#but even so his crush on her remained | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

reidmarieprentiss · 2 months ago

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No More Misunderstandings

Summary: You have a big crush on Spencer, everyone can see it except for Spencer himself.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Tech Analyst fem!reader

Category: fluff

Warnings/Includes: crushing, (un)requited feelings, bad communication, Spencer trying to flirt, gay Elle, Rossi not Gideon, happy ending, Elle is out but reader doesn't know

Word count: 9.4k

a/n: if this man ever asked me to hang out i would say yes in two seconds flat

main masterlist

Every day, you settled into the hum of computers and the soft glow of monitors that painted the walls of the BAU's technical analysis hub, affectionately dubbed the "bat cave" by those who knew it best. Your role as a tech analyst found you working side-by-side with the brilliant and bubbly Penelope Garcia, a woman whose personality was as colorful as her wardrobe. Despite the comfort of being shrouded in the semi-darkness of your tech-laden sanctuary, a certain type of light seemed to elude you—the spark of acknowledgment in Dr. Spencer Reid's deep, thoughtful eyes.

You harbored a crush so palpable that even the air in the room felt charged with your nervous energy whenever Spencer was near. However, your shy demeanor cloaked these feelings in a veil of secrecy that somehow, miraculously, Spencer himself never managed to pierce through. Everyone else on the team had noticed, from the knowing smiles of Derek Morgan to the gentle teasing of JJ, but Spencer remained blissfully unaware, his attention often drifting towards Elle Greenaway with an intensity that tugged painfully at your heart.

Penelope, ever the observant friend, never missed a beat. "Oh, honey," she would whisper, "it’s like you’re sending Morse code with those blushes and he’s living in a blackout."

Her words were gentle, tinged with humor and affection, yet each jest felt like a pinprick to your already tender sensibilities. Whenever Spencer visited the bat cave to discuss case details or gather information, your heart raced as you tried to provide him with everything he needed without tripping over your words or, heaven forbid, your own feet.

"Hey, Spencer," you would start, your voice a careful mixture of professionalism and the warmth you couldn’t keep at bay.

"Hello," he would respond, his eyes scanning the screens filled with data. His focus was razor-sharp, dissecting information with the same precision he used on everything but the emotional currents swirling around him.

Each interaction was a dance. You would inch towards openness, leaning in to catch a whiff of his cologne or to appreciate the subtle shift of his hair when he ran his fingers through it in concentration. But as soon as he glanced up, those hazel eyes like windows to an enigmatic soul, you would recoil slightly, cheeks aflame, words retreating as quickly as they had dared to emerge.

Later, as the screen showed live feeds of the team moving through their environments, Penelope would nudge you gently with her elbow, her voice low and teasing. "You know, if we had a dollar for every time you fumbled around that man, we could retire and buy an island in the Bahamas."

You’d offer a small, embarrassed laugh, grateful for the low lighting hiding the worst of your blush. "I just... I don’t know how to act around him, Penelope. What if he doesn’t..."

"Feel the same?" she'd finish for you, her tone softening. "Sweetie, the heart’s a funny creature. It doesn’t play by the rules of logic that Spencer loves so much. But who knows? Maybe one day, he’ll surprise you and actually look up from those case files and see what’s right in front of him."

The comfort in her voice was soothing, yet each day ended the same—with you watching Spencer, Spencer watching Elle, and Penelope watching over you, a guardian angel clad in technicolor, armed with an arsenal of jokes and just the right words to keep you smiling through the uncertainty.

—

The day had been rolling along as usual in the BAU's bat cave, the rhythmic clicking of keyboards providing a steady backdrop to the glow of computer screens. Penelope had excused herself for a quick bathroom break, leaving you alone amidst the towers of technology. Just as the door clicked shut behind her, the shrill ring of the phone sliced through the quiet, startling you slightly. Calls from the field were usually Penelope’s domain, her cheerful voice a soothing constant for the team. Today, it seemed, you would have to step into her shoes.

“Y/N speaking, what can I do for you?” Your voice wavered slightly, anxiety bubbling up as you prepared for your usual toggle through databases and security feeds.

When Spencer’s voice responded from the other end, a different kind of alertness prickled across your skin. “Hi, Y/N, we need to cross-reference known associates of the unsub with recent flight records. Can you pull up the lists and cross-check for any matches?”

Your heart thumped erratically, his voice weaving through the receiver like a familiar song that never failed to stir your soul. You tried to maintain a steady tone, hoping your voice didn’t betray the sudden nervousness that his presence, even just over the phone, incited. “Sure, Spencer, just a moment.”

As your fingers danced across the keyboard, the professional mask you wore each day slid comfortably into place. You were adept at your job, a fact that never faltered, even under the weight of your emotions. Quickly pulling up the necessary records, you began the process of cross-referencing, your mind briefly detached from the flutter in your stomach.

“Looks like there’s a match. Michael Davidson, on a flight from Atlanta to D.C. this morning,” you reported, a trace of pride threading through your words at the efficiency with which you’d located the information.

“Great, Y/N. Thanks,” Spencer’s voice came through, a hint of relief palpable even through the static of the connection. His appreciation, simple and straightforward, filled you with a warmth that went beyond professional satisfaction.

Hanging up, you let out a breath you’d been holding. Penelope chose that moment to breeze back into the room, her presence as effervescent as ever. Catching the tail end of your smile, she quirked an eyebrow playfully.

“Spill the beans, buttercup. You look like someone just handed you a golden ticket,” she teased, settling back into her chair.

“It was just Spencer needing some quick info,” you shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant as your heart continued to beat a staccato rhythm against your ribs.

Penelope’s smile widened, her eyes twinkling with unspoken understanding. “Oh, just Spencer, huh?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, trying to brush it off casually. “Derek would never betray you by talking to me,” you teased, hoping to steer the conversation away from your flustered feelings.

Penelope’s eyes sparkled even more as she winked at you. “Oh, he’s allowed to have side pieces, my love. I’m a generous goddess.”

You burst out laughing, your nervousness momentarily forgotten as Penelope’s playful banter eased your tension. “I’ll let him know you said that,” you shot back, turning back to your screen, trying to focus on anything other than the residual warmth from talking to Spencer.

Penelope, never one to let you off the hook easily, leaned in closer. “Should I let Spencer know he isn’t allowed to have any side pieces then?” she asked, winking at you again, her tone as sweet as honey but with a hint of mischief.

“Penelope!” you gasped, feeling your face flush all over again. The blush you thought had faded returned with a vengeance as you turned away, hoping she wouldn’t see just how red you were.

She laughed, clearly pleased with herself. “I’m just saying, babe. The boy’s got options, but I think we both know his best one is sitting right here.”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands as you let out a small, embarrassed laugh. “You’re impossible.”

“Just doing my part to make sure he doesn’t miss any signals,” Penelope sang, tapping her keyboard lightly, her grin as wide as ever. You couldn't help but smile too, secretly grateful for her teasing. After all, it was these moments that made the crush a little more bearable.

—

During one of Rossi’s famed pasta-making sessions, a relaxed atmosphere filled his spacious kitchen, with the rich aroma of tomato sauce simmering on the stove and the sounds of laughter mingling with soft Italian music playing in the background. Rossi, the consummate host, guided everyone through the steps of making the perfect pasta dough, his hands moving with the ease of long practice.

You found yourself stationed next to Spencer, who was diligently kneading a mound of fresh pasta dough. His hands, beautiful and dexterous, worked the dough with a precision that was mesmerizing. The veins on his hands stood out, accentuating every deliberate movement, and you couldn’t help but be captivated by the fluidity of his motions. It wasn’t just his intellect that drew you in; even his seemingly mundane physical actions had a way of catching your undivided attention.

Derek and JJ, who were partnered up on the other side of the kitchen island, caught your fixed gaze and shared an amused look between them. Derek’s smirk grew as he nudged JJ, whispering loud enough for you to overhear, “Looks like someone’s more interested in the handwork than the handiwork.”

JJ chuckled softly, her eyes twinkling with mischief as she joined in the teasing. “Yeah, I think Y/N’s planning on writing a thesis on the manual dexterity of certain geniuses.”

Flustered, you tore your eyes away from Spencer’s hands, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. You attempted to focus back on your own portion of dough, which had begun to stick to the counter more than it should. Spencer, oblivious to the exchange, looked up and noticed your struggle.

“Hey, you need to dust a bit more flour on the surface,” he said, his voice gentle, unaware of the reason behind your distraction. He reached over to sprinkle some flour on your dough and then on the countertop, his fingers briefly brushing against yours. The brief contact sent a pleasant jolt through you, further flustering you.

Rossi, ever the observant host, noticed the playful dynamic and decided to rescue you from your embarrassment. “Alright, everyone, let’s focus on the art of pasta! Y/N, why don’t you help me with the sauce?” he suggested, giving you a knowing smile as he handed you a wooden spoon.

As you helped Rossi stir the simmering sauce, carefully blending the herbs into the rich, aromatic mixture, you couldn’t help but cast furtive glances across the kitchen. There, Hotch had taken up the spot you vacated next to Spencer, now deeply engaged in the art of pasta making under Rossi’s enthusiastic instruction. While Hotch was methodically following Rossi’s guidance, Spencer’s attention occasionally drifted.

Across from them, Elle was rolling out her dough with a confident flourish, laughing at something Hotch had said. You caught Spencer's eyes as they met Elle's, a shared glance of amusement passing effortlessly between them. The ease of their silent communication was stark, their smiles syncing in a moment of private jest that seemed to exclude the world around them—including you.

That simple, silent exchange felt like a punch to the gut. The laughter and camaraderie around you suddenly seemed a bit dimmer, a bit more distant. It wasn’t just jealousy that twisted in your stomach—it was the aching realization of how much could be said in a single look when there was a real connection; a connection you feared might never form between Spencer and yourself.

You turned your attention back to the sauce, the spoon moving mechanically in your hand as Rossi continued to chat about the nuances of Italian cooking. He didn’t seem to notice your distraction, caught up in his culinary passion. But inside, your thoughts were swirling as tumultuously as the sauce you stirred.

Trying to shake off the sinking feeling, you focused on the positives—the laughter of your team, the comforting weight of the wooden spoon in your hand, the delicious smell that filled the kitchen. But despite the festive atmosphere, a part of you remained reserved, quietly nursing the tender hope that maybe, just maybe, one day Spencer would look at you with the same warmth and understanding he so effortlessly shared with Elle. Until then, you resolved to keep smiling, keep stirring, and keep hoping.

—

The BAU briefing room felt unusually empty without Penelope's vibrant presence, Elle's keen insights, and Derek's charismatic confidence filling the space. With them on vacation, the dynamic had shifted, and you found yourself stepping into roles that stretched beyond your usual behind-the-scenes expertise. The weight of Penelope's responsibilities now rested squarely on your shoulders, a challenge you accepted with both determination and a hint of trepidation.

