#So I order the wrong door knobs

[easy-there-leftovers]

Mixed Messages

Written with season 1 Spencer in mind

Summary: The 5 times that you think you might hate Spencer Reid + the 1 time you realize you can't.

Alternatively; You're completely oblivious to your own growing feelings for Spencer that it constantly puts you in harm's way.

This can be seen as a prequel-sequel + sequel (?) to "A Question Unasked," but can be read independently of it.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem! (mentored by Hotch!) reader | cw: slight spoilers for s1e02, s1e04, s1e06, s1e10, and s1e18 | reader gets really mean in the later half lol |slight description of canon-typical violence, slight timeframe switches because it made more sense that way | word count: 8.9k (yowza--)

“It’s something, I know it is.” You mutter to yourself, rubbing the pads of your fingers together in an attempt to gather your thoughts. But you can’t. 

Can’t find it. 

Can’t find that one word.

“What do you call that thing when you–” you snap your fingers at your colleague. Your equal. “I’m sorry– what do you call the urge to do something or behave a certain way?”

This was your second case out on the field with the rest of the BAU since you’ve been recruited, and it had not been easy for you. 

The BAU always seemed like a prestigious unit to be a part of. Only the best of the best ever got to rub elbows up in that department, having been founded by Jason Gideon and David Rossi. 

Two of the most legendary profilers in the world.

And right now you, you haven’t been feeling the best. But Aaron Hotchner seemed to have thought otherwise.

Spencer thinks for a moment, trying to understand what you had just asked him while he stared at the board that still had the team’s ideas on it. 

“Actually, it could be a number of things; urges, cravings, stressors, compulsions–”

“That one! You’re amazing at this, Dr. Reid.” 

After noticing your knack for the more analytical aspects of the job, your mentor, the unit chief himself, had assigned you to work with one Dr. Spencer Reid. Another fresh grad that could not have been any older than you, but certainly seemed way smarter. 

He said that you would work well together.

And you believed him.

You looked at the calendar that had been marked when the fires were started, fully missing how the genius had frozen at your praise, and you frantically reviewed the theory in your head. 

Double-checking, triple-checking, and nodding when you see it’s consistent.

You then hurriedly pulled up the recording of Matthew in his dorm. Hovering so close to the screen, that Spencer had to be equally as close to it, and by extension to you, in order to even try seeing what you were seeing.

 “Do you see it?” You look back at him, and his face is so close, you almost lose your nerve but thankfully, Gideon opens the door to check up on the both of you.

He pauses as if he’s seeing something he shouldn’t be, but carries on anyway.

“Don’t just look at the next move. It’s like chess, think three steps ahead.” He says it mostly to Spencer, you notice, but you also notice how he was slightly bothered by your proximity to his protege. 

He doesn’t say anything about it, but you’re working as a profiler now for a reason.

You move away a little. 

When he leaves, Spencer turns to look at you again and asks what you saw. 

“See this?” You ask as you point to the part where there were two, clearly lit windows on screen and he nods. “There are two fires, right?” He nods again.

“Now look at this,” You show him the part where Matthew gets wet with gasoline, and is eventually set aflame. 

“That was the third fire.”

You see Spencer’s eyes light up at your statement, and you hurriedly scrub back to where the unsub had been trying the door knob. Making sure to zoom in on the handle.

This time, it's the boy-genius that says it. “He turns the knob three times.” He looks at you to confirm his statement, and you nod. Looking into his eyes. 

Something you did out of respect.

“Right, so if we’re not wrong,” you use the pronoun on purpose, “the professor’s office should have something to do with the number three as well.”

He walks with you to the burned office, professor Wallace’s office, and there you collectively discover more of the same number. 

You have all the evidence you need.

***

“Sir Hotchner, we know why the profiles never fit.” It’s you who opens the door first, but Spencer is the one that carefully closes it behind you.

He looks at Gideon. “You were right to tell Morgan not to rely on precedent.” He then sets up the computer that you two had brought and you continue for him.

“So far, the fires that have been set are completely task-oriented.”

Hotch quirks his brows at that. “So once the fires are set, the unsub is done?”

You nod.

“Correct, sir. The reason why the profile never fit is because it contradicts the mold of a classic serial arsonist– his use of fire is the compulsion of a completely different disorder.” “Which is?” Gideon questions.

“An extreme manifestation of OCD– Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.” Spencer answers as he finally found out how to turn the computer on. The two of you exchanging lines in perfect synchronization.

“He does everything in threes. And if I’m right, he’ll have to kill again.”

The four of you discuss the behavioral evidence that had led to this discovery, with Spencer taking the lead as he mentions its possible tie to ‘scrupulosity,’ a type of OCD centering on religious obsession. 

As you continue though, and you know you shouldn’t take it to heart, but the way that Gideon’s constantly questioning your ideas and not Spencer’s was starting to make you feel uneasy. As if you were a bug under his careful scrutiny. 

Or was it the way that you sat?

 Granted, there were only three chairs in the area, so you had absentmindedly sat on the bit of the desk that had been uncluttered. No one else seemed to be bothered by it, and certainly not Spencer, who had cleared the area nearest to him just for you. 

So what…?

Being the non-confrontational kind, but not one to be pushed around, you take a mental departure from the discussion and start thinking about what else could be useful to the case. Bringing something new to the table that’s relevant.

You try to think if there had been anyone that stood out to you. Spencer had mentioned religious obsession, and the call from earlier definitely supported the idea, but you couldn’t single out one theology student that would fit that criteria.

You tried getting up from where you sat. Pacing has always helped you gather your thoughts, but you didn’t even need to take those few steps when you felt the cold sweat run down your back.

And it seemed like Gideon had noticed it. “What is it?”

You turned to slowly face the rest of them. “I think I know who it might be.” You groan as you think about it.

 “And it’s not a he.”  If you thought about this too late and another fire is happening right now– 

—-------

It wasn’t until you were on the flight home that you felt like you could breathe easy again. You didn’t have to be near Gideon anymore, giving you the side eye every time you were the least bit close to his protege.

You could just exist silently while you think about what to write in your report.

It wasn’t Spencer’s fault, nor his mentor’s, you thought as you stared at the somewhat empty file in your hand.

 You’re sure that Reid didn’t mean to take credit for the theory that you had essentially spelled out for him, and you’re also sure that Gideon was just a little uncomfortable with how unprofessional you might’ve seemed. 

Looking all cozied up with his golden boy. That had to be the only reason why he practically ignored you, but congratulated the boy-genius.

You sigh and wonder if you’ll ever get on his good side. Maybe you just needed to work a little harder.

As you nod at your resolve, it's your mentor that takes a seat in front of you.

“Congratulations on your second case.” You’re still a little starstruck, getting to work with him, but you manage out a polite, ‘thank you’ as a response. 

You try to make yourself look busy by rereading the other file that had been completed.

You already made a fool of yourself in front of one of your seniors, you didn't want to mess up in front of him too. Hotch could–

“I meant it, by the way.” 

You look up at him again. Eyes wide in question, and perhaps fear, as you realize you don’t understand what he’s talking about.

“You were focused on that calendar more than any of us, even before we landed in Arizona. You recognized the pattern before you even knew what it meant. And that definitely helped.”

“Oh.” Is all you could say, because what else could you have said?

A small laugh leaves your mouth. He recognized you for your efforts. Made it known that he saw what you saw, and that what you saw was helpful. 

Without the usual mention of the boy-genius.

It was a moment just for you. 

A moment where you vowed to work harder. Smarter.

And the moment you knew that SSA Aaron Hotchner was the best leader that you could ever have.

“Oh and agent?” Both you and Spencer look back to see your supervisor, but you see that it’s you that he’s singling out. “A private word, if you please.”

You nod without a second thought, despite not knowing what this other meeting could possibly be for. You were just as clueless as you were about the one earlier. 

What you weren’t clueless about was how you felt towards your situation. You had been assigned to work with Spencer so often that you were starting to get sick of it. 

Not a slight to his company at all, on the contrary! You actually enjoyed it! He was a fascinating and accomplished young man that charmed his way into your heart with his little fun facts and references. 

And if that weren’t enough, Morgan hadn’t exactly coined the nickname “pretty boy” just for laughs.

 Dr. Reid lived up to that expectation. 

With his soft brown hair, bright, inquisitive eyes, and how cozy he always seemed in his clothes— how could anyone dislike him? 

No, it was the attention that you were getting that was starting to frustrate you. Or perhaps the wrong kind of attention, would be more appropriate.

Lately, it seemed as if you were only being treated as an extension of Dr. Reid. As if you were always attached at the hip, and that you always knew where he had to be and what it was that he was doing. 

You don’t know where all this came from. Not even a little bit.

All you know is that it was slowly starting to rub you the wrong way, and that you wanted a semi-permanent departure from the situation.

But that didn’t happen because Spencer had just unknowingly shut down your only chance.

You digress, and put your feelings aside for now. You were at work, after all.

“What did you want to discuss with me sir?” 

Hotch makes the effort to clear away his desk for a bit, and places his hands on top of it. Grasping them together as he looks at you with his usual stern expression.

“We’ll be issuing you a gun soon. You’re qualified to own one after having enough hours on the field, and you’ve shown a respectable record, so please keep that in mind.”

Your eyes widen in glee. Those were just a few words, but you couldn’t help how your heart swelled in pride at them.

It wasn’t the gun that you were happy about, it was what it represented.

Being issued a gun by the bureau signified that you were officially part of the team, and that you were deemed a responsible enough member of the organization to be trusted with it.

You should be honored to be given this chance and yet it felt sort of wrong— something didn’t sit right with you.

“Sir, with all due respect, while I’m thankful for the opportunity, I don’t see why I’m being issued a gun when Dr. Reid has still yet to have one.”

He sighs at that, as if he had hoped that you wouldn’t ask, but he tells you anyway. 

“Dr. Reid has failed numerous firearm qualifications and will be retaking his test soon.”

You nod slowly, still not quite seeing the relation between the two scenarios.

He sighs again, but this time, with a small, tight smile. 

“We’ve been thinking that it would instill more confidence in him if you knew your way around a gun. He seems to have a great respect for you, and seeing you have one might help him a bit.”

You smile at that and respond good-naturedly. “Duly noted, sir! I’ll make sure he has the confidence that could rival even Derek Morgan’s.”

He shows you a polite smile and dismisses you promptly. Getting back to his stack as you nod and you make your way to his door.

It shouldn’t bother you, and it doesn’t, you think.

 A job’s a job. 

If it wasn’t going to be you, it was going to be someone else. You just so happened to have been given this particular job due to the presumed rapport you had with one another, and you saw no problem with that.

You trust your boss, and it’s not like you dislike Spencer, so it shouldn’t bother you at all.

And yet it does, ever so slightly, when you see Morgan and Elle, crowding and cooing around him like he was a baby when you make it out of Hotch’s office.

You’re confused at what it is that you’re feeling, but you hear something akin to the word, ‘math.’ What could they be teasing him about now? 

“Is something going on here?” You hope they don’t see how hard you’re trying to keep a straight face. Looking to and fro.

You’re at work now, and you can’t let your emotions get the best of you. 

 "Was just caught trying to add my stack onto pretty boy's plate." Morgan says with his usual chuckle.

You detect a slight hint of something else hidden somewhere in there, probably another inside joke that you weren’t in on, but you can’t bring yourself to pay it any mind. 

So you let out a small, ‘hm’ to let them know that you heard what he said, and you eventually turn your back to them to reach your desk.

You don’t see the way Derek shoots you a knowing look.

And you don’t see the way Spencer looks at you longingly either. Too busy burying yourself in another stack of files, sure to go overtime once again, to drown out the unknown feeling that was welling up inside you. 

Did you hate Spencer Reid?

“Isn’t it amazing he knows what he knows and he’s only twenty-four?” Gideon huffs out and gives Aaron a small smile in response.

“Imagine what he’ll know by fifty.” 

It’s times like these that you remember that he does have the capability to smile. Well of course he’s smiling, his surrogate son looked like he was having the time of his life, blowing out those trick candles. 

Everyone crowded around him.

Everyone but you and the two seniors.

You want this moment to be something that everyone can enjoy, and you know just how much it would sour Gideon’s mood if you were right over there. So you opted to take your place right next to Hotch.

And Hotch seemed to notice that.

“Why aren’t you with the rest of them?”

You really don’t want to answer that right now. Not when the reason is staring right back at you, waiting for your response as well.

“I can see the party just fine from here.” Is what you settle for, and look right at Spencer’s still heaving back to make a point.

Before he could question it any further, he’s called to the other side of the room where a phone call was waiting for him. 

Reid takes the opportunity to excuse himself and take his place by Gideon’s side.

“You having fun?” The elder asks and he nods slowly at that.

“Yes, definitely. I am definitely– having fun.” 

He punctuates each pause with a tight-lipped smile and a snark that is just itching to break free and you can’t help the little chuckle that escapes you. As it happens however, you quickly try to hide it behind a cough and a cover of your mouth.

You’re right next to Gideon, you need to look professional, you think, no matter how cute or ridiculous Spencer might look. 

You quickly try to find Hotch with your eyes to ground yourself. Trying your best to zone out and not pay attention to the conversation happening right beside you, but it’s getting increasingly harder to do that.

“I wonder where the cake was from.” The younger one asks absentmindedly, but you feel the twitch of your fingers at the question. 

Gideon subtly looks over to you, but he doesn’t answer him. Instead asking if he made a wish yet, which quickly changes the trajectory of Spencer’s questions.

You let out a breath of relief, but the moment is short-lived when you see the solemn expression on Hotch’s face.

“Sorry guys. Party’s over.” You put your game face on, and quickly excuse yourself from them to grab your go bag. 

What you didn’t see was that Spencer had failed to notice Gideon’s gaze because he had been looking somewhere else. 

He had been looking at you. Waiting for you to greet him with a happy birthday like the rest of them did.  You were the only one that wasn’t there, after all.

But you had already been looking at Hotch, and that, he notices.

***

The more cases you work for the BAU, the more you realize how much of your work isn't just the investigation anymore. 

You feel it when you still see the victims’ faces when you close your eyes. 

Feel it in the hammer of your chest when you have to face off another degenerate with a gun. 

Feel it in the tenseness of your shoulders when either Spencer, or Gideon, or Hotch, or any of them are looking at you because if they even have the slightest idea that you’re not doing fine, you’ll lose your place on the team.

If you even had one, that is.

It was a strange position you were in. Everyone was expecting you to be boy-genius’ sidekick or something. Having all these ideas of you being someone bigger and stronger than you really were. 

Someone that was smart enough to show him just where to look, but not smart enough for the rest of the local PD to listen to because for some reason, it was more believable when it came out of Dr. Reid’s mouth.

You still remember how Morgan rolled his eyes at you when you corrected him. ‘It’s a ballad, actually. Not a poem.’

What’s worse was that the only person that didn’t seem to have this expectation of you was Spencer himself because he had no idea that any of this was even going on. 

He didn’t ask for this.

He was just doing his job, just like you were.

You’re officially off duty, now that you’re on the flight back to Quantico. So you unfortunately no longer have the excuse to shut away your feelings for the sake of your profession. 

You sigh and figure that maybe a little shut eye could help, but that idea is completely thrown out the window when you hear the soft pads of rubber-soled shoes shuffling on the jet’s carpeted floor.

You look up to see the less than comfortable posture of one Dr. Spencer Reid. Obviously caught between trying to go back to the main space, and just staying near the tail where you were.

Your heart warms at the sight and you invite him over.

You were thankful that he took up on your offer. 

Even under the harsh lights of the craft, you still notice just how soft Spencer looks. Even softer now that he’s donning your gift, and rambling on and on about how cool the color purple was to him. Gesticulating with his hands in a frenzy and you relax for what feels like the first time in months.

If you didn’t work together, you realize, you could’ve been a lot closer. He’s everything that you liked about a guy. He was smart and sensible, with a childlike wonder for anything and everything. 

There was an endless amount of things that he could accomplish, with a brain like that.  

And he was only twenty-four.

He was just like you, so why weren’t you closer? You ask yourself this as you sigh out, but you immediately find your answer in the form of his and your mentor looking right back at you. Whispering amongst themselves and occasionally shaking their heads. 

Looking just like they had earlier when you had brought in Spencer’s cake before the rest of BAU had showed up for duty. 

You know that there’s no way Reid can see them. Not when his back is quite literally turned to them, so you opt to ignore it. Maybe it was all in your head.

And maybe working with him so often wasn’t so bad. 

After all, how could you hate Spencer Reid when he’s this happy from just a scarf?

You see the scarf again, soon enough. 

Maybe a little too soon.

The BAU had received an urgent call to McAllister, Virginia to investigate the supposed work of a satanic cult. Two bodies that had sustained identical blunt-force trauma to the head were recovered, one skeleton and one fresh, but the team was debating the involvement of the cult in the case.

“You're saying that there's no such thing as devil worship?” Elle asks with disbelief, but is quickly answered by Gideon.

“Not at all. But most of the satanism that we've seen is juveniles damaging property, desecrating churches, cemeteries,” He shrugs a little as he pauses.

“Besides,” you add. “Satanists, removed from religious stigma, are just ethical hedonists. They reject the perceived oppression of the Christian community by building their own, and indulging in more worldly pleasures. They’re not inherently violent.”

The elder nods at that, and you feel a bit proud of yourself in that moment.

“And to my knowledge, there has never been a proven case of a satanic ritual killing in the United States.”

“Well, maybe there is now.”

***

The scene is certainly interesting.

Gideon, Reid, JJ, and you were curious about the state of the older body, so you had made your way down the steep slope to check up on it. You get acquainted with the local sheriff while you’re there too and he explains that they found the body when they were doing their own investigation.

 Just seventy-five feet away from where they found Adam.

“It's a man. The male pelvis is more narrow and the opening at the bottom is heart-shaped, as opposed to oval.” Spencer announces as he prods at the body’s clothes with a stick, but he is immediately distracted by another element.

“Melted wax?”

“Candle wax?” JJ asks as she leans forward a bit to see it too. Spencer agrees.

“Candles are used in rituals.”

“They’re also used on birthday cakes.” Gideon is no longer interested in the scene and looks for something else that could be nearby. 

You, however, notice something different about the body. You were expecting it to look different.

If you were blitzed from behind, gravity tells you that you should fall forward. Chest on the ground.

But this skeleton’s chest was facing up. 

“Actually, they were originally used to protect the birthday celebrant from demons for the coming year. As a matter of fact, down to the fourth century, Christianity rejected the birthday celebration as a pagan ritual.”

You nod, seemingly not paying attention, but you add on to that. Much to Spencer's delight.

“Yeah, they thought that evil spirits lurked around the days of major changes so they lit candles for every year that had passed. Anway, sir, do you happen to have a good picture of Adam’s dead body?”

The sheriff narrows his eyes at the two of you, then looks at JJ who only shakes her head with a smile. 

“What kind of kids did you bring out here?” 

***

You’re surprised it took you this long to actually feel like you needed a gun. 

Hotch, as always, had paired you and Spencer together.

 Again. 

But this time, it was to go out on the field.

You had been left behind with him to continue searching the Jenson’s house. To look for anything that could concretely point to the group being responsible if the case ever went to court, but you and Reid found nothing.

And it was expected that you would find nothing. You and him had agreed that it was just far too convenient if you did, but then that kid— Cory— He asked you two to check the abandoned house farther up. 

A house that you’re pretty sure not even his father knew about.

And that’s when you got the idea. It was dark, law enforcers weren’t nearby, and you were trying to trace the tracks of an unsub that lived in an area only locals wouldn’t get lost in. You had every right to feel nervous. 

Especially when you had that sinking feeling that the unsub was the one guiding you right where he wanted you to be.

So when he led you to a house that had the goth kids’ insignia written in bright, red paint, you knew that you had to play along. 

But you also knew that whatever may or may not have been up there, the team wouldn’t want Spencer to see.

You didn’t want him to see.

So you look back at him, and nod. Giving him a look that told him that you would check the house alone, that you had a plan, and that he should stay exactly where he was until you gave him the okay clear.

By the time you got back down, he knew you saw it. 

You saw the girl, and you knew you had to get Spencer out of here.

Fast.

“Was she in there?” Cory grabbed you by the shoulder, and you could only gulp.

You had to think quickly, but you were also still so shocked to see her in– whatever state it was that you saw.

And then this kid was just pretending like he didn't know jackshit about it.

“She was in there.” Was all you could breathe out, vacantly looking past the kid that eventually let you go.

 You instinctively reach for your phone, speed dialing Hotch, but the service was so bad up here that it wouldn’t even go through. You had to clear the area, in case this goes haywire.

With no other choice, you said what you thought could get him out of there.

“Dr. Reid, I need you to check back downhill and see if the deputies have returned.” He looks at you incredulously.

“What? No! I can’t leave you here– ” 

“We need the rest of the sheriffs and the crime scene team here.” Looking dead into his eyes, he still doesn’t relent.

You need to calm yourself down. The more he thinks you’re not okay, the more difficult it’s going to be to convince him to leave.

He whispers your name as if it’ll persuade you. Grasping your shoulders like Cory did, albeit more gently.

“Right now, you’re experiencing an acute stress response, also known as the fight-or-flight response. It would be much safer for all of us to–” “Do as you’re told.” 

He freezes, but he’s still looking right at you. Eyes shaking in what you assume to be fear or worry, but he eventually nods and leaves. Constantly looking over his shoulder at you and he trips a little because of it.

You make sure that he’s out of sight before turning back to the football-genius. 

 You saw the gun he wasn’t so subtly concealing in his pants, and there was no way you were going to risk him hurting anyone else. You included.

You position yourself right in front of the house. If he makes a break for it and runs in there, it’ll be game over for just one cop and one manic robber. So you try to keep the open forest his only escape route.

That’s when you start cornering him. 

Telling him that you knew what the profile said about the killer and how it all seemed too good to be true. How the crime had to have been done by someone who was just as smart and connected as him.

How it could have only been done by him.

What you failed to take into account however was how Spencer would have definitely come back to check on you and report his findings.

Your heart drops as he stumbles into the fray.

Which is why you’re here right now.

Gun drawn at the kid, with his own resting right on your friend’s head. 

“She shouldn't have gotten mixed up in all this, it was his run! I didn’t mean to hurt her, but make no mistake– I will shoot your boy right now.”

You raise your hands and drop your gun in surrender. Scared of what he might do to him if you don’t.

—-

You hear Aaron Hotchner shout for you as he approaches uphill and you sigh. 

You’re fully expecting to hear a lecture, but not the look of deep impatience that graces your supervisor’s face.

 “Agent, I hope you understood what just happened.”

You shrink under his gaze, but he doesn’t let up. “Your actions during this operation put both you, and Reid, in serious danger.”

“Sir, but we handled it. I even made extra sure to evacuate Dr. Reid from the premises, I just wasn’t expecting him to come back and–”

“But that doesn't change the fact that he had a gun on Reid mere moments before you took him down. You were antagonizing him and while you may have been successful in apprehending him, what you did also put Reid at risk.”

This was unfair. 

He was talking like you hadn’t had the same gun pointed at you too. 

Like he hadn't made an effort to shoot at you.

There was nothing you could’ve said that could stop him, and you acted as fast as you could but you knew Hotch wouldn’t listen to any of it.

So you stayed quiet. Nodding along in understanding as he gave you a rundown of everything that you could’ve done better, and anything that you could’ve said differently.

Things that, he said, you could’ve done better while trying to keep yourself calm. 

Tring to keep yourself calm after discovering a dead body, and being threatened by someone that had your friend at gunpoint.

What’s worse is that not even a moment after Hotch left you to talk to the rest of the team, Morgan came and it looked like he had his fair share of complaints too.

“Sir Derek Morgan, I understand that you might be mad–” “Oh, so you know I’m mad?” You curse and groan out childishly, you know that, but you just really wanted to leave now. 

“Kid, I get that he jumped you, but you can’t just go rogue and expect everyone else to know what you’re doing.” 

You scoff.

“I didn’t go ‘rogue,’ I sent out Spencer to get backup so I could handle him myself. He would’ve been out of the line of fire. I did that to protect him–”

“No. You did that to play hero.” 

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. 

“Splitting up and acting on your own like that wasn’t heroic. It was reckless. Do you know how much sleep he’s losing right now and how much more he’s going to lose just when all of this hits?”

You shake your head humorlessly. Why is it always about him?

 You’re not responsible for knowing anything and everything about him, you’ve barely known each other for a year. Why is it suddenly part of your job description to be boy-genius' caretaker?

“He’s been having nightmares,” he says your name with a weight in it.

“Don’t give him any more reasons to stay up at night.”

And he just leaves you right there. Going up to the very guy you were talking about, who was being checked by the only medic the county had on standby. Probing to see if he was alright. 

And he seemed like it. If the way his face lit up at Morgan’s embrace or the way that he smiled when JJ congratulated him was anything to go by. 

Or the way that Hotch patted his back to soothe him.

 Or the way that Elle seemed to be intently listening to what he was saying–

He’s not your responsibility, so why the hell should you care?

God, it just wasn't fair.

And you know that. You know that he didn’t ask for any of this to happen, and that you should be happy that he’s fine–

But you can’t bring yourself to look at him for any longer. Not when he goes to look at you with that tight-lipped smile and raised brows that makes him look like he can’t do anything without you.

Not when it’s starting to look like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

Not when it starts to feel like he’s doing this on purpose.

You’re starting to hate Spencer Reid.

After Morgan knocks some sense into the camera man that had been spying on the pair, Elle is the one that gives you his camera and makes her way to Spencer first. You know exactly what should be on that film, but you just wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. 

That maybe if you didn’t look at it any closer, you wouldn’t see anything that could make you hate him more than you already do.

That he had been behaving and just being the good, perfect boy that Gideon and Hotch, and everyone else, seemed to rave on and on about.

But you didn’t even need a proper light to see just what was on it.

And you made sure he knew exactly what he had done.

“I– I fell in–”

“Doctor Spencer Reid!” Seeing you walking towards him with an anger he had never seen directed towards anyone before made him freeze where he stood. Cowering under your gaze.

“What in the fuck was going on inside you goddamn head, huh?” Elle had already left by then to talk to the camera guy with Morgan just a few feet away to leave you two to it. 

She knew what was going to happen, and she was going to let it. It needed to.

“It was an accident, I swear! She pulled me in and I—” He tried to reason, but you were having none out of it.

“And you what? Decided that then and there was the right place to eat her face off? Might I remind you that you are still on duty and this behavior is completely unacceptable!”

 If this had been you, this is exactly what you would’ve been lectured about.

But Spencer feels his brows knitting together and he shakes his head in confusion.

“You’re-- not jealous about me kissing Lila?”

“You think I’m what?!” 

You cannot believe the gall of this man. 

Cannot comprehend how oblivious he seems to the severity of the situation. 

And for what, because some hot blonde just happened to give him the slightest bit of attention? That since the rest of the team wasn’t around, he could go ahead and play house with some model and waste all his training on the field for nothing? 

You shake your head incredulously at the thought. 

“I don't know just what the hell is going on in that fuckass head of yours, Doctor, but that little bone-headed stunt that you just pulled? Could’ve cost you your life and hers.” 

Spencer tried to quell your anger. Tried to apologize, but you just kept going. Seemingly growing more and more frustrated at his feeble attempts.

 “I couldn’t give less of a shit who you do and don’t kiss in your spare time, Mr. 187. But let me remind you of something in case that brain of yours got all scrambled from exchanging extracellular fluids with Miss Archer,” 

No longer caring for his aversion for germs, because he certainly stopped caring about that earlier today, you brought your index and middle finger up to rest dead center on his forehead.

He closed his eyes and whimpered at your touch.

“You are still being pursued by a psychotic killer who is going around, shooting people in the head. We’re lucky that the guy in the bushes was just some sorry voyeur doing his goddamn job, but if it had been anyone else, you would’ve been fucking–!” 

Spencer feels the contact get ripped away from him suddenly, and he instinctively chases after it. 

The realization of how insane that must’ve been however, makes him open his eyes. 

He sees Morgan pulling you into his chest as he strides towards Lila’s house. He sees you struggle against the hold, but as his friend keeps shushing you and repeating your name from inside, you eventually calm down and relax. Disappearing into his form as Derek’s back now faces him and he can’t see you anymore.

The boy-genius feels his heart clench at the sight. A feeling not so dissimilar to what he felt when the blonde first started kissing him. 

He didn’t know what to do then. He knew what he was doing was wrong, but some small, sick part of him just wanted your attention on him so badly that he was willing to do whatever it took for that to happen.

He had been waiting for so long–

But as he recalls how you were seething at him, how even though he had your eyes right where he wanted them to be, all he could feel was the heavy cloak of shame burdening him. Weighing on his form like the weight of his wet, pool bacteria-infected clothes.

And something tells him that no amount of bathing or scrubbing would ever rid him of it. 

He doesn’t even notice the rest of the team coming back to apprehend the trespasser until Elle picks up the roll of film that you had dropped when you were dragged away. Holding it out for him to take. 

