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sh0tintheleg · 15 days ago

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heartbeat // spencer reid

summary: you’ve always had a crush on your dad’s best profiler.

pairing: spencer reid x afab!hotchner!reader

word count: 5.9k (oops)

themes: confessions of love, smut, angst if you squint at one point, porn w plot

content warnings: dom spencer reid, sub reader, praise & dirty talk, mild bdsm undertones, threatening to get caught, sneaking around, drinking, oral (male and female receiving), semi-public sex, fingering, age-gap (reader is 21, reid is 33)

The low hum of conversation and the sound of an old vinyl fill the sounds of Rossi’s house, punctuated by the clink of glasses and the occasional burst of laughter. It’s a rare thing to see the team this relaxed, and Spencer should, theoretically, be at ease. Instead, he lingers by the back door, nursing a glass of water and rereading the spines of a collection of first edition Sherlock Holmes that Rossi proudly displays. His eyes, however, keep darting back to you.

You move through the big rooms with a kind of effortless grace that knocks the air right out of him from half the room away. The dress you wear catches the warm candlelight in a way that makes it almost impossible not to look. And then, of course, there’s the fact that you’re Hotch’s daughter. His boss’s daughter. And today is his birthday party.

Spencer tugs nervously at the cuffs of his sleeves, a feigned attempt to distract and calm himself. He catalogs every detail of the room: the types of wine Rossi is serving, the probable vintage of the records playing, and the precise number of seconds between each of Hotch’s small and rare smiles. Anything but to give in to the temptation of looking at you again.

It doesn’t work. He catches your eye across the room; a quick glance, fleeting—and you smile. Not just politely, not a ‘hello, I recognize you’ smile. A real one. Warm and familiar, and it leaves Spencer’s abdomen stirring, his heart stumbling painfully against his ribs.

Before he can think better of it, his feet begin moving on their own, slow and cautious steps carrying him toward you, each one more reckless than the last.

“Hey,” he says, voice a little too soft to compete with the music, but somehow enough to draw your attention fully to him. “You, uh… look really nice tonight.”

He regrets the words instantly, heat flooding the back of his neck. Brilliant, absolutely brilliant. Tell your boss’s daughter she’s beautiful in the middle of his birthday party. That’s not horrifying at all.

He clears his throat, fumbling to recover as always.

“I mean, not that you don’t always look nice—you do. I just guess tonight it’s more noticeable.” He laughs through the sentence, before following up, awkward and self-deprecating, “I should probably stop talking before I make this even worse, huh?”

Spencer gives a crooked little smile, placing his water glass on the table beside you both and shoving his hands deep into his pockets. Still trying—and failing—not to look at you like you’re the only thing in the room that matters.

Now, standing close enough to catch the scent of his cologne—something crisp and clean with an underlying warmth—you let your gaze travel appreciatively over his tall, lanky frame. The dark grey shirt clings softly to his chest and arms, hinting at the lean muscle beneath. Your eyes linger on his face, taking in the delicate features, the intelligent glint in those deep brown eyes.

“Th-thanks, Spencer. It’s, uh—been a while! You look great too.” You’re a far cry from a that 18 year old who was always sneaking into your dad’s office. Always sneaking glances at your unrequited crush on the older Dr. Spencer Reid.

At your response, his fingers twitch slightly where they’re buried in his pockets—his nerves getting harder to suppress. But hearing you say his name does something dangerous to his pulse.

“Yeah, um…” Spencer adjusts the buttons on his dress shirt absently, glancing down briefly before looking up to meet your eyes again. “Yeah, it’s been a while.” He pauses, then continues softly, “Too long.”

A beat of silence hangs above you both. Spencer, realizing how forward he’s being—unresisting, because he’s never been particularly good at resisting a good statistic—pipes up:

“You know, statistically speaking, parties like these tend to peak within the first hour and thirty-seven minutes,” he blurts suddenly, gesturing vaguely toward the rest of the gathering.

“Oh yeah?” you chuckle back at the abrupt change in topic. “How long before we get to the peak or do you think we’re reaching the point of diminishing return?” you ask with a wry smile, sipping the Italian red Rossi poured for you earlier.

You lean back against the wall, letting the coolness of it steady you. You’ve flushed being so close to Spencer, still taking in the smell of his cologne as if you might never catch it again.

“Well,” he starts, trying not to let his eyes flicker down to how your dress has shifted, “given that Rossi opened the second bottle of Brunello di Montalcino approximately forty-two minutes ago and Garcia and Morgan just figured out how to connect their phones to the speaker, I’d estimate we’re currently approaching the apex of—”

He cuts himself off abruptly, realizing he’s rambling again. One of the team would’ve cut him short by now. Clearing his throat, he offers a sheepish grin instead.

“You don’t have to stop rambling, you know? It is interesting when all I’ve been told about is how this wine is twice my age.” You laugh softly, utterly charmed by how his mind works—so fascinating, so endearingly oblivious sometimes. You take another sip of your wine, letting the rich flavor linger.

“And I think Dave had enough of me struggling to say that one earlier. Thank God my dad cut him off before he could grill me further.”

That gets a real laugh out of him—soft and surprised, like he didn’t expect it to escape. His posture loosens. He glances around the room, watching Garcia dramatically attempt to teach Morgan a ridiculous dance move. His expression softens fondly before turning back to you, voice dropping lower—just enough to keep the moment between the two of you.

“Do you want to stand out on the front porch? Getting kinda warm in here ever since those two started dancing.” He instinctively steps back, even though he doesn’t want to let go of the feeling that it’s just you and him.

Your breath catches slightly at the suggestion. Your eyes dart toward the crowded living room before landing back on him. The idea of being outside—alone with him—sends a jolt of hopeful excitement through your body.

“Yeah,” you agree quickly, nodding once before clearing your throat and trying to sound casual. “Fresh air would be—good. Great, actually.”

Careful not to brush against you, Spencer motions toward the sliding glass doors leading to Rossi’s wraparound porch. As you step outside, the evening breeze carries the scent of blooming jasmine. The muffled bass from inside thrums through the walls.

Once outside, you lean against the railing with your glass of wine, looking out at the city lights twinkling in the distance. The cool night air feels refreshing. You take a deep breath, then turn to face Spencer with a soft smile.

“It’s beautiful out here, isn’t it? I can see why Rossi chose this place.” Your eyes meet his, reflecting in the porch light. “Thanks for chatting with me tonight, Spencer. It… means a lot. I thought I was getting lost in the crowd for a bit there.”

Spencer follows your lead, resting his forearms on the railing beside you. The marble is cool beneath his sleeves, grounding him, though his gaze keeps slipping sideways to your profile.

“Part of the job description,” Spencer murmurs, then winces at how clinical that sounds. “But with you? It’s different. Doesn’t feel like analysing evidence. More like stumbling onto something…”

He trails off, struggling to find the words. A gust of wind tousles his curls as he turns to you fully, voice softening.

“Rossi keeps bragging about this property value, but honestly? This right here…” He gestures loosely at the skyline, then—almost unconsciously—at the space between you. “Worth infinitely more than square footage calculations.”

Your heart skips at his words, a blush rising hot on your cheeks. You can hardly believe this is happening—Spencer, with all his brilliance and quiet intensity, saying something so heartfelt, so unguarded. You search his eyes for any hint of hesitation but find only sincerity.

“You’re so poetic tonight, Spencer.” You tease lightly. “Is this the effect of Rossi’s fancy wine or…” There’s hope in your voice as you finish the glass, licking the wine from your lips.

At the sight, Spencer falters. Forgetting how to speak entirely, his brain stutters between your words and how the moonlight plays across your eyelashes.

“N-no,” he stammers, fingers tightening around his water glass. “Definitely not the wine. Unless… unless sudden-onset eloquence is a side effect of Brunello consumption, which, statistically speaking, seems unlikely given its alcohol content compared to—”

He cuts himself off again, holding his nose bridge before exhaling sharply. When he speaks again, his voice is quieter, rougher.

“It’s you, Y/N. Just… you.”

Your breath catches in your throat. The scent of night-blooming flowers, the taste of the wine, the warmth between you—it all feels charged with possibility.

“I—I… Spence—Wh—” you trail off, eyes flicking from his to his lips and back again.

Spencer’s gaze drops to your mouth, pupils blown wide. He swallows hard.

For the first time in his life, Dr. Spencer Reid doesn’t overanalyse. Doesn’t run the math. He just—acts.

His trembling hand lifts slowly, giving you time to pull away. His fingertips ghost along your jaw. His voice is barely audible over the hum of traffic and music.

“Can I…?”

The unfinished question hangs between you.

You inhale shakily, pulse racing as you lean into his touch, tilting your chin up slightly.

“Please.”

Something in him breaks free. He cups your face gently, brushing his thumb over your cheekbone as he leans in.

“I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” he murmurs. “Since before I even knew what it meant to want something like this.”

Then, finally, blessedly, his lips meet yours.

There’s a surge of passion coursing through your body, goosebumps prickling your skin. Spencer’s mouth is soft and hesitant at first, as if he can scarcely believe that this is real. You press closer, eliminating the remaining distance between you, and he responds with a low, almost silent groan that sends shivers down your spine.

Your hands rest upon his chest as you stand on your tiptoes, feeling the rapid thump of his heartbeat beneath your warm palms. You can’t help but pour all of your pent-up longing into the kiss, and neither can he. Years of stolen glances and lingering touches culminate in this perfect, blissful moment.

Spencer tastes like mint and something uniquely, wonderfully him. As you melt into him, mouths moving together like dancers, a wave of dizzying euphoria crashes over him. His hands slide from your face to tangle in your hair, careful not to disturb your perfectly curated hairstyle.

Every rational thought evaporates, replaced by pure sensation— the silkiness of your locks between his fingers, the warmth of your body molded perfectly to his, the way your lips part invitingly against his own.

As you break apart for air, forgetting it was ever truly necessary for survival, Spencer chases your mouth desperately, nuzzling into the curve of your neck with a shuddering sigh. His breath is hot against your skin as he begins to whisper in a hoarse voice,

“Y/N… God, Y/N.”

You tilt your head back, exposing more of your neck to his ministrations, and a breathy moan escapes your lips. Your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, anchoring yourself to him as the world spins delightfully in and out of focus.

“Spencer,” you gasp, your body still arching into him as his lips blaze a trail of fire along your throat. “We… not here… m-my dad…”

Even as you protest weakly, your body betrays you, pressing closer to him; silently begging for more. But your words pierce through the haze of desire clouding his mind, reality crashing back into Spencer with brutal force. He pulls back almost abruptly, chest heaving as he struggles to regain control of himself. Panic flickers in his eyes, warring with the lingering hunger sparked by your kiss.

“Shit,” Spencer breathes, running a shaky hand through his already disheveled hair. “I’m sorry— we can’t—”

He takes a step back, putting deliberate distance between you. His gaze darts anxiously toward the sliding doors leading back inside, half expecting to see Hotch standing there, ready to tear him limb from limb.

“This was a mistake,” he mutters, more to himself than to you.

Anxiety bubbles in your throat at his withdrawal, cold dread settling in your stomach. Did you really misread the situation completely? Is this just another rejection, another cruel twist of fate denying you the one person you’ve always wanted?

“No, wait!” You reach out instinctively, grasping his wrist before he can put more distance between you both.

“Spencer, please look at me,” you plead, voice thick with unshed tears threatening to brim at the corners of your eyes. “I-it doesn’t feel like a mistake to me.”

He freezes at your touch, muscles tense beneath your fingers. For a long, beating moment, Spencer stands rigid, internal conflict playing out plainly on his face. Finally, with a shuddering exhale, he turns to you properly, facing you again.

Spencer’s gaze searches yours intently, seeking reassurance, a sense of confirmation that he hasn’t irrevocably damaged something precious between you. When he begins to speak again, his voice is raw with emotion.

“Y/N, I… I’ve wanted this… us… for a while now.” He confesses quietly, hand coming up to cover yours where it still rests on his wrist. “But Hotch— your dad— my job— if we get caught…”

He trails off, swallowing hard as his eyes flicker to the patio doors once again. The team still not noticed your departure.

”He just…” You begin to loosen the grip on his wrist. “…doesn’t have to find out right now.” Your eyes glint with a mischievousness at your words. Unsure of how Spencer would react to the thought.

Spencer’s eyebrows shoot upward, Surprise momentarily overriding the panic In his expression. He studies you closely, searching for any sign of doubt or hesitation. Finding none, a tentative smile begins to tug at the corners of his mouth.

”Are you suggesting that we… sneak around?” He asks, voice pitched low and conspiratorial. Despite the gravity of the situation, there’s an undeniable thrill in the idea—a secret to be shared by only the two of you.

He steps close again, closing the gap he had created moments before. His free hand comes up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing tenderly over your lower lip. Still puckered and red from your kiss.

”If that’s what you want…” He murmurs, leaning in until his forehead rests against yours.

”I know Uncle Dave’s like the back of my hand.” You smirk up at him with a quick wink. “If we go round the left, there’s the side door we can get into without going through the part again.”

A shiver runs through him at the intensity of your gaze, the implication of your words sinking in, he glances briefly towards the way you indicated, then back to you—eyes darkening with desire and anticipation. He presses a kiss to your forehead.

”Lead the way,” he breathes, voice husky with barely contained excitement. His fingers intertwine with yours, squeezing gently as if to reassure himself that this is real, that you’re both really dong this.

With one last furtive look around to ensure you haven’t been spotted, he allows you to guide him along the shadowed edge of the porch, your hearts pointing in tandem as you slip quietly through the side door and to whatever possibilities await you beyond.

As you both enter the side door, you’re met with a hallway that leads to the main room, a laundry room or a small bathroom. You bite your lip in thought before saying, “Where do you think we should go?” Your voice is a hushed whisper. Even though the music that had now been put on was probably loud enough that no one would hear you anyway.

Spencer pauses, considering your options with his strategic mind honed by years of profiling. He always had this silent look on his face when he conducted machinations in his head, something you always found attractive. After a moment, he gestures towards the laundry room.

”In here,” he suggests, keeping his voice equally low. “Less chance of someone needing to use it mid party.”

Spencer now takes the lead as you both slip inside the dimly lit space. He shuts the door softly behind you both, keeping an ear out to see if anyone would hear it shut before turning back to face you. The small room feels even smaller with the two of you inside, the air charged with anticipation.