As the team gathered for the briefing on the new case, Hotch turned to you. "Y/N, could you walk us through the case description and the current leads?" His voice was calm, authoritative, yet imbued with a supportive undertone that did little to ease the flutter of nerves in your stomach.

Nodding, you stood, remote in hand, feeling every pair of eyes in the room settle on you. Public speaking was not your greatest fear, but it was hardly your favorite endeavor—especially not with Spencer's intense gaze locked on you. It was as if his eyes were a pair of spotlights, illuminating not just your words but every minute reaction and emotion that flickered across your face.

As you began to outline the case, detailing the patterns and possible psychological motivations of the unsub, Spencer's scrutiny never wavered. His stare was not judgmental nor dismissive; rather, it was analytical, perhaps even a bit curious, as if he were trying to read the nuances of your presentation, to understand not just the facts but the person delivering them.

"Based on the geographical profiling and the behavioral pattern, we believe the unsub may be operating within a ten-mile radius of downtown," you explained, pointing to the map projected behind you. Your voice steadied as you delved deeper into the analysis, the familiar terrain of data and evidence providing a solid foundation beneath your initially shaky confidence.

Spencer's focus, rather than rattling you further, began to foster a sense of resolve within you. You found yourself speaking more confidently, your nerves tempered by the realization that this was still your team—your family in all but blood. They weren't here to judge; they were here to listen and to learn from what you had to offer.

As the briefing wrapped up, Hotch nodded in approval. "Good work, Y/N. Keep us posted on any updates from Garcia's systems until she returns."

You nodded, feeling a wave of relief wash over you. Glad it was over, you were already preparing to scamper back to your office when you heard a voice that sent a familiar shiver down your spine.

“Y/N?” Spencer's voice, calm yet inquisitive, caught your attention.

You spun around to face him, trying not to let your fluster show. “What’s up?”

“Can you put the map back up on the screen, please?” he asked, already standing by the large projection screen.

“Ye–yeah, of course.” Your fingers fumbled with the remote as you quickly reactivated the display, bringing the map back onto the screen.

“Here,” Spencer said, still not looking back at you. “Come look at this.”

You walked over to stand beside him, your eyes inadvertently drawn to his long fingers as they traced paths along the map, pointing out specific areas. The same hands that had mesmerized you earlier were now gliding over the screen, drawing you into his thought process.

Spencer started talking about the geographical profile, rattling off information with his typical rapid-fire brilliance. But what took you by surprise was how he spoke to you—not as the team’s tech analyst, but as if you were another profiler, someone he wanted to consult. This was new, and it left you momentarily stunned. He’d never done this before.

“Spencer?” you asked quietly, your voice barely audible in the spacious room. He hummed in response, still focused on the map as he tugged thoughtfully at his bottom lip—a gesture you’d come to adore and envy.

“Why are you asking me about this?” you continued, your curiosity growing along with your nerves. “Why not Rossi? Or Hotch?”

Spencer paused, finally turning to face you, his eyes filled with the same focused intensity he usually reserved for solving cases. “Because you see things differently,” he said softly. “You have a different perspective, and that’s valuable. Sometimes it’s not just about profiling. It’s about how we approach the data, and you… you understand patterns in a way that’s unique.”

His words caught you off guard, but they filled you with an unexpected warmth. You weren’t just the tech analyst who plugged in the data—they saw you, Spencer saw you, as part of the team, as someone with valuable insights.

Your heart fluttered in your chest as you held his gaze for a moment longer than you intended. “Thanks, Spencer,” you whispered, trying to suppress the blush creeping up your neck.

He smiled, a small but genuine curve of his lips, before turning back to the map. “Now, what do you think about this area here?” he asked, as if it was the most natural thing in the world for you two to be collaborating like this.

For once, you weren’t just lost in thoughts of him—you were part of the conversation, and it felt good.

After you felt you'd helped all you could, you excused yourself back to your office, ready to sink back into the more solitary part of your work. However, Spencer seemed to have other plans, as he walked alongside you, his footsteps synchronized with yours, indicating he wasn't quite done talking. His expression was one of mild concern, a usual precursor to his deep dives into various subjects.

As you walked, he continued to unravel his thoughts about the case, tying loose ends and circling back to previous points with a precision that was nothing short of impressive. It was typical of Spencer to thoroughly dissect each aspect of a case, often taking tangential routes in the conversation that surprisingly led right back to the main topic, a testament to his prodigious mind.

However, as engrossed as he was in discussing the case, his next words veered sharply from the professional to the personal, catching you completely off guard and momentarily stalling your mental gears. The shift was so sudden that it took a moment for you to register what he was actually asking, pulling you out of your case-focused mindset and into a more introspective space. This unexpected question not only showed his human side but also reminded you of the depth of his observational skills, not just in work but in personal matters as well.

"How is Felix, by the way?" Spencer asked, an innocently curious tilt to his head as he regarded you, his pace slowing slightly.

"What?" The name jolted you, an echo from a past chapter of your life you hadn’t opened in ages, and certainly not one you had expected Spencer to know anything about. You blinked, momentarily confused, trying to piece together the leap in conversation.

"Felix? How are they?" Spencer repeated, his interest seemingly piqued by your reaction—or perhaps just his natural inclination toward thorough understanding.

You paused, standing now in the doorway of your office, the background hum of computer servers providing a soft soundtrack to this unexpected moment. "Um, I don't know," you admitted, still trying to navigate the strange turn the conversation had taken.

"Oh, I’m so sorry, did you two separate?" Spencer’s tone was filled with genuine apology, his face reflecting concern.

You managed a small, somewhat awkward laugh, finding both the absurdity and the sudden intimacy of the conversation slightly overwhelming. "Well, yes. A long while ago." Your response came out lighter than you felt, the surprise of the question making your heart race for reasons other than your usual nervousness around Spencer.

As Spencer absorbed your response, his expression remained unreadable, a common trait when he was deep in thought or processing information. He nodded, perhaps filing away the conversation for later reflection, before excusing himself with a polite but somewhat distant farewell. His departure was quick, efficient, the way he typically transitioned back to work, yet it left a trail of questions in its wake.

You watched him go, a blend of relief and curiosity mingling in your thoughts. The inquiry into your personal life was uncharacteristic of Spencer, who usually maintained a strict boundary between professional and personal discussions, at least when it came to initiating such topics himself. The interaction lingered in your mind, an outlier in the usual pattern of your interactions.

"Maybe it's because Elle isn't here," you thought silently, turning back to your computer.

After leaving your office, Spencer quickly texted Elle to update her that you were no longer seeing Felix, contrary to their assumption. Elle replied enthusiastically with two thumbs up, urging him to ask you out soon or she would take the opportunity herself.

—

Throughout the week, with Penelope, Elle, and Derek away, the dynamic at the BAU shifted noticeably. Spencer seemed to step out of his usual reserved demeanor, engaging more frequently, particularly with you. His attempts at conversation often appeared to teeter on the edge of something beyond mere professional interest, though it was so subtle that it often flew under your radar.

Tuesday morning, Spencer leaned against the counter, watching you struggle with the temperamental coffee machine that had decided today was the day to revolt. "You know, statistically, manual coffee presses have a lower failure rate compared to electric ones," he commented, a slight quirk to his lips.

You glanced at him, chuckling lightly, "Is that so? Maybe I should switch, then."

"Yeah, and they make better coffee. Maybe I could show you how to use one sometime?" His tone was casual, but there was a tentative note to it, almost hopeful.

As the coffee machine finally sputtered to life, producing a somewhat decent cup of coffee, Spencer’s offer lingered in the air, subtly altering the atmosphere between you. His suggestion about the manual coffee press had been light, almost playful, but it carried an undercurrent of personal interest that left you unexpectedly flustered. Despite this, you masked your reaction with a casual nod, trying to maintain an even keel.

"Sure, I could always use better coffee," you responded, your voice steady despite the slight quickening of your heartbeat. You focused on fixing your coffee, adding just the right amount of cream and sugar, using the mundane task as a moment to collect your thoughts.

Spencer watched you for a moment, perhaps sensing the shift in your demeanor but respecting the boundary you subtly enforced with your nonchalant reply. His smile was gentle, not pushing further, as he too turned his attention back to preparing his own drink.

Wednesday at lunch you sat in the break room flipping through case files, Spencer slid into the seat across from you with his own lunch—a homemade sandwich seemingly crafted with meticulous care. "I read somewhere that sharing meals can enhance group bonding and individual rapport," he began, looking directly at you with an earnest expression.

You looked up, smiling at the factoid, you loved hearing Spencer talk. He was always so endearing. "That sounds about right. Food does bring people together."

"Maybe we could test that theory. There's a new Thai place nearby that’s supposed to be great," he suggested, his voice smooth but slightly hurried.

"That would be an interesting experiment," you agreed, your thoughts inadvertently glossing over Spencer's subtle personal invitation. Instead, your mind wandered to the social dynamics of the team, or perhaps more pointedly, the possibility of Spencer going out with Elle without having to extend a direct invitation—an idea that stoked a twinge of jealousy, burning in your stomach like an ugly green monster.

Spencer nodded, his expression shifting subtly as he detected the undercurrent of your thoughts, interpreting them as disinterest in a personal outing. He tried to mask any hint of disappointment, maintaining his typical composed demeanor. Internally, however, he wrestled with the sting of what felt like another missed connection, another attempt at reaching out quietly rebuffed.

"It would be a great way to explore some new flavors... maybe just the two of us first, to see if it’s worth recommending to the team?" His tone was measured, carefully modulating between casual and sincere, revealing his hope that this might pave the way to a more personal connection between the two of you.

Despite his clear wording, your mind twisted his intentions, clouded by the assumption that his ultimate aim was to impress Elle upon her return. This idea gnawed at you, the thought of being potentially used as a stepping stone in Spencer’s strategy to engage Elle more personally. It tainted the sincerity you might have otherwise perceived in his proposal.

"Yeah, that sounds like a good plan," you responded, trying to mask your feelings with a nod and a polite smile. "Testing it out sounds sensible... then we can tell Elle and the rest if it's good." Your voice carried a hint of forced cheerfulness as you inadvertently redirected the focus back to Elle, reinforcing your misinterpretation of Spencer's motives.

Spencer noticed the subtle shift in your tone, the slight stiffness in your smile. He paused, a flicker of confusion crossing his features as he tried to gauge whether his message had been misunderstood. "Yes, of course," he agreed, his voice faltering slightly as he picked up on your emphasis on Elle. Disappointment edged into his heart, sensing a barrier he hadn't anticipated—one that perhaps wasn't his to cross just yet.

He nodded slowly, offering a gentle smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'll send you the details later then," Spencer added, stepping back to give you space, his mind busy piecing together where the conversation had veered off track.

Thursday while you were digging through old case files in the archives, Spencer wandered in, ostensibly looking for a book. He lingered by your side, helping to shift the heavy tomes. "You know, there's this book on cognitive science I think you'd really like. It talks about pattern recognition and emotional intelligence in ways I think you'd find fascinating," he offered, his fingers brushing against yours as he handed you a different file.

