from the next was the time you spent crying because Spencer was in prison and he didn’t want to see you and by the looks of things you may never see him again. When you weren’t crying, you were thinking about how your life was a big cosmic joke. An unfortunate statistical anomaly that didn’t mean anything to anyone else, and that you couldn’t do anything about.

That copy of The Odyssey, which wasn’t even bound and instead was a thick stack of printer paper organized by a single black clip, became something of a manifesto for you—a tome that your poured over, reading and re-reading each note in the margins, each word beautiful and imbued with meaning because you knew Spencer had selected every single one specifically for you. You traced the letters reverently, because in a way this was the last thing he had said to you—about Lattimore’s faith to the original text, Merrill’s strict use of dactylic hexameter, the stylings of Wilson and Lombardo, and how he thought you would enjoy Hammond’s prose just as much as he did.

Day by day it was becoming more prophetic than fictional, and you allowed yourself to sink into madness. You would rather be a deluded zealot than be nothing at all.

He didn’t want to see you.

He might as well have been dead, for all that you were grieving him. And you started to hate him, because he wasn’t dead, but wouldn’t do you the kindness of proving it. Like a festering wound, scratched open day after day so as not to ever heal, you had to live knowing he was less than an hour away. So no, you weren’t exactly over it. You lived day by day, waiting for the occasional call from Tara to keep you updated on Spencer, but either she didn’t want to share much about how he was doing, or he had specifically barred her from doing so, because she was always sparse on the personal side of things. That thought actually lifted your spirits, because it meant he was at least acknowledging your existence in some tiny way.

But your routine was becoming more regular, and so you staid on top of your classes and your non-Reid related meetings with Tara once a week, and you learned to dip your toes into existential dread and the oily black pool of depression every night without ever fully submerging yourself. You learned hope, because it was pretty much all you had, and the BAU had confidence that they would get Spencer out one way or another so you did too.

So you didn’t really think about it when you missed a couple of calls from Tara some evening in May. You were preparing for finals and had way too much on your plate academically to think about anything else which was a welcome relief so you fully embraced it. I’ll call her back tomorrow, you think, as you clean up from dinner before going back to the living room where your textbooks and papers are completely covering every available surface. Maybe I have no idea what I’m going to do with my life after school, but I’ll be damned if I don’t even make it that far.

Hours later, well into the night, you’d all but forgotten about the calls. A knock at the door takes you a bit by surprise, and you frown as you stand again, tugging your Georgetown sweatshirt down over your shorts as you shuffle to the entrance of your apartment. You’re not expecting anyone, so you crack the door, peering around the edge of it.

And you couldn’t even consider trying to hide that shaky inhalation of dead air when you see Spencer standing on the other side.

Surely you’re hallucinating.

Surely this man in front of you who looks like he just got back from a day of work didn’t spend three months in prison pretending you didn’t exist.

He looks the same. Hair a bit longer, maybe—and gaunter even more than is normal for him.

But it's him.

You can’t think about the apprehensive look on his face—you can’t think about the impossibility of him being here. You can’t think at all. Without your explicit permission, your body surges forward into his, and he’s real, and alive, and warm, and he is an anachronism in the hallway as he accepts everything you pour into the embrace, doesn’t flinch when you move your arms from around his waist to loop around his neck and back to his waist again with crushing force because you just can’t get him close enough.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer mutters into your hair, I’msorryI’msorryI’msorryI’msorry, he keeps saying, rubbing your back as you try to find a solid grip on the sleek material of his suit—try to gather all the pieces of him, already afraid he might fall apart and float away again.

“You—dis—disappeared,” you hiccup after an eternity, pulling away enough to look up at his pretty face. Tears blur your vision and darken the front of his jacket, bending the florescent lights so they form a kind of halo above his head.

Through the surreal haze you can see his throat bob.

“I know.”

He knows?

You scoff.

“You have no fucking idea, Spencer. What the fuck is wrong with you? I—I'm—”

The hot anger is such a relief for a second, boiling the oceans of your despair into a wrathful, scorching fog, but as soon as you try to tell him how you feel, the barbed wire cuts into your throat again. You shove him away, skin burning where his hands had been.

“I’m sorry,” he croaks, hands hanging uselessly at his side. There’s that kicked puppy look about him—and it’s familiar, but now there’s more damage. You don’t know anything about his time in prison, you haven’t heard a damn thing, but beneath the glassy desperation in his eyes there is an unfathomable void that seems to be preventing him from being fully present—and you realize for the first time that he is different.

It chills you.

Before, you and Spencer shared everything. There wasn’t one part of his internal machinations that you didn’t understand, nothing you kept from each other. But as you study him now from a few feet away, you realize there might as well be a yawning chasm between the two of you.

He is so different.

Those eyes look deeper. No gears turning just behind the slashes of gold and brown anymore—only an endless dark corridor that goes places you will never go.

Gone is the perpetual boyish up-turn at the corner of his lips that always made him look slightly vacant in a way that you found incredibly amusing. Something you had been so fond of, even if you teased him.

He seems to have aged ten years—if not physically, then in demeanor. And now you feel like a little kid throwing a tantrum.

You cross your arms, suddenly unable to meet his eyes.

You’re embarrassed. And pissed. And relieved. Everything is worse and better. You want to fall back into his arms, but you have been jarred by the revelation that this might not be the same Spencer. It might not be the same relationship. You have no idea where you stand.

He says your name gently, with so much familiarity you’re briefly jerked into the past. It makes you wish you could look up to find him as he was three months ago. Wish this was just a bad dream. But that’s not fair to him.

“Sorry,” you mutter, studying the grey carpet fibers instead of looking at him.

“Don’t apologize,” Spencer says immediately, “you’re right. I don’t—” he clears his throat— “I’m being incredibly selfish. I shouldn’t have just shown up, I’ll just—I'll leave. I’m sorry.”

A silent moment passes.

You don’t look up as he turns and swiftly begins to move down the hall toward the stairway, leaving as quickly and silently as he had come, like a few bars of a song sighed in and away on a fleeting breeze.

Your bare feet are concretely planted, imagining him jogging down the steps and speed-walking away from your building—

And suddenly you’re sprinting after him, feeling like you might puke because Spencer was just here and you let him go again—and even though you’re still so mad and confused and hurt, the realization that he is leaving again makes the entire building spin and lurch.

“Wait!” You yell, almost wiping out as you run down the stairs and whip around corners in your slippery fucking socks. “Please, wait!”

The lobby is already empty as you spill out into it, and cold dread tightens around your neck like a fist as you shoulder your way through the double doors and right into Spencer.

“Please don’t leave again, you just—I'm sorry, I really need you to not go—” you blabber, lachrymose once more, gripping onto his forearms for dear life.

“I’m not going,” he breathes shakily. “I tried to leave because I think you were right and maybe I should and maybe it would be better for you but I can’t.”

“You can’t,” you agree, more sob than spoken word. He cups your jaw, then your cheeks, wiping tears and brushing away hair like he can’t figure out how to hold enough of you between his hands. The wild kaleidoscope of his eyes, bright and alive and real as he scans you desperately captures your attention enough to slow the tears to a trickle. He notices this and stares back, entranced.

A silent agreement is made, or maybe an inevitable fate is accepted—either way, something was set in motion three months ago and it matters to see it through. Spencer kisses you and you’re ready for it. You don’t need slow or tender. You need to feel how he feels. You need to know what he knows.

You sling your arms around his neck and he pulls you closer until you almost tip backward, chasing the bruising kiss even as you regain your footing. You want to drink him in and you do your best, breathing deeply as he kisses you deeper, backing you inside and toward the elevator.

“Is this okay?” he manages, only after blindly reaching for and mashing the up button on the wall panel.

Ideally it wouldn’t happen like this, but the world you live in obviously isn’t ideal and your personal situations as they coincide are far from ideal, so this is how it has to happen. But it’s hard to explain, and you’d rather not admit that this is so far from what you wanted for both of you and follow up with the fact that despite that you need him like you need water. So you don’t say a word as the metal doors slide open promptly. Instead you pull him in and let him press you to the chrome wall as he hits your floor button, and that very hand comes back to grab your ass like you didn’t think Spencer Reid capable of. It almost aches as his fingers dig into the flesh, but it’s a good ache because it means he’s real and he’s there.

You gasp as he hitches your leg up, arching into him. The shorts that you’re wearing leave very little to the imagination to begin with, but they become downright indecent like this.

Quickly the elevator stops and the doors hiss open. You don’t hesitate to pull Spencer by the hand down the hall. When you notice you left your door wide open, you don’t even care. Neither does he, apparently—once you’re inside he slams it shut, flipping the deadbolt while his eyes are glued to you like you’re already naked. Now Spencer is shameless in the way he drags his eyes over every curve, every place your clothes and hair are disheveled from his touch and eye-fucks you so obviously it makes your face warm. Three months ago Spencer would have at least been bashful about it when he met your eyes again, but this Spencer is far from apologetic as he pins you with his burning gaze once more. His hand stays stuck to the door like he’s holding himself back.

“Is this what you want?”

There’s an undercurrent of sorrow below the gravely arousal, like this isn’t what he wanted for the two of you either. But you’re both at the mercy of fate. This is all you have, and it might be all you can do for each other anymore. So you don’t need to say that, because he understands.

“Yeah. Yes, this is what I want.”

For just a second more he watches you from his place by the door, and there’s an unexpected softness to it. He looks at you the way he would have looked at you before. Like as long as he stays there he can entertain the idea of being that person again.

Need wins out quickly, though, and he surges forward. Immediately you’re caught in the riptide of him, helpless as he kisses you all the way to your bedroom.

He’s never been in here before. You find yourself glad it’s relatively clean—one of the pastimes you’d picked up in his absence was keeping everything tidy. It was something you could control.

A lamp glows at your bedside. You lean against the footboard of your bed, hands timidly behind your back and suddenly shy to have in him in your intimate space. Both of you set aside the heaving desperation long enough to catch your breaths, and for him to scan the room like he too is being forced to reconcile with the innate and unexpected intimacy of the moment. He cuts a harsh, dark gash in your sweetly decorated bedroom, radiating something wild and powerful and unsure of himself like a chained bull as he takes in the soft, pale bedding, the paintings and photos taped to the walls, the woven rug and the sheer drapery. His breathing slows as he studies it all—eyes eventually catching on something behind you. Looking is unnecessary. You’re sure he’s spotted the dried peonies in their ceramic vase. Or maybe the now worn stack of papers that is his Odyssey, marked up and soft around the edges from constant flipping-through.

Then Spencer looks at you, and that softness seeps in again. Along with something like... fear? Grief?

In some other universe your first time with Spencer is sweet and giggly and kind and he smiles at the decor in your room and looks around with wonder because it’s another way he gets to know you. It’s a different way to learn you from the inside.

You sense that he’s caught in between universes right now as well, painfully aware of what he would have given you that he can’t anymore.

He breathes your name like an apology, and foolishly you let a second go by in which you think he might offer you one. But he doesn’t. Not with his words, anyway. His eyes tell a different story.

“It’s fine,” you say unprompted on a whispered exhale, then a little louder as you push off the footboard, crossing the space until your hands are on his chest. You focus on his tie, not making eye contact as you rush to undo it. “It’s fine.”

He lets you do this for a few seconds before finally covering your trembling hands with his own. You still can’t meet his eyes.

“We don’t have to do—”

“No! No, please. I want to. I need—I need us to be okay.”

“Hey,” he murmurs, catching your chin and forcing you to look at him. “We are okay. Me and you are fine.”

It’s a pretty thought, but it’s not true. In fact, it’s a hideous and abject affront to the truth. Sure, maybe you’re fine in comparison to last week. Maybe anything feels fine compared to an eight by six cell. But it would be impossible for you and Spencer, for your relationship, whatever that relationship may be, to be fine. It’s especially impossible for him to make that claim, after all he did or rather didn’t do while he was gone. What you need is for him to stay anyway. What you need is to find a way to be with him, to exist with him, even when you are so clearly not fine.

“I just need you to stay,” you whisper, and he’s already nodding, wide-eyed like he’d do anything for you. You ignore all the bitter venom rising in your throat. You pretend this isn’t all happening after he cut you out of his life with a dirty switchblade. Instead you focus on his hands on yours, the familiar smell of him, which invites you to let go of each and every thought and worry. He must’ve showered before coming here, you realize. How long has he been out? What happened?

“Okay. Okay, I can stay. What else can I do? How do I make it better?”

You sniffle and look back down.

“You can untie that for me.”

He hesitates, then nods some more, fingers working under yours to undo the tie around his neck.

“Okay.”

A moment goes by and after that final whispered word, the tension begins to build again. Spencer senses it in the way your fingertips linger on his chest and you step even closer, dragging them down to his belt. The metallic sound of it unbuckling, despite being your own doing, still manages to flip your stomach. How many times have you pictured this? When was the first time you realized you wanted it? You’re sure you haven’t stopped wanting it even once since then.

Spencer tosses the tie away and is shrugging off his jacket now, then before you see it coming he’s kissing you again, ducking down to do it. He feels taller this close up, and especially in your bedroom, where he just seems rather out of place. But you want him here. God, you want him here.

You break the kiss, forced to look down as you fumble with his belt.

“Sorry,” you gasp, embarrassed by your lack of dexterity. The light is barely sufficient to see what you’re doing, especially when he’s wearing black on black and your eyes are still bleary.

“You’re okay,” he assures you, and it’s so Spencer a fresh round of nerves electrifies the tips of your fingers. That thing is happening—the thing you’d hoped to avoid if you hadn’t lost momentum partway through, where you’re allowing your actual feelings for him to get in the way rather than getting swept up in the pathos of the moment and letting everything be easy and mindless. “Here, can I help you?”

But he doesn’t actually wait for an answer before he’s finishing off the belt for you, tugging it loose from his hips till it’s a leather coil in his hands. Your fingers brush the material and he lets you take it as if it were your prize. It’s heavier than you thought it’d be, and you just feel the weight of it in your hands for a moment, your dropped head brushing his chest.

You have a terrible feeling that if you do this now, it doesn’t mean everything will be alright. Because it can’t just go back to normal. Spencer has told you nothing of what must be an enormous trauma, and you haven’t spoken about it at all, but you sincerely doubt that after this he’s going to be ready to just jump into that committed relationship the two of you had been toying with for months before his absence. You’re almost... scared of him, now. Scared of where he’s been and what he’s endured—things you’re sure you couldn’t have taken. What that does to a person, you can’t imagine. He seems so solid and real in front of you now—but you know that’s not always enough. Maybe you’re just scared that somehow whatever he’s been through will have made him care for you less. That you were too far removed from the whole ordeal, and now you’ll never understand. If you could understand, maybe you could fix it for him. Maybe he’d stick around.

Still—even if you do end up pushing him further away in the long run—won't it have been worth it to have had him so completely, even just once?

You toss the belt to the ground, compressing all of these very complicated thoughts and feelings into a few seconds so short he can’t ask you any questions about them. Instead you find his top button, and just as you manage to undo it with relative ease he’s gently grabbing your wrists. You look up at him, immediately surrendering.

“If we’re going to do this I need you to relax a little bit.”

Gears grind in your chest. You feel need and anxiety comingling in every square inch of your body. It’s a sick buzz—a high on an empty stomach.

“I can’t,” you admit.

“Yeah, you can,” Spencer gently disagrees, slowly lowering your hands. When he’s sure you’re not going to try ripping his clothes off again, he releases, and his eyes lower to the zipper of your hoodie. His fingers follow, warm against the soft triangle of revealed skin at your chest as he grips the small piece of metal between barely shaking fingers. “You can.”

You match his eyeline, breathing shallowly and watching as he slowly drags the zipper down. You wonder if that sound has haunted his fantasies the way the sound of his belt has haunted yours. If he’s seen this hoodie on you and wondered what’s underneath, staring at you and daydreaming during movie night with you none the wiser.

Both of you have your eyes glued to the span of skin as the zipper parts. Spencer stalls with the zipper at your sternum, just below the band of your bra.

Right. No shirt.

You look up and find his eyes already on you, tinged with a curious kind of humor.

“I wasn’t expecting guests.”

The words come out shy. Spencer’s chuckle has its own nervous airy quality as he resumes tugging on your zipper, leaning down until your noses bump.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

Then he kisses you again, a little sweeter now. Sweet enough to give you butterflies and for them to flutter right out of your stomach and spill from your lips in a little whimper against his.

It comes as a surprise when he pushes the fabric from your shoulders without looking or asking. Not that you’d have said no—you're just underprepared for how assertive he is in this foreign context.

Left just in your flimsy shorts and your thin bra, you feel quite exposed—but Spencer’s hands are as demanding and hungry as his mouth. They skim up your sensitive sides and sweep lower, suggesting less proper placement over your ass and pulling at your bottoms until you gently put a stop to their wandering.

“Wait. We’re... we’re uneven.”

It’s a struggle to get any words out at all when he keeps chasing your lips, nipping at you like he physically can’t stand not kissing you, but they catch his attention and he laughs airily, pulling back to let his gaze pour over your less clothed form. It lingers and catches and lights you up everywhere it touches, drops of heat soaking into your skin and making you feel all fuzzy and needy.

“We are,” he acknowledges, tone low and colored with the faintest smile. “You’re a lot prettier without your clothes on than I am.”

“I don’t believe you.”

The challenge comes immediately and thoughtlessly. Spencer’s golden eyes flash up to yours. He’s breathing a little harder than usual.

“You want me to show you what I mean?”

If that means getting him naked, then yes, absolutely.

You nod, but rather than immediately stripping, he takes your hand and holds his own open next to it. A thick pink scar bisects some pretty significant palmistry lines, but you don’t mention that. Instead you swallow—your thoughts, your words, your nausea.

“That’s new.”

You wonder how you hadn’t noticed it earlier.

He nods.

“A lot is new.”

It sounds almost like he’s challenging you—there's a kind of tremulous force in his voice, despite the perpetual softness there, like he’s inviting you to say it’s ugly. And you realize he’s referring to more than just the glowing scar cutting an asteroid trail against the flesh of him palm. The scars he obtained in prison must form a constellation over his body.

“I don’t care. I wanna see you.”

Spencer swallows, cupping your face with the scarred hand once more. You can’t feel it against your cheek but you know it hasn’t gone away.

“I’m sure you think you do,” he permits, and that’s where the conversation ends for the moment—with his hand on your face and his lips back on yours. “For now why don’t you let me worry about you?”

Obediently, you breathe, “okay.”

This is, for whatever reason, amusing to him. The brief levity dies as quick as it comes like a snuffed-out brush fire as soon as he lets his hands fall back down to your hips.

“I want... I want to give you slow. But...”

But slow is for people who didn’t lose three months of their life. Slow is for people who don’t know what it’s like to be starving. Slow is not for the desperate.

You understand the feeling.

“I don’t need slow.”

You’ll let him use you up like quick-burning fuel if that’s what he needs. You’ll go as fast and as bright and as hot as he tells you.

“But you want slow,” he murmurs, a secret acknowledged into your own waiting mouth. You’d keep it there forever. You could be the object he hides his soul in. “I know you do. You deserve to get what you want.”

“I can go fast. I want whatever you can give me.”

Spencer’s shuddering exhale is like a drug, dizzying as you inhale it and your eyes flutter at the high, pressed head-to-head with him. For so long you’ve needed him so badly. It’s overwhelming to have him now, all over you. If only your walls could breathe him in the way you are, if this room could remember what it feels like to hold him the way you will, if any inanimate object could bear witness to how you’ll give yourself, any part of yourself, over to him, so willingly.

“I’m going to try.” Spencer’s voice is hoarse as he walks backward to the bed, taking you by the hips as he goes. “I want to do it right. I want to do this the way I... the way I imagined it, before...”

Now he’s sitting, and you’re standing between his legs as he finds the clasp of your bra and undoes it, his fingers a comforting pressure where they ghost down the slope of your back. Your heart is pounding at the confession, at the way his tongue darts over his bottom lip and his fingertips journey back up to your straps, looking up at you with haloed irises as if he’d find anything other than the most dangerous kind of smoldering devotion in your eyes—the kind cult-leaders seek and spend years nurturing, and he’d earned with a mere brush over your bare skin.

The fabric slides down your arms, and as it falls to the floor, you watch something like despair flash-flood his eyes. It is a deep, distinctly human grief. The ineffable kind where something is almost too beautiful; so perfect it offends the mortal senses because it should be permanent, but nothing is, and the clash of divine beauty with unstoppable time which oxidizes copper and covers marble with vine is almost as grotesque as metal rending delicate flesh. It is the grief that drove the first poet to write and the first parents to press their baby’s painted hands to the walls of a cave. It is the desire to do the impossible—to capture ephemeral perfection and make it eternal, and the knowledge that it is hopeless. You recognize it because you’ve felt it for him.

“I thought about you all the time,” he whispers, doesn’t bother calling you beautiful but you don’t mind because he’s telling you with his hands and his eyes and the waver of his voice. “When I was gone, I thought about you—”

You’re just as quiet, just as soft.

“Don’t, Spencer.”

He doesn’t get to tell you about when he was gone. Not now. Not after he acted like you didn’t exist.

“Okay.” He swallows the things he’d wanted to tell you like you choked on the things you needed to tell him for three months. “I’m sorry.”

But his hands—his hands are perfect over your waist and his lips are perfect where they kiss your ribs like they’re his homeland. You could forgive a thousand wrongs for each kiss he puts to your skin. Light from the full moon stretches over the room like a blessing from the cosmos, and you have every intention of making the most of that gift, how the silver gilds the planes of his face and highlights curls like they were carved, and invites you to search for something in each shadow.

Some of his kisses land over the sensitive skin of your breasts though you doubt he has much intention or that there is any sort of end-goal with the trail he blazes—in fact, you have to root your hand in his hair and pull gently back when he doesn’t seem to realize that he’s making you wait again. His eyes are glassy and cheeks slightly pinkened—you weren’t expecting this wave of fondness to knock you on your ass but here you are, falling all over again.

“You don’t have to go that slow.”

A slow smile splits the heart of his mouth at your bashful tone and he’s emboldened to bring his hands higher for a moment, thumbs brushing particularly delicate though not downright indecent spots. Nonetheless, your breath catches.

“Impatient girl,” he scolds, and though it’s lighthearted it still inspires heat to dance across your face. Oh, I think I’ve been plenty patient, you itch to say, but you bite it back because it’s only sad and true and unkind.

Still, he gives you the beginning of what you want, really only the tip of the enormous iceberg that is your desire for him, by slipping his thumbs into the waistband of your shorts and tugging them down. His hands slide up the fronts of your thighs, tracing the trim of your underwear, and you’d swear he’s not even breathing. The moment one of his hand loops behind your knee and pulls forward until it’s pressed to the mattress and you’re half-kneeling, half standing, desire begins to truly cloud your mind. Manhandling never seemed like Spencer’s style, but when paired with how softly he reveals your hip, pulling gently down on the fabric of your underwear just to admire you up close, you don’t mind it.

More kisses are littered over your stomach, and he takes you by surprise a second time with a quick maneuver landing you on your back and him on top of you.

“I wasn’t doing you justice with my imagination,” he murmurs against your mouth. “I couldn’t have known.”

“Couldn’t have known what?” you pant as he shamelessly digs his fingers into the plush of your ass. You almost hope it bruises.

“How pretty you would be,” he coos like he means it, and you dissolve, slipping through his fingers like sand in an hourglass. “You were holding out on me.”

It’s a tease, not at all serious, but you manage to hit him with a, “Was not, asshole,” and he chuckles, placating your little hurt with another sticky kiss, and you get another disorienting glimpse of some other timeline where you’re both a little less damaged. Where it’s a little easier.

But in this timeline, his touch becomes starving and ragged and urgent, and you accept the drag of his thumb up your thigh and between your legs, gasping when he runs his knuckles up the center of you. This touch is metal on screeching metal. It does not pretend to be anything more than what it is—brute, powerful, executed to elicit sensation. You get the sense that Spencer’s never touched anyone this honestly, and while you do envy the girls who got to have him gentler, you’ll take this as the compliment that it is. A kind of vulnerability that is nearing primal.

His lips, though—always his lips—are kind when they brush and land on your skin guided by some invisible map. A dip down your neck and chest and then a plunge, his tongue dragging over your hips, chasing the fabric of your underwear as he almost pulls it off and then reroutes, making room for himself between your legs and pushing lace aside to mark the hinge of your inner and upper-most thigh. Your chest heaves and you don’t dare move for fear he’ll stop leaving signs of himself on your body and you won’t be able to reassure yourself that it was real and he was here and it was not another dream.

Because something in you knows, if only consciously recognizing it for the first time now, that he will disappear again. That this may be your only chance.

The desire to make the ephemeral eternal. An impossibility.

He’s clearly losing himself to something, eyes shutting blissfully. You wonder when the last time he let his guard down even a little was. You’re okay with being the thing he gets lost in, even if you’re not exactly okay with him—something you are becoming more acutely aware of as each touch makes a part of you want to cry. Maybe you still have some things in common. A strange pain that doesn’t quite feel like it belongs to you, for one thing.

You slam back into your body as his nose nudges against you through fabric, and his lips catch on cotton as he drags himself up, eventually settling a kiss against the little bow at the waist of your underwear. There he stays, eyes closed, mouth pressed to you.

“Is this okay?”

You swallow, buzzing. Is this really what he wants? After everything?

“You don’t have to...”

“But is it okay with you?”

Nothing more than an airy whisper, you reply, “Yes, if that’s what you want.”

Being emotional at this point seems wrong, but it’s difficult to ignore the fact that you have thought about this before and it’s finally happening but it’s not exactly as you’d imagined it. There is an indelible sadness to it, to the way he’s so hungry for you because he’s been deprived, to the desperation with which he touches you because he’s had everything taken from him.

For a moment, before he tugs your underwear down, he pauses, and you wonder if he’s freezing one moment in time, this moment, and grieving all the other ways it could’ve been, and accepting that this is the way it is going to be. You are.

These higher realms of thought abandon you as he finally pulls the last barrier down your legs and encourages you to spread them further. You don’t have time or energy to be embarrassed, not even by his staring, or the way his eyes dart up to yours and back down again, wide and shining, as if to say, have you seen yourself? Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?

All you feel is the lack of him on you, the pull to have him closer so strong it’s almost sickening because he could be gone at any second. Maybe he understands that because he doesn’t waste anymore time before he’s kissing the most sensitive part of you. The drag of his tongue has you loosing a shuddering cry.

His mouth wanders, making connections you wouldn’t have realized the value of until you feel them on your skin. Your hips buck as he traces you and you’re unable to stop yourself from tangling your hands in his hair. Speech fails you—hell, you can hardly breathe as you watch his with a furrowed brow and parted lips, only expelling air from your lungs in the form of little cries and gasps and failing to hold your hips down to the bed.

The tip of his tongue teases around your entrance and he catches your leg as your foot rises off the bed, slinging it over his shoulder and consuming you more fervently until you have no choice but to moan though you’ve never been one for theatrics. Nobody has done this for you like he’s doing it for you. Locks of hair fall in front of his face and you hold them back for him, shuddering as he shifts his weight and presses the tip of his finger to your cunt.

“Ah—please,” you manage, your first words since he started. Spencer groans against you and the sound is so wonderfully unexpected, so much better than in your dreams. You cant your hips up in further invitation, chirping as he takes it, pushing two fingers into you at once. Your eyes screw shut and you bite back a whine at the slight stretch, unconsciously writhing your hips either to get further away or take him deeper, you’re not sure.

Spencer pulls back, kissing your hips and thighs and pumping his fingers very slowly as you adjust.

“’M sorry,” you pant, “it’s been awhile, I...”

“Don’t apologize,” Spencer says like it’s simple, his own breath coming quicker. “How’re you feeling? Need me to stop?”

“No! No, it feels really good, I feel good.”

He holds your burning gaze, matching it with his own, and his hair is tousled and his cheeks are flushed as he continues to move his hand.

“Yeah?”

“...Yeah.”

This little show of obedience, of call and response, has him smiling before he occupies his mouth with something else once more. It’s a different smile than you’re used to from him, but you decide you don’t at all mind it.

Like that, with his tongue and fingers working tirelessly, your orgasm comes on quickly. The feeling is rare but not entirely foreign, and in that brief moment of utter disconnect between your brain and reality, of sheer white-hot pleasure, you don’t feel you’re missing out on anything at all. How could you be, when you are here and Spencer is here and for a moment all your neurons are lighting up and flashing neon? How could there be anything more to life than the searing feeling of him slowly withdrawing his fingers from you, than your hips between his hands like he’s cradling the world, and his lips, indiscriminate with where they kiss because every part of you is worthy of attention?

You’re reeling, and your legs are gelatinous as he so affectionately sucks the darkest mark yet onto your inner thigh like a parting gift, like he’s signing his trembling work. If you could clamp your legs shut around the almost painful aftershocks you would, but he’s climbing back up your body, so all you can do is wriggle against him and release delayed, stunted little moans. He stops to kiss your neck before he makes it to your mouth and drinks down all your sounds until you’re gentle and pliant for him like you haven’t been yet.

His voice is soft and sympathetic when he speaks. “Better?”

Wordlessly you nod, both comforted and unsettled by how well he knows you. What, exactly, has been made better, you’re not sure. Not trust. You don’t trust him anymore. Something cheaper, but temporarily effective. A sense of permanence, maybe, however fleeting it may be. You’ve completed something with him now, and he’s still here, still sweet.

He looks into your eyes, then, for a moment—and there is just enough light in the room for you to tell yourself that the shadows dancing there as he looks at you are love.

They morph as you watch into haunting, wild hunger. Pained even now.

He sits up abruptly and so do you, scooting back against your headboard and pulling your knees to your chest to protect your pounding heart as Spencer takes you in with darting eyes and quick breaths. His fingers find the collar of his shirt and he begins to unbutton.

“I need you to remember it’s all going to heal.”

He swallows, and you hardly have the wherewithal to study the way he unbuttons his shirt, a way he exists in the world that you had previously not been privy to. The words are too distracting.

“What?”

Sometimes he reminds you of a deer, with those big brown eyes that can’t help betraying anxiety. Moreso in those old pictures he’d shown you from his early days at the BAU—but it shines through occasionally even now. It’s reassuring to know that something inside of his has remained soft.

“Just...” his fingers don’t stop at their task, and you come to the disturbing realization that his knuckles are bruised. “Please don’t freak out, alright?”

Your mouth goes dry, eyes glued to the lengthening span of revealed skin.

And before he even has his shirt fully undone, something isn’t right.

He’s like a Pollack of bruises—starbursts and watercolor blots of discoloration blooming over his side and stomach.

You’re glad the light is off for two reasons: one, being that you don’t think you could handle the bruising in all its glory, and two, you hope the look of horror painted on your face is at least partially obscured from Spencer.

But you can’t. You simply don’t have the gas in the tank to freak out, as he’d said—at least not externally. Those bruises shouldn’t be there, but 96 days is a long time to be gone.

You drag your eyes back to his—nervous, deeply insecure and mistrustful. A deer. Just like those pictures of a 24 year old Spencer in an FBI jacket that was too big for him.

It’s enough to have you scooting on your knees across the mattress to him. Those big eyes stay glued to you as you draw near, falling as you carefully push open his shirt, cautious not to bump any tender spots as it falls to the bed. A flash of white gauze wrapped around his forearm that makes your stomach flip. How? You want to ask. Why?

He doesn’t seem to know what you’re going to do, and neither do you, until you’re grabbing his hands, bruised knuckles and all, and just... holding them for a minute.

“I lost weight,” he says quietly, as if that’s the most shocking thing about his current appearance, though it is noticeable.

“You’re still pretty.”

He smiles at this—a true Spencer Reid smile. Flattened lips, eyes tinged silver with sadness, voice quiet and anxious and wavering.

“I didn’t have a lot to spare.”

A moment goes by.

“I’m not going to ask you about them,” you promise, though you care so much and you want to know but you already understand that he won’t want to tell you.

Another moment. It doesn't surprise you to watch the shiny vulnerability in his eyes to freeze over completely. But he squeezes your hands once in thanks, and you know it’s still the same Spencer.

“Lie down.”

Oh. Right.

This.

You do as he says, taking a deep breath to try and exhale the concern twisting your stomach like a poison. Somehow your room feels so unfamiliar, so new with him in it. Even the whorls on your ceiling look different as you study them, trying to time the pattern of your breathing with the pattern of the paint and plaster and not let the sound of Spencer further undressing quicken your heartrate too much.

Soon he’s coaxing your legs apart again, reverently, and kneeling between them, studying every part of you—lingering not on the parts you’d expect. He traces the scar on your knee with his thumb, follows a line down your thigh to the freckle on your hip. The scrutiny is unnerving and warms you everywhere. Perhaps he senses the microscopic clench of your thighs as you imagine pushing them together, if he weren’t in the way.

“You alright?” He asks, still stroking your hip. Tender again. It’s so hard to keep up.

“I...”

Suddenly your heart beat is a deafening echo in your own ears. The tide of your breathing is too powerful, too in and out and whooshing, leaving you always too empty or too full but never comfortable.

Maybe he’s changed, and he’s harder to know now, but he is the same Spencer. He is the Spencer you’d fallen in love with. The hard part is knowing that now you may never get a chance to tell him that. You don’t know if he’d be able to hear it.

There are things you can’t have with him anymore. Not now, at least. Maybe not ever. But you can have this. It will be different, but you’d rather him be different and here than the same and only in your memory.

You swallow.

“I’m good.”

Tangling your hand in his hair once more, you pull him down into a kiss. It’s hesitant, at first—maybe he can taste your thoughts, where they’d been balancing just on the tip of your tongue. But the uncertainty fades and he kisses you deeper, harder, in a way that is hard to keep up with. You like the messy overwhelm of his lips, teeth, tongue. That’s the only way he knows how to want you.

When you go to wrap your leg around his waist he catches it, running his hands over the soft plush of your thigh. The hard line of him presses against you like memory foam and you gasp and he breathes it in deeply as your brain short-circuits, as you realize this is really going to happen, that you’re going to have him like you’ve never had him before and in ways you’ve only imagined and immediately felt ashamed for.

“Spencer,” you whisper. He ducks to leave open-mouthed kisses along your neck and your eyes flutter shut, craning your neck but not losing sight of your objective as you reach down blindly. When you find what you’re looking for he freezes, groans against your neck at the same time as you breathe the tiniest whimper. Just in your hand he feels impossible, hot and imposing and hard. Your heart palpitates.

Without thinking, you angle your hips up and encourage him closer, until the tip of him is smearing through your folds, and you both go utterly silent like the breath had been stolen right from your lungs. The moment crystallizes, time around you hardening like preserved amber to keep you frozen there forever.

And then he rolls his hips, catching the underside of his cock on the crux of you, and then he does it again, and you choke out a moan and so does he, and it’s beyond perfect—it's nirvana, more than you could ever have conceived of, with his weight pressing you into the mattress, arms caging you in, his heavy breaths hot against your neck and vice versa as you twine together like serpents on a rod, your foot floating in the air as you widen your legs to make more room for him.

And you’re not even fucking yet.