Without warning, he crowds you against the washing machine, hands gripping your waist possessively. His lips find yours again, hungry and demanding, as if making up for the lost time. He lifts you with ease, setting you on the machine so you don't have to tiptoe up to his height for your lips to meet.

“God Y/N,” Spencer groans against your mouth in the heated mess of you both.

You can’t help but respond eagerly to his passionate kisses, your body flush against his as the washing machine hums softly beneath you. Your fingers thread through the curls of his hair, nails lightly scraping against his scalp as you hold him closer.

Breathless and flushed, you manage to murmur between kisses, “I’ve wanted this for so long too, Spencer. You have no idea how many nights I’ve lain awake thinking about you.”

Emboldened by the intimacy of the moment, you tug at the hem of his shirt, desperate to feel the heated bare skin of him underneath. a low growl rumbles in his chest at your words, the sound sending a delicious thrill down your spine. Without breaking the kiss, he begins to hastily unbutton his dress shirt, tossing it carelessly aside. His hands immediately return to your waist, thumbs delicately tracing circles on your hips.

When he finally pulls back, panting heavily, his eyes are nearly black with desire. He drinks in the sight of you— cheeks flushed, lips swollen from his kisses, chest heaving with each and every ragged breath.

”Tell me what you need, baby,” Spencer rasps, his voice dripping with lust you’ve only ever dreamt of. “I’ll give you anything. Everything.”

You smirk at his proposal.

”I thought you were the smart one Spence?“ You smirk at his proposal, watching his schoolboy crush air leave his body as the dominance takes over. “I’m sure you already know everything I want, don’t you boy genius?”

Spencer’s breath stutters at the challenge in your voice, pupils dilating impossibly wider. A sharp,predatory grin cuts across his normally gentle features; transforming him into something darker, hungrier.

”Oh darling,” he purrs, deft fingers hiking the edges of your dress up with shocking gentleness and precision, “you forget— profiling is what I do.”

The fabric pools at your hips with a whisper of silk, leaving you gloriously exposed under his searing gaze. His hands glide up your thighs with an agonising slowness, calloused fingertips mapping every dip and curve as he commits them to his eidetic memory.

“All those times you ‘accidentally’ brushed against me in the bullpen? Or when we were alone in Quantico’s archives?” He murmurs, nipping at your earlobe. “Three distinct physiological tells of intentional contact.”

A dark chuckle vibrates against your neck as his teeth graze your pulse point. His hands tighten possessively on your hips, pulling you flush against the tent arising in his trousers.

”What you want, princess,” he growls, voice dripping with sinful promise, “is to surrender that clever mouth to one who’ll appreciate every filthy syllable falling from it.”

One hand slides up to fist in your hair, angling your head back to expose your throat. His other palm splays across your abdomen, pressing firmly to remind you who controls this encounter.

”As for needs?” His lips ghost over yours, breathing the words directly into your mouth: “Y/N, you need to be ruined so thoroughly, you’ll forget any other man’s touch.”

You let out a breathy moan, melting into his touch. Your body arches instinctively, wantonly against his, craving more of this intoxicating control he had you under.

“Yes,” You hiss, nails raking down his back in need. “You’re making me so wet talking to me like that—“

A primal noise escapes him at your confession, his cock twitching painfully against the confines of his trousers. His grip tightens in your hair, forcing your gaze to lock with his burning stare.

”Is that right?” Spencer rasps, dragging his clothed erection deliberately against your soaked core. “Let me taste.”

In one fluid motion, he sinks to his knees before you, hands spreading your thighs wide. His breath ghosts over your slick folds, eyes gleaming with wicked intent.

”My brilliant girl,” he murmurs reverently before sealing his mouth over you with devastating precision.

You can’t help but cry out sharply as his tongue delves between your folds, pleasure spiking through you. Your fingers scrabble for purchase, finding his hair and fisting in the silky strands.

”Fuck, Spencer!” You keen, throwing your head back in ecstasy.

Your hips roll shamelessly against his face chasing more of that sweet exquisite friction. The obscene sounds of his suckling fill the small room, mingling with your moans. You smack your hand over your mouth, suddenly aware of your lewd actions and the fact that everyone was only a couple of rooms over.

He chuckles darkly against your sensitive core, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure throughout you. Gripping your hips tighter, he pins you hardest against the washing machine to muffle the rhythmic rocking.

”Quiet, princess,” he commands between licks, voice wrecked and muffled by your arousal. “Or do you want Daddy walking in on his little girl getting eaten out by his best profiler?”

The dirty taunt paired with another expert swirl of his tongue has your thighs trembling violently around his head. His free hand snakes up to replace yours over your mouth, effectively silencing any further cries from you.

Through the thin walls, the distant bass of the part music thrums steadily— marking each passing second you both remain undiscovered in your illicit tryst.

You can’t help yourself to bite the fleshy part of his palm to stifle a scream as his skilled mouth works you over, pushing you rapidly closer to the edge. Tears of overwhelming sensation prick at the corners of your eyes, your entire body wound as taut as a bowstring.

”That’s it,” he rasps against your slick heat, nudging your legs wider with his shoulders. “Bite me harder. Let me feel how badly you need this.”

Just as your orgasm crests, threatening to crash over you, he suddenly withdraws—leaving you gasping and trembling on the precipice. Looking up through hooded eyes, he watches the devastation play across your face with smug satisfaction.

”Not yet baby,” he tuts, wiping his glistening mouth with the back of his hand.

”N-no, m’so close.” Your words stutter out your mouth as if you were drunk on the high of needing to finish. Tears peak at the corners of your eyes and drool trickles out the corner of your mouth.

Spencer’s expression shifts instantly at the sight of your distress— dominance melting into concern as he surges upright. Thumbs swipe gently beneath your eyes, catching stray tears while his lips press kisses along your damp cheeks.

”Shh, I’ve got you,” Spencer murmurs, voice thick with remorse. “I’m here to ground you baby, here—“

Guiding your limp wrists behind you, he uses his discarded shirt to bind them securely against the washing machine’s control panel. The restraint holds just enough pressure to ground you without discomfort.

”Better?” He checks softly, stroking soothing circles along your inner thigh. When you nod shakily, relief floods his features.

”Good girl. Now—“ His fingers trace upwards with tantalising slowness, pausing mere centimetres where you ache for him the most.

You whimper softly as his fingers play their coy dance along your inner thigh. Your bound arms strain slightly against the makeshift restraint, a futile attempt to pull him closer.

”Please, Spence,” You breathe, voice raw with need. “I can’t take much more teasing. I’m aching for you, the way you speak to me… it’s driving me crazy.”

You shift your hips relentlessly, trying to close the minimal distance between his hand and your throbbing centre. The cool air of the laundry room contrasts deliciously with the feverish heat radiating from your core.

A satisfied smirk curls his lips as he watches you squirm against the restraints, your desperation fuelling his own growing need. Leaning in, he drags his teeth along the delicate shell before whispering,

”Patience princess. Good girls get rewarded.”

Finally—mercifully- his fingers dip between your slick folds, circling your swollen clit with a torturously slow pace. His other hand grips your hip tightly, holding you steady.

”Do you know how irresistible you look right now?” His voice is thick with lust, his dark eyes drinking in every tremble, every hitch of your breath as if to commit you to memory. “Bound and begging for me, just like I’ve imagined so many times.”

His fingers dip inside of you, pace quickening imperceptibly, applying just the right amount of pressure to send shocks of pleasure reaching through you.

”Y-yeah? Been fantasising about fucking your boss’ daughter?” You tease, biting your lip hard to stifle your moans as he slips in and out of your heat. “What do you imagine?”

Spencer intakes a breath quickly, fingers faltering at your bold question before resuming their rhythm with renewed vigour. His hand on your hip comes up to ball a first in your hair, tipping your head back to expose the vulnerable column of your throat.

”Imagined you bending over my desk at Quantico.” Spencer admits roughly, punctuating each word with a punishing thrust of his fingers. “Making you recite my case statistics while I fucked you stupid.”

His teeth scrapes along your pulse point as his tempo increases, curling his fingers just so to drag against that spot inside that makes your vision white out.

”Dreamed about gaggin’ you with my tie when you got too loud.” He continues to rant, voice drooping to a sinful whisper. “Or watching your pretty mascara run while you cried around my cock.”

From each of his dirty words, you shudder and moan loudly, your body tensing as you feel yourself climbing higher and higher towards release. The obscene wet sounds of his fingers pumping in and out of you accompanied by your increasingly desperate whimpers.

”Ah ah ah! F-fuck, Spencer!” You cry out, your hips bucking erratically against his hands as he hits that perfect spot inside you again and again. “I’m… M’gonna—!”

Your thighs begin to quake, squeezing around his wrist as your climax builds to a crescendo. You’re so close, teetering right on the knife’s edge of ecstasy. All you need is a little more, just a little…

“Please please please,” You babble incoherently, too far gone to care if any of the partygoers heard you now, even your Dad. all you wanted right now was to come undone by his hand.

His movements become erratic, matching your frantic energy as he feels your walls fluttering around his fingers. A sheen of sweat coats his brow as he watches you unravel beautifully beneath him.

”That’s it, baby,” Spencer encourages gruffly, adding a third finger to stretch you further. “Come for me. Show me how good I make you feel.”

With one final, purposeful curl of his fingers against your sweet spot combined with a firm pressure against your clit, he pushes you over the edge— watching raptly as pleasure contorts your features in the most breathtaking way. He wanted to watch you like this over and over again.

Only when the last tremors subside does he ease his touch, bringing glistening fingers to his lips with a satisfied smirk. “Perfect.”

You collapse bonelessly against the washing machine, chest heaving as you come down from the intense high. Aftershocks still zing through your nerves, making you twitch and shudder with each exhale. Through heavy-lidded eyes, you watch Spencer bring his coated fingers to his mouth, a fresh wave of arousal crashing over you at the erotic sight.

”You’re insatiable.” You pant with a weak laugh, already feeling the familiar ache building again despite your recent release. “Taste good?”

Maintaining eye contact, he sucks your essence from his fingers with exaggerated relish—groaning low in his throat like its the finest vintage Rossi owns. His free hand unties your wrists in slow, worshipful motions, massaging the faint marks left behind.

”Like distilled sin,” He kisses your pulse point on your wrist before guiding your limp arms around his neck. “Now…” Strong hands lift you effortlessly off the washing machine, letting you stand before him. The bulge in his pants grinds against you, drawing a broken whimper from your lips.

”Fair’s fair, princess. Time to return the favour?” Hair mussed beyond repair, he looks every bit the debauched scholar as he palms himself through his trousers. “Unless you’d rather I fetch ‘daddy’ instead?”

You shake your head vehemently at the mention of your father, a full-body shudder runs through you at the thought. Sliding down to your knees to the cold floor beneath him. A strangled curse rips from his throat as he sees you look at him, through your lashes.

”Christ—“ Spencer grits out, pupils blown so widely only a sliver of honey brown remains visible. “Gonna ruin that pretty throat if you keep looking at me like that.”

With practiced efficiency he unfastens his belt buckle one-handed while the other tangles in your hair, guiding your face level with his straining erection. The musky scent of his arousal permeates the humid air between you.

”Open,” he demands, voice gravel-dark with need. The head of his member taps insistently against your parted lips, smearing some precome across your bottom lip. “That’s it baby girl.”

You open your mouth eagerly, sticking your tongue out to lap at the bead of precome leaking from the tip. The salty sweet taste explodes across your tastebuds, eliciting a moan from you. Without hesitation, you wrap your lips around his girth and begin to bob your head, taking him deeper into the wet heat of your mouth with each pass. Your tongue swirls around his shaft as you suck hard, hollowing your cheeks to increase the suction. One hand comes up to stroke his shaft whilst my other grips his thigh for balance as you work him over enthusiastically.

Spencer’s head falls back with a guttural groan as your talented mouth envelops him, spit-slick lips stretching obscenely around his considerable girth. Tremors wrack his frame as you swallow him down expertly.

”Fucking hell—“ He manages to choke out, hips twitching forward instinctively before he forcibly reins himself back. “Look at you…made for this.”

His calloused fingers card through your hair, alternating between gentle guidance and near-painful tugs whenever you take him particularly deep. Precome leaks freely from his slit now, coating your tongue in bitter salty perfection as you lavish attention on his throbbing length.

”So good,” His praises come out raggedly, as he watches you with rapt fascination as your lips glide along his veiny shaft.

You can’t help yourself but moan around his thickness, sending vibrations up his shaft as he uses your mouth. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes from the intensity but you don’t pull away. Determined to take him as deep as you can. When he finally pulls himself out, you gasp for air before looking up at him with lust-hazed eyes.

Your tongue traces the thick vein on the underside of him before bobbing your head down faster, not breaking your eye contact with him.

A guttural snarl rips from his throat at you submitting so beautifully, his self-control snapping like a frayed wire. Both hands fist in your hair now, holding you immobile as he pistons his hips ruthlessly into your mouth.

“That’s it—take it,” he growls, the wet sounds of your mouth surrounding him filling the laundry room.

His rhythm grows erratic, balls drawing up tight against his body as his orgasm barrels towards him unstoppably. With one final snap of his hips, he buries himself to the hilt down your throat—pulsing thick ropes of come directly down your throat.

”Holy shit—“ Spencer gasps as you swallow convulsively around his spurting cock. Milking him for every last drop as you savour the intimate act of taking his release. He collapses forward slightly to brace against the appliance as aftershocks wrack his tall frame.

Once he starts to soften, you let him slip from your lips with a lewd pop, maintaining eye contact as you lick your lips clean. A satisfied hum vibrates through your chest at the taste

You can see his chest still heaving as he watches you with darkened eyes, visibly affected by your devotion. As he helps you rise, he tenderly tucks a sweaty strand of hair behind your ear, fingers trembling slightly from residual pleasure.

”Christ Y/N…” He mutters under a shaky breath, voice wrecked. “That was—“ Spencer swallows hard, emotions flashing across his expressive face before he schools his features into something softer. “Wow.”

”We should…” He gestures vaguely toward the door, the distant thump of bass reminding you both of the precariousness of your situation. Yet when he moves to adjust his clothes, one hand lingers protectively at your waist, clearly reluctant to let you go.

”I don’t regret this,” he says suddenly, earnestly, searching your face. “Not a single second.”

Your heart swells at his confession, hiding a slight smile behind your hands as you clean up your face.

”I don’t either, Spence,” you assure him softly, “And I’d like to do it again if you would too.”