He extends his hand out of instinct, but he crushes it soon after he recognizes what’s on it.

“You’re welcome, by the way.” Is all that she says as she leaves him frozen there too. 

***

Meanwhile, you were still in Derek’s arms. Crying like some young little fragile thing and you hated it. 

You didn’t even know why you were crying anymore because even you knew that breaking a code of conduct was nothing to shed a few tears over.

“Come on, sweet girl, talk to me.” Morgan coos as he continues to hug you, which makes you sob all the harder. Embarrassed that an authority figure just saw you lose your shit on the job, so you shake your head no.

He’s probably going to tell Hotch and you’re going to get transferred out–

“We can’t do anything if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.” 

But somehow those exact words had you spilling your heart out on to him. Doing so in such a frantic state as if this was a one-time opportunity that you were never going to be granted ever again.

So much so that all your insecurities came out of your mouth in word vomit.

How you tried so hard to do everything right. How you fought tooth and nail just to make it onto the team. 

How even though you were just as young as Reid, everyone else seemed to dote on him more. 

How everyone expected you to know just as much, if not more, than him so that he wouldn’t feel so out of place, and how every time that you didn’t, everyone only seemed to care because you had put him in danger.

How none of your efforts were ever noticed because they would either be overshadowed by Spencer’s, or brushed aside because it was not enough to make up for something that could’ve gotten him hurt.

And most of all, how bad you felt because none of it was his fault, and you knew you were being unfair to him.

And Morgan listened to all of it. Listening and occasionally apologizing when he knew that he had been guilty of one or two of those transgressions.

Patting your back and giving you all the comfort that he could before he knew you had to refocus on the case.

When you see Spencer again, his eyes remain low and you can’t bring yourself to apologize in that instant because you were still on duty and work had to be done.

No matter how sorry and how pathetic you felt, it had to wait.

What you don’t see is how his gaze lingers on his friend’s hand. Absent-mindedly moving up and down your arm in, what he understands to be, a protective manner. 

—————

He was being a distraction. A liability. To the case, or to Lila, or to you, you’re not sure anymore, but you needed him out. So you did exactly what you were hired at the BAU to do.

You’ve always thought the art piece on Lila’s wall was bizarre. And now that you’re looking at it again with a much clearer mind, you finally see why.

You had asked for everyone in the room to take the wall apart, after gaining Lila’s approval, and you all pieced together the final clue.

 A mural depicting the birth of the star that is now Lila Archer. 

After Spencer points out that the man in the mural was his ex-classmate, Parker Dunley, the team sees no further reason to question his involvement and makes the preparations to leave. 

Yet something is gnawing at you, telling you that this can’t be it. 

And at this point? No one is going to listen to a theory you have because nobody listens to you once Spencer says anything.

So you suggest the next best thing.

“Excuse me?” Your unit chief raises his eyebrows at your suggestion, but you can tell that it’s mostly a formality.

“Sir, with all due respect, it is in our best interest to relieve Dr. Reid of his position as Miss Archer’s bodyguard. He is now a potential target, and he knows Parker Dunley best among all of you. He would be most useful to the investigation if he joined the others.”

Spencer makes no attempt to contest, wanting nothing more than to just get this over with and talk to you when it’s all done, and Lila doesn’t say anything either. Just wanting the ‘traitor’ to leave her house and never come back.

Hotch senses this and sighs. He looks over to Gideon, who looks like he couldn’t care any less, and then back to you. 

“Alright then. You’re switching places with Reid. We’ll let you know if anything happens.”

He then discusses with the others that he’ll be joining JJ at the local PD while Morgan, Elle, Reid, and Gideon will be closing in on Dunley.

So that left you alone with Lila, which was going a lot easier than you had expected it to.

“I’m sorry about your boyfriend. If I knew you were a thing, I wouldn’t have tried so hard to kiss him.”

She seemed so guilty as she said it and you just shook your head, but you noted the use of the term, “try.”

“Oh Miss Archer, please don’t apologize. He's not my boyfriend. I was just really upset that he could’ve gotten you hurt when he was supposed to be protecting you.” 

You move to stand a little closer to her, still keeping a fair amount of distance so you wouldn’t crowd her. 

"Besides, I think he's more into you than you think."

Under more normal circumstances, you supposed that they could work. Spencer most likely only hesitated because he was holding on to some semblance of professionalism he could maintain with the beautiful woman.

In another life, maybe this would've panned out differently.

“I saw the way he looked at you, you know?” Now that interests you and you tilt your head at her. 

“Like he hated me?” 

Her laugh was empty as she shook her head. “You’re just like him.” Is all she said.

But before you could ask any further, a call had interrupted you. 

You looked at the caller ID and saw that it was the very guy you were talking about. ‘Dr. Reid,’ it read.  The sight makes you sigh.

You know him well enough that he would never call you for work, and that this must have been for something personal. 

‘Stay professional,’ you told yourself, so you drop the call.

If it had really been important, someone else would call you.

As soon as you move to put your phone down however, it rang again. You checked it and fair enough, this time it was from Derek Morgan. 

You bring the phone to your ear.

“Hello?”

“Sweet girl, listen to me. We have a name, and it’s ‘Maggie Lowe.’ We’re on our wa—Christ man—we're on our way back over there, okay? Stay put and we’ll let Hotch and JJ know.” 

There’s shouting from his end that worries you, but you nod with a hum and end the call. 

You turned back to Lila and asked her very hurriedly if she knew anyone by that name, and her reaction tells you everything. 

You try to tell her that she’s the unsub and just while she’s still confused at your sudden change in demeanor, her phone rings. 

She shows you that it’s ‘Mags’, her friend, and you immediately try to calm her down and ask her to keep her friend on the phone. Expressing softly, but with great urgency, that it is imperative they keep her on the line.

Just as Lila answers, you immediately dial Garcia. “Oracle of Quantico, speak if you deign to hear the truth.”

“Miss Garcia, I need an emergency trace to a cell phone from Lila Archer’s phone.” 

You hear her gasp a little, reasonably concerned that you had been speaking so softly. A stark contrast to your usually strong and sure voice, but she steels her own and lets you know that she’s on it. 

You recite to her Lila’s phone number, having memorized it from her manager, and you instinctively look back at her to see her still pacing on the phone. 

You try to smile warmly, mentally patting her on the back for her efforts, and she nods back in response. Somewhat thankful for yours. 

As you wait, you suddenly remember Spencer’s phone call from earlier. Was this why he called?

Fuck, what if he wondered off and had been calling for backup but you just dropped the phone on him?

Maggie could be anywhere. It would be no surprise to you if she had actually gone back to find Dunley to eradicate any leads that could trace back to her. What if she was–

You’re quick to tune back into your own call however when you hear Penelope halt her typing and call out your name. 

“Is Lila’s address 6028 Pike Street?”

You don’t like where this is going. “Yeah.”

“She’s calling from inside the house.”  You sigh, in relief? In fear?

 “I’m sending you backup right now, please be safe, my love.” She says with a tremor in her voice and you drop the call immediately. Catching the attention of the blonde in front of you.

“Lila–” but then you hear a shout and a thud from another room and you shake your head. You didn’t need to ask how she got in the house because that wasn’t important anymore. 

The profile was. And the profile said that it was an erotomanic killer. 

You could work with that. 

—----

It didn’t take long for you to find Maggie. Well, you'd laugh if you could, because it was more like she found you. 

On the other end of her gun. 

With Lila in her arms.

There was no way that you could stall for however long it would take for the rest of your team to get here, so your best shot at surviving this was to talk her out of it.

“Maggie, put the gun down–”

“Don’t call me Maggie, you don’t know me.” She spit out, venom in her voice as she tried ushering Lila out with her.

“I know what it’s like.”

 You don’t know what the fuck you were saying, but you were panicking. It wasn’t your first time being held at gunpoint, it had happened so often that Hotch even claimed you were always begging for it.

But this was different. None of the right words were coming to you. 

You had to think of a way to deal with this, fast, and you didn’t know how to make it believable enough.

“No you don’t, little girl. Don’t pretend like you do.”

“But I do!” You put your gun down in a panic and held your hands up in surrender.

“I know what it’s like to l-” your mouth went dry. “To love someone– someone that doesn’t love you back.” 

You seriously don’t know what the fuck you’re saying. 

Maggie laughs at what you say though.

“Well it sucks to be you, but my baby loves me. Isn’t that right?” She makes a show of tucking Lila’s hair behind her ear, but even through her fear, she denies her friend. 

“I don’t, Mags.” Maggie’s jaw tightens at that.

“Yes you do, I know you do– Don’t act like you don’t, you stupid, ungrateful–” you cut her off. 

“She doesn’t, Miss Lowe. And I know you know that.” She shakes her head, but still keeps her gun on Lila.

You push a little harder. “I know because I know what it’s like to love someone. To meet your match.” You approach her just a little.

She shifts the gun to you now, but you continue to push. 

“I know what it feels like to get tunnel vision. Where nothing matters, not even yourself, as long as it makes her happy. Keeps her safe. ” 

You look her in the eye, and you can tell that it’s not enough. You need to switch gears, but you can’t think of anything else to do.

“And– And I know what it’s like–to feel everything so strongly—so much so that you don’t even know what’s happening until it just is.”

You realize it now. It was all you

It was never about the teasing of your teammates, never about the expectation that Hotch or Gideon had.  

You never hated Spencer. You just wanted to belong. You just wanted to be treated like how he was. 

The realization makes your eyes water.

You didn’t even notice it, but as more and more words fall free from your mouth, all you can think about is him.

 About how you’re sorry. About how you never meant to hurt him. About how he doesn’t deserve your frustrations and that everything you did was just for him.

About how you could never hate anyone as loveable as him. 

You shake the thought away. Hands still up high.

Maggie’s eyes narrow, her finger twitching on the trigger. “You think you can understand me, huh? Talk your way out?”

You shake your head. “No, but I think I can reach you,” 

You take a step forward.

“I thought I hated him, Maggie. I thought he was doing it all on purpose. Kept thinking, ‘we were so similar.’ So why was it that being smart was special, and made everyone treasure him, but not me? And I think, maybe–”

You take another.  

“Maybe I was just scared. Scared that I wasn’t good enough. That I would always be overshadowed.”

Maggie’s grip on the gun tightens. “So what? You think that makes us the same?”

“No,” you say softly, taking another careful step forward.

 “But I do think that you’re the type of person that’s willing to do anything, no matter how desperate, to be seen.”

Maggie’s expression wavers, but the gun remains steady. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know enough,” you insist. “I know that hurting Lila won’t fill that void. It won’t give you what you’re looking for.”

Maggie’s hand trembles. “I would never hurt her--”

“Yes, you will. You will because you’re a danger to her, but that can change. You don’t have to hurt anyone anymore.”

Maggie’s face contorted with rage. 

“Shut up! You don’t know anything!”

When Maggie goes to shoot at you, you tackle the gun out of her hand. Wrestling her to the ground as you did.

 You look behind you and tell Lila to hurry and grab your gun from off the floor and leave, and she does just that.

 Not even sparing you, nor her ‘friend,’ a glance as she makes her escape to where you hope your team now was.

From outside, the team sees Lila holding a gun like a bomb in her hands, and running into the arms of Spencer Reid. The others that were still in their car quickly try to get out. To understand the situation, but then a single gunshot is heard from inside the house.

The rest of the team rushes in. 

Due to the results of my poll, there will be a part two! One where it's all from Spencer's point of view + the aftermath of this case lol

Please let me know what you think of this one though!! Or any ideas you might want to see in the second part, or literally anything at all--

Like my work? Consider tipping me!!

[yandereunsolved]

🐉 Yandere Aemond Targaryen w/ platonic yandere Alicent Hightower (part 2—requested) 🐉

↝ (part 1) ᝰ.ᐟ

You had left to do your daily duties after he pulled you aside and confessed his true intentions. You seemed so frightened of him in that moment. You simply asked to be excused and continue your work. Aemond would say it broke his heart, but it did not. It only strengthened his will and resolve to make you his. 

He would have to face his mother and ensure your hand in marriage to him. Aemond once said that he would have gladly married Halaena; only now does he see the foolishness in those words. Hopefully, his mother will see the foolishness as well. His heart yearns for no other, and he will slay as many as needed if denied you.

His hand nearly slipped from the knob of her chambers. His heart had nearly halted to a stop. He cannot say he has ever felt a fear quite like this, not even when he was disfigured. His hand absent-mindedly touched his eye patch. A lovelorn grimace appeared on his pale face. He opened the door with another new sense of vigor. 

His single step within his mother's chambers commanded great respect, like that of the dragons the Targaryens pridefully ride. The maids looked up in panic at his intrusion. They were fixing the queen's auburn strands and her emerald gown. Even at the cost of a possible scolding or death at the hands of the queen, they quickly left her chambers without so much of an indication of Queen Alicent allowing them.

"Mother," the words hung on his tongue loosely, his expression blank but betraying a hint of anxiety. "I have an urgent matter I wish to speak to you about."

"Yes." Alicent answered quickly, with a wistful warmth evident in her tone.

"Yes?"

"The maid," jealously and vitriolic animosity clear in her curt wording.

The queen stood up and glared at her son. Her steps were quick, and her single action fierce. It took him a moment to register the stinging ache on the edge of his face. His mother had just struck him, as she often did to Aegon. 

"Idiot boy. You want to marry that maid, correct? You have gone about it all the wrong way." 

His ability to speak left him, and with it was a pit of shame that only grew with the impact of the hit.

"Aemond, speak. Use your words if you want them so badly."

"I—how did you know?" He manages to croak out. He tries to maintain his crumbling visage of indifference.

"They are special. They may have been born among the common, but they are destined for nobility." Alicent hissed. She had to refrain from slapping him again because of such an asinine inquiry.

"That does not answer—"

She cut him off. "Hush, son. I am the queen. I am entitled to know everything that goes on within these walls. I know you have fancied the maid for a long time. You have gone about it all wrong. Still, I will give you their hand under one circumstance. You must woo them and treat them with the care they deserve. If I see you raise your voice or your hand to them, even in a moment of rage, I will make sure they are taken from you."

Aemond's head spins with her agreement, his thoughts scattered around his mind like the bones of Vhagar's victims. He had to clutch onto the side of the wall. His one violet eye narrowed at his mother. He somewhat feared the silly little woman, but he had to regain his ground. Through dawn and dusk, he is a man that has come of age. Asking for your hand through his mother was nothing more than a formality.

"They are mine, regardless. I do not intend them any harm; abuse would be the antithesis of my love for them."

Alicent seemed to stare into his soul and see the truth. Her shoulders relaxed, and she returned to her proper, queenly persona.

"Good boy. Listen to my words, and they shall be yours. I will not hesitate to order your brother to strike you down if you disobey."

"You have made that abundantly clear." He has to restrain himself from rolling his eye. His sapphire one nearly rolled in his socket.

"I will keep an eye on them, which means they will end up visiting my chambers once a week. I am sure I can get them more smitten with you." Alicent chuckles, but it is more like a court member's snarky laugh than that of a proud mother. "That confession of yours, just when the sun rose, was absolutely disastrous." 

"Mhm." His lips tightly pursed.

"Is that all you have to say?"

"We are on the same side. There is no need to fruitlessly argue. I am far more clever when it comes to my words anyway."

The queen was already tired from her earlier meetings. Her son had already agreed to her wishes. There was no more need to chastise his prideful words. Such is the way of men.

"You two will make a perfect coupling." She brings her hands up and cradles his face. Her left hand nurses the red mark that she left. The traces of her previous rancor are gone. "I love you, my son."

"As do I."

Aemond nursed his mental and physical wounds that night. He caressed his body and imagined it was your own hands that replaced his. Tears, both delighted and sorrowful, escaped him as the hour of the ghosts approached. His impatience and sexual frustration were at their peak. He needed you to belong to him. He needs you now. He can no longer appease his internal beast with mere glances at your tantalizing skin and fleeting touches.

Queen Alicent convinced you to marry Aemond that night. She invited you to a private dinner and spoke to you with saccharine-coated phrases. You fancied him; you were simply skittish due to the fact he revealed his obsessive tendencies. She assured you that his proclamations were hyperbolic; he was simply ecstatic and impulsive, losing the true meaning of his pure and healthy love.

She's much smarter than Aemond in that aspect. You will never know how deep her motherly love runs for you. You are like the child she always wished she had bore. You did not drink your nights away or fuck whores; you were not the runt of the litter fighting tooth and nail to be considered strong. You were grounded; you may lose yourself in your mind sometimes, but you still had a grasp on reality. 

You are perfection, quintessential to the both of them.

[judeswhore]

uhm so idrk what this is but it was in my drafts bc of this hey jude thought so enjoy ig <3

you tilted your head back, let the shower water run down your body and rinse away the last of the soap suds, eyes closed as the steam of the small space wrapped around you. jude was still standing in front of you, chest to chest while you both soaked in the heat and the comfort of the water. his touch was gentle as he worked the washcloth over your right shoulder, his lips following the path, open mouthed kisses making your tummy flutter. he kept you in place with one palm against your lower back, made sure you were both under the constant stream of hot water while he carefully cleaned you up.

"that's good." you mumbled, head falling to the side slightly so jude could trail his kisses over the wet skin, tongue catching small droplets of water in ways that made you shiver and try to press closer to him.

"mhm, you're so soft," he bit softly into a spot below your ear and grinned at the way it made you gasp then giggle. his touch was innocent, sweet and playful and made your knees more than a little weak, mind fuzzy because of his attention. your nails sunk deep into his side when he soothed his tongue over the mark from his teeth before dragging his nose along your jaw. "y'wanna order chinese?"

jude was back to dragging the washcloth over your skin, running it between your boobs and down your stomach, swiping carefully over your hip before heading back up. his movements were slow, so relaxing you were afraid you might fall asleep standing up. not exactly wanting that to happen, you finally opened your eyes, lifted your head to meet your boyfriend's dark eyes. he brushed a stray droplet from your cheek with his free hand and flashed a smile.

"y'gonna watch love actually with me?" you asked, stepping a little closer into him so the water fell against your back rather than directly onto your head. the move flattened you to jude's chest, wet skin slicking against his in a way that made your cheeks hot, goosebumps rising along your arms despite the heat. your question made him roll his eyes as he dropped the cloth into the cubby.

"babe, it's november."

"i know."

"so it's too early for christmas films." he huffed, arm wrapped loose around your waist so he could guide you back under the direct stream of water to wash off any suds on either of you. your eyes closed instinctively even as you pouted up at him, a whine entering your voice as you prepared to argue.

"it's so not too early! they put the christmas lights up last weekend. your mum has her tree up!"

"mum's barmy." jude's voice was low and right by your ear when he spoke, lips brushing softly against your skin to make you shiver. he was reaching behind you to turn the shower off and you swiped at the water in your eyes so you could turn and glare, mouth opening on a retort.

your words got lodged in your throat, replaced by a yelp of surprise when the hot water quickly turned icy cold and fell directly over your head. the contrast in temperature made you gasp, heart stuttering in your chest as you swore and jumped, shoved at jude's chest so you could get from underneath the spray.

"jesus!" your entire body was wracked with shivers and you wrapped your arms around yourself in an attempt to fight off the sudden cold even as you slumped against jude. "what the fuck, jude?"

"shit, m'sorry." he fumbled to turn the shower off, fingers slipping against the knob as he wrapped his arm back around you and pulled you into his chest. despite the cold water, he was still slightly warm and seemed less effected by the sudden change than you. "wrong tap."

"i think my heart stopped." you grumbled, teeth chattering loudly in the now silent bathroom. jude rubbed one large hand up and down your back while he kept you tucked into his chest and shoved the shower door open, gently pushed you out into the steam filled room. "fuck, i'm gonna get hypothermia."

that had jude snorting a laugh, head shaking in amusement.

"you're not gonna get hypothermia, it was like two seconds. c'mere, drama queen." he grabbed a towel from the radiator, one so big and fluffy it drowned you when he wrapped you up. he pulled it tight around your body, made sure it covered your head so only your face peaked out, unimpressed scowl on full display. "what're you looking at me like that for? i didn't do it on purpose."

"i'm freezing! i got in the shower to warm up." you were still shivering even as jude rubbed his hands up and down your arms over the towel. he was still completely naked, dripping water onto the floor but he barely seemed to notice as he tried his hardest not to laugh at you. "why're you so unbothered?"

"cold showers are normal whenever i'm at training."

"you're a sicko." you tilted your head, eyes narrowing just slightly as you watched him finally wrap a towel around his waist. water clung to his shoulders and dripped down his chest, got lost in the ladder of hair that disappeared beneath the fabric. you watched for a few seconds, fascinated by the lines of his muscles and the goosebumps that littered his stomach despite how unaffected he seemed.

“awe, baby.” jude cooed softly, his tone more than a little teasing as he pulled you back into him, his hands finding your cheeks so he could tip your head back slightly, noses bumping together. he kissed you once. “if i agree to watch love actually will you stop pouting at me.” another kiss was dropped to the corner of your mouth as you hummed in contemplation.

“suppose so.. but i also want you to make hot chocolate. with extra whipped cream and marshmallows.” you blinked at him through wet lashes, lips quirking into a small smile as jude gave a little sigh, head shaking. “and can you put one of your hoodies in the dryer for me?” his eyebrows quirked up at that. “what? i’m fighting against hypothermia, remember?”

a light giggle bubbled in your chest because jude’s fingertips had slipped past your towel to dig into your ribs, tickling over the sensitive skin as you squirmed.

“anything else you want, princess?” he asked tonelessly, palm smoothing over your hip and around your back. you made a noise in the back of your throat, moved closer to him with your chin tipped up so you could brush your mouth against the stubble on his chin.

“m’still a little cold,” your lips brushed over his jaw and you pushed up onto your tiptoes so you could nip softly at the spot just below his ear that made his knees weak. his grip on you tightened when you did, fingertips sinking into the still damp flesh just above your ass. “y’could gimme a kiss to warm me back up.”

[e-nonsense]

heyy, hope you are doing well and congrats on 2k🫶🫶 can i order peonies with lace and string with a little bit of burlap? for the note, logan and reader have been like fwb for a while (and everybody knows) yet logan is always flirting w jean— the rest is up to you!!

I’LL BE BETTER

pairing. logan howlett x fem!reader

warning. no use of y/n instead logan calls her peach, make up sex, unfinished

you didn’t understand him. he’d be friendly with you when she wasn’t around, but the second jean entered he’d give you the cold shoulder.

pretending that you weren’t anything more than a fuck buddy. it was pissing you off, were you just jean’s replacement? something he could play with in her place.

he knew he could never have her. she treats him the way he treats you, something to have when she can’t get what she wants.

you tried not to think about it. you and logan are nothing more than that. friends who happen to sleep with each other every now and then.

so why’d he always get mad when you’d hang out with another guy, or hell even storm.

dragging you away whenever he could fuck you quickly like horny teenagers. you felt used, because that’s what he’s been doing right? using you.

this had to stop. it was hurting you more than it should’ve, it was supposed to be innocent — as innocent as sex with your close friend could be — fun.

“stop it logan.” you pushed him away from you, stepping back when he tried to reach for you again.

“what?” his brows furrowed in confusion, “why?”

you hated that look, the foreign soft care in his hazel eyes as he watched you.

“i don’t want to do this anymore.” you murmur.

“why not?” he asks, “don’t look away from me, peach. tell me why.”

your bottom lip trembled in a way he hated, he knew this was his fault. he was messing with you, putting you second to jean because he couldn’t get over her. you were the perfect girl.

pretty, and kind, sweet in every way he needed. you looked out for him, took care of him. jean didn’t do any of that for him. so why did he keep hurting you?

“i’m sorry, peach. really i am.”

you shook your head as you turned away from him, you deserved better. he let you go, watched as you walked away from him, up until you turned a corner and escaped his eye line. he stayed there frozen until he couldn’t smell you anymore.

he had to fix this.

step 1: find jean

he found her in the lab later that same day, he hated the way he was drawn to her immediately. moving to her side instantly. “hey.”

“logan,” jean smiled at him turning her head to look up at him.

“we need to talk.”

“about?” jean asked, tilting her head curiously.

“this. you, me, us.” logan says, “whatever this is. it needs to stop.”

jean has scott, she doesn’t need to keep leading him on. “oh, of course.” she smiled, though it didn’t meet her eyes, she knew she was in the wrong, leading another man on while very much engaged to scott. maybe she just liked the attention, the fact that someone else wanted her too.

“i hate to do this to you, but i don’t need this. peach she—”

“you like her.” jean notes.

he nods, “i do.”

“i’m sorry logan,” she says as he turns around.

“i know.”

he takes his leave, the door sliding closed behind him as he walked. thinking about what he’d say to you now.

step 2: apologise to you

apologies had never been logan’s strong suit, with the life he’s lived, there’s been no time for regrets. but he’d try, for you.

logan’s fist came down against your door, knocking twice, a signal to you that its him. “hey peach… can we talk?”

no answer.

“peach, i’m sorry. really i am, i didn’t mean to put you in that position. you didn’t deserve any of that.”

the knob on your twisted, and he could see you peeking up at him from the crack. “can i come in?”

you nodded, opening your door further, enough for him to step through. he noticed the dried tears on your cheeks and the puffy redness to your eyes, you seemed to have fallen asleep like that, in his big shirt.

you close the door behind you, leaving you open to his hug. he grabs you before you can run, hugging you tightly to his chest.

“how can i make it up t’ya? i’ll anything for you, peach.”

“can we lie down?” you ask, before adding “together?”

he doesn’t reply, instead lifting you up and carrying you to the bed, he lays down on his back, letting you cuddle up on top of him.

cuddling turns into something more, you can’t find it in you to stop. he’d innocently pressed a kiss to your neck, something to just reassure you then you’d started exchanging kisses.

it started innocently, kisses to just show the care you had for one another. then he smelt your arousal, letting out a low groan before he rolled over so he could cage you under him.

“tell me you want this, peach.”

“want this, i want you.”

“good girl.”

extending a single claw, he cut through your — his shirt.

“logan!”

“hmm? i’ll give you another one.”

his hand slid down your body as he met your lips in a kiss, gentler than the ones he’d normally give you. his fingers moved over your white cotton panties, he could feel your dripping arousal coating them.

“you’re so wet, i thought you were hating me.” he couldn’t help, really. whenever he got the chance to be a smug bastard he’d take it.

“fuck off,” you mutter, he chuckled at your grumpy response while he pulled your panties to the side with two fingers, running his ring finger through your pretty folds.

“i’d rather fuck you,” he grinned, pulling your panties down your legs before unbuckling his belt.

and he did. he fucked you hard and good, whispering apologies into your ear as he did, kisses trailing down you neck. you wondered how someone could fuck your brains out and make you feel loved at the same time, but logan was a complicated man.

© e-nonsense. do no copy/steal/translate. do it and I’ll bite your toes off

[exerotica]

The Ice Cream Man

Explicit 18+, Instant Weight gain, Force Feeding, M/M, Sexual Themes

Flipping through the channels Jake passed by the news where he noticed the heat index was 105 right now. Even inside he was feeling it, his AC was barely able to keep his ancient house at 85. Thankfully his parents were gone for the day and he could lay on the couch shirtless without comments about the small flab he’s put on since starting college. He was thinking about cracking open the fridge and freezer to cool himself down when the faint sound of an ice cream truck pricked his ear, “Perfect,” he sighed.

Jake threw on his favorite shirt and hat and stepped out the front door, the wet boiling outside air hitting him like a wave of lava. Squinting, trying to adjust his eyes, he looked down the street and met the met the bright colorful box that called to him like a siren. He met the truck where it stopped, “Hey Connor, thank god you’re here!”

“Hey Jake, figured I’d see you today. How’s it been going?”

“The heat index is 105, I’m not NOT getting ice cream man. Summer has been flying by until this heat wave hit, I can barely move in my own house without breaking a sweat”

“Not too sure that’s all to do with the heat Jake. Freshman 15 is a real thing, and I distinctly remember that shirt not fitting so tight last semester”

“You sound just like my parents, I don’t mind a few pounds, especially in the off-season. I just need something to cool off, I’ve been dying today”

“The usual?” Conner had an ice cream cone ready in a few seconds. They caught up and talked about plans for next semester while some of Jake’s neighbors ordered from the Truck. Connor had clearly been consistent with the gym even during the summer, he was much buffer than Jake remembered from last semester. Jake finished his cone by the time his neighbors dispersed and still wasn’t quite satisfied. “Hey how about another cone?”

“Another one? People are gonna be calling you ‘big guy’ next semester if you keep this big back activity up man haha”

“Listen, you parked almost a block away from my house, this one is so I don’t die of heat stroke on the way back.”

Connor smiled, rolled his eyes, and had another cone in Jake’s hand within a few seconds. Jake enjoyed his second cone but lingered and kept chatting with Connor a bit more. He caught sight of Jake’s underbelly as the wind flipped it up against the soft outline of his belly button pressing against his shirt. He couldn’t help himself, “You know Jake, if you’re really looking to cool off, this was my last stop so I have time to kill, hop in.”