“Oh my god,” you whine, just for him, barely audible under the heavy cloak of night, the thickened air in your bedroom and the sound of panting and fabric shifting. It’s like your heart is trying to reach through your chest to his own where they’re pressed together—that is how hard it’s beating.

Spencer only breathes a long, low curse and shifts so he can grasp himself. Your fingers drift down the shaft of him as he slots himself at your entrance, notching half an inch in and you hold your breath, and you brace yourself—and then he’s kissing you again, but gentler this time. Reassuring. You soften, you can’t not, releasing all your air in a soft gust through your nose, and then he’s pushing in.

Your lips part at the stretch as it fuzzes your mind, but he stays right there, nose pressed to your nose, lips ghosting over your own. He’s not going anywhere, you think, and you’re glad for it, when it burns ever so slightly, and the tiniest whine escapes your open mouth.

“Shh,” he soothes immediately, low and soft, only fractionally louder than you had been. “You’re okay.”

Spencer. Your Spencer.

For a moment, you’re living in that alternate universe. The kinder one. The flash of pain you feel then has nothing to do with the way he’s opening you up.

This is the closest you have ever been, and in some strange way, the furthest apart.

Together, fingers brushing, you guide him until he settles at not quite your deepest point. You can feel that he’s not giving you everything yet, but you’re okay with that, as you adjust to the full feeling. Spencer again senses your desire to close your legs against the deep intrusion, and gives you the best he can by encouraging you to wrap your legs around him.

“Good girl,” he whispers tenderly, nudging at your jaw with his nose and dragging kisses along the ridge of it. Your stomach flips at the moniker and your brain turns to warm sludge as your eyes flutter shut. It makes you feel all light-headed and you flutter around him. Spencer chuckles into the junction of your neck and shoulder and the vibrations send a chill down your arching spine. “I thought you might like that one.”

“Mhm.”

“Mhm. How are you? You okay?”

“’M ready.”

“You’re ready?” His tone is dripping sarcasm and faux-disbelief as he pulls back the slightest bit only to push right back in deeper, this time. Your toes curl, one thigh sliding higher up his waist as you cling to him.

“Fuck,” you manage, a pitiful, high pitched curse tossed to the wind. He echoes the sentiment.

“Oh, my god,” he groans, continuing with that slow pace, “you feel so good, angel.”

You grapple at his back, searching for purchase as your brow knits. “Faster.”

This inspires another breathy chuckle, but he obliges, and you cry out softly. It’s almost unreal, your head buried against his neck, drunk on his scent and the drag of him like a shock felt in the far reaches of your body, again and again.

There’s nothing you can say that will accurately demonstrate what you’re feeling, so you elect not to speak, to remain silent and try to get a grip on this cacophony of sensation and emotion. But it’s too much to be alone with. You feel you have to get it out, to seek understanding. You can’t do it alone.

“Spencer.”

“Hm?”

“I don’t know...” the sentence trails off into a gentle keen. He moves to kiss you, speaking against your lips.

“You don’t know?”

Shyly you shake your head. Spencer sighs wistfully.

“Do you know how much I missed you?”

It’s like he can sense your need for comfort. For something grounding.

And while this topic was off-limits earlier—you're softer now. The stone walls that form your boundaries have been chipped away and lowered.

Spencer continues unprompted.

“I thought about you every day. Every night while I was falling asleep. You were always on my mind, angel girl.”

You whine. Whether it’s pleasure or distress is anyone’s guess—including your own.

“You were gone so long,” you whisper, eyes shut.

At this, Spencer slows again, and the tension that was building settles back to a simmer.

“I know. I wish I could—I wish I could change that. But I’m here, okay? I’m right here with you.”

Then he makes sure you feel every last inch, and it takes your breath away. If your thoughts were any more coherent, they’d be something along the lines of: but for how long? How long until you leave again?

“You’re here.”

You say it like a mantra, once out loud, and then again and again in your head, timed with every clash of your hips. With each repetition he becomes more real. Every little ache, every tingling, head-emptying brush against that most sensitive spot inside proves to you that he could not be any closer. This can’t be faked. It can’t be another dream to wake up in tears from.

“You’re here,” you gasp as it hits you, as it truly sinks in.

“I’m here,” he breathes.

There’s so much you want to say—three months of words you need him to hear, of things you need to talk to him about, things you need to yell at him for and things you can only say crying in his arms and things you can only say laughing or whispering or drunk or half-asleep—and in this moment you can’t manage any of it. Every word condenses into one drop of salt water, drifting away from your eye and down your cheek. Spencer doesn’t tell you to stop crying. He only kisses the tear away, and murmurs I’m here I’m here I’m here over and over again against your skin until he’s not even speaking it out loud anymore. But you feel it. With every brush of his lips, every breath, every movement, you feel it.

Soon he’s adjusting his angle, gradually picking up the pace but retaining that unforgiving depth, and your nails bite into the skin of his back as your jaw drops. Spencer hisses, pressing impossibly closer.

“I’m sorry!” you squeak.

“Do it again.”

“Wh—what?”

“Please,” he begs, low and hot against your jaw, just beneath your ear. “Do it again, honey.”

Honey.

You’d do anything for him if it meant he calls you that again.

When he shifts his weight to one arm and reaches down between your bodies to play with your aching clit in exactly the right way, you don’t really have a choice. You arch and moan wantonly enough to feel embarrassed as your nails scratch down his back. At the same time he’s making noises of his own, and you almost feel guilty for marking him up like this only you think he likes it. The most perfect and troubling tension is building in your core, so taut you almost fear the inevitable rebound when it snaps. But you’re driven to be exactly what Spencer needs right now, and to let him try and be what you need. Even if it scares you. Even if you’re not sure how.

Spencer groans, head tucked to the bend of your shoulder. “I’m not gonna last.”

Any response you might’ve been about to muster is annihilated by a sudden, deep bolt of pleasure.

“’M gonna cum,” you mewl like it’s a secret.

“Are you?” he asks, coming up breathless. If your eyes were open, you’re sure you’d see him above you.

“Mhm.”

“Look at me. Look at me.”

It is unmistakably a command—one you fight to follow.

You cry out as you meet the intensity of his gaze, those shadowy corridors suddenly ablaze and alive. They are not unending, like you’d thought. They are a door thrown open to let the light in, or maybe to let the fire out. They’re open in this moment for you.

No more words are spoken after that—you cum hard, gasping as you fall and spin. Spencer follows very shortly after, like he was holding it together just for you, and your eyes are still locked though everything is a bit bleary.

“Fuck,” you whine as he continues to fuck you for as long as he can, despite your writhing hips, but you’re entranced by him, unable to look away now that you’re hooked. Until he slows to a halt, glances down at your mouth, and you just have time to pray that he’ll kiss you before he does. You whimper against his lips—a plea for understanding. A plea for him to stay, even though this is over. He kisses back so soft and sweet it’s like he can read your mind. Echoes of I’m here I’m here I’m here still buzz across your skin. His eyelashes tickle your cheek. Your heart stops beating quite so quickly, melting and warm like the rest of your body.

Soon the kissing ceases and you’re just breathing together, trapped and faced with the knowledge that it must end just the same as you had waited for it to start.

Eventually the air between you becomes mostly carbon dioxide and you let your head fall to the side, dizzy and giggling breathlessly as you nearly avoid asphyxiation. Spencer laughs too, letting his head fall to your shoulder once more, and you finally let your eyes flutter closed. To do something as simple as laugh with him again is its own small euphoria. It’s unexpected, and a soft landing once all that tension breaks underneath your combined weight.

It can’t last forever, you know that well. But the slow fade of it makes the next parts a little easier.

Spencer presses a kiss to your neck. “Is your bathroom through that door?”

You hum a confirmation and are only slightly disheartened when he pulls out and rolls off of you. You’re further disturbed when you see there’s gauze around his thigh, matching what’s around his arm, and you wonder how you missed that. Spencer scoops up his clothing and disappears into the adjoining restroom, assuring you he’ll be right back and leaving you alone with your thoughts and the whorls on the ceiling which have seemingly shifted into entirely new constellations.

He leaves the door cracked which is oddly reassuring—the sliver of warm light and the sound of the sink running. Only a few moments pass before he’s returning clad in boxers once more to sit on the edge of the bed, pushing away the sheet you’d just pulled over your chest and pulling one of your legs over his lap. Your face warms as he brings a washcloth between your thighs. As soon as he glances up at you and catches your eye you’re looking back to the ceiling.

“I should’ve asked first,” he says quietly as he cleans up the mess he’d made of you.

You speak just as softly, like you’re both afraid of disturbing some peace, of waking some sleeping giant. “It’s okay. I would’ve told you if I didn’t want it.”

His reticence, his unreadable face, make you nervous.

When he’s done, he rises to toss the dirtied cloth in the laundry bin, and with his back to you (as scratched up as it might be) you feel braver.

“Are you gonna, like... hate me now?”

It was a mistake. That’s clear by the way he turns around, brow knit deeply and grimacing slightly like even the suggestion offends him.

“Am I going to hate you?”

Again you pull the sheet up, and again you look away, studying the pattern of moonlight stretching out over the floor and scooting to make room for him when he steps in it.

“Not hate, I just...” the bed dips beside you and you are indescribably glad he’s not immediately running out the door. “I’m not dumb. I know what this was.”

He pulls you into him and you settle against his chest. It feels good. “I never thought you were dumb.”

This is your first real conversation since he’s gotten back, you realize. And how quickly you’re falling into familiar patterns, familiar syntactical beats. You know when to speak. You know when to bite your tongue and keep him talking.

The silence goes on longer than you’re used to. Maybe he got good at not speaking while he was away.

Eventually your eyes wander, falling to the white strip over his thigh where it is parallel to yours on the bed, only over the sheets.

“What happened?”

You said you wouldn’t ask, but that was then, and you’re upset again. You almost want to hurt him. To piss him off. You don’t know.

But it doesn’t work.

“Do you really want to know?” There’s a note of something heavy in his voice, and you look up at him. It’s a privilege to have him this close—his beauty is a constant surprise that you’d become unaccustomed to over the months. You say nothing, and he takes that as the yes that it is. “I... I did it to myself.”

He may as well have reached down your throat and grabbed for fucking heart for all its clenching. Tears well almost immediately, though they’ve been waiting in the wings all night.

“What? Did you—were you trying to—”

His eyes widen.

“No! No, honey, no.” You wilt as he gathers you closer, a deeply confused frown still contorting your features, too heartbroken even to cling to him, or to appreciate the ease with which honey slips past his lips again. “No. I was—it's complicated. I didn’t—I wasn’t trying to hurt myself, but I had to—I had to do it before someone else did something worse.”

The bruises covering his abdomen.

You sniffle and pull back enough to look up at him tearfully. “Why would they want to hurt you?”

Mist fills his eyes even as he’s looking down at you, a layer of separation, as if he’s two places at once. Even as he goes to brush your hair behind your ear, to stroke your cheek.

“I’m... not... the same, as I was.” It’s not an answer to your question—but it’s the beginning of the answer to a question you’d been too afraid to put into words.

“Don’t say that,” you beg, because you know where this is going. He keeps smoothing your hair like it’ll make this easier.

“But it’s true,” Spencer says gently, the slightest waver betraying his own emotion.

“You’re just going to leave again.”

And you’re losing to the tears.

“I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

“But you will,” you insist, like a child crying to a parent come to comfort them after a bad dream.

“Not right now. Right now I’m here.”

I’ll stay until you fall asleep again.

For now, maybe that has to be enough.

You cry on his shoulder. He kisses your head and doesn’t tell you to stop.

Eventually, you sniff and wipe your eyes.

“We were so close. Before you… we were almost there.”

You’re sure of it. You’re sure that if he hadn’t gone when he did you would’ve been a real couple. You would’ve told him you loved him.

“We’ll get there again,” he promises, rubbing your arm. “I just… I need a little bit of time. I think you do too. But we’re going to get there again.”

Maybe it will never be like it was.

But as so often is the case—Spencer is right. Difference doesn’t mean it won’t ever be good again.

You have to believe that, just as you had to believe you’d see him again.

You look to The Odyssey on your bedside table.

The sun has been obliterated from the sky, and an unlucky darkness invades the world.

But the sun has a habit of rising, time and time again, after the longest nights, after the darkest storms.

You feel the beginnings of its rise, see the golden tips of it lighting the room as he holds you. Even now.

#spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds x you #criminal minds smut #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid angst

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bi-writes · 5 months ago

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Ooo ooo ooo know what I think Simon in MOB would love?? a fashion show after he picks up his girl from shopping. I mean she seems like the kinda of girl to show off what she got, cuz simply she’s just so excited and he’s just so grateful for a show from his little love

mail-order bride (18+)

it's always raining lately. the weather has been cooling as the winter months get closer, and the rain has been a constant reminder of the days coming that would be spent inside.

simon didn't mind spending time inside. he liked being inside, in his house, away from others. when he was home, it was just you there. thing 1 and thing 2 occasionally appear, but it's you that takes up the space in the kitchen watching your dough rise impatiently, you that takes up that corner spot on the couch with your favorite knit blanket with a terrible movie on. the sight of that, he'll never get over it--he'll never get used to the pretty girl that lives in his house and wears his ring and sleeps in his bed and says his last name when they ask her, "your name, ma'am?"

his phone buzzes in his pocket as he ducks his head to get into his truck. he pulls it out, sighing, starting up the car when he reads your message.

all done! waiting at the corner.

when he turns onto the main street, he sees you standing at the corner with your umbrella, waving at him with a big smile. he can't help the one that blooms under his mask; fuck, he's beaming whenever he looks at you.

he puts the car in park, coming out to greet you. you hop on your toes as he comes around the car, and he dips his head under the umbrella as you stand high on your toes and kiss him over his mask.

"simon--"

"missed ya."

"it's only been a few hours--"

"'s too cold ta be out 'ere, baby, let's get ya inside."

you hum as he smooths his hands over your jaw, giving you another kiss through the mask before picking up the shopping bags that you're holding. he takes the umbrella from you, holding it as he guides you off the curb and into the passenger side of the car. he smacks your ass gently as you hop up, and you squeak when you sit down, giggling as you push at his chest.

"simon!"

"wot? wot did i do?"

"you're a dog, i swear."

"dunno wot y'mean, baby, tha's my wife in my car, and she looks bloody lovely."

you bite your lip, shaking your head.

"get in the car, simon, jeez..." you whisper, but your mind is running, and simon is looking way too good in this leather bomber jacket get-up he decided to pull out today. fuck, his arms have never looked so big, have they? has he been working out more?

just as he leans in for more, you put a hand on his chest, smiling down at him.

"slow, down, simon..." you touch your nose to his. "i got a surprise for you. let's go home, hmm?"

simon always skirts over the speed-limit, but you hold his hand extra tight as he swerves a little more than usual on the way home.

when you make it inside the warmth of your house, simon helps you take your jacket and boots off, hanging everything by the door and ripping his mask off so he can bury his face in the crook of your neck and kiss you there, his words muffled as he tries to talk between kisses, as if not kissing you might deprive him of something as necessary as breath.

"wot's the surprise?" he whispers, and you turn around to face him, giggling as he cups your cheeks and kisses you firmly, on the mouth, feverish and eager. "taste like chocolate, buy some sweets while ya were out, did ya?"

"simon--"

"fuckin' hell, don't say my name like tha'," simon groans, backing you up until you hit the wall with a gentle thud. his hand slips into your hair to cushion it, his hand taking the weight of the wall as he kisses you again, harder this time. "so pretty, tell me--"

"simon!" you laugh, "just go sit down...sit, you're so impatient--"

he can't sit still. his knee is bouncing as he sits on the couch, and he sucks on his teeth as he watches the door of your bedroom. it's closed, and he can hear you moving around behind it. a few moments later, you open the door just slightly, poking your head out with a sheepish smile.

"ready, simon?"

"fuckin' hell, ready since the day i was born."

you swing open the door, bouncing into the living room. simon raises his fist to his mouth, biting on it, and he curses under his breath when he sees you wearing the most adorable dress he's ever seen.

it won't see the light of day for a few months since it's nearing winter, but you could wear it at home all you like (he hopes you wear it every fucking day).

it's cherry red. big fluffy skirt, made up of many layers. it's made of linen, with a sweetheart neckline and short sleeves, and it is perfectly tailored to you. simon closes his eyes for a moment, fuckin' get it together, mate, and when he opens them again, you're standing there in the living room, very sheepish, hands behind your back.

"do...do you like it?" you ask. "i...they had this dress there when i went a couple weeks ago, but none of them fit, so i...i asked if we could take my measurements, and..."

"jesus fuckin' christ," simon breathes, leaning his head back against the couch. "baby, please stop talkin'. just for a minute, olright?"

"oh...okay."

simon takes a deep breath. he raises his palms to his eyes, and he rubs them hard. he keeps his eyes closed as he shifts his hips, smoothing a big palm down his stomach before taking a look at you again. he groans a little when he sees you again, standing there all shy, timid, nervous.

"give me a spin, luv," simon murmurs. you take the hem of your skirt and do a small twirl for him, spinning on your toes in the living room. simon clenches his jaw as he watches the skirt flutter a little, the layers underneath swishing and then falling over your thighs again. simon adores a good skirt; it's his favorite thing in the world to put his hands up them, to fondle the lace or cotton of your panties underneath it, to watch your chest rise and fall in panting breaths when he takes you apart with his fingers. he's in love with the way your breasts will fill the neckline of your dress, practically spill over when you bend at the hip and present yourself for him.

christ, he needs to fuck you.

simon cups himself through his jeans, and he relishes in the way your eyes widen. he unbuckles his belt, popping the button and shoving his jeans down until they sit just low enough that he can take himself out. your knees buckle a little as you watch him, your lips parting as you stare at the way he spits into his hand and spreads his wet palm over the tip of him.

"simon," you whisper, your hands wringing together as he tilts his head to the side and smooths his hand down his length. he grunts, shaking his head.

"pull y'r dress down," he murmurs, and you grow warm all over. your toes curl a bit; he's so big, tip nice and wet and pink. the girth of him shocks you, but it's always felt so nice in your mouth. you know how good it'll feel inside you, when you sit on him finally, when he-- "pull it down, baby."

you swallow hard, slipping the sleeves down your shoulders a little. you push it down just a little, just until your tits fall over the neckline and spill out. simon groans loud, his hand moving just a little faster, his head shaking a little more.

"come 'ere, baby," he says lowly, patting his lap. "come 'ere, let me put my mouth on ya."

you walk over shakily, making your way to him. you put your hands on the back of the couch before you settle with both knees on either side of him. as soon as your tits dangle in his face, he's leaning up and sucking one of your nipples into his mouth. you gasp, arching your back, and even with your skirt covering your laps, you can still hear the wet slap, slap, slap of simon's wet palm frantically pumping his cock.

"fuck--fuck," simon croaks, letting your go. there's a bit of drool pooling along the side of his mouth, and he swallows it down before nodding towards you. "sit back, sweet'art, let me see--"

you put one palm on his knee, leaning back, and use your other hand to gather up your skirt and lift it. simon sucks on his teeth as he sees your cunt, wet panties sticking to it, and he moves his hand a little faster.

"please cum, simon," you beg, your fingers pushing your panties aside. his face falters a little, his hand moving just a little sloppier, and you whimper. "please--please give it to me--"

he lets out a low breath as he cums, aiming at your cunt and watching as he paints your folds. you use your fingers to spread it, dipping your fingers inside yourself with a whine before moving them against your clit gently. simon uses his other hand to grip your hip, drawing you just close enough that he can smooth his cock through your folds, spreading your slick and his own cum and making a mess between your thighs. he chuckles, hearing you cry out, and you meet his eyes with tears.

"just the tip," you beg, moving your fingers along your clit faster. simon grins, so mean, licking his lips. he makes no move to help you, but he doesn't put himself back in his pants, either. "simon, j-just the tip--c-can i have just the tip?"

"oh, just the tip, luvvie?" simon murmurs. "think ya can take it? just tha'?"

"please--!"

your fingers are in a frenzy. it's so close, you can feel it, that beautiful mountain, you're climbing it, clawing your way up, and you just need a little more.

"simon!"

you nearly fall backwards. if it wasn't for his hand gripping your hip, you would've, but he catches you easily, his brows furrowing together as the tip of him slips inside of you nice and easy. your hips jerk a bit, rolling as you use just that much of him inside of you to bring yourself closer and closer and closer--

"fuck," simon breathes when he feels you cum. you tighten, sucking him in just a little more as you spill around him. globs of sticky slick pool along his cock, and you use a shaky hand to grip him gently and keep him there. even with just the tip, it feels so nice to be connected to him, to have him inside you, even just a little. your brain feels fuzzy and warm, your legs feeling blissfully weak as your spine melts a little into his hand just enough. he leans you forward until you're resting on his chest, and you squeak when he slips out of you. simon wraps his arms around your waist to keep you close, and your eyes flutter shut as you mouth at his neck absentmindedly.

"can't wait for it," you whisper against his skin. he's hot there, a little sweaty, and you lick timidly up his jaw to taste him. he grips your hair tight, smiling, and he pulls you back just a little so he can look into your eyes.

"and wot are y'gonna wear when i finally have ya, aye?"

you smile back, giggling soft.

"absolutely nothing, of course."

#when? 🤠#who knows lol #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #ghost mwii #ghost x reader #cod #call of duty #simon ghost riley smut #ghost smut #simon riley smut #order up

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grapejuicenharry · 5 months ago

Text

Angel

Harry and Y/N are best friends— except they have feelings for each other (4k words)

warnings : smut 18+, fluff, kissing, grinding, jealous h

read part 2 of angel here

✶⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ˙⋆ . ✶⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ˙⋆✶. ⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ˙⋆✶ ⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ˙⋆✶

Harry really liked—no, loved—Y/N, but he would never admit it to her. She was his best friend, and he couldn’t imagine a day without her. She was like sunshine in his life, someone he could always rely on.

“Harry, my feet hurt,” Y/N whined beside him, her cheeks flushed and her eyes glassy from one too many drinks. They were walking back from a party thrown by one of Harry’s friends, Alex. It was his birthday, and even though Harry and Y/N hadn’t planned to attend, today had been their last exam of the semester. That called for celebratory drinks after all the hard work they’d put in. Sleepless, stressful nights spent preparing for exams, completing assignments, and submitting papers—it had all been overwhelming, and tonight felt like the ideal way to finally blow off some steam.

“Didn’t I warn you about those heels?” he asked, amusement lacing his voice as he raised an eyebrow. He knew those heels always gave her trouble and told her to wear something more comfortable, but Y/N, being Y/N, never listened.

“Yeah, but they make me look sexy, and I wanted to be tall enough to at least reach your neck,” she replied absentmindedly.

“Well, guess that means I’m carrying you the rest of the way,” Harry said, and before she could protest, he hoisted her up onto his shoulders.

“Harry, my dress is too short! I’m going to flash everyone,” Y/N laughed, though there was no real concern in her voice.

Harry chuckled, placing his hand carefully to keep her covered. Besides, the streets were almost empty at 2 a.m., and there was hardly anyone around to notice.

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

Y/N met Harry on the first day of college. She was nervous and eager to make friends. Hurrying to her seat, she noticed Harry sitting next to her. The first thing she saw was his mop of curly hair, and she thought he was incredibly cute. He looked so innocent and nerdy in his black-rimmed glasses. He was just too adorable.

He wore a white T-shirt that highlighted his bulging biceps, with tattoos peeking through. Suddenly, Y/N found herself wanting to see every tattoo that adorned his beautiful body. She was so curious and lost in her thoughts about him that she didn’t realize Harry was, in fact, looking at her.

Harry thought he was dreaming as he looked at Y/N. She seemed like an angel, a beautiful one at that. She wore a cute white hoodie adorned with pink bows, and her curly hair framed her lovely face perfectly. What captivated him the most were her eyes; they were alluring, radiant, and a luminous shade of dark brown. Next were her luscious pink lips, so full and plump that he suddenly wanted to kiss them and taste them. He wondered if they tasted like berries or cherries, secretly hoping they tasted like cherries, his favorite fruit.

“Do you have an extra pen?” Y/N asked in a hushed voice. “I forgot to bring my pouch,” she added with a little pout.

“Y-yeah, yeah,” Harry replied, fixing his glasses, clearing his throat, and answering in a hoarse voice. He couldn’t believe she was actually talking to him.

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

Later that day, they sat together at lunch, talking as if hours had passed. Y/N was so grateful to have found someone as kind as Harry, who listened to every word she said with such intent. They chatted about random topics, like their favorite TV shows and ice cream flavors. When Harry revealed that his favorite flavor was mint chocolate chip, Y/N made a weird face.

“Shut up—no, don’t you dare say it!” Harry exclaimed, amused.

“But it tastes like toothpaste!” Y/N whined playfully.

“No, it does not!” Harry shot back. Y/N made a mental note to convince Harry to try every other flavor until he grew to hate mint chocolate chip.

They soon became inseparable—best friends. Harry didn’t realize just how much he had started to like Y/N until it was almost too late. He thought frequently about confessing his true feelings, but there never seemed to be the right moment. He cherished the friendship they had, and the thought of losing her terrified him to his core. So he kept those feelings hidden, bottled up, and accepted her as his best friend.

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

Harry set Y/N down on the couch when they reached her apartment. He kneeled down to take off her heels. “Ouch, slowly please,” YN whined.

“I am never letting you wear these stupid shoes again. Your feet are all red and swollen,” Harry countered, looking genuinely concerned. He hated seeing Y/N in pain. He wanted to protect her from everything and keep her safe in his cocoon—just him and Y/N.

He then carefully carried a sleepy Y/N to her bedroom and started looking for a comfortable shirt for her to wear. After finding a suitable shirt, he went to the bathroom to grab her makeup wipes and returned to find half-asleep Y/N lying on the bed. “Sweetheart, this will only take two minutes, I promise.” He began wiping her face gently.

After getting Y/N all ready for bed, Harry changed his own clothes. Y/N had “borrowed” too many of his shirts, but honestly, he never minded it. In fact, he secretly liked when Y/N wore his clothes. She looked breathtaking in his oversized shirt paired with her tiny shorts, which made Harry lose his mind.

“Come to bed and cuddle me; I need to sleep,” Y/N grumbled, rubbing her tired eyes.

“Coming, sweetheart, just two minutes,” Harry replied with a smile. He knew how grumpy Y/N got when she was sleepy. He quickly climbed into bed, set his glasses on the side table, and pulled her to his side. Cuddled next to him, Harry didn’t mind being the big spoon. He loved having Y/N molded to his side—the sweet scent of her hair, which smelled like strawberries on a sunny day, and the soft skin that felt like vanilla sundae. He adored every inch of her. Whenever he was with her, he felt like he was on cloud nine. Everything around him was rainbows and sunshine; she made everything look like it was through rose-tinted glasses.

But Harry also loved being the little spoon. There were days when he just wanted to be held, and honestly, Y/N loved having him like that—clingy, needy, like a cute little puppy.

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

One day, Harry arrived at Y/N’s apartment looking extremely worn out. Y/N was lying on the bed, comfortably engrossed in her favorite novel. She grew concerned upon seeing Harry.

“I am so exhausted, and my head hurts,” Harry exclaimed, throwing his bag on the floor. “I had to sit in Professor Martin’s class for two hours, plus I had a psychology presentation today,” he stated tiredly while rubbing his drowsy eyes behind his frames.

“Oh no, I’m so sorry you had such a long day, baby. Come on, lie down, and I’ll massage your head,” Y/N replied, removing the blanket from her lap. Harry immediately climbed onto the bed and dropped his head in Y/N’s lap. She carefully removed his glasses and placed them on the side table before starting to massage his head.

She threaded her fingers in his curls, scratching his head lightly, rubbing, and applying just the right amount of pressure. Harry let out a soft moan as he could already feel the tension melting away, his body instinctively relaxing further into her lap.

“Feels amazing,” he murmured, his voice slightly muffled against her legs.

As her skilled fingers glided over his scalp, working their magic and easing the stress that had built up after a long week.

Y/N smiled, enjoying the way he melted under her touch. She varied her movements, alternating between gentle rubs and firmer pressure, focusing on the areas where he seemed to carry the most stress. Her fingers danced through his hair, and she leaned forward slightly to whisper, “You deserve this. Just relax.”

After what seemed like hours of massaging, Y/N realized Harry had fallen soundly asleep on her lap. His face looked peaceful, with his eyes closed and soft snores slipping through his pretty pouty lips. He looked so adorable, and Y/N couldn’t help but wish she could freeze time to savor this moment longer.

Knowing Harry would probably complain about his back in the morning, she gently shifted him, lifting his head from her lap and placing it on a pillow. His brows furrowed slightly, so she soothingly rubbed his forehead, trying to smooth away any lingering tension. Half asleep, Harry instinctively moved closer, wrapping his arms around Y/N’s waist and nuzzling his face against her boobs. His personal pillow: He always has the best sleep whenever she holds him. Y/N smiled down at him. His curls tickled her jaw, and she couldn't resist leaning down to plant a soft kiss on his head.

“Goodnight, sleepyhead,” Y/N whispered, smiling at Harry, who had already drifted back into a peaceful slumber.

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

Harry was never the jealous type—at least, not until Y/N came into his life. but right now he cant help but a bitter sensation rises up his throat when he sees yn with Jacob. A total douchebag who flirts with every girl in the college, Standing next to Y/N, too closely according to harry. Harry had come to find Y/N so they could grab tacos at their favorite spot, but instead, he’s witnessing this. Does Y/N like him? Does she have a crush on him that he doesn’t know about? What if Y/N is interested in him and wants to end her friendship with Harry? Will she forget about him? All these questions overwhelm Harry’s mind at the sight. No, no—Y/N was only his. His best friend, his angel, his sweetheart. She would never do something like this. His chest suddenly started burning at such thoughts.

Jacob says something which makes Y/N burst into laughter. His chest tightens at the sight. He wants to be the only person to make yn laugh like that. He curses inwardly that jacob gets to experience the sweet melody of her laughter, her laugh that can instantly brighten up the room with warmth and sunshine. He thinks to himself, Does Jacob know her eyes crinkle whenever she laughs? or how the mole under her right eye disappears when she laughs because of the fullness of her cheeks?

“Oi, whatchu looking at?” Y/N snapped her fingers in front of Harry’s face. He hadn’t realized she had come over and was talking to him. “You look like you could kill someone,” she teased, giggling as she spoke to him.

“Was that Jacob talking to you?” Harry asked, trying to sound casual even though he was fuming inside. “Yeah, he wanted my chemistry notes because apparently he spilled coffee on his,” Y/N replied, wrapping her arm around Harry's as they walked together.

“Did you give them to him?” Harry asked, mentally cursing Jacob and hoping she hadn’t.

“No, obviously I know he just wanted an excuse to hit on me. I’m not dumb,” Y/N exclaimed, rolling her eyes. “Besides, you know I don’t like sharing my notes with anyone except for you, because you know how to take care of them.” She chided and planted a kiss on Harry’s cheek. His face instantly heated.

“Good,” Harry whispered quietly, fixing his glasses, looking at the ground, too embarrassed to hide the blush of his cheek and unable to suppress a smile at the thought of Y/N rejecting that jerk.

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

Harry loves when Y/N gets touchy like this with him. When randomly she hugs him, kisses him on his cheek, forehead, or settles on his lap while watching a movie. Her spontaneous kisses leave a soft tingle on his skin, and he can’t help but smile every time she curls up in his lap. It’s in these moments he feels closest to her, as if every touch and every kiss is a silent confession of how much she means to him. His arm instinctively wraps around her waist, pulling her in a little tighter, enjoying the way she fits perfectly against him. The movie on the screen fades into the background; all he can focus on is the warmth of her body and the way she makes him feel—like he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be. It all feels so natural. And they never have those awkward moments because they both love these touches. Whenever yn touches him, he feels electricity buzzing through him, in a good way. His skin feels like jello and his heart is thumping loudly, His brain is all muddled with goo and sparkles.

He wants to treasure those moments forever and constantly wishes for more and more.

It was one of those rare evenings for Harry and Y/N, Where the world seemed to quiet down just for them. They had just finished with their midterms and needed this for the longest time. Dim yellow lights, a bottle of red wine sitting on the table, a soft record player playing in the background. Legs tangled under the blanket as Harry and Y/N sat closer to each other, just enjoying each other’s presence. The warmth of Yn’s body pressed against him felt like home.

Harry’s fingers absentmindedly played with a strand of Y/N’s hair, twirling it between his fingertips. His eyes traced over her face, taking in every detail — the curve of her lips, the soft rise and fall of her chest.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” Harry whispered, his voice low and soft, his breath tickling her ear.

Y/N turned her head slightly, meeting his gaze with a soft smile and cheeks already flushed because of wine, changed into a deeper shade of red at his words. “You always say that.” Slurred her words lightly.

“Because it’s true,” he murmured, leaning in closer, their faces just inches apart. His fingers gently tugging at her bottom lip, eyes flickering to her mouth. “And I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of telling you that.”

For a moment, neither of them moved, the air between them thick with unspoken words and emotions. Y/N felt her heart race as Harry’s eyes locked onto hers, filled with something deeper than just affection.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, Y/N tilted her head, her lips brushing against Harry’s in the softest kiss, testing the waters. It was brief- just a featherlight kiss- but enough to send a shockwave through him. Harry let out a quiet sigh, his hand moving to cup her face as he deepened the kiss, slow and tender. As he leaned in closer, Y/N gently pushed his glasses up onto his forehead, making it easier for them to get lost in each other. Suddenly, he realized what he had done.

Harry pulled back immediately, his eyes wide with surprise at his own action.

“Sorry,” he blurted out, his voice panicked. “I don’t know why I did that.”

Y/N blinked, her cheeks flushing, but there was no trace of anger or discomfort on her face. Instead, she smiled softly, a warmth blooming in her chest at his sudden vulnerability. “No, Harry… It’s okay.”

Harry’s brow furrowed. “Are you sure? I didn’t mean—”

“Harry,” Y/N interrupted gently, her voice barely a whisper as she moved closer, her hand resting on his cheek. “It’s okay, I want this, I promise.”

Harry couldn’t quite grasp what was happening—it all felt too surreal, like something straight out of his dreams. Yet, here it was, playing out in real time. In the blink of an eye, Y/N tossed the blanket aside and straddled his lap. Her hands slid up his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin through his shirt as she pressed closer to him, wanting to be as near as possible. Her fingers trailed up his chest, feeling the heat radiating through his shirt, before cradling his face. Without hesitation, she pulled him into a deep kiss.

Harry was still trying to make sense of it all, but instinctively, his hands found their place—one tangling in her hair, the other resting gently on her neck.

The kiss was slow, tender, and filled with all the emotions that had been simmering under the surface for so long. His lips were soft, and she could taste the faint hint of wine on them. Their lips molded perfectly, like it was meant to be. Time seemed to blur. It must have been five minutes, or five hours; neither of them knew. It was a heated blend of tongue, teeth, and lips.

Y/N’s hand reached for the hem of his shirt, lifting it. Harry pulled back, catching his breath, resting his forehead against hers. His heart pounded, blood rushing south; he was so hard, making him ache beneath her.

“Can I take off your top, baby?” He whispered, his breath warm against her jaw as he kissed and nipped at it.