With great reluctance, you step back for you both to straighten your clothes, trying to compose yourselves. The lingering ache between your thighs and the taste of him on your tongue make it difficult to focus on really anything else.

”We should probably head back before we’re uhm… missed.” You agree with his earlier sentiment, though your tone holds no real enthusiasm for the idea. “Uhm, I’m scared to ask, but how does my makeup look?”

Spencer lets out a warm chuckle, reaching up to gently swipe away the smudged mascara beneath your eyes with his thumb. His touch is feather-light almost reverent as he cleans up the evidence of your illicit passions.

”A little… well-loved,” he admits with a sheepish grin, tilting your chin up to inspect his handiwork. “But beautiful. Always beautiful”

Stepping back, he adjusts his hair and smooths down his rumpled shirt, transforming into the composed FBI agent you loved— though the swollen redness of his lips betrays him. Offering his arm, he nods toward the door.

”After you princess. I’ll follow at a discreet distance.” His eyes spark with a little mischief and a smile accompanies it. “Wouldn’t want to raise suspicions… yet.”

#♡ written by peridot 🎱#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x you #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid fic

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anantaru · 2 years ago

Text

DAY 21 — JEALOUSY

kinktober 2023. — masterlist | ao3

𖧡 — including — alhaitham, thoma, scaramouche, wriothesley

𖧡 — warnings — fem! reader, jealous & possessive boys, a lil insecure, fear of you leaving them, prone bone, oral (male! receiving), teasing & rough

𖧡 — ALHAITHAM

indeed, it was a lot more convenient for alhaitham to pretend like he wasn't jealous right now, painfully so, and the thought of him even getting to this point was somewhat embarrassing to the renowned scribe— especially since you're giving him no reasons to be jealous in the first place.

with shaky fingers, you frame your hands behind his neck as you push him close for a quick kiss, and alhaitham found himself welcoming you with a roughness that manifested into ruthless ruts of his length shattering all sense of rationality in you when you jolt your hips into him, his cock continuously pushing into you possessively before dragging his palm down to grope your tits— his way of handling and pleasing your body was always enough to make you empty headed and crave more friction, even though alhaitham was rougher than usually this time around.

little do you realize that alhaitham couldn't look at your wide, pleading eyes, instead he focused on making you feel good, despite his head being full of constant bothering thoughts and emotions, his own glossed over eyes filled with deep annoyance.

what the man didn't wanted to happen was for you to suddenly believe that his obvious lack of attention and negligence was directed at you, but alas, it gave the impression away, especially when you whine out his name, alhaitham, alhaitham, again and again, but he doesn't even look at you, and it's like a mark burning into your skin when he stops himself at last, his cock still throbbing inside the confines of your walls but alhaitham wasn't moving an inch anymore.

"i-is something wrong?" you mutter, breathing and sniffling through your moans, "did i do something?" your gentle words of compliance slip past his ears as he suddenly returns your gaze at last, his eyes open wide when the realization hit him. the heat in the air gets drained entirely and the mood falters a little, replaced with subtle touches, low breaths and at last, alhaitham's unwavering focus on you.

"no," he shakes his head immediately, "you did nothing," and here his voice softened, continuing, "you could never, you know that," he looks at you, and in return, you raise your eyebrows at him, utterly irritated, asking him non-verbally to explain himself and his difficult pondering— your cunt still pressed around his girth and it's more pleasurable than painful, yet neither of you was moving an inch, and it doesn't seem like you will for a while.

alas— as you might be utterly aware by now, alhaitham wasn't a man of many words, he preferred the easier route, and his heart was steady for once, thanks to you shaking his thoughts and calming him with nothing but your sensual voice.

and, truthfully, there was a part of him that enjoyed letting his desires out like that, to signalize you his desires despite him drifting off into his thoughts every now and then.

or, that in the end, any other individual fumbling their attempt to get to know you will fail, because as always, alhaitham never has to fear for any lack of loyalty coming from you.

𖧡 — THOMA

the mental picture of not being good enough for you creeped its way over thoma's psyche and body, while this particular thinking was making him much too jealous, too insecure and grumpy, truly, he absolutely loathed the feeling of it, it left a bad taste in his mouth and he hated himself deeply right now.

by now, it felt as though he had memorized every word that his negative emotions spoke to him, and it served as an evident contrast to the lustful temperature littering over your naked bodies as he plays with you, his red tip battering against your sensitive insides with such roughness that your entire body was bouncing back and forth the bed.

"you're mine," thoma's repeated declarations ooze into you and scratch the deepest depths of your brain, "mine, fuck— and mine," it truly messes with your mind, his thrusts deep and precise making you cry desperately with quick snaps of his hips holding your breath away.

"yes.." you hiccup weakly, "forever... yours," and thoma groans loudly at your sentences, he was so glad that he cannot help himself but smile— even though of course, it didn't entirely melt away the troubling thoughts, they continue to pester him, how not when he was thinking about it all day long.

in spite of that, he wanted to prove himself until you're utterly trapped to the feeling of being overflowed by his throbbing length swelling inside, taking up all the sweet space until you're nothing but full of him— swiftly hiding your dampened face against thoma's neck, stifling your darling cries as he pushes faster, deeper, his painfully hard cock pistoling in and out until you're practically yelling his name in broken spells.

it only takes a couple more thrusts before he spills into you, your clenching walls trying to keep him in as your legs tremble while trapped in a frenzy, fluids mixing and oozing over his erection— and it's sudden, when you run your fingers over his scalp to drag him into you, and it immediately fills him with an emotion akin to joy, "i'm yours, thoma,"

perhaps, that’s all thoma needed to hear— remembering the fact that he was chosen by you, that it was only him who was allowed to touch you, kiss you, taste you.

𖧡 — SCARAMOUCHE

"are you close? please tell me, please.." a hot breeze ignites the shell of your ear as scaramouche's warm, desperate heaves brush across the deepest parts on your body, each word of his spoken out so sinfully that it somehow showed a different, much more vulnerable side of him. he holds you close to his figure, one hand planted on top of your hips while the other was located on the back of your neck, sinfully pressing your head against the soiled pillows with your mouth gaped open, moaning out the pleasure.

the unforgiving, strong pace of his hips was never losing on strength, the intensity of his blows was maddening, merciless, and you could feel it all, he made sure of, the thick veins prancing around his shaft ripping through your bruised walls, sending a stimulating bolt all the way down to your spine.

"cry for me, come on," he breathes, his voice thick of lust, fuck, he was so worked up, so fucking mad at the fact that his own insecurities were playing cruel tricks on him, and he needed to make you cum right now, so he could release himself right after and bury every last drop of his seed inside of you, until you're overcrowded, your eyes brimming with warm tears due to the sheer impact.

now, kuni's broken inability to talk about his feelings and concerns was difficult to navigate through, but this is where everything changes— because after you whine out his name when his rough fingers slide down between your trembling legs, rolling two digits over your neglected clit as he glides his tongue over his lips before pressing his entire weight on top of you, with his mouth located right against your ear.

"i hate, hate, hate, hate, how they look at you," scaramouche really wanted to be gentle this night, he was really trying his best to not let his emotions run freely, but he just couldn't help himself anymore, so he grinds down harder, feeling everything, fucking you hard and deep and reaching the sweet spots he knew you'd roll your eyes back at.

completely lost in the feeling of you, his dripping erection ridges into your bruised walls as his cock repeatedly stretches you— he needed to feel you, more and more, endlessly craving your insides to tighten around his shaft and milk every last drop of him, until his troubled mind would stop racing into negative directions and perhaps then, he'll finally open up to you and tell you about his deep-rooted insecurities.

𖧡 — WRIOTHESLEY

"hold still for me", wriothesley inhales deeply into his chest, the scent of pheromones and sweat driving him ferocious— he could feel himself twitch underneath your warm palm hungrily smearing his salty pre all over his shaft and it's uncontrolled, stimulating, when you pin a snug kiss on his rosy tip.

he places on hand against the back of your head as you part your mouth to take him, your nostrils filled with his scent that permeated every single part of him and made you push your thighs together in impatience— but it wasn't your turn yet, and you wanted to parade your hot mouth over his throbbing dick a while longer, until wriothesley realizes that you could do this perpetually, his lengthy cock in your mouth so you could give it the attention it deserved, your saliva streaming down and making it shine as the spit dribbles all the way down to his aching balls.

"you know you're the only one for me, right?" he laughs before hissing out in exhilaration when you fondle his balls, adding more strength towards the underside but holding them sensitively, you wouldn't want to hurt him, so you bob your head up and down, swallow his salty pre whilst massaging his balls in your hand, all the while parting your mouth as wide as you could, taking as much into your throat as would fit.

"and there's— fucking hell, no reason to be jealous, baby," you suddenly look up at him through pleading eyes, were you really this obvious with it today? well, granted, you cannot even describe the level of rage you would feel whenever someone would talk about your boyfriend, as if he was single, even though knowing full on well he wasn't— yet the good part? wriothesley might be the last person who'd ever give a damn about those pestering intruders, how you referred to them, and he was barely able to wait until he could bury your mouth to the hilt before spilling sweet nothings into your ears.

"fuck—," he grunts, clenched jaw tensing when he feels it move over your wet tongue tracing over his swollen veins, "fuck, just you wait— just you wait," before he spreads his legs further, so you could fit right in between his strong thighs better, and have enough room while being stuffed full of his cock prodding at the back of your throat.

as was anticipated, wriothesley was slowly turning louder and it's a melodious sound sending a warmth through your body, heightening the temperature on your drenched core slicking up your panties and puncturing it to a sizzling degree— but you're keeping yourself contained, all for him, for his delicious erection slipping through and expanding, sealing you together as one.

#genshin impact x reader #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #genshin x reader #wriothesley x reader #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham smut #thoma x reader #thoma smut #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche smut #genshin x you #kinktober #genshin Impact x you #scaramouche x you #alhaitham x you #al haitham x reader #al haitham smut #wriothesley smut

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meadowfics · 2 months ago

Text

bedroom across the hall

father-in-law!cho sang woo x f!reader

you're feeling needy, and all you had to do is knock on your boyfriend's father's door

warnings: MDNI! smut. sangwoo being possessive, vulgar language and dialogue, fingering (f!reader receiving), oral (reader receiving), p in v unprotected, cheating, praise. age gap. reader is implied to be 21, so of legal age.

you lie in the guest bedroom, the ivory colored sheets cold against your skin, the argument with your boyfriend still screams inside of your head. that boy’s sharp words, the way he turned away from you…it stings, but it’s not what keeps you awake.

it’s the hallway. that damn hallway. you know sangwoo’s room is just a few steps away, his door probably cracked open like it always is, tempting you in a way you can’t admit out loud. your boyfriend’s father… 45, broad-shouldered, a smart graduate from SNU with that low, gravelly voice…has been a quiet storm in your mind for weeks.

the tension’s been building, little glances over dinner, his hand brushing yours when he passed the salt. you shouldn’t. you really shouldn’t.

however tonight, your resolve snaps.

you slip out of bed, barefoot, your blue oversized t-shirt barely covering your thighs. the house is silent, save for the faint hum of the air conditioning. your heart’s pounding as you pad down the hallway, stopping in front of his door. you hesitate, then knock…soft, but firm enough to wake him.

“oh? well, look who it is,” comes his voice, low and teasing, before the door even swings open.

“look who’s sneaking around in the dark. lost, little girl?”

you aren’t that little, being almost twenty-two years old.

he’s leaning against the frame, shirtless, sweatpants slung low on his hips. sangwoo’s dark hair’s mussed, and his eyes glint with something dangerous, something that makes your stomach flip. you swallow hard.

“i couldn’t sleep,” you mumble, shifting your weight, “and… i don’t know. i just—”

“oh, you know,” sangwoo cuts in, stepping closer, his voice dripping with mockery.

“don’t play shy now. you didn’t come here to chat about the weather or the stock market, did you?”

you shake your head, heat creeping up your neck. he smirks, stepping aside to let you in. the door clicks shut behind you, and the air feels heavier now, charged. he’s close…too close…and you can smell the faint musk of him, intoxicating.

“what’s the matter?” he taunts, circling you like a predator.

“trouble in paradise? my son is not keeping you happy?”

“stop it,” you whisper, but it’s weak, and he knows it.

“nah,” he chuckles, his breath hot against your ear as he leans in.

“i think you like it when i tease you. i think you’ve been thinking about this for a while, haven’t you? in my bed, my hands on your body… me in general.”

your breath hitches, and he grabs your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze.

“say it,” he murmurs, “tell me you want it.”

“i want it,” you do not hesitate to admit, voice trembling, and that’s all he needs.

he crashes his mouth against yours, rough and hungry, his hands gripping your hips like he owns you.

“that’s my girl,” he growls into the kiss, backing you up until your legs hit the bed. you fall onto it, and he’s on you in an instant, tugging your shirt up and off, leaving you bare beneath him. his eyes rake over you, possessive, dark.

“fuck, look at you,” he mutters, voice thick with lust.

“all mine tonight, huh? he doesn’t deserve this pussy anyway.”

sangwoo’s hands are everywhere…sliding up your thighs, spreading you open. he slips two fingers inside you without warning, and you gasp, arching into him.

“so wet already,” he teases, pumping them slow and deep, “what, you been thinking about me all night? dripping for your boyfriend’s old man?”

“sangwoo—” you whimper, and he grins, wicked.

“that’s it, say my name,” he says, curling his fingers until you’re shaking, “gonna make you feel so good, my baby.”

he pulls his fingers out, slick with you, and brings them to his mouth, sucking them clean while holding your gaze. suddnely, he’s on his knees, yanking your hips to the edge of the bed, his tongue diving into you like he’s starved for it.

you moan, loud and shameless, hands fisting in his hair as he licks and sucks, his groans vibrating against you.

“taste so fucking sweet,” he mumbles between messy laps, “could eat this pussy all night.”

you’re a wreck under him, thighs trembling, but he doesn’t stop until you’re coming apart. when you cum for thr second time, you cry out his name. he pulls back, lips glistening, smirking as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“good girl,” he praises, voice soft but dripping with control, “now let’s see how you handle me.”

he stands, shoving his sweatpants down, and you barely have time to process before he’s between your legs again, hard and thick against you.

“gonna fuck you raw,” he says, lining himself up, “you’re mine now, got it?”

you nod, desperate, and he thrusts in, deep and unrelenting. you cry out, the stretch burning, but he doesn’t give you time to adjust…just starts pounding into you, one hand gripping your throat, the other digging into your hip.