Jake raised an eyebrow and smirked, “If you’re planning on kidnapping me, I’m going to community college, so it should be pretty clear my parents can’t afford a ransom.”

“Get in smart-ass,” Connor closed the side door and let Jake in, watching his pudge ripple as he hopped up the steps into the back of the ice cream truck.

“Oh fuck, it’s so cold, can I live here?” Jake closed his eyes and let the cold wash over him for a bit. Connor showed Jake the freezers, topping buckets, and ice cream machine.

Jake tapped the machine as it emitted a slow consistent hum, “Damn this thing looks old”

“Yeah, most of my work honestly is running and keeping this thing clean. The owner like to take really good care of it, ‘none of that new fake shit’ he says.”

“Can’t say he’s wrong, I love the stuff”

“Clearly. Course, on a day like today, you’re the only fatass who can finish the ice cream before it melts.” Connor chuckled to himself as he tidied up around the truck.

“Who needs to worry about melting when you can get it straight from the source?” Jake quickly kneeled and twisted his body so that his head faced the roof of the truck and locked his mouth to the spout of the machine. Turning the knob and letting the soft freezing cream slither into his mouth and melt down his throat, cooling his entire body.

“Jake! What the fuck man, you’re lucky I have to clean that anyways. I didn’t realize you were THIS much of a pig.” Connor paused as he saw Jake’s body pressed out from kneeling backwards and his shirt riding up past his belly button, exposing his soft pudgy belly. Connor couldn’t help but get hard watching Jake chug the ice cream, his body plump frame getting stretched and rounder.

Jake gave a few final strained gulps and sat upright on both knees, holding onto his gut and wincing. “burrraahhhhh… fuck that was heavier than I thought it was going to be.” Jake’s shirt was practically skintight, his love handles and underbelly finally free from his shirt, acting more as a crop top with two soft breasts still pressed away inside.

He looked over at Connor and from his kneeled position had a direct view of his hard on pressing against his skinny beige slacks. “Looks like I wasn’t the only one who enjoyed that, Connor.” As he nodded to Connor’s waist.

Connor walked over to jake and stood in front of him, still kneeling Jake was inches from Connor’s cock and could clearly see just how big the outline was. “I just knew your fat ass couldn’t resist” Connor said, looking down at Jake’s soft features staring back up at him.

“I could use some help for round two..” Jake had barely finished speaking before Connor knelt next to him supporting his head as he pressed his lips to the machine. Connor flipped the level and cream started flowing again down Jake’s throat. He felt the cold liquid strain in his gut as it kept pumping into him. Connor pressed his buff frame against Jake’s as he rubbed and groped his fat, jiggling his love handles and reaching up his tight shirt to access his man tits.

“That’s it fatass, keep going. Look at how big that fucking gut is getting.” As Connor encouraged Jake, he noticed Jake’s body getting bigger. Not just his belly, but his tits, love handles, ass, everything was growing right in Connor’s hands giving him more and more to squeeze and jiggle. Connor could take it, his cock practically tore its own way out of his pants and started grinding against Jake’s fat blubber.

Jake’s moans muffled by the machine had grown louder and deeper. He felt his body growing and his clothes straining against his new fat which was starting to spill out everywhere. His mind was fluttering barely thinking anything more than just how good it all felt. Connor’s fat cock pressing into his doughy frame with a constant stream of fat flowing straight onto his frame. His belly pressed out from his once skinny frame, freely hanging over his pants and jiggling like jello with every touch of Connor’s hand. He could barely control himself when Connor had freed his cock and started jerking him off, so much sexual input coming from his body was sending his brain into a frenzy.

Ice cream pumping into his fat greedy gut and Connor fucking one of his newly formed fat rolls, Jake struggled to breath trying to moan and tensing up he shot rope after rope of hot cum onto Connor and the floor of the truck. Connor joined in and as he repeatedly forced his cock against Jake’s blubber, causes ripples of Jake’s fat to run across his body. He grit his teeth and groaned as he pumped cum all over Jake’s new fat for what seemed like an eternity.

Jake’s naked obese body collapsed onto the floor of the truck the moment Connor turned the ice cream machine off. Connor got on top of him and pressed his hard muscley frame into Jake as he held his head and kissed his chubby face. Jake’s brain still in its haze, “I can’t believe I’m this fucking big.” Connor slapped his gut causing Jake’s belly to ripple and him to moan, “That sweet tooth of yours just finally caught up to you big guy.”

[ghettogirly]

Heyy!

How do you think Armando would react if you were kidnapped by an enemyy?

𝐆𝐎𝐍𝐄.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: 𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎 𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐒 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

-> synopsis: what would happen if you got kidnapped due to a deal gone wrong?

-> format: imagine/short story.

-> theme: angst w/ conflicting ending.

-> warnings: mature language, mentions of kidnapping, mentions of violence, mentions of cartel activities.

-> authors note: sorry for my lack of updates, I’m currently on holiday!! I’m catching up though, hope you enjoy! 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝. 🌸

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐄𝐓 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍, with Armando out with his crew, you was left with your two kids: Isabella and Alejandro. With the littlest girl sleeping, you was perked up on the couch with Alejandro who was playing with his trains.

The translucent curtains allowed a dimmed version of a sunbeam to shine throughout the old money house, the classic elements of the pillars and brick walls being lit up in the process. The architectural style being your idea, loving the thought of elegance combined with the old style. Your design coming to life due to your husband: Armando.

𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊

You found out what Armando’s real life was after a year of dating. Devastated, you ran away, needing some space after the web of lies that was just uncovered. But there was a problem.

Who has ever successfully hid from the cartel?

A couple of days passed and a knock was heard on your cabin door, your new house for a while which allowed you to gather your thoughts about the revelation. Confused, you slowly moved to the window to look outside at who it was. However, the positioning of the wooden panelled window did not give you the angle to see who was standing at the door. Sighing while turning the knob, it was no surprise to who it was.

Armando Aretas. His tall, muscular build towering over you as he waits silently for you to speak. His face doesn’t show an ounce of anger, more so, shame. His broad arm pointed to a space behind you, showing it to be a seat as he implies if he’s allowed inside. Shaking your head, you walk over to your living space as he follows behind. Not before ordering his two men to wait out there. He’s a high profile man, he always needs an entourage.

Sitting down, he rubs his palms together while messing with his ring on the index finger. The ring was beautiful, showing its realness as each intricate diamond glistened, even with the absence of sunlight to accentuate it. On the sides of the ring was his name and his mother’s: Isabella. A heart separated him and her name.

“After everything, that happened with my mother, i promised myself to be nothing like her. Blinded by my desire to honour her and my family i did some terrible things. I want to live a respectful life, but i did the opposite.”

A pause occurred yet you just sat back and listened.

“I disrespected you mi amor, i thought i was protecting you but i was hurting you instead. I’m sorry.”

Disbelief overtook you as you listened to his words. Tones of regret and purity flowed off his tongue as his deep, husky voice entered your ears, his Mexican accent still being apparent even with his incarceration in Miami.

You wanted to hate him, you wanted to just push him away and live your own life. But, you just couldn’t. So you forgave him instead.

𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊

𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐔𝐏 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐎𝐑, you laid down while flicking through netflix on the television. A few stirs were heard on the electronic but nothing to worry about. Turning on the rom-com, ‘To all the boys i’ve loved before’, the dynamic between Lara Jean and Peter Kavinsky making you laugh. It was funny to see different relationships especially comparing it to yours and Armando’s.

You guys was more of a power couple, the duo everyone looked up to and respected. Maybe that was because of your status and power in the world. Who knows??

A small tap was heard from the adjacent room, causing you to turn your head and freeze. A few seconds went by and you continued to watch the movie in front of you.

A louder crash occured which inflicted a flight or fight response within you. The initial reaction being flight as you make sure your kids are safe out of everything. Quickly grabbing Alejandro’s hands, you dash up the circular stairs that was before the kitchen. Luckily, you had socks on, limiting the thumping sound of your feet hitting the floor.

Opening Isabella’s door, Alejandro quickly ran in. You instruct Alejandro not to move from this room, nodding his head he quickly hugs you and moves by Isabella’s crib. Knowing how smart your boy is, he would have little problems calming his sister back to sleep or taking her out of the crib.

Slowly shutting the door, you quickly run to one of the next rooms and grab a glock. Each room had a keypad that was attached which was used to unlock the door, making the heavily secure. Thank god for Armando.

“Lord, please protect me and my kids. Amen.”

Footsteps trailed past the room you was in as you was preparing yourself. You could hear the grunts of the men who struggled to enter the right code for the locked doors. However, one was open. That was yours.

A man strolled through, glancing around the room with no caution in the world as he believes the house to be empty. There you were in the corner with your gun unlocked,

waiting for your time to strike.

Opening a few drawers, the man peered into one of them; noticing some earrings that were in the marble drawer he took them out. Pure gold wrapped the small gem that sat in the middle of the piece. A small diamond, dazzled in the light, each angle being a mirror for the light to reflect off of. A sight to behold. Smiling, the man put it in his pocket.

Just as he was about to turn around, a pistol was whipped on his head while a hand was wrapped around his mouth. He was knocked out instantly. Slowly laying him down, you walked into the next room, looking for the next guys.

Just as you was about to pop you head around the corner, a click was heard from behind you.

“No seas estúpido.”

𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐘 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐋, Armando and a few cartel members were sitting in a car. The Mercedes GLS 580 was all black, the rims and exterior was a mattel black while the inside was custom, hand-sewn leather with LED lights wrapped around the interior. Allowing a few of the members to chat amongst themselves, Armando just sat back quietly while going on his phone and then onto the camera system, wanting to check on his family.

He was surprised by the house being quiet, no one in the living room and no one outside. It was the workers day off today as you just wanted a peaceful day just by yourself and the kids, not wanting anyone watching over you. So by your command, be allowed that. However, that seems like it was the wrong decision.

With his eyebrows furrowed, he clicked off the camera system app and now went onto his contacts. Flicking through, he found yours and called it. No answer. No answer.

“¿Por qué no contesta?”

Armando now pushing past some of the workers, leaned over to the front. “Drive faster!”

The workers being confused, obeyed his instructions. Some of the members were now alarmed and were looking back at each other. “Count this fucking money they gave us, Vamos!!”

Frantically counting the mineh, you could just hear murmurs of numbers erupting from the members. Armando continuously called numbers on his phone, his nervousness now turning into frustration.

“Señor, nos quedamos cortos.”

“¿Qué dijeron” His head snapping towards the members who spoke up.

“Boss…”

Before Armando could even say anything else a notification sound was heard from his phone, scrambling towards it, he clicked on the screen. A picture of you was sent, your hands tied and your mouth duct taped. A realisation washed over Armando. He was played.

Throwing his phone in anger, he screamed out loud while getting his gun and shooting it from the roof of the car. The other members crouched down to shield themselves.

“Voy a quemar todo este país.”

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[🌸] 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒:

- “No seas estúpido” : Don’t be stupid.

- “¿Por qué no contesta?” : Why isn’t she picking up?

- “Voy a quemar todo este país.” : I will burn this whole country

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

[🌸] 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @5tarlan7 @tyneshaaa @thedarkworldofhananerea @omg-mymelaninisbeautiful @armandosbabymama @deadpool15 @amplifiedmoan @sarcasticbitchsblog @dyttomori @believeinthefireflies95 @twinklestarslight @milliumizoomi @shurisgf @yeahnohoneybye

[jellyfishoreo1206]

Shush (Sebastian Solace x Reader)

Notes: Part Three of Painter and Sebastian on the surface, small bit of angst in the beginning? But it's not really angst. I apologize if Painter really isn't written that often in this little series of mine, little computer needs the attention :(

Anyways, I seriously cherish all of you who read the last ones! I hope you guys have an amazing day and a wonderful sleep :33

Also! Series will be named Slice of Life, it's a bit boring but it fits

Credit for the dividers to @cafekitsune

The distant squeak of a door opening wakes you.

Eyes snapping opening, you hurriedly sat up, glancing around your room to see if anything is out of place. Oh god, oh god what is it? Where is it? Is it a Wall Dweller? God those things can't even leave you alone-! You stopped when you realized you're still in your room, you're still in bed. Wrapped up in blankets. Nothing is coming after you anymore, nothing. Eyes still darting around the room in confused panic, attempting to find anything out of place.

Dresser by the door, your messy desk pushed up against the wall, your coats hanging off the coat hanger in the corner of the room; turning your head, spotting the potted plants growing by the window, the dark sky speckled with shiny lights. You're home, not down underneath the sea anymore.

Letting out a sigh, you slumped down, using your hands to cover your eyes. It's tiring. This has been a routine for several days now; you wake up in the middle of the night to the slightest noise, thinking you're back down in the facility back with Sebastian and Painter scavenging for supplies, attempting to avoid death and survive.

~~~

"Fucking shit-!" You turned too late, a Wall Dweller jumping onto you, the force of it causing you to fall towards the ground. Damnit, you were too busy with the circuit that you didn't hear the damn thing! Its blood-stained claws dangerously close to your throat, your arms pushing back with all the strength you could muster.

Panic swells in your whole entire body, your heartbeat beating loudly in your ears as you struggled to push that damn thing off. But to no avail, its claws were barely touching the column of you neck now.

Tears began pricking at the edge of your eyes, no no no no nononononononononono-! This can't be how it ends, you're so close to your goal-!

~~~

A light knock startles you out of the memory, head snapping up to the door. Did you imagine it? A few seconds passed.

*Knock knock*

Getting out from underneath the covers, you cautiously walked over to the door, slowly opening the door knob as you peeked in through the gap. Only did you open it fully once you saw the tear-stained face of Sebastian, concern written all over your face.

"Seb?" Calling out gently to the man, he looked down at you, a sadness in his eyes. Silently reaching up, you cup the side his face, slowly swiping your thumb underneath one of his eyes to rid of a stray tear. "Seb what's wrong?" He merely nuzzles into the palm of your hand, his eyes shut, a frown tugging at the edges of his mouth. His other hand merely grabs at the your unoccupied hand and intertwines his larger fingers with yours, the third merely resting on your forearm.

A rush of heat flushes across your cheeks, but you quickly pushed that down, scolding yourself. Sebastian needs comfort right now, no need to get flustered. You've done this several times!

But no matter how many times it happens, butterflies still erupt in your stomach.

There has been several instances where you seen Sebastian like this— all rare—where he just couldn't hold in the stress he felt or the amount of nightmares he attempted to endure by himself. So in order to combat that, you suggested something like physical touch, since that was something that helped when you when you were stressed. He rejected it at first, saying something along the lines that he, "wasn't a baby that needs to be consoled whenever it cries". But when it happened again, he went up to you and silently held your hand, eyes purposely avoiding your gaze.