“Yes, yes, please,” she murmured, and that was all the permission Harry needed. He swiftly pulled off her shirt—his shirt—and eagerly ran his hands over her smooth, soft skin.

“So soft, your skin is so soft,” he murmured, his hands working behind her, unclasping her bra.

Her tits were a piece of art—Round, so full and perfectly perky. His large hands cup them, gently rolling the nipple between his fingers.

Now she sat only straddling him in her thin, barely there sleeping shorts; she could feel his hard cock beneath her, thick and throbbing, nudging her entrance. Her dampness was seeping through both of their shorts. A delicious remainder, how much she wanted him. He could feel her cunt fluttering around nothing, desperate for him.

Harry had to shut his eyes and take a few steady breaths as his chest rose and fell with anticipation. Slowly, he leaned forward, prepping light kisses along the curve of her breast. Y/N moaned softly, arching her back, giving him more access to her boobs. He latched onto her nipple, sucking lightly, while his free hand teased her other breast, tugging and rolling the sensitive nub. Y/N hips began to move instinctively, grinding against him, writhing on his cock couldn’t help but start grinding, writhing on his lap.

"Feels good," she murmured, eyes closed as she gently took his glasses from his head and placed them on the couch next to them, her fingers threaded through his messy curls. His cock twitched beneath her, nudging her clit, and she could feel her body growing even wetter, soaking through the fabric that separated them. Harry kept switching between her breasts, his mouth worshipping each one as he sucked harder, sending jolts of pleasure through her core.

Making her more drenched

“Just like that, ride me Y/N” Harry growled, his voice low and demanding. His hands slid from her breast to her waist, guiding her movements. Making her move forward and backward, her clothed, dripping core dragged across his cock, making them both shiver with need. His tattoos peeked through as he finally tugged his shirt off, revealing his inked chest - abs flexing under the butterfly, the black ink stark against his flushed, heated skin.

Y/N's fingers trailed down, dragging her nails across his chest, loving the way his tattoos twisted beneath her touch. She leaned down, biting his neck, sucking hard enough to leave a bruise. Harry groaned, loving the possessiveness of it—her mark on him. He was hers.

“You’re doing so good, Angel” he murmured, nipping her ear. Harry was a complete mess beneath her. His eyes glossy, pupils blown away with lust, hair sticking to his sweaty forehead, lips slick and swollen from their kisses. He looks so sexy, Y/N leaned forward, sucking his bottom lip into her mouth, swallowing each other’s moans while increasing her pace.

He could not believe Y/N was on top of him, grinding against his cock, her sweet little moans filling the air. He was sure he’d reached heaven. He glanced down between them, seeing the wet patch her arousal had left on his shorts, mixed with his own pre cum.

As Y/N ground herself against him, her clit dragged over the thick length of his cock, and each upward motion had his tip grazing her entrance. The feeling made them both shiver. Her blunt nails dug into his shoulders as her eyes squeezed shut in bliss, her lip caught between her teeth, trying to hold back a whimper.

Harry slid his hand down, rubbing her clit with his thumb in slow, tight circles, giving her that extra bit of pleasure she craved. “I want you to feel good, baby,” he whispered, his fingers working faster, determined to push her over the edge. His angel deserved to feel good.

Y/N threw her head back, overwhelmed by the sensation. “I’m gonna cum,” she whimpered meekly, her voice shaking. Harry quickened his pace, his fingers pressing into her clit with just the right amount of pressure. “Cum for me, baby,” he urged, his voice thick and desperate.

Y/N cries out as her orgasm rips through her, the coil in her belly finally exploding, sending waves of pleasure through her entire body. She felt like she was floating—fireworks and butterflies all at once.

She has never cum so hard in her life. Her fingers never did the job, and vibrators were too boring for her.

Below her, she feels Harry twitching. He buries his face in her neck, biting down a patch of her skin to stifle his own moan as he reached the brink. Both arms wrapped around her waist, his eyes shut, loud and desperate whimpers falling from his lips.

“That’s it, honey,” Y/N cooed, her voice soft and soothing, threading her fingers through his damp curls as she continued to ride him. She could feel him shaking beneath her as his orgasm finally hit, releasing with a loud groan as his body went rigid. His vision blurred, ears ringing, as the bliss overwhelmed him completely. He felt like he was in paradise, his body melting into hers.

For a moment, they just stayed like that—foreheads pressed together, hearts beating in sync, both of them coming down from their highs. Still trying to make sense of what just happened. Harry let out a breathy laugh, looking for his glasses and placing them again on his face. He brushed a strand of hair from her face. “You’re amazing,” he whispered, still catching his breath.

Y/N smiled down at him, her fingers tracing the tattoos on his chest, loving how warm he felt under her touch. “And you’re a mess,” she teased softly, laughing with him. Harry grinned, pulling her closer.

"Yeah, but I’m your mess," he murmured, kissing her softly, the intimacy between them palpable.

They stayed like that, in each other’s arms, exchanging gentle kisses. “I want this with you, Y/N” Harry whispered, “I’m tired of pretending I don’t feel something for you. That I don’t feel this whenever I’m around you.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat, her eyes widening as his words hit her. She opened her mouth to respond, but no sound came out.

Harry pressed on, the confession spilling out of him like a flood. “I’ve been holding back because I didn’t want to ruin us. You’re my best friend, Y/N. The most important person in my life, and I was terrified of messing that up. But tonight... it just felt right. It always felt right with you.”

The air hung heavy between them, the weight of his confession pulling her down, making her chest tighten. Y/N swallowed hard, her mind racing. She had always felt something too—always pushed it aside, too afraid of what it would mean for them and for their friendship. But now that it was out there, she couldn’t run from it anymore.

Harry’s eyes softened behind his glasses, his heart racing a mile a minute. He had finally said it—the words he never thought he’d be able to voice, yet they spilled out of him because he couldn’t hold them in any longer. He had to tell Y/N everything.

But he still didn’t know if she felt the same, if she liked—no, loved—him back. And though the thought of her rejecting him terrified him, he was ready for it. His heart would shatter into a million pieces, but he would respect her decision, even if it meant she wanted him out of her life completely. It would hurt—of course, it would—but the idea of staying by her side and making her uncomfortable hurt even more.

He braced himself for her response, never expecting what she would say next.

“I love you, Harry. I think I’ve loved you for a long time... but I was too much of a coward to confess it,” Y/N murmured, her eyes glistening with tears. “All this time, I didn’t want to lose you, so I just... ignored it. But tonight? It meant everything. I want this with you too.”

She leaned forward, wrapping her arms around him, resting her head on his chest. She could hear his heart pounding beneath her ear.

“I always thought you had a thing for Emma from our sociology class,” Y/N added with a teary giggle, realizing how silly it sounded now.

Harry’s brows furrowed in confusion. Emma? He had never thought of her as more than a classmate. His friends had mentioned once or twice that Emma might have a crush on him, but he’d never taken it seriously. His focus had always been on Y/N.

Before he could explain, Y/N cut him off. “But now I get it—you don’t like her. It was probably just my insecurities talking,” she said softly, her eyes dropping to her lap as she fidgeted with her fingers, a nervous habit of hers.

“Baby, Y/N, look at me,” Harry gently commanded. “I had no idea you were worrying about all of this. Emma? I’ve probably spoken to her five times at most, and I don’t like her that way at all. You have nothing to be insecure about.” He cupped her jaw tenderly, his thumb brushing her cheek. “You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen, my angel. The only girl I love and care about.”

Harry's thumb continued to stroke Y/N's cheek gently, his eyes soft and unwavering as he held her gaze. “You’re everything to me, Y/N. I’ve never even thought about anyone else the way I think about you. It’s always been you.”

Her breath hitched at his words, the insecurity that had weighed her down for so long now starting to lift. She opened her mouth to say something, but Harry wasn’t finished. His other hand slid down to cradle her waist, pulling her more closer if that was possible. They were basically molded together.

“I love the way you say my name; I love how you play with my rings whenever you get nervous; I love the way you get excited over little things; I love the way you get grumpy whenever you are hungry; I love the way you look at me when you think I am not paying attention. And I love you; don’t ever want you to doubt that, okay?”

Y/N felt warmth flood her chest as his words washed over her. She’d spent so long overthinking everything, never realizing that Harry had been feeling the same all along.

She blinked back the last of her tears, smiling up at him. “I don’t know why I thought otherwise,” she whispered, her voice shaky but full of emotion.

Harry pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, his lips lingering there. “Because you care so much,” he murmured against her skin. “And that’s one of the things I love about you.”

Y/N leaned into his embrace, feeling safe and cherished in his arms. the tension in her body melting away.

Harry resting his chin on the top of her head. “But now, no more hiding, yeah? No more overthinking or doubting. It’s just us now. I’m yours, and I’ve always been.”

Y/N tilted her head back to look at him, her smile widening as her fingers laced through his. “Just us,” she repeated softly.

Harry’s heart swelled as he brought her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles softly. “Just us,” he echoed, his voice a gentle promise.

1K notes · View notes

myladysapphire · 8 months ago

Text

To Gwayne, with love

tired of being ingored and undervalued, you take your dragon and leave to find the one person who sees you for who you really are; your uncle, Gwayne Hightower

based of this request

word count: 5,086

CW: MDI, 18+, smut, loss of virginity, p in v, fingering, oral (f reciving), incest, angts, love letters (if the title wasnt a hint), fluff, love confessions, not proofread!

Gwayne Hightower x neice!reader

Masterlist

Growing up as the eldest child, and eldest daughter of Alicent and Viserys you had long felt unwanted and overlooked.

Where your twin, Aegon, was seen as a future king, the rightful heir, you were seen as only a daughter, pushed to the side and out of the limelight.

Always looked over, even when it came to marriage. Where it made sense for you to marry Aegon, Heleana married him instead.

You were overlooked, and often forgotten.

Even events held in your honour were overshadowed, be it by your twin or your eldest sister Rhaenrya.

Countless nights tears had filled your eyes as you were pushed aside in favour of another sibling.

It was a funny thing really, you were the eldest daughter and yet were the last to be betrothed, excluding Daeron that was. And yet you had once been dubbed the Realms heart, you had been kind and sweet. But years of neglect, being undervalued and ignored had turned you cold and restless and made you a rebel. Where your uncle Daemon was the rouge prince, you were the defiant princess.

You had stopped waiting by the sidelines, stopped keeping too yourself and your thoughts stopped being quiet. you become outspoken, even more so when your brother was crowned king.

But all that seemed for nought as you were now meet with roll of eyes and the sound of the key locking your chambers from the outside.

You couldn’t say you were surprised, not when your mother seemed to hate you more than Aegon.

She never understood you, only one person had.

Gwayne Hightower, your uncle.

You and he had an understanding that others could only envy, you couldn’t put it into words but ever since you had meet him you felt inexplicitly drawn to him.

And yet you had only meet him thrice.

But those three times amounted into countless letters.

When one was sent two would follow, even on the road Gwayne never failed to write.

Until now.

You were sat in your chambers and an ache in your chest as you read through the last of Gwayne letters. Near two weeks had passed since his last had arrived, and these past two weeks had been when you had needed his letters the most.

dearest niece,

Words cannot describe the joy I felt upon seeing you the other, even if only for a few hours before my departure.

You have grown ever so beautiful, and I envy those who got to watch you became the beauty you are today, though I envy them more for the endless pleasure of your company.

Who knew your wit was even more compelling in person, dear niece?

I sure did not and yet your endless humour is known what I crave as I am stuck of this endless rode with ser Criston as the most interesting of my companions.

And let me tell you he is far duller than you painted. (Not that you painted him to have much of a personality aside form swords and a love for oranges.)

Perhaps it his cockiness or the self-righteousness he has as the new lord hand, which makes his so dull. He seems to love to point out his new station to us all, especially my Hightower knights, as if that will win him any favours.

Though I truly believe he thinks himself funny, though his voice is always far to monotone to decipher what is an attempt at a joke or what is orders and commands.

Gods, I wish I had stolen you away with me, even just to share the looks at Criston ‘jokes’ as he calls them.

Honestly, he is perhaps the dullest man I have ever met, what your mother sees in him I’ll never know.

But I must admit little of my time is spent completing his joke when I cannot stop thinking of you.

Tomorrow, we ride to rook’s rest, he says he has some plan, I do not quite believe it will be a good one, but I shall prey to the seven that we will be victorious, and I may see you again.

Yours, Gwayne.

You had replied far to quickly though being locked n your chamber after yelling you would ride your dragon to meet your uncle would of course leave you with little to do.

To Gwayne,

I am truly sorry you are stuck with such a dreadful man, if I had gone with you I can assure you however there would not have been much time to dwell of Cristons joke attempts, I would steal far to much of your attention, perhaps enough were you were unable to fight in this silly little war.

I do hope your thoughts of me do not distract you too much.

I wish you great luck in at rook’s rest though I fear you may have to face Meleys, and in which case I pray my mother sees sense and allows me to ride out and join the fight on moonfyers, though I Highley doubted.

But from Aegon’s visit to my prison cell (my chamber’s), it seems he is quite egar to fight, though seeing as how the small council so easily sway his mind, I doubt he will, unless he drinks himself into a false sense of courage that is.

But I pray you do not repeat those words, especially to my mother.

I too crave for your presence; it is a misery that despite years of letters we have met thrice! And the third was only days ago.

Perhaps when you go, we can make your visits permanent.

I pray for your victory uncle, and your next letter.

With love, your dearest niece.

You had sent that letter 12 days ago; rooks rest was 10 days ago.

Of course, the journey back must be accounted for, but no one had any news, besides the death of Meleys and the princess Rhaneys, the queen who never was.

You had rather liked her, in fact you hoped to model yourself of her in some way. Though you had no right to morn you suppose, you had never spoken to her bar the common pleasantries.

You stood starting out of the window, craving the day you could smash them down and make your escape. Though where you would go, you did not know. Before the war you had one destination in mind, oldtown. Now there was no one there for you, just as there wasn’t anyone here.

The forgotten daughter. No matter how defiant you became you would only be tolerated and ignored. Your actions simple receive a tolled eye and of course, the action of yet gain being locked in your chamber.

Perhaps if your mind hadn’t been so caught up in your loathing and thoughts of jumping from your window onto the back of moonfyers you would have noticed the door opening and the feel of hands slowly covering your eyes.

You jumped in shock as your eyes were covered, only to calm down when a voice spoke.

“Guess who?” a mans voice teased, though it was the voice you had ingrained into your memory.

“Gwayne” you breathed turning around.

He laughed as you hugged him.

“When did you get back?” you asked, arms still wrapped around him.

“Only moments ago,” he sighed, “did you miss me?” he teased.

Slapping his arm lightly, you stepped back “of course not”.

“Hmm…really?” he tilted his head, clicking his tongue, “I could have sworn your letter said- “

“Stop it!” you said hitting his shoulder again.

“Fine!” he said raising his hands up in mock surrender, “only if you top hitting my arm, your poor uncle has just fought a battle”.

You rolled your eyes “and am I to presume you were victorious uncle?”

“If you could call it that”.

“What do you mean?”

He looked nervous, an expression you had never seen on him before, “your brother Aegon- “

“Aegon went! That fool”

“a fool who got himself injured”.

“what” you asked, voice full of concern. Though an outcast, overshadowed by your twin, you still cared for him greatly, even if he never showed care for you in return.

He explained what had happened and your mind spun, no one had said a thing to you and yet your twin brother lay dying in his rooms.

“I must go see him” you rushed out, heading towards the door, only for Gwayne to grip your arm.

“Go later.” He insisted, “for now stay with me! and here my woeful tales of battle”.

Shaking your head with a laugh you sit back down, listening to tales of Gwanye’s journey and of the battle, and all thoughts of Aegon were forgotten.

You woke up finding yourself wrapped in Gwayne arms on your settee. You didn’t remember falling asleep, only talking and watching the sunset and rise once more.

It must have been past noon and yet no one had knocked or come to see you, not that they had before now.

You looked over at Gwayne, he was tired, even after hours of sleep he still had bags under his yes.

Removing yourself from his arms slowly, you made your way out of your rooms and towards your brothers.

Aegon lay alone. The room dark and empty, bar his aching, unconscious body, half his body covered in bandages, his body deadly slit and his breath shaky.

You moved closer to the bed, coming forward and placing a soft kiss on his brow.

He may be terrible, drunken whoremonger but he was still your brother.

“Aegon” you breathed heavily, taking his unburnt hand in yours, “I- “ the doors opened, and your mother barged in, “get out!” she demanded.

“Mother, I- “you said standing up.

“Get out” she said once more, coming to sit by Aegon’s side.

Standing up and moving towards the door slowly, “he’s my brother, I have every right to be here!”

She looked at you, scoffing “that matters not, now leave and go back to your rooms”.

Rolling your eyes you left and stormed back to your rooms.

“Gwayne” you breathed, seeing him now awake and sitting up, reading a book.

“How Is Aegon” he asked, as you approached.

“a sleep? I do not know my mother sent me out only a few moments after I had entered.”

He kissed his teeth, “your mother has changed much recently”.

“Recently? She has always been liked this, with me at least”

“I know, my darling… I think she- “he stopped himself, looking at you, “I am not sure what she thinks actually, me and her where never close growing up”.

You huffed, looking over at him and realising that the book he was reading was in fact your diary.

“Is that my diary!”

“no” he said dragging out the word as he moved the book out of your reach.

“Where did you- how did you”

“Do not worry how your “beautiful and daring uncle” found it”.

You gasped, crawling over him to try and reach your diary.

He laughed, as you grasped at the book, “give it back” you insisted.

“But Gwayne would be never- “

You reached the book, slapping it out of his hand, “how much of it did you read?”

“Why did you not want me to read of how much you missed me?”

“Gwayne” you sighed, looking at him, you were practically lying on him, your hands leaning on chest as you reached for your diary of the floor.

“darling” he replied, before looking at you sadly, his hand reaching to caress your cheek, “I have to go soon”.

“To your chambers or to oldtown?” you asked sadly.

“Oldtown, I – “

You interrupted him, “when?”

“We leave after dinner, we thought it best to travel at night, out of sight of dragons”.

“I see” you said moving off of him. He reached for you, trying to draw you back towards him.

Everyone always leaves or ignored you. It seemed no matter how close you got you were so easily abandoned, never once had someone stayed.

“I would ask you to come, but your mother would never allow it” he said shaking his head.

Why would she allow it? It would make you happy and the gods know how much your mother craved your misery.

“Do you think there will ever be a time when-when we can spend limitless time together?”

“I hope so, I- “he always stopped himself from saying it, saying the one thing they both craved.

“As do I”

The rest of the day was spent together craving to spend every second that they could together, but in the end, he had to leave. He was bound by duty and honour.

Saying goodbye this time was harder than the few times before it. You both stood in the courtyard, his men stood the side, their own conversations distracting them.

Your mother having said her goodbyes, and had left the courtyard already, leaving you both to say your goodbyes.

“I hope it is not to long before I can see you again” you said looking down to thew ground and kicking at the gravel.

“As do I” Gwayne said grabbing your hand and kissing it gently.

Your eyes shared a look, a look saying everything you both couldn’t.

“I’ll miss you” you breathed heavily, eyes never leaving his.

you both stepped closer, now inches apart.

You moved your lips to kiss his cheek, only for Gwayne to move his head and capture your lips with his, in a soft delicate kiss.

The shadows of the keep kept you had hidden from wandering eyes as you kissed.

It was short but sweet and left you both wanting more as he was forced to step back from you.

He whispered softly “I will think of you, always”.

“As will I” you said, reaching into you hem and pulling out your handkerchief, you had sown the initial of your name and his ono it, and placed it in the palm of his hand.

Closing is hand you softly placed a kiss onto it.

“goodbye” he spoke, before moving to his horse and riding off, sending you a final look before he left.

The days tricked by, blurring together. Aegon’s recovering slow and with little change.

You stayed in your room, much to your mother’s delight.

Letters were exchanged between you and Gwayne. But this time the letters seemed different, this time they were bolder, your feelings no longer hidden.

Dearest,

I left you only moments ago and yet I miss you already.

That kiss was everything and more, I cannot believe it took us so long to do it, even of it happened by a mistake.

I am sorry our reunion was so brief, and I wish I was bound to you and not duty.

I shall write again soon, but in the meantime, I hope the thought of you in my thoughts will tide you over.

Yours, Gwyane.

Dear Gwayne,

You just left my side and yet apart of me left with you.

I hope your thoughts are filled with me as mine are of you.

The walk back to my room was a long one, longer than it had ever taken me as I had to drag myself away from you, away from moonfyers as thoughts of chasing after you filled my mind.

My mind was a mess all night, much to my mother’s disappointment. Though I doubt she noticed my mind was with you and not in the keep.

This morrow I was awoken absurdly early and summoned to the small council!

And before you say anything I am not sure as to why, even after attending it.

I seemed to be there as a way to boost Aemond’s moral? Or should I say the prince regents.

I was simple them to watch plans be made, and to be told of an alliance, a marriage between me and some lords son, I believe some Tully.

I refused and they demanded.

I offered my dragon, they refused, and I demanded.

They claimed a woman in battle would only lead to a loss. Even if moonfyers is bigger than most for her age and even rivals Caraxes.

Anything else was ignored and dismissed and I was quickly ushered to my chambers and forced to plan a wedding.

A wedding I wish was with you.

I do not know what to do, uncle.

Please tell me to come to you, and I will.

Yours always.

My love,

The days are endlessly long, and I find myself craving you by myside more than ever.

You chase my every though both awake and asleep.

And forgive me for beings bold, niece, but I can, no will not hold back what I have longed to crave any longer.

I wished I had placed you upon my horse and ridden of with you into the night, defying your mother and brothers’ commands.

But I want you, more than I need air to breath. And for so long I have defied myself and held back my desires, my love for you.

I beg you, come to me.

Forget their plans and demands, come to me and marry me.

I am set to arrive in old town in two days, leaving you plenty of time to come to me.

With love, Gwyane.

To Gwyane,

I will come to you, it may take a few days, but I cannot stay here. And I will not stay away from you any longer.

With love, your heart.

you sat in your chambers, contemplation how you to leave.

Though there were secret passageways in your room, you had never used them. They were like a labyrinth in truth and the one time you had speed in them you feared you would get lost.

And the guards stationed outside of your door were stationed for the exact reason you were event you were currently planning.

your other would never let you go willingly, not now especially.

But then again you doubted she would notice you were gone, at least for a day or two.

Heleana may notice, but she wouldn’t say a thing.

Aemond had just been given what he always wanted and would flaunt his power as much as he could, meaning he’d keep put of your way, in fear you would ‘act up’, as he called it, and embarrass him.

This meant that the guards were your only issue, and perhaps Larys spy’s. though you cared not for them for what could they do to stop you? Tattle to Larys who would sell the information for the sight of your mother’s feet? Even then you would have a few hours.

Luckly for you however, you knew your guards. And they had a penchant for wine.

“Steffon, Gregor” you whispered opening your door a bottle of Dornish red in hand.

“Princess” they nodded, tuning around to ignore you.

“You must be bored” you started, “perhaps you can join me for a drink?” you said, fluttering your eyelashes.

They turned to face each other unsure of what to do, “oh come on, know one will care. You’ll still be guarding me, won’t you?”

Their eyes wandered to the bottle of wine “is that the only bottle, princess?”

You scoffed, “of course not”.

They smiled and ushered you in to your chamber.

It was funny, you must have done this a dozen time before and they still fell for it every time.

And being such lightweights, they were quick to fall into a drunken sleep, allowing you to grab your bag and make a run for the dragon pit.

Running through the streets of Kingslanding at night were dan, especially in your rich clothes and jewels.

And seeing as you had only walked to the dragon pit once or twice, with the company of a dozen guards, the run was a lot longer than expected.

Getting lost in the never-ending streets of flea bottom was easy, and before you knew it you had somehow ended up on the streets of silk.

“gods” you mumbled, looking around in search of a sign to lead you in the right direction.

You could see the dragon pit, so at least you weren’t too far away, only issue is the brothel with the name ‘Chantaya’s’ seemed to stand in the way of a quick exit.

“sister” you heard someone say, and the sight of Aemond exiting said brothel, through you into a sprint once again.

You were sure you looked like some pick pocket as you ran through the street, Aemond hot on your tale.

And with being such a stranger to kings landing you found yourself meeting an end and Aemond catching up to you.

“Let go of me” you muttered trying to pull yourself free from Aemond’s grasp.

“Who let you out” he sneered.

“Does it matter?” you sneered in return, “what are you even doing here?” you asked, and Aemond face dropped.

“I could ask you the same”.

“I wanted to go to the dragon pit” “the dragon pit” he reiterated, not believing you. “To what? Declare for the usurper?”

“Gods no” you near yelled, “I- “you were hesitant to tell him, having never got on along with him and never having much to say to him at all, this was honestly the most you and he had spoken since the start of the war. “I wish to go to oldtown”.

“why”

“To…to see Gwyane”.

“Our uncle?”

“Do you know of another Gwyane I could possibly wish to see in oldtown?” you said snidely.

He hummed, looking at you with a smirk, “I am your prince regent, I command you know” he said, “one word from me and I could have you locked in the black cells, or I could command you to go to oldtown to gather forces, with Gwayne”

You hated that you looked at him hopeful and hated even more that if he asked you would beg.

“But why, dear sister? Should I command you to oldtown? You are the future lady Tully after all”.

You scoffed, “oh please, we both know the Tullys are hardly loyal now and the second old Grover Tully dies they’ll declare for the black’s”.

“true”

“And why would you want me here anyway? I do not listen, and I defy your every move, sending me a way would better your rule, would it not?”

“Oh sister, you truly have been undervalued. Fine I shall take you to the dragon pit and order you to oldtown.”

Order you? As if there was a single part of you that did not already crave to be there, with him.

The walk to the dragon pit was a quiet and awkward, with Aemond pulling you by the hand, a tight grip as if you would try to escape.

Not a word was exchanged even as you entered, only your words commanding the dragon keepers to fetch you moonfyers and Aemond stood beside you in his usual stance.

He gave you a taunting wave as you took flight, and you never looked back.

It took five hours for you to reach oldtown.

A storm thundered as you entered the reach, rain dowsing your and obstructing your vison. Had it not been for the bright blue scales of your brother’s dragon, Tesserion you were sure you would have flown into the Hightower.

Landing, you were quickly greeted with guards and the face of your brother Daeron.

“Brother” you greeted as you slide of your dragon, “a pleasure to see you!”

“And you, Gwayne said you were coming” he nodded, hand raised to stop rain pouring over his face, “come in, quickly”

The Hightower, was exactly as you envisioned, filled with riches and symbols of the seven. It looked like a museum almost.

You were brough into a room lined with seats and walls filled with books. Painting filled with the faces of old lords and ladies, and tapestry depicting Aegon s landing in oldtown and his coronation.

“niece” you heard a voice breath, causing your inspection to come to a halt as you turned and faced Gwayne,

“uncle” you breathed in return and not a moment later were you running into his arms and your lips meeting once more.

This kiss was different than the one in the courtyard, this one was filled with longing, filled with pure love and desire.

Years of want filling you mouths your lips moved against each other.

“Gwayne” you whispered against his lips, as you both breathed heavily, your heads leant against each others.

He whispered your name in return, “you came” he breathed, not quite believing it.

“of course, you asked…and the prince regent commanded it”

He laughed “what?”

“when I was making my mistake i came across Aemond leaving a brothel” you laughed, “and somehow he decided to command me to oldtown to gather forces”

“oh?” he said, head tilting, “I see…does that mean you now command me?”

“do I not anyway?” you asked tauntingly.

He laughed, grabbing you to him once more and pulling you into another kiss, “I believe we command each other, my love” he said breaking the kiss.

“my love?”

“my love” he agreed, caressing your cheek, “I love you” he finally admitted.

And you smiled. Looking at him as he always looked at you.

He always had seen you, understood you when no one else did.

And the look in his yes, it was pure love and you had never felt more seen than in this moment.

“I love you” you replied, and he smiled.

“come with me” he said taking your hand and leading you up to his room.

His room, though perhaps smaller than others, was still large and full of all things Gwayne. With his own mural and tapestry.

“do you like it?” he asked, taking note of your eyes that had not left the tapestry he had commissioned.

“is that?” you asked, unsure if you were seeing it right.

“Moonfyer and you, yes”

“gods, Gwyane” you said breathlessly, a mural of you riding moonfyers for the first time, your second time meeting Gwyane and the first time you and he realised the bond between you both.

You turned to face him, and kissed him once more.

Unlike before this kiss was heated, passionate and full of lust.

His hands moved to your waist, as you slowly moved towards the bed, your hands reaching and pulling at his clothes, taking them of and leaving him in only his small clothes.

Your dress wet and soaked was quickly torn of you intern, leaving you only in your soaked chemise.

Their lips broke apart as her legs hit the bed. Taking each other in Gwayne moaned at the sight of your breast peeking out through the now sheer chemise.

“can i?” Gwayne breathed, hand coming to toy with the strap of your chemise.

You nodded, allowing your chemise to slip and leaving you bare before him.

“gods” he breathed, “ you are beautiful” he said, before pushing you down on the bed, his lips connecting with yours.

His lips moved from your mouth to your neck, nipping at your skin, causing you to moan softly.

He kissed his way down your body, before he reached your cunt.

“can i?” he asked once more, eager to taste her cunt.

“yes” you said, not quite sure what he intended to do until you felt his nose nudge between your thighs and a slow lick alone the length of your cunt.

groaning at the taste, he quickly went back licking and tasting your cunt, like a man starved. You moaned pleasure, hands moving to tug his hair as he found your clit.

Touching yourself had never felt like this, the sheer pleasure you felt as he sucked your clit into his mouth was better than any orgasm you had brought yourself to before, even more so when you felt his fingers toying with your entrance.

You tensed as his fingers entered you. They were thicker and longer than your own and you started to feel the stretch as he pumped you full of his two fingers.

You moaned, your body moving off the bed as you his fingers pumped in and out.

His hand moved to your waist gripping you down as he continued to fill you, your moans filling the room as his third finger entered you and you soon reached your peak.

He slowly backed away from you, pulling down his small clothes to revel his hard, thick cock.

“oh!” you spoke, at the sight of him.

“oh? Not good enough niece?” he asked teasingly.

“gods, it, yes” you nodded, reaching out to him.

He laughed, before slowly crawling onto the bed, his body covering yours. Taking your lips his, in a passionate and heated kiss, as his legs slowly parted yours as he positioned himself at her entrance.

“Are you sure?” he breathed against your lips, hand holding your waist as his cock teased your entrance.

You nodded, reaching forward to kiss him again, “yes”.

At the word he entered you slowly.

You groaned at the stretch but found no pain as he entered you.

His long cock filling you, a bulge appearing in your stomach as he allowed time for you to adjust.

“gods, you feel amazing” he groaned, moving his head to the nape of your neck “can I move?” he groaned, as your walls wrapped around him.

Nodding, “yes” you breathed. And wasting no time he began to slowly pump in and out of you.

You moaned as he thrusted into you, your hips moving to meet his as he picked up the pace.

He groaned at the feel of you moving against him, has hands gripping your waist as he started to thrust into you faster, he soon found that sweet spot inside you, that quickly turned you into a moaning mess. And soon you were wrapping your arms around him, clawing at his back as you felt your peak it washes over you and the feel if his seed filling you.

Your breath was heavy, his even heavier as he lay on you, his face still in your neck leaving soft kisses as he started to move of you slightly.

“marry me” he said, giving you soft kisses between his words. “this place is filled with septon’s it will be easy to find one to marry us.”

“okay” you said, looking into his yes.

“okay?”

You laughed, “yes, Gwyane I will marry you.”

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#house of the dragon #hotd #gwayne hightower x fem!reader #gwayne hightower x reader #gwayne hightower #house hightower #gwayne x niece!reader #gwayne x targaryen!reader #freddie fox #gwayne x reader #ser gwayne #hotd season 2 #hotd spoilers #sacha writes ✍️

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pathologicalreid · 5 months ago

Text

come a little closer | s.r.

in which you and Spencer have sex for the first time since his release from prison, and more importantly, since Cat told him what happened in Mexico

margotober masterlist

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: smut (18+ mdni) content warnings: mentions sexual assault, spoilers for season 12 of cm, fingering, unprotected p in v sex, crying during sex, cockwarming, explicit consent, not really softdom but reader has spencer take the lead, read with care word count: 2.65k a/n: this bad boy has been in the works for MONTHS. please tell me if you like it i'm so desperate for affirmation. (also this is the last kinktober post of margotober)

His hands on your waist were becoming firmer in their placement as Spencer continued pressing his lips to yours, expertly slipping his tongue into your mouth as he managed to take your breath away.

This could be as far as you went, and you would be content with that. After prison, after Mexico, you were grateful that he let you in at all. You were sleeping in the same bed at night, he was home for the month, teaching forensic psychology at a private university in the district. “Are you okay?” You whispered against his lips.

You were sat on the edge of the bed, and he was standing between your legs. “Yes,” he responded, continuing his motions.

In the past few weeks, you have found yourself in this situation three times. The first two times he had called it off, being too overwhelmed by fractured memories of his time in Mexico. The last time, you asked him to stop when you got stuck in your head, too anxious to remember that you were supposed to be enjoying it.

Today, you were tired. Too tired to think about anything other than the feeling of his lips on yours. You couldn’t control the whimper that escaped your throat as he gently tugged at your bottom lip with his teeth.

He pulled away slightly, eyes studying your face quickly before he asked, “That was good right? The noise?”

Your chest ached at the recognition that he had been left with so much self-doubt that he didn’t even know if what he was doing was right. Nodding confidently, you peered up at him through your eyelashes, “Yeah, that was good. I liked that,” you assured him.

It felt like the first time. As if you hadn’t had sex together multiple times and spent the past several years learning what the other liked. “What do you want me to do?”

“Take the lead,” you implored, looking at him. You couldn’t tell him what to do, at the very core of your actions, this was about him. This was about what he needed to do. You could always tell him to stop, but if he asked you to change something, you’d move heaven and earth to make him comfortable.

You just wanted to make him feel comfortable. The way you could feel his heart pounding in his chest, made you wonder if he was going to call it off. You had to bite your tongue from asking if he was alright, you needed to trust that he would tell you if anything was wrong.

Surprising you, he deftly slipped his hands beneath your t-shirt, pulling the soft fabric off of your torso in one quick movement. He used the pads of his fingers to lightly skim your bare body, causing goosebumps to spread across your skin. You kept yourself quiet, looking up at him as he studied you with wonder in his gaze, “You’re so pretty.”

If you hadn’t been hyper-aware of your surroundings, you might’ve missed the compliment. “I love you,” you breathed, chest tightening in a nauseating mixture of adoration and nervousness.

“I love you too,” he responded easily to you, his large hand placed firmly on your ribcage while his other planted itself on the mattress, maintaining his balance as his head craned forward to kiss you.

Your hand shook as you thumbed the hem of his shirt, moving your lips against his as you waited for him to cue you. The catch there was Spencer could spend hours kissing you without needing anything more. Your other hand rested softly on his collarbone, a non-sensual location where you were still touching him, but it wasn’t an intimate touch, at least, not in a sexual sense. It was an intimate touch in the sense that you were using the soft pressure of your palm to reassure him that you were here.