“fuck, you’re tight,” he grunts, voice rough, “this pussy is all mine. say it.”

“yours,” you gasp, and he groans, slamming harder.

“damn right,” he snarls, “gonna ruin you for him. he’ll never fuck you this good.”

he pulls out suddenly, flipping you onto your stomach.

“ass up,” he orders, and you scramble to obey, burying your face in the sheets as he grabs your hips and takes you from behind. the angle’s brutal, hitting every spot that makes you see stars, and his hand cracks against your ass, sharp and possessive.

“look at you, taking it like a slut,” he says, breathless, smug, “i hope he hears you…my perfect little whore.”

you moan into the mattress, pushing back against him, and he laughs, low and filthy.

“oh, you love it, don’t you? keep going, baby. fuck yourself on me.”

he doesn’t let up, driving into you until you’re a mess, clawing at the sheets, his praise spilling over you…“so good for me,” “such a pretty little thing,” “taking it like a champ.” it’s too much, and you’re coming again, clenching around him until he curses, loud and vulgar.

“fuck… should i fill you up?” he groans, knowing the answer. with one last thrust, he does, spilling hot and deep inside you. he collapses over you for a moment, breathing hard, then rolls off, pulling you against his chest.

“you’re mine now,” he murmurs, voice soft but firm, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your skin.

“don’t forget it.”

masterlist

author's note: I am not going to lie. while writing this, I stared to imagine berlin (haesoo's other character in another netflix series) and not sangwoo... oops

#cho sang woo #cho sang woo x reader #squid game #squid game fanfic #squid game s2 #squid game season 2 #squid game x reader #squid game x y/n #squid game x you #squid game s1 #squid game season 1 #squid game season 3 #meadowfics #berlin x reader money heist

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mrchiipchrome · 7 months ago

Text

Girlfriends?

W.C. - 5.7 k

a/n: wonze kid is backkkkkkkkkk and with a bang.

----------------

Growing up in Sevilla, life was perfect. Three older brothers that encouraged your footballing ability practically from the second you took your first breath, a set of parents that pushed you to be the very best at everything, and an academy that proved to be the absolute best for your development made for a good childhood.

A quick learner by far, you had already started playing with girls twice your age when you were 10, and by age 12 (and a half) you had already started to train with the senior girls, not old enough to be allowed to play in matches.

It was a weekly routine you had built up over the years, go train with the senior girls during the weekdays, school work completed during the afternoon, games with the girls your age on fridays, games with the U21s during the sunday afternoon. It was hectic, sure, but you were good, really good.

Some weeks you would have to skip the U21 matches in favor of tournaments with the other youth teams, which in turn gave you perhaps the best gift of your lifetime, a (by now) 5’6 brunette with the most encaptivating greenish eyes and the feistiest demeanor you’ll ever encounter.

Julia Romero, una true madridista.

Her white clad frame had been a constant in your life since you were practically too short to reach the kitchen table, as feisty as she always had been.

That almost chaotic energy always translated onto the pitch, with creative passes and shots from distance being a regular occurrence in her game. She had your heart captured since the moment you’d first laid eyes on her.

Through the multitude of years you’d come to know each other, you had formed a special partnership both on and off the field, a connection that led to more than a few trophies for the youth national teams.

A package deal as most would label you two as, playing for teams miles upon miles away from each other. It was funny when they (mostly parents of the other kids) would refer to you as that, a package deal.

It was even funnier when they’d refer to you as twins, each fiery and competitive in your own rights, but knowing the hidden affections quickly developing, it just felt wrong.

The weekends you were meeting up to play against each other quickly became the highlights of your weeks, waiting patiently for the next opportunity to challenge the other.

When, at the ripe age of 13, you both got your very own cell phones, communication became ten million times easier and in turn you became ten times more in love with the breakout madrid star. Best in Spain, Y/n/n and Juli.

Strangely enough though, neither of you clocked the fact that you were both madly, undoubtedly, so in love with each other until that night when you both turned 14.

Julia always liked to boast about the fact that she was 10 minutes older than you, born right before midnight, whilst you were born right after midnight.

Sitting on the hotel bed in your shared room at the under 21 Spain camp, the only players under the age of 17, you and your best friend obviously got to room together.

Right across from you sat Julia, with her normal mischievous smile, looking deeply into your eyes as the clock ticked down to midnight, anticipation filling her body more than your own. Your knees touch hers ever so slightly, you both sitting crisscrossed so that you’d be able to even fit on the bed in the first place.

“What are you going to wish for?” She asks, eyes wide in suspense, as if the answer had been something she had been waiting for since the dawn of time. Leaning back into the headboard, you look up towards the ceiling, contemplating (but not really at the same time) about what you would wish for as you blew out the lit match only minutes from now.

“Maybe a contract from Barcelona.” You tease, looking down at her unamused face, shrieking when she ‘attacks’ you, jumping onto your body and tickling your sides. “No, no, stop, stop, I won’t, I promise.” You gasp out between fits of laughter, Julia quickly retreating with a satisfied look on her face.

“Mhm, better keep that promise. I can’t stand seeing your little sad face when I beat you.” Laying down beside you, Julia starts the teasing again, the look on her face one of amusement, eyes widening as she notices the arms of the clock on the wall almost at midnight.

Watching her spring up from the bed, your eyes follow her all the way until she stops at her bag, pulling a box of matches out of the front compartment.

Pretending you weren’t just studying her entire being when she turns around, Julia makes her way back to the bed, resuming her position on the bed.

“Sit up lazy.” You roll your eyes at the playful insult slipping from her lips, begrudgingly sitting up and facing the shorter girl.

She pulls out a match and strikes it against the match board, lighting up in the span of milliseconds before she holds it out closer to you, waiting for you to blow the flame out. It was the next best thing to a cake, with diets and all.

Actually pondering over what you would wish, only one thing comes to mind.

Closing your eyes, you blow the flame out quickly, only one thing repeating in your mind as you do.

‘All I wish for is you, Julia.’

It puts a small smile on your lips, that much you can’t deny, and as you open your eyes you see the smile is mirrored by the girl across from you, her soft, plump lips stretching into that familiar smile you love oh so much.

“Soooo, what did you wish for?” She asks playfully, smirking at the silly smile painted on your face.

“I don’t wish and tell Juli, those are the rules.” You make a play on the popular saying, backing away from her slowly, as if she wouldn’t notice. Her eyes narrow at you, like she knew something you didn’t.

“Oh really, that’s how it is?” She moves closer to you on the bed, knees just about touching now as she continues her interrogation, looking up at you through her painted lashes.

“Mhm, that’s exactly how it is mi amor.” The casual nickname slips out from between your lips as she leans in closer to you, face only centimeters from your own. You see the way her eyes flick down to rest on your lips for just a second, her hands creeping onto your knees carefully, like she didn’t want to startle you.

You copy her, eyes looking down at the soft lips not too far away from yours, wanting nothing other than to just close the gap between you.

“Do it.” The faint whisper comes from the girl across from you, her lips barely parted as she speaks in that low faint tone, her eyes briefly meeting yours as they look up from your lips. Your eyes look back down at her lips, tongue peeking out to wet your lips quickly. “Kiss me.”

You don’t waste another second after that, leaning in and capturing her lips with your own. They were everything you could have hoped for and more, sweet like the candy you had shared before, with just the smallest hint of mango from the lipgloss she had put on earlier in the day. Her lips were soft like pillows and it felt like you were dreaming, in what world could she not be a figment of your imagination.

When she starts to pull away you chase after her lips, one taste of her and you were already hooked on the drug that is Julia Romero.

“Was that what you wished for?” She asks, her hand pressing against the middle of your chest to almost stop you from catching her lips with yours again.

“Yes, you, all I wished for was you.” Julia smiles with her whole face, looking at you all sweetly like she always did, that love in her eyes stronger than ever.

“Good, because that’s what I wished for too.” Your expression turns confused, like you couldn’t understand what she was saying.

“You wished for yourself too?” The girl has to keep herself from rolling her eyes at your stupidity, instead laying down on the bed just beside where you’re still sitting up and extending her arms out for you to crawl into.

“You’re a dumbass.” She says, laughing as you bury your face in her neck and sigh loudly, throwing your leg around her hips and pulling her entire body into yours.

“Yeah but I’m your dumbass.” Now that you knew she liked you, you would never let her go. And based on the way she laughed and hummed in agreement, you were pretty sure she liked the idea of that too.

—----------------------

The next few months go surprisingly well, with Julia coming down to visit on the weekends every month and you going up to Madrid two weeks after that. The months neither of you had time to visit, that’s when facetime was used the most.

It hurt, not being able to see each other every day, but that was simply life. School and training started picking up again, especially as you had finally been moved up to the senior team permanently, playing in the dying minutes of games and even scoring at times.

But you knew that it would pay off, all the time spent on the pitch and away from your girlfriend, as you got to dedicate all the goals you scored to her. When you scored, the first thing you did was kiss the tape you always had around your wrist (from an old injury that still caused some pain), her name hidden beneath a layer of it, before you ran towards the camera at the corner flag to do your half of the duo celebration you’d both come up with years ago.

In reality it was just a handshake, but you did your half of it in front of the camera every time, no matter what, because you knew she was at home doing the other half.

That was until the last game of the 21/22 season, Sevilla v Barcelona. The team hadn’t lost a game the whole season, undefeated in Liga F and you wanted to break their streak.

Definitely not because a certain someone was in the crowd, waving enthusiastically every time your eyes met as you warmed up. No, it wasn’t her.

You wanted to impress her, not that you’d ever tell her that, seeing as you’d never hear the end of it if you did.

Like usual, you sat on the bench for most of the game, exchanging silly faces with your girl, not even batting an eye as Barcelona hit the net one, two, three, four, five times. She was all you could focus on when you sat on the uncomfortable bench, leg bouncing up and down in anticipation for the call to get on the pitch.

“Y/l/n, it’s time, go warm up.” Your coach told you, watching with careful eyes as you started going through the motions of warming up. It was only the 65th minute, so you had plenty of time to make your mark on the game, like you wanted to.

Only a minute or two later you’re standing at the sidelines, looking back to where your girl is sitting for a bit of reassurance, the girl flashing a big smile and two equally enthusiastic thumbs up your way. Taking a big breath in, you breathe out through your mouth, holding your hands up for your teammate to slap as she makes her way off the pitch for you to enter.

“This is surely not what Barcelona have expected from Sevilla, 14 year old superstar in the making Y/n Y/l/n stepping onto the pitch, towering over her grown opponents as she takes her place in the striker position.” The commentators explain to the people watching the game online, looking on as the game restarts, the ball in Barcelona’s half. You can feel the atmosphere in the stadium, the small section of Sevilla fans cheering louder than the Barcelona fans for just a moment as you step on.

The academy product, scoring against women twice her age most of the time, a superstar from their very own city. They had the right to be proud.

Loudest of all was your girlfriend, standing and cheering for you in one of your old Spain jerseys, as much as she did love you, there was no way that she would ever wear another team’s shirt.

The Barcelona team you were meeting was probably the most difficult team to play against, their skilled midfielders keeping the ball from you and the centerbacks keeping you from ever getting close to their goal. Still, you were nothing if not determined.

Getting the ball back to your feet, you think about all the videos you’d watched and analyzed of the opposing team, how they built up their attacks, how they closed down other teams, everything. All of it is in your head, you know them, you know how they play and you know how to use it to your advantage.

Starting your run through the middle of the pitch, the first player you encounter is Ana-Maria, her style was easy, and it was even easier to tap the ball between her open legs and push around her, continuing your run.

The next player running towards you is a certain Aitana Bonmatí, undoubtedly one of the best players in the world and a player that’s more difficult to get through, given not only the technical skill she possesses but also the pure physicality of the shorter woman. Switching the ball onto your non-dominant foot, you quickly maneuver it to the other one, flicking the ball up in the air before taking advantage of the height difference to run around her and head the ball back down to your foot.

Next up was Mapí Leon, a player that wouldn’t hesitate to use brute force to stop you from getting the ball in the goal, still, like Bonmati she was quite short. Running straight at her, like you predicted, she slides in to get the ball, only you’ve already chipped it straight over her outstretched legs, running to the edge of the penalty box.

The last line of defense, Paños, the one you have the most trouble reading. The goalkeeper rushes out towards you, making herself as big as possible to be able to deflect any shot from your foot. The one thing she doesn’t realize is the fact that you have a knack for curling the ball around the keeper in the most infuriating way possible.

The whole team watches with stunned expressions as the ball travels towards the goal, landing in the bottom corner with a satisfying swish. Two minutes, that’s all it took for you to make your mark on the game, two damn minutes.

Running towards the Sevilla fans on the opposite side of the pitch, you dutifully kiss the tape on your wrist, then tap the badge atop your heart before stopping in front of your girlfriend, holding your hand out to do your celebration.

Moments later, after the whole handshake is done, you wink at her before taking your leave, not forgetting to bow down in front of the screaming fans. Sure, you were still 5-1 down, but you had just scored against the biggest team in the country so you were allowed to celebrate.

Returning to your position, the game restarts and you immediately notice the increased mancoverage on you, you could barely even get the ball before there would be an annoying Barcelona player breathing down your neck.

Using this to your advantage, you distracted the women around you as your teammates built up attacking plays. At the same time, you were still freshly on with loads of energy, leaving the tired players to chase after you as you made runs upon runs.

In the 76th minute you see your teammate run up the wing and you just know she needs a head to meet the ball she plays into the box. Running as fast as you can, you launch yourself up towards the ball, angling it down to the ground just inside the goal with your head, like a bird of sorts.

A brace off the bench against one of the best teams in the world, yeah that’s just something you would do. This time you run towards the cornerflag, your team surrounding you as you get various pats on your head and shoulders. When the team starts to leave to their positions on the field, you decide to do one last thing in front of the furious Barcelona fans.

You blow a kiss to the crowd, laughing at their overreactions to the simple gesture.

In the 89th minute, you find yourself surrounded by shorter women, all trying to keep you from rising up above them and heading the ball from the corner into the goal. Like the slippery eel you are, you try to run circles around them, trying to confuse them with your position.

When you finally settle between two of their defenders you decide to be a little cheeky, one of your favorite pastime activities.

“So are all Barca defenders this short? Or have I just struck gold today?” You tease Mapi, who’s elbow meets your ribs harshly, almost making you double over in pain. There wasn’t much muscle protecting your dear ribs yet, or the rest of your body to be fair, so impact was felt to the full extent.