A small frown settles upon your lips, your hand currently intertwined with his giving it a soft squeeze. "You wanna come in?" You whispered, sweeping a stray hair behind his ear fin. Flickering his eyes open, he merely nods, half-lidded eyes looking down at you as he nuzzles deeper into your palm.

~~~

"Careful, don't want the whole entire thing to fall on us.." Dresser pushed to the side, coats laid on your bare bed, your chair missing from your desk; all used to make a cozy blanket cove. Since your bed wasn't big enough for the two of you, this would have to suffice. You even dug around a few old boxes in your closet and found some fairy lights you had, using them to give the inside a feeling of warmth. Pillows large and small and fluffy blankets scattered the inside of the fort, even a few plushies scattered around.

You even went out of your way to grab a few snacks and drinks from the kitchen, said snacks in a little corner of the cove.

"This is stupid." The man remarked, lying down on his back, a good portion of his tail peaking out the entrance of the fort. His head resting his on your stomach as he pops in a piece of dried mango into his mouth, your legs spread out comfortable.

"Shut up, it's not stupid," Using the brush to comb out the small knot in his hair, "-it's genius." That earned a playful scoff from Sebastian, small grins appearing on both your faces. "Oh it so is stupid." He counters, offering a piece of the dried fruit up to your mouth, a quiet thanks slipped out of your mouth before you ate it.

"Shush, none of that." Once his hair was combed and fully free of knots, you began separating his hair into three sections to be braided. Now that you think about it, this kind of feels like a sleepover, the whole blanket fort, the snacks, hell even the braiding.

"What are you smiling about?"

"Just . . . this kind of reminds me of a sleepover." A chuckle leaves your lips right when you're finishing Sebastian's braid, looping the hair tie one last time before letting go, "Done."

Sebastian stays laying in your lap, now looking up at you, an unreadable expression present. You gotta say though, he looks very pretty with his hair up, all his eyes present with a few stray hairs here and there.

". . . I never had a sleepover." He mumbled sitting up, adjusting himself so he was lying down on his stomach, bringing over a pillow to rest his head and upper arms on. His third one looked for your hand, quickly intertwining them once he did. The fluttering feeling came back tenfold, a blush threatening to appear as he peered up at you with those half-lidded eyes.

Quickly brushing it off, you leaned over to the small corner, grabbing a juice with your free hand before leaning back, "Really? Not even as a kid?"

"Nah."

Silence overtook the fort, mulling over a response as you took a swing out of your juice, "Well, we're going to have to fix that now, aren't we?" You smiled broadly at Sebastian, giving a squeeze to your intertwined hands.

Genuine surprise overtook his face, the fins of his ears perked up at your statement, a blue flush flooding his cheeks. "R-Really?"

"Yes, absolutely." Turning on your phone, you took a glance at the date, "How about this, every Friday, we'll make a blanket fort. I'll go out and buy whatever snacks and drinks you want, and we'll put on a movie. Hell, even let Painter join, let them have some fun too." Turning back to him, you grin, "How about it?"

He merely stares in silence, eyes wide as the words process in his mind. "You're . . . really serious about this?"

"Of course, we'll make up some other things you missed out on as well!"

". . . you're so stupid."

"HEY!"

". . . yeah, I like that idea."

Last Part, Next Part

[k9iriz]

𝐟𝐢𝐱 𝐦𝐞

18+, [ ♫ 𝘵𝘰𝘹𝘪𝘤 - 𝘬𝘦𝘩𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘪 ]

𝘣𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳/𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘴 𝘬𝘦𝘭𝘤𝘦

𝘴𝘺𝘱𝘯𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘴: 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘨𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘻𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘸𝘰, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘪𝘵 𝘧𝘪𝘹𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘵𝘶𝘥𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘪𝘳.

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: 𝘴𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘭𝘰𝘵𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘺 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 & 𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘥, (𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘥𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘺 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬, 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘥 “𝘥𝘢𝘥𝘥𝘺” 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘬, 𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘴𝘦𝘹!/𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘶𝘱-𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘵𝘶𝘥𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘹 𝘴𝘦𝘹)

i entered the house silently as i threw my pink-designed purse on the counter, my pink steve madden heels clicked on the marble floors as i heard a bag being thrown on the floor, a pissed sigh and a rough opened fridge door in the distance as i walked upstairs, slamming the door shut, locking it.

“what happened?” you ask.

travis was mindlessly talking to a woman—who was clearly flirting with him, attracted to him.

noting he was already neglecting me, in my mind, he was more busier than usual, on the road 24-7 even on his free days.

it raised so many eyebrows, the mindless kind and sweet gestures stopped, the phone calls got shorter, not even a full “i love you” would come out, or his responses would be dry and simple.

behind that anger was me, the love of his life,his wife who just wanted some affection, some tlc.

but hey, who’s marriages are perfect?

i showered alone, soonly lathering myself with lotion as i heard the doorbell jangle, soonly it got rough, like he was gonna break the knob off the door.

“y/n, quit fuckin’ playing and open the door.” travis blasted from behind the door, making me jump, rolling my eyes as i traveled back into the bathroom, combing my hair down.

“get away from the door, i don’t got shit to say to you.” i smartly responded, before he began picking the lock, randomly.

i sat in a white beater, my nipples grew harder as i stared at him, rolling my eyes.

“why do all of that if you was gonna pick the lock, stupid?”

travis chuckled as he walked towards me, picking me up as he sat me on the counter, standing between my legs.

i froze.

“you been bitchy with me all fuckin’ day. what’s the issue?” travis spoke simply, not breaking eye contact with my eyes at all.

i felt something tingle at the bass in his voice, the firmness and seriousness.

“you should know why. flirting with bitches in my face. then on top of that, you got the nerve to come in like nothing hadn’t happened. mistreating me, like i don’t got feelings.” i completely sassed back, folding my arms, my eyes still gazed on him.

the tension intensified, apparently just leaving it silent.

“that’s what you’re mad about baby?” travis spoke again as if it was ironic i was pissed about the obvious.

“no fuckin’ shit.” i barked back as travis gripped my neck, pulling me more towards him, our chests touching.

“oooo, you’re so sassy aren’t you? calm down.” travis annouced, making my eyes advert away from him.

“look at me y/n. just listen.” he spoke out as i huffed, rolling my eyes.

“no, let me go. go flirt with whoever the fuck—she was?” i smartly shoved his hand off my neck, jumping down from the counter as i bent over, looking in the sink cabinet.

“maybe i should do the same thing, go out and ask a dude questions who’s actually in love with me—or maybe flirt with him in your fucking face.” i ranted along as travis eyed me after the last statement.

“stop it y/n.” travis warned under his breath.

“or maybe kiss him, but nooo, I made vows to stay loyal to you, you! then neglect you in the process and not give a fuck about whatever is waiting for me at home, hm?” i ranted, pushing at his chest as i slapped it, soonly the anger turned into tears.

travis took it in, and realized what ive said…knowing he was wrong, but your attitude was just clogging his head in order to comfort you.

“im sorry baby, and you know it. listen to me, quit cryin’.” travis sighed as he pulled me into his chest, just sniffling into it.

“imma make it up to you. i won’t do it again, i promise. just let me.” travis smoothly talked to me as i nodded, easily forgiving him once again- before pulled away quickly.

“ugh, why did i just forgive you that fast?” y/n shook her head, mouthing to herself, wiping her tears as she leant over, travis coming from behind pushing me all the way down.

“trav, let me up!” i whined loudly as i instantly got quiet, the slap on my ass was enough to quiet me within one.

“y’aint gonna be satisfied until i put that ass in place, hm?” travis gritted as he ran his hands all up and down my ass, gripping it, caressing it all in one.

i bit my lip to silence my moans, or any sexual that could possibly come out.

“lift up, and spread em, baby.” travis mumbled as i obeyed, practically falling more in love with my husband, and he hadn’t even did shit yet.

travis slowly began stripping himself as i slightly grabbed onto the counter, feeling himself slightly fill me up & stretch me in the process as he shoved my hand off the edge.

“don’t hold onto nothin, i got you.” travis grunted as his strokes started off mildly slow—my light moans leaving my mouth.

“oh baby…” i hissed, as his eyes never left mines from the mirror, skin clappings filling the big bathroom, bouncing off the walls like music.

travis didn’t let up, slightly gripping the ends of my hair, smoothly gripping my neck as my hands touched the mirror, my mouth falling at all the pleasure I had felt in that moment.

“mnm, you see that? that fuckin’ ring? that’s all fuckin’. mines. say it.” travis gritted in my ear as his hand collided with right ass cheek, making eye contact from my upside down vision, whimpering, gripping his hand.

it felt like heaven.

“mnm…it’s yours baby, all fucking yours! ouu—ouu shit!” i whimper-moaned the last part, gritting my teeth as my mouth gaped open.

travis kissed me every chance he got, as he slapped my ass again, as i began matching his rhythm even on all fours standing.

“uh—-uhhh huh-im gonna cum.” i groaned out, as a whimper, feeling myself push back at his chest, grabbing my arm, holding it in place.

i lost it.

“what?”

“im gonna cum, i w-wanna cum.”

“y’ain’t loud enough for me, baby, what’s that?”

“im finna cum!” i whine-cried, closing my eyes shut as he slapped my ass cheek once again, groaning at the sight of me painting his dick pure-white, soonly hearing droplets hit the marble floor.

“you squirtin’ baby?” travis was suprised but wasn’t, as i went silent, my eyes rolling into the back of my skull, just babbling sweet nothings as i let it all out, saying his name under my breath.

“let it all out. mhm. such a good girl for me.” travis encouraged and praised me as felt him pull out, slapping my ass as i weakly held onto the counter, feeling him take me onto the bed.

A SHORT TIME LATER, the skin clappings surfaced the room as my knees touched my chest, my legs opened wide as i the white creamy-wet sight glistened my vision as i held onto his hand, as his other was forcing my head to watch the sight underneath me.

“ouuu—daddy! fuck me just—like that! mhm yes!” i cried out as he didn’t allow me dip my head back not once.

he was enjoying this all at once.

“you like it huh?”

“mhm, it’s so big baby.” i teased as i but my lip, looking up at him. just a undone slut.

my eyelashes were practically sweating off with my makeup and hair, i looked sweated out, along with him.

“you gonna cum for me again, baby?” travis bit his lip at me as i nodded, his hand collided into mines as his strokes remained rough and tact.

“yes daddy, mnm it’s all yours, i love the way you fuck me, mhm.” i whined again as i looked up at him, feeling him swirl his hips, slightly his strokes got sloppier.

his grunts, groans and moans grew louder with every messy stroke he sent as his chest touched mines, feeling him sloppily kiss me, mixing some salvia and tongues with it as well.

“cum in me, give it to me daddy.” i moaned in the kiss as i wrapped my legs around his waist as he grunted fully in my mouth, before sitting up, pulling out, letting a loud “pop!” sound full the air.

straight creampie. “you still gotta attitude with me?”

i shook my head as i smiled, looking down at the oozing cum from my thigh. “no.”

[ HEY YALL. MERRY CHRISTMAS. 🎄 I HOPE YALL GOT YOUR NFL MAN UNDER YOUR TREE BC I DID! ]

not proofread — • so excuse mistakes.

[mamajamasquamas]

A Painter’s Request

Warnings 18+

Smut, penis in vagina sex, rough kissing, squirting/female ejaculation, oral sex, rough oral sex, cumming, spanking, vaginal sex, clit play, nipple play, Rafayel is in heat and also a prince, cross posted on ao3, making out, body play.

Chapter 1

A painter’s request

“Prince Rafayel? Are you in here?” I ask, knocking on the door to Rafayel’s painting room. Something clatters from behind the door. Water seeps through the bottom, full of dark, red paint. I take a few steps back, trying to avoid getting my new heels wet.

“Prince Rafayel?” I say, louder this time. “Is everything alright in there?”

“Go away.” Rafayel’s gruff voice catches me off guard. Normally it’s soft, quiet.

“Rafayel? I’m here to check on you. The Queen is worried that-“

“Go away!”

I sigh, glancing down at the pool of water in front of me. I didn’t want to dirty my shoes but an order from the Queen was not something to take lightly.

Stepping into the puddle, I reach for the door knob, trying it. It’s unlocked. Opening the door, I step inside. A brown cup is laying on its side on the ground in front of me, red water dripping from the rim. Well that explains the noise I’d heard. I bend down, grabbing it from off the floor. Setting the cup down onto the wooden stool beside me, I look up. It’s not often that I’m allowed to visit Rafayel’s painting room. His mother had warned me and the other maids not to disrupt him while he was painting, lest we make him lose his train of thought. But the times I have been in here, everything has always been well-organized. The canvases that normally sit on top of the easels in his room are on the floor, scattered. Some of them are torn, while the others that are still in-tact are splattered with paint. Cups of dirty water full of paintbrushes are on the ground, the handles either broken or chipped. I take a step forward. Something snaps beneath my heel. I gasp, lifting up my foot. A pencil is split in half, the eraser on the back a mere, black stub from how many times it’s been used. I reach down to pick it up, placing it on top of the stool where the other cup is.

“Rafayel?” I say, looking around. “Are you alright? What’s happened to your room?”

I take another step forward, avoiding the large, black smock on the floor. Holes are in the bottom pockets, and the rest of it is covered in dried paint. I move toward the back wall, where a row of portraits are. They’re covered in so much paint I can barely even tell what they used to be of. I turn my head. More canvases are leaned up against the easels here, full of half-finished drawings.

“Rafayel? Where are you?”

I turn around. Behind the vast row of easels is a cubby, decorated with mermaid stickers. I’d forgotten Rafayel had been using this room since he was a child. The cubby is sectioned off by a white counter.

“Go away.” Rafayel says.

His voice is weaker than when I’d first heard it but now I know where he is. I move towards the cubby, looking around. Rafayel is sitting on the floor beside it, his body hidden by the counter. His knees are tucked to his chest and his head is down.

“Rafayel,” I say, kneeling in front of him. “What’s wrong?”

Rafayel looks up at me. His hair falls over his forehead, just a shade lighter than his eyes. They’re half open, his thick lashes nearly covering his pupils. Sweat drips down his cheek, running over his throat. He wipes it away with his glove. Another bead of sweat follows.

“Go away,” he says, softer now.

“Are you sick? Why are you sweating so much?”

I reach my hand out to press it against his forehead. He grabs my wrist before I can, his fingers burning my skin. Even through his glove. Rubbing his nose against my palm, he moans softly.

“Rafayel, your burning up- should I tell the Queen?”

“No.” His lips press against the inside of my palm, soft and hot. He closes his eyes. I bite my lip. I don’t know what to do. I was one of the newer maids here. I’d learned everything about Prince Rafayel through the other maids. What he liked to eat, how he liked his sheets made, the kind of soap I should use for his bath. But I didn’t know what to do in a situation like this.

“Rafayel I should go-“

Rafayel pulls me towards him, untucking his knees from his chest. I place my hands on his shoulders to steady myself. He glances up at me, blowing a few strands of hair away from his face. I see his eyes clearer now. They’re glassy, covered in a slick film that almost makes them appear drowsy.

“Please don’t leave,” he says, grabbing my arms. Everywhere his fingers touch makes my skin burn.“ I can’t. I think your running a fever-“

“I don’t care,” he moves his hands lower, resting them on my wrists. “Please don’t leave.”

“I have to get the Queen.”

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “I’ll be fine.”

“No you won’t, just let me-“ I turn around.

“Please don’t go.” He throws his arms around my waist, pressing his face against my stomach.

“Okay I won’t. What happened to your room?” I say, deciding to change the subject.

“I can’t focus. My head hurts.”

“Are you sick?” I ask.

“Yes,” he says. “But it’s not like that.” His grip on my waist tightens, only slightly. He lifts up his head. More sweat drips down his face. I wipe it away. He shivers when my fingers brush against his cheek, leaning into my touch.

“Then what’s it like?” I say, removing my hand from his cheek. He pulls it back towards him, sighing softly. I’d heard whispers about a manic prince back in the old kingdom I used to serve. A sea god. One who ruled over mermaids and merfolk… one who often went into heats… I thought it was only a myth back then. But could it be…

“Rafayel,” I say, carefully. “Are you in heat?”

He nods, nuzzling against my hand.

“How can I help?” I say.

“Stay with me,” he says, closing his eyes. “Just like this.”

I nod. I’d heard that when a sea god was in heat, the best thing to do was distract them from it.

“Prince Rafayel,” I say, placing my hand on his forehead. “Would you like to paint something together?”

He shakes his head.

“Please? I’d love to watch you paint and I think it might make you feel better.”

“I can’t think of any good ideas,” he says. “Every time I paint, it comes out so bad that all I want to do is throw my canvas at the wall.” “So that’s why your room is like that,” I say. “It’s been days since I last painted anything,” he says, opening his eyes. “My fingers itch to paint something. Anything. But I can’t seem to get out of the slump that I’m in and it’s all because of this heat.”

“How about I give you an idea then?” I ask.

“Like what?” He says, frowning. “I’ve tried everything.”

”Well how about we try again?” I say, smiling.

“Okay.”

He stands up. I get to my feet, following him. He grabs one of the torn, blank canvases from off the ground, a brush, paint, and an empty cup. Pulling up a stool, he sits down, patting his lap.

“Sit with me.” “

”I don’t think I should. What if your mother finds out?” He grumbles, opening up the jar of paint he’d grabbed. His fingers slip. The jar drops from his hand, falling to the floor.

“I knew this wouldn’t work,” he says, getting off his chair. He grabs the blank canvas. “This is all useless!”

“Hold on,” I say, taking the canvas from him. “That’s not true. It was just an accident, right?”

I bend over, grabbing the jar from off the floor. Handing it to him, I push him down onto his stool. He grabs my hand. Our fingers brush, scorching my skin. I pull away, taking his cup so I can fill it with water from the sink. I turn around, moving over to the small sink in the back of the room. Turning on the tap, I place the cup beneath the faucet, filling it. When it’s half-way full, I shut off the tap, grabbing a few napkins from the dispenser on the wall. I move back over to him. He grabs the cup from me, reaching down to grab a well palette from off the floor. Opening the paint jar, he squeezes blue paint into one of the empty circles before taking another paint jar and doing the same. This time, he fills another circle with bright, red paint.

“What’s your favorite animal?” I ask.

“A butterfly.”

“How about you try painting that then?” I hand him his brush.

“Okay. Sit on my lap, please?”

“I’m only going to distract you.”

“No you won’t. I promise,” he says, taking my hand. He raises it to his cheek. “Please?”

“Alright,” I say, moving over to him. I sit down on his lap, scooting down so I’m on the edge of his knees. Wrapping his arm around my hips, he pulls me closer pressing my back against his chest. “Rafayel-“

“Only like this,” he says. “I won’t make you come any closer.”

I resist the urge to tell him that we can’t get any closer than this, turning my attention towards the canvas. Rafayel dips the brush I’d handed to him into his cup of water, tapping the excess on the side of the cup. Dipping it into the well of blue paint, he presses his brush against the canvas. I fold my hands in my lap, watching as he moves his brush a quarter of the way down in a slow, graceful sweep. Rafayel places his hand on my hip, creating the slight curves of the first wing. The way Rafayel moves his hand is captivating, his deft fingers moving in purposeful, precise strokes. I wish I knew how to paint.

“That’s really good,” I say. Rafayel rubs my hip, the gesture strangely intimate.

“Thank you,” he says, pressing his lips against my ear.

I shiver, remembering the Queen. She’d sent me here to help her son, not sit on top of his lap. Now that he was alright, I should report back to her and tell her he’s in heat. Rafayel grabs my thigh, almost as if he’d read my mind.

“Planning to run, already?” He says, his voice slightly raspy. “You asked me to paint and I’m painting aren’t I? Just like you wanted me to.”

His lips drag against the shell of my ear, soft and hot. “Rafayel-“

“Don’t try to make up some silly excuse. I know you were going to run away and tell the Queen. But I can’t let you.” He pushes his nose against my throat, breathing me in.

“Your mom deserves to know that you’re alright,” I say.

“Tell her later.” He presses his lips against my throat, whimpering softly.

“But won’t she be upset that I’m not- mhm!” Rafayel licks the side of my throat, squeezing my thigh harder.

“Who cares?” He asks, lifting his head. “Anyway, I’m bored now. I don’t want to paint a butterfly anymore. Instead I want to paint you.”

Rafayel removes his paintbrush from off the canvas, sliding it underneath my chin. Cold paint smears the skin underneath my chin as he tilts my head back, forcing me to look up at him. His eyes are still lidded, but now they’re full of intensity. I take a shaky breath as Rafayel moves the paintbrush lower, painting me like he was just painting his canvas. His movements slow and deliberate. I bite down on my lip, stifling a whimper.

“Rafayel, I want to help you,” I gasp.

He presses his lips against my ear.

“Silly girl,” he says, moving the paintbrush towards my chest. “Can’t you see? This is helping me.”

“But what if the Queen sees us?”

“She knows about my heat. That’s why she sent you here.”

I gasp. Now that I think about it, the Queen couldn’t even look me in the eyes when she’d been asking me to check on her son. So I’d been set up from the start. Rafayel stops the paintbrush right at my chest.

“She may have sent you here but whether or not you want to do this is up to you,” he says, softly. “May I touch you?” I should be upset. I should leave the room and confront the Queen but my anger is drowned out by the softness of Rafayel’s touch.

“Yes.”

He unbuttons my shirt, fumbling with the buttons. I reach up to help him with one, our fingers rubbing against each other’s. When all the buttons are undone, he pushes the sides of my blouse apart so he can have easy access to my breasts. Pulling the cups of my bra down enough just to free my breasts, he glides the tip of his paintbrush over my nipple. The paint is half-wet, half-dry, the mix of hot and cold strange against my skin. Moving the brush back into the well of paints, he dips it into the blue paint, before reaching for the red. I swallow, my nipples aching. Cupping my breast, he blows onto my nipple. I let out a soft whimper, arching my breasts. His lips rub against my nipple, smudging the paint on top of it. Raising his head, he presses the tip of his paintbrush against my nipple, pushing it in. I clench my thighs, placing my hand on Rafayel’s wrist. This time, the paint is cold and wet. Sliding his paintbrush back and forth, he thins out the coat of paint my nipple, every pass of his brush making me clench my legs harder. My wet panties press against my folds, clinging to them.

“Do you like this?” He asks, pressing his lips against my jaw.

“Mhm,” I whimper.

He dips his brush back into his palette, placing a generous amount of blue and red into the center where there are no circles. Mixing it together, he hums into my ear, his voice soft, pleasant. The blue and red eventually turn into a dark purple. Looking down at my skin, he tuts, dipping his brush back into the red and blue accordingly until the purple becomes a few shades lighter, taking on a mellow, lavender hue.

“This will look good on your skin,” he whispers against my ear.

Placing the brush onto my other nipple, he applies the paint in clean, even strokes, just as he’d done with the other. I gasp, not used to how cold the paint is when he first places it onto my skin. He drags it against the rim of my nipple, moving outwards to paint along my breast. He’s right. The purple compliments my tan skin. He runs the brush in between my abs, the coarse tip of the brush making my skin tingle.

“That tickles,” I gasp.

“Does it?” He asks, placing his brush back into his cup. Moving his hand from my hip, he slides it into my skirt pressing his palm against my panties.

“Rafayel!” I moan, tilting my head back.

“What is it?” He asks, rubbing the brush along the hem of my skirt. I arch my back, pushing my ass against his cock. He groans, his fingers faltering for a moment. “Do that again,” he groans against my ear. “And I won’t hesitate to fuck you.”

A soft plea escapes my lips. I want him to fuck me. I want him to- Rafayel places his glove in between his teeth, pulling it off in one smooth motion. Spitting it out, he moves his hand back to my panties. Sliding them to the side, he pushes his fingers inside of me. I moan, bucking my hips pushing his fingers deeper inside of me. They’re long and thin, but they touch where they need to. Rafayel moves the paintbrush back up to my nipples, rubbing the rest of the paint against them, smearing the paint that’s already on my nipples. It’s like I am as his own art piece, to paint, to color, to ruin. His fingers push deeper, pressing against my g-spot.

“Oh!” I gasp, tilting my head back. Rafayel sets down his brush, grabbing my throat. Holding me still. He rubs his thumb against my clit, matching the pace of his finger to the ones inside of me. I buck my hips clumsily, placing both of my hands on his thighs. The wet squelch of his fingers filling me drown out my moans. I dig my fingers into his thighs, moving my hips faster riding his fingers as I grow closer.“I’m gonna c-cum!”

“Cum,” he says, grabbing my hip.

He pushes me down onto his fingers, filling me, stretching me, fucking me. My hips shudder and I let out a weak cry as I release, grinding against his hand. Thick, white liquid drips down his fingers, running over the back of his hand. Pulling his fingers out, he pushes them into his mouth groaning softly. I take a shaky breath, trying to steady myself. Pulling his fingers out of his mouth, Rafayel pushes my thighs apart sliding his gloved fingers inside me. Leather rubs against the inside of my pussy. I moan at the friction, resting my head against Rafayel’s shoulder. Removing his hand, he lifts it to my lips. Thin lines of cum are in between his fingers. Grabbing his wrist, I lick in between them whimpering when I taste myself. I suck one of his fingers into my mouth and Rafayel groans from behind me, his fat cock pressing against the back of my skirt. Pulling his finger out, he grabs the canvas from off the easel in front of us, patting my hip.

“Stand up.”

I get to my feet, my thighs shaking. Grabbing my hand, Rafayel leads us past his cubby towards the back of the room. A small wooden table is there. Behind it is a white leather couch.

“Let’s make a painting of our own, shall we?” He says. Placing the canvas down onto the table in front of me, he grabs my hand walking me over to the couch. He sits down, pulling off his other glove. “Turn.”

I turn so my back is facing him. Sliding his hand in between my legs, he cups my pussy pulling me down onto his lap. I whimper as he bunches my skirt around my hips, grabs my thighs and lifts them up on either side of me. He reaches in between my legs, fisting my panties with one hand. Pulling them to the side, he wraps his arm around my hips raising me off of his lap so he can unzip his pants and pull out his cock. Sliding the tip against my wet folds, he pushes in. I gasp at the stretch, looking down. Only half of his tip is inside of me. He reaches for the canvas on the table, his chest pressing against my back. More of his cock slides in, wet from my juices. I cry out as my pussy sinks past his engorged tip.

“You’re too big,” I pant, blowing a few strands of hair from my face.

“You can take it, can’t you?” He asks softly. Setting the canvas underneath me, he grabs my hips pushing me down onto his cock. I groan, grabbing his wrists. “See? That’s it,” He says, his voice slightly strained.

“Mhm,” I groan.

He guides my hips, moving them back and forth. Up and down. He grabs the sides of my waist, his grip firm as he begins thrusting. His hips slap against my ass, my skin flushing. Quickening the pace, he digs his fingers into my sides, resting his head against the couch. The canvas shakes beneath me, resting on top of Rafayel’s thighs. He pushes me down so I’m sitting on it, pressing my cunt onto the spot with no paint on it. My folds rub against the hard fabric, the friction bringing me closer to my orgasm. My wetness smears against the canvas, staining it. Rafayel thrusts harder, our skin slapping. Probably everyone in the castle can hear it. My face flushes at the thought. When I’d come to check on him, I never would have thought I’d be sitting on top of him riding his cock like my life depended on it. Rafayel cups my breasts, squeezing them gently.

“Raf I’m gonna c-cum!” I gasp.

“Me too,” he groans against my ear.

He thrusts faster, every sharp thrust leaving me gasping. I dig my nails into his wrists. Releasing one of my breasts, he slides his hand down to my clit, rubbing it. I buck my hips, crying out.

“I’m cumming- ugh!”

Liquid sprays from my cunt, splashing the canvas beneath me. The paint on top of it becomes damp, running towards my thighs. Rafayel pulls out of me, lifting my legs up higher. He releases on the canvas, both of our arousals mixing. Grabbing my arm, he stands up forcing me to get to my feet. My ass is hot, and the back of my legs ache from how hard he’s been thrusting into me. Pulling off my shirt, Rafayel pushes me down onto the table. My ass facing him. I place my arms down on the table, holding myself up. He pushes thighs legs apart, sliding his cock back into me. Placing the canvas in the space between my arms, he thrusts, grabbing my hips. I moan, lowering my head. My hair falls into my face, covering my eyes. I press my hands against the canvas, my cheeks reddening as I remember both of our releases are on it. Paint smears my hands, wet and thick. Rafayel falls into rhythm, groaning from behind me. His hips slam against mine, my ass flushing darker. Grabbing my hips, he pushes me up against him making me meet every thrust. I whimper. More paint slides against my arms, my elbows chafing as they rub against the canvas. Reaching down, he unclasps my bra, freeing my breasts. The straps fall to my elbows, my breasts bouncing. He grabs the back of my neck pushing my face down onto the coffee table.

The table squeaks beneath us, unable to withstand the intensity of his thrusts. My nipples drag through the paint and our combined arousal, which is dry now. My knees buckle in. Rafayel fists the back of my skirt, pushing into me faster. “I’m gonna c-cum!” I cry out, my hips shuddering. Rafayel smacks my ass. Pulling his cock out to the tip, he slams back in. I let out another cry, this one louder. Reaching around, he pushes my thighs apart positioning my cunt directly over the canvas. He rubs my clit.

“Oh!” I gasp. “Gonna-“

More fluid splashes the canvas beneath me. He pushes me down against it. Paint smears my breast and thighs. I groan, my legs shuddering. He pulls out of me, fisting my hair. Turning me towards him, he pushes his cock into my mouth. I moan, lowering my head taking half of his cock into my mouth. He tightens his grip on my hair, pushing me down lower. I gag when my nose presses against his pelvis, placing my hands on the ground beneath me. He thrusts, guiding my head back and forth. Spit runs down my throat, over my paint-covered breasts.

“Almost there,” he says, moving faster.

I moan around his cock, my voice muffled. His cock thickens inside of me. A moment later, warmth hits the back of my throat. I swallow, pulling my mouth up off of him. He grabs my hand, pushing me back down onto the table. This time, I’m laying on my back. The canvas beneath me. Raising my leg up onto his neck, he slides his wet cock back inside of me. I moan, wrapping my arms around his neck. His hips roll against mine, his cock pressing into me so deep. I dig my fingers into his neck, closing my eyes. His lips brush against mine, cooler now. I open my mouth, letting him slip his tongue inside of me. He grabs my throat, licking my tongue roughly. I buck my hips, pushing myself down onto his cock. Our hips sync. I cry out against his mouth. He swallows the sound, kissing me harder as he grabs my other leg, lifting it up onto his neck. Laying flat against me, he ups the pace of his thrusts, his chest rubbing against my nipples. Sweat gathers around my hairline, running down my cheek. Rafayel deepens the kiss, making it rougher, harder. My thighs begin shading. Separating our lips, Rafayel groans, tipping his head back. He pulls his cock out of me, wrapping his hand around his cock. A moment later, thin ropes of cum hits my jaw. He closes his eyes, bucking against his hand. More cum splashes out, hitting my throat. Opening his eyes, he pats my cunt, which still aches for an orgasm. He moves over to one of the easels, grabbing a canvas and a pencil. I sit up. My hair falls around my face, the ends frizzy. My thighs are covered in my juices, and my cunt is slightly swollen from Rafayel’s cock. He moves towards me, sitting down on the couch. His cock is still out, though it isn’t as hard as before.

“What are you doing?” I say, slightly out of breath.

“I just got an idea for a sketch,” he says. “Don’t move. I’m going to paint you.”

[i-am-hungry-24-7]

[Counting Down To Heaven] TF141*Reader

They wait outside the operation room for your emergency op to finish, they try to stay awake, but tiredness eventually drags them into a dream.

cw: gore and wound mentioned

Price (fear of his job will put u in danger)

He opens the door, coming back home is the thing bracing him through the grueling mission, because it means coming back to you.

The living room is full of the sweet scent of fresh-baked cookies, he hums and calls out your name, putting his hat down and walks inward, not realizing the soothing yellow light turns off itself behind him.

He frowns when he feels the air is freezingly cold he frowns, and he realizes something the moment he turns the knob on the door of you two’s bedroom

The house is too quiet, eerily silent.

His cry stucks in his throat when his eyes land on your figure, lying in the blood pool, cloudy eyes looking straightly into his.

As he drops to his knee and crawls to your side, he recognizes there’s something in his grasp.

A tactical knife dripping blood, gripped in his hand, and it suits the slash wound across your throat.

Soap (fear of being overconfident)

He tells you everything’s okay, all his plans will lead to success, don’t worry, just follow behind him.

So he never looks back to check on you during the battle, eyes lock on his enemies, adrenaline pumping through his body, heartbeats deafening, and makes him unaware of the sound of your footsteps disappears.

It’s too late when he turns around and can’t find you, the thick fog surrounding him obscures his sight, so he just runs as fast as he can towards the only tunnel with lights in the end.

Only be welcomed by your body hanging high on the tree by his enemy, but after a blink, he isn’t standing at the same spot.

He’s tying the rope around your neck and unable to stop himself.

Gaz (fear of having wrong decision)