Spencer’s hand on your side gently pushed your back down to the mattress, once the fabric of the sheets was touching your skin, you eyed him curiously as he took his shirt off of his own volition. Better food and a considerably less stressful living situation had brought him back to life, and the haunted look that he came home to you with had faded over the months.

He stepped back from the mattress, and before you could figure out what he was doing, he took your thighs in his hands and moved you so your body was entirely on the bed, and you thought that the laugh that came from you as he moved you would be the end. Clamping your hand over your mouth, you looked up at him with wide eyes. “I’m sorry,” you whispered to him, mortified.

Shaking his head, Spencer smiled and climbed up on the bed with you, “No,” he breathed, hovering over you, “Do it again.”

This time a nervous laugh bubbled through your throat, “What?”

He dropped a soft kiss to your lips before pushing himself back up on his arms, “I just want this to feel normal. It’s sex, there’s no need to be so procedural about it.”

You stared up at him while nodding, “Okay,” you affirmed, reaching a hand up and fiddling with the hair at the nape of his neck. There was no procedure available to you. There was no pamphlet that could readily guide you on being intimate with your formerly imprisoned boyfriend after a serial killer let him know that she had arranged his sexual assault in a foreign country.

The best thing you could think to do was let him take the lead. He was the one who had initiated this, and you were more than willing to follow.

Spencer deftly pulled your underwear and shorts down together, guiding your legs out of the extraneous fabric before he paused. His arm looped around your leg, effectively hugging your calf as he rested his chin on your knee, heady eyes looking at you before he spoke, “Oh, angel,” he murmured, “My memory never does you justice.”

Your stomach flipped at his words, your hips adjusting on the sheets as he detached himself from your leg and returned to his station above you, this time with you fully nude beneath him. “Then it’s a good thing I’m right here,” you murmured, giving him a slice of comfort with a double meaning.

His hand skimmed down your chest, resting his palm on your lower belly before he looked back up at you, brown eyes meeting yours, “May I touch you?”

Breathlessly, you nodded, “Yes,” you told him, verbalizing your answer. Reinforcing your response as his hand slid further down, cupping your heat with his hand, his index finger slipping between your folds.

He didn’t break eye contact with you as he gently rubbed you, his unpracticed hand quickly gaining confidence as your lips parted and your breath quickened. You hadn’t considered how quickly your orgasm would build up, but for as long as it’s been for him, it’s also been for you.

His finger slid into you slowly, his eyes watching you carefully with every slight movement, and a soft moan escaped from your throat at the sensation of his finger knuckle deep in you, feeling miles further than your own fingers could ever reach. Lifting your head up, you brought your mouth to his, moving your lips slowly against his, moaning into his mouth as he withdrew his finger, slipping it back in with ease. There were no words that you could find that would accurately explain the amalgamation of emotions that were rushing through you right now, but the way you were kissing Spencer portrayed them perfectly.

Spencer hummed against your lips, delicately adding a second finger to his ministrations, the stretch of your pussy around his hand causing your back to lift off the bed. He started thrusting his fingers in and out of you, a gentle but firm pace that took away your ability to focus on kissing him, letting your head drop to the pillows.

“Oh, Spencer,” you breathed, the knot building in your lower belly causing your head to spin. “Spence,” you panted his name, “You’re gonna— ah.” You screwed your eyes shut for just a moment before opening them again, meeting his as you whispered, “Please, please, please.”

Your incessant begging only came to an end when your orgasm finally took you under the influence of dopamine, walls clenching around his fingers as he worked you through the waves of pleasure coursing through you. “You’re so pretty,” Spencer mused, his words taking you slightly by surprise as his hand withdrew from your cunt.

You sighed dazedly up at him, reaching up a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear, “I love you,” you whispered, looking up at him with wonder in your eyes.

The lopsided smile he gave you was all you needed to know that all was well, and the kiss that he dropped on your lips elicited the same feeling. “I love you too,” he muttered against your lips, keeping himself propped above you.

Parting your lips with curiosity, you struggled to find the words to ask him. “I want… Can we…” you tried, but everything fell short as your eyes searched his desperately.

Spencer took his lower lip between his teeth, and you knew that if he called it off, you would be more than happy with the progress that you’d made. You’re surprised when he responds, “I need you to say it. I need you to ask.”

“Would you like to have sex with me?” You asked him, there was a tentative note in your voice that seemed to bring him comfort. A sort of cumulative blanket of uncertainty over the moment that you were sharing.

Spencer nodded in response “Yes,” he said, giving you a verbal answer.” He didn’t take another moment to think about it before he moved off of the bed, your eyes followed him curiously as he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his pants and underwear, dropping them both to the floor in one fell swoop. “Yes,” he repeated.

With every ounce of self-control in you failing, you eyed his cock. Standing at attention, the tip was leaking pre-cum and he looked almost painfully hard, your lips gaped at the sight, “Oh.”

Finding his way back to the bed, he held himself above you, not touching you at all as his head tilted to the side, “Are you sure this is what you want?”

“Yeah, I am,” you looked up at him. “It’s just been a while,” you breathed, letting your nerves show through in the hopes that it would ease both of your minds.

He smiled softly at you, understanding clear in his expression, “We’ll go slow, okay?”

His use of the word we made your chest tighten, a recognition of your nerves as much as his. “Okay,” you breathed, opening your legs slightly wider for him and placing your hands on either one of his shoulders.

Biting on your lower lip, your eyes flittered down to where his hand was positioning his cock at your entrance, the soft skin of his tip swiping over your clit as he found his mark, pushing just the tip inside, and giving the both of you the time you needed to adjust. You moved your gaze back up to his face, studying him intently as you did so. As sure as he seemed, you wouldn’t put it past him to push through something if that’s what he thought you wanted.

“Take your time,” you whispered, trying to reassure him without it being overbearing, your breathing hitched when he pushed in more. Somehow, at only about half of his length, he felt impossibly deep in you.

Making eye contact again, Spencer watched your expression, “I’ve got you,” he said, dropping soft kisses to your lips, one after the other.

You nodded, keeping your eyes on his to the best of your ability, “I’m okay, we’re okay.”

Your words gave him the confidence to push into you, fully sheathing himself inside of you, and breaking eye contact. His head dropped into the crook of your neck, groaning against the soft skin as you tried to adjust yourself with the sheer amount of pressure between your legs.

Taking a deep breath, you froze at the realization that tears were falling onto your skin, the nearly inaudible drip of them on your neck and the pillow behind you spreading an icy feeling through your veins. “Spence,” you whispered, combing your fingers through his hair while you felt his dick twitch inside of you.

He didn’t respond, not verbally at least, producing a low hum.

“How are you doing?” You asked him softly, trying to stop your walls from clenching around him while he was clearly having a moment. “We can stop if you need to,” you murmured, continuing to play with his hair.

Slowly, he pushed himself up on shaky arms and kissed you, tasting of salty tears and bitter coffee. As his lips coaxed yours open, he moved his hips, gently filling you as he did so.

Tears pricked at your own eyes as you realized that he was being as gentle with you as you were with him. It had been six months since you last opened up to each other like this.

“I missed you,” he muttered, pulling his head back so that he could watch where your bodies were joined, his shaft covered in your slick as he thrust in and out.

You already knew that he’d missed you while he was away, but he specifically missed this. The feeling of baring your soul to another person, and this time around it all felt that much rawer. It broke your heart while simultaneously putting it back together. “I missed you too,” you whimpered, forcing the words out while he found a steady rhythm.

His thrusts were still slow, but they were hard, pushing himself as deeply into your cunt as he could go. “You’re so good for me,” he said, grunting as he kept moving, “Fuck it’s— Can I cum in you?”

Nodding frantically, you met his eyes again. “Yeah,” you breathed, a sharp moan torn from your throat as he moved up, changing the angle ever so slightly as he continued fucking into you. “Oh,” you gasped, as your eyes rolled back at the sensation of him spilling himself into you, his sloppy thrusts sending you over that same edge.

You couldn’t make sense of whatever he was mumbling while his hips stuttered to a stop, leaving himself firmly planted inside of you. He rested his head on your shoulder, his body lying on top of yours.

Once you remembered how to breathe, your hands made their way back to his head, fingers combing through his hair. “Are you alright?” You asked him, seeking out a final confirmation that he was, in fact, okay.

He hummed in response, “I’m great,” he said, “I’m really really… in love with you.”

Startled, a light giggle escaped your lips, “I’m really really in love with you too,” you responded, mimicking his intonation.

“You’re so perfect for me,” he murmured, coveting you in a way that made you feel like the luckiest girl in the world. As far as you were concerned, you were the luckiest girl in the world.

Sighing, one of your hands fell to his arm and you closed your eyes, ready to fall asleep like this, with him still tucked into you.

Your other hand remained up, playing with his hair, “You’re gonna make me sleep,” he said, a half-complaint, really.

“That’s okay,” you whispered, knowing that eventually someone would get up and turn off the lights, but right now, you’d rather stay with him. Right now, that was the only thing that mattered to you.

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parfaitblogs · 5 months ago

Note

(totally not based on my day) but a simple request for spencer helping reader out with a bunch of chores bc she's overwhelmed with life and she decides to thank him with like the quote "best head of his life" and he's like "its okay you dont have to do that" and she's responds "but i am anyways"

it will come back ❀ s. reid x reader

in which spencer reid helps you when you're (very) overwhelmed, and you might need to return the favour. pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: comfort & smut (18+ mdni) tags: oral (m receiving). praise. established relationship. reader's overwhelmed overstimulated overworked... very enthusiastic head giver!reader. use of honey and angel. they love each other a lot. i love them a lot. i don’t think there’s d/s dynamics but if there are it’s soft dom spencer (nobody’s shocked). word count: 3.1k a/n: thank u sooo much for reading my brain ily i need to give spencer reid head asap. new format/layout for requests sort of its the same as my normal post layout... do we like... i sure freaking hope so. as always lmk if u liked this or even if u didn't but preferably if u did!!

You were exhausted. For three weeks straight, you had been working nonstop, with a wondrous total of eight hours in between shifts. You were hardly sleeping, you had hardly had a social life, hell, you never even had time to enjoy the simple pleasures of an everything shower. You felt groggy, and cramped, and everyday felt like an awful repeat of the last. A nightmare that never ended.

Never mind the fact that you hadn't seen your boyfriend.

Always home too late to be with him in the evenings, and up too early to get coffee with him before your days started. Spencer was so patient with you, regardless. He knew it would end eventually, and he would get his girlfriend back. It was just for the month, was what you would text each other whenever the other began feeling particularly lonely. He didn't even like texting, but the time for a simple phone call wasn't available to you anymore.

And your apartment. Every time you stepped into it you swore a new dirty dish materialised in your sink, or a new pile of clothes sat themselves in your bedroom floor. Which was odd, because you had rotated between the same two outfits for the last eighteen days — your work uniform, or your pyjamas.

You were overwhelmed with it all. Even as your hectic work life came to an end, and you were waking up to the sunlight pouring into your room, instead of an alarm clock while the moon was still up. You were acutely aware of the mess of your apartment, and just the thought of it all left you lying motionless in your bed, staring up at the ceiling.

Tears stung your vision as you felt the seconds tick into minutes, and nothing happened. Attempting to will yourself to get up, and yet you simply couldn't. Exhausted beyond belief, with limbs sinking into the mattress and melding to the sheets.

You faintly heard the click of your front door lock, and if you had any more motivation in you, you'd probably get up to double check it was the only other person who had a key to your apartment, and not a burglar. Thankfully, you didn't have to, for Spencer was calling out your name, gently.

Too exhausted to even reply and alert him of where you were, you lay still until he had found you in your bedroom, his bad dropping by the doorway, feet shuffling against the rug.

"Good afternoon," he said, finding a seat on the edge of your bed, hand resting atop your thigh, gentle circles being rubbed into the skin.

"Is it already afternoon?" you asked him, voice quiet.

"Yeah. How long have you been awake in bed?"

"I don't know," you answered, voice awfully small as you felt the thick weight of frustration with yourself blanket over you. "I need to get up. The apartment's a mess."

"It's allowed to be," he said. "You've been doing sixteen hour days."

"Yeah, but I'm not today. I have the day off."

"Your first day off in weeks. I'd be concerned if you'd spent it productively."

You stared at him, unsure if the irritation that settled in your bones was because of his insistence that you not doing a thing was okay, or your exhaustion. Logically, it would be the latter. You did know that, deep down.

Upon seeing your eyes delve into something a little more desperate, he sighed, hand sliding up to your own, gently tugging you up into a seated position. His eyebrows knitted together at your exhausted look, and you could see his brain ticking behind his eyes.

"Do you want to split the tasks?" he finally asked.

"You don't have to," you shrugged your shoulders. "It's my mess."

"Honey, you're already overwhelmed, and all you've done is wake up," he answered, thumb drawing circles on the top of your hand that he still seemed to have clasped within his own. "Let me help."

"It's really gross."

"I've seen mutilated dead bodies."

"I'd argue my kitchen sink is worse."

"Oh would you?" his eyebrows shot up, lips twitching in amusement, that you found solace in, distracting you slightly from your overstimulated mind. "Do you want to have a shower?"

"Yes," you nodded your head, brain ticking over all the personal hygiene tasks you had been neglecting over the past few weeks.

"How about you go shower, I'll start cleaning up, and you come join me when you're feeling better?"

Despite your aversion to anybody but yourself tackling the mess of your apartment, you knew better than to deny Spencer any further — he had set his mind on helping you.

Sighing, you nodded your head in defeat. He had coaxed you up off the bed, gotten you to the bathroom, even found you a fresh set of clothes to wear, and waited with you for the water to warm up. It was really only once he was absolutely sure you had gotten into the shower, did he leave you be, and disappeared from the bathroom.

Eventually, the apartment had been cleaned, with efforts from the both of you getting it to where it now was.

You were a lot less exhausted, and your brain was a lot less fried now that you didn't have a million tasks catalogued within it to get done.

You were lying in your freshly made bed — courtesy of Spencer. Your head on his chest, fidgeting with one of his hands as he used the other to wave around as he rambled about something you were no longer following. It had started as a simple explanation for why you had been so overwhelmed in the first place. Which you had asked as a rhetoric, but didn't have the heart to stop him when he began explaining.

"You're not listening, are you?" he asked, free hand poking your side and emitting an involuntary laugh from you at the feeling.

"I am, I am! I'm just not following anymore."

"Sorry."

"It's okay," you replied, turning and poking your head up to be level with his. "I like hearing you speak, anyways. Doesn't matter if I don't understand."

He only hummed as a response, and the two of you stared at each other for a beat, before you were breaking out into a smile.

"Hi," you chirped.

"Hello," he answered, perhaps a little too amused by your sudden energy. "Would you like something?"

"A kiss?"

"After all that labour I just put in for you?" he mused, but he was already lifting his head to brush his lips against yours, and was most certainly not pulling away when you eagerly connected them properly.

You pulled back after a few moments, searching his face. "Do you want something for all that labour?"

His hand trailed up your spine, fingertips triggering a shiver to run up your back. "What do you have in mind?"

"I could give you the best head of your life."

He was clearly not expecting that as an offer, perhaps because you never had offered such a thing before. It wasn't even something you had talked about, which was bizarre (in your mind), considering he was quite enthusiastic about using his mouth on you.

"You don't need to do that," he shook his head, but with how close your faces were, you could see the instant dilation in his pupils.

"What if I want to?"

"Then that's very nice of you, but my point still stands," he replied.

"Spencer, let me do something in return," your voice was nothing short of a whine, and if he was any less turned on, maybe it wouldn't have made his firm footed denial falter. Maybe you knew that.

"You could do anything but that."

"So a handjob?"

"Or that."

"You're such an awful liar," you huffed. "I can see your pupils dilating. I know you're turned on by the thought of it."

"It could just be because I'm looking at you," he answered, voice hoarse, no doubt from the arousal he was attempting to deny was there. "Romantic attraction triggers the same response in our hormones."

"But it's not."

He fell silent for a few moments, before he allowed his resolve to slip, shaking his head in agreement with you. "No. It's not."

"See! It's okay if you want it. I'm quite literally offering myself to you," you spouted.

His eyes fluttered shut, and he exhaled through his nose, words coming out through almost gritted teeth. "That's not a sentence you should be saying."

"Why not?"

His only response was to say your name chidingly, and when he reopened his eyes, he was met with the shit-eating grin on your face.

"Brat," he mumbled, lips seeking yours once again.

"Who gives really good head," you hummed against his mouth. "And would really love to show you."

"If you're insisting—"

"Which I am," you quickly interjected, staring back at him as yet another amused smile stretched across his lips. Then, he was nodding his head, and you were quite cheerfully kissing him all over again.

It wasn't that you kissed him with much fever at all — in fact, you were melting into his lips with a gentle hum. It was simply that he was kissing you back with a desperation you should be accustomed to. You weren't.

Every kiss you received from him always felt like he was chipping away at your soul, claiming a piece of it. Maybe he was.

You mewled when his teeth nipped at your lower lip, and he was quick to take the opportunity of slipping his tongue into your mouth. Though, alerted by his sudden control over the situation between you two, you reluctantly pulled your face away from his before it could go much further.

"Excuse me," he breathed out, scoldingly, only to be met with your hundredth grin of the day as you descended down his body. He'd take it — you smiling, albeit cockily, was much more rewarding than the concerned look you had been sporting for the majority of the afternoon.

"I don't do this very often," you told him as you lifted your gaze to his, absentmindedly tugging his pants down his legs.

"I hope not. You've never done it for me, and we've been together for quite a while."

"You know what I mean," you grumbled, and he was forced to poke his tongue into the inside of his cheek to keep the smile off his face.

"Is this comfortable for you?" he then asked, having noticed your constant adjustments of your positioning between his legs. From nerves or comfortability, he didn't know.

"Um. I guess so," you replied. "I've never done it lying down."

"We can do it however you prefer to do it, angel."

"Oh. Okay. Cool," you mumbled, sitting up straight and grabbing his hands within your own, tugging him over towards the edge of the bed.

You sank to your knees on the rug, tapping his knees with your hands to part them so you could situate yourself comfortably between them.

You were a vision if he'd ever seen one, and you weren't even doing anything. Perhaps you had noticed the effect you had on him, or maybe you were just largely enthusiastic about doing something for him, and only him.

Your tongue darted out to lick your lips, eyes flickering up to meet his face, and if this was the last sight he saw before he died, he would have no complaints.

"Have you ever gotten head before?" you mumbled, eyes fixated on him as your hands trailed up the sides of his thighs, resting at the waistband of his boxers.

"Yes."

"Okay," you whispered, quietly, tapping his hips so he could lift them, and you rolled his boxers down his skin.

"Okay?" he parroted.

"Okay," you confirmed with a nod of your head. "I just wanted to know if this is going to be completely new for you or not."

As you spoke, your fingertips dragged along his inner thighs, lips following soon after, kissing up the skin.

"I don't think that's going to matter, honey," he answered, voice breathless.

You smiled, not needing to ask what he meant. You lifted your head back up, studying his face. He gave you a nod, a silent confirmation to allow you to go further, and you took a beat to compose yourself. It's not like he would be mad at you if it sucked, but you had had a far too awful day to not do something good.

You hadn't done this in a while, it was true. So your hesitance came more from your brain figuring out what it actually needed to do, than your insecurities (they were there too).

Insecurities that melted away within an instant, for Spencer's thighs tensed beneath your hands that were now holding them apart the second your lips made contact with his cock, and through your lashes you could see his head tipping back.

Your cheeks warmed at how easy it was to get him to respond, and you wondered if the satisfaction settled in your chest was anything similar to how he felt when he did this to you.

You started hesitant. Gentle kitten licks at his tip that probably shouldn't have been garnering such a large reaction from him. But it was, and you had to preoccupy your mouth to keep the smug smile off of it.

Wrapping your lips around the head, he lets out the breathiest moan you think you've ever heard come from him, and your mind goes hazy. Newfound blind confidence wills you to take more of him in your mouth, and it's a quiet 'Fuck' that compels you even further.

In hindsight, he knew he'd enjoy it. It was you after all. He knew from the world shattering arousal that the simple sight of you on your knees was. He had, in a few short seconds, mentally prepared to enjoy this.

But not this much, and certainly not this quickly.

"I've been too selfless," he muttered as you lifted your head back up, tongue licking a stripe up the underside of him as you did. When you met his gaze in question, he added, "I mean never asking you for this. I should've."

You hummed as a response (it was all you really could do), and the gentle vibrations shot heat throughout his body. A shuddering moan rocked through his body, and if not for your quick response time in pushing his hips down, they would've knocked against your face when he bucked them up.

You hollowed your cheeks, lowering your head back down, and emitting the loveliest of moans from Spencer, whose hand found its way to your hair. Upon the lack of your protests, he made a loose ponytail with his fist, gently tugging on it upwards so you could lift your head.

You flattened your tongue on your ascend, successfully making his already weak grip on your hair go slack, within only seconds of him having grabbed it. Swirling your tongue around the tip of his cock, his hips bucked up again, and you flinched.

"Jesus—fuck, sorry, honey," he rasped, though his guilt was quick to dissipate as he saw your thumbs up against his thigh. Your movements weren't hesitant, anymore. Just slow. Tortuously slow. "Can I..." he trailed off, seemingly becoming unsure of what it was he was asking of you within seconds, but the retightening of his hand in your hair gave you all you needed to know.

You nodded your head the best you could, and he mumbled a quiet 'thank you', allowing you to set a base pace, before taking over.

"So good. Jesus Christ, angel. Where did you learn this? Don't answer that. Don't tell me. Shit."

His rambling was sharp sentences, that didn't really sound like they belonged together, and certainly didn't sound like they should be coming out of his mouth. They weren't the most articulately structured phrases he's ever come up with. A thought that comforted you, because you were doing that to him.

"Fuck," he breathed out, once more, and you came to the mental conclusion you've never heard him swear so much in his life. The thought made your stomach flip.

Fingers dug into your scalp, though not too harshly to hurt. In fact, you were letting out a quiet moan of your own at the feeling, hips wiggling. Even in his state, Spencer noticed, and he smiled.

"You—ah—okay, angel?" he asked you, and you relished in the fact that he couldn't get out sentences without moaning.

Your response was yet another hum, and he was bucking his hips. Again.

You knew he was close for a multitude of reasons; the fact that he had quickened his gentle-turned-firm guidance of your head, his fingers tugging on your hair a little harsher than before, and the ever so lovely, "Jesus Christ—please—oh," leaving his lips, breathlessly.

It was a few more moments of that, before the fingers in your hair went impossibly tight, and the muscles in his thighs locked beneath your hands.

The fact you had never discussed doing this, meant neither of you knew the other's stance on what to do. Thankfully, Spencer was rendered so frenzied that he couldn't do anything.

It was a sickeningly lovely sight; you pulling back and swallowing, some of his come painting your bottom lip. His fingers twitched, before they dropped back to the mattress on either side of his body, his chest heaving just as much as your own.

Lightheaded, you slowly brought yourself back up to your feet, and Spencer's arms were quick to wrap around the backs of your thighs, pulling you into him.

"Best head of your life?" you asked, lowering your lips to brush against his.

"By a mile," he replied.

"Just one mile?"

"Maybe two."

Shooting him a glare, you huffed, and he laughed. "You're never getting head again, then."

He nipped your lower lip. "Okay."

"I'm putting my foot down," you retorted, disliking his lack of belief in your words. "Never again."

"I believe that."

"You should."

"Oh, I do," he hummed, sarcasm in his words making you frown. "Are your knees okay?"

If his goal was to distract you, he succeeded, for your eyes were instantly dropping to your knees, indents from the threads of the rug evident.

"They're okay," you confirmed, squirming as his thumbs rubbed circles into the skin on your thighs.

"Tell me if they're not," he instructed, and you nodded. He stood up, hands sliding up to your waist. "Shower?"

"Shower," you confirmed with a nod, despite the fact that you had showered only a few hours prior. "Can we watch a movie after?"

"Yes."

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡

#lia’s fics ♡#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer x reader #spencer x self insert #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid comfort #spencer reid fluff

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suncoved · 9 months ago

Text

HANDS OF AN ANGEL ! — RAFE CAMERON (18+ smut mdni)

in which, washing rafe's hair didn't go as you planned.

you looked up slowly from your book to the sound of your bedroom door opening roughly, rafe trudging in lethargically. your eyes followed him around the room as he threw off his clothes one by one, a trail of fabric following him until he was just left in his boxers.

you rolled your eyes at his unnecessary messiness and let your eyes travel back down to the off-white pages of your book.

you could only read about three words before rafe huffed rather dramatically across the room.

you ignored his annoying sighs and groans until it was physically impossible to not pay attention to him, slamming your book closed and looking at him from the bed.

"what is it rafey?" you asked sweetly, even though you knew what he was gonna ask. "shower" he said simply, nudging his head towards the bathroom from where he stood right outside it. "can't baby, i already put all my lotions and oils and stuff, you're gonna have to have one without me" you answered, watching his face turned into that of a five-year-olds if they were just told they couldn't go to disneyland that day.

"ok" he huffed, turning around and entering the bathroom, but leaving the door open so you could see everything. you giggled softly, turning your attention back to the book in your hands.

you only perked up when you heard the tap of the bath turn on, not the shower. rafe was having a bath?

if there was one thing you had to know about rafe cameron, is that he hated baths, more than an average human being did. he only tolerated them because he could feel you up more in the bath than in the shower because of the close proximity.

but he always took a shower after because he doesn't like 'bathing in his own filth for half and hour'

you itched to get up and hop in the bath with him, but that's what he wanted, because why else would he torture himself like that?

after about 5 minutes of reading the same line over and over again, you untangled yourself from your bedsheets and made your way over to your vanity. reaching your hand into the brown paper shopping bag, you pulled out bottles of shampoo, conditioner, hair masks and hair oils, making your way over to the bathroom with an arm full of hair products.

he heard you from a mile away, staring straight at you as you walked into his trap. "got you baby" he said, hinting at the fact that he was having a bath, for you.

"nope" you said, padding your way over to the bathtub. he looked at you quizzically at the new products you had with you.

you were glad that even though he was very very naked, there were mounds of bubbles covering him, his face and shoulders the only thing showing above the water. because after you spent nearly an hour after your shower rubbing oils and creams over your skin, you really didn't want to end up in the bath with rafe

"what've you got there bug?" he asked as you dragged your soft bathmat to the edge of the bathtub so you could have something to kneel on, placing the products softly on the floor.

"gonna wash your hair rafe" you state, reaching over and running your hand softly through his wet hair. "yeah?" he asked, tilting his head softly in admiration. "i went out and got some stuff for your hair type, not that you need any help with your hair at all! i just wanna do stuff for you like you do stuff for me." you quickly got quieter by the end of your sentence, avoiding eye contact with him.

"c'mere baby" he whispers, matching your soft tone. you hesitantly look at him, biting your lip nervously. your chin felt wet as he gripped it softly, bringing your lips to touch his as he kissed you. he pulled back first, resting his forehead on yours as he looked at you. "thank you, baby. i don't do the stuff i do for you to get repaid, but i love that you think of me"

you beam at his words, leaning down again and placing one last peck on his lips.

you pull up the sleeves of your long-sleeved white pyjama shirt before you lean over to squirt a generous amount of shampoo on your palm.

after rubbing your hands together to create a milky white texture in the shampoo, you leaned over the tub. the white acrylic made contact with where your bra wire would be had you been wearing one, oblivious that as you were reaching your arms to rafe's hair your tits were being pushed together, his eyes immediately staring holes into your cleavage.

"your hair is gonna be so soft rafey!" you exclaimed, using your acrylics to massage the shampoo into his scalp, making his eyes roll to the back of his head in pleasure.

you pulled back after sudsing up the liquid, biting your lip in concentration as you placed your hands on the side of his head and lowered his hair in the water.

he looked up to you, your hair hanging over him, your stare so concentrated, and your tits fully in his face.

rafe knows you didn't notice how much harder it was getting to hide his hard-on under the now less soapy water, the combination of you scratching his scalp and your cleavage fully on view making him spiral.

"ok, all done! once you get out, ill-dry it and put some oil on the ends." you voiced after raking the conditioner and leave in treatment through his hair, leaning down to kiss him after he made a come here motion with his fingers.

what you were unaware of though, is that as rafe was deepening the kiss between you two, he was pulling his hands out of the warm water and straight to your chest.

"rafe!" you gasped, pulling back instinctively as his hands made your once white shirt now see-through at your nipples.

"shh baby, c'mere. don't make me ask you again" he groaned, sitting up straighter so he could use his hands to pull your body towards his.

as he began another steamy kiss with you, he traced your nipples through your shirt, making you shiver. "rafe... i don't wanna get all wet" you whined, pulling back for a moment, giving him a chance to latch his mouth onto one of your tits.

"ill help you put more cream on later, now let me fuck that sweet pussy of yours" he rasped, pulling your shirt and shorts off as you came to a stand in front of him.

"can't believe my baby would think that i would let her win and sit out there reading her book. so naive" rafe cooed, his soft mannerisms of holding your hand until you made it safely in the tub being a complete juxtaposition of the nasty words he had uttered before.

you melted in the somehow still-warm water as he sucked at your neck, his hands roaming all around your body until he made it to your core.

"you're lucky we're in the tub bunny, because i'm gonna make you cum so hard you're gonna make a mess" he whispered into your ear, bringing a strong hand up to rest firmly around your neck, and the other now making circles on your clit.

you looked up at him in a daze, you're eyes already glossed over as you laid your head against his chest. due to the confined space, you could already feel his hard length resting below your ass, making you squirm.

he entered one finger into you without warning, making you gasp. "shhh, quit whining. you're alright." rafe commanded, beginning to pump his finger in and out of you. he placed soft kisses on your head, his hand on your throat providing a comforting presence to you somehow.

rafe always made sure that during these times you felt loved and appreciated by him, knowing that your mind had the tendency to roam with thoughts 24/7.

"ready for another baby?" rafe asked, your walls somehow still tight around his finger. your hum in reply earned rafe to tighten his hold around your neck, urging you to use your words.

"yes rafey, please" you replied, snuggling more in his chest and looking up and him with glossy eyes. "ok, are you sure you can take it?" he teased, earning a whine to come from your chapped lips.

he slipped another finger into you, pumping them in and out as you squirmed. "good girl, such a good girl for me" he praised, beginning to pick up speed as you gleamed at his praise.

"g-gonna come rafey" you whined, gasping as he quickly pulled his fingers out of you. you immediately turned your head to look up at him in shock, annoyed that he wouldn't let you come to his reach.

"don't look at me like that brat, you can cum on my cock" he remarked, placing another kiss on your head as you whined once more.

he pulled his hand cock to line up with your entrance, stroking your cheek as he slid into you softly. "shh, your alright sweet girl. i got you" rafe reassured in response to your gasp.

he groaned as he bottomed out inside of you, stalling for a moment to look at your expression before beginning to pump in and out. "shit, most perfect pussy i ever had. taking my whole cock like the perfect girl you are, love you so much" he rambled, his mind in a haze as you squeezed around him.

he began picking up his pace, slamming into you from below as the water rippled from his movements. you were to cock drunk to worry that the water could splash out of the tub, gasping as he brought a finger down to circle your clit.

"rafe" you whined as you tightened around him, signalling to him that the knot in your tummy was about to burst. "i got you baby, milk my cock"

you squeezed your eyes shut as you came around him, hearing his groan echo in your ears as he shot his load inside of you. you rolled your eyes to the back of your head as he worked you through your orgasm, slowing the circling of his fingers as he stroked your hair as whispered in your ear

"so perfect for me baby, so so perfect"

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron smut #rafe smut #outer banks

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artdcnaldson · 10 months ago

Text

changeover || art donaldson x reader ; patrick zweig x reader

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Word Count: 7.2k

Warnings: SMUT (p in v sex x2, fingering, f!recieving oral), drinking, pining after people you can’t have, a dash of reader x tashi, sprinkles of patrick x art, porn WITH plot

Summary: your ‘casual’ fling with art isn’t working for you anymore, which sucks because you probably love the guy. enter a freshly heartbroken patrick to take your mind off of things.

FALL 2006

You knew exactly why Art Donaldson refused to acknowledge that you were an item. You could see it clearly across the room— the way you were cast to the shadows while he followed Tashi around like a lost puppy.

It made sense, even if it made your chest ache. Tashi was gorgeous, and was acing her classes, and was going to go pro soon and become a beautiful, all-American sports icon. And you were just some girl he’d met because he needed help understanding the reading for class.

You’d known each other for months by then— hooking up, going on dates that ‘weren’t dates,’ spending most of your time together. And you stayed firmly in the no-labels zone. But you weren’t bitter. It was totally fine, being treated like a girlfriend in all but name.

Art laughed and leaned into Tashi. It was totally fine.

You were nursing a beer in a red solo cup and trying your best to look friendly and approachable. The only reason you were even at the party was because Art had brought you, so you should’ve felt grateful. You should’ve been having fun.

But just as soon as you’d arrived, he’d slipped away with a promise to be right back. It had been over an hour, so it seemed like you had very different definitions of right back.

“Looks like your boyfriend stole my girlfriend.” You turned to see Patrick, tanned from his time on tour. He was only going to be at Stanford for the weekend before taking off for a challenger a state over, which meant he needed to capitalize on any chance to spend time with Art and Tashi.

Unfortunately, you’d both been ditched.

“Art isn’t my boyfriend,” you said pointedly, maybe a little too quickly.

Patrick knew better. The last time he came to visit, he’d interrupted a pseudo date night between the two of you (which was a nice way of saying he walked in on the two of you in Art’s dorm while his best friend was was knuckles deep in you). The rest of that night wound up being spent passing around mixed drinks made with cheap vodka and whatever you could get from the nearest vending machine. You overheard the it’s casual, nothing serious conversation they’d had through the ajar door while you bought more Powerade and Red Bull in the hall.

But you were being so understanding and cool about that.

Patrick narrowed his eyes slightly. “Really?” The corner of his mouth tugged upwards for a moment before he wrapped his lips around a beer can. He tried to hide it, but you saw.

You chewed on your lip, stomach twisting with nerves and curiosity. He was probably just messing with you, trying to get your thoughts all muddled up about Art because it was fun. Still, you couldn’t help but ask the burning question echoing through your mind. “Did Art say something to you? About us, I mean.”

The question felt pathetic. A stupid, desperate girl begging to know if the guy she liked felt the same way.

Patrick shrugged, leaning against the wall bearing the portraits of the ghosts of frat brothers’ past. “Not directly. But you’re here together, right? And he’s still seeing you.”

“I guess,” you replied with a huff, embarrassment burning hot in your chest.

“If you’re worried about Tashi, don’t be,” Patrick said, sparing a glance in her direction. When you looked towards Art, and the way he was smiling and laughing and looked so natural beside her, a frown turned your lips. Patrick nudged your arm and offered a smile. “Hey, I’m serious. Nothing’s gonna happen there. Trust me.”

It should’ve felt nice. A total reassurance from the person who knew Art best. But it did nothing to quell the turmoil twisting in the pit of your stomach. Because if he really did feel that way, why was he over there with her?