“Are you not meant to be doing your fifth grade homework?” She asks in the same tone as you had before, looking back at you with that oversure expression on her face. You just know that you have to wipe it off her face, with a goal preferably.

“Aren’t you supposed to be playing bingo with the other elders? Or can you just not reach the table?” Before Mapi can retort, the ball is played into the box and with athleticism that only Zlatan could rival, you leap up into the air, twisting around so that your heel meets the ball with your back to the goal, a perfect scorpion kick. Well as perfect as it could be with you ending up on the ground in the goal.

Dying minute bangers, another specialty of yours.

Blowing another kiss, this time towards the Spanish defender standing dumbfounded in front of you, you get up off the floor, running past her to get back to your own half, not without yelling a quick “that one was for you” to the world class defender. All in good fun of course, you wouldn’t do it maliciously, especially not seeing as they were still leading.

The final whistle is blown only moments later, leaving you to collapse onto the pitch in pure exhaustion from the game. Considering the fact that you’d already played a full 90 against a U23 team earlier that week, you were pretty tired.

Wondering silently if you could just take a nap in the middle of the field, you’re interrupted in your daydreaming by a hand in front of your face, a hand leading up to a player in blaugrana.

“You had a good game kid, next time though, could you not score a hattrick off the bench?” Mapi helps you up and off the ground, shaking your hand properly as you just stand there, a silly smile on your face.

“I can score a double hat trick with a start if that would make you feel any better?” The older defender ruffles your hair quickly at the teasing before she lets you go, sending you on your merry way to wherever it is you went after games.

Trudging across the pitch, you almost fall into your girlfriend’s arms as soon as you get close enough, pretty much falling asleep in the crook of her neck. She giggles sweetly and the sound paints a smile on your face, her whispered complaints of how sweaty you were drowned out by your playful yawns.

Pulling away from her neck, your eyes meet and your cheeks turn even more red than before, the physical exertion from the match clearly catching up to you. But no kiss was exchanged, you two wanted to keep your blooming relationship to yourselves and away from the public eye, leading to the act of just being best friends continuing out in the open.

Your girlfriend’s eyes shift from your own to something behind you, eyes widening exponentially at what she found.

“What’s up?” You ask Julia, who just continues to stare at something over your shoulder.

“Enemy, 6 o’clock.” Is all she says in response, rolling her eyes when you just look at her confused, placing her hands on either side of your head to turn it back to where she was looking. A smiling Alexia Putellas making her way over to where you’re standing next to your girlfriend is the last thing you were expecting, but that’s exactly what was happening.

“What the fu-” You start before one of the hands placed on the sides of your head lands over your mouth, Julia clearly not wanting you to swear in front of a legend. Licking her palm, Julia snatches her hand back as quickly as she had put it there, wiping her hand on the front of her shirt.

Looking back at her with a smirk, Julia rolls her eyes again before she slaps the back of your head, Alexia having stopped right in front of you, an unreadable expression on her face.

“You played really good today Y/n, impressive for your age, don’t be surprised if you hear from your agent within the coming days.” She smiles before turning on her heel, almost whiplashing you with the quick statement.

Looking back at the brunette, she meets your gaze with a knowing look in her eyes and a smile stretched across her lips.

“Accept it.” Julia tells you silently, the fond look never disappearing off her face.

“What?” You ask the Real Madrid youth player, not understanding what she meant by that. There wasn’t a world wherein Julia Romero would tell you to join Barcelona.

“If you get a contract offer from them, you have to accept it.” She clarifies, looking you in the eyes deeply, like she was telling you that she was being fully truthful, which she was either way.

“Why?”

“It’s what’s best for your career, I won’t let a little rivalry destroy us. Plus it'll make El Clasico 10 times more fun when I’ll absolutely crush you.” She winks at the end, making you blush once again.

“Oh in your dreams, pretty girl.” Starting to walk back to your locker room, you keep up the conversation with your girl, walking backwards to see her.

“You know you are.” Stumbling over your feet, you fall back onto your butt at the words, the already visible blush on your face growing darker, both at the words but also what you had done.

It’s just like you to score a hattrick against the best team in the world then trip over your own feet walking backwards.

—---------------------------

Just like that, a few days later Barcelona offered you a contract and the rest was history. You moved out of the small house in Sevilla to Barcelona, where you moved into the home of the two overbearing English women. A key part in the 22/23 Champions League winning squad, you scored a goal in the final of the competition, the winning goal that got you the shiny gold medal hanging over your bed, which then led to you being called up to the senior national team and winning a World Cup gold, but that’s a story for another day.

You continued to see Julia on the weekends neither of you had anything to do, getting on a train to Madrid under the guise of having a sleepover with Vicky, meeting up with your girl, spending the night and then going back to Barcelona just in time for Lucy to pick you up from Vicky’s house. Sure it cost you a good 100 euros every time, with the train tickets and the so-called ‘Vicky bribe’, but it was so worth it.

You got a weekend with your girlfriend and Vicky got 20 euros. A win-win.

During the two years you’d lived with the English women, they hadn’t suspected anything, not that you had a girlfriend nor that you went and visited her as often as you possibly could.

Well they didn’t suspect anything until the Clasico, where they had seen you both laughing and smiling all secretly to each other, like something was going on between you and the Real Madrid player.

Coincidentally, that day was also the day when your girlfriend first met your unofficial parents.

—-------------------------

The first El Clásico you had played against your girl had ended in a 4-1 win to Barcelona, with you scoring a brace and Julia scoring Madrid’s sole goal. She had been moved up to the first team at the start of the 23/24 season and despite her technically being your enemy, you were still over the moon for her.

As soon as the final whistle had been blown, you dropped to the floor like you always did, ready to take an impromptu nap right there and then.

A recognisable giggle sounds from above you, opening one eye to look up at the white clad midfielder standing in front of you with a hand out, you don’t waste a second before taking the hand in your own, pulling the girl down onto the ground instead of pulling yourself up.

“Lia, my sweetheart, what are you doing down on the ground?” You ask her playfully as she slaps your shoulder, sitting up and looking down at you with that captivating smile on her face, rolling her eyes at you like you loved.

“You’re an idiot, you know that.” Nodding along with her words, you mirror her, sitting up and leaning your weight back onto your hands, smiling mischievously her way.

“Yeah, you’ve told me like a gazillion times.” Wifting your arms around as you speak, you don’t notice Lucy and Keira making their way over to you and your ‘friend’.

“Told you what?” Lucy interrupts, looking between you and Julia rapidly, trying to understand the relationship there, friends or something more.

“Nothing special Lucifer, did you want anything or did you just come to interrupt?” Stifling a laugh at Lucy's expression, you look at your girlfriend, thinking you’d see a smile stretched over her pillowy lips, instead finding what you assume to be a look of dread on her face.

Rolling your eyes good naturedly, you stand up from your sitting position and dust yourself off before offering a courteous hand to your secret girlfriend, who takes it and stands up, half hiding behind you.

“Right, Robert, Keira, this is my childhood friend Julia, who unfortunately plays for Real Madrid which means she’ll never win anything ever.” You tease the brunette, like you always did, it was just too easy. Still, you were met with a slap to the back of your head, like usual, before she sticks her hand out to properly introduce herself to your pseudo moms.

“Julia Romero, nice to meet you both.” The way you’re looking at her definitely exposes you more than it should, but you don’t mind it, the two women in front of you knew nothing about your love life as it was.

“Childhood friends you say? Nothing else…?” Lucy really wasn’t smooth, or subtle for that matter as she tried asking you the question they were both thinking.

“Childhood friends, we’re actually best friends but I didn’t think that was a worthwhile distinction.” You respond sassily, Lucy ruffling your hair before you could even try to stop her, and whilst it was annoying for you, it did put a smile on Julia’s face and that was all that mattered.

“Alright, alright, just wrap it up soon, the bus leaves in 15.” The two leave after that, and suddenly you’re just standing with your girlfriend, all alone.

“Well, I should get going, my teammates are probably wondering where I am.” Her voice trails off as she points over her shoulder and you smile, raising your eyebrows softly.

“I’ll see you in a couple weeks.”

As you both make your way back to your respective locker rooms, you’re both oblivious to the bets being placed on what your relationship actually is.

—------------------------------

Champions League final 2024, one of the biggest games of your career, big games that keep piling up as you play for Barcelona. A final, it was a final and Jona had insisted on starting you.

Big breath in, big breath out. It’s fine. You can do this.

Walking out onto the pitch, your eyes immediately search for her, the twinkling green that you love so so much. She waves at you all excited in the old and tattered spain jersey she had insisted on wearing. Breath in, breath out. It’s time.

The first 20 minutes or so are calm, filled with counter attacks and defending against another one of the best teams in the world, it’s just Lyon.

Weaving through defender after defender, not unlike how you had against your current team nearly two years before, your brain is on autopilot, just focusing on getting the ball in the goal no matter what. And that you do, curling the ball around the defenders, watching as it ends up in the top corner of the goal.

Champions League final, yeah right.

Pointing to the brunette in the stands, everyone in the arena understands that the goal was dedicated to her, no one seeing the wink you send her though before you return to restart the game.

The rest is pretty simple, Aitana scoring just before half time and then Alexia scoring only minutes after coming on as a substitute. It all goes so fast, because suddenly the final whistle goes and you’ve won another Champions League.

You won the Champions League.

You don’t realize it until after you’ve all gotten your medals and done the trophy lift. No, it isn’t until there’s a sprinting Julia Romero heading your way that you actually register it, you won.

There’s a split second between when you catch her and when you make the decision to kiss her that you can’t help but think about all that has happened since you first got together. Two Champions League finals won, a World Cup victory, a contract from Barcelona, her getting into the senior squad at Real Madrid, her winning various tournaments with the youth teams, her joining you in the senior national team. So much had happened in so little time, and yet she was the best thing of all.

And so, you kiss her. For the first time, you actually kiss her in public, in front of friends and family, but also the millions of people watching from behind their screens. Her legs wrap tightly around your waist, arms tangling around your neck, fingers running through your hair. Your hands settle under her thighs, supporting her body so that she wouldn’t be able to just fall off.

The kiss is just magical, PG enough so that you don’t get yelled at but still some tongue action going on. Her lips are as soft as the day you first kissed her, just as sweet but now there’s a hint of salt, wet tears rolling down her cheeks as she kisses you.

Pulling away, your hands roam up until they settle against the sides of her face, thumbs brushing away the tears that just seem to keep on falling. Her forehead leans against yours, nose nudging yours as she asks for another kiss.

Releasing her legs from their grip around your waist, Julia stands in front of you, her arms threading around your neck again as she brings you down for yet another kiss, this one not as passionate, more like a congratulations kiss. Pulling back, she pecks your lips twice before fully letting you go.

“Why are you crying baby?” Tears were still rolling down her face, no matter how much you tried to wipe them, they kept on coming.

“I’m just so proud of you, look at how far you’ve come. You won the Champions League.” Smiling at her adorable reasoning, you lean in to kiss her once more, well that is until you’re interrupted, yet again by a certain someone.

“Childhood friends huh? Nothing more? I knew you were together, I could see it.” Turning towards Lucy, you roll your eyes at the statement, clearly she did know a little, but obviously not everything.

“So you know that I actually didn’t sleep over at Vicky’s all those times then? That I was really in Madrid all those times?” You tease, which was probably a bad idea, considering the fact that you definitely were not allowed to go to Madrid over the weekends. “Amor, I’ll see you in a little.” You rush out before you start running, Lucy wasting no time and chasing after you.

A calmer looking Keira comes up to Julia, who’s standing there dumbfounded, and offers her the hand that’s not clutching onto the trophy.

“Welcome to our little family, they do that sometimes, same level of maturity, them two.” Julia shakes her head fondly, looking at the terrified expression you’re wearing as you get chased around the pitch. “They’ll calm down soon, then we can take some pictures together, all of us. You’ll come home with us later, right?”

And even though Julia knew she’d be teased for the rest of her life, she still stood and posed for photos with you and the CL trophy her rivals had won.

Photos that later got posted to your instagram with the caption;

My trophy and my wife, nothing better in life.

#woso #woso x reader #lionesses #barcelona femeni #woso imagines #parents universe #lucy bronze #lucy bronze x reader #keira walsh x reader #keira walsh #wonze kid #wonze x reader #wonze

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sejianismodding · 10 months ago

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🎁 [BG] BUGFIX - Update 7/23/2024 broke our bodies. Update 1/28/2025 didn't fix us. This affects everyone!

☠️ REMINDER: Double-check the OP for updates!

⚔️ Requires - TS4: Base Game

☄️ Repackaged - 9/21/2024

🚀 Initial Release - 7/30/2024

🎁 Download & Discussions: https://www.patreon.com/posts/109088001

🗺️ Modding Announcements: https://www.patreon.com/posts/109291501

🐞 My BUGFIXES Collection: https://www.patreon.com/collection/884858?view=condensed

💬 EIGHTEEN (18) Deformer Maps that control the shape of our bodies were broken with Update 7/23/2024, resulting in our spines deforming horribly.

💬 All sims aged TEEN through ELDER are affected by this but you will only see it under certain circumstances:

The deformities are not visible when wearing Frame-appropriate clothing.

Cisframe sims will see it when wearing clothing that was made for the opposite Physical Frame.

Transframe sims will see it when nude or wearing "default" underwear and also when wearing clothing that was made for the opposite Physical Frame.

📸 New screenshots from the upcoming Mod The Sims mirror:

💜 @xandezsims said I could nick the animated thingamajig. Danke:

💜 You're welcome and thanks for the engagement!

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ssapphosviolets · 15 days ago

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21, I won

domestic lovesick sevika

Summary:

Sevika comes home to her partner after a long day and suggests a game of Blackjack while smoking ...maybe a little too much

what can i say im a simp for domestic lovesick puppydog sevika and weed. fun fact im actually goated at blackjack. at one point i fr was studying the MIT strategies. these skills are incredibly useless in my day to day life.

My ears perk up at the sound of those all too recognizable footsteps, slowly sounding louder and louder as it makes its way towards me. I pull the rest of my girlfriend's oversized flannel over my shoulders, my dirty work clothes discarded in a pile on the closet floor. Sevika was nowhere to be found when I arrived home just a couple minutes ago, but I wasn't too worried. I knew she could handle herself.