“Give me a donut, thanks babe.” You say to him with a smile, and he leans down to press a kiss on your cheek then walks into the coffee shop.

He waits for quite a while, finally getting his order, and can’t wait to meet you outside and see your delighted face when you’re enjoying your favorite dessert.

but when he pushes open the door, all he can see is blood, gun, corpse.

Battlefield.

He yells your name immediately, trying to search for you as he rushes between countless dead bodies.

Until he spots clothes with a familiar pattern peeking out under one of the remnants that he dashes to its side, pawing at the rocks and glass even if they cut open his palms, he doesn’t care, and finally, you reveal from the gravel, with a gunshot wound right on your temple.

What he only can do is carefully hug you in his arms and regret his decision — leaving you alone.

Ghost (fear of losing his love because of himself)

He’s washing his hands, water pouring from the sink, but none of the blood is getting off of his skin.

He scrubs his hands, harder and rougher, until his skin is broken, and his blood combines with yours from the scratches scattering across his hands.

He raises his head and smashes the mirror above because no matter what he does, the blood just stains his palms.

When he finally takes a good look at the shattered mirror, he sees you in it.

Bloody and pale, lifeless. Glints no longer exist in your eye, and he crumbles to the floor with a desperate sob.

[it-was-summer]

Video Killed the Radio Star- Tape #2 (Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)

A/N: THIS CHAPTER FOCUSES MAINLY ON THE FIRST ENCOUNTERS WITH YOUR KIDNAPPER. I didn't put any warning before the scene starts, but the entire chapter is essentially that. So please keep that in mind. I changed a lot of this from the original version. I have grown okay? I saw inconsistency in my writing and I am trying to fix it. Thank you so much for everyone's kudos, notes, comments, reblogs, bookmarks, EVERYTHING! Please let me know what you think and enjoy.

Video Killed the Radio Star Remake Masterlist

Link to the Ao3: Video Killed the Radio Star

Previous Chapter: Tape #1 > Next Chapter: Tape #3

WARNING: Kidnapping, morphine use, abuse, talks of death, and more. Remember you are not alone if you struggle with this content.

Tape Contents: The team starts to comb through your apartment. Meanwhile, you spend your time in a less fiery version of hell.

Word Count: 3,721

March 2, 20XX 

After recording the video, you were damn near catatonic. Your eyes were having a hard time pulling away from the corner of your living room, staring at the fading white paint as it met the trim. You tried to turn on the television for some sort of distraction, but every time you heard a sound a little too close for comfort, you would pause the screen and comb through your apartment like a mad woman. You had locked the windows, the door, hell, you even considered shoving a chair under the knob of the front door. 

You didn’t, though. Sitting in a silently lit room with your legs to your chest. You were trying to remember to breathe in the correct order: in, then out, out, then in. Every so often, your breathing would hitch, and you would start over again. You tried to find something to keep you grounded in the moment, a texture to rub your hands over, but the dread kept building. 

It kept building until it was two in the morning, and you couldn’t handle it anymore. 

You were turning off lights slowly, fingers lingering on the switches before you turned them off, dashing into your apartment’s bedroom and shutting the door behind you. Your body was moving as if it thought the darkness was going to kidnap you. Maybe it would, maybe that fate would be better than what the depths of your mind were producing as you found a light to plug into the wall. The old wall plug-in emitted just enough light in the room that you let yourself relax in the dark of your bedroom. 

When you called your mother earlier, she reassured you that the police were there for you, patrolling the neighborhood every weekend. You tried to tell her that their cars were dwindling, and now it seemed like only one was bothering to make the rounds, but she didn’t listen. One was enough for her, so why couldn’t it be enough for you? 

It was wrong to be angry with her, wrong to be angry with the police, wrong to be angry with yourself. The worst part was being angry with Adeline, the way she was trying so hard to be supportive despite her daughter dying of cancer. The guilt felt like a prod: scorching, agonizing, pushing its way into your chest, where it made its home near your heart. You didn’t want to be angry, not with her, not with anyone, but the feeling of isolation had you crying tears of frustration in your bed.

Maybe they were all right, maybe you were just being crazy. You would go into work tomorrow exhausted and weary, but alive. Everything would be fine. You told yourself this mantra over and over again as your tears slowed, your eyelids became heavy, and your breathing got deeper. Everything would be fine.

Dawn crept into your bedroom window. The sun had yet to rise, its glow just dim on the horizon. You couldn’t have been asleep for longer than two hours or so when you heard soft breathing. Your eyes were heavy and slow to open as you listened to the sound. 

Liquid bubbling with a soft ‘ glug’ sound had you stirring a little, eyes fighting you as you tried to open them and focus on the sound. As your body stirred, a hard hand grabbed your mouth, pressing down on your lips as your eyes snapped awake. The last thing you remembered was a gloved hand shoving a handkerchief to your face and the smell of ether before your world went dark. 

March 5, 20XX

Garcia was smiling. It didn’t take long for the field techs to bring back your computer adorned with pink and green sticky notes with passwords, notes, and to-do lists. She always liked a woman who had a plan and stuck to it. “This girl just made my job easier,” she chuckled softly as she logged into your computer with ease. “Not that it was ever hard, but it was sweet of her to help me out.” 

The whole thing seemed clear of any suspicious emails, apps, or spying devices. She frowned as she moved to your phone logs that she received earlier that day; the most recent call was from an unknown number. The voicemail that followed sent chills down her spine, the sound of sobs before the line went dead. She shared with the team her favorite member, actually, Derek, who was listening to her intensely over the phone while the rest of the team combed through your apartment. 

To say they felt a little shocked was an understatement. You were more prepared than you had let on. Each ‘gift’ was labeled and in baggies in the drawers of your desk. Emily was the first to see a folder in a nook of the desk; as she opened it, she was greeted with a picture of… herself. She let out a huff of a laugh as she started to pull out photos. Spencer, David, Derek, JJ, and Aaron. “She’s got everyone but Penelope.” She said, waving Spencer and Aaron over with a slight flick of her wrist. 

Spencer tilted his head at the blurry photo of himself on the desk, an amused look in his eyes as he read out loud, “‘Give this man a pair of glasses, now!’” He looked over at Hotch and spoke in a curious tone, “Do I really have the kind of face that tells everyone I need glasses?” 

Aaron looked up from his photo and gave Spencer a slight grin. "Do you want me to lie?” he asked, much to Spencer’s dismay. 

Emily spoke up, “At least yours says that she’s asking for my number on mine.” She turned the photo of herself over to them and pointed at the writing. She pointed to Hotch’s photo and grinned, “‘Give us a smile, baby’ is kind of funny, come on.” 

Hotch's frown deepened as he looked at the writing, “She was trying to have a sense of humor,” 

“A sense of humor in stressful situations could indicate that she approaches them in a light-hearted way, she’s optimistic. The type to never give up.” Reid spoke softly beside her. 

“It could also mean that she’s the kind of person who draws people in with her personality,” Prentiss suggested softly against Reid’s anecdote, “She’s easy to love.” 

She let her words sink into the air around them like a cloud, watching the gears turn in the minds of the two men near her. Her gears also started up as she set the picture back on the desk, leaning against the wood gently when her eye caught a glimpse of color on the floor. 

She maneuvered away from the desk and towards your nightstand, crouching down to the floor as she picked up a small beaded keychain off the floor. She smiled softly as she turned a beaded keychain over in her gloved hands, reading the words aloud, “‘or die.’” 

“What, like ride or die?” Hotch called over the question from the desk in the corner of your room. 

“The term ride or die was originally used as slang among bikers, but in recent years, it has been used in hip-hop culture and music,” Spencer said as he stared at the colorful beaded keychain in Emily’s hand. 

“Since when did you start listening to hip-hop music?” She asked with a laugh. 

Spencer smiled a little and shook his head, “I don’t,” 

“Then where did you hear the phrase ‘ride or die’?” 

“Derek has a ride or die,” 

“Who?” Hotch’s voice joined in curiously as his eyes flicked over towards the bedroom doorway, where Derek was standing, still on the phone with Garcia. 

Nonetheless, he was still listening in on their conversation as he pulled his head away from the phone a little and looked over his shoulder. “Garcia, obviously.” He said simply before bringing the phone back up to his ear. “Nothing, baby girl. We were just talking about you.” 

March 3, 2024

You assumed it was the next day, or at least the day you wanted it to be. Not that you wished for this day, but it being the next day meant you were still alive. Your eyes were slow to open as your fingers twitched, grazing against something suspiciously softer than your duvet. The question was alive where? 

Your eyes were catching glimpses of light, pink light. As you let your eyes focus a little more, you realize the whole room was pink, or the lighting made it seem that way. 

Your body felt… hot, like heat was spreading through your veins, making your head dizzy. You felt good. Then, it plateaued. 

Your body, sluggish as it was, moved slowly. You were trying to sit up but found your upper body strength failing to cooperate. Your elbows failed to provide much support, and you fell back on the soft duvet with a soft ‘oof.’  

Eventually, you managed to scoot your body back till your head hit a headboard… that, from this angle, you could see it was in the shape of a vibrant pink heart. Soon, your back was resting against the headboard. You went to move your leg to help achieve a more comfortable position when a sudden sharp pain cut through the heat in your veins. 

Your eyes traveled down your leg, grateful to see pajama pants covering your skin until you reached your bare foot. Your ankle was a horrible black and blue color. The bones looked swollen and deformed against the skin. You felt sick. 

Your body was moving fast to lean off the side of the bed as you felt your chest squeeze, your mouth opening to vomit off the side of the bed. As your broken ankle lay with you on the bed, your head hung slightly off the edge. You turned your head to see an IV stand next to the bed. When you followed the drip tube, you felt sick once more, seeing how it was professionally attached to the back of your hand. 

A whimper could be heard in the empty pink room as you wiped your lips clean with your non-IV hand and again sat up against the headboard. And you waited. Time seemed to be still in this place, moving at a sluggish pace that made your body twitch and buzz with anxiety.

There was no sunlight, just a hue of pink. A pink dresser, heart decor on the walls, plush heart-shaped pillows by your sides, and chains around your good ankle linked you to the heart-shaped bed, along with some other decor you didn’t care to look at for too long. It looked like a room straight out of a fever dream. You were still trying to determine if it was just that, a fever dream.

You swallowed thick spit roughly as your eyes stayed glued to the heavily locked door. You kept counting the locks, four. Your head tilted to the side as you tried to imagine your kidnapper coming in, how many clicks you would hear, the turning of locks, or the jingle of how many keys. How many keys would it take for you to get out of here? 

Unfortunately, you would know the answer soon as the sound of keys jingling hit your ears. One. You didn’t know if you should start screaming. Would they be angry with you if you started to scream? 

Two. Your breathing was getting faster, coming in short, shaky bursts. Your eyes looked down at your chained ankle and then toward your broken one. Would you even be able to move? The morphine was making it hard anyway. What would it be like to walk or run with the full pain of a broken ankle coursing through you? How would you even get unchained from the bed?

Three. You were trying to remember everything you had read about true crime, but none of it seemed helpful now. Did you beg for your life? Should you tell them about your family? Would they care about any of it? Were they going to kill you or scar you in ways you could never imagine? You knew that there were fates worse than death. At least dying carried some dignity. 

Four. You tried to steady your breathing and convince yourself that you still stood a chance of getting out of here alive. You scooted your body against the headboard as much as possible, trying to get the greatest amount of distance from the door you could, given the circumstances. 

The door was creaking open with a gentle turn of the knob. A flash of white light filled the room before it was ripped away from your line of sight, and the door was shut again. The person –a woman– was holding a small tray in her hands. You were blinking rapidly as you stared at the tray, a pain in your stomach making you realize how hungry you were. 

Slowly, your eyes tore away from the tray and up to her face—a very familiar face, but one you could quite place. Pretty blonde hair, curls framing her face, her full lips drawn into a pleased smile. When your eyes met her pale blue ones, you could see nothing but… empathy. No, it wasn’t that. It seemed to be adoration. She was wearing a pair of scrubs, fun scrubs, little rainbows, and animals sprawling across the material as she walked over to you. 

Maybe she was an accomplice, a wife, a girlfriend, or a sister who got caught up in this. The thought made the muscles straining in your back relax a little as she set the tray down on a nearby side table. Your eyes never left her as she moved gracefully through the room. 

“Oh, sweetie,” Her voice was saccharine, “Did the morphine make you sick?” She asked with a light tilt of her head, turning on her heel toward the dresser to pull out a small towel. “That’s okay, it's a common side effect.”  

You gave a numb nod as you watched her get down to the floor and clean up the vomit without complaint. “I didn’t mean to,” Your voice was hoarse and weak, sounding slightly childish as you spoke out the weak excuse. 

She stood up, walked the towel to the hamper, and tossed the pink rag in with a little laugh: “No one ever means to, baby.” She sounded familiar, too. Your eyes traced over her fit frame, which you could barely make out from under her scrubs. “Let’s get you eating,” She said as she let out a soft hum of relaxation, sitting in a nearby plush chair. 

As she buttered some bread, you eyed the rest of the food on the tray: soup in a plastic bowl, water in a plastic bottle, and a plastic cup for the butter. The silverware was the only thing on the tray that didn’t seem to be plastic. 

You glanced away from the food and back to the familiar woman. “If someone is making you do this, a boyfriend or husband or something, you don’t have to do this. Yo-You and I, we could plan a way to fight back,” you offered, your voice soft and quick. Hope was creeping into you as she listened to you speak, the butterknife scraping gently against the bread in her hands. 

“Well, for starters,” she set down the butterknife and bread, crossing her legs over each other. “My husband doesn’t know a thing about you. As for brothers or boyfriends, I’m afraid you're out of luck there, too. There’s only me, Catherine.” 

You felt the hope draining out of you, and she must’ve seen it in how your shoulders tensed and breathing quickened, “Oh, I knew you were going to have a hard time remembering me, but I didn’t think it would be that hard.” Then it all clicked. 

She grew up well, Heather did. Back in college, she was shy and slightly intense, a shell compared to the woman sitting beside you. She started as a botany major and then suddenly changed universities, her major, and you never saw her again. You could dimly remember seeing her in the dining hall that first month of college, and you were overzealous. Sometimes, to make friends, if you saw someone lost and looking for a table, you’d offer them an empty seat at your table. Heather was one of those cases. Your act of optimistic kindness seemed to haunt you as you stared at her. 

“Heather Alexander,” 

She beamed and clapped her hands together excitedly, “You remembered! I knew you would. I’d expect nothing less from you, my Catherine.” She sighed happily, reaching over for the spoon and bowl of soup. 

“My name isn’t Catherine, you know that.” Your voice had a certain sternness now, hardening as you remembered inviting this monster into your life all those years ago. 

Heather scoffed a little and rolled her eyes, “Duh,” she said as she spooned some of the tomato soup and held it up to your lips, “Open.” 

As you stared at the spoon, you didn’t feel hungry anymore, but your lips moved against your will. You needed your strength. Your lips closed around the spoon gently as she fed you the soup. The steps repeated themselves slowly, your eyes staring her down. 

“I didn’t mean to get so physical with our little game, but I just,” She laughed a sweet sound, the dull pain thumping against your ankle as you heard the sound. “I couldn’t help myself, I guess. I hate playing cat and mouse. I was a little impatient.” She set down the empty bowl and spoon with a smile. “Come on, don’t be angry with me.” 

“You can still let me go. It’s only my ankle. You can take care of me at the hospital. That’s where you work, right? We can tell everyone that you found me in an alleyway or something. I won’t tell anyone.” 

“Catherine, do you think I’m stupid?” she asked with a frown, venom in her voice, as she reached for the bottled water. “I know that the second the police get you in a room alone, without me, you’ll tell them everything.” 

“My name isn’t Catherine,” 

“I mean, come on! I work in pediatrics, for Christ's sake! Do you think trauma will let me stay to take care of you? Use your head, Catherine! No, they won’t.”

“My name is not Catherine,” 

Her eyes quickly met yours, the softness they once had now gone as she swallowed hard, “That must be it, then. You think that I’m that fucking stupid, hm? You think I went to fucking, nursing school just for some librarian to call me stupid?”  

“I didn’t say that, Heather. I’m just saying there’s a way out of this before it gets worse. The worst that can happen is-” 

“The worst that can happen, Catherine, is I lose my license. I get arrested. I never see you again. My shit husband could,” She cut herself off and let out a frustrated sound, throwing the bottle of water at you, the bottle hitting your side harshly. 

“Name’s not Catherine,” You replied once more as your hands grabbed at the water, tucking it behind your back, trying to hide it from Heather as her face buried in her hands. 

“Shut the fuck up about the name thing! You don’t fucking get it do you?” She screamed into her hands before she pulled her head away from them and stood up from her chair. She grabbed the plastic bowl and threw the dirty dish at your head. 

You almost felt like deliriously laughing as the plastic hit your head with a soft ‘thud,’ but you didn’t. Your face managed to stay straight as you looked up at her. “You’re who I say you are. You got my gifts, the novels. You’re my Catherine, my Emma, my Jane. Get that through your,” she picked up the butterknife and threw it toward your chest. “Stupid,” Then the tray was lifted in her hands, and your body braced for the impact, but it never came. 

You squeezed your eyes together as you waited for the tray to hit you. Slowly, you opened one eye to look up at her, staring down at you with the tray still above her head. Her hands slowly dropped down as she held onto the tray. A slow smile came back to her face now: “Catherine, you know I love you.” 

“You have a funny way of showing it, Heather.” 

Her smile twitched a little at that, and she scoffed softly before walking closer to you. Her hands were quick to grab the butterknife in your lap. She jammed the silverware into your sternum, a gasp leaving you as she did so. 

“You’ve got a big mouth on you, Emma.” Her face was inches from yours as she jammed the handle of the butterknife deeper into your chest, your own hands reaching up to try and pull her off. 

She was breathing heavily, your breath hitching as fear flooded your senses as she leaned in closer toward your face. The look in her eyes told you everything you needed to know. If it's up to her, which it currently was, you weren’t getting out. Her lips were close to your quivering ones as her force lightened softly, “Think about this next time you decide to talk back, Emma.” Her lips brushed yours slightly as she spoke, you nodded quickly. 

Then she pulled away and gathered her utensils before she gave you another sweet smile, “See you tomorrow, my love.” She said in an airy tone as she reached over to the morphine drip and upped the intake with a quick flick of her wrist. The sound of keys jingling against each other filled your ears as she did so. The door opened quickly, and she walked out of the room, locks clicking swiftly. 

And just like that, you were alone again. You felt your bottom lip shake softly before tears started to fall from your eyes, your hands reaching behind your back as you cried. When your hands found the water bottle, you drank it slowly, tears falling down your face, and a dull and sharp pain in your chest slowly fading.

TAG LIST: @babyspiderling @cocobean16 @kodzukenie333

[projectionistwrites]

FOR SCIENCE | SUBJECT 3

In which the Moon Knight alter system presents a unique opportunity to settle the nature versus nurture debate, once and for all...

Jake Lockley x afab!psychologist!reader (13.0k+)

RATING: EXPLICIT (18+, mdni) WARNINGS: fetishization of mental disorders (DID), psychoanalysis, potentially unethical scientific practices, SMUT (dom/sub dynamics, fingering, oral (f! and m!receiving), unprotected p in v sex, doggystyle, spanking, mean!Jake, degradation, dacryphilia, daddy/papi kink, cum eating, creampie, soft sex, needy/touch-starved!Jake, praise kink, dirty talk), lots of spanish NOTES: jake lockley deserves so much love. this was hard to write, i had so much i wanted to put into this chapter and i hope it all came through okay. also, i am not a native spanish speaker, but i worked really hard to make sure all of my conjugations/phrases were correct, but still, feel free to correct me! this is the final case study installment of this series, there will be one final concluding chapter (+ potentially a bonus part bc i’m feeling generous) DISCLAIMER: although i’m incredibly knowledgeable about psychology, i am NOT a professional. all psychoanalyses made throughout the course of this storyline are entirely my own, based on my own interpretations of the characters. in a similar vein, i am also not an expert on DID specifically (although i am well-read on mental disorders and diagnoses), so i apologize for any incorrect terminology or misrepresentation. don’t hesitate to call me out if i say something wrong!

← previous part | next part →

CASE STUDY: JAKE LOCKLEY

ROLE IN COGNITIVE SYSTEM: Protector

ATTACHMENT STYLE: Dismissive

CHARACTERISTICS: volatile, tenacious, arrogant, cunning, reticent; a true adrenaline junkie (engages in risky behavior in an attempt to fill his emotional deficit with a brief but intense adrenaline rush); extremely autonomous.

SPLIT FROM HOST: ??? currently unknown/unconfirmed (predicted to have emerged as a result of some feeling of physical inadequacy or repeated threats to safety; may potentially trace back to host's service in the military).

TRAUMA RESPONSE: thinks every hill is one to die on; unwilling to compromise or make sacrifices in fear of revealing vulnerability; maintains face no matter the consequence.

SEXUAL PRESENTATION: demanding, excitable, impetuous, unapologetic, aggressive; unafraid to take what he wants, but uncomfortable with affection.

Your heart was picking up speed as you knocked loudly against the door for the fifth time.

Surely he was inside. Where the hell else would he be? You’d texted with him just hours before—well, technically not Jake, since he refused to use a phone, but Marc—confirming that you were still good for your previously scheduled arrangement. Had he changed his mind? Did something happen?

Your anxiety got the better of you as you fished around in your jacket pocket to pull out your keyring. Steven had given you a copy of the key to their flat in case you ever needed it, or if you wanted to come over before he got home from work. You had yet to actually use it, but you figured this constituted as enough of an emergency to warrant your uninvited entrance.

You clumsily slipped the brass into the keyhole and jiggled it, twisting it until you heard the click of the lock. You silently prayed that Jake—or whoever was fronting—hadn’t engaged any of the other locks on the door that could only be unhinged from the inside. Fortunately for you, the knob twisted and the door swung open with ease, revealing the familiarity of the flat within.

It was... quiet. Not eerily so, but enough to make you proceed with caution. Everything appeared to be in order, undisturbed and in its place, but still, you felt a sense of uneasiness crawl up your spine.

You weren’t a stranger to the feeling, though. You often felt this way when you were in the company of Jake. You enjoyed his presence, and wanted to get to know him better, but still, he was unpredictable and volatile—you never knew what to expect when he was fronting. You couldn’t read him as well as the other two alters, and as someone who had an affinity for picking up on unspoken emotional cues, you weren't particularly fond of the element of surprise.

You heard a low buzz from somewhere off to your right, and as the door clicked shut behind you, you wandered towards the source of the noise on the other side of the apartment. As you grew closer, you recognized the previously indiscernible sound—humming.

“...Jake?”

You called out softly, and just as rounded the edge of the bookshelf that separated the living space from the bedroom, the door to the bathroom flew open.

The man in question strolled through the doorway, steam billowing behind him, whistling to himself, but he froze when he saw you standing before him. He quickly recovered from his initial shock, however.

“Bebita. Looks like you need to work on your patience.”

He teased, and you felt your mouth run dry as you took in his appearance. He’d clearly just finished up in the shower—there were still droplets of water rolling down his shoulders and the toned skin of his chest and abdomen, trailing southbound where a white towel hung lowly on his hips. You could see the dark hair of his happy trail against his navel, the towel very loosely covering his modesty. His hair was wet and tussled, curls falling across his forehead, and you’d be lying if you said this wasn’t one of the most attractive sights you’d ever seen in your life.

Much to your chagrin, he seemed to pick up on the effect that his appearance had on you. You watched as his lips curled into a devilish grin, staring at you with a depraved look in his deep brown eyes that only Jake was capable of.

“Why—Why didn’t you answer the door?”

Your voice wavered slightly, betraying you in your attempt to appear collected. His head tilted slightly in question.

“Because...I was in the shower.”

Oh. Right.

You swallowed, lips downturned into a small frown, suddenly feeling sheepish at your previous concern for his safety. However, your focus returned to Jake as he slinked forward, taking a few slow, deliberate steps in your direction.

“You’re blushing, mi vida. Am I making you nervous?”

You unconsciously shook your head at his question, although you could feel your heart racing in your chest as he drew closer to you.

“No? Hm, that’s a shame. I could’ve sworn I saw you staring at my cock.”

He paused when only a foot and a half remained between you, and you felt your face grow even redder at his statement. As much as you tried to resist, as much as you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, your gaze involuntarily flickered down to glance at his crotch—you could see the outline of his hardening member through the soft material of the towel, more prominent than it had been even a few seconds prior.

A dark chuckle escaped him, and you forced your gaze back onto his face. He was grinning wickedly, gazing at you with a carnal gleam in his eye.

“Está bien, bebita. I know how much you like it. That’s why you rushed in here, isn’t it? Didn’t want to wait for papi’s cock any longer?”

Your breath hitched in your throat. Your jaw fell slack at the nickname he assigned to himself—you felt your knees grow weak. Just as you’d said—unpredictable. You certainly hadn’t expected that.

But fuck, you really liked it.

His smirk turned into a toothy grin as he observed your reaction to his taunt. One more step towards you and you were only a short distance apart. You could see moisture congregating in the divot of his collarbone, and you desperately wanted to lick at the pooled water.

“Are you going to be good for me, bebita?”

You nodded dumbly at him, any cohesive thought escaping from your brain as all you could perceive was Jake, Jake, Jake. He parroted your senseless nodding, mocking you condescendingly. Without another word, he dropped the towel from his waist and it pooled around his ankles, exposing his fully-erect member to your sight, and you swooned.

His tongue traced over his lower lip sensually, looking at you through hooded eyes. A shadow crossed his face as his mouth contorted into a sneer.

“Get on your knees.”

You obeyed before you even consciously processed the command, collapsing onto your knees before him, your abrupt fall cushioned by his discarded towel. Your mouth watered as you became eye-level with the hardness of his cock, the vein beneath the underside of his shaft just begging for your attention. You resisted, instead opting to stare up at Jake’s face expectantly, awaiting further instruction. It was clear to you that he liked to be in control.

He smirked at your complacency, his hand reaching up to lazily stroke his cock a few times, watching the way your eyes followed the movement of his hands with laser focus, your lips slightly parted in anticipation. He tilted his hips forward and slapped your cheeks with the ruddy head of his cock a few times, and you whimpered at the action, eyes squeezed shut tightly with restraint.

“Stick out your tongue for me, bebita.”

You obliged, opening your mouth wide and letting your tongue loll out past your lips. He tapped his length against the slick muscle, and you savored the familiar tang of his precum on your tastebuds as he pulled back to fist at his cock again. You whined as he withdrew from you, but he just tutted at you condescendingly, slapping your cheek once more with his member.

“Oh, pobrecita. You want papi to let you play with his cock?”

You nodded feverishly, staring up at him through your lashes, doe-eyed. He pouted his lip out in a look of mock pity before removing his hand from his length.

“Go on, then, bebita.”

You lurched forward, your tongue flexing to lick a long stripe on the underside of his cock, tracing the jagged vein that had enticed you earlier. He hummed at the action, watching as you eagerly lifted your hands to begin slowly pumping the velvety skin of his shaft, your lips suctioning around the flushed tip and tongue dipping into the slit. A low groan rumbled deep within his chest as you bobbed your head, eyes never leaving his face as you studied each reaction he had to your movements.

“There you go, mi vida. So good for papi.”

You moaned around his cock at the repeated use of the title, and he chuckled at your obvious approval, one hand finally reaching up to card through your hair as you continued to work more of his length into your mouth.

“You gonna let papi fuck your pretty little mouth, hm?”

He pulled his hips back, removing his member from your touch and you gasped in a breath. You nodded in response to his question, opening your mouth expectantly, and he all but laughed at your eagerness.

“You want it bad, huh, bebita? You gonna ask nicely?”

“Please, papi.”

The word sounded foreign on your tongue, but your discomfort melted away when you saw Jake’s cock jump at the sound of your desperate pleading and he threw his head back in satisfaction.

“Please, fuck my face. Want to feel you in my throat. Please.”

He seemed satisfied with your begging as he wrapped both of his hands in your hair, tilting your head upward and guiding your towards his awaiting length. When your hands reached up to rest on his thighs, he pulled back, hissing at you.

“No, mi vida. Hands behind your back. Don’t make me tell you again.”

You clasped your hands behind yourself obediently, opening your mouth again, and you finally felt the fat tip of his cock rest against your tongue.

You practically choked when he harshly thrusted into your mouth, sinking nearly his entire length into your throat without warning. Before you could even recover, he was pulling back and repeating the motion, not giving you any time to adjust to the intrusion or ease you into a rhythm. You gagged unceremoniously as he fucked your face with reckless abandon, so you tried to slacken your jaw and just take it.

“Look at you, mi llorica. So beautiful when you cry for me, with my cock in your mouth.”

You could barely see him through the blur of tears as they rolled down your cheeks, mixing with the saliva that was foaming around your lips and dribbling down your chin. He picked up his pace, grunting with each motion, the head of his cock bruising the back of your throat with every forward thrust. He was guiding your head forward and backward in time with his movements, successfully burying himself into your face.

“You want me to cum down your throat, bebita? Going to take everything papi gives you?”

You garbled around his length as his balls slapped against your chin, and you felt his cock throb on your tongue as he sheathed himself completely inside of you, growling out your name as he shot his load as deep into your throat as he could. Still, he challenged you more, forcing himself further and further down your throat with each spurt of cum that he released, your nose smushed against his pubic bone as you swallowed around him, trying with all of your might to prevent yourself from gagging and ruining his orgasm.

With a satisfied groan, he slowly pulled his spent member from your mouth, and you gasped harshly, sucking in a deep breath of air and finally allowing the muscles of your neck to relax. There was a soreness lingering in the back of your throat, but you relished in the feeling as you wiped the mix of spit and tears from your face with the back of your hand, staring up at the fucked-out expression that Jake offered you.

“Did so well for me, bebita. What do you say to papi?”

There was an edge to his tone, his domineering persona not faltering for even a second as your scratchy voice responded accordingly.

“Thank you, papi.”

He nodded at you approvingly, watching as you blinked up at him expectantly. He was pleasantly surprised at just how quickly you’d fallen into submission—he thought he might have to coax you into cooperating with him, but it was clear to him that you were eager to please, your eyes glistening with residual tears from one of the best goddamned blowjobs he’d ever had in his life.

He leaned down and clasped his hands on your shoulders, yanking you to your feet without a word. You saw his eyes flicker down to your swollen, spit-soaked lips, but his gaze was hard as he took a step away from you, as if to resist the temptation to kiss you.

“Strip. Hands and knees, on the bed for me. Now, bebita.”

You didn’t protest as you hastily heeded his words, shedding your layers of clothing and tossing them to the floor before you scampered back towards the bed, crawling to your hands and knees in the center, head facing towards the pillows. You could hear Jake creeping up behind you, but you resisted the urge to turn your head and follow his movements, opting instead to squeeze your eyes shut and wait.

You weren’t afraid of Jake. Of course you weren’t. You knew he’d never hurt you—not unless you wanted him to. Nonetheless, you knew what he was capable of—actually, that was the thing. You didn’t know what he was capable of, but still, you could see the thinly-veiled chaos that swirled behind his coffee-colored irises, could sense the firm restraint he forced upon himself when he was around you, holding some unnamed beast at bay on your behalf. It scared you, but also sparked something inside of you—a primitive, savage excitement as he stalked you like his prey. Was it wrong if you secretly hoped he’d unleash the mayhem that resided within him, let himself go? God only knows the man deserved an outlet in which to channel his frustrations.