Tashi Duncan. So beautiful, radiant, and perfect that she had total control over two men. Your paths didn’t cross much, outside of Art, and that was rare since he liked to keep you two apart.

But there was a part of you that knew that Tashi would’ve been able to make you melt with one look, one smile, one word. You wanted to experience what Art did. You wanted to know what Patrick knew, and what Art was jealous of. Or maybe you wanted something of your own too, something to keep Art out of.

“I need another drink,” you said suddenly, meeting Patrick’s gaze. “Do you wanna come with me?” Patrick’s eyes flitted quickly towards Tashi, where she bantered with Art and the rest of the tennis team.

There was something in his expression you found incredibly familiar. That pang of jealousy. The ache of not belonging just right. The look was gone quickly, replaced by a toothy smile. “Sure. I could use something stronger.”

——

An hour later, Tashi left with Patrick, and Art quickly decided to take you back to his own dorm.

His lips were insistent against yours, kissing you hungrily, completely dissonant to the delicate way he tugged down the zipper of your dress. His fingers were warm where they brushed along the line of your spine. His tongue brushed against yours, tasting of beer and mint gum.

“What were you doing with him?” He murmured against your lips just as he peeled off the cheap, bodycon dress you’d gotten from Forever 21. It was tossed across the room, to be lost in the mess of practice duffles and empty water bottles and dirty laundry. The only time he parted his lips from you was to lift you onto his bed and slot himself between your thighs.

His tongue licked into your mouth possessively, claiming you as his from the inside out. You gasped as one of his hands kneaded your breast, panting open-mouthed against his lips. “Who?” You managed weakly, your mind completely blank except for Art, Art, Art. And maybe a tiny voice in the back of your head that was still thinking about the Tashi of it all.

“Patrick.” His voice was soft against the tender skin of your jaw. “I saw you two talk, then you disappeared for, like, an hour.” His teeth nipped gently at your pulse point as he nuzzled against your throat, awaiting your answer.

So he had been watching? He was with her, but he was still thinking about you. It made your heart flutter. You moaned softly as his hand slid between your thighs, teasing you through your panties. “Getting drinks,” you managed feebly. “Fuck, Art, I can’t concentrate while y—“

You gasped at the feeling of his fingers slipping beneath the band of your panties, teasing you with delicate touches. “Just drinks? For an hour?”

A strangled gasp escaped you as fingers slick with your arousal met your clit. When your eyes opened in surprise, you found Art staring right back. His touch was relentless, flooding your senses with pleasure as he demanded an answer. “We were in the living room,” you managed between soft pants and moans. “He was telling me about the— god— about the tour.”

Art’s expression flickered slightly— a tiny furrow forming between his brows. Was it doubt, or possessiveness, or anger? Before you could figure it out, his lips were against your throat, your panties were pushed to the side, and he was easing two fingers inside of your cunt.

“Fuck,” you cried out, grasping onto his shoulders. French manicured nails scratched at the pastel-colored polo he wore— why was he still wearing his clothes? Soft, keening moans slipped past your lips as he fucked you with his fingers. Every thought of him preferring Tashi or him leading you on slipped from the front of your mind as his thumb rubbed at your clit.

With a free hand, you palmed him over his pants, relishing in the way he panted against your warm skin. You made quick work of the button of his jeans— you knew your way around him like the back of your hand. He was warm, pulsing in your delicate grip when your hand slipped beneath the band of his briefs. Slick at his tip with need.

He moaned against your pulse point, nuzzling against you as you began to jerk him off in time with each pump of his fingers.

“You smell like him,” he groaned, nose pressed to the spot just beneath your ear as his hips bucked into your fist with a new sort of desperation. You didn’t have to ask who he meant. His tongue slipped out, lapping at you briefly before sucking a bruise into the delicate skin there.

His fingers flexed so they brushed against the sweet spot within you. Your eyes rolled back and a sob of pleasure clawed its way from your throat. “Need you,” you pleaded, equal parts a thoughtless cry and a demand.

And who was he to deny either of you that? A pitiful whine escaped your lips when he slipped his fingers from within you and moved your hand from him. He stood to clumsily pull off the rest of his clothes at the same time that you quickly shimmied off your panties and tossed them to the side.

”You’re so fucking sexy,” he groaned as he joined you back on the bed, slotting himself between your legs. You were so pliant and sweet beneath him, looking up at him with adoring doe-eyes and a pretty smile on your spit-slick lips. He should’ve been perfectly content.

As he parted your thighs, stroking his dick as he lined himself up with your entrance, he wondered if Tashi and Patrick were doing the same exact thing at that same exact moment. He could imagine it clearly— Tashi, splayed out on her bed, and Patrick right at home between her thighs; sinking in, faces contorting with pleasure. Before he could stop himself, a soft moan slipped past his lips at the mental image.

Your nails dug into his shoulder blades as he sheathed himself within you, and he buried his face into your neck. Fuck. You really did smell like Patrick. The shitty Axe body spray that was supposed to smell like chocolate, and the lingering scent of cigarettes.

You moaned prettily, pussy squeezing him like a vise. Manicured nails scratched against his back, delicate enough that the marks would probably disappear by that time the next day. He was so used to Patrick lounging shirtless around their hotel rooms after tournaments— severe-looking scratch marks looking like angel wings against his pale skin. He always wore them like a badge of honor the night after he snuck off with some pretty girl he’d set his sights on. That’s how you know you’re doing it right.

Why was he thinking about Patrick?

He tried to lose himself in you— in how pretty you were beneath him, the sweet words falling from your lips with each thrust. Feels so good, Art. ‘M so close already. Gonna make me cum.

When he looked down at you, your mouth hung open, lips shiny with spit, begging to be kissed. His mouth met yours messily and you both moaned into the kiss. He moved a hand between your thighs, rubbing at your clit as he bullied his cock into your inviting cunt.

You came with a string of moans and expletives that made the person next door bang on the wall out of annoyance. Art had to pull out as soon as he felt you start to squeeze around him. All it took was a few clumsy strokes and he was spilling onto your stomach with an almost embarrassing whine.

You both lay there catching your breath and cursing the shitty air conditioning in the dorm. He wiped the mess of cum off of your stomach with an old tee shirt that was hanging off the side of his desk and tossed it to the side to be dealt with later.

“You’re so gross,” you mumbled with a tiny laugh, reaching down to grab your underwear from your floor. After you pulled them back on, you watched him dig through a pile of clothes in a papasan chair for a passable pair of pajama pants. An amused smile played on your lips at the sight. “Do I need to buy you a hamper?”

He held up a pair of pajama pants to examine them, shrugged, and pulled them on. “I have one, it’s just full.” A boyish grin spread across his lips as he crossed the room towards his dresser. He tossed a random tee shirt from the drawer in your direction and climbed on the bed, grinning down at you. “See? I have clean clothes.”

You laughed as you pulled the shirt over your head, then turned on your side to face him. His eyes flickered from your face, down to the shirt, then back. You wrinkled your face in confusion and peered down at the shirt.

“What? What does it say?” You asked with a laugh. You held it out, squinting to make sense of the graphic— faded and upside down. Finally, your eyes lit up in recognition. “Oh! I thought you were more of a Maroon 5 and Justin Timberlake guy. I’ve never even seen a Blink-182 CD in your stuff before.”

Art cleared his throat and shrugged, thumbing the bottom of the tee shirt absentmindedly. “I went with Patrick a few years back.”

A smile turned your lips. “It’s sweet that you two are such good friends.” You reached over, brushing his curls from his forehead. He turned, pressing a kiss to the delicate skin of your wrist. “Did you and Tashi have fun tonight?” The insecurity in your words was palpable.

Art shrugged. “A party’s a party, y’know?” He leaned into your touch, letting you play with his hair. “Just lost track of time. I won’t run off on you next time.”

You chewed your lip shyly. “I think it’d be nice for the three of us to hang out sometime,” you said, watching his expression to gauge his reaction.

“C’mere,” he said with a tired smile, effectively avoiding your suggestion. When he pulled you against his side, he nuzzled his face into the junction of your neck and shoulder. His breath tickled with each exhale, which made you squirm, but every so often he’d place a chaste kiss on the skin there and you’d forget why you wanted to ask him to move.

In the morning, when you woke up to his alarm clock blaring a local radio station, you realized it was the first time he’d let you stay the night.

SPRING 2007

After your second drink, you decided that Art Donaldson had hung you out to dry for the last time. Well, probably the last time.

Most likely not the last time.

Knowing yourself, you’d be clinging to his side like a lost puppy in a few weeks’ time, if you even had the dignity to give it that long. The second his attention turned to you again, you knew you’d be absolutely relishing in the special affection he always gave you when he was experiencing Tashi-related withdrawal.

You were so stupidly in love (or in lust, or in whatever) with him that you’d accept just about anything he could throw at you.

No labels, just casual? Fine. Ignoring you all night then conveniently remembering you exist when he’s horny and ready to go back to his dorm? Whatever. You’re game.

You’d gone to every match, watched a few practices. Helped him study for exams, let him borrow the notecards you’d painstakingly written over the course of the semester. Jesus, you even wrote a few essays for him when his schedule got crowded and he just couldn’t manage.

All you asked in return was a date to a stupid formal, and he ditched you last minute for Tashi. Again. And you couldn’t even get pissed about it without feeling guilty, because she’d fucking gotten injured and it wasn’t her fault that the guy you were into was carrying a torch for her instead.

“You’ve been staring down the Reese’s Pieces for the last five minutes.” The familiar voice startled you from your sulking. The world filtered back in suddenly— the blaring music, the smell of cigarettes and pot, the chatter of people wandering in and out of neighboring dorms. When you turned, Patrick Zweig was leaning against the vending machine beside you, carrying a large Tennis bag and backpack on both of his shoulders. “Do you need five bucks?”

“Shouldn’t you be with Tashi?” You asked, brows furrowed with confusion. “I heard about her match. I just figured that you’d…“ You trailed off as you noticed the thinly veiled kicked-puppy expression he wore. “Oh.”

He swallowed and nodded. “Yeah, that’s… it’s over. Did you want the Reese’s, or not?”

“No,” you shook your head and laughed. “I just needed…” you trailed off. What was it you needed, again?

You needed Art. A date to the formal. You needed to feel desirable and cared for. You needed him to get his head out of his ass and just fucking commit. You needed to tell Art to fuck off and find another groupie. You needed…

“Another drink?” Patrick suggested.

You nodded eagerly like that’s what you’d been thinking all along. “Yes. Another drink.” You paused, glancing at his bags. “Do you want to drop your things in my room first? My roommate is in Iowa, or something. She won’t mind.”

Your dorm was decorated in shades of pink and green, with a ruffled bedspread and faux fur pillows and blankets. You bent down to retrieve two bottles of Smirnoff Ice from a mini fridge. Patrick did his best to look away like a gentleman would.

Well, he did his best. It wasn’t exactly his fault that his options were to look at your tight jeans or the bulletin board above your desk that was essentially an Art Donaldson shrine.

Pretty pink push pins held up a photo of the two of you after one of his matches, both beaming at the camera. Then there were little notes he’d written you in his boyish scrawl. Tickets to movies you’d gone to see and tickets to his matches.

“Here,” you said, drawing his attention back to you, thankfully in an upright position. You’d already popped the bottle caps off the radioactive blue drink you handed him. You were chewing your lip shyly, sweetly. “It’s kind of pathetic, isn’t it?”

“What?” He took a drink and nearly grimaced at the sweetness. After he finished it, he’d need to go find something stronger.

You sighed and took a long drink yourself. “I dunno, the whole… thing. Art.” You absentmindedly toyed with the hem of your shirt. “I mean, what girl with any self-respect lets a guy just screw her for months with no commitment?”

“Maybe self-respect is overrated.” He laughed and stepped closer. “Full disclosure? I only came here hoping that I could fuck someone and spend the night in their dorm. Free booze was a plus.”

“We’re in the same boat then,” You said, gazing up at him through your lashes. “We’re both jilted lovers who need a distraction.”

You tilted the bottom of the bottle up, chugging down the contents. When you were done, you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and rolled your neck out. “Bottoms up,” you said with a coy smile. “Let’s find something stronger.”

——

An hour later, something by the Pussycat Dolls was blaring through a set of speakers in a darkened common area. You were the fun kind of tipsy, where you started to care less about everyone else and just found yourself buzzed in that light, easy kind of way. You danced to the beat without a care in the world while Patrick sat on the arm of a couch and nursed his beer.

His eyes were glued to your body as you moved, almost hypnotic beneath the red Christmas lights that had been stapled around the ceiling. Your shirt had ridden up, revealing a sliver of stomach that you either didn’t notice or didn’t care to cover up.

The only thought running through his head? Art was a fucking idiot.

You glanced over at him and nodded for him to join you. He didn’t move, so, not one to give up, you joined him over on the couch. When he went for a drink, you tipped up the bottom of the beer can and forced him to finish it, even as it spilled past his lips and down his chin.

“Thanks,” he deadpanned, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand.

With a pleased smile, you grabbed his wrist and pulled him into the middle of the room to dance.

He shook his head as you tried to make him dance— your hands on his hips, pushing and pulling and trying and failing to make him move. “No, no. I don’t dance,” he explained, as firmly as he could stand to be.

“Because you can’t? Or because you think you’re too cool?” You asked, raising a brow. He rolled his eyes, a smile playing at his lips. “C’mon, if you dance, I’ll tell you a secret.”

That did make him laugh. “What are you, five?”

With a shrug, you took his hands into yours and moved them to your hips. There was a hesitance in his touch, at first. But then his fingers splayed against exposed skin, and you were so warm. Your hips began moving to the beat beneath his hands. “See? We’re dancing,” you said, peering up at him through long lashes.

You looked genuinely victorious when he finally started dancing… kind of. It was less of an action and more of an acceptance. It had been abundantly obvious since the moment he walked into your dorm room that you wanted to end the night with him. Maybe it was because you thought it would hurt Art, or maybe it was because he was there and he was feeling the exact same things you were.

He’d done his best to resist out of some lingering sense that he could repair things with Tashi, and the hope that maybe Art’s spite would fade and they’d be friends again.

Despite skipping the whole college thing, Patrick wasn’t an idiot. He knew better. The second Tashi fell on that court, both of those doors slammed in his face.

And you were so close to him that he could smell the liquor on your breath. And Victoria’s Secret body spray. Mostly the liquor, though. He was barely moving, but you— you were something else. Hips moving against the thigh he’d slotted between your legs, arms trailing up his chest so you could sling them around his neck, pulling yourself impossibly closer. Even though you were grinding against each other like two horny middle-schoolers at their first dance, he’d had enough to drink that he didn’t really give a fuck. When he moved his hands from your hips to grab your ass, you gasped and laughed like it was the best thing in the world.

Your body moved so effortlessly that anything he could have possibly done would’ve looked clunky and clumsy. He groaned when you brushed against him just right, and he could tell by your smug expression that you knew exactly how you were affecting him.

You leaned in, chest to chest. “Can I tell you the secret now?” You whispered, lips brushing against the line of his jaw. He swallowed hard and nodded. “I think it’d be a bad idea for us to fuck. We’re both in a bad place.”

“Mhmm. Bad idea,” he echoed. He wanted to reach out and grab your jaw, to tilt your face up and kiss you. One of your hands had slipped beneath the hem of his (Tashi’s) shirt, just barely teasing the skin there. It made him shiver and lean into the heat of your touch.

“But I still want to.” You sounded so earnest, so needy. Like you’d take anything he’d give you and thank him for it. “We can use each other to feel better, right? Just a nice, warm body and a rush of dopamine.”

It was exactly what Patrick had come to the fucking dorm rager for. To feel wanted and desired. For someone to look at him like he wasn’t actively failing at the one thing he was supposed to be the best at.

But he was good at other things.

You guided him through the crowded hallway, way more packed than they had been before you’d started dancing. It was getting later, more people were falling for the siren song of R&B and beer. You were a siren of a different making— with much more dangerous consequences than a hangover.

It almost felt wrong to be back in your innocent, frilly little dorm with the intention of fucking your brains out. But the looks you were giving him were enough proof that he wasn’t the only pervert. Before you could get too far, he pinned you up against the door, displacing a dry-erase calendar in the process.

You glanced down, eyes flitting towards the hearts around tomorrow’s date, anticipating the formal that Art had flaked on. Without looking back, you kicked the dry-erase board out of the way, a problem for later.

His lips met yours in a messy clash— teeth knocking slightly until you found a rhythm with each other. Patrick Zweig kissed like he’d been at war for fucking years and had just returned home. He kissed like he had crawled out of the desert and the only promise of water could be found on your tongue.

You’d never been kissed with that level of need and desperation— that desire— and you fucking loved it. The taste of his tongue licking into your mouth, the rumble of a moan against your own lips.

His hands were moving beneath your shirt, pushing it up as he went. A pretty whine slipped past your spit-slick lips as he squeezed your tits over your bra. Your hands stayed busy undoing his jeans. He moaned into your mouth when your fingers barely brushed against the bulge through the denim.

“That feel good?” You teased, practically breathing the words into his lungs as you slipped your hand into his boxers. He groaned in response as your hand wrapped around him and pumped slowly. There was something addicting about his need— you relished in the pulse of him, warm and bucking into your grip. And you wanted more. You wanted to be the one to make him come undone. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

His head fell back slightly as you brushed your thumb along his tip, the movement accompanied by another soft groan. The way you peered up at him with an earnest need to please made hot desire thrum within him.

“You could start by taking these clothes off,” he said, fingers roaming to tug at the strap of your bra. You started to move, slipping your hand from his boxers. Then you stopped.

“You’re not gonna help?” You asked coyly, goosebumps forming where his fingers trailed along your side, teasing at the band of the bra.

That made a tiny smirk turn at his lips. “Does Art help?” It shouldn’t have turned him on— that little flash of longing for Art in your eyes. But it did. You nodded, shifting slightly to encourage more of Patrick’s touch. “Lift your arms.”

As easy as anything, you obeyed. No banter, no push and pull for control. It was so different than what he had with Tashi (who he shouldn’t have been thinking about), and he couldn’t help but wonder if that’s how it always was for you and Art (who he shouldn’t have been thinking about either).

He tossed your shirt to the side and moved a single hand to the clasp of your bra, undoing it with a quick movement that he’d perfected at sixteen. Painstakingly slow, he pushed each strap down your arms, until it fell at your feet and exposed your tits to the overzealous AC of the Stanford dorms.

Your nipples pebbled in the cool air, and his mouth watered in a near-Pavlovian response to the sight. His hands moved back to your chest, so he could thumb over the sensitive buds and relish in the way you shivered.

The wood of the door was cold against your shoulders as you arched into his touch. Manicured nails fumbled with the button to your jeans— you twisted and shimmied them off before kicking them to the side.

Before you could react, he picked you up and carried you over to the bed. A grin played at your lips as he practically dropped you onto it, making a decorative pillow fall to the floor.

“It was only, like, five steps,” you said with a laugh. Patrick shrugged and made quick work of his clothes. You sat up on your elbows to watch him shuck off his pants, then awkwardly hop on one foot at a time to remove his shoes and socks.

When he finally joined you on the bed, he was clad only in his boxers, which were sporting an almost comically large tent. He positioned himself over you, that shit-eating grin ever present on his face. “Can I go down on you?”

You laughed lightly in disbelief. “Are you serious right now?”

He nodded. “As a heart attack.” He nuzzled against your jaw teasingly. “C’mon, lemme make you feel good, okay? I live for this shit.”

You giggled, pushing his face away. “Yeah. Fuck. You can.”

He trailed his lips down your jaw, then your sternum. He stopped only briefly to suck each nipple into his mouth, making you squirm and arch into him. Your hand moved into his hair, and he moaned against your tit as you tugged slightly.

You watched him kiss down your stomach and peel your panties down your legs with his teeth through half-lidded eyes. Your cunt clenched around nothing as he slowly kissed up one leg.

The sight made your stomach flip— the sheer desire of it all. Your mind flickered to Tashi, as it seemed to do more and more. Tashi got this same sight, felt the same lips on her skin, and heard the same groans and pants. You could’ve laughed at the sheer absurdity of it all. At that moment, with Patrick on top of you, you were closer to Tashi than Art could even dream of.

A tap on the inside of your thigh was his wordless way of telling you to open up for him, to get out of your head and come back to earth. Your tummy fluttered as you spread your legs more and he slotted himself there with an arm slung across your stomach.

“Fuck,” he said lowly, peering up at you. “You get this wet from just kissing?”

Heat burned in your cheeks at his obvious amusement, but you could tell he loved how responsive you were. His tongue traced you from your hole to your clit, making you cry out and twist your fingers into his curls. Quick, teasing flicks against your clit made your thighs tremble and squeeze around his shoulders. You were so fucking sensitive that it made him want to tear you apart.

It was messy— a sloppy mix of his spit and your arousal as he made out with your pussy. His nose brushed against your clit as he nuzzled deeper into you, moaning as his fervor was rewarded with more of your juices spilling onto his tongue.

There was no method or precision to it, even though you were quite sure he could’ve had you coming undone beneath his fingers in no time at all. Patrick relished in every tiny reaction— in feeling your thighs around his head and your fingers in his hair. Relished in the taste of you on his tongue and the feeling of your slick smeared across his face.

Your back was arching off the bed, nails digging just shy of painfully into his scalp.

He opened you up with one finger, then a second. Your cunt accepted the intrusion with ease, like you were made for it. For him. He crooked his fingers just so and you cried out pathetically. He pressed there, constant and firmly and your fingers tugged harder on his hair, moans increasing in pitch as your breaths came in pants.

“I’m— I— fuck—“ words failed you as his lips formed a seal around your clit and he sucked, making spots dance across your vision. In the absence of words, all you could manage were fucked out sobs and pitiful little whines.

Slick walls fluttered around his fingers, and your clit pulsed against his tongue. You were so easy to get worked up— a toy for him to wind up and set into motion. You came with a moan that would’ve made a weaker man cum inside of his boxers, your cunt spasming around the intrusion of his fingers.

When he sat back and cleaned his fingers in his mouth, you were watching through half-lidded, hazy eyes. Tiny pieces of hair were plastered to your face and forehead, and you gave a breathless giggle as you looked up at him.

“Holy shit,” you said with a grin as he shucked off his boxers and kicked them off somewhere across the room.

“Feel good?” He asked, and pressed a kiss to your hip bone. You nodded wordlessly, feeling dizzy with need. “Gonna give me another one?”

“Yeah,” you said breathlessly, peering up at him with wide eyes. The tip of his nose was shiny with your arousal, which made warmth spread across your cheeks. With a sheepish laugh, you reached up and wiped it away with your thumb. There wasn’t much you could do about the mess on his mouth and chin. “You’re all messy.”

He kissed you slow— leaving his tongue against yours, making you taste yourself mixed with his spit. It was less of a kiss than a series of slow laves of his tongue against yours. It felt dirty, and a little gross, but you couldn’t help but relish in it. You’d never kissed Art like that, would’ve never even dreamed of it. Patrick was an entirely different animal.

You stayed like that for a while— just completely lost in the feel of him warm on top of you, grinding his cock against your cunt as he planted messy kisses to your lips.

“Condom?” He mumbled the words against your lips when he finally grew impatient.

“Mhmm. Bedside table.”

He fumbled inside the drawer, grabbing glasses cleaning wipes two seperate times before he finally found a foil packet in the bottom of the drawer.

He held it between two fingers, an amused smile playing on his lips. “You sure this’ll fit me? I’m bigger than Art.”

You rolled your eyes. “Not by that much.”

“Where it counts, though.” His smirk was smarmy as he tore open the foil with his teeth and rolled the condom down his length. He spat in his hand and stroked himself as he peered down at you, like he hadn’t quite decided how he wanted you yet.

“Turn over,” he finally said with a pat to the meat of your thigh. You did as he said, almost hesitant as you turned over and settled onto your forearms, arching your back slightly. “Does Art ever fuck you like this?”

He held the head of his cock at your entrance, teasing you with the tiniest amount of pressure. You took in a shaky breath and shifted, eager for more that he wasn’t going to give you yet. “Do you have to bring him up right now?”

No. He knew he really didn’t, but he couldn’t help himself at the same time. The thought of his Art in this same bed with you made it all so much hotter for him. He wanted to know how Art had fucked you, he wanted every detail burned in his brain. He wanted to be better, or maybe just be there with the two of you.

It had gotten close. Once. Art was definitely fingering you under a blanket while the three of you watched a movie on his laptop across the room. Patrick’s thigh was touching yours— he could feel the way your muscles tensed and shook as Art played with you. He was close enough to hear the hitch of your breath.

And if that hadn’t been enough to give it away, Art’s stupid fucking smirk and the obvious way his arm was moving would have.

He didn’t do anything then, but maybe he should’ve.

“I’ll take that as a no.” He was slow as he sank into you, inch by inch. It could’ve been the position, or maybe his cocky bravado was completely founded, but he did feel bigger than you were used to. A soft moan was punched from your lips when he was finally buried to the hilt— your breath came in soft pants as you adjusted to the feeling of him.

With your face pressed into your pillows, each breath you took flooded your senses with the smell of Art’s cologne. You moaned softly, eyes fluttering shut as your thoughts were overwhelmed with him.

“Shit, you’re fuckin’ tight,” he groaned. His fingers dimpled your skin where he held onto you. He moved one hand to rub the base of your spine in a way that could probably have been tender, on another day. You moaned pathetically into the pillows. “What? You need something?”

One shallow, teasing thrust made your toes curl. “More,” was all you could manage.

“Can you take it?” Patrick cooed, smugness was practically dripping from his tongue. “Because I can go slow if you need—“

“You’re such an asshole. Just fuck m—”

A rough snap of Patrick’s hips cut you off suddenly. You cried out, grasping onto the bedspread feebly as he began to fuck you in earnest.

Each thrust made the cheap, university-provided bed frame slam against the wall. The decorations you had hung up rattled, threatening to tumble right onto the floor and shatter, but neither of you even noticed. The moans slipping past your lips were pornographic.

But the sounds escaping you were nothing compared to the noises Patrick was making. Art had made an off-handed comment, once, about how much of a slut Patrick could be. You hadn’t really seen why until you got to hear the desperate, debauched noises he could make.

You slipped a hand between your thighs to rub at your clit and the feeling stole the air from your lungs. Your eyes rolled back, ass jiggling in time with each thrust.

Through it all, the memory of Art in this bed clung to you. Art, burying himself in the soft, wet heat between your thighs, flushed down to his chest and panting softly. His hungry kisses, melting sweet on your tongue like cotton candy. The whines that slipped past his lips, better than the prettiest music you could imagine.

With each brutal thrust of Patrick’s cock into you, he punched out soft ah, ah, ahs from your lips. In your head, you just heard Art, Art, Art. Maybe that’s what you meant to say.

You were probably in love with him. You were fucking his best friend. And it wasn’t even that simple. Patrick and Art and Tashi and somewhere between it all, you lingered. It was a giant clusterfuck of feelings and lust that you’d somehow tangled yourself inside of. Wanting someone so much, you want whoever has them just as badly.

Maybe everything would’ve been a lot cleaner if you’d just locked the four of you into a room and stayed until every bit of tension had been fucked out. The idea of it all made you moan softly into the pillows.

Patrick pulled you up suddenly, back flush against his chest as he continued to fuck into you. One hand grabbed at your jaw, turning you so he could press his lips to yours again, and the other squeezed at your tits. His mouth did a perfect job of muffling your moans— Patrick relished in feeling your pretty whines vibrate against his lips.

“You feel so fucking perfect.” His words made heat flutter through you. “Need t’ feel you cum again. You have it in you, yeah? I can feel it.”

You nodded, eager to please. Pleasure was lapping at every nerve, lightning-hot. Your fingers rubbed faster at your clit as he pounded up into you. The whines escaping you were pathetic as your body crawled closer and closer to the edge.

“Close,” you gasped out. Patrick licked into your open mouth, kissing you sloppily as you set a punishing pace on your poor, oversensitive clit. “So close— f-fuck—“

Your orgasm hit you suddenly. You clawed at his arm with your free hand, desperately seeking purchase as euphoria pulsed through your veins.

“That’s it,” he groaned, his breath hot against your jaw. “Fuck— squeezin’ me so tight I can barely move— god—“

Your eyes were half-lidded as he worked you through it, rhythm only just beginning to falter as his finish approached. He pushed you back onto your stomach, manhandling your hips so your back was arched just like he wanted.

You were reduced to whimpers and whines by the time he finally came— buried as deep as he could get, grip bruising on your hips. A few shallow thrusts were all he could manage before he pulled out, collapsing on beside you.

You were catching your breath while he disposed of the condom in the cute trash can beside your bed, filled with gummy snack wrappers and broken pencils and old class notes. It felt like sacrilege. He laid back down, and you pulled a throw blanket over the two of you.

With his head against the pillows, you wondered if he could also sense the phantom of Art’s presence there in the bed. Somewhere between you, forcing distance.

“So, when do you leave for your next tournament?” You asked. Unconsciously, you reached out to play with his hair, the same way you did to Art in times like these. “Soon, I bet. You usually don’t stay long.”

“Trying to get rid of me?” He asked, a tiny smile playing at his lips. His chest was still heaving with exertion.

You shook your head. “I don’t want to get rid of you, Patrick.” He melted into your touch, eyes fluttering shut.

In the morning, you’d wake up squished against Patrick’s side with the taste of sugary alcohol on your tongue. When you picked up your phone to see three missed calls from Art, it was easier to pretend that you hadn’t seen them at all.

thanks for reading :) if you enjoyed, please lmk by sending an ask, or whatever you wanna do <3

#challengers 2024 #art donaldson #patrick zweig #art donaldson x reader #patrick zweig x reader #art donaldson fanfic #patrick zweig fanfic #challengers fanfic #my writing

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harryspet · 23 days ago

Text

rough hands, soft chains [3] r.cameron

[warnings] dark!rancher!rafe x bimbo!cowgirl!reader, arranged marriage, rancher au, manipulation, size difference, DUBCON, rafe is HUGE, pain with sex, fingering, breeding kink, little editing, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK 18+

In which you're not sure you truly have what it takes to "accommodate" your new fiancé.

word count: 4.2k

rough hands, soft chains masterlist

“Why do you insist on stealing my fiance?”

Wheezie looked up at her brother from her place on the carpet. You were placing the last hair roller around her freshly curled hair, pinning it place. The two of you had spent the last two hours giving each other spa treatments, evidenced by the face mask on Wheezie’s face, and the under eye patches on yours. It seemed obvious to you what you were up to but Rafe’s face scrunched in confusion, maybe even annoyance, at the sight before him.

“We’re having a girls night!” Wheezie protested, “Get out!”

You blinked, glancing between the two siblings, trying to gauge whether this was actual tension or just their usual back-and-forth. Navigating the Cameron family dynamic was a constant puzzle, and you hated feeling caught in the middle of it. You genuinely liked all of them in different ways.

Well, almost all of them.

You weren’t sure what it was that you felt for Rafe. He seemed to force all the feelings out of you, prying his way into your brain and into your heart.

“You can’t hold her hostage, Wheeze,” Her brother raised his voice back, “I need to talk to her, you know, about adult things. Shit you wouldn’t get.”

“Adult things, gross,” You could practically hear Wheezie’s smirk, “I’m sure Y/N would rather hang out with me than do adult things with you.”

The meaning initially passed over your head. You looked at Rafe innocently, “Y/N?” His shift in focus to you made you panic for a moment.

“Oh, well … we were going to do some meditation before bed too.”

Rafe’s lips quirked into a smile that couldn’t possibly be genuine, “Fine, just come get me when you’re done.”

The way he slammed Wheezie’s door shut also gave you the impression that he wasn’t happy.

“Ignore him,” Wheezie said quickly. You admired her defiance sometimes. Rafe didn’t ever to seem to really rattle her the way he did to you.

Over the past few weeks, she had become your guide to surviving life in this house. Out of everyone, she understood Rafe best. Sarah barely came around, and when she did, the way she looked at you—pitying, almost regretful—made you uncomfortable. You hated it. You’d rather spend time with Rose, who had taken you wedding dress shopping just the day before, only to scold you for picking something too “revealing.” She’d given you a long-winded speech about modesty and the importance of upholding the Cameron image. You were marrying into an exceptionally wealthy family, after all. You had to act like it.

But Wheezie? Wheezie was simply happy to have you there, to welcome you into her world. And slowly, you were beginning to imagine this as your new life. The thought didn’t seem so terrible when you pictured Wheezie as your sister.

It all came crashing down on you a few days after the incident with Rafe in the barn. You weren’t allowed to sleep in the same bed until you were officially married, Rose’s rule, but that didn’t keep Rafe from your bedroom in the middle of the night.

And when you woke, sore and spent, the weight of something unfamiliar pressed against your left hand.

A diamond.

Wheezie was fast asleep when you finally slipped out of her bedroom. In pink, fuzzy socks, you padded across the hallway towards Rafe’s room. You only knocked once before the door was opened and you were stepping inside.

In contrast to yours, Rafe’s room was dark and brooding with darker woods and deep navy walls. A sturdy mahogony desk perched in the corner next to a leather armchair. There were no dainty florals or soft touches. His bed, much larger than yours, had the sheets strewn about, a possible indication of sleepless nights or …other activities. A few forgotten whiskey glasses sat on in nightstand. The only source of light in the room was from the soft, yellow glow of his desk lamp.

It always felt intimate being in Rafe’s room, like you were completely in his world. Your gaze lifted, drawn to him as if by instinct. Shirtless, his toned chest and broad shoulders were carved in the dim light, his presence overwhelming in a way that sent a shiver through you.

“Turn around, darlin’.”

Innocently, you obeyed his command. You were only confused for a moment. You yelped, feeling the cool air against the back of your legs as Rafe slipped down your long, silk pajamas.

You should’ve known Rafe didn’t actually need to talk to you.

Lifting you by your waist, Rafe carried you over to the bed swiftly, leaving your bottoms behind. He always laid you down gently but the firmness of his grip left no room for discussion. He knew exactly where he wanted your body, what position he desired to have you in. You were starting to get used to his routine. He undressed you, placed you where he wanted, and it wasn’t long before he was inside of you.

Tonight, he wanted you on your stomach, your head resting at the edge of the bed. You didn’t dare look back at him, it always unsettled you more when you caught a glimpse of just how imposing he was. Instead, you kept your gaze forward, fixated on the shadows and darkness in the window. You felt the weight of his legs straddling yours, his hands kneading the soft flesh of your bottom before delivering a few sharp, deliberate slaps. A shiver ran through you as his fingers hooked into your panties, dragging them aside with ease, exposing you to him entirely.

He spit into his hand and you jumped again when you felt his fingers teasing your warm center. For an excruciatinly long time, he placed a strong hand on your upper back, keeping you pinned as he sunk his fingers inside of you. He had called it 'warming you up' the last time. His pace was slow, deliberate. You were biting down onto the comforter by the time his third digit pushed inside. Now, you could happily take two of his fingers. You’d like sex with Rafe much more if it simply involved two of his fingers pushing in an out of you. When he added that circling motion on your sensitive bud, you could reach that beautiful peak quickly. But the third finger was the closest thing he could use to prepare you for his size.