"Sounds intriguing," you responded, your attention still partially on the file in your hands. The hint of a smile played at the corners of your mouth, touched by the realization that Spencer was not only paying attention to your interests but was actively thinking about ways to engage with you on a more personal level.

"I could lend it to you. We could discuss it over coffee?" Spencer's suggestion came with a hopeful undertone, as gentle and tentative as the expression in his eyes.

Your reaction, however, was immediate and unexpected—a sudden choke on your spit as his words caught you off guard. A brief fit of coughing ensued, and Spencer's concern was quick to surface. He reached out instinctively, placing a comforting hand on your back with a gentle touch. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice filled with worry.

The unexpected contact made you jolt, a reflexive response to the sudden intimacy of his touch. Realizing your reaction, Spencer quickly withdrew his hand, a flash of disappointment crossing his features as he stepped back, giving you space.

"Yeah, I'm fine, sorry," you managed to laugh it off, though your cheeks burned with embarrassment. You tried to smooth over the moment, still recovering from the unexpected cough and the even more unexpected contact.

Spencer's response was gentle, a soft nod accompanying his words. "It's okay, I'll, uh, see you upstairs," he said, stepping back with a hesitant smile. His decision to not press the coffee invitation further reflected his respect for your comfort, but inwardly, he felt he might have missed his opportunity for the day.

As he turned to leave, the brief contact and your embarrassed reaction replayed in his mind, leaving him wondering about the right approach to take next time. His intentions had been straightforward, but the execution hadn't gone as smoothly as he hoped. The way your eyes had widened, the laughter that followed the cough—it all suggested a mix of emotions that he couldn't quite decipher.

Watching him walk away, you felt a pang of regret. His retreat made you realize that your reaction might have been misinterpreted as discomfort, rather than the surprise and nervous excitement you actually felt. The idea of discussing a book over coffee with Spencer genuinely appealed to you, and you wished you could convey that without the awkwardness of the moment overshadowing it.

Gathering your thoughts, you considered reaching out to him later to clarify your interest, maybe even suggest a specific day for that coffee. The day hadn't gone as either of you planned, but it wasn't over yet, and perhaps there was still a chance to turn it around.

Friday afternoon as you both waited for the elevator, Spencer tried again, this time a bit more directly. "Did you know that the probability of meeting someone compatible is surprisingly high within work environments?"

You raised an eyebrow, trying to steady the rapid thumping of your heart. "Really now? I guess we’re in the right place, then."

"Yes, exactly," Spencer agreed, a bit more eagerly than you expected. "It’s like... finding the right piece in a puzzle."

"Like solving a case?" you asked, your voice shrinking with uncertainty, afraid that, once again, he had someone else in mind—someone who fit into his world effortlessly, maybe a profiler like Elle.

"Yeah," he smiled warmly, his eyes soft as they focused on you. "Just like solving a case."

Your heart cracked a little at his words. You interpreted the metaphor differently, convinced he was searching for someone like the other brilliant profilers on the team—someone you believed you could never be. With a forced smile, you said quietly, "Well, looks like you need a profiler-shaped puzzle piece then."

Spencer’s brow furrowed slightly, a flicker of confusion crossing his face as you stepped into the elevator. He stood there, frozen, not understanding the weight behind your words or why you seemed so distant.

As the elevator doors slid shut, he replayed the conversation in his mind, his heart sinking as he realized something wasn’t connecting. He had been trying to tell you, in his own way, that he was interested in you, that you were the piece he was talking about. But somehow, despite his best efforts, the message kept slipping through your fingers. Why weren’t you getting it? Why did every attempt seem to fall short?

Spencer watched the elevator descend, a sinking feeling settling in his chest. He had been so certain of his feelings for you, and yet, with every attempt, it felt like they drifted further away, lost in the unspoken misunderstandings between you.

—

When the freshly bronzed trio returned from their vacation, Spencer, seemingly on edge, wasted no time in seeking out Elle, his face etched with a mix of hope and frustration.

“So? Did you do it?” Elle asked eagerly as soon as they were within speaking distance, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. “Did she say yes?”

Spencer’s response was laden with disappointment. “Every time I try to ask her out, she thinks it’s a friendly suggestion, or—or she even mentioned you one time like I was thinking about you!” He ran his hand through his hair in exasperation, clearly puzzled by the recurring miscommunication.

Elle couldn’t help but laugh slightly, though her lips were closed, trying to mask her amusement at the situation. Spencer, on the other hand, whined in annoyance, “What?” He genuinely didn’t understand what he was missing.

With a fond smile, Elle prodded further, “Reid, how did you ask? And what did she say?” Her voice was gentle, coaxing him to unpack the details.

Spencer recapped all the moments from the past week—the coffee machine incident, the lunch invitation, the casual chat in the archives, and the awkward elevator conversation. Each retelling showcased his subtle, cerebral approach to what he thought were clear invitations.

“Oh, boy genius,” Elle said teasingly once he finished, her tone light but her words cutting to the heart of the issue. “I think I see the problem here.”

“What? What is it?” Spencer asked, desperation and confusion in his voice.

Elle placed her hand on his arm, a gesture meant to be comforting but one that did not escape your notice, intensifying the ache in your heart. “She thinks you’re interested in me!” Elle revealed, her insight sharp.

“Why would she think that?” Spencer asked, his bewilderment evident. The connection between his actions and your perception seemed utterly foreign to him.

Elle’s explanation was straightforward, “Because, Spencer, every time you make an attempt, it’s so subtle and wrapped in layers of intellect that it’s easy for her to miss the romantic intent.”

Her words seemed to pierce through the fog of confusion surrounding Spencer. The realization that his attempts at expressing romantic interest were getting lost in translation—or rather, lost in his own intellectual approach—was a revelation. He nodded slowly, the gears turning as he processed this new insight.

“Plus, if she’s mentioning me and no one else, she must think you’re looking for ways to take me out!” Elle added, emphasizing her point with a light chuckle, though her eyes remained sympathetic to Spencer’s plight.

The weight of Elle’s explanation settled heavily on Spencer. It dawned on him how his interactions, though well-intentioned, might appear to others, especially to you. His style, inherently analytical and often indirect, had inadvertently sent the wrong signals, steering your thoughts towards a narrative where he was interested in Elle rather than clarifying his feelings for you.

This misunderstanding struck a chord within him. Spencer had always prided himself on his communication skills when it came to the nuances of unsubs and case theories. Yet, here he was, stumped by personal emotions and interpersonal communications that veered off course.

“Okay, so... I’ve been too subtle,” Spencer acknowledged, almost to himself as much as to Elle. “And she’s misreading the subtlety as disinterest—or worse, interest directed at someone else.”

Elle nodded, squeezing his arm gently. “Exactly, Spencer. You’re thinking like a profiler trying to decipher hidden meanings, but sometimes, directness is key. Maybe it’s time to just tell her how you feel, plainly and clearly. No puzzles, no hints.”

“But—but what if she’s not interested?” Spencer stammered, the creeping sense of insecurity wrapping around him like a heavy blanket. His confidence from earlier was starting to erode. “I mean, she did turn me down on multiple occasions,” he added, his voice softening with self-doubt.

Elle sent him a playful glare, her expression one of disbelief. “Be serious, Reid,” she said, her tone firm but affectionate. “Everyone here can see that she’s into you. Ask anyone.”

Without giving Spencer a chance to stop her, Elle raised her voice, calling across the room, “Hey, JJ!”

Spencer's eyes widened in panic, his face flushing. “Elle! No!” His voice cracked as he tried to stop her, but it was too late.

JJ approached the two of them, a curious smile on her face as she looked between Spencer and Elle. “What’s up, you guys?” she asked, her easy going demeanor not yet aware of the situation she was about to walk into.

“Do you think Y/N is into anyone? Should we set her up?” Elle asked with a mischievous smirk, clearly enjoying Spencer’s discomfort.

JJ’s reaction was immediate—she burst into laughter, glancing between Elle and the now-mortified Spencer. “Are you kidding?!” she laughed, unable to believe the question was even being asked.

“No! Do you have anyone in mind?” Elle pushed, her smirk widening as she kept the act going.

Spencer looked like he wanted to sink into the floor, his mortification plain as he stood there frozen. His mind raced, desperate to find a way to steer the conversation away from himself. But JJ, still chuckling, fixed her gaze directly on Spencer, her expression turning to amused confusion.

“Spencer? Duh! She’s basically in love with you!” JJ declared, her blunt response leaving no room for misunderstanding.

Spencer blinked in disbelief, his mind stumbling over the directness of JJ's words. "W-What?" he stammered, his heart pounding in his chest.

JJ just shook her head, laughing softly. “Reid, it's so obvious. Trust me, you should ask her out.”

"Right," Spencer exhaled heavily, the weight of his nerves tangible in that single word. His eyes followed JJ as she walked away, her knowing smile and shake of her head a clear sign that she was rooting for him.

Elle, observing the entire interaction, turned back to Spencer with a look of determination. “Do you believe me now? You just need to be blunt,” she said firmly, reinforcing the advice with her unwavering gaze. Her stance was one of staunch support, wanting to push Spencer past his habitual overthinking.

Spencer nodded, feeling a bit more fortified by the support of his colleagues. Elle’s insistence on being blunt was exactly the nudge he needed. It was clear that subtlety had not served him well in this arena, and it was time for a change in strategy.

—

Throughout the week, Spencer made several more attempts to ask you out, each time with a bit more directness than the last, but somehow the message never quite landed. Each time deepening his frustration and your oblivious disappointment.

Spencer joined you at the coffee machine again, a site of many a casual encounter but today, he was armed with determination. "I was thinking," he began, carefully measuring his words, "that maybe you and I could try that new café downtown this Saturday."

You smiled, stirring your coffee absentmindedly, your mind on a deadline you were close to missing. "That sounds like a great break from work. It’ll be good to get the team out and about. Should I send an email to everyone?"

Spencer’s heart sank a little. "Uh, well, I meant more like a... never mind. Yes, let’s get everyone involved," he conceded, hiding his disappointment.

In the midst of discussing a particularly complex case, Spencer tried to weave in a personal invitation as naturally as he could. "And after we wrap this up, maybe you’d like to join me for dinner? I know a place that’s quiet, great for discussing... cases."

You nodded, focused intensely on the case details. "Oh yeah! I already told Pen I’d grab dinner with her after the case, do you want to join us?"

Spencer’s heart sank just a bit as he adjusted his glasses, a gesture that had become a telltale sign of his internal resignation. His intention of a quiet dinner, meant to create a private space for you and him, vanished with your invitation to Penelope. Still, he managed a smile, not wanting his disappointment to show.

“Sure, that sounds great,” Spencer replied, trying to keep his tone light and cheerful. Inside, however, he was strategizing his next move, wondering how he could ever convey his feelings without the constant backdrop of the team.