You felt the mattress dip down behind you, Jake kneeling on the bed behind your bowed position—your nerves spiked at the vulnerability you displayed, exposed as you practically felt his eyes tear through your body with crazed, wanton desire.

You were surprised to feel a soft caress on your hips, his rough fingers delicately ghosting over the supple skin on your waist. It was comforting, soothing, and surprising—a needed reassurance under his scrutinizing gaze. You felt his lips brush softly against the tender flesh of your left buttock, and you relaxed slightly, letting yourself sink down to your forearms but keeping your ass raised with the arching of your back.

“Are you ready, mi vida?”

He asked quietly, and you managed to squeak out a small ��yes’ before sinking further into the bed and shifting your hips backs toward him in anticipation. He chuckled at your obvious eagerness, greedy for his touch, and you startled when his tender hold on your hips tightened into a bruising grip, the soft press of his lip to your left asscheek morphing until he was sinking his teeth into the flesh with a playful nip.

You yelped at the abrupt shift in demeanor, the sound earning you a sharp smack to your other cheek, his palm quickly rubbing the afflicted area to soothe the lingering sting of his spanking. You pressed your forehead into the sheet beneath you, your legs beginning to quiver with desperation.

“You’re going to stay like this, and take what I give you. Don’t move. ¿Vale, bebita?”

You nodded, but were met with another harsh swat on your backside at your lack of a verbal confirmation.

“Yes! Okay, papi, okay. Just—please.”

You were practically dripping onto the mattress beneath you, your arousal slickening your needy cunt as you desperately sought out any stimulation.

The pads of his fingers experimentally swiped through your folds without warning, and you jolted, involuntarily pushing your hips back to follow the withdrawal of his touch. Another firm slap against your opposite asscheek, a whimper escaping your lips as he scolded you.

“Stay still, bebita. Stop squirming.”

His order briefly brought you back to your first time with Marc, who had requested the same thing, but the words felt heavier when they were uttered by Jake—you knew he wouldn’t hesitate to find a way to make you comply.

When his fingers made contact with your core again, you clenched your muscles, forcing yourself to remain completely motionless, and you were rewarded with the tip of his digit just barely skimming over your clit. You whined at the sensation, but held your position.

Jake was pleased with your cooperation, but you couldn’t help but quake when you felt his tongue sweep through your folds to taste you. The spank he offered was softer, taking pity on you as he leaned forward and fully sank his mouth into your awaiting cunt. You mewled, fingers twisting into the fabric of the sheets beneath you and fisting at them tightly in an effort to keep still.

He was moaning shamelessly into your sex, his method tactless, sloppy and rushed. His movements weren’t practiced and deliberate like Marc’s, nor careful and precise like Steven’s—no, Jake was eating you out like a man starved, greedily mouthing at every part of you and reveling in the sounds that escaped your lips.

His hand lifted and he sank two fingers into your entrance, curling them forward frantically as his mouth latched onto your clit. He was working you to your orgasm quickly, hurriedly, desperate to feel you clamp down around him and cry out his name.

Your thighs were beginning to tremble. He must’ve sensed you were close, because he doubled his efforts, the vibrations from his growling buzzing through your flesh and pushing you over the precipice. On its own accord, your body lurched back towards him, your cunt grinding back against his face as your eyes rolled, your walls contracting around his digits and your juices leaking onto his awaiting tongue.

You felt dizzy, faint, your efforts to hold yourself upright through your climax exhausted you, and when you came down from your intense high, you felt Jake draw himself away from you, slow and intimidating. You felt your pulse spike as you awaited whatever came next. His large hand caressed your ass, gently smoothing over your soft flesh in back-and-forth motions.

“Sabe a miel, bebita. Such a pretty little pussy.”

His touch on your skin halted, and you felt his body lean over your back, his lips coming to brush against the nape of your neck.

“But you didn’t follow my instructions, pobrecita. You need to learn how to listen.”

You cried out when his hand swatted at your abused clit, your body jumping at the painful sensation in an attempt to escape his cruel attack. You felt one arm snake beneath your stomach to hold you upright, his forearm pressing your hips back towards him and keeping you there.

“I let you cum, even after you moved when I told you not to. Do you like being a brat, hm?”

You shook your head—another smack to your cunt, and you whimpered.

“No! No, m’sorry, papi, I—”

“Don’t you think I’ve been generous? Spoiling you? And still, you’re ungrateful, bebita.”

Your body flinched in preparation for the next blow, but instead, you felt his lips tenderly brush a kiss to the flesh of your ass.

“Compórtate. I think I need to teach you how to mind your manners.”

He slapped your ass again, harder than before, and you could feel the lingering sting forming a welt across your skin. He hummed.

“What do you say to papi, hm? For being so good to you?”

“Thank you, papi.”

You whimpered, tears starting to dampen the sheets beneath your face. Your appreciation earned you a soothing hand across the flesh he'd just struck.

“That’s right. Five more times, bebita.”

You sobbed in protest, body trying to pull away from him, but his arm wrapped around your torso forced you into place. He cooed at you.

“It’s okay, pobrecita. You’re going to say thank you after every single one, and then papi will fuck you. ¿Sí?”

He didn’t wait for your response. He smacked your clit, the sting burning its way through your lower belly. You choked back another sob.

“Th—thank you, papi.”

You stuttered, voice barely audible from where your cheek was smushed into the bedding, but Jake took pity on you. Two, three, four more times—the final blow landed sharply against your cunt, and you whimpered out your gratitude, eyes squeezed shut tight and your lip starting to freckle with blood from where you’d held it between your teeth.

He placed gentle kisses on your lower back, your ass, as far as he could reach, his arm still supporting your weight while the other came to softly smooth over your hip. Your mind was cloudy, your body completely surrendering to Jake’s will as you descended into subspace, clinging to his approval.

“You want my cock, mi vida?”

He asked gruffly, and you could feel his hardened length prod against your behind as he leaned further over you to press more kisses on your shoulders. You whined.

“Yes, papi, please, want you inside me, please—”

He shushed you calmly, sitting back to kneel behind you. He lifted your hips higher in the air with his arm, and you felt the flushed head of his cock brush across your soaked folds once, then twice. You mewled.

Without warning, Jake sank into you, bottoming out with one harsh stroke as his balls pressed against your puffy clit. You cried out, legs turning to jelly and giving out from beneath you, but he held you upright, keeping you stable in his arms.

“Mierda. Your little cunt is swallowing me, bebita.”

He withdrew slowly, and you could feel each ridge of his length as he pulled out until just the tip remained. Even though you braced yourself, you couldn’t prepare for the way he slammed back into you, his pelvis flush against your tailbone as you cried, pleasure sparking at the bottom of your spine in spite of the pain.

Jake’s pace was relentless, unforgiving, hips snapping forward over and over, the sound of skin slapping skin drowned out by your pathetic sobbing as your walls throbbed around his member. His teeth were bared as he railed into you, intently watching the place his cock was splitting you open.

“Carajo, you’re squeezing me so tight—going to cum for you, bebita.”

He practically growled as he speared you, and another orgasm was ripped from you with a particularly harsh thrust of his hips. Your cunt clamped down around him as he let out a long, low whine, hips stuttering at the sensation.

He let you collapse into the bed as he began frantically jerking his cock, pulling out of you just in time to shoot his load all across the reddening flesh of your ass. He let out a series of grunts, coupled with Spanglish expletives as he thrusted into his fist, his head thrown back in bliss. You felt globs of his hot spend settle onto your skin, streaking your backside with his seed as he panted above you, falling back onto his heels as he drank in the aftermath of his intense orgasm that was now painting your skin.

The moments that followed blurred together as you drifted aimlessly in the wakes of your pleasure, eyes fluttering in their attempt to keep you awake. Jake left you for several minutes, the absence of his body heat making goosebumps erupt across your skin, but you were too exhausted to move.

When he finally returned, you felt him softly dab the remnants of his ejaculate from your back before he gently shifted you onto your back, tucking an arm beneath your knees and the other around your shoulders as he hoisted you into the air. You whimpered slightly at the soreness in your muscles, your head falling limp against his bare shoulder as he carried you off. You weren’t consciously aware of your surroundings, but the sensation of warm water surrounding you helped ease the ache in your bones and clear the haze that had overtaken your mind. Jake gently lowered you into the bathtub, carefully tilting your head back to rest against the ceramic edge as you let out a relieved sigh, sinking into the welcoming heat of the water.

You felt as if you’d only blinked when you awoke, the water around you now lukewarm and the candle that had been burning beside you melted to the wick. You shifted yourself upward, hissing slightly at the soreness in your thighs, but you forced yourself to stand and exit the tub.

Silence surrounded you as you leaned to pull the plug from the drain before you noticed the plush white towel that had been folded neatly and left on the lid of the toilet for you. You gratefully reached it and wrapped it around your body, noticing the pruning of your fingertips.

How long had you been asleep?

You tentatively creaked open the bathroom door and peered outside into the apartment. It was dark, and empty, for all you could see, and you took a few cautious steps out into the room.

“Jake?”

You said softly, your soft call sounding much too loud in the quiet of the space. You proceeded forward towards the bed, shrouded only in light from the single lamp that was lit from across the way. Your clothes had been folded neatly and left in a pile at the foot of the bed, and you saw a small piece of paper settled on top. A note.

You picked it up and scanned it over once, then twice. You could tell this was Jake’s handwriting—it was a messy scrawl with an evident slant, the letters each written harshly with sharp lines. It was different from Steven’s languid scribbling, his words swirling together with smooth, clean strokes, and also from Marc’s, whose blocky penmanship was unmistakable. You couldn’t marvel at the fact that all three alters had markedly distinct handwriting, though, too focused on the content of the message to give it a second thought.

Went out for a drive Text when you get home See you tomorrow.

JAKE

You frowned slightly, heart feeling heavy in your chest as you forced yourself into your clothes. You checked the time—11:28. You’d conked out for nearly two hours, and you wondered how long ago Jake had stepped out. Was he waiting for your text in order to come back home? Waiting for you to leave so he didn’t have to see you?

You had absolutely no right to be upset, you knew. You should be grateful that he was sticking to his ordinary routine after your sexual encounter in honor of your experiment, but still, a pang of hurt bloomed in your chest. You briefly returned to the bathroom to blow out the flickering lavender candle before heading out the door, your legs wobbly as you trekked the two blocks back to your own apartment.

It was nearly midnight when you finally got home. You reached for your phone and shot the boys a brief message.

made it back safely x

A response came in barely thirty seconds later.

I'm so sorry Y/N He shouldn't have done this to you M

You fell into your bed immediately, eyes skimming Marc’s words, your lips pursing slightly. You let out a long sigh before typing your reply.

it's ok marc, i promise he didn’t do anything wrong i had a nice bath! :) tell jake i said goodnight xx

You connected your phone to the charger before setting it on the nightstand, quickly turning over and sinking into your pillow, trying to ignore the tears that were stinging the back of your eyes.

Your phone buzzed with a final message.

Sleep well baby Hope you give him hell tomorrow M

POINTS OF CONTENTION:

- slowing down

- embracing vulnerability and confiding in others

- accepting intimacy and allowing raw emotion

TREATMENT: - patience, foreplay - allowing himself to feel - aftercare (!)

You were, in fact, not going to give him Hell. Just the opposite, actually.

Jake spent too much of his time letting his demons possess him. Perhaps he needed a little taste of Heaven to show him what he's missing.

“Hi, Jake.”

You greeted shyly when the door swung inward. He leaned against the doorframe slightly, looking at you down the length of his nose. He didn’t say anything—just watched you. Studied you. Observing. After a few brief moments, you cleared your throat.

“Can I—uh, can I come in?”

A beat passed before he finally sidled back into the apartment, opening the door just enough to let you slip inside. Your side brushed against his front when you passed him, and the lingering smell of cigarette smoke clung to his white shirt. Oh, Steven would be livid.

You didn’t wait for an invitation before plopping down on one end of the sofa. Jake quirked a brow at your forwardness, and you signaled with the jerk of your head for him to join you on the other end. He offered a slow, dramatic roll of his eyes before seating himself beside you.

“What time did you get home last night?”

You asked quietly, fiddling with the hem of your shirt as you avoided his gaze. He breathed out a slow breath.

“Not too late. Hardly slept, though—your boyfriend wasn’t very happy with me. Kept me up all night, nagging at me.”

You frowned, finally noticing the deep purplish bags that had settled beneath his eyes. His curls were spilling out from beneath the brim of his flat cap.

“I’m sorry, Jake. Marc isn’t s’posed to be bothering you—it’s your weekend.”

He waved a dismissive hand, turning to settle further into the couch as he stared at some point straight ahead of him.

“No pasa nada. I’m used to it.”

He shifted in his seat slightly, his brows furrowing, and you could tell that he was receiving an earful from Marc.

“I’m—I guess I’m sorry, mi vida, if I upset you.”

You shook your head derisively.

“No, Jake, it’s—you’re fine. That’s what I asked you to do—treat me like any other girl.”

He let out a humorless bark of a laugh, knuckles rubbing over the stubbled skin of his jaw.

“Any other girl wouldn’t have gotten to see my bed, bebita.”

He noticed the perplexed look on your face and offered a sigh.

“It’s not...often, that I sleep with anyone like this. Usually it’s in the back of my cab, or a quick one in a closet—tienes suerte, mi vida. It’s rare they ever see me a second time.”

You felt a deep sadness wash over you at his confession. All Jake knew were rushed, meaningless hookups, no strings attached and no obligations. One and done.

“Is that why you didn’t kiss me, yesterday?”

Jake looked startled by your question, eyes widening marginally as his brows furrowed deeply. His lips set into a straight line, his jaw clenching tightly.

“I did kiss you. A lot.”

He insisted softly. You shook your head.

“No, Jake. A real kiss. You wouldn’t do it. Are—Is that not usually a part of your... you know?”

His knee began anxiously bouncing, his discomfort making itself evident to you.

“No sé. Never really thought about it before.”

You stood from the couch, and his stare followed your movements sharply as you crossed the short distance between you, stepping forward to stand between his spread legs. He looked up at you with dark, brooding eyes, uncertainty churning just beneath the surface. You slowly moved to sit on his lap, your thighs slotting on either side of his hips so you were straddling him. His hands mindlessly settled on your waist, his touch timid and delicate. Your fingers smoothed over his chest as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

“Can I kiss you, Jake?”

His lips silently parted, a flash of fear briefly flickering over his features as he gazed up at you longingly. His nervousness was palpable, his hesitancy evident through the tension in his shoulders and the crease between his brow. He didn’t offer you a response, so you carefully began leaning your face towards him, tilting your head so your nose brushed against his. You felt his stuttering exhale fan out across your face before you finally let your lips brush over his own.

It was soft, and tentative, as if he was unsure of how to respond or worried he would somehow break you. You pressed your mouth a bit firmer to his, melding against him. You wished, hoped he could feel all your emotions come through the kiss—how much you cared for him, how much you wanted to show him that. Maybe your manifestation worked, because after his few fleeting seconds of unresponsiveness, you felt him sink into the feeling, one arm traveling from your waist up your back to cradle the back of your head in his hand.

He shifted beneath you, trying to pull you closer, as if you weren’t already on top of him. You could feel the stiffness vacate his muscles as the kiss grew feverish, desperate, his lips moving against yours hastily and messily. His free hand began to roam the expanse of your back as he pressed his torso into your own, your nose smushing against his cheek as he gripped you tighter.

He whined when your tongue swiped across the seam of his mouth, his lips immediately parting to allow you access. You dove in to taste him, the stale tobacco and faint mint of his toothpaste overtaking your senses and inebriating you with the distinctive flavor of Jake. His own tongue began to tussle with yours as he mirrored your actions, your teeth clashing messily as he all but tried to swallow you whole.

You pulled back abruptly, gasping in a breath, and his mouth chased yours in a frantic attempt to maintain contact. You felt his hips instinctually rut up against you, his hands still pulling you tightly against his body as he nuzzled into your neck, inhaling the scent of your soft skin.

“Slow down, Jake, take it easy.”

You placed both of your hands on either one of his shoulders and forced him to relax against the couch, his body following your guidance as he sank backwards at your request. His eyes were practically crazed, his lips swollen and ruddy as he looked up at you with a half-lidded gaze, chest heaving with panted breaths.

“Oh, hermosa.”

His muttered, his grip pulling you back to his chest as he surged forward to hungrily meet your lips again, his hands beginning to claw over every inch of your body he could reach, trying to feel all of you. You pushed him away again, more forcefully this time, and he fell backwards with a grunt.

“Hey, relax. It’s okay, I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

A flicker of sadness glinted briefly in his dark eyes, a blink-and-you'll-miss-it expression, but you caught it. You offered him a soft, assuring smile, grabbing the hat from his head and tossing it to the side so you could sink your fingers into his hair. He leaned back into your touch as your nails gently scratched at his scalp, a soft, breathless moan breaking from his lips as his eyes fell shut. You leaned forward and pressed a single kiss to the exposed skin of his throat.

“Come on, handsome.”

He was reluctant to loosen his hold on you, but you reached for his hand and clutched his fingers tightly so he could still feel you touching him somewhere. You led him over to the bed, pausing at the foot of it and gesturing with a nod of your head for him to lay down. He quirked a brow at you, lips curling into a mischievous grin.

“You going to punish me for being so hard on you yesterday, bebita?”

You weren’t oblivious to the excitement that shone in his eyes—he seemed enticed by the possibility of you torturing him in a similar vein to Marc, and you figured that was some information you could keep in your back pocket for future reference.

Instead, you let out a saccharine giggle—it was sickeningly sweet, cloyingly so, and Jake might’ve gotten a toothache from the sugar if it weren’t for the softness with which you crept over his splayed-out body, sinking your front against his as you pressed a featherlight peck on his lips.

“No, Jake. Nothing like that.”

You let your weight settle onto him, straddling his lap and letting your chest fall flush against his as you kissed him again—he mouthed at you hungrily, trying to force his tongue into your mouth, fighting for dominance, and you gently pulled away.

“Hey, tough guy. What’s your rush?”

His brows furrowed, gaze flickering from your eyes and down to your dewy lips, his pupils blown wide. You smiled sweetly at him.

“Slow down, okay? There’s no hurry, really. Let me just feel you.”

He blew out a huff of air before your lips were on his again, and he heeded your request, letting you take the lead as your poured all of your passion into the kiss. It was slow, deep, intimate, your fingers sliding beneath the hem of his shirt and across the hot skin of his torso, pushing the material up as you went. You slowly drew back to discard the article of clothing before immediately latching your mouth to his, slow movements still heavy and dripping with desire. You finally parted his lips with the swipe of your tongue, and you felt his fingers sink into your hair, tilting his head for a better angle with which to lavish you.

You could feel him getting greedier as he pressed his body up into your warmth, hands sliding down the expanse of your back and making a move to rip your shirt from your body. You pulled back suddenly, giving him a warning look.

“Hey. Slow.”

You reminded, and he stuttered out an exhale, his fingers gradually raising your shirt above your head as he tossed it to the side. His eyes ravished your body as his fingers traced along the newly exposed skin of your sides, his touch softly skimming your curves before coming up to cup at your breasts. You smiled sweetly down at him as he pressed a few fervent kisses to your collarbone. His dark eyes found yours, lips parted provocatively as he silently asked for your permission. You nodded gently, and his fingers trembled with restraint as he slowly reached around to unclasp your bra.

It was taking everything within his power not to flip you over and pound into you, but something about the look in your eye—reverent, devoted, loving—he didn’t mind too much.

When your breasts exposed themselves to him, he made a low rumbling noise from the back of his throat, leaning forward to latch onto one of your nipples hastily. You tugged at his hair and he groaned in frustration.

“Jake.”

You warned, and he pressed his face down into your cleavage, his breathing ragged and shallow.

“Mierda, bebita. You like being on top so much, hm? Like being in control of papi?”

You gently pulled at his curls again, forcing his face to lift and look up at you. You regarded him softly, one of your hands coming to delicately trace over his jaw and cheekbone.

“No, honey. None of that, okay?”

His brows furrowed, and you leaned down to press a kiss against the crease between them.

“It’s just you and me. Jake and Y/N.”

He repeated your name back to you in a low murmur, as if saying it for the very first time. Actually, now that you thought about it—maybe it was. Jake had never addressed you by your name before, only used endearments to speak with you.

He seemed puzzled by your suggestion, eyes round and questioning and lost, almost uncomfortable with the proposal of having you call him by his actual name.

“You can be on top if you really want to, Jake.”

You pressed a kiss to his nose, then atop both of his fluttering eyelids, then one in the center of his hairline.

“You just—have to be patient.”

You pressed your forehead against his, letting your eyes drift shut as you took in the soft sound of his breathing, finally settling down and evening out. You felt his head tilt up to meet yours again, and you let him kiss you, his pace steady and deliberate, easing you into a rhythm. His hands slowly crawled up your spine, cradling you close to him as he licked into your mouth, his hips bucking up just slightly when you gently tugged at his lower lip with your teeth. He pulled away, shaking his head at your flirtatious action and giving you a playful glare before mouthing gently at your jawline, down your neck and behind your ear. When you leaned into his touch, he sank his teeth in and suckled a deep red mark into your skin, earning a soft whimper in appreciation. His lips stayed pressed against you as they trailed down the column of your neck, along your collarbone and shoulder, and finally down to the flesh of your breasts.

You breathed out a low moan when he placed wet open-mouthed kisses along the top curves of your chest, slowly teasing lower until his teeth scraped your hardened nipple and his lips puckered around it. His hand came to palm at your other breast, kneading at the doughy flesh as he stared up at you seductively through his lashes.

“Fuck, Jake.”

You whimpered, and the sound of his name rolling so deliciously off of your tongue caused his hips to grind up against you once more. When he was satisfied with the array of red and purple marks he’d imprinted on your skin, he dragged his face back up to your own and pressed his lips to yours once again.

You were impressed with his restraint. You could feel the hardness in his muscles, see the tension in his thick shoulders as he forced himself to take his time instead of jumping your bones from the start. You hummed against his mouth before pulling yourself away and off of his lap, your fingers slowly trailing down the length of his torso before settling on the buckle of his jeans.

His breath stuttered at the action, his abdominal muscles contracting as he awaited your next move. You gently reached down to palm at his bulge through the layers of fabric and he groaned throatily, his eyes fluttering shut at the much needed stimulation. Your fingers deftly worked to unloop his belt before unbuttoning his jeans, and he lifted his hips to assist you in pulling them off of him.

When he was left in just his briefs, you pressed gently against his shoulder to make him lay back down and relax. He sank back into the pillows, propped up so he had a decent view of you between his legs, your fingers teasingly stroking over his length through the thin cotton of his boxers. He hissed.

“Estás una calientapollas. Please, hermosa. Y/N.”

He saw the way your eyes darted to his face at the sound of your name, your lips parting and your fingers ceasing their gentle sweeping motion over his cock. You held his gaze as you slowly reached up towards the waistband of his briefs and coaxed them down his legs, freeing his member that had been straining against the fabric.

After you’d tossed his final undergarment aside, you settled back between Jake's legs, your hands stroking each of his inner thighs softly, watching as he pulled his lip between his teeth. Your left hand slowly, slowly crept upwards until it ghosted over the silky skin of his shaft, his body shuddering in response to your touch. You waited until his eyes were open again, watching you, before leaning forward and letting a pool of your saliva drip from your lips and onto his awaiting cock. He keened at the sight, his hips jerking just slightly as you finally wrapped your hand around the base and began to stroke him at a treacherously slow pace.

“Mierda. Fuck.”

He grunted quietly, trying to keep his hips still as you started to pump him a bit faster, glittering eyes staring up at him reverently. It was dizzying, the way you gazed up at him with such infatuation. It almost made him nauseous.

You slowly leaned down and licked the precum from his leaking slit before letting your lips wrap around the head, swirling your tongue languidly over the tip, watching his face scrunch up in pleasure.

You briefly pulled back to press kisses up along his entire length, coupled with soft caresses of your fingertips. It was clear to you that Jake was beginning to feel frustrated—his hands were buried in his hair, head thrown back against the bed as if attempting to subdue his desires.

You took him back into your mouth, working him slowly over with your tongue and swallowing him down bit by bit, agonizingly slow. You could feel Jake’s thighs tensing around you, his hands flying from his head to fist at the sheets on either side of his body.

When you gagged around his cock, he lost his composure. You made a startled choking sound when you felt his hand against the back of your head, pressing you down onto his length as his hips bucked up to try to sink into your throat. You immediately recoiled, and Jake nearly whined, his eyes desperately pleading with you to grant him some release. You weren’t taking any pleasure in seeing him like this—this wasn’t your end goal.

“You going to edge me like Marc, huh? Want to hear me beg?”

His voice broke off slightly, his frustrations venting through his lips as he almost glared at you. You sat up, moving to straddle his waist once more so you could press your lips to his again.

“No, Jake, I told you, I’m not. I just—Let me take care of you. Wanna show you how much you mean to me, wanna—wanna worship you, wanna make you feel good—”

His brows furrowed as you rambled slightly, your eyes big and round and glassy. He was confused—what exactly was it that you wanted from him?

“Let me fuck you, mi vida—make us both feel good with me inside you, hm?”

“No, Jake, just—hang on, that’s not—”

“Then what? Want to see if I can be as vanilla as your little Steven?”

“I want to make love with you, Jake.”

His breath resembled something of a gasp as his eyebrows shot up nearly to his hairline, disappearing beneath his curls while his eyes widened almost comically at your hasty confession. You cringed inwardly at your forwardness, taking in the expression of sheer panic on Jake’s face that had him looking like a deer in headlights. You sighed, leaning forward to press your forehead into his chest in an attempt to hide your face from view.

“Fuck. Sorry. I just—I don’t want you to feel like you have to rush through this. I’m sorry, I just—I want—want you to enjoy it, want you to let yourself feel it, Jake.”

You could feel his heart pounding against his ribcage, his lack of response smothering you after your fervent explanation. You wanted to disappear, wanted the ground to cave in and swallow you whole—instead, silence consumed you, settling across your back like a weight that you weren’t strong enough to carry.

“That’s...a new one for me.”

His voice was quiet, sheepish, and you could feel the vibrations rumbling in his chest as you lifted your head to look at him.

“I know.”

You acknowledged quietly. He was staring at you. Dark eyes searching within yours, scanning your expression, every detail of your face, as if attempting to see straight through you. Your heart was still pounding, your face rosy with an embarrassed blush—you felt his arms shift, his hand hesitantly lifting, fingers ghosting over the skin right above the waistband of your jeans at your hips, getting about as close as he could to holding you without actually touching you at all.

You’d never seen Jake Lockley at a loss for words before, and you’d certainly never seen him look so unsure. He was always so collected, nonchalant and unfazed, never dropping his guard for more than a second before that smug smirk reappeared on his face. He took things in stride, his confidence stifling as if he was always three steps ahead of the rest of the world, always knowing what came next.

But now there was vulnerability displayed across his slacken face, a certain wariness serrating his words as he spoke.

“I’m sorry, mi vida, but I don’t—”

“You don’t have to apologize, Jake, really, I promise it’s okay.”

You reached up a hand to cradle the side of his face, fingers gliding across the stubble of his jaw as your thumb brushed over his cheek. His head instinctually tilted in the direction of your hold, turning to press a soft kiss to the palm of your hand.

“I’m sorry. This—I don’t know what I was thinking. This isn’t fair to ask of you at all, it wasn’t a part of the deal, and—we can stop here. Let’s—just tell me where you wanna go from here and we can do it. Anything.”

You breathed, looking into his eyes, your brows furrowed in remorse as you anxiously awaited his reply. He was still just looking at you, unwavering, his chest heaving slightly with each brash exhale.

You felt his fingers skate up your bare spine and you straightened at his touch, letting him gently pull you towards him until your noses were brushing again. His gaze never left yours as he drank you in, his lips parting so you could feel his warm breath against yours. After a few more grueling beats, your pulse jumping with anticipation, his closed the gap and kissed you with a tenderness you didn’t know he even possessed. He pulled himself into a sitting position, wrapping his arms around you until they enveloped you completely, your bodies melding together as his tongue traced the seam of your mouth, although he didn’t press any further—just feeling you, tasting you, savoring the sweetness that seemed to course through your veins.

You were breathless when he pulled back, although he only recoiled just enough to speak. You could feel the movement of his lips against your face as his dark eyes burned through you.

“Hermosa, I don’t—I’ve never... Nunca he hecho esto antes.”

You knew what he was saying even if you couldn’t actually understand it. Your eyes crinkled at the corners as you smiled softly at him, sliding your palms over his chest before wrapping your arms tightly around his neck.

“It’s okay, honey. I—we can figure it out together.”

He blinked rapidly at you, and if you didn’t know any better, you might’ve thought there were tears shining across his eyes. But then he was kissing you again, so softly and sincerely that it fucking hurt.

Your body was slotted perfectly against his, flush against the contours of his current position as his hands slid up and down your spine, settling lowly on your back, just above your ass. You could feel his aching arousal pressing into your heat, rubbing against the seam of your jeans as he held you against him. You let his tongue lick inside your mouth greedily before you drew away.

“Can I—Can I keep going?”

You asked softly, grinding your clothed core up against him for emphasis. A breathy whimper fell from his lips as he closed his eyes, resting his forehead against yours for a moment before slowly nodding. You slowly crawled down the length of his body, pressing gentle kisses all the way down until you found yourself settled between his legs once again, not wasting any time in wrapping your hand around his cock and giving him a few gentle strokes. He sank into the mattress, throwing his head back into the pillows as his teeth sank into his bottom lip.

“You’re supposed to enjoy this, okay? But remember, this—this isn’t just about making each other cum, it’s—wanna make you feel good. We’ll take it nice and slow. You tell me when you’re ready to—when you wanna move on, and we will, okay?”

He looked down at you, his eyes still full of doubt and hesitance, but beneath the veneer you could see the warmth of trust shining through. He nodded at you reassuringly, and the soft smile he offered was one you’d never seen from him before—so genuine and credulous that it almost resembled Steven.

Without another word, you leaned forward and let the tip of your tongue trace the driblet of precome that had begun to slide down the length of his shaft. You wrapped your lips around the head of his cock, suckling at the flesh as your hand began to stroke him steadily, wrist twisting just slightly to maximize the stimulation.

Jake let you toy with him for awhile, his hands gripping the sheets on either side of him in tight fists while he endured you doting on his throbbing cock.

When you reached to squeeze for his balls, your head sinking a bit lower onto his length, you felt his fingers wrap in your hair and gently coax you off of him, a low growl rumbling in his chest. You immediately ceased your ministrations, staring up at him attentively as he blinked slowly at you, his lip swollen from where he had been biting it.

“Do you—you want me to stop? Wanna—want me to ride you, or—”

He interrupted you with groan, throwing his head back against the pillows and squeezing his eyes shut. You could feel the muscles of his abdomen rippling.