“I know, baby,” he murmured, his voice smooth yet firm, a response to your soft whimpers, “Relax. You make it worse when you’re so tense.”

“Sorry,” You rushed out before you bit down on your lip hard, “Rafe, um, can you…”

He pushed deeper and you reached out to grab the wooden bed frame in front of you, “Can I what, darlin’?”

“T-Touch me?” You asked, unsure, wincing as the feeling of being stretched, “Please.”

In response, he adjusted your hips, pulling them up from the bed, still three fingers deep inside of you, before he started to circle your clit with the thumb of his other hand. You took in rapid breaths as you adjusted to the sensation, the pleasure now beginning to mix in with the discomfort.

“Think you can come like this, baby?”

“Uh,” You pressed your face into the mattress, your words failing you, and soon all that was left were sobs.

“Try, baby,” You heard him say, “Squeeze my fingers.”

You had never considered that "down there" was a muscle—until Rafe. Obeying his command, you imagined yourself squeezing his fingers, and the response was immediate. Your body reacted instinctively, heightening your pleasure and pushing you toward release. It was overwhelming. Almost painful. But an orgasm nonetheless. Your first one with Rafe had taken you so much by surprise that Rafe had to cover your face with a pillow to keep you from waking up the entire house.

Tonight, you muffled your own screaming, pressing your face further into the blankets. He left you no time to recover. As soon as your body was more … accepting, he started to push himself inside of you. Panicked, you reached back to push at his hip, an attempt at requesting for him to slow his pace. He felt even larger in this position, and it didn’t take long to realize he was pressing against a barrier deep inside you.

You had to accommodate him. He was your future husband and you had be able to lie with him. He deserved pleasure too and how else would you be able to have kids one day? You wanted a family again, right?

One day, it would get easier. Rafe would make sure of it. He would help you, guide you, until your body learned to take him without resistance.

By the time Rafe reached his climax, you were a sweaty, tear-streaked mess. He had promised it would get easier, yet once again, you were left aching and sore. When he finally lifted his weight off you, your body remained frozen in place.

“Fuck,” he muttered, shifting to the other end of the bed. You heard the rustle of sheets as he settled in, his head hitting the pillow.

“Y/N?”

“Y-Yes?” you replied, your voice shaky.

“Go pee,” he ordered, his tone firm yet drowsy.

“Why?”

“Just go,” he repeated, exhaling sharply. “I’m fucking tired.”

It took every ounce of strength, but you pushed yourself up from the bed. You felt his eyes on you as you waddled to his bathroom door, still able to feel him inside of you, white stuff dripping down your thighs.

Inside, you flipped on the bathroom light, squinting as your eyes attempted to adjust. Your legs trembled as you lowered yourself onto the toilet. You heard Rafe shifting in bed, the sheets rustling as he got comfortable. He was already drifting off, unbothered, while you sat there, trying to collect yourself.

After a moment, you reached for some toilet paper, dabbing at the mess between your thighs. Your body still felt raw, stretched beyond what you thought possible. Flushing the toilet, you moved to the sink, cupping cold water in your hands and splashing it on your face.

You turned off the light and stepped back into the bedroom. Still glistening with a layer of sweat, he laid down with an arm over his face as he breathed steadily and quietly. You found your pajama bottoms sitting by the door and carefully put them back over your legs.

“Y/N?” You were reaching for the handle of his bedroom door and paused.

“Yeah?”

“Stay in here with me.”

“We’re not supposed to–”

“I’m a grown man and you’re my fucking fiance.”

He always spoke so sharply and in a way that left no room for arguing. Sometimes, that anger and frustration wasn’t directed at you but that didn’t make you immune from feeling it. The last thing you wanted was to cause any problem’s with his parents. They’d made it very clear that they expected the two of you to sleep separately until the wedding.

Slowly, you turned to face him. He was still sprawled across the bed, the sheets tangled around his waist, his bare chest rising and falling.

“Stay,” he repeated, softer this time, the demand still there.

Silently, you padded over to his bed again. He lifted the sheets and carefully, you climbed into the bed, beside him.

“There you go, darlin’” he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple as he tucked you beneath him, his weight pinning you into place. “Right where you belong.”

Seeing how much happier Juliet was at the Cameron ranch made you question why you didn’t feel the same as her.

Late afternoon sun bathed the Cameron state in warm gold as you rode beside Sarah Cameron. Juliet moved beneath you with ease, but every step sent a dull ache through your thighs. You winced, shifting slightly in the saddle in an attempt to ease the soreness.

Sarah, riding beside you on her white mare, caught it immediately, “You good?” She asked, concern on her face.

You nodded quickly, “Oh, I’m fine. I just haven’t rode in awhile.”

It hurt to even slide on your tight jeans that morning thanks to the bruising on your inner thighs and the soreness in your middle. You turned your head, watching as the barn got farther from your view. You and Sarah had left John B. and Rafe hunched over a work bench, repairing worn bridles and saddles.

Rafe had let you tag along for the day, surprising you both when you found Sarah already there with John B., leaning against a stall with her arms crossed. The moment she saw you, she swung effortlessly onto her horse, flashing you a grin. “Come on. Juliet is yours, right?,” she urged, nudging her mare forward. “Let’s leave the boys to their busy work."

You looked to Rafe for permission, of course, and took his rolled eyes and quick dismissal as a yes.

Now, she caught your quick glances back towards the barn, “My brother isn’t hurting you, is he?”

Her words took you by complete surprise. Your fingers tensed on Juliet’s reins, pulling too sharply, and for a moment, the mare tossed her head in protest, “Sorry, Julie,” You said, “Uhm, what? N-no. Why … why would you think that?”

She gave you a look that was hard to read and your horses continued alongside each other, “I’m sure you’ve gotten to know what he’s like,” She said, “Do you … think he’s a nice guy?”

“He’s…” You rushed to answer, wanting to reassure her, but the words got tangled in your head. “He’s nice to me,” you finally said, nodding like that would make it more true. “Sometimes he, like, talks really directly? In a way that… I don’t know, kinda hurts my feelings? But I know he doesn’t mean to be mean.”

“Huh,” Sarah took in your words, and you smiled, trying to ease the tension in the conversation, “He’s a lot for most people. To be honest, I don’t know if you’re what I pictured for the girl he’d finally settle down with.”

“Oh,” You said, trying to not to let the way your heart panged with hurt show on your face, “Yeah, maybe. I guess I’m not very strong… or the smartest person.”

Sarah’s eyes softened, her expression shifting from the guarded look she’d worn before. “Hey, that’s not what I meant. I didn’t mean it like that,” she said quickly, pulling her horse a little closer to yours. “I just... I know what it’s like to lose a parent. I know how confusing and lonely it is. And it might make you feel better to get wrapped up with Rafe but it’s also good to have your own life. Maybe your own friends?”

She searched your gaze and you felt your throat tighten and tears threatening to escape, “Wheezie’s my friend, at least.”

“Wheezie’s great,” Sarah said which made you smile sadly, “I have some friends. John B and I do. They live on the otherside of Kildare but I always try to meet up with them. They’re cool and they’re actually our age. I’d love to introduce you to them.”

Your heart gave a small, hesitant flutter. “That would be fun,” you said quietly, and for the first time in a while, you entertained the thought of something else, something new.

“Do you drink?” She asked after a moment of just enjoying the breeze and watching the tall, swaying grass.

“I have before,” You said feeling a little sheepish, “Just not enough to say I like it, I guess. Why?”

“When I go over there, we usually drink, watch a movie, play games, that kind of thing. It’s really fun. You don’t have to drink but I think you’ll like it.”

“Does Rafe know your friends?”

Sarah snorted, “Uh, yeah. He wouldn’t want to come with us. Don’t mention it to him yet, though, okay?”

“Oh, okay,” You agreed, “Sarah, do you think you could come next time I go dress shopping? Rose is a little…”

“Uptight,” She finished, “Yeah, sure. That would be fun.”

Your opinion of Sarah Cameron had shifted quickly and for the better.

“Like I said before, you’re moving too fast with her, Rafe.”

Rafe should’ve known that his father didn’t invite him to breakfast at the diner in town for father-son bonding time. Nor was it a business meeting. He would’ve preferred either over a lecture. He was stuck, unable to really raise his voice, due to the public setting which Ward knew undoubtedly. The diner was a small place, the kind of spot where everyone knew each other’s names and half the town seemed to gather before heading off to the fields or pastures.

It was when they got back into Ward’s SUV that Rafe could finally say what he felt. “This is micromanagement. You’re fucking micromanaging me, Dad! I did what you wanted and you’re upset because I’m not doing it exactly the way you want.”

Ward’s hands gripped the steering wheel so tight Rafe thought it might break. “I need you to get it through your thick skull that you don’t know everything, Rafe.”

“This is just Rose and her bullshit–”

“It’s disrespectful and you know that. We’re being woken up at all times of the night. Not to mention the girl is walking around with hickies and bruising. What’s that gonna look like to people in town? We took in that girl! People will think we’re using her. It’s not a good look.”

Ward started up the car and pulled away quickly, the tires kicking up dust as they left the quiet, small-town streets behind. Kildare was a ranching community, where everyone’s business was their business. Rafe couldn’t do anything without people noticing.

“None of this will matter after the wedding. I don’t know, Dad, I guess I just don’t give a shit anymore what other people think.”

“You won’t take over the business if that’s how you see things.”

“Dad–”

“And you won’t get the Ironwood house. We’ve talked about this endlessly,” Rafe’s fist hit the paneling of the car door and he squeezed his eyes tightly as the anger passed through him, radiating through him, warming his skin, “You get the house under the conditions that Rose and I set.”

“That house is mine. You know that Mom wanted it that way,” Rafe argued with clenched fists, “You don’t get to control that, Dad.” Rafe’s voice was sharp, raw, but there was a tremor beneath the surface. The Ironwood house had been promised to him, but Ward had always been the one to hold the strings, dangling that future in front of him like a carrot on a stick. “I earned that house. I’ve worked for it. You can’t just take it away.”

About twenty miles from the Cameron estate, nestled along a winding dirt road that cut through the sprawling countryside, sat the Ironwood house. The house wasn’t as grand as the Cameron estate it had a quiet but rugged charm. It had once belonged to a competitor before the Cameron family had purchased the land after his passing.

Ward’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, his knuckles pale in the dim light. “I’m not taking anything from you, Rafe. But if you want to go off and make mistakes, you know, like getting that girl pregnant just a few weeks after you met her or embarrassing our family, then there will be consequences.”

Rafe nodded his head though inside he was seething, “I got it, Dad,” Rafe rubbed his face in his hands, his jaw clenched tightly, “You win.”

You fucking win, Rafe thought, for now.

Oh, you were perfect for him. Rafe kept quiet throughout dinner that night but that was because he was intently watching you. The way you confidently wore that pink, gingham dress that was cut way too low, to the point that your breasts were practically spilling from it. When you caught Rafe glancing at you, you’d flash him a shy smile. Lips shining with gloss and sparkles, Rafe imagined smudging all your makeup.

He’d been working on training your hole to take him, he hadn’t considered training your mouth yet. You seemed more comfortable, making conversation with both Wheezie and Sarah. The way you carried yourself, effortlessly making them laugh, was different, more natural.

It would be good if you liked this family but Rafe couldn’t help that his mind wandered to the family he would make. His father's attempts to control him, especially in the bedroom, only made things worse. It triggered something deep within him. It was his god-given right as a man to fuck you in all the ways he wanted, with or without protection. You were his. That had been true ever since he put a ring on your left hand.

After dinner, Rafe pulled you upstairs into Ward’s office. It was reckless, he knew that, but he was clinging onto that sense of control.

“What are we doing in here?”

“I’m going to fuck you,” Rafe replied, his eyes tracking the shift in your expression as the realization hit. The fear in your face made him harder than he already was, and he had to undo his belt. “Go sit on the desk,” he instructed, gesturing to the large mahogany desk in the center of the room.

“But that’s your dad’s desk,” you hesitated, a frown tugging at your lips. “Isn’t that, like, weird?”

Rafe shot you a warning look, and without another word, you scrambled across the room toward his desk. He followed closely, closing the distance between you. “It’s your fault,” he muttered, his voice rough as he crossed the room too. “Look at what you're wearing. You’re practically begging to get fucked.”

“I wasn’t—” you started to protest.

“You were,” Rafe cut you off, his tone final. “You wore that dress for me, didn’t you? Or were you looking for attention from someone else?”

“I wasn’t—”

“You weren’t what?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

Rafe loved the panic he saw in your eyes, the way the few thoughts you could hold in your head seemed to swirl, struggling to make sense of what was happening.

“I …I didn’t wear it for anyone else.”

“You wore it for me, then.”

“It was for you,” You spoke in a hesitant whisper. Your head tilted, and Rafe could see the uncertainty in your eyes. Still, the words sent a rush of heat through him. Rafe lifted you up by your hips, placing you on the desk, right on top of manila folders and Ward’s important paperwork.

"Good girl, baby," he murmured, his hand finding the hem of your dress, lifting it. "Now, don’t act like you don’t want this."

“Rafe, I’m still sore,” You said as Rafe slid your panties down your thigh.

“I’ll be quick,” Rafe assured you, “I’ve been halfway there since you walked in the dining room earlier.”

It wasn’t that Rafe didn’t understand the toll that he took on your body. He cared, he certainly didn’t want to break you, but he also knew that you could handle more than you could wrap your mind around. Maybe, he was a bit selfish and enjoyed the sight of him slowly fucking you, his huge girth sliding in and out of you, stretching you to the point of sobbing.

He wanted you to feel empty without him. He wanted you to become so used to him that another man or even your own tiny fingers couldn’t satisfy your needs.

“Relax,” Rafe said, watching the ways your eyes darted between his blue ones and then back down to his length, “You’re okay, darlin’.”

Rafe pushed your shoulders down until your elbows were propped up against the desk before he grabbed your legs, tilting your hips up. He spit directly against your hole before spitting into his palm, coating his hard length with his own saliva.

He watched the way your face scrunched in pain as he started to push inside of you. Like he taught you before, you started to take deep breaths in and out, “Good girl, just like I taught you. You’re okay,” Rafe cooed as you squeezed him tight.

Those deep breaths quickly became shallow ones as he stretched you. “I can’t, I can’t, it’s too big–” You spoke suddenly, shaking your head, “I’m sorry, please. Please, Rafe.”

“Baby, it’s okay-”

“Please, please, please. Please. Please. Not okay. Not okay. I can’t, I can’t.”

Rafe surprised even himself when he paused. The look on your face reminded him of the time in the car, the first day you met. It was hard to watch. He’d pushed you too far, you were starting to have a panic attack. His chest tightened as he pulled back, his mind scrambling. He tucked himself back into his briefs. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Slowly, he reached for your shoulder, lifting it carefully to help you sit up.

“Shit, we can stop, okay?” Rafe said in a voice he didn’t recognize, “Fuck, you need to breathe, Y/N.”

He pulled you closer, letting your head rest on his chest, as you tried to control your hiccups and heavy breathing. Listening to it made his own breath feel tight in his lungs. Stroking your back, he tried to quell the storm inside of you. Rafe’s heart pounded in his chest as he held you close, the guilt gnawing at him, “Jesus …I’m sorry, baby.”

reblog WITH a comment about the chapter to be added to the taglist :)

#rafe cameron #outer banks #dark fic #black!reader #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x black!reader #outer banks smut #obx #rafe smut #rafe x reader #sarah cameron

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buckyschair · 9 days ago

Text

AFTERGLOW

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: A sequel part to Flirting, which follows our dear reader (an archivist from Day Court) and the events post-hook-up with Azriel. Don’t worry, his busybody family could never be too sidetracked with running their court to prevent them getting involved in his love life– and, thanks to the properties of transference, yours! Have you stumbled upon something real here with him? Or will it be over before it’s begun? Only Azriel’s shadowy attachment style and maladaptive coping mechanisms will tell! Spoiler: the sex is good.

read part one on tumblr here

A/N: From the bottom of my heart, what the fuck was I doing when I started writing this fic in the second person present tense. Copy editing this was a nightmare. I am completely demoralized. The only thing that can cure me? Your comments and kudos, baby!

Content Warnings: porn with plot, kinda switches between your POVS, female reader, Rhys and Cass and Mor being dickheads (affectionate), smut (featuring aftercare <3), mutual masturbation, thigh riding, unprotected PIV sex, explicit language, alcohol, yearning, idiots to lovers, no use of Y/N

Disclaimers: 1. I’m woman enough to admit that I don’t know how the magic system works in this universe. Who has what powers? None of my business. Yet, somehow, this same author spent an hour researching exactly how people with penises like to masturbate. And that’s showbiz, baby! 2. It’s also not my business where these people live. I haven’t read ACOSF yet so I have no idea where they’re all supposed live so just pretend Az has his own place and they all share a house too idk the river house is new and confusing to me kthxbyeeee

18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Word Count: ~14k

Read on AO3

It’s surprisingly domestic, how the morning unfolds in a post-coital haze, breathy moans lapsing into quiet conversation about pillow preferences and the day's looming demands. You’re seriously so glad you went dancing last night, especially since your fun solo night out was cut short in favor of mind blowing sex with Azriel. The male lies beside you, your body tucked into his arm on his massive bed, the pair of you lingering after another round of bliss. You’re reluctant to emerge from your shared cocoon, but you know you can’t stay forever.

“I don’t know about you, but this is my ideal morning,” Azriel comments lazily.

You murmur something noncommittal.

He raises himself up on one arm to look at you, affronted. You see the disbelief in his poised face, his quiet accusation: How could it get better than this? It’s sharp enough to uncover your grin as you answer:

“A bath?” you propose.

Azriel presses a kiss to your temple before grumbling his way out from under the covers.

“Anything for my esteemed guest,” he says sarcastically.

“I’m so honored,” you say, eyes rolling behind his back as he disappears into the washroom.

“I saw that!” he calls from inside.

You give him a rude gesture from your place under his sheets, and you hear his chuckle echoing through the open doorway as he draws you a bath. Even his laughter sounds like a whispered secret. You treasure the sound, storing it away in your memory.

You’re half hoping he’ll join you in the bath, but he leaves you to wash alone once you finally emerge from his bed. Water sluices across your form as you cleanse yourself of the hard earned sweat and stain. While the stickiness washes away, the warmth of your experience remains; an invisible mark at odds with the pale bruises blooming on your chest and thighs. His soap smells of citrus and cedar, a salty scrub that rejuvenates your flesh and invigorates your senses. It was the scent you’d caught in his pillows as you’d been pressed into them this morning. You wipe the images from your mind, clearing your head with some effort.

When you emerge from your much needed bath, wrapped in a towel, you find your things laid out neatly for you atop his fresh sheets. You pick up an oversized shirt included in the pile. Your brow arches in silent question towards the male currently fussing with dirty sheets. Thankfully, he’s donned some undershorts, so you could expect to keep it together for at least a full conversation.

“I couldn’t find your shirt,” Azriel confesses, apologetic. He tells you that he looked all over his room while you were bathing, to no avail.

“Aren’t you a spy? I can’t believe you couldn't track it down,” you laugh as you slip into his tunic. It smells clean, and you’re a little put out that it doesn’t have his aroma. He throws a pillow at you, and you barely catch it before it smacks you in the face. His pout only makes you laugh harder.

He apologizes again about your top, but as you slip your skirt back on, you remind him that you weren’t protesting last night when he threw it gods know where. His ears burn as he imagines it falling out the window, landing somewhere in the city below, perhaps much to some stranger’s confusion.

“Not that it would be out of character for this place, with Rhys and Feyre being the way they are,” he concludes, cracking you up again.

You come to stand before him, in your odd new outfit, short tight skirt and long baggy shirt. Now that you’re dressed, you aren’t sure of what comes next. So far, he’s directed your morning routine, and you’re suddenly dreading the inevitable moment when you have to leave. His eyes are taking you in, and you have no idea how his heart stutters at the sight of you, freshly bathed in his soap and dressed in his clothing. He has half a mind to take you back to bed, if Rhys hadn’t just been in his head reminding him of their upcoming morning appointment.

Before you can ask him what the plan is, your stomach growls loudly, demanding.

You curse your traitorous stomach as you walk through the grand halls alone in search of a meal, disoriented since he’d kissed your temple again right after dispatching you to the kitchen. He’d offered to get the two of you food, but you told him he should bathe first. Truth be told, you just needed a moment to get your bearings. This morning was far more normal than you were expecting, and it unnerved you how easily you’d fallen into a mock domestic routine with the warrior.

Soon enough, you find a well stocked kitchen, exactly where Azriel had explained it would be. You shouldn’t be surprised that his directions were so clear, given the male’s strategic mind.

You do find yourself surprised, however, that he’s allowing you to wander unchaperoned and barefoot through his court’s inner dwelling. The thought had warmth blooming in your chest as you set water to boil on the stove before looking around for some proper kind of tea.

Before you know it, you’ve lost yourself to snooping through the full cabinets, inspecting jars and baskets of dry goods as you assemble your small feast. As an archivist, you can’t help admiring neat collections of any kind. You’re as endlessly fascinated with the contents of cabinets as you are with stacks of manuscripts.

The distraction is why you don’t notice the approaching footsteps until a sarcastic voice calls you out of your reverie.

“Az? Is that you?”

You freeze your snacking at the unfamiliar male voice in the hallway.

“What the hell, brother. So tell me why you tapped out earlier than anyone last night– without saying goodbye, might I add– and yet you’re the only one late to training this–” the voice cuts off as he finally spots you through the door frame.

“Oh,” the Illyrian stumbles before quickly recovering, “Hello.” A boyish smile breaks upon his face as he takes in your state, dressed in his brother’s shirt over a skintight skirt.

“You’re not Azriel,” he observes keenly.

He offers you a wide grin, which you return sheepishly at first but then with real humor.

“No, I’m not,” you laugh, realizing this must be Cassian. You introduce yourself briefly before adding, “He’ll probably be late this morning.”

“I bet he will be,” Cassian quips, but before he can question you further, you excuse yourself with your tea while it's still hot.

“It’s nice to meet you!” he calls after you, your name ringing down the corridor.

Cassian shakes his head once you leave, speechless for a moment before he contacts Rhys. You won’t believe this! he projects excitedly, thrilled to have some gossip on his brooding brother for once.

You can’t hide your giddy blush when you return to Azriel’s room to eat. He takes the tea with quiet thanks, laughing at the mischief you’d gotten up to in his absence, and even more so at your impression of Cassian. His chest warms at your brief brush with his family. You enjoy a peaceful meal sitting in his chair by the window while he tidies his already very clean room, noting how fastidious he is in his motions as he dresses and styles his hair for the day.

Once he’s run out of ways to drag out his morning routine, he turns to you with a serious but soft expression.

“Can I see you again?” Azriel asks. If all logic didn’t defy it, you’d say he sounds nervous. “Perhaps on a real date?”

“A date?” you ask coyly. You don’t bother to hide your smug delight at his words, feeling like you’ve just won a prize. “Yeah, I think I’d like that. A lot.”

His resulting smile is so bright– for a second it transports you back to the grand archival library in Day court, where you’d soak up the blinding noon light that would stream in through the tall arched windows. You could always rely on its warmth for a reprieve from your dusty, tedious tasks. You imagine Az must feel similarly in this moment for his shadowy expression to break with such radiance.

It calms your sorrow at leaving the brilliant palace, confident that you might very well see it again soon. You enjoy this flight more, as he carefully maneuvers through the city’s sky, the journey less disorienting in the daylight. He leaves you on the steps of your accommodations near the library with a lingering kiss and a promise to see you again the next night.

Once he leaves, your mind goes into overdrive, cataloguing all that had occurred and trying to figure out what exactly drew you together. If there was any sort of common thread, it was invisible, but you felt its undeniable pull all the same.

You’d have to do some further research, you decide, on Illyrians, and on shadowsingers. And perhaps on sex positions with winged fae. And maybe you should buy a new going out top… though you certainly wouldn’t be returning this new one anytime soon, you think, smoothing Azriel’s shirt down as you step inside your little place.

You happily plan your list of tasks and activities, unaware of the shadows that slip inside after you, ready to report back to their master, who is equally anticipating your next meeting, even as he arrives unforgivably late to training, only to face the torment of his nosy family.

Azriel bears their prying questions and bold threats with characteristic stoicism, cracking only to say that they’d better play nice, offering scalding threats of his own lest they scare you off. Deep down, he thinks with pride that you could probably actually handle them in their full chaos.

After all, he’d felt something shake loose in his chest this morning as he’d laid watching your sleeping form. He recalls how he’d felt last night, when you were backlit and glowing above him. The magnetism that had sparked, a gravity he stepped into fearlessly when in battle, that now gave him pause. Later, when he had a moment, he would examine it more intently, but even at this glance, he felt it strongly.

He swallows his smile as he falls into the motions of sparring with Rhys, feeling that familiar thrill. He’s found a real contender in you, he should have known it from the moment he saw you squaring up back at the club. Azriel can’t wait to see things through with you.

Hours later, recalling that excitement feels like mockery, as he ponders what one possibly does for a first– second?– date. He curses himself for having such a premature reaction, rather than applying a more rational process to the situation. He’d met you once. He told himself he hardly knew you.

But even as he had that thought, he brought to mind all he’d absorbed about you. Your life in Day, your dedication to your people, your reverence for things of antiquity. His mind wandered to your shared experience, how he’d seen you come alive and undone under his touch. Your small reactions, your fixation on his wings, your quickness to humor. He couldn’t convince himself that he didn’t know you at all. Still, surely many fae knew you better than he could, after just one night.

The thought fills him with an ugly emotion; he didn’t like that someone else might know you better than he. Azriel scolds himself for his juvenile envy. He hadn’t earned special intimacy with you. Yet , he amends.

He is a master of spies, and foremost of a scarce population who could wield shadows as easily as any blade, and the trusted right hand of the most formidable High Lord in history. Even in his own right, he is one of the most powerful Illyrians in existence, he reminds himself as he sets to the task of planning your date.

Azriel is determined to show you a good time. He thinks back to how organic, how right your brief time together at Rita’s had felt.

How badly could this go?

✸✸✸

“You’re an idiot. I knew you were an asshole, but honestly Az, I hadn’t pegged you as an idiot,” Cassian scoffs, his raven locks shaking derisively. “I don’t know why I expected better.”

Azriel just glares at him. He should have known it was a mistake to come to Cassian for advice.

He looks to Rhys, hoping to find more level headed counsel. The three of them were cooling down from their morning sparring the night after his much anticipated date with you, ransacking the kitchen to refuel. Unfortunately, Rhys’ expression isn’t encouraging, the High Lord barely concealing his amusement.

Azriel sighs, supplicating the ceiling for better guidance. He knows that their strenuous exercises aren’t solely to blame for the distant throbbing in his skull.

“Quit it with the hysterics,” Rhys teases.

Azriel levels him with a stare, his shoulders tense and his shadows in pandemonium.

Rhys sighs, relenting, “So, you were saying you took her out to dinner?” he prompts diplomatically.

Azriel nods. He had picked you up about an hour after you’d gotten out of work for the day. You’d been elegantly arrayed, but still casual, since you weren’t sure what he had planned. Your wide smile upon seeing him had left him winded as you’d taken in his generous physique. He’d been drinking you in too, and the sight of those same chunky boots on your feet had had him smirking.

You’d playfully bared your teeth as you laid your hand on his waiting arm. “See something you like, soldier?” you’d teased.

“Very much so,” he’d responded honestly.

His candor had struck you off balance with more punch than any sweet talk or sass could have packed. His eyes held the same intensity that they’d burned with the other night; the same intensity that you’d started to doubt in your memory, thinking you must have imagined it in your blissed out daze.

“You clean up nice, too,” you’d recovered.

He’d mirrored your blush then, his red dusted cheeks relaxing you as he’d guided the two of you along the Sidra into the center of town.

The restaurant had been nice, not too nice, but comfortable and intimate. You’d been thrilled with the menu, the seafood more exotic and the spices more daring than what you told him you were used to back in Day. Perhaps he should have commented more of his own thoughts, but he was so satisfied just to listen to your chatter.

“Dinner was good,” Azriel shares.

Rhys and Cassian share a look at that. They were probably holding a conversation mentally on the side, analyzing and strategizing.

“Well, don’t bore us with the details,” Rhys prompts sarcastically.

Azriel swallows his retort, reminding himself that these were his brothers. As much as they pissed him off, they were his family, and they wanted the best for him. They wanted him to be happy.

“What else do you want to know?!” he groans.

“Did you fuck her?” Cassian deadpans.

Azriel just sputters in response. He is quickly losing faith that his brothers will be any help, if that was the best Cass could do.

“No!” Azriel balks.

“What do you mean no!” Rhys shouts, as Cassian curses and shakes his head more, this time hiding his face in his hands.

“I mean, we… we did sleep together that first night,” Azriel amends, with a meaningful look at Cassian, who stops snickering. “But not last night.”

“Why the hell not?” Cassian demands.

“Is that all you can think about?” Az hedges. He honestly didn’t know why you hadn’t slept together again. He had certainly wanted to. Fuck, what he wouldn’t do for another chance to taste you, to take you back to his place– his real place this time, not the House of Wind– get you in his bed and run his hands over your thighs, and up, up, to brush his thumb through your soaking folds–

“Brother! You’re one to talk, you’re the one going stupid at the thought of her right now!” Cass’s accusation has him cursing and forcing his mind back to this maddening conversation.

Rhys regards him with a knowing look which does little to comfort him. The two males across the counter share another meaningful glance. Azriel runs his hand through his hair, he was going to lose his mind if they kept up their silent conversation.

I’m right here, assholes, he projects into their minds down the bridges Rhys had established centuries ago. Typically, they reserved their use for business, but clearly the High Lord and his Commander had no qualms using their privileged mental bridge to serve their busybody purposes.

Rhys has the decency to cringe, but Cassian dismisses his insult with the ease of one perfectly aware of his gold certified status as an ass.

“What did you do to her, Az?” Cass scorns.

“Okay. So dinner was good. That’s a good start,” Rhys interjects, suddenly playing the diplomat again as his brothers’ fists begin to curl. “What did the two of you talk about?” he prompts helplessly.

“Just… things.”

Cassian swears again at Azriel’s curt response, and even as his temper flares, Azriel sees how weak his answer is. “Okay! Okay. We… Well, she talked about her life back in Day. I asked her a lot about her work, and how their recovery efforts are progressing.”

Rhys nods, encouraging him.

“And I asked how she felt about the security of Day, since a myriad of threats remain unchecked, after everything, and since they don’t discriminate between courts but could affect any of us-”

Cassian groans, and Rhys winces.

“What! She cares about her people, I was trying to be attentive!” Az defends.

“Brother. It sounds like you were doing recon,” Rhys gently explains.

Az opens his mouth, then closes it.

“You grilled her about the status of her court’s border security,” Cass adds bluntly.

“I did not… grill her,” Azriel manages. “I just… fuck. Fuck!” he lets out. “Damn it! I was asking her about her interests,” he helplessly repeats.

Cassian and Rhys just look at him with pity.

He scowls, accepting that the dinner conversation was perhaps not as free flowing as things had been at Rita’s. Still, he’d have sworn that you’d enjoyed the evening. He looks up at his brothers, desperation written on his face. “What do I do?”

“Did you make plans to see each other again?” Cass asks hesitantly, a rare sign that he’s taking this seriously after all.

“No,” Azriel admits, “but she did say she’d like to see me again,” he adds, much to his brothers’ relief.

Rhys claps his hands together, capturing their attention, his shoulders squaring as he assumes his role as their sovereign strategist. “Alright. We can work with that,” he claims. “How do we go from here? What are the facts?”

“First, we have established that Az is an idiot,” Cassian chirps helpfully.

“Right,” Rhys confirms, and Azriel just rubs his temples. This was just like their young days at the training camp, only without the license to punch Cassian for mouthing off. “What else?”

“She wants to see him again.” Azriel opens his eyes and flashes a grateful smile at his brother, who ruins the moment by adding suggestively- ”Or at least she wants to see part of him again.”

Rhys sighs, mentally reaching out to Feyre to tell her that she’ll have to handle their mid-morning appointments solo. Everything okay? she responds. He replies wordlessly with the scene in front of him, his brothers bickering over their breakfast, Cass creating an impressively explicit insult with a chocolate pastry and Az returning in kind.

By the afternoon though, the three males have come up with a respectable plan to salvage Azriel’s tenuous connection with you.

✸✸✸

You’re surprised when you see a shadow slip along the stacks toward your spot barricaded in a corner of the Night Court’s library, poring over some dense tomes. They’re full of oblique explanations that reference texts that are equally inaccessible, even to you in your expertise. You’d just about decided it was time for a break when you see the shadow approach.

It curls around your hand in an affectionate welcome. As warmth flares in your chest, a note materializes, a welcomely legible message compared to the books you’d been buried in. You look around, despite the silent and largely empty library.

No one is present to witness your blush as you lightly stroke the first line. The note is addressed to your name in a neat script.

I’m writing with regard to my concern that you’ve had too grand an impression of my court , it reads. You can hear Azriel’s wry tone in the clear letters.

First the high class of Rita’s, then the dizzying heights of Velaris’ fine dining last night. You smile at his dry, self deprecating words. Your heart thunders as you continue reading.

I’d like to amend this most grievous picture with a far less elegant evening. Would you be available to join me for dinner tonight? Same time, and meet me at my place instead.

Please respond at your leisure. I would very much like to see you again–

–He’s included an address and signed merely with an initial, a sloping A , that you trace as you mull over his words.

His place? That last line too, I would very much like to see you again , seems less neat than the rest of his writing, almost hastily scrawled. As if it had been an afterthought. Or as if he’d been nervous to pen it?

You shake your head at his shadow twirling around your wrist, the messenger seemingly in no rush. You’d been confused after your date with the shadowsinger, and now even more so. He wanted to see you again.

The date last night hadn’t been bad. You’d certainly had worse experiences.

He had shown up right on time to pick you up from your doorstep, sweetly admiring you as you’d shakily locked up your place. When you’d caught his hungry gaze, that still novel thrill had shot through you, and you couldn’t help your smile. You’d been excited, and that feeling remained sparkling in your chest as you’d wound your way through the city towards the spot he’d picked out.

The meal you’d shared had been amazing, you were impressed with the whole affair. Azriel had looked indecently handsome in a soft black tunic and sleek charcoal pants, his siphons simmering ultramarine. You’d noticed he wore heavier leather boots…

“Nice boots,” you’d complemented with a small smirk.

“Thank you,” he had spoken sincerely, without marking your innuendo.

You’d meant it as a small temperature check, delicately referencing your previous frenzied hook up where you’d neglected to take off your shoes for the first couple rounds.

Either Azriel had missed your meaning, or he was establishing a boundary. You didn’t imagine the spymaster missed much, so you took it as an indication that he didn’t want to explicitly discuss what had happened between you.

Even that was confusing, since his eyes had still gravitated towards your lips, followed the movements of your throat, and beheld you with a ferocity you couldn’t tear yourself away from.

You held your tongue, though, about the research you’d done on how to get freaky with a winged individual. Honestly, that was probably for the best, you reflect, given how your sources were anecdotal at best. But damn! You’d done your due diligence, and you were hoping it would come in handy eventually.