As the day progressed, his mind kept circling back to the conversation. He appreciated your inclusiveness—always making sure no one felt left out, a trait he admired deeply. Yet, he couldn’t help but wish for a moment where it could just be the two of you, away from the dynamics and distractions of the team.

As you both walked to the parking lot after a long day, Spencer decided to be as clear as he could. "I enjoy spending time with you," he said earnestly. "I was hoping we could maybe go out this weekend, just you and me. What do you think?"

You paused, turning to face him with a puzzled smile, unaware of the mounting frustration behind his calm demeanor. "Sure. What do you want to do? I heard of a nightclub that's supposed to have a disco on Saturdays, we could see if everyone is interested?”

Spencer’s patience, worn thin from repeated attempts, finally faltered. “That doesn’t really sound like my scene,” he replied, a note of desperation creeping into his voice as he motioned between the two of you. “Could we go somewhere more subdued? Just us?”

The simplicity of his request, paired with the intensity of his gesture, made you pause. "You want to hang out? With just me?" you asked, a hint of confusion lacing your words.

“Yes!” Spencer exclaimed, his voice echoing a bit louder than he intended in the quiet space between conversations around you. His hands were in the air, a gesture of his exasperation and earnestness. Realizing how his reaction might have seemed, he quickly lowered his hands and softened his tone. “I mean, yes, I would like to spend time with you. Just us. Maybe somewhere quiet where we can talk. Just... talk.”

Your heart was beating so fast you could barely contain it, “Just the two of us?”

The realization struck you fully now, the words "just the two of us" hanging in the air, tinged with possibility. Spencer nodded, his eyes earnest and hopeful, watching for your reaction.

"Yes, just the two of us," he confirmed, his voice steadier now, filled with a quiet intensity. His gaze never wavered from yours, as if trying to convey all the sincerity he felt directly into your heart.

Your heart raced with the understanding of what he was asking, the implications of this simple request suddenly reshaping the narrative you had constructed in your mind about his feelings. The thought that Spencer, with his brilliant mind and shy demeanor, wanted to spend time alone with you, not for a case discussion or team outing but for something personal, sent a thrill of excitement mixed with nervous anticipation through you.

"Yeah, Spencer," you grinned, your heart still racing but excitement slowly overtaking your nerves. "That sounds nice. Um, I'm free Saturday."

"Saturday works for me," Spencer nodded, his own smile broadening with quiet confidence. "I'll call you?"

You nodded quickly, almost too eagerly, but you didn’t care. "Yeah, mhm, that sounds perfect."

For a moment, you both stood there, a shared anticipation buzzing in the air between you, neither wanting to break the connection just yet. When Spencer finally turned to leave, you found yourself smiling uncontrollably, the prospect of Saturday lingering in your mind, a warmth spreading through you that hadn't been there before.

—

Your excitement about the upcoming date with Spencer bubbled within you, yet you chose to keep it close to your chest. The thrill of it all felt so fragile, like a dream you didn’t want to jinx by sharing too soon with the rest of the team. This cautious optimism marked your days, turning ordinary moments into a series of hopeful glances at the calendar as Saturday approached.

Meanwhile, Spencer found himself seeking counsel from Elle, who was all too eager to lend her expertise, not just on potential date activities but on the more intimate aspects of dating as well, particularly women. Knowing Spencer’s limited experience—his only kiss having been with Lila Archer during a particularly intense case—Elle took it upon herself to offer some advice.

“Okay, Spencer, listen,” Elle began, her tone both serious and sisterly. “If the moment feels right and you think you want to kiss her, make sure you read her signals. It’s all about mutual understanding and respect, right?”

Spencer nodded, absorbing every word. Elle continued, “Make eye contact, see how she responds. If she seems receptive, maybe lean in halfway and let her meet you the rest of the way. It’s a two-way street.”

“Halfway,” Spencer repeated, mentally noting the advice. Elle’s directness and her willingness to discuss these details without any embarrassment provided him with a strange comfort.

“And, Reid, just be yourself. You’re a great guy. Let that show,” Elle added, giving him an encouraging pat on the shoulder.

Spencer felt nerves and gratitude at Elle’s advice, it was straightforward and practical, and helped ground him. He trusted her judgment, appreciating her sharing of her personal experience, especially when it came to navigating relationships—something he found infinitely more complex than the most puzzling cases.

—

The phone call on Saturday morning added to the bubbling excitement of the upcoming date. Spencer’s voice was clear and a tad nervous, which you found endearing. He promised a unique experience and asked you not to wear black, a request that piqued your curiosity and set your mind racing with possibilities. What kind of place would require such a specific dress code? The mystery only heightened your anticipation.

You quickly texted him your address, along with a playful note about your curiosity regarding the attire guidelines. Spencer replied with a simple smiley face, keeping the details of the date under wraps, which intrigued you even more.

As you prepared for the evening, you chose an outfit that was comfortable yet charming, avoiding black as instructed. The time leading up to Spencer’s arrival seemed to crawl by, each minute stretching longer than the last. You found yourself glancing at your reflection, adjusting your hair, and double-checking everything, ensuring you were ready when he arrived.

Finally, the sound of a car pulling up snapped you out of your reverie. Glancing out the window, you saw Spencer stepping out of his car, looking around with a nervous excitement that matched your own.

As you stepped outside, your nerves fluttered slightly, but your smile was genuine when you saw Spencer waiting by his car. Waving shyly, you greeted him, "Hi, Spencer."

Spencer looked up, his eyes lighting up as he took in your appearance. "Y/N, you look great," he breathed out, his compliment wrapped in a warm smile that seemed to ease some of the tension between you.

"Thanks, I like your cardigan," you replied, noting the soft, well-worn cardigan he wore that somehow made him look even more approachable and endearing.

His smile widened at the compliment, and he seemed to relax a bit more. "Thanks! It's an old favorite," he admitted, holding the car door open for you.

As you both stepped into the cozy, softly-lit space filled with the gentle sounds of purring and the occasional meow, Spencer immediately began sharing interesting facts about cats. “Did you know that ancient Egyptians considered cats sacred and even had a goddess named Bastet who was depicted as a lioness?” he said, looking into your eyes as you walked past a playful tabby.

Your response was a mix of admiration and amusement. “I didn’t know you were an expert on ancient cultures too,” you teased, feeling comfort and excitement as Spencer chuckled softly, clearly enjoying the opportunity to share his knowledge.

While playing with a particularly friendly cat, Spencer used the opportunity to flirt in his unique way. He gently lifted the cat, holding it out towards you. “It’s interesting how animals can facilitate social interactions, isn’t it? For instance, it's been found that people are more likely to engage in conversations in the presence of animals. They act as social lubricants.”

You laughed, reaching out to pet the cat and feeling a bit flustered by his proximity and the way he looked at you when talking about social dynamics. “Is that your subtle way of telling me you needed a furry wingman for our date?”

Spencer grinned, a hint of mischief in his eyes. “Maybe, but it seems to be working, doesn’t it?”

“I don't know, say lubricant again,” you teased. Spencer's grin widened at your playful challenge, and the atmosphere between you sparked with a shared humor that made the moment light and enjoyable.

He leaned in slightly, adopting a mock-serious tone, "Lubricant," he repeated, emphasizing the word, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

You laughed even harder, your eyes bright with amusement. "Hearing you say 'lubricant' is so funny!"

Spencer, caught up in your joy, couldn’t help but laugh along. “Why?” he asked, his own grin wide as your laughter proved infectious.

"It’s just... it can be a dirtier word," you giggled, trying to explain through your laughter. "And I can’t imagine our resident genius using the word lubricant!"

Spencer's laughter joined yours, ringing out genuinely as he caught the playful jab. The lightness of the moment brought a relaxed glow to his features. "I assure you, the application of the word was purely scientific," he teased back, still chuckling.

The café around you seemed to buzz with the warmth of your shared amusement, creating an intimate bubble amidst the quiet hum of other patrons and the soft padding of cat paws. "I suppose," Spencer continued, his smile lingering, "I should be more careful with my vocabulary around you. You're giving me a whole new perspective on language."

Your laughter gradually subsided into a series of light chuckles, but your eyes were bright with delight. "I think I like this side of you, Spencer," you said, a playful sincerity in your voice. "It’s nice to see you in a different light, not just as the genius profiler but also someone who can joke around about...lubricants."

Spencer's eyes softened, clearly touched by your words. "I'm glad," he said softly, his voice carrying a note of appreciation. "It’s not often I get to show this side, and I’m happy to share it with you."

As you observed the cats seemingly gravitate towards Spencer, who seemed both amused and delighted by their attention, an idea sparked in your mind. It was the perfect segue into a lighthearted flirtation, mixing your shared love for animals with a touch of mystical charm.

"You know, it’s said that animals, especially cats, have a keen sense of good and bad," you started, watching Spencer's reaction as a particularly fluffy cat chose his lap as its new throne. "They're often drawn to people with good auras. I guess they must sense something pretty great about you."

Spencer looked up, his expression a mix of surprise and pleasure at your comment. He laughed softly, a sound that warmed you to the core. "Is that so? Well, I must be on the right track then. Maybe they sense my excellent choice in company for this evening," he replied smoothly, his gaze locking with yours in a moment charged with a gentle intensity as a cat nuzzled its way into your lap as well.

Your heart fluttered slightly at his words, and you smiled, feeling a blush rise to your cheeks. "Oh, so we’re using cat behavior to gauge our decisions now?" you teased back, leaning in a little closer. "In that case, I think they’re on to something because I’m feeling pretty good about my choice too."

Spencer’s smile widened, and he reached over to gently nudge a playful kitten back onto the table, his actions thoughtful and tender. "I'll take that as a high compliment, coming from someone who clearly knows her way around cats and their mysterious ways," he said, his voice soft but filled with an underlying warmth that suggested he was as affected by the exchange as you were.

As the evening wound down, and the café began to prepare for closing, Spencer drove you home. The conversation flowed effortlessly, and you found yourself sharing little anecdotes from your childhood, while Spencer listened intently, always eager to learn more about you.

Before you knew it, you were standing in front of your home. The end of the evening had come too quickly, a sentiment you both silently acknowledged as you lingered at the doorstep, not quite ready to say goodbye.

"Y/N...I had a really nice time today," he said, his voice carrying a warmth that seemed to wrap the evening in a perfect close.

"Me too, Spencer, thank you for asking me. I was kind of shocked," you admitted, your words sincere and open. The evening had unfolded beautifully, but part of you had still been wrestling with the disbelief that it was all really happening.

"Really? Why?" Spencer's curiosity was piqued, his gaze intent on you, wanting to understand more.

You smiled shyly, a nervous habit kicking in as you rubbed behind your ear. "I just... liked you for so long, I never thought you were interested in me too," you confessed, the words tumbling out more easily than you'd expected. The truth had been a quiet companion for so long, and saying it aloud to Spencer felt both freeing and terrifying.

Spencer's expression softened even further, a gentle understanding coloring his features. "Y/N, I’ve been trying to ask you out for two weeks," he confessed. His chuckle was light, trying to ease the tension.