“No, mi vida, it’s alright, whenever—you can stay down there as long as you like, I just—mierda, your mouth is so good to me, hermosa. Worried I’m gonna cum.”

He confessed, a sort of pained expression on his face. You gave him a pitying look—it wasn’t mocking, not at all, but genuine sympathy. You didn’t want to make him miserable.

“Just a little bit longer, okay, honey? I know it’s hard going so slow, I’m sorry, but—but I promise, when you finally let go, it’ll be worth it, okay?”

He smiled meekly at you, nodding as he removed his hand from your hair and returned it to its position tangled in the sheets at his side. You gave him one last reassuring glance before sinking your mouth back down onto his cock and lavishing him with more attention.

For several more minutes, he let you worship him, his hips jolting and cock twitching, although he was displaying great levels of restraint when it came to letting you dictate the speed and pace of your actions. You suckled one of his balls into your mouth, watching as he squirmed, legs kicking just slightly beside you as he mewled, his face scrunched up in pleasure.

You released him with a popping sound, finally satisfied with how you’d worked him up and extolled his cock. You crawled up his body and he eagerly welcomed your proximity, pulling you to his mouth to plant a hard, desperate kiss to your mouth. You smiled into him, fingers nestled in his curls.

“Thank you, Jake, did so well.”

You whispered, pressing gentle kisses to the expanse of his jaw as his chest heaved beneath you. He hummed to acknowledge your praise, although you could feel the tension in his muscles as he impatiently awaited your signal that you could continue.

When your eyes met his, they blinked at him, docile and alluring, and he took that as his cue to roll you onto your back so he could position himself on top of you. He pressed a few kisses to your mouth, as if he was struggling to pull himself away, before his lips traveled down your neck and collarbone, his hands popping the button on your jeans to finally have you bare beneath him. You didn’t protest when he pulled them down off of you, your panties joining them soon after. He leaned up to kiss you again, his rock-hard length dipping into your sopping folds as his body rocked against yours once, then twice, earning a low whimper from your throat.

“Go ahead, honey, I’m ready for you.”

You whispered, voice sweet, and he groaned lowly. However, he surprised you by pressing a soft peck to your cheek before sinking down the length of your body, his mouth trailing a line down the center of your torso before kissing right atop your pubic bone, brown eyes watching you closely. Your breath stuttered as you wrapped your fingers in his hair unconsciously.

“Jake, you’ve waited long enough, you don’t have to—”

“Wanna do this right, Y/N.”

He whispered, leaning forward to place a gentle kiss on your clit, causing you to gasp.

“Make me feel so good, hermosa. Promised going slow is worth it—gonna make it worth it for you, too.”

You couldn’t dwell on the fluttering sensation in your chest when his mouth pressed against you, wet tongue meeting your dripping folds with attentiveness—you released a soft cry as he lapped at your entranced, the tip of his tongue prodding at your clit gently, causing you to squirm.

Jake liked to run his mouth, but now, he was silent. It's not that he didn’t want to talk, didn’t want to spur you on with filthy praise—he simply couldn’t find the words. He was absolutely hypnotized by the sight above him, bewitched by the expression of pure, unadulterated euphoria on your face at each ministration he offered. He’d never been witness to such a beautiful view before—any time he’d gone down on someone, watching their nonverbal responses to his touch simply wasn’t his priority. It had always been rushed, forceful, as he ripped orgasm after orgasm from his partner with greed and insatiability. But now—now it was you. He was in between your legs, pulling angelic sounds from your lips as your thighs quaked around his head. You were glowing, radiant, ethereal as you basked in the pleasure, and Jake finally realized why foreplay was so important—seeing you like this might be even better than the real thing.

He heeded your words. He wasn’t trying to make you cum, wasn’t speeding you towards your climax with rapid swipes of his tongue and fingers. He was savoring you, each brush of his mouth against your core was languid and indulgent. His lips puckered around your sensitive bundle of nerves, drawing slow circles around it with his tongue as your fingers fisted tighter into his curls, offering enough of a sting to make him groan around you. His tongue dipped into your entrance, lapping at your dripping arousal, your walls fluttering around his thick muscle as your hips jerked to meet his thrusts, pressing yourself against his face to chase your mounting pleasure.

This was different than the orgasms he’d granted you the day prior—this was a simmering heat, coiling lowly in your stomach, festering and building slowly as he sought out the places that made you squirm. You could feel the intensity spiking, even though his lazy speed remained constant—the way his dark eyes stayed firmly fixated on your face was dragging you closer and closer to the threshold.

“Fuck, Jake, oh God—”

You whined, and his hands slipped beneath your ass, lifting your hips to grant him a better angle at which to devour you. Your thighs were trembling, his tongue beginning to swipe over your clit in rapid side-to-side motions—the change of pace pulled a ragged wail from within you, the muscles of your abdomen squeezing tight. He couldn’t control the shameful rutting of his hips into the mattress beneath him at the sound.

“So close, Jake, yes, fuck—”

You were right on the precipice, stars clouding your vision, but right before you tipped over the edge, you yanked your hips back, lifting Jake's head away from you with your grip on his hair. He jolted, hazy eyes suddenly wide and alert as he sat back, bewildered at your abrupt departure from his lips. You squeezed your eyes shut as your orgasm dissipated, your tense muscles sinking back into the mattress as the coil loosened itself. You breathed out lowly, your lashes fluttering as you opened your arms to pull Jake against you.

“Sorry, honey, I—so good, Jake, fuck, but I—wanna cum on your cock, wanna cum with you.”

A low groan escaped him as he pressed his forehead to yours, eyes blinking closed to stave off the arousal that was singeing his insides.

“You—¿estás lista, mi vida? Are you sure?”

You nodded vigorously, pressing a kiss to his lips, and he let out a slow breath, hands sliding to your sides. Your brows furrowed when he pulled back, gently attempting to roll you onto your stomach. You reached up to grip his shoulders tightly, shaking your head.

“No, no, Jake, I want—wanna see you, wanna be close to you, please.”

There was turmoil churning behind his eyes as he stared down at you, brows furrowed heavily as he fought his internal battle. You realized he’d probably never done it like this before—if the fact that he was afraid to kiss you was any indication, you wouldn’t be surprised to learn that he’d never let himself be caught in such an intimate position.

But then his eyes softened, his hand coming to cradle the side of your face, his thumb pressing up against the swell of your lower lip.

“Okay, hermosa. Por ti hago lo que sea.”

You felt his member slide between your dripping folds, the head of his cock brushing across your clit as he guided it against your center, hearing the way your breath hitched at the feel of him over your bundle of nerves. You felt it notch at your entrance, the tip just barely breaching your folds. Jake cursed lowly under his breath, eyes glued to where his cock was about to sink into you. In spite of your desperation, your hands lifted to rest on either side of his face, forcing his eyes onto you.

“Look at me, honey. Want you to look at me when you split me open.”

“Carajo.”

He muttered, closing his eyes to steel himself before opening them again to stare into yours. You watched his lips part as he pushed into you, unbearably slow, a low moan rumbling through his diaphragm as he sank into you, only stopping when he was fully-seated within your fluttering walls.

The intimacy was stifling him. He felt lightheaded, breathless, his body hovering over yours just barely as he held himself up above you, drinking in your heavenly being—your hair was fanned out on the pillow beneath you, your pink lips slicked with saliva as your gazed up at him with doe-eyes, blinking slowly as your walls clenched around him.

“God, Jake.”

You whispered, arms wrapping around his neck and pulling so he fell against you, chest flush against your own. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, staying still inside of you for a few brief moments in order to just feel the way you surrounded him.

Slowly, carefully, he pulled back his hips, just barely, before pressing back inside of you, your moans echoing in unison as his balls nestled tightly against your ass again. He’d always been so busy chasing his release, relentlessly pounding into you that he hadn’t taken the time to appreciate just how perfectly he filled you, just how perfectly your walls clamped around his pulsing length.

“So good, mi vida.”

He groaned against your neck, repeating the motion of his hips at a more steady pace. Each thrust pressed against your cervix, causing you to whimper.

“Fill me up so nice, Jake, fuck, feels so good.”

He felt your walls clamp around him once more, and he pulled his head back slightly, lifting himself up a bit more so he could increase the breadth of his thrusts.

“Me vas a matar.”

He growled, sucking in a breath through his teeth as one hand came to palm at your breast, his eyes glued to the way the other bounced with each push of his hips forward. His eyes drifted back to the fucked-out expression on your face, your lips parted as you stared up at him, and his hips stuttered just slightly.

God, he was close already.

“Fuck, hermosa, me arruinas.”

You could feel him faltering, a bead of sweat dripping from one of his curls and down onto your chest, sliding between your breasts and down to your stomach. He watched it dribble downward, eyes dazed, his abdomen clenching as he attempted to stave off his impending orgasm.

His hand clumsily wedged between your bodies, fingers finding your clit and rubbing it in crude circles, his arm trembling just slightly. Watching him grow desperate above you was enough to spark the beginnings of your climax. You pulled him down for a bruising kiss, teeth clashing and tongues swirling as you swallowed his incessant groans.

“Wan’ you to cum with me, Jake.”

Your words were drawled, drunk on the way his cock filled you, and you could feel pleasure sparking in the base of your spine. The speed of his fingers on your clit sped up slightly, his hips struggling to maintain their cadence.

“Mierda, hermosa, oh fuck, so tight—can’t, I can’t—”

“Cum inside me, Jake.”

Your words were only a whisper as you skated along the edge of your orgasm, just barely hanging on as you desperately tried to convince Jake to let go. His eyes blew open wide at your words, grunting as his hips continued jacking forward.

“Y/N, shit, don’t—I’ve never—”

“Oh, God, fuck, I’m cumming, Jake, please, please cum with me, fuck—”

He couldn’t have stopped himself even if he tried. The rhythmic pulsing of your walls around his painfully hard cock was harrowing, gripping him so tightly that he couldn’t have pulled out even if he wanted to.

His balls drew up tight as his climax exploded.

“Oh, me vengo—mierda, fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m cumming, shit, shit, shit—”

His eyes rolled back as he nearly collapsed on top of you, his hips pistoning forward again and again as he shot his spend deep into your walls, his cock pulsing. His orgasm seemed to last minutes as his vision blacked out, brain emptying as his awareness only focused on how the pleasure zipped across his skin with each pump of cum that he released and how tightly your walls were squeezing him, milking him for all he was worth. He’d never cum so hard in his life, or so much—his seed was leaking out around his length as his body slowed to a halt, your tired cunt stuffed full of him as his cock spilled one final spurt of warm release, the head of his member settling against your cervix as he stilled, his weight bearing down on you as he went boneless.

Jake was slowly grounded back into reality at the feeling of your fingertips brushing softly across the length of his spine, your other hand buried in his curls from where his face was tucked into your shoulder. He could feel your hot lips pressed against his temple, your breathing steady and even as you regained your bearings. He forced himself to follow your inhalation patterns, attempting to slow the racing of his heart.

As the endorphins flooding his bloodstream began to thin out, his anxieties threatened to consume him once again. He pushed himself up and off of you, groaning at the soreness in his muscles and the exhaustion tingeing the edge of his movements. You could do nothing but watch him as he slowly pulled out of you, and you expected him to leave you as hastily as he had the day before—maybe he would’ve, if not for the way his eyes glued themselves to your exposed center, enthralled by the sight of his cum oozing from your fluttering hole and dripping downwards.

Your hips jumped slightly when you felt his fingers gently sweep over your cunt—his gaze never lifted as he scooped his release from where is was beginning to escape and pushed it back into you, forcing you to keep as much of him inside as you could. His eyes were dark, possessive as he tilted your hips up just slightly in an effort to stop his cum from leaking out of you.

His sudden captivation and obsession with filling you was surprising, a stark contrast from just moments before when he had desperately resisted your pleas to finish inside of you. The ghost of a smile flickered over his lips as he settled you back down, seemingly content with the show. His eyes flickered up to yours, and as soon as your gazes met, you saw the way a shadow crested his features, abruptly throwing up his guard after the unexpected vulnerability he’d just granted you.

Jake walked to the bathroom, letting the door shut behind him with a click. You pulled yourself into a sitting position, sighing as you felt the stickiness between your thighs and settling beneath you. You should clean yourself up, get dressed and head out so that—

The bathroom door swung open again and Jake walked out, a wet washcloth awkwardly held in his left hand. He stood at the end of the bed for a moment, as if unsure of what to do next. His eyes hesitantly found yours.

“Do—I’m—I haven’t done this part before, mi vida.”

He quietly admitted, offering a sheepish shrug of his shoulders. Still, your heart warmed at his efforts.

“Thought—figured I’d try what Marc does, but I don’t—”

“Thank you, Jake, that’s perfect.”

You encouraged softly, and his eyes lit up with your soft praises as he knelt down on the edge of the bed, leaning down to carefully press the cloth to your ruined core. You sucked in a sharp breath, the coldness of the water a foreign sensation in contrast to the heat that was broiling between your legs—Jake recoiled, eyes searching yours widely for direction. You offered him a lopsided grin.

“Sorry, s’just—sensitive.”

You explained, and he nodded, slowly wiping at the arousal that stained your skin. His lips were pursed as he focused on his actions, trying desperately not to hurt you. After awhile, he sighed.

“Would you—do you want Marc? Or Steven?”

Your face fell as he finished cleaning you up, tossing the towel on the floor beside the bed, before facing you, his curls falling across his forehead and into his eyes. You frowned.

“No, Jake—not unless you don’t want to—it’s okay, I can always leave if that’s—”

He let out a humorless, bitter laugh, one hand coming up to stroke at his stubbled jaw as he stared at the ceiling, clearly uncomfortable.

“No sé lo que estoy haciendo.”

You heard him mumble breathlessly, his shoulders sagging with defeat.

“Do you—will you come lay with me, Jake?”

You asked softly, as if you were speaking to a wild animal and were trying desperately not to scare it away. His eyes darted to your face, lips parting to protest, to make up an excuse, but then he shook his head at himself, crawling up towards you and seating himself beside you, his back resting against the headboard. You tentatively leaned into his side, nestling your head against his shoulder. You felt him stiffen beside you slightly, but then his arm moved to wrap around you, pulling you closer against his side.

You felt him release a breath he’d been holding as you lifted a hand to rest on his bare chest, drawing random shapes into the warm skin mindlessly.

“Why did you think I’d want Marc or Steven?”

You asked softly, your eyes watching the movement of your fingers on his chest. His hold on you tightened.

“This—s’not my job. I don’t do things like this.”

You sat upright, turning to face him fully. His eyes were hard as they looked at you.

“What do you mean, not your job?”

His lips pursed.

“You know, hermosa. You’re the doctor, hm? Steven and me, we’re—we both do something for Marc. S’why we’re here. Marc and Steven, they—they get to feel things, know people. I’m—I’m just here to make sure they’re safe, that they don’t get hurt.”

Tears pricked behind your eyes as his words registered in your brain. There was an aching sensation festering in your chest.

“No, Jake, that’s not—that’s not how this works. You’re a person, you have every right to experience things just like they do, you’re—”

“No pasa nada. This is the way things are, hermosa. I know you thought—thought you’d be able to come and figure us out, show us what’s what, but—but I already know who I am, what part I play.”

The dejection in his voice was unmistakable. There was bitterness in his words, resentment. The pain in your chest expanded.

“I protect. That’s what I do. Means I don’t get—I don’t get to have this, mi vida. What happened today—that’t not mine.”

A tear rolled down your cheek, so you turned and sank back into his side, hoping he didn’t catch your display of emotion. In spite of himself, he let you press against him, savoring the feeling of your soft skin against his own.

You were hoping he’d open himself up to you after your intimate tryst, but you obviously misread the situation—his walls had come back up, even stronger and more unwavering than before.

Perhaps he sensed your sadness. You felt him release a long sigh, his muscles going lax as he let his head fall against the headboard.

“Lo siento, hermosa. I—you deserve better than what I can give you.”

Your head turned to gaze up at him, finding his eyes staring straight ahead at a random focal point. You felt your heart crack a bit.

“Stop, Jake, don’t say that. That’s not true, I don’t—”

“It’s okay, mi vida. I appreciate what you tried to do for me today. Significa mucho para mí.”

He swallowed, and when he finally looked down at you, the warmth he’d been unabashedly displaying for you had been replaced by the familiar austere glint that normally resided there.

No. You wouldn’t have it. Not after all of this.

Your hand reached up to cradle his jaw, thumb swiping over the apple of his cheek as you turned his head to face you.

“I know you’ve heard me say it, Jake. To Marc and Steven. This wasn’t—this isn’t just research.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as his eyes flickered down to your lips, and you felt the arm that was wrapped around you tighten its grip again.

“I care about you, a lot—”

“You don’t know me.”

His words were brazen, suddenly harsh, insistent against your admission. Your brows furrowed.

“I’m not—I’m not like the others. I’m—I’m no good, hermosa. You care about Steven, and Marc, but I’m not like them. I don’t feel things like them, I can’t—estás mejor sin mí.”

“Then let me know you, Jake. You’re a part of this system, just as much as Marc and Steven, and you deserve to be happy.”

He didn’t answer you—his jaw rippled at the conviction your tone offered, so certain with yourself. You let out a long sigh, reaching to pull at his arm as you shifted. His brows furrowed, but he let you coax him into a lying position, his head against the pillows as you once again nestled into his side, arms wrapped tightly around his torso as you pressed your front against his side, face squished against his shoulder. You placed a soft kiss to the skin there.

“I’m gonna stay with you tonight, okay, Jake?”

You felt his muscles tense in protest, every fiber of his being telling him to make you leave, to get up and go, but the proximity and warmth of your body was intoxicating. After a few beats, he finally offered a slow nod, his limbs relaxing as he sank into the bed. You reached to pull the duvet over you two, clutching onto him tightly, and even if he refused to hold you back, you could feel the way his body went pliant beneath your touch.

He shouldn’t let you so close. He’d managed to keep his distance before—but with the way your breaths slowed into gentle snores, your hair tickling against his bicep, your comforting heat seeping into his bones—he felt his resolve begin to crack beneath the pressure of your insistent affections.

Jake let himself mold against you, his head tilting to rest against the top of yours as he pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of your head—he told himself that it was okay, you were sleeping, no one ever had to know just how much you’d softened him, how deeply you’d sunk your perfectly-manicured nails into his flesh—and no one ever had to know just how much he loved it.

For the first time in what felt like ever, Jake Lockley actually slept.

TAGLIST: @kezibear143 @gingermous @josephquinncore @steven-grants-world @am-3-thyst @fanofverymanythings @vaneyvfs @theboggyman-blog @belladri @roserfz27 @nowayhomerry @justanotherkpopstanlol @bagsy-not-it @elles-mind-palace @pimosworld @winterbiip @moonmoonboys @icuminurbutt @spxctorsslxt @fandomqueen74 @freerangesweets @wumpsquill @wordacadabra @lunaleah @hornkneeforbucky @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @sweatyroadcowboyjudge @ronanthesimp @deezisnotreal @avengersinitiative2012 @pri00r @wand-erer5 @bitchotine @cookielovesbook-akie @kingtwhiddleston @manofworm @welcometostayingawake @papillonoirsworld @xsarcasticwriterx @this--is--music @paradox-brody-chase

[emotionally-damaged-carrot]

Charles Leclerc x Male Reader

I've got you

I forgot what the request was, and my wifi is shit rn. I think it went like this? Might be completely different tho, if it is, I don't mind rewriting. Just send me an ask if it is good or nah.

I feel like this is shit, cause I think I made it messy I honestly do not know that direction I was taking this in.😓

Cheers!

Warning: Self harm

I hear whispers as I walk the streets I call home. It hurts, feeling their gazes dig into me, their words pulling out my privacy.

"We should go home."

I feel Y/n pull my hand.

"Why? We just left."

"I-I don't feel so good."

He smiled at me sheepishly.

"You want to eat, you're hungry we ca-"

"We can order at home."

"We are not ordering again, just because you are scared of the rumours does not mean they hold power over you, over me, over us."

I looked back at him as I held his hand firmly and continued to walk, pulling him with me.

"We are going to eat in the restaurant that I reserved for us."

"Okay."

——

"Y/n?"

I shouted throughout the house as I walked around looking for him. I walked past a bathroom and heard quiet sniffles, almost like someone was crying. I tried to open the door.

"Y/n?"

I said as I kept on trying and the sniffles got louder.

"Open the door, bebé."

"G-go away."

"Why are you crying? Open the door, Y/n, please."

I kept on trying to open the door and finally I broke the lock mechanism of the knob. I was not expecting to see what I saw, a crying Y/n, surround by a red liquid. I immediately knelt down beside him, taking him into a hug, not caring that my pants are wet with the red liquid.

"Why?"

"I'm sorry."

——

"Y/n?"

We now lay on our bed, comfortable, warm and together. My hand slowly ran through his hair as he laid on my chest.

"Why did you do it, Y/n?"

"Do what?"

"What you did a few months ago."

"what d-"

"Don't act stupid, Y/n, I know what you did, I saw the blade. And if you forgot, you were soaking wet with your own blood, your wrist had multiple gashes."

"I don't know."

"I could've lost you, Y/n, I can't imagine the world with you gone. The world will stop spinning, the sun will stop shining and the moon will stop glowing. The turmoil of the sea will calm to mourn you, Y/n, I don- I ca- I- no, please, Y/n."

I began to slowly cry as I held him tighter and kissed the top of his head.

"Why?"

"I don't know."

——

"Y/n, your game is in 4 days. Why again, Y/n, why?"

I held his forearm that was bleeding profusely with deep cuts. His face was tearful as I cleaned the wound and tried to stop the bleeding.

"Y/n, please, tell me what's wrong?"

"I don't kn-"

"To fucking hell you don't, you do, you fucking do. PLEASE, tell me, Y/n, please, I cannot be with you all the time. Please tell me, I am already begging you, Y/n, please."

I looked at him as tears began to well up in my eyes at the sight of him.

"Th-the rumours, I don't like them, I can't ignore them and the v-voices help me."

"What voices?"

"The ones that say what to do."

——

"Are you okay, mr. L/n?"

A man in a white coat said as I slowly began to wake up.

"where am I?"

"You are in the hospital, while you were in the middle of your football game, you may have exerted too much and it caused the wounds on your arm to open up. You bled profusely and we were struggling to control your blood loss. As of the moment we can say you lost approximately 52% of your total blood level."

"What? Did we win?"

"Sir, your recovery is of the at most importance right now."

"Did we win?"

I said now more aggressive but my head began to hurt like hell and I could not move my arm.

"Yes."

"Was that so hard to say?"

"We need to keep you calm, Sir, any rise in blood pressure will cause headaches and lightheadedness please take some rest, we will be back to check in on you bi hourly."

The doctor said as he left the room.

A phone rang on my side, I turned to see my phone with Charles' name on it. I took it and answered the call.

"He-"

"Are you okay? What did the doctor say? What did they say?"

"I am okay, Charlie."

"I'm sorry I can't come, I have a race in 4 hours."

"It's okay, thank you for calling, good luck on your race."

"Get well soon, I have to go now, bye bye."

"Love you."

"Love you."

He hung up the phone.

——

"Y/n, again?"

He sat on the floor of our bathroom again, covered in blood, again.

"Why, why do you keep doing this, Y/n."

I took the bloody razor from his hand and placed it on the sink.

"I can't- once I start it's impossible to stop."

He cried as I hugged him and kissed his head, reassuring him that I am here and I will not be leaving.

"It's okay, you're okay."

"I'm sorry."

"You don't have to be, it's not your fault."

"But I did it."

"Did you want to?"

"No."

I held him tight as I sat beside him, my clothes now getting bloody.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be, I still love you, and I will help you become better. Cause that's what love is, you build each other up to be a better person for each other."

I held him as I faced the ceiling, trying to stop the tears from flowing down.

"I need help."

.

[queenshelby]

Daughter Dearest (Part 15)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy (47) x Step! Daughter (21)

Warning: Infidelity, Smut, Dysfunctional Family

Please comment and engage!

Later that day, at around midnight, you were still tossing and turning. You had already gone to bed two hours ago but your thoughts remained stubbornly awake, fueled by the events of last night and the fact that you had almost been caught.

You had no chance telling Cillian about the Twitter post yet, nor did you talk to him about what Cliora had told you. She, of course, did not know that the woman seen with Cillian was you, but you were obviously determined to keep your stories straight in case your mother asked where he was until late and, also, where you were all night.

You had managed to evade her questions all day, at least for the most of it, but you knew it was only a matter of time before she caught on. After all, she had eyes in the back of her head, or so it seemed.

To avoid her and Cliora, you had spent the evening holed up in your room, the camera your only companion. As you scrolled through the images you had captured and the world around you faded away. Photography was your escape, a way to express yourself without words, and you working on some images until the night finally caught up with you.

But now, even though you were tired beyong belief, here you were, with all sorts of thoughts on your mind.

There was the fear of getting caught, which was just one of them though. There was also the guilt though, the nagging feeling that you were betraying your family's trust. You knew it was wrong, but you couldn't help it. Cillian was like a drug you couldn't quit which, ultimatly, brought you to the third intrusive thought - the thought about him.

You remembered the way his hands felt on your skin, the way his breath tickled your neck, and the way his voice, low and raspy, whispered in your ear.

He had the most amazing scent and it was so familiar, like a second skin, you thought.

The mere thought of him made your heart race and your skin tingle. You wondered what he was doing right now, if he was thinking of you too.

The urge to sneak into his room and check on him was overwhelming, but you knew you should resist.

And yet, you didn't.

You threw the covers off and quietly opened the door, tiptoeing across the hall and down the corridor, your heart racing with every step.

You knew that your mother and Cliora were fast asleep, but the fear of getting caught still lingered, a nervous excitement coursing through your veins.

By the time you reached his door, your hand was shaking. You placed your hand on the doorknob, your heart pounding so loudly in your ears you thought it would wake the entire house. You twisted the knob slowly, wincing at the soft creak of the hinges. The door swung open, not making a sound as you slipped inside.

The room was dark, illuminated only by the soft glow of the moon through the half-open curtains.

"Cillian?" you whispered, your voice barely audible and, much to your suprise, he wasn't asleep either even though it was past midnight already.

"Y/N, what are you doing here?" Cillian asked, his voice low and groggy, the covers rustling as he sat up in bed.

"I... I couldn't sleep," you whispered, taking a cautious step forward, your eyes adjusting to the dim light.

"Neither could I," he admitted, his voice rough as you approached the bed in order to climb on to it.

"Were you thinking about me?" you asked quietly, your tone playful, even though you were actually feeling a bit self-conscious.

"I was actually," Cillian chuckled, his voice soft and low. "But you shouldn't be here Y/N," he added, his tone turning serious.

"I know," you replied before climbing on top of him in the dark before your lips brushed against his.

"Y/N," he simply whispered, his fingers threading through your hair as if to argue against your lips, gently at first, then with a growing urgency. "Wait," he murmured, his breath hot against your skin, his hands now firmly gripping your hips.

"Sorry, I can't help it," you whispered, your voice laced with desire.

Cillian's eyes glinted in the moonlight, a mixture of desire and something else—a hint of fear, perhaps. "We shouldn't be doing this in the house," he warned you in a quiet whisper, which is when you decided to bring up the Twitter post.

You sighed, pulling back slightly. "It's probably safer here than anywhere else, in public," you insisted, your voice a whisper. "There was a tweet about you at the Hilton last night," you said, your breath hitching.

"I know," Cillian replied, his voice hoarse while his fingers still brushed against your skin, sending shivers down your spine.

"You know?" you breathed, your heart pounding.

"My publicist rang me about it this morning and had it taken down," he continued, his breath warm against your skin.

"Cliora saw it," you breathed, your heart pounding.

"She did?" Cillian's eyes widened, his fingers pausing in their exploration. "What did she say?"

"Nothing," you lied, biting your lip. "I mean, she asked me what I thought about it, and I said it was probably nonsense," you continued, your breath catching in your throat.

"That's good," Cillian exhaled while his fingers trailed down your spine, his touch electric. "But we really need to be more careful Y/N," he continued, his breath warm on your neck.

"I know," you whispered, your fingers tangling in his hair before you nibbled on his earlobe, his body responding to your touch.

"You really shouldn't be here," he whispered, groaning almost, as he pulled you closer, his hands sliding under your shirt, his touch igniting a fire within you.

"I know," you whispered again before you leaned in, your lips hovering over his, the moment charged with anticipation.

"Y/N," he groaned, his body arching towards you. "This is not being careful," he then murmured, his lips finding yours, his kiss deep and hungry.

"I know," you whispered back, your hands clutching at his shoulders, your body yearning for his touch. "But I can't help it."

"You're killing me, Y/N," he groaned, his breath hot against your skin. "You know that, right?"

"I know," you almost giggled this time around before you kissed him again, your lips eager and insistent.

"We can't," he groaned, his body trembling beneath your touch. "Not here," he insisted.

"I'll be quiet," you promised, your fingers tracing the lines of his face. "I promise," you whispered, your breath warm against his skin. "I won't make a sound," you added, your voice a low, sultry purr as you shifted your weight, straddling his hips, the heat of his cock pressing against your core, even through the thin fabric of your shorts and his. 

Cillian's breath hitched, his hands gripping your hips tightly, his fingers digging into your flesh as he fought against the urge to give in to the pleasure. "Fuck, Y/N," he groaned, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. "You're making this so fucking hard for me," he admitted, his hips lifting slightly, his cock pressing against you, seeking friction.

"I can't stop thinking about last night," he confessed, his voice a low growl. "About how fucking good you felt."

His words sent a jolt of desire straight to your core, your pussy clenching at the memory. You could feel the heat of his cock through your shorts, the length of him pressing against your clit, sending sparks of pleasure through your body.

"Fuck, I need you," you gasped, your hips moving instinctively, grinding against him, seeking more friction before you finally pulled your oversized t-shirt over  your head, exposing your naked breasts to the cool air of the room. "And I can't stop thinking about it either," you admitted, your voice breathless and husky. "About how you felt inside me. About how you made me feel."

Cillian groaned, his hands moving to your breasts, his thumbs brushing against your nipples, the sensation sending electric shocks straight to your core. "You're so fucking beautiful, Y/N," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "So fucking perfect."

His words sent a wave of heat through you, your nipples hardening under his touch, your body aching for more.

"Take off your briefs," you  commanded, your voice barely a whisper, but laced with a sudden authority that surprised even you. "I want to feel you inside me again." 

Cillian hesitated for a moment, his eyes searching yours, but he saw the determination in your gaze and complied, his hips lifting off the bed as he quickly shimmied out of his boxers, his cock springing free, hard and ready.

Meanwhile, you did the same, pushing off your shorts  and underwear, feeling a rush of cool air against your pussy, making you gasp. You could see the way his eyes darkened as he took in the sight of you, naked and straddling him.

"Y/N, fuck,"  he groaned, his voice a low rumble, his hands gripping your hips tightly, his fingers digging into your flesh. 

You smiled, a slow, sultry curve of your lips as you leaned down, your breasts pressing against his chest, your nipples hard and aching. "I want you, Cillian," you whispered, your voice husky with desire. "I want you to fuck me."

Cillian groaned, his hips lifting slightly, his cock pressing against your entrance, seeking friction, seeking entry. "Jesus" he growled, his voice thick with lust. "You're so fucking wet."

You leaned in closer, your breath hot against his ear. "I am and I can't stop thinking about how you stretched me open and filled me up," you whispered, your voice a low purr, your fingers tangling in his hair as you shifted your hips, rubbing your slick pussy against his cock until, finally, you sank 

down onto him, his cock sliding into you in one smooth, slow thrust.

Cillian gasped, his head falling back against the wall and bedhead, his hands gripping your hips tightly as you began to move, your body undulating against his, your hips rolling and grinding as you took him deeper and deeper inside you.