Azriel had been kind to the staff, who did their best to conceal how unnerved they were by his presence. He’d been perfectly well mannered, you’d enjoyed picking his mind about court security and his entertaining stories about his family. Overall, it had felt like your conversation at Rita’s, free flowing and comfortable. You trace the evening in your mind now, finding it more complex than the books you’d been dissecting all morning.

You were used to speaking your mind, so you had planned to tell him directly that you’d like him to fuck you again, please and thank you .

And when he hadn’t responded to your lingering touches, or your meaningful looks, you figured it was the same pattern as last time; where his respectful attitude demanded he unleash his passion only slowly and incrementally as the night progressed. After he’d walked you home and you’d told him what a great time you’d had at dinner, you’d even gone so far as to invite him up to your place.

But he had declined.

The male who you thought had been undressing you with his eyes the whole way back had dodged your invitation, citing an early morning. You’d been so blindsided that you’d just accepted it.

Azriel had kissed you then, confusing you more as his hot mouth worked yours in a riveting connection. Then he had simply pulled away, his hazel eyes molten in the dark.

“I’d like to see you again.”

You cringe, recalling your words to him as he’d bade you good night. But he had seemed to practically preen at that, his shadows making lazy, arrogant circles around the horns at the apex of his wings.

So, all things considered, perhaps this note before you shouldn’t be a total surprise.

You’ll just have to talk directly with him, you reason. And the best way to do that will be to see him in person tonight. You briefly pen your enthusiastic agreement to send off with the shadow before returning to your work, heart a little lighter.

Azriel smiles as his shadow appears, depositing his note with your neat reply.

I look forward to seeing you tonight. Should I wear my boots? He laughs, spine tingling at his memory of you and those godsdamned shoes. He makes a note to remember to take them off of you tonight. If he’s so lucky…

✸✸✸

Azriel considers himself luckier than he deserves when you actually show up at his place that evening. You look resplendent, he thinks, starlight dusting your hair. Much to his embarrassment, his shadows swarm you the instant he opens his front door to your confident knock. He silently curses them and wills them to behave.

“They say hello, as well,” he says after greeting you.

“Hello to you too, then, you handsome little devils,” you flirt shamelessly with his shadows.

“Don’t encourage them,” Az chides affectionately, watching them as they double back to twirl in your hair and brush along your cheek. “They’re insufferable enough as is.”

You just laugh at their antics, flattered by their attention.

Quite frankly, you’re charmed. You couldn’t find any information on shadowsingers in your brief search on the topic. You aren’t sure how they work or how they speak to him, but you do know that you like them. The more you interact with them, you can sense their personality.

“You look beautiful,” he offers.

He takes your jacket, manners impeccable as he crisply hangs it on the back of his door.

“Thank you,” you blush, slyly admiring his wings as he’s turned away. “You don’t look half bad yourself.”

You’re fooling no one. Azriel looks good. Really good. He’s handsome enough to win a best dressed contest naked, but this outfit works for him too. His sleek vest is a deep green, the first hint of color you’ve seen on him. It complements his eyes well, bringing out their gold. You’re enjoying his exposed forearms too, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

You had caught the faint scent of citrus and cedar as you’d brushed past him to step inside. Your body is activated by the scent, recalling how it had lingered on his pillows. Overwhelmed by the pleasant picture, you swallow the memory.

Before he can catch you checking him out, you catch a mouthwatering aroma.

“Did you cook?”

His bashful look has your heart melting as he leads you to his kitchen. Indeed, the male had cooked a glorious meal. The dishes themselves aren’t particularly rich fare, but the volume is definitely more than two can pack away. He's gone all out.

As you marvel at his production, it strikes you how surreal this is, how extraordinary. You’re here. In his kitchen. The famed shadowsinger has made you roast fowl from scratch.

To distract yourself from the absurdity of the picture, you focus on the details. There's herbs tied up in bundles hanging from his shelves. You get a glance inside one cabinet as he grabs a bottle of wine, and, unsurprisingly, their contents are very neat.

“I’m impressed.”

“That’s the general idea,” he winks as he pours you a nice glass.

This was one step of his preparation for the evening. One key element of a winning battle was the location, situating your forces in the most optimal position. Now, his simple task is to figure out how to build a beautiful, long lasting relationship with a brilliant female out of a fancy goose carcass and herb potatoes. He grits his teeth. The night isn’t nearly over yet.

You accept the drink with thanks.

“So, this is your place?”

Azriel just nods.

“So, did you rent that palace temporarily, or?” you try again.

“Oh, that was the House of Wind.”

You raise your eyebrows at the lack of explanation. “It sure was windy.”

He catches your question then, “Oh- sorry, yes. It’s essentially our, that is, the court members’, public house-” he launches into the explanation you’d been looking for.

You’d imagined he would be more comfortable in his own home, but he seems uneasy. The male remains as inscrutable as ever. You hadn’t realized how much you usually rely on nonverbal cues to read people. He is so reserved– by training– and also obscured– literally, by shadows.

As you chat amiably about the city and its organization and his confusing housing situation, he leads you to his sitting room. You were surprised at your nerves even as you converse easily, typically you weren’t so easily ruffled. Then again, it’s been a while since you’d been so swept up by someone.

“It’s nice,” you say, looking around the room.

“Yeah? You like it?”

“Yeah,” you nod. It’s cozier than the palace was, the sweeping views exchanged for a comfortable and surprisingly cheerful atmosphere. The furniture is cushy, but practical, sturdy.

“I know it’s not much like the palace,” he reads your mind.

“No, I like that it's cozier. I just don’t know how you fit in the door,” you joke, gesturing vaguely at his scale, between his muscled form and looming wings. He laughs at that, and you banter back and forth about what a pity it is that there’s such a lack of Illyrian sized accommodations. Your shared laughter fades into a silence only broken by the crack of logs burning slowly in his hearth, crumbling voicelessly into embers.

You let the moment stretch, taking the moment to appreciate the relaxed evening ahead of you, unwinding from your long day at work.

Azriel, meanwhile, is counting the remaining threads of his sanity on one hand. Give him a fistfight. Give him an enemy regime to infiltrate. But gods save him from making conversation with a female he likes. He thought the relaxed setting would be more casual, but his chest is still tight as he tries to behave normally. Maybe this was a bad idea…

The pleasant silence continues to grate on Azriel, until he crumbles. “We can eat whenever,” he says, breaking the spell. He curses himself for his cowardice, sidestepping whatever was growing in the lingering quiet between you.

“This is nice, though,” you say into your wine, undeterred. It really is good stuff. You aren’t a sommelier but you know a drinkable vintage when it hits your tongue.

“Yeah,” he relaxes somewhat into the couch next to you again.

Hazel eyes meet yours, the fire from the hearth flickering in their reflection. You really are enjoying the peaceful atmosphere with him. His hair is styled a little differently than you remember, the waves flopping in a charming swoop across his forehead rather than brushed back. Your gaze dips to his lips, damp with wine. His pupils expand almost imperceptibly as they track the movement, like prey scenting a threat.

A loud knock interrupts your mooning.

Azriel frowns, one of his shadows streaking off to investigate the front door. His scowl deepens before his scout even returns, as the knocking continues, adamant.

“One moment,” Azriel says reluctantly, with an apologetic look as he stands. You nod, your attention on his tense form, his wings obscuring the door as he whips it open.

“What are you doing here?” you hear Azriel hiss.

“Rhys has no good wine left,” Cassian whines as he brushes past Azriel at the door. “Oh, hello again!” he says to you with a winning smile as he emerges from the entryway, somehow edging around the imposing shadowsinger.

“Hi,” you say quietly, but not weakly, looking to Azriel for your cues. His face is unreadable, a dark storm clouding his features once more.

“Wait up, you brute!” a female voice speaks, and Azriel’s face darkens further as a stunning female pushes her way in. You recognize her from the bar, she was one of the group Az had pointed out as his family. Mor , her name surfaces in your mind. She was the one who brought them all to Rita’s frequently.

You could guess why she might prefer that particular spot, as her eyes rake over you. She flicks her hair flirtatiously.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” she says boldly, extending a hand as you rise from Azriel’s couch, making your way to join them at the front of the room. You tell her your name, and she flashes you a smile, all teeth as she bites her lip.

“Mor,” she offers.

“Yes– it’s nice to meet you officially. Azriel has told me a bit about all of you,” you admit.

“Really?” she says with genuine interest, looking at the shadowsinger curiously. Her mind seems to be working at top speed as she takes in the two of you, him sulking by the open door and you standing comfortably by the entryway to his sitting area, your glass of wine by his couch half empty.

“Yes, well,” Azriel begins, trying to reel in his invading family, “we were just about to eat, so–”

“Yes, why don’t you join us!” you suggest. You miss Cassian’s shit eating grin and Azriel’s shocked expression as you turn to Mor.

“We would hate to intrude,” Cassian lies. He’s schooled his face into one of total propriety, a convincing facade only to you.

“No, it’ll be fun!” you encourage, finally looking to Azriel.

You feel bad to take charge, but he is giving you no clues. Welcoming his family seems like a safe play. Even if they were crashing your date, you would be lying if you said you weren’t curious to get to know them after the bits and pieces Az has shared.

Plus, you’d seen the way his eyes had flashed with alarm when you’d glanced at his lips. Maybe he’d be glad of the diversion...

“If you insist,” Cassian drawls at the same time as Mor asks “What’s that smell?”

You grab her arm cheerfully to lead her into the kitchen, eagerly sharing about the enticing meal Az had prepared.

Azriel grabs Cassian, holding him hostage in the entryway as the two females disappear into his home. “This was not the plan!” he spits in a furious whisper.

“It wasn’t your plan,” Cassian corrects in his most infuriating tone: superiority.

Azriel just growls at him as they move inside, shooting him a look that says Don’t fuck this up for me .

Cassian’s silent reply comes with mock innocence, Who, me?

Azriel’s lethal retort is snuffed out as he registers your laugh from around the corner. “Be nice!” is all Az manages before he steps into the kitchen to investigate what potentially devastating story Mor is telling to make you laugh like that. Why did Cassian think that he needed babysitting?

His anger bluffs as he takes in your red face, your grinning laughter directed at him. He can’t bring himself to feel upset when you’re giggling like a fool in his kitchen.

“Did you really steal this wine from Amren on a dare?” you wheeze gleefully, hefting the open bottle with newfound interest.

He mirrors your grin, “What kind of spy would I be if I admitted to it?”

You and Mor squeal at his response, she starts yelling at him that Of course he did it, he could never back down from a dare , and Cassian is laughing now too, butting in to tell you his side of the story, to explain his most elegantly devised dare, as Mor slaps his chest and reminds him about the many shots that had contributed to its flawed design. Azriel takes in the scene, so chaotic and so not what he had planned. You catch his eye from across the small room, your eyes shining with mirth.

You seem perfectly at home, pouring two extra glasses of wine for your unexpected guests. He shakes his head affectionately, surrendering to the new program for the evening.

As he sets the table for you and his family, he tries to remember why he was so angry just moments ago. That fire has faded to warmth, calm radiating from his chest at the familiar scene before him.

Cassian seats himself first, and then Mor insists on sitting next to you, so Azriel ends up facing you across the table. You give him a small smile, a brief look meant just for him, as his brother piles food onto his plate with gusto. You see Azriel swallow his annoyance, his face betraying that he’d cooked those fucking rosemary potatoes for you, not Cass. They’re passed to you next, and you see him relax as you dish yourself a generous portion. As the dishes rotate, the smell of the simple feast nears heavenly.

The chatter pitches higher too, Cassian asking you about Day and Mor describing the miracle that must have resulted in Azriel’s culinary art. Question after question is posed to you, apparently they find you as fascinating as you find them.

This is nothing like you’d pictured, you think, as insults and compliments are exchanged around you. And you had pictured it, what meeting Azriel’s family would be like. What else were you supposed to do with yourself last night, having been declined sex after a nice date?

It had been a clunky vision, more so based on your experiences with the formal dinners you’d attended for work than with meeting a partner’s friends and family.

You’d struggled to picture how you could possibly connect with his inner circle, elite as they were. The daydream had been promptly abandoned after you’d failed to conjure anything remotely pleasant. Azriel was always charming as ever in the imagined scenarios, but you’d not factored in the wholly unpretentious warmth he has with his closest friends.

You see that tenderness now as he rolls his eyes at the two imposing faeries, the pair of them representing a significant part of his family. A memory flashes in your mind at the sight, a memory of tenderness when he’d been admiring you in bed that morning a handful of days ago. But they'd all known each other for centuries. You’d known him for a handful of days. Was it foolish of you to dream that you’d earn a place in his world? You thought of the small case of belongings you’d brought with you from Day. Suddenly, it felt paltry, lacking, especially as you pictured your friends and work back at home.

But who cares if your presence here is inconsequential in the long run? It matters to you that you are here now, and you’re pretty sure it matters to Azriel. You reaffix your smile, deciding to enjoy the moment you’re in.

“Azriel is a total ladykiller,” Mor cackles, and you regret having zoned out during this particular story. Azriel snorts at her words, but you blush at their partial truth.

“Yeah,” Cassian catches your attention by speaking your name in a questioning tone, “Can you fight?”

“Only verbally,” you confess, a little nervous to admit it to your current company of seasoned warriors.

Cassian grunts in acknowledgement, nonjudgmental. He narrows his eyes, humor dissipating as he assesses you. “We can work with that,” he decides, suddenly sounding serious. “I can teach you the basics, but Azriel might want to show you the more advanced maneuvers himself,” he says with a wink.

Azriel blushes and glares at the innuendo, while Mor laughs around her bite. Yet the depth behind Cassian’s proposal strikes you. His offer assumes that you’ll be sticking around.

“I’d like that,” you accept, smiling at the general next to you.

Azriel feels his chest go weightless at your words, like he’s soaring high above the atmosphere. He flashes his brother a grateful look before clearing his throat.

“Don’t go easy on her, Cass. She’s lying,” Azriel warns, with a mischievous glance at you. Your shadowsinger has certainly lost whatever hesitation he had earlier, his bold words matching his newfound audacity. “She was totally squaring up with some dipshit at Rita’s before I intervened.”

You gape at him as Cass and Mor squawk. The two of them launch into an intense interrogation, demanding the full story.

As you recall the evening in question, you feel yourself precariously close to an embarrassing blush. The mortal blow comes when Azriel laughs, the sound noon-bright and ringing, buzzing loud as gossip.

Eventually, after several more glasses of wine, with empty plates to match, Azriel disentangles you from Mor and Cassian’s endless chatter. You’re reluctant to see your new friends leave, and the amused male only successfully ushers them out after you make Cassian swear to keep his promise to teach you to fight. Content, you wish everyone a good night and thank them for their warm welcome to the Night Court.

Once the door closes, Azriel heaves out a good natured sigh.

“What were you and Mor whispering about just now?” you pry, still giddy in the wake of your departed company. You liked them a lot, and you like who Azriel became around them, as laid-back as a seasoned spy could be.

“She was telling me how my head might end up on a pike if I don’t watch myself,” he responds drily, and you notice him rub his temple harshly with a knuckle.

“I’m so sorry,” you blurt out.

His brows furrow, “Why?”

“I totally invited them to stay when it wasn’t my place,” you explain, shaking your head in regret. “Did I totally ruin our date?”

“Well I ruined the last one,” he says with humor, “so it was your turn.”

“What? No you didn't!” you defend him.

You’re shocked by his candid words. The date had been a bit awkward at the end, but it wasn’t a disaster in your eyes.

“Yes, I did.”

“What do you mean?” you search as you walk back into the kitchen to start cleaning up, “Like how we didn’t have sex?” Azriel chokes, his humor vanishing as you continue, “I was going to ask about that, but I figured it was a topic we should address privately.”

“Thank you for that small mercy,” he recovers. His shadows betray his agitation, floating jerkily around his shoulders in a confused dance.

You realize with a start that he’s nervous. The war hardened fighter is unnerved by a conversation about sex.

You’d really meant to ask earlier, but it wasn’t going to happen in front of Cass and Mor. The conversation at dinner had been enthusiastic and expansive, lighthearted at every turn. You’d assumed its levity was due to the fact that you were new, unfamiliar company. Now, seeing Azriel fight demons to self-reflect, you wonder if he ever really opens up to anyone, even his closest family members.

In all fairness, you aren’t exactly thrilled to talk about it either. You're nervous too, painfully aware that there’s an obvious explanation as to why he didn’t sleep with you again.

The male sighs again at your inquisitive look, his hands scrubbing over his face like he can wipe away his confusion. His brows furrow. “I honestly don’t know why we didn’t,” he says quietly.

You’re surprised at his answer. You’d expected more substance.

“I wanted to, you know,” you admit, pride be damned. If you were going out, you wanted to leave all your cards on the table.

“Really?” He mirrors your surprise. “I did too. I wanted you so badly, it scared me.”

You look at the battle scarred warrior, unimpressed. Even slouching, which he never did, he would still stand at least a good head above you.

You ask with disbelief, “ I scared you ?”

“Well… not exactly like that,” he explains, and he reaches out carefully to grasp your hand in his large palm. “I guess I was being… cautious. I wanted to be respectful.”

His words shatter something fledgling in your heart. That was practically code for I’m trying to be nice, I don’t want to lead you on .

“Oh.” You drop his hand, bracing yourself for the dreaded sting of rejection.

As he sees your expression harden, Azriel curses himself inwardly. This isn’t going the way he’d strategized it at all. His forehead creases as he desperately tries to remember the points he and his brothers had mapped out to help him with this exact conversation. Maybe Cassian was right to spare him from being alone with you, if he’s fucked it up this quickly.

Azriel thinks back to the previous night, when he had declined your invitation to come upstairs. He’d seen the chill on your face, a chill from his own closed door. You hadn’t pushed his boundaries. Rhys had pointed out to him that from his behavior, you probably couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Hell, even from inside his own head, Azriel was struggling to work out his thoughts.

The gravity of his attraction to you is concerning. It was a dangerous thing, the weight of it as great and terrible as a sword in his hands.

He wants your affection, he realizes. The trouble is: asking the spymaster to share his innermost secrets is like asking a busybody to keep just one. It went against his nature.

He pictures you as you were when he first saw you, gearing up for a fight at Rita’s. You’d been fearsome as ever, confronting the challenge rather than running. He wills himself the same bravery. He is a fearsome warrior, he absolutely refuses to allow mere emotion to make him a coward.

“I need you to understand something,” Azriel breathes, his wings tight as his expression. “I can’t do this if it’s just sex.”

You set down a dish heavily, your once sun-soaked heart breaking.

“If you, uh, don’t want this, that’s, that’s fine. I respect that,” you affirm, even as you’re reeling.

But then Azriel is shaking his head and wiping under your eyes, which you belatedly realize with embarrassment must mean that you’re crying. He’s trying to tell you how he feels and you’re crying on him. Gods! Get it together! you berate yourself.

“No, no, no. Angel, look at me,” Azriel panics. You meet his gaze, and you see a tenderness there, as ripe and sweet as the summer plums you used to pick with your mother as a child. “Shit, I’m doing this all wrong,” he curses.

“I can’t do casual,” he confesses, head still shaking, eyes gone glossy.

“That’s okay, I get it if you don’t want this–”

“No! No, you don’t get it,” he interrupts, swearing and speaking your name with exasperated affection. “I do want this. I want you .”

You gasp, teeth kissing the air as he continues.

“I want you. You said it wasn’t your place to invite them to stay tonight, but I want it to be your place. Fuck, I want to see you every day. I want to come home to you, and to know you’re waiting for me when I’m gone. And some days I want to wait for you too, and get jealous of the books you spend your time with.”

You try to say something clever like What the fuck? or Huh? but you’re too shocked to do much more than stare open mouthed as he lays out his emotions for you. At least you’ve stopped crying.

Azriel is looking at you as if you were personally responsible for every ounce of goodness he’s ever witnessed. It scares the shit out of you. How could he say all that? He doesn’t even know you. It doesn’t help that three seconds ago you thought he was going to kick you out.

“Why me?” you finally manage.

“I’ve never felt this way before,” he says, unblinking.

In a total inversion of all Azriel had ever known, he felt an overwhelming impulse to bare his soul to you. You’d never been scared of him, even when he’d put on his most frightening persona at the bar. You’d taken his identity in stride, you’d even used it to flirt.

He wants you to know him, he realizes. All of him. Even the darkest parts, the cruel, mean pieces with which he wouldn’t want to burden anyone but himself. For some unknown reason, at this moment, he can think of no greater honor than your involvement in his world, his reality, ugly as it may be. He hopes you’ll want it.

He takes your hand and places it on his heart, gripping it over his chest. When he speaks, his voice is ragged, tender and raw.

“You must know. You burn me,” Azriel confesses. “Surely you feel how you burn me.”

What you feel is your heart in your throat, pulsing erratically at his words. The naked truth on his face frightens you.

Your free hand reaches out to caress his high cheekbone as your mind whirls. His eyes close at the contact, his lips parted in silent prayer.

“I feel it too.”

When your thumb brushes the edge of his bottom lip, those hazel eyes flutter open again. The energy between you is thicker than it was moments ago, something fresh set smoldering in his gaze. His chest heaves under your other palm.

“You do?” he gasps, and you nod, words failing under the enormity of your emotion.

He’s equally choked up, so he opts for actions instead, pulling you against him to capture your lips in a messy kiss. It’s all wine-breath and teeth, but it’s perfect.

Your uncontrollable smile forces you to break away, and when you do he’s smiling at you just the same. His joy is infectious. For a long moment, you just smile at each other like fools, breathing each other's air in the sacred ambiance of the dim kitchen light. You linger in the quiet awe in the wake of your confessions.

When your mouths reconnect, the kiss turns feverish. It’s insatiable, your desire for him, as you suck his tongue, earning a satisfying whine from the hulking Illyrian.

“Shit,” he groans as he lifts you.

You gasp as your weight shifts off your feet, and he sets you against his counter before reconnecting your panting mouths. The insufferable Illyrian pushes one of his thighs between your legs, capturing your muffled groans with his warm mouth, tonguing away your soft cries.

“Make me yours,” you whisper.

“Shit, baby, I think I’d do anything you ask if you say it just like that,” he whines against your mouth.

He pulls away, standing between your legs like it's a place of special honor.

“Bedroom?” he begs, shining with unchecked joy.

“Yes,” you eagerly agree. “We can break in the kitchen counter later.” His laughter rattles down the hallway as he carries you to his room.

Once you’re through the doorway, his movements pause. A tender note hums to life amidst the excitement of your newfound connection. There’s a tender look on his face as he regards you with equal parts lust and affection. It’s a serious step for him, to have you here in his most personal place.

You’re distracted by the new space as soon as he sets you down, fascinated with his room– his personal room, not the one kept for him at the House of Wind. It’s sparsely decorated, too, but there’s knick knacks and weapons lying around in characteristically organized fashion.

“A lot of weapons…” you comment, humor bubbling up from your delight at the novelty of his affection and attention.

There’s several swords on the wall, artfully placed in the columns between windows, and knives and spears are displayed in tasteful and accessible ways. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was compensating for something. Is that a halberd? you think. The last time you saw a halberd was in an illustration on an ancient manuscript.

“What do you do for work again?” you joke.

He laughs, “I’m afraid the tools come with the trade.”

“Okay, I’ll give you that, but, I mean, seriously. That one?” You gesture above the balcony doors, where a grossly oversized sword rests. “Come on, Az!”

“Come on, I bet your place is full of books!” he counters.

You just scoff, so he knows he’s right.

“Come here,” he says, fondly. “You can inspect my quarters later, you freak.”

“Your freak,” you correct.

“My freak,” he agrees.

With that, Azriel grabs your waist, and pulls you in for a sumptuous kiss. The wine on his tongue goes right to your head, while the warmth of him goes due south. You pull away to tug meaningfully at his shirt, but he just follows to place expert kisses along your jaw. His work is so severe that you gasp–

“Shit, Az, I'm not paying you!”

“Are you calling me a whore?” he answers playfully, unfastening his shirt at the back under his wings. He sucks on his teeth, pulling away to look you in the eyes. “Yeah, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that, actually. The payment didn’t go through last time–”

“Oh, no–”

“–yeah, so if you could, perhaps, pay in hard gold this time, that would be–”

“Ah, okay. Could you do a payment plan?–” the two of you banter while he shrugs off his vest. You relish the view of his exposed chest.

He plays into your shameless ogling, flexing to show off his whorling tattoos and the dark hairs trailing down beyond his leathers. The faelights surrounding the room cast a glow through the thin membrane of his wings, softly limning his form with warmth. You laugh at his peep show, but the sound is pitchy with your arousal. The toned male blushes. His easy humor may have returned, but vestiges of his shy personality still remain.

You whistle softly, continuing to torture him with your attention. His blush deepens impossibly. He’s just so easy to tease, and when he reacts like that, it's easier still to justify.

“Your turn,” he says, voice gravelly.

“What first?” you muse suggestively, smoothing down your dress.

“Boots,” he chooses.

Before you can toe them off, Azriel sinks suddenly to the floor. The sight of him on his knees before you sends a thrill up your spine.

Azriel, this most fearsome Illyrian, is totally surrendered to you. Heat throbs through your abdomen at the sight. He’s looking up at you through his lashes, his throat bobbing in anticipation as he pants below you. You haven’t even touched him yet, but his passion is evident, his eyes wild.

He gently grabs the back of your shins. “May I?”

“Please.”

He effortlessly unlaces your boots with capable hands.

“I’m surprised you want them off,” you tease as he grasps your hands to steady you as you step out of them.

“You look so sexy in them,” he agrees. “I am making a real sacrifice here, for your comfort.” His hand skims up the back of your calf, brushing your dress over your knee with his thumb. He places a kiss directly on your knee, heat flaring in your stomach at the soft brush.

“You look sexy in this too,” he compliments. His eyes never leave yours as he hauls himself up, you dress falling back to cover your legs.

“Would you be mad if I asked you to take it off?” His tone is toying, but his eyes are pools of hot desire.

“Don’t be an ass,” you rasp, mad only with anticipation.

Azriel slips two fingers under the straps on your shoulders, kissing your chest as he tugs them down your arms. You’re honestly impressed that he finds the hidden zipper at your side. Nothing escapes him, does it?

His hands come to brush along your freshly exposed skin, whispering praises into your hot flesh. After he peels off your dress with zeal, you raise a finger in warning.

“Be careful with that. I actually want it back!”

“I promise I won’t lose it this time.”

“Your promise is nothing to me! You never found my shirt, huh?”

“No,” he confesses with an exaggerated air of regret, blowing out his lips in sympathy. Your eyes narrow at his suspicious behavior.

“How do I know that you didn’t just steal it like a creep so you could jack off with it or something?” you say with mock sensuality.

“I wish,” he hums, thumbing the discarded material of your shimmering dress as if you’ve given him a brilliant idea. “Honestly, that would have helped me out the other night.”

Azriel freezes, his eyes widening as he realizes his slip. Your grin mirrors his horror at his admission. A dull ache blooms anew below your stomach.

“Did you touch yourself to the thought of me?” you breathe.

“Maybe.”

His voice is thick even as he squirms under your riveted look. His wings flutter briefly before relaxing as he spots the excitement on your flushed face.

“Fuck,” you groan. “That's hot. Please don’t be embarrassed, that’s so flattering!”

Your words do nothing to prevent the hot flush spreading across his cheeks and chest. You push him to the bed, giggling when he falls onto the cushions dramatically before unceremoniously shucking off his pants.

He makes grabby hands at you, and you melt at the sight of him, disheveled and unarmed, and as excited as you were. He pulls you towards him, bringing you to rest on his bare thigh.

You kiss his sternum, looking up at him through your lashes.

“I want you to show me.”

Azriel pauses, and his breathing goes a little uneven.

“Show you?” he repeats, his eyes blown out as you rub encouraging circles into his shoulder from your perch on his thigh.

“I want you to touch yourself,” you purr. “Show me how you like it.”

His brows twitch, his eyes going predatory under heavy lids.

“It might be your last opportunity for a while, since I’m gonna be pretty fucking jealous of that hand if it steals too much time in my territory,” you admit with a meaningful glance towards his crotch.

He laughs at that, but it doesn’t dampen the flame in his vision.

“Okay,” he murmurs devilishly. “Get comfortable.”

It will be a cold day in hell when Azriel denies such a request from you.

He makes a show of shifting to rest comfortably against the cushions, his wings extending lazily to drape across the pillows and trailing to the floor. The wide expanse of his chest shines in the low faelight, his swirling tattoos prominent even in the dimness. The hard ridges of his muscles contract rhythmically in time with his powerful lungs. His nipples are hard, he shivers in the slight chill as he rubs a hand through his dark hair, tugging roughly.

You come to rest just above his knee on his left thigh, essentially kneeling in the center of his bed. The slight contact has you boiling as you watch him trail a hand along his torso, one hand still teasing his hair. Your focus trails his toned abdomen down to his prominent arousal.

“Well you won’t have to use your imagination, like I did, for the first part,” he begins lowly, “because, if you must know, I was already this hard before I could get out of my leathers.”

If you weren’t dripping already, you are now. You’d been joking earlier, but this show really was worth some hard gold. Anyone would kill to see the fearsome Illyrian splayed out like this.

Azriel hisses as he strokes slowly down his abs, his chest rising and falling in a tortured cadence. After some time stimulating himself in this way, his moans become breathy.

With one hand, he deftly pulls himself out of his undershorts, and you can’t help yourself from reaching out to slide them a little further down his hips. Your mouth falls open at the sight of his sharp hip bones and the delicious stretch leading to the base of his heavy cock.

Its red tip bobs temptingly at your knee, but you restrain yourself. You shift slightly, looking for some relief, and your knee accidentally brushes the edge of his wing. His hips buck involuntarily, a whine falling from his lips at the contact.

“Shit, baby,” he cries. He hasn’t even touched himself, but his dick is straining against his stomach.

“Sorry,” you say weakly.

“Liar,” he growls, seeing the hunger in your gaze.

You shrug, unapologetic. Let him see what he did to you. It was his funeral at the moment.

He was focused on you, indeed, eyes roving around your naked form as he flexed his thigh beneath you. You start to circle your hips, your breasts bouncing with the sudden movement, until you hear him hum in pleasure. He was getting off from the vibration.

“Don’t cheat,” you scold.

He just whines, reluctantly stopping his thigh flexes.

“Good boy. I’d hate to have to punish you, baby,” you warn.

You meant it playfully, but his breathing falters and his wings twitch. Interesting. You file the information away for another time.

His fingers catch your attention as they come to play with the soft underbelly of his cock, just under the head. He used two fingers to rub small circles on the tender flesh. The spot was right where it had landed on your tongue when you’d taken him in your mouth briefly the other night. Again, interesting.

“This- this is supposed to be erotic,” Azriel struggles, “and you’re studying me like, like…”

“You’re a very compelling study,” you inform him in your most sensual voice as he struggles to speak.

“Fuck,” he says, “don’t tease me.”

But you see the effect your praise has on him. His fingers finally circle his length fully, pulling short strokes at the head. The whimper that falls from your lips would be embarrassing if it wasn’t so melodic in company with his grunts and moans. His expression is so unguarded, lit as it is by ecstasy.

“You’re doing so good for me,” you murmur.

The shadow singer's back arches off the bed at one particularly harsh tug, his rhythm never faltering. His accuracy is almost uncanny. He must have honed the art of his pleasure with the same rigor and precision as the rest of his work. The test of the room fades as your focus is wholly captured by the male sighing below you. You’re obsessed with the unholy picture of his hand wrapped around his cock.

His shadows shift along his wings in time with his strokes. Sluggishly, you realize they must be stimulating him as well. The thought renders the ache at your core unbearable.

Even through his euphoria, Azriel is receptive to your every expression. He sees your frustration.

“What do you need, angel,” he hums.

You respond reflexively, your hips grinding into his thick thigh. Your face heats as you register the motion. It was just what you needed, though. You certainly didn't want him to stop what he was doing, his fist pumping wickedly.

“Go on then,” he purrs.

The desire in his eyes encourages you to resume the motion, rocking your pelvis against the solid muscle of his thigh.

“You look so perfect,” he praises.

“And you’re sex incarnate, Az.”

You position yourself further up his thigh, balancing on your shins as your knees brush his wingtips again. You’re rewarded with a throaty groan for your flirting. The sight and vibration of your riding his thigh has the male slowing his hand, and gripping at the base of his cock. You’re not faring any better.

You brace yourself against his chest with your arms, both of you sensitive to the barest touch. The slight pressure on his chest has him hurtling towards the edge again. As he holds off his own strokes, he sends his shadows towards your form, your makeshift rules be damned.

The sighs you breathe are far from a complaint. His shadows lick up your form with tender phantom touches, and you feel the pleasure build in your core. Your rhythm starts to slip as you chase your release. His sculpted thigh should not be making you feel this good, but you start to see stars and you know the male can’t be fully mortal.

“That’s it, baby, let go,” he pants, as enthralled with your euphoria as he is with his own.

You barely register his praises as your orgasm shatters you, his shadows licking along with the pleasure racing through your body. As the waves wrack you, he drinks in your scrunched features, the soft cavity of your gasping mouth. You meet his eyes as you hurtle over the edge, the image of his carnal devotion seared into your mind. It would be unnerving if it wasn’t such a reflection of your own feral interior.

“That was so hot,” Azriel praises.

“Pervert. You were supposed to be giving me a show,” you pant, frowning as you catch your breath.

“I think I gave you a proper show, if that was your reaction.”

He’s earned a smug attitude, you figure. Your vision is still a little blurry, but you feel his shadows and fingers rubbing soothing patterns along your upper thighs. A different warmth blooms as you cool down from your blistering orgasm.

As you marvel at the intimacy of his gestures, Azriel’s head is clearing enough to fully appreciate the sight of you in his bed.

He had been on the brink of the most mind blowing orgasm of his life, yet he doesn’t even care about the urgency he’s feeling from his dick as he commits the image of you in his room to memory. It feels so right to have you here, just like it felt right to share a drink with you at Rita’s, and to sit down for a meal with you with his family.

Azriel reflects on the thought he’d had days ago, how he’s fallen into the gravity of powers like this before, but never in such blissful hues. His mind flashes back to battles he’s fought, the enemies he’s faced. Every time, the contact of such powers results in a brief conflict, a decisive end. The conclusion is inevitable; the force of the challenge undeniable in its strength and direction. This attraction, though. What to make of it?

The intensity is similar– his current adrenaline certainly feels like he’s just seen someone draw a sword, but it’s different. Your power was a challenge, but an invitation too.

The feeling is like the gravity in his gut at the beginning of a flight, when he’s leaping off of a cliff, that brief tension borne in the short moment between the stability of the ground and the strength of his wings. The feeling is prolonged, like he’s suspended there with you.

He finds that he doesn’t mind it so much, with you there, caught up in it just as much as he is. Besides, he’s tired of keeping everyone at arm’s length, he decides. He’s always loved flying, even if he came to it later than the others. Why should love be any different?

“Can you fuck me now?”

Your unsubtle words break his delicate reverie. Oh, he’s in serious trouble, he thinks as he sees you bite your lip.

“I’m not going to last,” he warns.