Spencer's revelation brought a mix of relief and amusement. "Really? I had no idea you were trying," you replied, a smile breaking across your face, reflecting both the surprise and joy of the moment.

He nodded, a bit of sheepishness showing through his usual composed demeanor. "Yes, it turns out I'm not as skilled in expressing personal interest as I am with criminal profiles," he admitted, his light laughter mingling with yours.

The air between you felt lighter, a shared understanding dawning that, despite the initial miscommunications, there was a genuine and mutual interest. "Well, I'm glad you kept trying," you said, your tone sincere. "And I'm sorry I didn't pick up on it sooner. I guess I was just scared to get my hopes up."

Spencer reached across the small space between you, his hand hesitating just a moment before gently taking yours. "No more missed signals, okay? Let's promise to be more straightforward with each other," he suggested, his gaze steady and reassuring.

You nodded, squeezing his hand in agreement, feeling a warmth spread through you at the contact. "It's a deal," you responded, your heart feeling both settled and exhilarated by the new promise laid between you.

“So... in honor of being straightforward…” Spencer began, his voice soft but steady, a shy smile playing on his lips. He stepped closer to you, his eyes searching yours, a quiet vulnerability in his gaze. Gently, he took both of your hands in his, his touch warm and reassuring. “Can I kiss you?”

Your heart raced, the moment feeling both tender and surreal. The way he held your hands, the genuine care in his voice—it was everything you'd hoped for, wrapped in Spencer’s uniquely thoughtful way. You felt yourself nod before you even spoke, your breath catching slightly. “Yes,” you whispered, smiling softly, your eyes never leaving his.

Spencer’s smile deepened with relief and excitement. Slowly, he leaned in, his movements deliberate and gentle, giving you every moment to close the gap as well. When your lips finally met, it was soft, sweet, and full of the promise that had been building between you for so long. The world seemed to pause, leaving just the two of you in that quiet, intimate moment, finally aligned in your shared feelings.

When you pulled back, there was a brief silence before you both laughed lightly, the tension melting away completely. "That was… nice," Spencer said, his voice low, his smile radiating warmth.

"Yeah, it really was," you agreed, still feeling the butterflies in your chest as you held onto his hands just a little tighter.

“Oh, and for the record,” Spencer chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he took in your reaction, “I don’t like Elle—romantically, of course. She’s my best friend.”

Your face flushed with sudden embarrassment, realizing he'd caught on to your earlier assumptions. “Oh, I—well, uh...” you stammered, struggling to find the right words.

Spencer's smile remained soft and reassuring. “It’s okay, Y/N,” he said warmly, squeezing your hands gently. “Elle is super gay, not sure how you missed that, and... I really like you.”

His words, so genuine and direct, melted away the last bit of tension you’d been holding onto. You laughed lightly, the awkwardness dissolving into relief. “Well, that’s good to know,” you said with a grin, finally allowing yourself to fully relax into the moment.

Spencer's grin mirrored yours as he added, “I just wanted to clear that up. No more misunderstandings.” His gaze softened as he looked at you, the weight of unspoken feelings now out in the open.

“No more misunderstandings,” you agreed, feeling the warmth of his words and the certainty that everything between you was finally where it should be.

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

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adispit · 2 months ago

Note

Hiyaaa can I ask for Ayato from Genshin with a kitsune reader who steals pieces of his clothing as a secret crush on him but one day Ayato catches them and punishes them.

A Punishment ?

Ayato x kitsune! bttm male reader

Content warnings: spanking, anal tongue fucking (receiving), overstimulation, rough sex, creampie , slight predator prey dynamic (if you squint), slight dubcon because reader wasn’t really into the spanking at the start

Note: This fic has been marinating in my inbox for 2 weeks so I hope you enjoy! Also I haven’t played Genshin in a year so this might be a tad bit ooc 😭. Enjoy!

You had always been someone in the background, shadowed and sheltered under the protection of your sister, Guuji Yaemiko. Few to none knew of your actual existence as centuries passed, except for the Raiden Shogun and the clans themselves. Her influence stretched far, wrapping around you like a protective veil.

The Shrine was your haven, but also your cage. Every decision, every move you made, was watched, controlled. It was always for your safety, she would say. The sister who would tease and always play you like a fiddle to her silly whims became firm and unmovable when it came to exploring beyond the Inazuman city. You had been sheltered from the harsh realities of the world, never given the freedom to truly explore it. Yet, that defiant streak within you had only grown stronger. You didn’t want protection. You wanted to live.

However, what your sister could not shield you from was unforeseen. A little crush you had harboured for the Yashiro Commissioner himself, Kamisato Ayato. A man who carried himself with grace and power — a man who like your sister, commanded respect wherever he went. The very man that made the Kamisato name arise from its ashes and make it the prestigious clan today. As much as you hated to admit it, you were nothing better than those maidens who chased after him relentlessly for marriage offers. It stung to think of yourself in that way, to admit that you were drawn to him with the same intensity that they were.

It wasn’t just his power or his elegance. It was the way he moved with a grace that seemed almost otherworldly, the sharpness in his gaze that made you feel seen even when you wished to remain hidden. You were drawn to him with a fascination that bordered on obsession, an allure that you couldn’t shake off no matter how hard you tried. Due of your crush, you found yourself resorting to a silly yet strangely satisfying ritual—stealing Ayato’s clothes. It was an odd way to cope with the intense feelings you harbored for him, but it was the only outlet you could manage. Each stolen item, whether a glove, a ribbon, or a sash, became a cherished possession, a physical connection to him that you could hold onto.

Each piece of clothing was a wishful reminder of him—a way to keep a part of him close, even if you could never have him completely. You would fold his garments carefully, press them to your face, and imagine the moments he had worn them, his scent of sandalwood and rain with the lingering warmth, It was your own secret fantasy. It was harmless really. A secret way of indulging in the hopeless crush you’d harbored for the head of the Kamisato clan.

However, tonight, the air felt different—charged with something you couldn’t quite place. Strangely, there weren’t any guards present that were on patrol. The estate was quiet. A little too quiet.

Still, you pressed on.

The thought of what you were about to do made your fox ears twitch in excitement. Ayato’s chambers were silent as you nudged the door open, the dim light of a single candle casting long shadows over the room.

You crept inside, eyes scanning for something to take. His haori lay draped neatly over a chair, and without hesitation, you reached for it. The silk fabric slipped through your fingers, smooth and cool to the touch. Your breath caught in your throat as you brought it close, imagining, just for a moment, what it would feel like to be wrapped in it—surrounded by him. The thought made your cheeks warm, but you pushed it away, carefully folding the haori over your arm.

It was a ridiculous thought, you knew that.

You allowed yourself a small smile. Another successful heist, another piece of him to add to your collection. You moved toward the door, your escape clear and easy.

But as you turned, something stopped you.

A faint rustle. Barely a sound, but enough to make your ears twitch with alert. You froze, eyes darting toward the corner of the room. Nothing.

You waited, heart racing in your chest, every instinct telling you to bolt but curiosity kept you rooted in place. Slowly, you scanned the room again, your gaze lingering on the bed. Your breath caught in your throat as your eyes landed on a figure sitting in the shadows.

Ayato.

He was leaning casually against the headboard of his bed, his body bathed in the soft glow of moonlight. His lavender eyes, sharp and calculating, met yours with a calm intensity. Those eyes were striking—like shards of amethyst, reflecting the light in a way that made them almost glow. They watched you with a calm amusement, though the glint in them suggested he was far more aware of the situation than you were.

Your heart raced as you took in his appearance. His long, pale blue hair was neatly tied back, save for a few loose strands that framed his angular face. The moonlight accentuated his porcelain skin, making him look almost ethereal, like something out of a dream. Yet there was nothing soft about the way he held himself—he stood with a quiet strength, the grace of a nobleman who knew his power.

“You’ve been busy, haven’t you?” His voice was smooth, almost melodic, but there was an edge to it. It sent a shiver down your spine.

You swallowed hard, clutching the haori tightly. Ayato’s tall, lean frame was still relaxed, but every movement he made was deliberate. His long fingers tapped rhythmically on the edge of the bed as he spoke, drawing attention to his hands—hands that could command armies or, in this case, one mischievous kitsune.

“I… I didn’t mean—”

Ayato’s lips curled into a faint smirk, revealing a glimpse of his sharp wit. “Didn’t mean to what?” He interrupted, stepping forward, the soft rustle of his clothing barely audible. “You seem to have a habit of taking things that don’t belong to you,” he murmured, his voice low, smooth, and far too calm.

“Lord Ayato,” You squeaked softly, ears flattening as you clutched the fabric in your hands. He approached, slowly, the air between you charged with something you couldn’t name. “What were you planning to do with this, hm?” He gestured toward the ribbon in your hand, his voice soft but laced with authority. “Stealing from me, Yae Miko’s brother no less… What would she say?”

You bristled at the mention of your sister, but there was no escape now. “I just wanted—”

“To see if I’d notice?” Ayato finished for you, his amusement deepening as he tilted his head slightly. His eyes never left yours as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your cheek. Up close, you could see the slight tension in his jaw, the quiet authority he carried in every word.

His hand reached out, brushing lightly against the fabric of the haori. “I noticed,” he whispered, his voice sending a thrill down your spine. His fingers grazed yours, cool to the touch yet searing with the unspoken threat of control.

Ayato’s smile was small but devastatingly confident. “But there’s a price to pay for stealing from the Yashiro Commissioner.”

Your heart raced as he stepped even closer, the close proximity making your tail swish back and forth with nervousness and anticipation. “And I think you know what that means.”

“Get on your knees,” he commanded, his voice low and husky, sending a shiver down your spine. You hesitated for just a moment, but the look in his eyes—dark, intense, and utterly unyielding—was enough to make you comply. Your legs gave way almost instinctively as you dropped to your knees, your heart pounding in your chest. The rush of adrenaline coursing through you drowned out everything except the sound of your own breathing, loud and uneven in your ears.

He took another step, his movements so fluid that his bare feet made no sound on the hardwood floor, as though he was one with the shadows. You could feel the heat radiating from him even before he stood directly in front of you, the faint scent of sandalwood and rain lingering in the air—intoxicating and impossible to ignore.

A slow, deliberate smirk tugged at the corners of his lips—a smirk that sent a thrill of both fear and excitement rushing through your body. The expression was playful, yet there was something undeniably dangerous in it, like he was silently toying with you, fully aware of the power he held over you. Up close, you could see the cool, detached amusement in his eyes—like a predator toying with prey, knowing full well you were already caught in his web.

"Take off your clothes," he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument. You hesitated again, but the silent disapproving look in his eyes was enough to make you move. You stood up slowly, your hands trembling as you began to undress. Reluctantly, your robes slipped off, leaving you stark naked and cold, shivering in the cold night air. Truth to be told, you were a virgin, never having the chance to even have a sexual outlet besides from fingering yourself and masturbating on rare occasions when your sister wasn’t at the shrine. Even with your crush on Ayato, you were rather reluctant and admittedly, a tad bit fearful.