"Y/N," he groaned, his voice a low rumble, his eyes locked on yours, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. "You feel so fucking good."

You smiled, a slow, sultry curve of your lips as you leaned down, your breasts pressing against his chest, your nipples hard and aching.

"Oh god, Cillian," you gasped, your voice husky with desire while Cillian groaned, his hips lifting to meet your movements, his cock sliding deeper into you with each thrust. 

You moaned, your body moving in a rhythm that was both primal and rhythmic, your hips grinding against his, taking him deeper and deeper. The sensation of him filling you, stretching you, was overwhelming, and you cried out, your voice a low, desperate moan.

"Fuck, Cillian," you gasped, your body trembling with the force of your desire.

Cillian's hands gripped your hips tightly, his fingers digging into your flesh as he began to move, his hips thrusting up to meet your downward movements. 

You could feel his cock throbbing inside you, the heat of him sending waves of pleasure through your body. 

Remaining quiet was  a challenge, but you managed to keep your moans to a low, desperate gasp as you rode him, your body moving in a rhythm that was both primal and rhythmic, your hips grinding against his, taking him deeper and deeper.

You could feel the sweat beading on his forehead, the muscles in his neck straining as he fought to maintain control. His breath was hot and ragged against your skin, his voice a low growl as he whispered, "You're so fucking tight, Y/N. You feel so fucking good wrapped around my cock."

You moaned, your body moving faster, your hips grinding against his, chasing your release. The sound of your bodies slapping together filled the room, the wet, obscene noise of his cock sliding in and out of you, of your juices coating him, echoing through the air.

"Cillian," you gasped, your voice breathless and desperate. "I'm so close.

I'm so fucking close," you gasped, your body trembling with the force of your impending orgasm. You could feel it building, the pressure in your core coiling tighter and tighter, your pussy clenching around his cock as you chased your release.

Cillian's grip on your hips tightened, his fingers digging into your flesh as he met your thrusts with his own, his hips moving in a steady, relentless rhythm. "That's it, Y/N. Come for me. Let me feel that tight little pussy come all over my cock," he growled, his voice low and primal, his eyes locked on yours, a dark intensity in his gaze and, by that point, you could not take it anymore.

"Oh god yes!" you cried out as your body convulsed and your orgasm tore through you. 

"Shh," Cillian hissed, his hand quickly covering your mouth, muffling your cries as your body shook with the force of your release. Your pussy clenched around his cock, the walls of your core pulsing and milking him, drawing him deeper inside you.

"Fuck, Y/N," Cillian groaned, his hips bucking wildly as he chased his own release. 

You could feel his cock swelling inside you, the heat of him growing more intense as he neared his climax and you knew that he would struggle to keep it quiet as well. 

He was already trying to muffle his own groans, his breath hot and ragged against your skin as, finally, he too came undone.

You quickly pressed your lips against his now as his hips bucked wildly, his cock pulsing and throbbing as he came hard, his hot cum filling you up, coating your inner walls, mixing with your own juices. He groaned loudly into your mouth, his body shaking with the force of his release, his fingers digging into your flesh so hard that you knew you'd have bruises in the morning.

The sensation of him coming inside you sent another wave of pleasure crashing through your body, your pussy clenching around him, milking him for all he was worth.

You could feel his cum dripping out of you, around his cock, coating your thighs, the obscene wetness a testament to the intensity of their passion.

Cillian's body finally stilled, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he collapsed back onto the wall again, his chest heaving. You could see the sheen of sweat on his skin, the flush of pleasure still lingering on his cheeks.

You slowly lifted yourself off him, his cock slipping out of you with a wet pop, leaving you feeling empty and aching. You collapsed onto the bed next to him, your body still trembling with the aftershocks of your orgasm. Cillian turned to face you, his eyes dark and intense, a small smile playing on his lips.

"You're something else, Y/N," he murmured, his voice low and husky, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your bare skin, sending shivers down your spine. "I can't get enough of you."

You smiled back, your body still buzzing with the aftermath of your shared passion, your heart pounding in your chest. "I know the feeling," you admitted, your voice soft and breathless. You propped yourself up on one elbow, looking down at him, your eyes roaming over his face, taking in every line, every shadow. You reached out, your fingers brushing against his cheek, his stubble rough against your skin. "Although, I do sometimes wonder how we ended up like this, you know? It's a mess," you  said, your fingers tracing the lines of his face, the reality of your situation slowly seeping back in. "I mean, what are we even doing, Cillian? We're playing with fire. And I think we both know that eventually, we're going to get burned."

Cillian's expression darkened, his eyes reflecting a mixture of concern and something else—regret, perhaps. "I know," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I can't stay away from you, Y/N. I've tried, and I can't do it."

You sighed, your heart aching at his words. "Well, I will be gone in six weeks, so that will make things easier on the both of us,"  you said, trying to keep your voice light, even though the thought of leaving him made your chest tighten.

Cillian's eyes flashed with a sudden intensity. "Yeah, maybe," he said, his voice barely a whisper before leaning in and kissing you softly on the lips. 

The kiss lasted barely a few seconds but it felt like an eternity. It was soft and gentle, a stark contrast to the passion that had just consumed you both. It was a kiss that spoke volumes, a silent promise of more, of a future that neither of you dared to speak out loud.

Cillian pulled back slightly, his eyes searching yours, a soft smile playing on his lips. "You know, I've never met anyone like you, Y/N," he said, his voice low and husky. "And it feels like a sick joke, really. I mean, I am married to your mother,"  Cillian said, his eyes reflecting a mixture of concern and something else—regret, perhaps. 

"That's life for you I guess," you whispered before calling it a night. "I should really go back to my room and try to get some sleep."

You started to climb off his bed and put on your clothes and, as you did, he grabbed your hand.

"Wait," he said, his voice soft, almost pleading. "Stay for a little while," he added, his thumb gently rubbing the back of your hand as, suddenly, and unexpectedly, the door to Cillian's room opened .

You both froze, your heart pounding in your chest as the door slowly creaked open, revealing Sadie standing in the doorway, looking confused.

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[soggyriceee]

Brothers Best Friend ~ Konig NSFW

[Hello! This is probably gonna be one of my favorites to be honest. No trigger warning on this one, just smut.]

" Go ahead. You can put your bag here." Your brother said, motioning his tall friend to the living room couch. You watched the tall guy drop his bag, smiling to your mom and father. " Thank you for giving me a place to stay for a bit. I cant begin to tell you how appreciative I am." His deep voice boomed, his German accent coming through. You kept your eyes on him, looking him up and down slowly. " Don't even mention it. I know what it's like to have toxic parents. You're always welcomed here." Your dad smiled, shaking his hand.

You were assuming he. had just gotta kicked out. He sat on the couch, looking over to you and giving a small wave. You smiled and waved back before looking to your parents. " I'll be in my room studying. It was nice to meet you Konig." You smiled before standing and walking towards your room.

As you closed your door, you turned back towards the living room to see Konig looking at you as your parents spoke to your older brother. You smirked and closed the door. You had to admit, he was hot. He was like 6 foot something, deep voice. He had long shaggy brown hair with a nice undercut and dark, dark brown eyes. He was beautiful.

A few hours had gone by, it was about 10 or so. Your parents had ordered take out for the night so fortunately you were able to eat in your room. You were watching a show on your laptop when someone knocked on your door. You yelled come in and slowly, the tall male walked in the room. " Oh hi Konig. Is everything okay?" You smiled to him, pausing the show.

" Yeah I-i was just a bit cold. I was wondering if you had a-a spare.. blanket." He replied, his hand gripping the knob still. " Hot in the summer? Couldn't think of a better excuse to talk to me?" You smirked, putting down the take out box. His cheeks turned a bright pink and he looked down. " I-i uhm.." You stood and walked over, pulling him into your room. Your parents and brother were long asleep as they all had work in the morning. " Im watching this drama. Wanna watch with me?" You asked, turning to meet his wide eyes and pink face.

" W-wont we g-get in trouble?" He asked, pointing to the closed door. You shook your head, grabbing his hand and pulling him onto the bed. He was tense, half his body sliding off the bed and avoiding any eye contact with you. " Konig.. get comfy. You're making me feel uncomfortable." You pouted, pointing to his legs. He hesitated but moved more onto the bed, sitting tensely next to you. You smiled and pressed play, grabbing your food.

Minuets pass by and Konig slowly becomes more and more comfortable. He even chuckles at the show. " Imma go get water, do you want any?" You asked as the show credits play. He shook his head, looking down at you. " No thank you." He said softly. His doe eyes only made you stay at him longer. It stayed like this, both of you staring at each other. Finally you speak up. " You know.. I know its wrong to say because of how close you are with my brother but.." You shift, sitting on your knees to even your height with his.

" You're really hot." You whispered. Scanning his body you realized the bulge in his striped pajama pants. You smirked, palming it gently. A whimper left his lips, a gasp shortly after. " We.. we can't.." he breathed out, his eyes stuck on your hand. " We'll just have to be quiet." You responded, sliding onto his lap. Your hands wrapped around his neck, looking into his eyes, smirking. He looked at you with desperation, his hands still put beside his hips.

" But.. if you really want we can stop." You spoke, realizing this might be a lot for him at once. As you began to move off, his hands quickly moved to your hips, moving you back to where you once were. " N-no.. please." He breathed out. You smirked and leaned in, pressing your lips to his. Quickly he kissed you back, his hands holding you hard against his bulge. A whimper left his lips causing your pussy to clench around nothing. You broke away, his bottom lip being tugged gently by your teeth. " That was so hot.. you should make that noise again." You smirked, beginning to grind your hips slowly.

He gasped, looking down as your hips moved against his. He closed his eyes, bitting his bottom lip as to suppress his cute moans. You grabbed his face, forcing him to look at you. " Does it not feel good? ill have to stop if I dont know if your feeling good baby.." you whispered, halting your hips. "n-no it f-feels so good .. please keep going." he said, shaking his head and pushing his lower half into yours.

You jerked up at his sudden actions, a small laugh coming from you. How could such a tall, muscular man be so submissive to someone he's met once in person? You moved your hips back and forth, feeling him grind against your clit. You sucked in a breath, looking down as your hips moved. His head fell back against your wall, his eyes shut. this was the perfect chance to attach your lips to his neck and you did just that.

He gasped, his grip on your becoming stronger. " Fuck.." he breathed out, guiding your hips faster. you moaned into his neck, leaving behind red and purple bruises. But suddenly, he halted your hips. You pulled away from another mark you were leaving on his skin, looking into his shiny, pleasing eyes. " I-i don't think this is a good idea. w-we could get caught. or what if one of us grows feelings? or both of us?" he asked, his hands dropping to his side.

at first you pouted. you were having so much fun and you could tell he was too. " Konig.. if your that anxious we can stop. I dont want this to be a bad experience for you." you said softly. "but.. you just begged me to keep going." you said, still feeling his aching dick on your core. "I-i know but.. I wasn't thinking about everything that could go bad." you smiled softly before leaning in, slowly. you wanted to see how he'd react. but when he didn't move, you pressed your lips onto his, softly. not a heated makeup session way, just a regular, gentle kiss.

he sighed into it, pulling you closer. you smirked and pulled away, his eyes opening seconds after you. " well don't think of the negatives baby. let me take care of you." you whispered, then, very slowly, kissing from his ear, down his neck and to his shoulder. he shivered at your touch, goosebumps covering his skin. he didn't reply, his body did all the talking this time. your hands slid up the t shirt he had on, feeling his abs. you hummed at his fit body, smiling softly. " may I take this off?" you asked, tugging his shirt. quickly, he nodded.

within minuets both of you were naked, you on your knees at the end of your bed, while he sat at the edge. his dick, standing straight up, threatened you. it was huge. and thick. never have you felt more anxious to have sex with someone so much in your life. what if he literally snaps you in half? "y-you dont have to. I know my size is.. often too much." he said, beginning to move backwards. but you gripped his calves, shaking your head.

" im just thinking about how many times I could make you cum tonight.." you whispered, looking in his eyes. his cheeks and ears turned a bright red and he looked away. you smiled before moving up, taking him in your, compared to his, small hands. your other rested on his thigh as you prepared for him inside your mouth. you kissed his thigh before looking up. " are you ready?" you asked.

he had mentioned to you that he'd never gotten head. why? look at the size of him. any sane person would quickly realize that he'd never fully fit. most people would probably puke because of how far back he'd reach. but you were determined. determined to hear this man whimper again. " yes but.. if it feels uncomfortable then tell me.. I don't mind stopping." he breathed out, nodding slowly. You flashes him a quick smile before licking your lips and slowly, painfully slow, taking him in your mouth.

His breath hitched for a moment. His eyes were wide at the new feeling. It was a bit different than it being inside someones pussy. Not super different, but different enough. His breath was stuck in his throat as he watched you stay still, almost halfway down his length. " A-are you okay?" He asked, gulping at the sight of you. Your eyes looked up at him and you nodded, tears pricking the corner of your eyes.

After a moment of getting used to him in your mouth, you slowly moved down as much as you could. At this point his tip hit the back of your throat and still, he wasn't completely in your mouth. You knew your limits and you weren't going to force yourself more. Slowly, your brought your head back up, your tongue pressed flat against the side of his length. His breath hitched, his eyes fluttering closed. Again, you moved your head back down, watching his every reaction. " O-oh my.. oh~" he whimpered, his hands gripping the sheets.

You moaned onto his length, sucking the tip gently once you moved your head back up. His hips jerked up, forcing himself down your throat. You gagged, holding his thighs for support. " O-oh my God Im so sorry! I d-didn't mean to." His head shooting up, looking down apologetically at you. You pulled away, smiling. "It's okay Konig. It's your first time having this done to you I was expecting it." You chuckled, looking at his soaked, veiny dick inches away from your face. You wrapped your hand around his base, moving up slowly and back down just as slow.

" A-are you su..sure you wanna continue?" He asked, looking down at you. You nodded, pushing yourself up again, sliding his dick down your throat as much as you could. His head immediately fell back, resting his body on his forearms. You began to move your head a bit faster, hollowing out your cheeks. Every time you came up, you made sure to suck a bit more hard at the tip, always earning a whimper from his pretty lips. " F-fuck your so good..at this." He moaned, his back resting his back on the bed.

It didn't take long before you felt him twitching in your mouth, his whimpers slowly growing louder and louder. He was in a trance, had no idea what his body was doing. To the point he hadn't realized you had stopped moving your head completely, his hips fucking into your mouth. " I-i'm gonna..im gonna cum." he moaned, his hips moving faster. His body shot up, a strained moan leaving his lips as his cum filled your mouth, his hand gripping your hair to make sure you took every single drop. He gasped, his legs shaking, his eyes closing tightly.

Slowly you moved your head up and down along his tip, helping him ride out his high. You looked up at him, saliva and a bit of cum connecting the two of you as you pulled away. " i... Im s-sorry for-" " It was hot Konig.. Im soaked.." you said, looking up at him, your lips puffy and wet. His eyes were locked onto your face, his breathing slowing down. " C..can I fuck you.. please." He whispered. A smirk spread across your lips as you stood, pulling the hoodie off your body. His eyes landed on your breasts, your pointy nipples calling out for him.

" Please fuck me Konig.." You whispered, slowly pulling your panties down, pooling them at your feet. He immediately stood, lifting you so your legs were wrapped around his waist. He walked over to your vanity, placing you gently on top of it. His hands spread your legs, gently pushing you back against the mirror. His eyes were dark, scanning your body as if he was trying to decide what to touch first. His eyes landed on your breasts, his lips latching around your right nipple, his fingers playing with the left. A gasp left your lips, your eyes fluttering closed. You felt his length at your core, begging for permission to get in. " Your so fucking hot libeling.. but such a fucking whore. Fucking your brothers best friend when he's only a room away from us." He said against your breast, his other hand moving down to move his length against your clit.

Your body jerked back, a moan leaving your lips. You have had sexual encounters before, but none this.. sexy. This risky. " Aren't you such a whore?" He whispered, removing his lips fro your nipple and moving to the left. " Y-yes i..im a whore Konig." You breathed out, the amount of pleasure you were getting from him overwhelming. He chuckled before standing straight up. " Then i'm gonna fuck you like one too." He said before slipping his length into you. A yelp left your lips, his hand immediately going to cover your mouth. His hips stoped, letting you adjust to what was inside you before moving more inside you. Once all of him was inside, he showed no mercy.

His hips slammed into you, his hand still covering your mouth. Your head fell back onto the mirror, your hands gripping his shoulders for support. His head dropped, watching him disappear inside you, and when he did pull out, your slick coating him completely, his dick shiny. He whimpered at the sight, biting his lip. " f-fuck baby.. your so t-tight." His head fell back, his hands now gripping your thighs. " Oh K-Konig.. p-please go..go faster." You whimpered, your nails digging into his skin.

" You pathetic slut. Can't.. be grateful for what you got huh?" He growled, his nails digging deeper into your skin. He pushed you down a bit more, half your body hanging off the vanity. He wrapped your legs around his neck, allowing himself to hit deeper inside you. As his hips slammed into you, the vanity shook, things dropping every now and then. " K-konig.. fuck!" You squeaked, your hands gripping his forearms. His hair stuck to his forehead, his eyes staring you down. " You like it? You like fucking your brothers best friend?" His accent was thick, only turning you on more. " Y-yes.. fuck I love it. I l-love it so so much." You whimpered, locking eyes with him. He growled, pulling out and dragging you down. " Turn. Now." He breathed out.

Quickly, you turned, facing yourself in the mirror. He shoved your top half down, kicking your legs apart. He slid back in with such ease, a moan leaving the both of you immediately. His hips wasted no Tims in slamming into youths hand pulling your hair back. " Look at yourself when I fuck you.. l-look at how.. pathetic you look." he groaned, watching you in the mirror. You clenched around him, a whimper coming from his plump lips. " K-Konig im g..gonna cum." you moaned, your hands pressed against the mirror. He was looking down, watching him disappear and reappear. " Coat me baby.. coat me in that sweet.. cum.. fuck~" he whimpered, his free hand gripping your hip as he moved faster, deeper.

At this point neither of you were too worried about the noise. You both felt too good to care. Your highs were gonna wash up on each other hard, the desperation from you both growing more and more with each thrust. " I-im.. fuck!" Your body tensed up as you felt yourself release, your legs shaking as your breath caught in your throat. His hips moved faster, both his hands now gripping your hips as your face pressed against the mirror. " fuck fuck fuck.. fuck!" he whimpered, his thrusts jagged as he filled you, his head dropping onto your back. He gave small thrusts, riding out his high and yours, whines leaving his lips.

For a minuet you both stayed there, trying to catch your breathes. " a..are you okay?" he whispered, slowly raising himself off you. but you were too tired to say anything. he chucked and slid out and he felt you clench around him, a small chuckle leaving his lips. His cum and yours ran down your wobbly legs, a sigh leaving his lips. " thats so hot.." he mumbled to himself. you felt his arms wrap around your waist as he lifted you slowly, leaving the room and walking towards the bathroom. " here. pee while I get you some clothes." he smiled, closing the door.

you stared at the door in somewhat awe. a few moments ago he was degrading you and now, he's taking care of you. the most gentle kind human. usually after these things your left to take care of yourself. for the first time, you were being taken care of. " here. ill go back to the couch im a bit tired. if you need anything-" "sleep in my bed." you cut him off. he froze, his eyes wide. "w-what no your brother and parents would kill me." "they all work in the morning. they never check my room and if anything, just write a quick note saying you left for the gym. just please sleep with me tonight." you said, looking up at him from the toilet.

he smiled and nodded. "okay. ill be waiting for you." he smiled, closing the door and heading back to your room. you blushed and looked down at your hands. were you actually growing a crush on him? when you were done, you slowly walked back to your bed, Konig already laying down. " just sent your brother a text saying ill be at the gym in the morning." he smiled, putting his phone down.

you laid next to him, taking in his scent. " Konig..?" you whispered. he hummed. " I enjoyed having sex with you.. and I hope we can do it again." he chuckled and pressed a soft kiss on your forehead. " we will.. trust me."

[qwimblenorrisstan]

His Adler | Russell Adler x Bell

Summary: In an ending where neither Bell or Adler is killed, and Adler is instead taken in for interrogation by Bell, where he’s injected with drugs from the MK-ULTRA agenda.

Warnings: injury, bruises, mass murder, mental breakdown, torture, interrogation, injection via eyeball, psychological torture, trauma, brainwashing, noncon cuddling, bell loving adler and they’re dating but Adler doesn’t know it yet

Word Count: ~2.3k

A/N: first adbell fic what is wrong with me

When he’d revealed his betrayal, Bell had always expected it to be some grand moment, like the climax of a movie.

Adler would shout and yell at him, maybe cry, mourn the death of millions of Europeans as bombs were dropped, scream and curse Bell’s actions and bloodline until the bullet was put in his heart.

But even in that, he wasn’t given what he’d wanted.

Out of anything he could’ve expected, the pure indifference, if not disappointment, wasn’t it.

There had been nothing in his eyes behind those stupid glasses other than a glimpse of disappointment, a flicker of maybe annoyance that his oh-so-loyal dog had betrayed him. Because he’d only ever been a dog, capable of following orders.

The leashes had just been switched around.

He hadn’t gotten to pull the trigger, watch his tormenter, his torturer, his friend and lifelong comrade, his fraud, bleed out before his eyes. He hadn’t gotten to see any of his regrets, his last words, a letter to his friends, absolutely nothing.

Because Bell hadn’t pulled the trigger.

Between the sounds of shouting soldiers, chaos, and gunfire raining down upon them, he and Adler had been looking at each other, watching. Silence. Heartbeats and breathing as Adler lay on the floor, almost looking like he was waiting for the knife to his back or the bullet to his skull.

Bell had a means, motive, and opportunity, so why didn’t he?

There were a million reasons he could’ve told you, really. The particular one he’d chosen to give Perseus was that Adler could hold “useful information, for further attacks”, though he wasn’t sure how true that was. Adler was a CIA member, but what he knew probably didn’t go too deep.

Maybe it was a desire for revenge, to make Adler feel what he felt, to be brainwashed till he didn’t know what was what and who he was. That was also what he’d told Perseus when asking to be the one to interview him.

“My friend, I do not mean to be so rude, but you seem quite caught on with this ‘Adler’.”

His voice had said, a bit gravelly, not so much as Adler’s. Perseus wasn’t his friend, not anymore. Maybe whoever he’d been before Bell was his friend, but he wasn’t sure if the person—no, the thing he was now was even capable of having a friend.

“I want revenge.”

A bald-faced lie. Maybe not. He wasn’t sure he knew anymore. Perseus had been keeping him holed up reading paperwork and approving and denying things, nothing major, for days now afterward. Any trust between them was shattered.

Bell was compromised. A filthy animal with dirty hands before, a filthy animal with dirty blood infected with the points of syringes now. He’d heard what the others had been saying about him.

Perseus had a look on his face. A look he almost recognized. Something between hesitation and suspicion. His friend wasn’t stupid, he could discern between the memories in his head enough to know that much.

“Yes, yes, fine. Record your findings, we will see how useful this man is.”

He’d been handed a tape recorder, and the rest had been history.

Now here he was, standing in front of the cell door, face feeling strangely naked without its usual coverings, holding a tape recorder and waiting. He didn’t know what he was waiting for.

Would Adler look angry? Surprised? Sad? Indifferent, he thought, was the most likely out of all of them.

Finally, swallowing down the lump in his throat, he reached for the knob and twisted, the metal creaking as it groaned while he opened the heavy door. The room was cold and had a steady dripping sound in the background.

Drip. Drop. Drip.

He closed it behind him, eyes on the floor, hands almost trembling from anticipation, maybe fear though he’d never admit it, a bit of excitement.

As he turned, he hated the way that what he saw made something in his stomach curdle and spoil like spilled milk. It felt wrong.

Adler had his jacket and a darkish red shirt. Pants. His hair was disheveled as he’d clearly been running his hands through it. Bruises littered and dotted his skin, his knuckles were bloodied and raw, as if he’d fought off guards, or tried, and gotten nowhere but a beating.

Maybe the old Bell wouldn’t have been phased, would’ve known this was a light punishment from his people, but now? He felt almost nauseous.

His master. His leader. The almost omnipotent, omniscient, ever-present figure in his life.

A god.

Reduced to nothing.

Every brick Adler had laid underneath him, the steps of his plan, every needle and fake memory and syringe, ripped out from under him. Everything he’d had gone, well, except his life, though Perseus likely expected Bell to fix that soon.

He felt a pinprick of satisfaction at the way he knew Adler was a bit like he had been now. Helpless.

Bell moved to the table at the center of the room where the man was tied, his stubble already trying to grow out, one lip split, nose looking broken.

The metal chair scratched as he pulled it out, and sat down in it and it groaned under his weight, the muscle he’d gained back through a better diet and exercise, before he scooted it forward and set the tape recorder down on the table, clearing his throat, and clicking “Play”.

“Russell Adler.”

He began. Began was a bad word to use to describe what he did, though, as it became the only sentence he could get out when he finally met the other man's eyes. A word like “stated” or “spoke” may be better, considering how his throat dried completely, lips sealing themselves shut with cement when he met Adler’s eyes.

It wasn’t defeat that lay in them, but not defiance. It wasn’t an unruffled calm, nor was it a panic. It was something he couldn’t exactly explain.

When a dog is at sea for a long, long time, they grow used to swaying along with the waves, adjusting to it, their legs moving with the current so they aren’t tossed and swayed around. The man sitting in front of him had the look of a sea dog who’d just gotten their legs ripped off and had a different set sewn on.

Like he didn’t know how to adapt to this situation. This wasn’t something he had expected or planned for. He wasn’t adjusted to this, he couldn’t simply adapt to the waves underneath him, throwing him around.

It was more than Bell had expected.

“Bell.”

It almost startled him into a flinch when he’d spoken. A rumble, his voice a bit more raspy than he’d thought it was last when he’d heard it. There wasn’t any discernible emotion he could get other than the lack of the usual clinical indifference he’d always shown.

Bell swallowed, hand tapping on the table, a neatly trimmed nail hitting the splintered wood. He broke eye contact first, looking at the concrete wall with mystery stains and water dripping down it, before at the floor.

He didn’t feel guilty. That wasn’t what this was. But he didn’t think it was pity either.

“Why?”

There wasn’t any anger or sadness, barely any frustration in Adler’s tone as he asked it. Just a carefully secured curiosity, almost. Bell’s eyes narrowed, temper already thinning, the anger churning in his body like poisonous lava threatening to give Adler the response he knew the man probably wanted.

“I’m asking the questions.”

Adler looked unbothered by Bell’s words, just a slight raise of both eyebrows.

“How long have you been involved in the CIA?”

An easy starter. Adler would surely know this, but whether he’d answer it or not was the real question.

“Longer than you’ve been alive, almost.”

It was stated with almost an amused sarcasm in his tone, one that made Bell grind his teeth in annoyance.

“That’s not a—“

“Three decades, about.”

A silence reigned. His eyes met Adler’s again, and he watched as Adler glanced at the tape, the rolling little indicator of it recording, then back at him.

“Turn it off. We both know you aren’t here for an interrogation.”

Bell could’ve sworn his eye twitched at the confidence in Adler’s tone, the almost casual certainty.

“What else would I be here for, then?”

Adler let out a raspy chuckle at that, expectant, someone who knew they held the mental upper ground even while tied down in the face of a dangerous Soviet soldier.

It was infuriating. He knew that Bell wouldn’t do anything. Couldn’t. But he seemed just a bit wary, watching with a gleam of interest as his dog was unleashed for one of the first times right in front of him, allowed to think his own thoughts.

“Maybe you’re here to ask why, try to provoke me, get revenge, I don’t give a damn either way. It’s just a race between whether the CIA or the Soviets kill me first now.”

He wasn’t wrong. His mission had been compromised, he had allowed Bell into the system, promised he was under control, let Bell have access to their mission, and been betrayed by it. Adler was responsible for the millions of dead.

The CIA needed a scapegoat for letting this happen, and Adler fit the mold perfectly.

If the Soviets didn’t torture Adler to death first, then the CIA would get their hands on him and put him to death by firing squad most likely. Either way, he was dead.

“I’ve got a different question for you, Adler.”

His eyes narrowed, suspicion building in him. It was probably the lack of emotion in Bell’s tone, or maybe the little way his lips pulled up a bit at the corners.

Maybe it was the hand reaching into Bell’s pocket, fingers grasping around cold metal as he got up from his seat, pressing the “Stop” on the tape recorder.

“What is it.”

There was a clear sternness to Adler’s tone, trying to be stern and commanding, but this wasn’t his circus anymore. Bell wasn’t his monkey.

Bell walked around, till he was beside Adler, one hand going to almost cradle his head, brushing his hair back with a foreign tenderness that clearly confused him. His calloused thumb planted against Adler’s forehead, gently tilting his head back.

“How much do you think you’ll remember?”

The syringe was held tightly in Bell’s other hand, the familiar unmistakable substances used in the MK-ULTRA agenda churning in it. Adler’s eyes widened, limbs tensing as he tried to yank his head down, to the side, away, anywhere but where he knew Bell would put that needle.

“No, Bell—“

“I’m not your Bell.”

His gentle touch became firm and unyielding, but not cruel as he pushed Adler’s head back, wrapping a hand around his throat for extra grip, casually sliding into the man’s lap.

It was an intimate position, something sacred between them as Bell pushed Adler’s upper eyelid back, holding the syringe closer, lining it up for the familiar pinch he’d felt before, and knew Adler would feel.

“You can’t get anything out of me if I don’t remember. You don’t have enough to even finish the process, it’ll all be useless. It won’t even work on me—Bell—please—“

Lies. They’d found enough of this shit to last years in Adler’s possession, kindly donated from his American government. The first bit of desperation he’d ever seen from Adler emerged as he begged, eyes wide, struggling and tensing, trying to thrash away.

The wooden chair under him would’ve been shaking, maybe fallen over, if it weren’t for Bell’s added weight.

“I know, you’re scared. It’ll all be over soon, Adler, just a little pinch—“

His tone was almost soothing, the weight of his affection for this disgusting man below him coating his words like a slime. The needle pushed forward, above the eye, through the socket, he was careful to not hit anything valuable as he reached the brain.

Adler had been such a valuable operative for the Americans, that he’d fit the Soviets even better.

His Adler.

“There we go, not so bad, is it?”

He’d stopped struggling so much now, maybe just out of a basic self-preservation instinct to stop the object lodged inside him from hitting anything valuable. Bell knew the pressure wouldn’t be pleasant. He’d felt it before.

He slowly injected it into him, letting Adler’s loosely tied hands grab at his legs, either looking for comfort or trying to rip him apart with the last few moments of his mind being completely sound and whole.

When the syringe was empty, Bell slowly pulled it out, setting it on the table behind him, thinking of how proud Perseus would be of his progress only on Day 1 of interrogation.

Adler’s eyes looked glazed over, blinking to try and clear them, in a dazed state as his face scrunched up in what looked like pain, discomfort, and confusion, breathing leaving him in slow, heavy pants.

“I’m sorry, it won’t be fun, but we’ll be together soon.”

He let his arms wrap around Adler’s body, telling himself the way the man was struggling was simply him not knowing how to accept affection, but he’d make sure that his Adler, his dog, grew accustomed to it. Bell would never truly get the collar off of his neck, or gain back who he was. He’d long accepted that. But now he had a leash to hold and would have a companion in the tragedy of his own existence.

It would be weeks of progress until he was truly the emotional and mental foundation that could be built upon however Bell wanted, but someday, hopefully not too far away, Adler would wake up and Bell would be able to look into the eyes of his beloved prize and say,

“We have a job to do.”