“Same here,” you admit. You were already feeling overstimulated, you doubt you’ll last long at his pace. “I want to feel you though.”

He presses a messy kiss to your mouth, savoring the moment. You’re just as unhurried, glad to linger in any moment with the gorgeous male below you. Strong hands guide you to straddle his hips, his legs bent slightly to support your lower back as he leans against the headboard.

When he finally enters you, he groans lowly.

“Fuck, I’ve missed this.”

Your response is garbled by your euphoria. What you feel is euphoric relief, his cock filling you with a satisfying burn. Despite his size, the pain is minimal, your wetness helping him slide in easily. He grips your forearms, bringing your hands to anchor on his shoulders.

“It’s like you were made for me,” he slurs, delirious already.

The position is intimate. As he begins to rock you over his hips, your focus falls to explore the stunning male. Azriel is so fucked out already, raw from having edged himself earlier. His body is slick with perspiration, his face set in concentration, eyes blown out. Your hands on his shoulders are broiling with his heat.

His dark hair falls limply against the cushions, and his wings are hanging loosely, like he has no extra stamina to hold his posture. He meets your gaze, and the eye contact somehow feels even more intimate than the position you’re in. He seems entranced. The agony on his face is underscored by his attention fixed on your every move. It's like he’s seeing your soul, plucking the thread of your need and following it faithfully.

Using his broad shoulders as leverage, you start to fuck yourself on him. You’re rewarded with a stuttering groan as his hips thrust in time to meet you. Your head falls back in pleasure when your clit is ground deliciously against the coarse hair at the base of his pelvis as you bounce on him. Between his thick cock and his hard abdomen, you're perfectly stimulated.

The room becomes thick with the heat and scent of your sex. All of your senses are riveted to the male below you, to the pleasure being delivered to your core. Soft sighs and deep groans fill the air as you fuck at an agonizing pace.

His hands release their death grip on your hips, moving to explore your thighs and chest. The rough sensation of his hands over your skin is fuel to the fire of your appetite.

Desperate for somewhere to release your energy, you lean forward to connect your mouths. He hums in delight at the sudden kiss. You taste his sweat and his fervor, and it’s intoxicating.

When you pull away, his lips are shining with spit. Azriel looks like a male possessed.

“Shit, angel. Can we do this, like… all the time?” he begs.

“We haven’t even– even finished, and you’re– you’re thinking about doing it again?” you manage.

“Can you blame me?” he retorts. He emphasizes his words with a particularly vicious thrust that has you gasping.

“Please,” you cry. “We had better do this often.”

“ Awesome ,” he cheers breathlessly with a small smile to himself.

Your heart sputters at the sweetly boyish comment. Here he was, inside you, and he was excited at the idea of fucking you again later. It isn't just your body either, which was a major plus, but he likes you . Earlier he’d confessed that he wants more than sex. He wants to bring you into his life in a more serious way too.

You envision yourself bringing some belongings here, working at the library during the day, dining with Azriel and his family in the evenings. And at night, he would bring you here, to his bed, where he would ravish you. You relax into his body further as you realize you’ll have many opportunities to fuck him. He’d gotten excited earlier when you’d suggested some kinkier things. And, sure, he’d laughed when you’d joked about fucking in the kitchen, but he’d not seemed opposed.

“Are you with me?”

You blink, coming back to the present. If you were going to blame him for getting excited about future sexual escapades in the middle of fucking, you were guilty too. Thankfully, your body kept up the rhythm on reflex, cause you were just miles away in a diaphanous dream of your mutual future.

“There she is,” he smiles at you fondly as he rocks you mercilessly onto his cock.

His stamina was impressive. Despite your fatigue, arousal has your body pulsing with adrenaline. The familiar pressure mounts in your abdomen as you grind onto him.

As he eases your pleasure along, he’s transfixed by the sight of your bodies meeting, your hips swallowing him into your soaking hole. The feeling of your nails scraping at his scalp plunges him further into rapture, the slight sting heightening his sensitivity.

“I’m close,” you warn him.

“I’m with you, angel,” he pants. “Come on, baby.”

You abandon your bouncing to grind selfishly against him, chasing your bliss. He’s content with the debauched sight and the warmth of you around him. When your hand tugs his hair again, his dick twitches. Then your fisted knuckles brush his wings ever so delicately and his hips lurch, his shadows rioting.

Azriel is dangerously on the edge, but he’s determined to watch you unravel first, his competitive and generous spirits united under his indecent desire to see you come undone. Even as he appears depraved, he feels devoted. Your ecstasy was his own.

One last delicious shift of his cock scraping your walls, and your release staggers you. Your eyes flutter shut as crystalized bliss shatters over you. His scent envelops you, the salt of sweat mixing with tangy citrus. It transports you to a realm of bliss, where the only presence is yours and his, a delicious meeting of your senses.

The agonizing image of your ecstasy has him spilling inside you, his whines cresting as he climaxes. His teeth scrape yours in a sloppy openmouthed kiss. You ride out your orgasms, hips jerking erratically, waves of pleasure ebbing languidly.

You’re left with a warm buzz, even the discomfort of your stickiness feels rather like sweetness as you take in the glorious male. When your eyes catch, his lips curl into a smile. Your heart skips a beat at the tender sight of him spent and glowing beneath you. His shadows bleed into the cushions, baring him to you completely.

“Can I lie down?”

“Please,” he shifts to help you off of him.

You hiss as he slips out of you. “Sorry,” he mumbles, concerned.

“You’re good.”

“Are you okay?” His shadows rove over you, assessing for damage, and he winces at the mess between your thighs. You laugh at his concern, waving it off.

“I feel great. Just overstimulated,” you assure him as you curl into his pillows, your muscles grateful for the break. He nods and kisses your temple. The gesture is endearing, even as your thighs burn. You pull him down to rest next to you.

His eyes never leave yours, monitoring your movements and drinking in the image of you snuggled into his bed. You reach out to trace his features, avoiding the intensity of his gaze. It isn’t uncomfortable, you’re just so overloaded already; you aren’t sure you can handle its palpable energy. His skin is soft under your fingers, the fleshiness of his sharp face surprising you. Azriel hums under your soothing touch.

The unmistakable sentiment in his gaze has you melting into the comfort of his cushions, utterly relaxed. After all the uncertainty of the past few days, the surety of this moment is crisp, intoxicating. Nothing was guaranteed, of course, but you like your odds with him. You'd never been one to back down from a challenge.

“I thought you were going to ask me to leave,” you confess into the tender silence of the aftermath.

He frowns. “When?”

“Before,” you explain. “Right before you told me how you felt.”

He groans, regret clouding his features. “I’m so sorry. I haven’t made things easy for you. I definitely didn’t want you to leave.”

You shrug. You’re here now, what was passed is past. “You’re worth a little torture.”

“Why did you think that?” he asks, ignoring your lighthearted response. He avoids your eyes, fidgeting absently with the edge of the duvet.

“Well,” you begin, unsure of how honest to be. You opt for full truth, the words rushing out of you. “You didn’t fuck me! I was throwing eyes at you all night and things were going well–”

“Things were going well? Do you really think that?” he interrupts. “‘Cause Cass said I ‘grilled you on border security’.”

You snort at his air quotes.

“Well, yeah,” you frown, recalling the conversation, “but only after I asked you about how recovery efforts were going here, which is kind of a killjoy topic anyways.”

“We suck at this,” he decides brightly.

“Excuse you!” you leap to defend yourself. “I'm amazing at this– anyways! Totally not the point. You didn’t respond to my hints, so I thought maybe you’d changed your mind, and that you weren’t into me.”

Azriel shakes his head, and his rough fingers tenderly brush your hair away from your face.

“You were way off target, cause I’m totally into you. Remind me never to hire you for intelligence,” he teases, the words affectionate.

“In my defense, you are kind of hard to read,” you admit.

He hums, not denying it.

“Holy shit! See? I was just about to tell you off and you slithered out of it!” you look at him, equally impressed and incredulous at his evasive skills.

Now it's his turn to be unnerved, clearly caught out by your acute perception. You’re satisfied with yourself.

“Wow. Okay, I'll take it back, you’re hired,” he dodges. You don’t take the bait. His words make you think about his long career in intelligence. Suddenly, it makes perfect sense how he struggles with expressing himself verbally. He knew firsthand what the wrong words falling into the wrong ears could do. Pair that with whatever other… unique emotional baggage he has going on… shit. He’s probably actually very well adjusted, given everything he’s experienced.

Shit. She’s good , he thinks as you watch him silently. It was a classic technique, one he used often in interrogations.

He sighs. “Alright. So you may have picked up that I’m… guarded.”

“ No ,” you say with sarcasm.

“ Yes ," he laughs, before groaning and sitting up to look you in the eyes as he continues. “I’m sorry I wasn't upfront about how I felt. Like I said, I can't do casual. So I didn't know what I was doing. I was trying to protect myself from, well, doing what I did, and spilling my guts to you.”

“You were very brave to do that,” you tell him seriously.

He rolls his eyes.

“No, I mean it,” you press, suddenly sure of your recent revelation, desperate to assure him. “I’m glad you decided to trust me. I’m honored.”

You really are. Every glimpse you’ve gotten into his inner world has only deepened your affection for him. Strangely, you feel like you fit into his world, as new as it all is to you.

Occasionally in your work, you would come across a book from the archives, and it would be just what you needed for your project, even though you hadn’t known it had existed. What a thrill it always was, to find a gift in the world, unasked for and unplanned. The same sweet serendipity floods your senses now, as Azriel’s eyes shine with emotion.

“I might need you to be patient with me,” he whispers, like the words are too dangerous to handle in the open.

“Of course. Whatever you need,” you promise him.

With that, you press a kiss to his lips, thick with feeling.

His hand grips your jaw, holding you there to convey the depth of his adoration. He strokes your face fondly.

You pull him close, and he envelops you in his strong arms and soft wings. You lay there for a while, nestled in the security of his warmth.

“Bath?” he offers eventually.

You hum thoughtfully. “Honestly? I’m too tired to move.”

“I’ll carry you.”

A luxurious soak later, Azriel slips one of his shirts over your clean, drowsy form. Drained as you are, you keep yourself awake to watch him towel his hair dry from your place on his duvet.

You exhale abruptly, and his attention fixes on your drawn brows. You raise them as you finally ask the question you’ve been deliberating.

“I was just thinking… you have libraries here, right?” you search meaningfully.

“Yes, we do,” he answers casually, lips curling into the beginnings of a smile. “There’s one just down the hall, actually.”

“Huh?”

“Why do you ask?” Azriel continues coyly, coming to stand before you. “Are you thinking of settling down here, or something?”

“I said, huh ?” you repeat. Does he have a home library? Oh, you’re a goner.

“Come on, I’ll show you.”

You shake your head in amusement. “You are so full of secrets,” you accuse.

“Full of surprises,” he corrects, rewarding you with a wide grin.

You wonder if you’d ever reach the last of them, you muse as the lovesick Illyrian moves to make good on his words. You imagine you never will, but it sounds like a nice fate to die trying.

After all, it seems like you’ll be needing a new hobby, now that you’ll have to give up recreational flirting. Azriel is happy to keep you occupied.

✸✸✸

Later, when the night was deep, the stars shining brightly with the soft promise of new beginnings, Azriel remembers a threat that he needs to make good on.

I’m gonna fucking kill you guys , Azriel projects to Rhys and Cassian. You’ll never see me coming. It will be long, and painful. NEVER mess with my plans – never again!

Well! Rhys' response arrives instantly, dripping with sarcasm. That sure was a delayed reaction… I hope you’ve had a productive evening.

Cassian’s reply is more direct. You’re welcome, brother dearest!

Despite his vexation with his brothers, Azriel smiles into the dark, content as he is to have you in his arms. He thinks dimly of your face under the flashing lights at Rita’s, how close he had come to losing his nerve to speak to you, how grateful he’d been to have an excuse to talk to you, and how foolish he’d felt when he left you alone on your doorstep after your last date.

His racing mind quiets as he traces your features, sleeping soundly in his bed. He has no intention of letting you go this time.

A/N: I hope y’all enjoyed!! I really fell in love with these two. It was so fun crafting their dynamic in part one, I had to expand the plot a little to allow their connection to develop more in this one. Sorry to make you read like 9k of plot and banter before the sexy part!

Here’s a little of my thought process behind this part 2: The more I thought about it, I just realized Azriel can’t do casual relationships.

In the books, it’s heavily implied that he pined after Mor for centuries, so like he’s a truly long-suffering loverboy. It would actually be so out of character for him to casually date. Even if he were to turn a new leaf and pursue someone, he's too guarded, too high profile to be comfortable with just a fling. If he’s in, he’s all in.

So I was like how do we break the ice? I imagined that Cass and Rhys could sense how invested he was in Reader, and that they knew he’d flounder in his attempts to approach it casually. Devotion and quiet intensity are just so key to Azriel’s personality. I wanted to explore what it would look like if he felt the green light from someone - personally I think it would unlock some of his private nature and allow him to safely express his feelings (which we see him try for the first time here!). Normally, I don't like it when fics have a love confession after one whole date, but in this case it just felt right.

Not to write a thesis and spend hours critically thinking so that my premises perfectly align to support my porn with plot LOL just girly things :)

#lmk what we think team #sorry the italics formatted weird #rip #14k omg yall are being fed frfr #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel fic #azriel x you #acotar #acotar fic #acotar x reader #azriel smut #smut #my writing

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chelseeebe · 11 months ago

Text

too sweet (for me)

18+. mdni. smut. mentions of violence and drugs. eddie is a dick but not when it comes to r <333 :} female!reader

eddie munson had been hardened by life. how could one night possibly demolish all of the walls he had spent so long building?

a/n: sorry for being mia again lol i am trying i swear!! i have another eddie fic coming that i love and probably the other parts to the steve zombie au! i’m usually never busy but these last few weeks have been wild

read part two here.

the club is too loud, too busy and too sweaty. eddie wasn’t a fan, never had been.

he squeezes past the crowd, grumbling to himself as he goes. eddie preferred to be in bed by three. his mom was very spiritual and had drilled into him that nothing good could come out of being awake at the witching hour.

something or someone knocks into him, or vice versa, he can’t really tell. it’s too dark and he’s had too much to even really care.

“watch it,” you snap, twisting around to send the dirtiest glare.

“what the fuck? you bumped into me,” he shouts over the loud thumping beat. immediately wishing he could swallow his words, noticing your eyes narrow, sizing him up. you’re the prettiest girl in this place, the only one he’s even looked at twice and now you hated him.

“whatever asshole,” you snarl, before continuing your way to the busy bar.

eddie hesitates for a moment before shoving through the path you’d made, angering another ten people on his way. he didn’t care, that couldn’t be your only impression of him.

he catches up, squeezing into the tiny space next to you, leaning against the sticky marble as you wait patiently.

his hand brushes your arm, earning another sly glance, face screwing up as you realise he’d tailed you to the bar.

“sorry,” he starts, not giving you the opportunity to tell him to fuck off first. “i wanted to apologise.. i was rude,” tongue resting on his bottom lip, appreciating the new found lighting and how it made you glow.

“you were,” smiling pointedly, eyes trailing down his chest, “but you can buy me a drink to make up for it.”

eddie stares, mouth agape at your brutal, up-front attitude before it turns to a tiny smirk, “i think that’s fair,” honestly he admired it. the only girl in here worth a second glance.

“vodka,” you add, making room for him to order.

he takes one last admiring look at you before turning to the bartender.

you tunnel your way back through the crowd, your friends long gone by now. eddie didn’t mind keeping you company, not one bit.

his fingers wrap around your wrist, tugging you gently back towards him. rightfully earning another scathing glare as you stop, inches in front of him.

“you’re not gonna even tell me your name?” he leans in, smirking as he does.

your lips brush against his ear, name soft as silk as you mutter into his hair. it sends shivers down his spine, wanting your lips on his ear and his neck.

“eddie,” he replies, resting his hand on the small of your back, keeping you close in the packed club.

“are you a dancer, eddie?” the way his name rolls off of your tongue makes him unfathomably crazy.

“not really,” he mumbles, tongue poking out of his lips.

“too bad,” your smirk, pulling towards the bustling dance floor before he can argue against it.

he didn’t like clubbing nor dancing but if you insist, he couldn’t say no.

the music ripples around him, hazy when all he can focus on is you and the way your hips twist in time to the beat. you’re not even trying and yet he’s completely encapsulated by your body.

there’s an attempt at dancing along with you, though he’s not any good. itching to just place his hands on your waist and let you guide him.

the purple light catches your eye as you move closer, eddie’s eyes latched onto you the entire time.

“you’re really not a dancer, are ya’?” you lean in to whisper.

“can’t help it, i’m distracted,” he purrs, daring to place his hand on the small of your back.

you purse your lips, keeping whatever snarky comment to yourself.

fuck it.

“d’you wanna get out of here?” eddie asks, “i know a place.”

your brow quirks, “hm? how do i know you won’t kidnap me?”

he tilts his head, meeting your eye, “you’ll just have to trust me,” offering his hand for you to take, eager to get you out of this club.

really, he’d go anywhere if it meant he could look at you properly without getting elbowed in the back by sweaty drunks.

you hesitate for a split second, which he supposes is fair, before placing your hand in his, permission to lead you from the dance floor and out into the chilly night.

your arms wrap around yourself, shivering in the cold.

eddie doesn’t hesitate, taking his jacket off and placing it around your shoulders. “it’s not far from here.. we can walk?”

your eyes narrow once more, pulling his jacket tighter, “lead the way, eddie.”

he knows you’re trying to taunt him, maybe rile him up a little and by god is it working. taking your hand once more as you start the walk to his apartment, anticipating coursing through his veins.

the elevator ride up to his floor is hell, fingers twitching to touch you. he’d do it too, if you were alone. plagued with one of his neighbours just trying to get home as you hang off of his arm.

eddie’s thankful his floor is first, losing the will to not just grab you right then and there.

your mouth falls open, eyes flitting around the apartment he definitely didn’t pay someone else to decorate for him.

“you live here?”

eddie didn’t grow up around money. he lived in a trailer for most of his life, cramped into the tiny home with his uncle in some dead end town until he finally found the nerve to move himself to chicago.

there were dreams of a music career that wilted away pretty quickly after he realised that there were a hundred and one other screwed up teens just like him, all wanting the same thing.

selling drugs wasn’t exactly his chosen path but he’d sold a little weed in high school and found he wasn’t awful at it and now here he was.

with more money than he knew what to do with and a reputation for being a hard ass.

he doesn’t entertain your amazement, sidling over to you with his hands already finding their place to your waist.

“the bedroom’s even better,” eddie smirks, feeling your fingers twist around his t-shirt.

“go ‘head,” half-smile on your pretty lips.

your body brushes against his as you trail behind, not wanting to waste another second. he hasn’t even kissed you yet, has no idea how addicting you’ll taste, the slight hint of vanilla in your smudged lipgloss.

expertly twisting you around, stumbling over just slightly before he catches you, planting his lips on yours, manoeuvring your entwined bodies around the darkened room.

he’s done this dance a hundred times, but something about you feels different. you’re mailable, trusting in his hands to guide you to the bed while your hands sit atop his shoulders.

falling back onto the mattress, tugging him down atop of your body, fingers clawing at his collar while his hands roam your body, grabbing at your hips and waist.

eddie haphazardly reaches for the lamp, disconnecting your lips for a brief moment before the orange hue fills the room.

you groan in response, sprawled out on the mattress underneath him.

“i wanna see you,” he remarks, taking your bottom lip between his teeth before he kisses you properly again. a full battle between teeth and tongues, barely catching against one another, lips wet with each other.

you sigh softly into his mouth when his hand travels beneath your dress, sliding between your aching thighs, panties already wet and begging to be torn off.

he doesn’t though, wanting to draw this out just a tiny bit longer, removing his fingers from your heat to toy with the hem of your dress.

“fuck,” you gasp, breaking away from his lips, “don’t be mean,” swollen bottom lip jutting out to make it all that much worse.

“okay,” eddie laughs quietly, “i’m done,” sticking to his word as your dress comes down in one rough tug, grunting as he does so.

he sits up on his knees, admiring the sight of your quivering body below. “worth it,” he remarks, tearing off his own t-shirt, and launching it across the room somewhere.

his jeans are next, shaking them off of his leg as they land on the floor with a soft thud.

your hand instinctively covers your chest, shying away from his hungry gaze.

“nuhuh,” eddie bites, pulling your arm away, pinning it underneath his as he comes back to your level, hovering just above. “don’t do that.”

you blink, pulling him closer with your free hand. the cat and mouse routine had been going on far too long, even for him. feeling your heat against his cock, almost painful to the touch as it strains his boxers.

“well if you hurried up..” you start, tilting your chin towards him with a tiny smirk.

eddie laughs loudly, yanking your panties down abruptly, “alright sweetheart, i hear ya,” returning his hand to between your thighs, spreading you open with his middle finger before sliding the digit in.

you huff in response, mouth falling open as that melodic tone he’s been waiting for falls from your lips, dancing around his ears.

your head falls back against the soft pillow, opening your legs further as he shifts fully in between, biting down onto his bottom lip.

“that better?” pumping his finger between your slick folds, your breath quivering with every move.

you nod quickly, readjusting your grip on his shoulder, taking a deep breath when his thumb finds your clit.

he can’t hold off any longer, pulling his fingers out and tugging his boxers down, cock springing up against his stomach.

“mhm,” he groans, teasing your sopping cunt with the tip of his already leaking cock, lapping up every last whine of appreciation you let slip.

eddie slides in, staggered breaths as he pauses, adjusting his position to allow his hand to find your hand, fingers intertwining while you huff into his ear.

“shit,” he utters, slowly thrusting his hips, gripping your hand tighter, pressing you into the mattress.

he wouldn’t have fucked around so much if he knew this is what you’d feel like.

your thighs squeeze around his waist, the soft skin encasing him. goading him on with your sweet breathless whines, repeating his name like gospel.

working his way to the hilt, debating why he could just sit there for a while with his cock buried deep inside of you or not.

your fingers twist around his curls, gently tugging on the messy mop atop of his head.

whimpering into the tiny shared space between your faces, your eyes fighting to stay open. cheeks warm and flushed, incoherent babbling trailing from your mouth.

“you.. you feel fuckin’ insane,” eddie growls, wishing he could swallow that familiar twist in his stomach, keep this going forever and ever.

the air is warm, filthy sounds of his skin against yours fill the room as you desperately move your hips against his. loosely connecting your lips in a hazy kiss, he can feel you tighten around him, whimpers strained and needy as you near your orgasm.

“ahh fuck,” eddie mewls, burying his head into the delicate skin of your neck, leaving lazy kisses in the crook. hoping he can hold out for just a minute more while you tremble around him. coming undone right beneath his body.

you hum into his ear, running your fingers along his scalp, pulling gently on his hair.

eddie can’t stop himself any longer, pulling his cock out of your cunt before he cums, letting his release cover your thigh instead.

your nails continue to trace through his hair while his mouths babbles a bunch of nonsensical bullshit into your neck, surely condemned by a life in hell for the blasphemous shit he was saying.

coaxing his head out of the comfort of your skin to gaze into his tired eyes, your heartbeats coinciding with one another.

instead of saying anything, you grin, laughing quietly to yourself. eddie thinks you’re crazy and yet, he’s sure he might’ve just fallen in love.

eddie feels like a creep, watching as you sleep, your leg twisted somewhere between his making him terrified to even think about moving.

he doesn’t want to startle you, in fact he doesn’t really want this to end. he knows that once you wake, he’ll be lucky to see you again.

maintaining relationships wasn’t exactly a skill he possessed.

you stir sometime later, feeling your way up his chest as you come around. maybe you’d think he was a freak, maybe you’d regret it and decide to file a restraining order or something.

“morning,” you croak, lips plump with sleep, eyes barely open as they peep at the other side of the bed.

“hi,” wanting to cringe at his complete lack of charm.

“you talk in your sleep,” you say pointedly, shadows of a smile on your lips.

“oh really? what was i saying?”

you shrug, “something about a fire,” scrunching your nose up. idyllic as you bask in the morning light, a real picture of beauty.

“a fire? that’s weird, i was dreaming about you,” undecided whether it were too much too soon.

you curl away from him, shying into the pillow when a bang at the door interrupts everything, damn near rattling his entire apartment.

you look to him again, confusion threading your brows together, “who’s that?” worry seeping through your tone.

“i don’t know,” well, he had a pretty good idea of who it probably was and he most definitely didn’t want to deal with that right now.

they bang again, eddie unfurling his arm from your waist, “i’ll be two minutes,” frowning to himself as he pulls his boxers on.

as expected, gareth and jeff stand outside, gormless as their eyes fall to his bare legs.

“woah,” gareth exclaims, eyes wide.

“what d’you two want?”

“you not gonna invite us in?” jeff presses, still marvelling at his legs.

“no.”

“why?” gareth peers into the apartment, “who’ve you got in there?”

“your mom,” eddie quips, “why are you here?”

the two idiots share a look, half-offended, half trying to figure out if eddie was telling the truth or not.

“well-“ they come closer, “we’ve got that shipment.. for the thing,” brows wiggling, “couple’a weeks and it’ll be in.”

this leads to eddie closing the door further round, in fear of you overhearing. he’s not sure how well received that’d be on your first morning together.

“shh,” he hisses, looking around the very empty corridor, “you couldn’t have told me this later?”

they shake their heads in unison, “murray said to let you know, no phones.. no paper trail.”

eddie searches both of their blank faces before nodding, “alright.. alright, you can go now.”

they oblige but not before jeff grabs his crotch, winking at eddie which makes him slightly uncomfortable and letting out an almost inaudible have fun before disappearing into the elevator.

the urge to knock their heads together had never been stronger, returning to his apartment to find you stood in the middle of his bedroom, staring at the pictures on his dresser.

“i used to be cute, right?” he knows exactly which one you’re looking at, startling at the sound of his voice.

you turn, still holding onto the frame, “is that your mom?”

“mhm,” he hums, taking the frame from your grasp, “she..” clearing his throat, “she died when i was younger,” tracing his thumb over the image of her crazy hair.

“oh,” you frown, looking at him with pitiful eyes, “i’m sorry.”

he shakes his head, hair falling out of the loose bun he’d thrown up, “don’t apologise,” placing the photo back in it’s rightful place, “she was sick,” turning to you with his half-moon eyes.

he wishes he hadn’t even said it, the look on your face was too woeful, especially after the large grin you’d had plastered on it just this morning.

eddie sniffs, jumping to action, “get dressed,” he practically orders, wanting nothing more than to change the subject, “we’re going out,” telling, rather than asking.

“where?”

he shrugs, opening the large closet which mostly consisted of plain black tees and his jeans.

“i don’t have any clothes.. or my toothbrush, give me an hour and-“

interrupted by a shirt flying over, just about catching it before it lands on the ground, “wear mine, there’s a spare toothbrush in the bathroom,” eddie nods, sliding into his own clothes.

you stare dumbfounded at the cotton, before glancing back at him, “uh.. i don’t- what if people think..”

he turns, smile already peaking through, “if people think what? that we fucked? oh no,” riddled with sarcasm.

“you’re not funny,” you pout though you shimmy into the t-shirt, “i didn’t mean that i just..” trailing off into silence.

eddie’s eyes widen, something about seeing you in his shirt invigorated something within.

“don’t look at me like that,” shying away though there was really no need. he’d seen it all already.

“i can’t help it,” he remarks, standing wide-eyed.

your eyes roll in return, turning away to slip into his sweats though that makes everything worse. eddie instantly jumps to grab you, squeezing your arms against your sides, eliciting a high pitched squeal from you.

“maybe breakfast can wait,” growling into your ear, tripping over your legs as he barrels towards the bed.

eddie sighs, eyeing the seemingly stagnant clock on the dash. he knows you get off at three, toying with the idea of telling you he’s coming to get you or just turning up outside your building.

he figures he’s close enough that he won’t bother, shifting into drive. you’d only seen each other yesterday but he couldn’t get enough.

girls came and went in his life, never sticking around long enough for him to really get to know them. it felt different this time, he was itching to be with you, this constant need to be near you, with you. it scared him deep down, turning his stomach at the thought of someone actually meaning something to him.

he watches the door like a hawk, positioned outside so that you can’t possibly miss him.

it’s five after three by the time you emerge from the grand door, closely followed by who he assumes are your co-workers. eyes narrowing at the sight of the spindly guy following behind.

eddie clocks the exact moment you spot him, ducking your head as you break away from the group and slide into the passenger seat.

“what’re you doing here?” you flush, though your smile is evident, creeping onto his own face.

“i can’t come pick you up from work?”

you shrug, still coy as your co-workers dawdle, staring into the car with eager eyes.

“why’re you so shy all of a sudden? not even gonna kiss me?” eddie teases, feeling the eyes of your colleagues hot on his face.

“shut up,” you scoff, rolling your eyes.

he takes this as a challenge, leaning over the centre console to press his forehead to yours, waiting for your approval before embarrassing you any further.

your lips lock onto his before he can think about it, deciding to turn the innocent kiss into what he can only describe as a sloppy, over exaggerated makeout session. something similar to his first attempts at kissing.

you pull back, groaning in disgust, averting your eyes from the nosy gaggle of colleagues that still stood gawping.

mission accomplished.

eddie grins before speeding away, not bothering to acknowledge them another time.

you want to be annoyed, eddie can tell. tutting in your seat as if you didn’t enjoy that just as much as he did.

“who was that? your boyfriend?” only half-joking.

there’s another sigh, “i wish,” as you mess around with the dials on the dash.

eddie would normally smack your hand away but for you, he couldn’t.

an absolute sucker for the way your fingers danced around the tortoise shell interior, making yourself comfortable in his car like you should.

“you’ve never been to brunch?” you fret, looking at him with pure amazement over the table.

“no,” eddie chuckles, taking a sip of his coffee, “why would i?”

“why wouldn’t you?” smiling wide.

there’s been a lot of firsts for eddie these past few weeks.

you’d dragged him for a walk around the park in front of his complex, perplexed that he’d never even bothered. he’d been into a florist for the first time, hand picking some overpriced bouquet just for you.

he shakes his head, shrugging. there wasn’t any time for brunch when you had to move kilos of cocaine for rich aristocrats.

“you don’t live,” you scoff, sipping on your 11am mimosa as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

it’s ridiculous how soft you make him feel. he’d do brunch in some gentrified neighbourhood every day if it meant you smiled at him like that.

everything about you is too sweet, your clothes, the perfume you doused yourself in, the lipstick stains you’d leave behind on shared cigarettes. even last week when you’d made him stop for some cat food for the tiny stray that hung around your garden. who does that?

“some of us have to work, sweetheart,” eddie teases, shuffling around on the far-too-fancy chair.

“i work,” you hit back, “only difference is that what i do, isn’t illegal,” whispering the last part of your sentence, smug as you take a drink.

he looks on in pure awe. the fact that you could speak to him like that and yet still end up his favourite person was a miracle in and of itself.

“d’you want me to pay for your fuckin’ brunch or not?”

“i can pay f’myself,” you huff.

“but i don’t want you to.”

your eyes glint, pursing your lips to the side, “i don’t want to either.”

eddie’s already trembling in the car, murray droning on about the importance of gloves next to him. this all seemed like a good idea a couple of weeks ago and now his stomach flipped with every turn.

that was before he had something to lose, before he met you.

maybe weeks of you loosening him up had ruined him. the soft life was a dream in comparison to this. the complete fear coursing through his veins was enough to make him never want to leave the serene calm of your arms ever again.

a couple of years ago he was just some kid selling weed to the losers that hung around the block and now he’s clutching a pistol, contemplating whether he’d survive if he just jumped out of the car.

murray wouldn’t let him. he’d find him, make him pay for being such a pussy.

eddie’s eyes fall shut, head lolling back against the seat, conjuring up images of you in his head. if he had to do it, he also had to make it out alive.

for you.

a ringing bellows through his head, fumbling with the keys as his fingers shake.

he couldn’t remember if you were at work tonight, hoping you wouldn’t have to see this. get pulled into his ridiculous life.

eddie stumbles through the door, making a beeline for the bathroom when your voice calls out from the kitchen.

“eds?”

choosing to ignore it, focussed on the churning in his stomach and the need to empty whatever was rumbling around in there.

it all comes out into the toilet, heaving and retching as you round the corner completely perplexed by whatever was going on.

he’s slumped on the cold floor, gasping for air when you speak, “eddie?” terror in your voice.

“what happened?”

eddie barely looks up, focused on not throwing up again. he can’t explain it, there’s no words to tell you what happened without incriminating himself.

your eyes fall to the red splatters on his shirt, the cuts that littered his knuckles and the purple hue that had started taking over his cheek.

any idiot could put two and two together.

he’s been cryptic about what he does for work, never saying too much but just enough for you to understand. he didn’t want to tell you, to have to drag you into all this. that wasn’t fair.

for a moment, he thinks you’re about to run out of the door and never look back. he wouldn’t blame you if you did.

instead, you take charge, stepping into the bathroom with your hands resting on your hips, “get up,” you order, tugging at his arm.

he doesn’t. still partially curled around the toilet bowl, confused about your attitude.

“i said get up,” barking again, holding onto his elbow with an iron clad grip.

eddie obliges this time around, shakily standing up. he feels like a child, waiting for you to tell him what to do, to make him feel normal again.

you pull him to the sink, running the warm water, scrubbing his hands with yours. the water runs a murky colour, red and brown alike.

“get under your nails,” you add, lathering the soap on his palms, laser focused on his hands rather than the sorry state that had overcome him.

he does as you ask, scrubbing under his nails. standing aloof when you turn the water off.

your hands find the hem of his shirt, pulling it up over his head, “off,” nodding towards his jeans.

it’s a little unsettling that you know exactly what to do, but eddie’s not complaining. grateful for your presence, for your forward thinking. who knows what he would’ve done if you weren’t here. he thinks he probably would’ve handed himself straight into the cops.

you hold a bag open for him, gesturing for his clothes to go in. “we’ll.. we can get rid of them tomorrow,” eventually meeting his eyes again.

he nods, allowing you to guide him through to his bedroom. pliable, completely at your mercy. if you told him that jumping off of bridge would help, he’d do it.

you dump the bag of evidence on the floor before pulling out a fresh shirt and sweatpants, flinging them on the bed.

“get dressed.. i’ll get you some water,” before flouncing out of the room.

eddie hated himself for dragging you into his life like this. it was always supposed to be something separate, something isolated from your relationship.

he’s barely dressed by the time you return, feeling like a pitiful mess. if the look on your face were anything to go by, he looked like it too.

“eddie,” you begin, that same sad tone you’d had when he told you about his mom, “i don’t..” stepping closer, “need to know what happened- i don’t really want to know either but.. you can’t let it fuck you up,” looking at him earnestly, which honestly hurts more.

he nods, “i know,” because he did. “i’m sorry for-,” he sighs, “for getting you involved, i never wanted you to see this.”

you respond by throwing your arms around his waist, squishing your cheek against his chest, “don’t.. don’t start with that.”

his chin finds the top of your head, nestling into your hair, wrapping his arms around your shoulders.

it’s a nice type of silence, the air heavy with unspoken words but he thinks that’s okay.

you understand anyway.

#eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson one shot

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