He watched you, his expression unreadable, but the fire in his piercing eyes made your skin tingle with anticipation. That calm, calculating gaze burned with something primal even though his face remained impassive. When you were done, he simply gestured for you to turn around. You hesitated briefly, but his silent command left no room for question.

Your heart pounded as you moved, his authoritative presence looming behind you. “Hands on the bed,” he demanded, his voice brushing dangerously close to your ear. The soft, commanding tone sent an involuntary shiver down your spine, making you feel small beneath him.

You obeyed, placing your palms flat against the cool surface of the futon. The fabric felt grounding under your trembling fingers. You could hear him moving, the quiet rustle of his robes as he adjusted himself, his body heat brushing ever closer. The air between you felt electric, charged with tension, until—

Without warning, the first blow landed hard across your ass. The sharp, stinging pain rippled through you like a wave. You gasped, your body jerking forward from the sudden impact, your tail instinctively going taut. The burning sensation lingered, intensifying with every passing second, until all you could do was grip the sheets, struggling to steady yourself against the onslaught.

“Ayato, I don’t think I want to — Ah!”

He wasn’t done.

The second blow came even harder, the sharp impact sending a jolt of pain through your body. This time, you couldn’t suppress the cry that escaped your lips, the force of it stealing the breath from your lungs. You bit down hard on your lip, the metallic taste of blood faint on your tongue as you fought back the tears threatening to spill over.

“Count,” he ordered, his voice dangerously calm. “And call me Sir. Stay still,” he added, the warning in his tone unmistakable, “Or this will be even worse.”

You could feel the power in his command, the unspoken promise that he wouldn’t tolerate disobedience.

“Two, Sir,” you whispered, your voice trembling, doing your best to remain still despite the lingering sting.

The next few blows came in quick succession, each one more painful than the last. Your ass was on fire, the pain mingling with the arousal that was building inside you. You could feel yourself getting hard, your body betraying you as it responded to the punishment. The next few blows came in quick succession, each one landing harder than the last. Your skin burned, a searing pain spreading across your ass with every strike, and it felt like your entire body was on fire.

Tears slipped down your cheeks, and no matter how hard you fought them back, they kept coming, blurring your vision. You mutely counted the blows between occasional cries of pain and ragged gasps for air. The room spun around you, the sensation too much, too fast.

Each smack to the ass only intensified your horror at your arousal and your arousal. You could feel your dick twitching and getting stiffer as the pain resonated throughout your body. Precum was beginning to pool beneath your cock as the electric sting that the pain brought felt even more pleasurable than the last.

“T-ten,” you whispered shakily, your hands gripping the sheets as you struggled to keep from collapsing under the pressure. Finally, he paused, giving you a moment of respite to catch your breath. Your chest heaved as you struggled to catch your breath, the tension in your body slowly unwinding as the sting of the blows lingered. Your skin was still ablaze with the aftermath.

You could feel his hand resting lightly on your back, his fingers brushing against your skin in stark contrast to the harshness of his earlier actions. The touch was almost tender, a strange gentleness that sent a confusing wave of emotions through you.

Suddenly, with a swift motion, you found yourself turned around, now facing him. Despite the harsh punishment you had endured, you felt your heart race and then falter as the close proximity of Ayato became overwhelming. Your traitorous tail, betraying your true feelings, swished involuntarily with a mix of excitement and nervousness.

However that did not distract him from the hard on you sported, much to your embarrassment. His slender hand crept down your body and dwarfed your cock. He rhythmically rubbed your length, making you shudder and feel the sparks and the familiar hum of pleasure beginning to ignite.

“Yes,” you gasped as Ayato purposefully tightened his grip around your sensitive tip, never stopping his pace, “Oh—fuck—” as that mischievous hand closed around you, there was a playful air about Ayato as he let out a soft melodic laugh while mumbling something under his breath and then shifting his grip.

The next slide up was a tight, demanding fist. You threw your head back.

“Does that feel good, (Name)?” There was an amused lilt in his voice that made you flush head to toe.

The rush of blood and desire to a point low in your stomach was overwhelming. The movement was growing slicker, better , so tempting to lean fully into. You had never been this turned on.

“I don’t know, ” you cried through a strangled whine, you felt Ayato’s laughter directly through your skin, and somehow that made him suddenly very close.

There was something so exciting and arousing about it the way the man you had dreamt about, the very Yashiro Commissioner, himself was helping pleasure you. The very thought had you moaning, once, and falling slack like a puppet with cut strings.

You were gently pushed back onto your back against the soft surface of the futon with both your legs are hoisted up, hanging against Ayato’s shoulders. Your body folded in half as you saw his head buried in your thighs, goosebumps rising on your skin as your tail hairs brushed against his chin.

“Ayato?!” You struggled for the commissioner to release his grasp on your legs, but to no avail, as he tightened his grip to hold you still. You flushed red in embarrassment, the thought of Ayato seeing everything too much to bear.

And then you felt something warm and slimy breach past the ring of muscles, causing you to yelp in surprise.

Holy fuck. Was Ayato actually doing what you thought he was?

You shuddered as waves of pleasure traveled up to your core. Gritting your teeth to try and contain the shameful moans from escaping you, afraid to realise that this was all a dream, afraid that Ayato would be turned off by you.

“Hnnn…Ayato….” You groaned, eyes clenching shut and face wrinkled as you bit back on a pathetic whine. All of a sudden, you jolted.

Ayato’s tongue had prodded at something deep inside you that made you melt into a puddle of arousal and shame. You unconsciously gripped his head tight with your thighs, messing up his perfect tidied hair. He had found your prostrate. And then he stopped, a gossamer thread of saliva connecting his lips to your hole as he retreated.

You couldn’t help but notice the shy mole that hid beneath his spit shiny lips — he was absolutely ethereal even with his messy and tousled hair. An unnatural pink flush decorated his fair and porcelain face and you realised that he was aroused.

By you.

The thick tension hung in the air as he silently gazed at you, the hunger in his amethyst eyes almost engulfing you on the spot like he was a man gone wild.

Shadows danced on his face as he meticulously removed his robes, still carrying himself with the same grace and dignity as if the air wasn’t imbued with the electric undercurrent of arousal and the fact that he had just tongue fucked you. He stood above you, full mast and you felt your breath get stolen away from you.

Ayato had a picture perfect physique, lean, almost like a statue carved out and had come to life. Your eyes immediately dove down to his abdomen, to be greeted with his cock, hard, already pressing against your rim, twitching invitingly. Both hands gripping your waist as he positioned himself.

“We will not stop now, (Name). Your pleas and cries will be unheard. This is a punishment.” He stared at you with an unyielding gaze, one that you were ready to challenge. “This is the lesson you must learn, the price of your rebellion,” he concluded. “One I accept.” You let out a hoarse giggle. His eyes darkened almost simultaneously as what seemed like another amused smile tugged at his lips before he let his actions speak for himself.

He did not give any mercy. Ruthlessly driving into your hips with a force like he wanted to merge into you, you felt his girth stretch and force your walls to mould into its shape. “Huh...?” Your mind went blank with pleasure, and for a while you couldn’t comprehend what happened. Your insides clenched down hard on his cock as slaps of skin punctuated the silent night air.

“Ah! Ggh- Aah! W-wait! Ungh —!” You slurred inaudibly as you felt your body rock to his merciless pace, your cock dribbling endless pre-cum uncontrollably. He promised your pleas and cries would be unheard and he served his promise, not even a single word could leave your raw throat. Only guttural whines and moans would escape your bitten lips as you fell into the throes of pleasure.

Alas, decisions were made and you could not regret what you said. Here you were, getting your deserved punishment in the form of a ruthless fucking.

Everything was too hot, too sticky and hummed with the sound of distant sobs, you groggily thought. Oh. Those were from you. Your skin was sticky with the sheen of sweat and cum and the futon beneath you was drenched. You felt unusually full, like something sloshing in your tummy. Your hole felt sore. And he wasn’t done. But you would never admit defeat….was the last thought that echoed in your muddled mind as you gave into the embrace of sleep.

“(Name)? Learnt your lesson now? Oh. The silly thief has admitted defeat.” He pushed back his sweat soaked hair as he glanced upon your slumbering form. Letting out a grunt, he pulled out of your red, swollen hole as semen immediately began dripping out your gaping rim. Humming an exasperated sigh, a fond expression appeared on his face as his lavender eyes crinkled into crescents as he gently ruffled your hair.

The little kitsune had fallen into his trap.

Sometime ago, Ayato had noticed his belongings going missing. If he hadn’t, he wouldn’t deserve the title of Yashiro Commissioner. The thief clearly had no ill intent, but it became particularly vexing when he realized that the pair of gloves Ayaka had gifted him had mysteriously disappeared as well.

Then one day, by sheer coincidence, he noticed the little kitsune who had caught his eye more than once, wearing a familiar ribbon in their hair— his ribbon. And on their hands, the very gloves he had been missing. Amusement flickered in his usually composed gaze as everything clicked into place.

It seemed someone had developed quite the habit. But Ayato wasn’t the type to let such things go unaddressed. Oh no, if this little fox thought they could slip away unnoticed, they were sorely mistaken. Someone was in need of a lesson, and he would be more than happy to provide it.

So he plotted.

note: ajskskskk, I’m finally done 🙏 my first ask so I hope this was done well!

Reblogs are appreciated 🧑‍🍳

#bottom male reader #sub male reader #mlm #mlm ns/fw #smut drabble #uke male reader #male reader smut #x male reader #male reader #genshin x reader #genshin x male reader #ayato x reader #genshin impact x reader

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dovesdreaming · 2 months ago

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Breaking point

Summary: Mattheo gets into too many fights and reader has enough and calls off their relationship. However she is still the only person that can get through to him.

Masterlist

Warnings: none

The tension in the Slytherin common room had been growing for weeks. Whispers about Mattheo Riddle’s temper and the fights he kept getting into were spreading through Hogwarts like wildfire. You had always been the one to pull him back from the edge, the calming voice that stopped him mid-fight with just a touch or a few soft words. But lately, Mattheo had been slipping further and further away from you, consumed by anger he couldn’t control, and no matter what you did, it was as if your voice no longer reached him.

It was a late Friday evening when you found yourself yet again pulling Mattheo away from a confrontation with some Gryffindor seventh year. You could see the rage in his eyes, his fists clenched, ready to throw a punch that would surely land him another detention or worse. “Mattheo, please” you said, stepping between him and the other boy. You placed a hand on his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart. “He’s not worth it. Just let it go”. Mattheo’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought he might listen. But then, with a harsh shove, he pushed past you, shouting insults as he launched himself at his opponent. The scene that followed was a blur of yells, fists, and teachers trying to pull them apart.