Either way though, I didn't have long to think about it, as when I turn around I'm met with the view of Sevika leaning against the door frame of our shared closet. She wears a small smirk and has her arms crossed, her metal hand peaking out from under her flesh arm. All it takes is one sentence for those confident brown eyes that she's worn all day to soften at the sight of her partner.

"Look who's home." I say, not helping the smile that forms on my face as I fall into her chest. She wraps her arms around me, and I can feel her, this time much softer and genuine, smile against the top of my head. "Sorry hun, I was out grabbing some things." Her gravely voice responds. I pull away from her embrace as I feel her shift to reach into her pocket.

I tilt my head curiously, and watch as she pulls out a plastic bag, flashing me a little peek at the green substance inside of it. I'm sure my expression goes from content to excited in the blink of an eye. "You're amazing, Sevika." I sigh, resting my hand gently on her cheek as I tilt my head up. I don't waste any time and press my lips onto hers.

Her lips try to follow my own as I pull away, until my hand on her chest gently stops her. We both pull away smiling, locking eyes for a brief moment before she playfully nudges me to get going. She takes my previous spot in the closet and I make my way towards my bedside table a couple feet away.

My eyes are set on the bong that was sitting at its usual home on my side of our shared bedroom. My fingers curl around the thin neck of the glass, carefully ensuring that the intricately colorful glass bowl, the one that Sevika had gotten for me, won't fall out. I pad out of our bedroom and start making my way towards the kitchen, not finding it necessary to look back as I do, already knowing that my puppy dog of a girlfriend would be following me.

"What'd you say about a game of cards??" She asks, her voice muffled as she pulls a tank top over her head, her footsteps echoing after mine through the halls of our apartment. "Hmm. what game?" I questioned as I reach the fridge, placing the bong on the nearby counter before I grab the water filter pitcher from the fridge.

She comes up behind me and places her hands on my waist, resting her head on top of mine as I set the water filter down on the counter as well. "I'm feeling Blackjack tonight." Her chin moves against the top of my head, and her hand makes its way into the pocket of the flannel I'm wearing. She quickly finds the pink camo lighter she knew I had left in there from the last time I "borrowed" her shirt. It wasn't her zippo, but knowing it was mine was enough for her to make do.

I pop the top of the water filter and carefully pour it into the mouth of the glass, one of Sevika's hands still planted firmly on my waist the entire time. "What, those goons at the last drop tire you out of Poker?" I retorted, resulting in a shake of her head and a chuckle. I faintly hear the sound of that metal tin clicking as she pulls out a cigarillo from the metal case that I had gifted her.

My gaze shifts slightly to the side to catch a glimpse of our reflection in the fridge. She has the lighter held in between her teeth, and is sliding the case back into her pockets with her free hand, cigarillo in between those same fingers. She exchanged the lighter in her mouth for the cigar instead.

"Got tired of taking their money, if that's what you mean." Her words are slightly stifled due to the cigar in her mouth. She takes a step back, giving my waist a last gentle squeeze before her warm hand is gone. I replace the water pitcher in the fridge as I hear the clicking noise of the lighter from her spot behind me.

Thick smoke clouds my view as I turn around to face her, but quickly dissipates until I can see those soft brown eyes through the smoke. I take the cigar from her lips and place it between my own, inhaling as my eyes briefly leave hers in favor of grabbing the bong from the counter behind me. As soon as I find those eyes again though, she takes the cig back, watching as I blow the smoke out through my nose.

This time I follow her as she starts towards our bedroom. "But Blackjack is against the dealer. Sooo... who's gonna be dealer? I wanna play even." Sevika waves her hand, "I can be both." She exhales the smoke once again, leaving a trail of smoke behind us as we move throughout our home.

We wordlessly settle down on the rug just beside our bed, Sevika swiping the deck of cards off of her own nightstand in the process. Sevika spreads her legs open and beckons for me to join. Without hesitation I sit and curl up next to her, hugging a knee to my chest. She sets down the cards in between me and her long legs, the glass bong closely following.

She once again fishes in her pocket for the same plastic bag she had shown me earlier. As she opens the bag, I take that moment to slide my hand up and take the cigar from her again, which her lips easily let go of for me. I take a drag from the cigar as I watch her crush up the green bud between her fingers and pack the glass bowl of the bong.

She knows I'm capable of doing it myself, if anything I'm the heavier weed smoker between the two of us. But she much preferred to do it for me. Her job is cruel and grueling, but providing these small acts of service makes her feel like a normal person at the end of the day. It's a reminder to herself that she's a lover, that she hasn't lost her way of caring, that she is more than her job. If it was up to her, her girlfriend wouldn't ever have to lift a finger again.

She takes the cigar back and it finds itself between her dark tinted lips again. Her large fingers hold the glass out to me, and I wordlessly accept it into my own. I press my lips to the glass and watch as she holds the same pink lighter up to the bowl, flicking it on with her thumb. I admire how the green leaves burn to ashes as I inhale, before closing my eyes to listen to the brief bubbling. I breathe in and inhale the smoke, waiting for her to remove the bowl so I can inhale the rest. As she pulls out the bowl, a small smirk finds her face as she knows what's about to come. Sevika is a very purposeful person, she didn't 'accidentally' leave the bowl on for that long.

I swallow and slowly blow out the smoke before my body is racked with coughs, the last of the smoke making its way out of my lungs. Sevika's laugh rings in my ears and she firmly rubs my back, trying to ease me through my violent coughing fit. Only once my coughs had calmed down, she takes her hand off my back to grab the bong for herself. She lights up the rest of the bowl and finishes it herself, leaving only black ash in the glass, and maintaining a lot more composure than I had.

She grabs another chunk of the green leaves and packs the second bowl, as we both repeat the same process. Though, she does show me a little more mercy this time, pulling the bowl out much sooner than she did previously.

After the bowl was finished, she sets the glass aside for me. She picks up the cards in front of us and begins shuffling. I watch, mesmerized as the red cards glide through her large hands. "Alright, so I'll be dealer and player... To make it fair." She says with a playful side eye, which along with the weed hitting my system causes me to stupidly giggle.

She starts dealing the cards: two for me, two for her, and in front of both of ours is the 'dealers' cards, with one card face up and the other down. For the sake of simplicity we play with cards as opposed to chips, with the winner keeping the cards from the round.

As I pick my cards up I already feel that familiar fog clouding my senses. Even after years of smoking, I still continue to underestimate how fast and hard bongs hit, something that Sevika finds particularly amusing.

.oOo.

Sevika deals the fifth hand of cards, her cigar now long finished with its remnant's sitting in an ashtray. By now we are almost evenly matched, with me winning three rounds and her winning four. Sure, Blackjack was a mix of luck and skill. But I'm pretty sure pure 'luck' doesn't exist for Sevika in cards. She always finds a way to win.

However, I tend to have my ways too. Sevika loves the challenge, and was immediately charmed the night we first met and I broke her Poker win streak. Further on, only in bitter defeat did Sevika once admit that her girlfriend is the only opponent she ever goes into a game not feeling her usual cocky demeanor. Though, Sevika does make it seem effortless. I feel like my mind races to keep the right card count, make the right moves. I wouldn't be surprised if she doesn't use any of that, and I sometimes think she just got lucky when it came to her natural skills.

Which is why she loves playing while high. She loves to see the gears turn in my head as I calculate my next move, not caring too much about composure. She loves playing in a stress-free and amusing environment. She plays seriously every other night, with real stakes on the line. Sometimes she just wants to giggle with her lover and play their favorite games. Though, while I might be the only person to ever beat Sevika in a game of cards, she was the only person to out-smoke me. But that's due to her sheer size and muscle, she has a natural high tolerance to match her natural skill I suppose.

After I spent a little too long staring blankly at the cards in front of me, my mind slipping off into the lovely haze, Sevika's gentle voice breaks me out of it. "Hit or stay?" Her leg behind me softly nudges my back, and I can hear the amusement in her voice. I blink and renew my focus. An 8 of spades, a 2 of diamonds, and an Ace of diamonds. 8 plus two is 10, plus.. ace? 1, 11? So it's...

Once again my mind unconsciously drifts off into the clouds. Sevika's chuckles once more pull me back down to reality for just a second. "You're so high right now, aren't you?" She shakes her head, wearing that intimate and loving smile that she'd only ever formed when I entered her life. "Nuh uh." I reply, my head falling into the side of her chest.

I perk back up quickly though, "Hit! See? I was just thinking of my next move." I state, reaching over to grab a new card from the deck. Except in my haziness my hand completely misses the stack, which sends both of us doubled forward in a fit of giggles. As I lay with my head on my forearm in defeated laughter, Sevika's front brushes against my back with her own fit. I attempt to sit back up, only to then accidentally knock over the top portion of the deck of cards in the process.

Sevika pulls herself back up, her laughter still echoing in my ears. She wraps one of her arms around my waist to help me sit up, her other hand occupied with the task of cleaning up the mess of scattered cards. "You had a 21, by the way." She tells me. The dark strands of hair that had fallen from her half ponytail move back and forth in front of her face with her wheezing breaths.

The cards are all placed in a neat stack just like how we started the game. She diverts all of her attention to me now, wrapping both arms around me. "Let's get you to bed, huh?" I lean into her large frame, hugging her torso with my own arms. "I don't wanna sleep." I mumble into her tank top. One of her hands comes up to run through my hair, her body language and posture softening. "You're alright, sweetheart. We don't have to sleep. Just wanna get you somewhere more comfortable."

I accept that as an answer, but she doesn't wait for an answer from me. She stands up and takes my hands in her own, pulling me up with her. My body feels uncoordinated and dizzy for a couple seconds, in which Sevika easily catches me when I inevitably stumble forward. She helps guide me to the bed behind us, pulling back the comforter for me.

I lay down and curl onto my side, my eyes closing as I mindlessly indulge in the engulfing scent of the borrowed flannel. Sevika leans down and kisses the top of my head. "I'm gonna go clean out your bong. I'll be back, okay?" I'm too dazed to do much else than give her a tired nod in response.

In the background of my wandering, hazy thoughts I can hear those familiar footsteps and the sound of running water as she cleans out the glass. She knows I'm picky about keeping it clean. Unaware of exactly how much time has passed, I do eventually hear the water come to a stop, followed by the footsteps once again, which progressively sound closer and closer before coming to a stop.

I finally open my eyes when I feel the bed dip down next to me, and the same smell that's embedded into the flannel is right in front of me. I struggle to keep my eyes open as I watch my girlfriend lay down next to me, and the second she seems to be settled, that all too recognizable warmth contacting me, I finally let my eyes slip shut.

Sevika slides an arm under my head, and I naturally grab that same hand. I turn around in her arms, pushing my back closer to her. She shuffles behind me until my head fits perfectly under her chin, and wraps both of her strong arms around my chest and torso. I let go of her hand in favor of resting my own on her forearm instead. We lay in silence for a couple seconds, breathing as one.

"I got a 21. I still won." I grumble into her arm. Her chest rumbles behind my back, vibrating through to my chest. "Even with that 21, no you didn't, sweetheart." She holds me closer and lays a kiss to the top of my head.

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vvossy · 10 months ago

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Maxis Match Sims4 Top Surgery Scars

Part of my Transmasc Summer 🐋🐚 collection!

Base game Compatible

Masculine Frame Only

Teen - Elder

21 swatches ( 7 top surgery types ((Double Incision, Inverted T, Keyhole, Periareola, Fishmouth, Lollipop)) with 3 transparencies each )

Can be found in the scar category ( front torso + right arm )

Free + No ads download

DOWNLOAD 🌊˖°𓇼⋆

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joshseoh · 7 months ago

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Taryn Hair Set - Hair and Roots & Ombre Overlays

For feminine frame

Basegame compatible

24 EA swatches

For teen to elder

Custom thumbnail

Hat compatible

Shadow map

Specular map

Normal map

Disallowed for random

Compatible with Universal Hair Overlay

Taryn Roots Overlay can be found in Hats category - 24 Swatches

Taryn Ombre Overlay can be found in Brow Ring (Left) category - 24 Swatches

Read my Terms of Use before downloading!

Download here

Public release: 21 November 2024

#thesims #the sims 4 #thesims4 #ts4 #sims #sims4cc #ts4 maxis match #ts4 maxis cc #maxis match #thesims4cc #sims4hair #sims4 #simblr #the sims #thesims4mm #sims 4 #sims 4 female cc #sims 4 female hair

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purplestanleypinkblanket · 9 months ago

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Clubbing Much to Logan's Distaste:

18+

Pairings: (DP3 Vers.) Logan Howlett x Reader

Summary: Vanessa convinced you to go clubbing with her, claiming that there's 'too much testosterone in that damned apartment.' Logan hadn't realized you two were clubbing until Wade, laughing, shows him a photo of you. Well, Logan greatly dislikes that photo and hunts you down. Vanessa takes advantage of how jealous Logan can get.

Warnings: Heavy drinking, body shots mentioned, age g4p, younger reader (like 21), slight woman on woman (vanessa making logan jealous), angry logan, argument, grinding, drunk reader, sexual themes. 18+, minors don't interact.

Genre: Angst, Slight smut.

Word Count: 1,798

A/N: I've really been wanting to explore various themes, and it's about time I branched into thirsty Logan turf! Feel free to leave feedback, I love knowing what could be improved!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Vanessa and you swayed on the dance floor, moving to the song 'Nasty Dog' by Sir-Mix-Alot. The club was packed with various sorts of people, all of which you found yourself dancing against as the night progressed. Shot after shot, you found yourself regretting the dress you wore. It was a black off the shoulder, long sleeve dress with a short skirt. As you swayed and danced, grinding your back up against a man you hadn't met before he bought you a shot, you glanced towards Vanessa who was taking a selfie.

"Say cheese!" She announced to you, moving to catch you in the frame. You and the man you moved against.

Wade and Logan found themselves alone in the apartment. It was odd to Logan, he had grown used to you and Wade dancing to suggestive music like 'Goodies' by Ciara in the living room. Tonight was different. You and Vanessa weren't here, and he was alone with Wade who didn't even try to be subtle with his flirts.

"Where's-"

"She's out clubbing with Vanessa." Wade interrupted like a damned mind reader. How had he known Logan was going to ask about you? Logan scowled at Wade, eyes narrowing. And why in hell were you clubbing? Didn't you know how dangerous it was? The ding of Wade's phone interrupted his thoughts. "Holy fuck!" Wade laughed out. "She's getting it on out there!"

"What?" Logan's voice was rougher than usual, strained too. He grabbed Wade's wrist before he could hide his phone. Yanking at the man's wrist, Logan stared at the phone. At the photo of you and Vanessa. Of you...grinding...on another man. "The fuck does she think she's doing?" He erupted with a growl, standing up immediately. The photo still burned in his retinas. The way your skintight dress showed off every inch and curve of your body. That short skirt that was practically nonexistent. The sight of your bare shoulders through the neckline. Logan swore your breasts looked as if they would fall out of it at any given moment.

"Woah there, honey badger." Wade was quick to dive infront of the front door, preventing Logan from leaving.

Vanessa's words echoed in his brain, "Keep Logan here. Make sure he doesn't ruin my girl's night, or I'll-" Wade didn't entirely remember the rest of the threat because God damn did Vanessa look hot when she scolded him.

"Move, lip." Logan growled at him.

"I can't do that." Wade retorted, stretching his body to take up as much of the doorway as possible. "I'd like to keep my dick, and I can't exactly do that if you interrupt their girl's night."

"I don't give a fuck about your dick." Logan huffed, his scowl deepening. Wade was only wasting time by blocking him in. He was going to get you out of that club- even if it meant killing his friend along the way. Or, at least, trying to.

Vanessa and you move against one another, the previous partners you two danced with long forgotten. She knew she had Wade, and that Logan practically claimed you without actually claiming you...but it was still a fun game to play. To flirt with you, to tease you, whether it was friendly or more. It was once only friendly, but after seeing Logan's reaction to when she straddled you and did your make up as you stroked her thighs- well, how could she not amp it up? Vanessa was just as bad as Wade, truth be told. She loved watching Logan's nostrils flare in angered jealousy, in possessiveness. However, he would never interrupt the situation with you present. If he did, then you'd learn how much he wanted you. And that was outright unacceptable. You were too young, too innocent. He felt guilt for even thinking about you. There were plenty of other men your age- but God did he wish you never looked at them.

With your back facing the door as you did a body shot off of Vanessa, Logan's form bursting through the club door went unnoticed by you. His eyes immediately landed on your mouth moving to the shot glass resting in between Vanessa's chest. She had noticed him first and, with a smug smirk. her hand moved to your hair, tugging at it as you downed the shot. Her tongue ran up your face along where a small drip of tequila escaped your mouth. Her eyes remained on his the entire time. Anger coursed through him as he watched you drunkenly melt into her seductions. With clenched teeth, Logan stormed forward to where you and Vanessa were at the bar. Her legs moving to wrap around your hips as she lifted your chin, murmuring a quick apology in your ear.

"Sorry, Hun'" Was all she could get out before you suddenly felt your arm being yanked. Your eyes widened in surprise when you were brought face to face with Logan, who's nose was scrunched in a furious scowl at you.

"Oh-hey, Lo." You smiled brightly at him. His nose scrunched more in distaste. You reeked of alcohol; he could barely even smell the normal scent of you that he adored.

"The hell do you think you're doing?" He spoke through clenched teeth, the vein in his neck popping slightly.

"Um...having fun?" You replied sassily, flashing your own drunk scowl at him.

"That was having fun?" He scoffs, posture straightening as he began to yank your arm.

"Hey, now wait a damn minute!" You huffed, grabbing at a nearby railing that isolated the bar from the dance floor of the club. "I aint going anywhere!"

"The hell you are!" Logan was in your face before you could react, using the only thing he knew- intimidation. He expected you to back down, or at least murmur a smart-ass comment as you surrendered like you always did.

However, you didn't budge. Not this time. You weren't going to be bullied out of having fun. He watched as your cheeks puffed out, a red flush to them from the drinking you had done, your eyes narrowed at him. Your eyebrows furrowed together to in a deadly glare.

"Princess, now is not the time." Logan started, moving to pull your arm once more. You stood your ground firmly, unmoving.

"Don't you princess me, mister. I'm staying." You huffed out, snatching your arm from his grasp as you crossed them over your chest. His eyes flicked to your breasts for a second, he could feel a groan in the back of his throat just at the sight of them. They looked like they'd spill out of your dress's neckline at any minute. He both loved and hated it.

"No, you arnt." He battled.

"You can either stay and party with Vanessa and I or you can leave."

"I aint staying."

"Then you can leave."

"You aint staying either."

"Yes. I. Am."

"Princess..."

"Face it, Lo. I'm not leaving. Now you can either man up and dance with me or leave me the fuck alone." Logan watched as you jutted your chin out, directing your face from his. He sighed over dramatically. You were too damn stubborn for your own good. His hand found your hip.

"Fine."

A grin broke onto your lips as you registered his words. Leaping up, you wrapped your arms around his neck. "Oh! This will be so much fun!" Logn instinctively caught you, gently guiding you back to standing on the floor as you leaned against him, staring into his eyes adamantly. He knew it was wrong to relish the way you pressed against him. It was wrong to enjoy it. You were too young for him, he knew it. Too sweet, too innocent. He didn't deserve you, or your attention. But the way you stared at him now, eyes lidded from a sense of...hell, was that affection he saw in your eyes? It was directed at him? Why? Logan made no move to resist as you pulled him to the dance floor of the club, soon grinding your ass against him.

He watched your hands fly above your head, into your hair, and into the air. He forced his ears to focus on your drunk singing instead of the music the club blasted. He couldn't help but find himself entranced by you. Logan's cock twitched as you grinded your rear against him, his hands instinctively found your hips, guiding you how he wanted you to move as he swayed against you. His mouth soon nipping at the revealed skin of your neck and shoulders.

A groan escaped his throat when your hands moved behind you and into his hair. His hand slid off your hip and towards your thigh, slipping under your dress as his fingertips trailed your inner thigh. Logan buried his face into your neck, sniffing deeply to inhale your scent. The disgusting scent of liquor wafted into his nose. You still smelled too much like cheap gin and shots for his liking. He always considered himself a connoisseur for the smell of alcohol, but he found himself hating it on you. He wanted to smell you, not gin or tequila.

His hand slid out from under your skirt, grasping your hips to stop your movements against him.

"Stop." He grunted out, ignoring the way his body ached to have you against him.

"But..." You pouted softly as you looked back at him, however, upon seeing the seriousness of his expression, you stopped. Pulling away, you turned to face him. "What's wrong?" You asked.

"I can't." He decided with a shake of his head.

"Lo, I'm 21, I'm legal and-" You began, you hated the way he distanced himself from you just because of your age.

"I know you are, Princess." Logan interrupted. "Thats not why I'm stopping." He forced his voice to be softer as he spoke to you, knowing the wrong tone could send you into a drunk crying mess.

"Then why...?" Was all you could get out before his lips pressed against yours, silencing you.

"Because I want you to be fully there when I show you why I'm better than all the shitty men you've taken home." Logan murmured; tone filled with venom when he mentioned your previous flings. A hint of possessiveness clear. You found yourself nodding, silently appreciating the fact that he wasn't going to take advantage of you- even if you were the one throwing yourself at him. "Now come on, let me take you home." His voice was demanding but you were confident it was a request.

"Okay." You nodded, moving to interlock your hands. "Let's get Vanessa."

When Wade saw Vanessa storming his way an hour later, and Logan carrying you over towards his room, drunk and asleep, he was glad he had hidden the knives.

#logan howlett x reader #wolverine x reader #wolverine #deadpool and wolverine #drinks #wade wilson #ansgt #rocket x reader #age g@p

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ceyanabbiolo · 18 days ago

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CONTRACT // C.S [19]

Summary: Christopher Sturniolo, a 26-year-old billionaire CEO, agrees to a strategic marriage with Aurora Devereaux, the 21-year-old daughter of his rival, to save his company during a crisis. Raised in a cold, arrogant environment, Chris is used to control and detachment. Aurora, a final-year fashion student, is forced into the arrangement by her powerful father and struggles with the fear of losing herself. As the two navigate their unexpected marriage, they begin to confront emotional walls and develop a connection that challenges everything they thought they knew about love and trust. But with their families’ influence looming, will their bond be strong enough to survive—or will it fall apart?

Warnings: angst

wc: 4137

Chapter 19: Fashion!

I woke up to the soft light filtering through my curtains, the usual quiet of the early morning pressing in around me. The silence felt heavier these days—like it was filled with things left unsaid, because silence meant thinking about memories I wanted to forget.

It had been more than a month since I last saw him, and the sharp ache in my chest was slowly shifting into something harder to name—something quieter, more distant.

I took a long shower, letting the warm water wash over me, trying to scrub away the restlessness tangled inside. Afterwards, I slipped on a light jacket and went for a walk. The city was waking up, but everything felt muted, as if I were moving through a dream. I wandered without much direction, thinking about the show tonight, about the dresses waiting backstage, about the models who trusted me.

That morning, I passed by the coffee shop I used to love, the one I usually picked up coffee at for Chris and me. I hadn’t been there in weeks. I wanted to go in and get something today, but there wasn’t enough time.

Chris and I used to stop there on slower mornings. He always remembered my order without asking, even when I didn’t.

Still, walking past it brought back the image of him—of us.

Gosh. I needed to stop thinking about him.

By the time I reached the venue, the afternoon sun was dipping low, casting long shadows over the building. I hadn’t seen him in so long, but the weight of his absence was still there, like a ghost I couldn’t quite outrun. Tonight, that ghost felt closer than ever.

Maybe he had already forgotten me. Part of me pitied him—how easy it must be to erase someone who once meant everything. However, I knew beneath that pity simmered a sharp resentment. How could he move on so fast, while I was left tangled in the memories and the silence? It wasn’t fair, and part of me hated him for it.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t hope for a message from him over the past month, but there was nothing. It was like he’d disappeared completely.

The clock read 6:04 PM. Two hours until showtime.

Backstage was a whirlwind of noise and movement—heels clicking against the floors, hangers scraping metal racks, the low hum of chatter and laughter, makeup artists blending, curling, pinning. But even through the chaos, I could hear my heartbeat. Steady. Focused.

I stepped into the dressing room for a moment of silence. Just a second to breathe.

The noise of the venue faded behind the thick door, replaced by a rare stillness. I faced the mirror, letting out a slow exhale as I smoothed the lapel of my Chanel blazer. It hugged my frame perfectly, paired with the matching skirt and sharp black heels. Chic. Elegant. Like armor.

My fingers hovered at the edge of the blazer before adjusting it again, absently, nervously. This outfit, I remember the day I bought it. Chris had been with me. We were walking past the boutique when I stopped at the window, staring at the mannequin.

“If you want it,” he had said, barely glancing before pulling me inside, “then it should be yours.”

I had laughed. Called him impulsive. He’d called me stubborn. By the end, the blazer was mine.

I blinked the memory away, adjusted my skirt one last time, and straightened my spine.

Outside, everyone was waiting.

I stood near the center of it all, clipboard in hand, eyes scanning everything.

I walk over to one of the models I need to help.

“Lena, your hem looks perfect now—just remember to hold your posture on the final turn,” I said, adjusting the flow of fabric near her waist. She smiled nervously and nodded.

“Thanks, Aurora. This one’s my favorite,” she said, smoothing the silk down her hip. “Hey, is your fiancé here tonight? He must be proud.”

My hands froze.

The thread between the needle and fabric slipped from my fingers, and I blinked once, twice, before forcing a small smile. “No,” I said, carefully. “He’s not coming.”

“Oh—sorry, I just thought—” “It’s okay,” I cut in gently, moving to the next model without looking back. My chest ached in a way I didn’t expect. He hadn’t messaged. He hadn’t shown up, and yet, for a split second, part of me wished he had.

I continued making my rounds. Two stylists touched up lips and lashes, someone called out for more safety pins, and the scent of hairspray lingered in the air like perfume. I weaved through racks of my designs—my sketches brought to life in silk, denim, lace, and organza.

My fingerprints were on every stitch. Months of sleepless nights, of self-doubt and pressure, and fighting to prove I was more than my last name—it all came down to this night.

“Did Model Six get her shoes?” I asked without looking up, flipping through the list Jen helped me prep.

“Yep,” one of the assistants called from behind a clothing rack. “She's in hair right now.”

I breathed out slowly, more relief than I wanted to admit. My models looked stunning, confident. The makeup artists were ahead of schedule. Nothing was falling apart yet, which almost felt suspicious.

I had just stepped out into the hallway again, the sound of voices and movement returning like a wave, when I heard my name.

“Aurora,” a familiar voice called gently.

I turned to see my supervisor, my design advisor, walking toward me with a warm smile, a clipboard tucked under one arm.

She looked at me for a moment—really looked—and then said, “You’ve changed a lot since the first time you stepped into my classroom.”

I blinked, caught off guard. “I hope in a good way,” I said with a small, unsure smile.

“In every way,” she replied without hesitation. “You were brilliant back then, but you were quiet. Careful. Like you were asking permission to take up space.”

Her gaze softened. “Now you lead a room like it’s your runway.”

A pause lingered between us.

“You’ve built something for yourself here, Aurora,” she added. “A name, a style, a voice. No matter what happens outside these walls…don’t forget that.”

My throat tightened unexpectedly. She knew about my failed engagement.

For a moment, I just nodded. The noise of the backstage chaos blurred around me, and all I could think was—

She was right.

I wasn’t just someone’s fiancée, I wasn’t just Thomas Devereuax’s obedient daughter. I wasn't someone waiting for validation, or love, or permission.

I had become someone entirely my own, with help somewhere along the way.

I glanced at the mirror where a few of the girls were gathered. They looked happy. Excited.

I should’ve felt that too.

No one was coming to the show. My mom had to catch a last-minute flight to California to visit my grandmother, something about legal paperwork she couldn’t push off. Jen texted me this morning, apologizing over and over—her parents had planned a surprise family trip she couldn’t get out of.

I told them it was fine. I said I understood. But standing here, with everything buzzing around me, I couldn’t help but feel the emptiness settle in my chest.

Only one person had messaged me about coming—Darren. He said he wasn’t about to miss the show and “lose his challenge.”

I wasn’t going to lie, I wasn’t too mad about him coming.

We’d been texting on and off for the past few days—light, casual conversation. Nothing serious, not even that flirty. However, there was something oddly grounding about it. He’d been nice. Consistent. Present.

Still, part of me knew...he didn’t know me. Not really. Not the way the person I wanted to see once did, or I thought saw me.

I turned back to the girls with a smile, pushing that feeling down. “Alright, girls—final run-through in an hour.”