As you watched him get dragged away by Professor Snape, something inside you snapped. You had been his anchor for so long, always there to soothe his stormy temper, but he wouldn’t even listen to you anymore. You couldn’t keep doing this, being the only one holding on when he was so intent on self-destruction.

That night in the doorway of your dorm room you let it all out. He had come back after whatever had happened seeking your forgiveness like usual but you couldn’t let him back in this time. He was not only destroying himself, he was taking you with him. It had taken a toll on you and you couldn’t carry on like this.

“I can’t do this anymore, Mattheo!” you whisper yelled, your voice breaking as tears threatened to spill. Mattheo’s face fell, his bravado crumbling. “Y/N, don’t-“ “No, Mattheo! I’ve tried. I’ve tried so hard to calm you down, to be there for you, but you don’t even care. You don’t care about me, about us!” Your voice cracked, and you hated how vulnerable you sounded. “I love you, but I can’t keep watching you hurt yourself. I can’t keep being the only one trying”.

The whole building seemed to go painfully quiet. Mattheo looked at you with wide, desperate eyes, his anger replaced with a deep, crushing sorrow. “Y/N, please-“ But you couldn’t bear it anymore. Shaking your head, you turned and closed your door, leaving him standing there alone.

The days that followed were miserable. Mattheo barely left his room, and when he did, he was a shadow of the boy you knew, pale, quiet, and heartbreakingly empty. Draco, Blaise, and Pansy tried to get through to him, but Mattheo’s door remained locked, and his mood only worsened. You weren’t much better, you threw yourself into your studies, trying to forget the hurt in Mattheo’s eyes when you walked away. But every corner of Hogwarts seemed to hold a memory of him, his laughter echoing in the dungeons, the way he’d pull you close in the common room, whispering secrets only you were meant to hear.

“You have to talk to him” Pansy said one afternoon, catching you in the library. Her voice was uncharacteristically gentle, eyes flickering with genuine concern. “He’s a mess without you. He’s not eating or taking care of himself” Pansy knew it was wrong to ask this of you but there was no one else that would be able to get through to Mattheo. You felt a pang in your chest, your anger giving way to concern. You hadn’t seen Mattheo in nearly a week, and the thought of him alone, suffering in silence, broke your heart. You hesitated, your pride battling against the concern gnawing at your heart. “Pansy, I-“. “He won’t listen to any of us. Not even Draco” she interrupted. “But he’ll listen to you. You’re the only one who can reach him”.

Taking a deep breath, you finally nodded, feeling the weight of what you were about to do. You made your way to the Slytherin boys’ dormitory, knocking softly on Mattheo’s door. There was no answer, just the faint sound of something shuffling inside. You tried again, louder this time. “Mattheo, it’s me”.

Silence stretched on, and just when you thought he wouldn’t respond and were about to turn to walk away, the door creaked open. He looked disheveled, his hair messier than usual, eyes red and swollen. He glanced at you, then away, shame and sadness evident in every line of his face. “What do you want?” His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. You forced yourself through the crack in the door and stepped inside, closing the door gently behind you. “I just… I wanted to see you. Make sure you’re okay”. You looked at the ground not really knowing how to go about this. He scoffed, but it lacked any real bite. “Do I look okay?”. You sighed, crossing the room to sit beside him on the edge of his bed. “Mattheo, I didn’t break up with you because I stopped caring. I broke up with you because you were hurting yourself. And it was hurting me, too”.

His gaze finally met yours, and the vulnerability there made your chest tighten. “I’m sorry” he mumbled, voice breaking. “I just, everything feels wrong without you. I know I messed up”. You reached out, taking his hand in yours. “I’m not asking you to be perfect, Matty. I just need you to try. I need you to promise me that you’ll stop fighting. You don’t have to be angry all the time. You don’t have to prove anything to anyone”. For a long moment, he said nothing, just held your hand like it was the only thing keeping him afloat. Finally, he nodded, squeezing your hand tighter. “I promise. No more fighting. I don’t want to lose you, I can’t lose you” Tears welled up in your eyes, and you pulled him into a tight embrace. He buried his face in your shoulder, letting out a shuddering breath as if he’d been holding it in for far too long. You stayed like that for a while, wrapped up in each other, the weight of the past few weeks slowly lifting. “Thank you” he whispered, pulling back just enough to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “For not giving up on me”. You smiled, brushing a stray curl away from his face. “I’ll always be here, Mattheo. Just… no more fights, okay?”. He chuckled, the sound light and genuine, the first hint of the old Mattheo breaking through. “No more fights. I’ve got something better to fight for now”. You knew there was a lot of learning to do but you had faith that Mattheo could work on himself. And as he pulled you closer, you knew that whatever happened next, you’d face it together.

Thank you for reading! Please send requests for him!! Also tempted to make a longer version of this with a lot more angst??

#blog #fanfiction #fandom #x reader #x you #x y/n #harry potter fandom #harry potter x reader #harry potter #hp fanfic #hp #hp fandom #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x reader #slytherin boys #slytherin boys x reader #slytherin

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miryum · 3 months ago

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☆ 18+ minors dni ☆

Mechanic!Jason Todd who had inherited the shop from his (biological) father and was able to turn it in a large shop that employed numerous people and branched four locations

Mechanic!Jason Todd who preferred to work on cars and bikes rather than the financial/business side of things, so he employed his adopted brother, Tim, to be co-owner

Mechanic!Jason Todd who was known to his employees as a chill boss and regularly didn’t even tell customers he was the owner. His employees came to him when they needed advice on a client’s car, but other than that, he liked to simply work on his motorcycle

Mechanic!Jason Todd who didn’t actually meet you because you had car troubles. Your sister had just moved to Gotham and some of her dashboard lights were on. She wanted you to come with her to make sure she wasn’t getting scammed. A friend of a friend recommended Red’s Garage and so there you went

Mechanic!Jason Todd who wasn’t even working when you two rolled up in your sister’s old car. He was taking a break and chatting with some of his employees

Mechanic!Jason Todd who, when he saw you, immediately pushed off from the break table and went over to help you. He wasn’t sure why he suddenly wanted to help a customer while he was on break, but he left the conversation he was in and headed over

Mechanic!Jason Todd who just kinda… appeared, as it seemed to you. He hovered around your sister’s car, listening into his employee’s analysis. The moment his employee stuttered, Jason was swooping at the chance, inserting himself into the conversation

Mechanic!Jason Todd who gave your sister a discount and walked her through the steps in a way where you thought he has a crush on her, even though he couldn’t look at you otherwise he would be stammering over his words and falling at your feet

Mechanic!Jason Todd who actually waved you and your sister goodbye like a damn person from the 30s

Mechanic!Jason Todd who ignored Tim when he teased him about it

Mechanic!Jason Todd who beat himself up about not asking for your number but was rewarded by Aphrodite because you came in two weeks later, smiling sheepishly. It turned out that something was wrong with your car, but you had no idea what it was. Nevermind that your father was alive and loving and would’ve rushed over to help with any car problems. You wanted to spend a ton of money on a car check-up

Mechanic!Jason Todd who tried to remain all composed and professional and failing miserably but you were looking up at him with those eyes of yours and how did the world function when you looked that damn pretty?

Mechanic!Jason Todd who slipped you his number on the receipt when you checked out because it’s once in a lifetime that things like this happen and he’ll be damned if you slipped through his fingers twice

Mechanic!Jason Todd who spent the rest of his day compulsively checking his phone. What he didn’t know was that you had almost thrown out the receipt, not noticing his number on it. Luckily (or perhaps it was just Aphrodite interfering again), you noticed the messy scrawl of pen as it floated into the recycling bin and that lead you to frantically grabbing it out of the bin and immediately making a new contact labelled ‘Jason aka Hot Mechanic’

Mechanic!Jason Todd who was with his last client of the day when you texted. After he smiled widely and giddily typed out a response, the client had asked, “oh, is that your wife?” Jason had mumbled out a response before one of his employees saved him and ushered Jason off to the break table while they finished up with the client

Mechanic!Jason Todd who, when he showed up at the zoo for your first date, wanted to bring flowers but then he rationalised that he wouldn’t want you carrying them around the entire time so he would just buy you a plushie from the gift shop when the time came. He had given you the option to choose the location for the first date, and being utterly adorable, you said you wanted to see the animals with him. Jason had agreed before the words registered with him. He wasn’t sure exactly how to dress for a first date, much less one at the zoo, so he opted for a red flannel and jeans. He had spent around ten minutes with his hands under the hot water of his bathroom sink, trying to scrub away the seemingly-permanent grease that lived on his fingertips and under his nails. He wouldn’t dare touch you with those hands. You didn’t deserve to get dirty

Mechanic!Jason Todd who forgot all anxieties when he saw you approaching. Your little awkward wave was returned by one of his own which led to your laugh. Maybe Jason could wave again if it meant you would laugh again. He decided against it. He couldn’t remember a time he had over-analysed a date before

Mechanic!Jason Todd who spent more time looking at you than looking at the animals. Whenever you teased him about it, his go-to argument was that you were much more gorgeous or much more interesting than the animals. And if that meant he got to see you get all flustered, then so be it

Mechanic!Jason Todd who bought you that promised plushie at the gift shop. It was a snow leopard, just like the one you two saw roaming around in it’s exhibit

Mechanic!Jason Todd who, after a few more dates, asked you to be his girlfriend, not knowing that ever since you had gotten that snow leopard, had changed his contact to ‘Jay’ with a little heart emoji next to it

Mechanic!Jason Todd who was possibly the best boyfriend you had ever had. Routine dates became a thing – ones that didn’t feel like an obligation, but like a break from the rest of your life. You wondered how much he spent on flowers just from the sheer amount that would show up on your doorstep just because. A text every morning and goodnight until he was listed as the top contact in your phone

Mechanic!Jason Todd who showed you off around the shop. He wanted his girl to feel comfortable enough to just pop in whenever you wanted, so of course that’s what happened. You would either sit in Jason’s office or would sit next to him while he worked on a car. Sometimes, he would ask you for a tool, but most of the time, you would just ramble to him and he would throw in a comment here and there

Mechanic!Jason Todd who made sure your car was in tip-top shape, obviously

Mechanic!Jason Todd who loved to take you on rides on his motorcycle. He loved to feel your arms around him and your thighs pressed into his. He loved how you would tighten your hold when he went around corners or sped up a little. He loved how you claimed his extra helmet as yours and no one else's. He loved seeing other bikers check you out and how his hand would slip back to your thigh, showing you were his. He loved seeing girls gawk at him through their car windows before they saw you possessively bring your hands to his chest and stare them down. He loved how, at stoplights, you would slide your hands up and down his thighs slowly, testing how close you could get to his crotch before his chin dropped to his chest in defeat and weakly batted your hands away. He loved how he could bend you over his motorcycle and how, that one time, you shyly asked if he could keep his helmet on during sex

Mechanic!Jason Todd who really really liked you and his motorcycle, in case that wasn’t clear

Mechanic!Jason Todd who was a bit rougher and much more of a tease than any other variant. He liked knowing how it was him that could draw out those sounds from you. How he could make you clench around his fingers, his tongue, his dick

Mechanic!Jason Todd who stayed at your place a couple nights and then offered to have you stay at his place for a couple nights and he oh-so badly wanted you to move in so you could be a part of his home. He was already beginning to associate you with that word, so what was the issue? He could come home and see you and hold you and love you and it would be perfect

Mechanic!Jason Todd who brushed away your worries at it being too early to move in together. He wanted you to be comfortable, of course, and not to be rushed, but he would be lying if a part of him could only be satisfied going to sleep next to you and waking up next to you. He craved that domesticity

Mechanic!Jason Todd who, once you agreed to move in, christened every room of the house, praising you this way and that

Mechanic!Jason Todd who was much happier around the garage. Tim had to pull him into his office and tell him to “stop giving out so many discounts. Yes, your girlfriend is wonderful, but we’re soon gonna lose money if you don’t stop. Yes, you can still brag about her, but rent money, Jason. Think about the paychecks.”