I stepped out into the hallway behind the stage, finally catching a moment to myself. The chaos backstage was relentless—models rushing, makeup artists dashing, and last-minute fixes everywhere. My heart pounded, but this brief pause was a chance to breathe.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

Photographer: Just got here. Where should I meet you?

I didn’t hesitate and got up.

Aurora: I’ll come and get you. Side entrance, wait there.

Pocketing the phone, I smoothed the hem of my skirt and headed toward the door. My boots clicked quickly against the floor as I passed by a model adjusting her dress and a stylist fussing with hairpins.

Outside, the cool evening air hit me. I spotted her immediately—shoulder bag slung casually, camera in hand, eyes flicking between her phone and the building.

“Daphne?” I called, waving.

She looked up, a bright smile spreading. “Aurora! Hi.”

Daphne Denoire walked toward me, her camera bag slung over one shoulder with practiced ease. A recent graduate from a top arts school in London, freshly back in Boston after four years away. She had that effortless "clean girl" look—glowy skin, subtle makeup, soft features. A little shy, but not awkward. Like she knew who she was and didn’t need to prove it.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

Photographer: Just got here. Where should I meet you?

I didn’t hesitate and got up.

Aurora: I’ll come and get you. Side entrance, wait there.

Outside, the cool evening air hit me. I spotted her immediately—shoulder bag slung casually, camera in hand, eyes flicking between her phone and the building.

“Daphne?” I called, waving.

She looked up, a bright smile spreading. “Aurora! Hi.”

Daphne Denoire walked toward me, her camera bag slung over one shoulder with practiced ease. A recent graduate from a top arts school in London, freshly back in Boston after four years away. She had that effortless "clean girl" look—glowy skin, flowy brunette hair, subtle makeup, soft features. A little shy, but not awkward.

“I hope you didn’t have too much trouble getting here,” I said as we made our way back inside, the noise backstage growing louder with each step.

“No, no, it wasn’t hard getting here,” she laughed softly, brushing a piece of hair behind her ear, “but it was a little confusing figuring out where the entrance was. I walked past it twice before realizing.”

I smiled. “Yeah, it’s not the easiest venue to navigate. Especially when everything’s buzzing like this.”

She glanced around, taking in the flurry of models, stylists, racks of clothes, makeup kits, and last-minute touches. “It’s really cool back here. Organized chaos.”

“Pretty much,” I said, chuckling. “It looks worse than it is, I promise.”

We kept walking toward the small space I had set aside for her to work.

“So, how do you know Matt?” I asked casually.

Her expression softened, eyes flicking up to mine with a small, thoughtful smile. “Oh…Well, Matt’s like best friends with my brother, his other brothers are tight with him to. Known all of them since childhood.”

“I see…Matt mentioned something about you two working together?” I asked as we made our way down the hallway.

“Yeah,” she nodded. “I’m his photographer right now. He offered me the job not long after I got back.”

“Well, he made a good call,” I said with a small smile. “I went through your portfolio. It was stunning.”

“Thank you,” Daphne said genuinely, then hesitated for a second before continuing. “By the way…I’m sorry about the whole engagement thing. I didn’t want to bring it up if—”

“It’s okay,” I cut in gently, brushing it off.

She glanced at me, eyes kind. “He seemed like he really cared about you.”

I let out a quiet laugh, dry and sharp. “Girl, the opposite. Trust me.”

Daphne tilted her head, brows furrowing slightly. “What do you mean by that?”

I sighed, adjusting the strap of my bag as we stopped just before reaching the dressing area. “It was an arranged engagement. No strings attached. Just business, really. I was supposed to hold up my end of the deal, and he’d hold up his. Nothing more.”

She blinked, visibly thrown off. “Oh…that’s strange.”

“What is?” I asked, eyes narrowing slightly in curiosity.

Daphne hesitated for a beat, then said slowly, “It’s just—when I saw him a while back, he didn’t look like someone walking away from a business deal. He looked…pretty wrecked.”

I stared at her, the noise around us fading for a moment. “Wrecked?”

She nodded, still a bit unsure. “Yeah. He came over to my brother’s like—two weeks ago? He was drunk and…just didn’t seem okay.”

“Oh…” I hesitated, then shrugged like it meant nothing. “I don’t think that had anything to do with me. He probably just got too drunk. He used to get drunk a lot.”

That was a lie; Chris never got wrecked drinking.

Daphne didn’t push it, and I was grateful.

“Anyway,” I said quickly, steering us away from the topic. “What about you? You and Matt—anything going on there?”

Her eyes widened slightly, caught off guard. “What? No, no. Matt’s just…he’s my friend.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Alright, alright.”

She looked at me, slightly curious now. “Why’d you ask, though?”

I turned to her, a teasing smile tugging at my lips. “I don’t know, girly. He just talks about you a lot. Always says really nice things. Kinda sounds like he cares about you more than just a little.”

A blush crept onto her cheeks, and she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Oh…well. I think it’s just ‘cause we’ve known each other forever, you know? Since we were kids. He’s always been like that.”

“Maybe,” I said with a small grin. “But it doesn’t mean there isn’t something there. Matt's a genuinely nice man”. Unlike his brother.

Daphne shook her head with a quiet laugh, but she didn’t deny it this time.

When we got to the back of the stage, just past the chaos of makeup brushes and fabric steamers, I turned to Daphne.

“Start with some candids,” I told her. “Get the models prepping, the energy, all the little things. Then, when the show starts, you’ll have a seat in the front row to get the real stuff.”

“Got it,” she said with a nod, already adjusting her camera strap and glancing around with a sharp eye.

I watched her slip into work mode, blending into the background like a shadow, her lens already snapping as one of my models laughed while getting her eyeliner touched up.

I took a deep breath, standing still for just a second as the adrenaline built. This was it. All those late nights, the sketches, the fittings, the reworks—it all led to tonight.

I started slightly daydreaming about the days I’d get to through my actual very own fashion show, that dream seemed far away, though, for now.

By the time 8 PM rolled around, the girl from my year who was opening the show was practically spiraling. Her panic was contagious, and despite my best efforts to stay calm, I could feel my nerves starting to fray, too.

There were thirty of us showcasing tonight, just thirty students selected out of the two hundred graduating. It was an honor to be part of the first show of the season, one of the most anticipated of the year, and I was closing it. The pressure was suffocating, but in the best way.

The lights dimmed slightly as the final checks happened, and I paced behind the curtain, watching as the opening models got into position. Music began to hum through the venue, bass vibrating under my feet.

I couldn’t help the wave of loneliness that crept in, even as I read Darren’s message: “I’m watching from the second row.” This wasn’t how I thought today would look.

My father was in jail, my mother had flown to the other side of the country, Jen was in a different timezone altogether, and Chris…Chris wasn’t in my life anymore.

All I had was Darren—a guy I’d met barely two weeks ago. Somehow, that fact made the silence behind the curtain feel even louder.

The show went on, each collection unfolding like a story on the runway. I stood backstage, hands loosely clasped, watching the girls in my year step forward one by one. Their speeches echoed through the venue—nervous at times, but full of pride. Every design was different—some bold and eccentric, others soft and elegant. You could feel how much of themselves they had poured into their work.

Their creativity filled the room with energy, their voices laced with hope, dreams, and relief that this moment had finally come. I clapped for each one, genuinely moved. It was beautiful to witness. These were the same girls I had studied beside and stressed with. Now they were glowing.

Still, a small part of me twisted with nerves. I was closer. The last to go. Every step, every light cue, every word—I’d rehearsed it all. But standing there, watching their speeches, I couldn’t help but wonder if mine would be enough. If my designs are enough. If I were enough.

“Aurora, you're up,” one of the coordinators whispered, gently tapping my shoulder.

My heart gave a sharp thud. I nodded, swallowing the lump that had suddenly formed in my throat. The room behind me buzzed with soft chatter and footsteps, but everything in me stilled.

I turned to look at my models—each of them dressed in the pieces I had sketched, stitched, cried over, started over, and finally finished. They stood in a line, radiant, like walking poetry.

“You all look amazing,” I said, my voice low but steady. “Seriously. Thank you for bringing my vision to life. You’re gonna be incredible out there.”

They smiled at me—some nervous, some excited, all glowing under the stage lights. I gave them a final nod, then turned and started walking—not toward the audience yet, but toward the side curtain, where I could stand in the shadows and watch.

Then I saw it.

The lights, the full crowd, the music pulsing low beneath the chatter. I saw the silhouettes of heads turning, cameras ready, people leaning forward in anticipation. It hit me all at once—this was real. My stage. My name. My designs.

For a moment, I didn’t move. I just stood there, hidden behind the curtain, taking it all in.

One by one, the models began to step out.

They walked up and down the runway, turning at the end with practiced elegance. The music swelled with every new look that came out. From the backstage shadows, I watched the audience nodding, reacting, smiling—some even whispering. Cameras flashed, phones recorded. But all I could do was stare, frozen between awe and disbelief.

Then, I heard the gentle voice of the coordinator again. “Okay, Aurora. It’s time. You have to go give your speech.”

My stomach twisted.

I glanced down at my notecard again, then back at my models—now lined up at the front of the stage, waiting for me to join them.

With a slow breath, I stepped out. The crowd clapped, the lights were blinding, and for a second, I felt like a stranger in my own body. Then I looked at them—all my girls, standing in my work—and I felt much better.

I took a breath, feeling the heat of the spotlight on my face, the quiet expectation of the room settling around me. I tightened my grip on the mic and began.

“Hello everyone, my name is Aurora Devereaux, a fourth-year graduate. I just want to start by saying thank you. Thank you all for being here tonight.”

I turned slightly, gesturing to the ten beautiful women standing behind me.

“These ten models behind me are wearing pieces that represent more than just fabric and design. Each of these dresses was inspired by the belief that fashion is, and always should be, for everyone. Everybody, every story, every presence deserves to be celebrated. There’s no one type of beauty—and I wanted these looks to reflect that.”

My voice shook slightly, but I steadied myself.

“When I started my final year, I knew I wanted to bring to life the ideas that lived in my head four years ago, when I first walked into this school. Back then, I was scared, unsure, and didn’t know if I belonged here. But tonight, seeing this vision come alive… I know I do.”

I smiled gently, scanning the room.

“I’m endlessly grateful for the girls who volunteered to walk for me, for every makeup artist, every assistant, every member of staff who worked behind the scenes to make this possible. To my fellow students, your talent pushed me to be better. Then to my mom and best friend, who couldn’t be here tonight…I thank them for pushing me as well.”

Another mention lingered quietly in the back of my mind—someone who had once been a constant, who knew me in ways no one else did. For a moment, I felt the ache of it, the absence louder than I wanted to admit. I swallowed it down. This wasn’t about the people who left. It was about the ones who stayed, and the work that brought me here.

I let the words sit for a second, heart full.

“Thank you again. Truly. This night means more than I can say.”

With that, I gave one final smile, nodded politely, and stepped away from the microphone. The sound of loud applause echoed through the auditorium as I made my way off the stage, heart racing but steady now. My models followed, their dresses shimmering beneath the lights, and for a moment, I let myself breathe.

As I moved backstage, my supervisor took the stage, thanking the audience and preparing to close out the evening with a few final words. I stood off to the side, watching him speak, but my thoughts were still scattered—part pride, part emptiness.

The show was over. I had done it. Yet somehow, it didn’t feel like the ending I imagined.

My fellow classmates gathered in small clusters, congratulating one another, complimenting each other's work with excited energy buzzing in the air.

Even Daphne came up to me, eyes wide with awe as she grinned, “I want to wear every single one of your designs.”

I laughed, touched by her words, but before I could respond, I heard someone call my name—clear and familiar over the post-show chatter.

“Aurora!”

I turned, instantly recognizing Darren weaving through the crowd toward me. A smile tugged at my lips as I walked over to meet him, the tension in my shoulders softening just a little.

“You actually came,” I said, almost surprised despite his earlier message.

“Of course I did,” he grinned. “A challenge is a challenge, but… I think I would’ve come even if there wasn’t one.”

He held my gaze for a second longer, then from behind his back, he pulled out a single white rose.

“For the designer of the night,” he said, offering it with a crooked smile.

I blinked, caught off guard. “You didn’t have to…”

“I wanted to,” he said simply.

I took the rose, fingers brushing his for a moment. The petals were soft, delicate—like the moment itself. I stared at it, then at him, my throat tightening just slightly.

“Thank you, Darren,” I said, quieter than I meant to.

Darren rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly looking a little unsure of himself. “I don’t know if this is the best time to ask,” he started, eyes flicking to mine, “but… I’d really like to take you out sometime. Like, a real date.”

I blinked, taken aback—not because I hadn’t thought he might eventually ask, but because he asked now, right after all of this.

I hesitated. My heart still felt bruised, not quite ready to fall again. But something about Darren—the way he showed up, the way he didn’t push, didn’t expect—made the word slip out before I could second-guess it.

“…Okay.”

His eyes widened slightly. “Wait—really?”

I gave a soft smile. “Really.”

A grin spread across his face. “Alright then,” he said, clearly trying—and failing—to hide his surprise. “I’ll message you.”

“Okay.”

And then, without another word, he leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to my cheek. I felt my breath catch. He pulled back slightly, eyes searching mine for any sign of discomfort. There wasn’t any. Before I could say anything else, he gently took my hand and lifted it, brushing a kiss to my knuckles.

“I’ll see you soon, Aurora.”

I muttered, barely above a whisper, “Yeah… see you.”

Darren gave me one last smile before slipping back into the crowd, disappearing between groups of lingering guests and students.

I looked at the ground, still smiling.

It lingered on my lips, soft and surprised, leftover from Darren’s touch and the strange warmth it brought. I fiddled with the flower in my hand. My heart felt a little lighter—lighter than it had in weeks.

I looked back up, scanning the room for my supervisor— Until I saw him. My breath caught. Just a few meters away, standing still amidst the blur of people, was my ex-fiancé.

A bouquet of red roses clutched in one hand, my usual iced coffee in the other.

His eyes locked onto mine—steady, unreadable—then flicked to the single white rose in my hand. I saw his jaw clenched. Face red, knuckles white around the bouquet, his gaze sharp and cutting, brimming with anger.

After more than a month of silence.

He came for me, and he had just seen everything.

READ ALL RELEASED CHAPTERS HERE!

[a/n: I'm warning you now. Prepare for major angst next chapter. womp. Also, happy 1 month to Contract!? 19 chapters on the 19! Like and reblog! Mwah] – Ceyana

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