Mechanic!Jason Todd who, honestly, didn’t give a fuck if the garage tanked. Because it would give him more time to spend with you. But once he realised that he wouldn’t be able to provide for you (although you were very capable of doing it yourself, there was just this primal need in him to take care of you), he quickly got back to work and ceased the discounts

Mechanic!Jason Todd who thanked Aphrodite every night he got to pull you close to him and feel you relax into his arms before drifting off to sleep, that plush snow leopard having its coveted spot on your dresser

can you guys tell i like motorcycles and the greek gods?

#miryum's dc universe #jason todd x reader #jason todd #jason todd x y/n #headcanon #mechanic #mechanic au #we love jason todd #dc x reader #dcu #dc comics #jason todd didn't die #tim drake #aphrodite

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shaisuki · 3 months ago

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itadori “i love kissing my chubby girlfriend” yuuji.

he kisses you every time he can. be it on public or with any other people. he knows you're not quite big on pda but he tries to control not to smother you with kisses. just hold your hands in public. your pudgy fingers intertwined in his thick digits but before he does that, he kisses the back of your palms like a true gentleman and then proceeds to where you both are going.

“take care, yuuji.” you say as you bid him goodbye. he smiles then takes off but stops midway, running back to you in a blink of an eye and then his lips are now pressed to your round cheeks and then to your lips. lingering there much longer and then there he goes.

every mornings and evenings you were always showered with his kisses, not that you mind. you love that your boyfriend loves you so much that he can't stop kissing you similar to a dog who loves their owner. there are also instances that he's being scolded and faux disgust coming from nobara that you two should get a room and he would only laugh at her and continues to kiss you.

and there's the private moments, where the pink-haired boyfriend of yours that likes to worship you daily. starting from kissing your feet and then your chunky calves. nibbling a bit on your flesh and then coming to your thighs and the real trouble starts. it's difficult to pry him off when he's full on serious with your creamy thighs. his calloused palms kneading on your soft flesh and bestowing slow kisses upon them. working to your inner thighs, leaving hickeys on its wake and then he's breathing on your fat mound.

your breaths are ragged and shallow then followed by a whine. “y-uuji!” there's an obscene sound coming from him from the way his mouth latches to your pussy lips. sucking your clit and licking a stripe out of your folds. he kisses your fat pussy the way he kisses you in the lips and despite your thick thighs wrapped around his head and possibly crushing his head, he remains steadily lapping at your cunt like he didn't got a taste for it a long time and when you have cummed and too tired he still continues to do so cause he loves kissing you.

it gets better when he's behind you. stretching you with large cock that pounds your fat cunt. watching as your ass ripples and the fat in your back are rolled. jiggling from the impact and the mmm and mwah after he kisses you got your pussy clenching around him as he continues to fuck you.

his brown pupils are blown but he doesn't stop. his cock nestled deep inside you. rubbing your sweet spots. your legs are resting on his shoulders and his holding the sides of your head as he coos at you. his saliva dribbling at the corners of his mouth and then he kisses you. the wet, sloppy kind of kiss that leaves you in a mess. exchanging spits and then he's whispering sweet nothings. kissing your neck, chu.ᐟ sucking that sensitive part under your jaw, chu.ᐟ and then his on your lips until you have cummed. he just love you like that and he won't get tired of it until he kisses all parts of you.

he just can't help but to adore his goddess.

#♱ ⋮ shai's works⸝⸝#chubby reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x chubby reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #anime smut #itadori yuuji x reader #itadori yuuji #itadori x reader #yuji itadori #jjk itadori

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auroralwriting · 4 months ago

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his little finger

spencer reid x fem!hothead!reader

part two here

spencer has you wrapped around his finger; you'd do anything he said without question. your team can't quite understand it. little do they know you and spencer have an unsaid.. thing.

warnings: reader has a hot temper? is that a warning? | words: 1k short but sweet!

You were known to have a confident personality. You never let anyone shake you, that's why the team loved you so much. You were the sole, beating heart of Aaron Hotchner's team; you never let them give up. Not only, but you were kind of a badass. You knew how to profile amazingly, and you could hold your own if an unsub got a little too rough.

Something else you were known for? A hot temper.

Okay, maybe it could go a little bad sometimes, but you truly meant well. Like that time you accidentally made a teenage boy cry. To be fair, he was a potential unsub. He actually was the unsub, so not all was a total failure.

Today was different for you. The coffee shop you frequented before work was closed due to issues with the electrical systems. That put a chip in your day. How was one to thrive without coffee? Next, you forgot your badge at home, making you late for work since you had to retrieve it to even get into the building. That put a dent in your day.

Derek was known to be a funny guy. Not the kind of funny guy you'd actually laugh at, but the kind who kind of pissed you off sometimes. Yeah, that kind. While he meant well at heart, it just royally pissed you off. You couldn't help that!

You leaned your elbows on the table, listening to the coffee pour into your cup. "Hello my little fox," Penelope greeted, her face frowning when she saw the look on yours. "What's wrong?"

"Bad day so far," You muttered. "Everything's just going wrong."

"It's only seven," Derek said as he walked in, smile on his face. "Come on, sugar. Go on and sit down at your desk. I know how you like your coffee." You thanked Derek quickly as you went to your desk. It was right next to Spencer.

Oh, Spencer. The boy who fell hard for you, who made you fall for him. Neither of you knew that, though, your crushes remaining secret still. "Y/n," Spencer frowned, "what's wrong?"

"It's alright, Spence," You forced a small, pathetic smile. "Just a bad morning."

Spencer gave you a half smile, "Positive attitudes actually give you a higher likelihood of having a better day by ten to thirty percent," Spencer rambled, "and that actually is the same for social connections, being a twenty to forty percent. You're on the right track."

You loved Spencer's rambles. They were adorable. "Thanks, Spence." You smiled.

A few minutes later, Morgan came to your desk with your coffee in hand. "For you, sugar." He grinned like the Cheshire Cat. You quickly took a generous sip.

It left your lips quicker than it entered. You spit it out into the trash can next to your dest, face turning sour at the taste. It was so bitter, so salty. "What the hell, Morgan?!" You cried out, "What is this?"

"Salt, sugar." He teased.

Your face turned hot, "How old are you, six?" His face slowly fell as you became angrier, "Genuinely, how old are you? Because last I checked, children don't have jobs."

"Hey," Derek tried to calm you down. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to actually upset you."

"Oh, of course you didn't!" You replied with sarcasm dripping from your lips. "You just don't get when people don't want you to make them feel worse!"

Derek's face fell into a frown. You didn't mean to hurt his feelings, but you couldn't stop your words. "Y/n," Spencer said firmly, "Sit down, now."

Before you could even think, you followed his command. The whole event caught Penelope, Emily, Rossi, and JJ's attention. JJ was quick to rush over, grabbing your coffee. "I'll get you the right one, it's okay." She comforted as Emily quickly lead Derek away. Rossi and Garcia decided to mind their own business, smart.

You groaned, head in your hands. Spencer was quick to kneel by you, taking your hands into his own. "Y/n," He said softly, "Take a deep breath. I know, I know." You followed his instructions, inhaling and holding it like he demonstrated, softly letting it out after. "Good job, sweetheart, do it again for me, okay?"

After a few more times, your face cooled off. You closed your eyes, sighing. "I didn't mean to hurt his feelings."

"I know, he knows, too." Spencer assured. "He knows he was out of line. You reacted the same way anyone would. It's alright."

Spencer raised his hand to your face, softly brushing your cheek with his thumb. JJ walked over, unsure if she was ruining.. something?

"Hey, I got you your coffee," She hesitantly spoke. You looked up, reaching out quickly.

"Thanks," You mumbled, taking a cautious sip. When you realized the taste was right, you took a bigger sip, sighing at the warmth flooding down your throat.

Spencer gave you a small smile, "See? It's okay now."

You nodded with a smile, thanking him softly. He went back to his desk, re-opening his report. You did the same, clicking your pen open.

"Okay, now what the hell was that?" Derek asked, the previous team members crowding around Rossi's desk.

"I felt like I was walking in on them," JJ mumbled awkwardly. "The tension was so strong I thought it was gonna slice me clean in half."

Emily smiled, "I bet they're in love or something, only love can make a person react like that. She would've bitten anyone else's head off." Everyone mumbled in agreement.

"I bet two weeks," Rossi said after a moment.

"Nah, knowing Reid, it's gotta be more like three." Derek shook his head.

Emily laughed, "I bet a week and a half. Y/n's too badass to not admit it first."

"I don't think they ever will until we do for them." Penelope sighed, knowing how stubborn both individuals were.

"I say one week, solid." JJ nodded. "I felt that tension."

Hotch's voice came out of nowhere, "Four days."

Everyone turned around, shocked. "Hotch, you sure about that?" Derek asked, a slight tease in his voice. "You know them."

"I do," He nodded, "Four days. You'll see I'm right."

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fandom #doctor spencer reid #criminal minds fanfiction #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n

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zaczenemiji · 5 months ago

Note

Hi! Just saw your request are open. I thought it would be a great to request a OS of Kenji Sato x Fem! Reader.

I got inspired by that song of "Too Sweet" from Hozier and I got the idea of how good is Reader with Emi, (since she knows he's Ultraman and also raises a baby Kaiju alone) such a Sunshine, even Emi sees her as a new maternal figure, he thinks she's too sweet, getting the idea of having kids with her but having the thought she deserves better.

But she thinks on the contrary, he's such a bad boy with a good heart. If you wanna add more things, it's up to you. I'll leave it to your imagination. Take your time and no need to rush. Take care.

Too Good, Too True

Kenji Sato x Reader

Word Count: 1,456

Genre/Warnings: Established Relationship, Found Family

Author’s Note: Particularly in love with this one, and Too Sweet plays rent-free in my head.

MASTERLIST

You know everything about Kenji: his past—the reason he’s distant from his dad, his secret—that he’s Ultraman, and his love child the 20-foot-tall kaiju baby in his basement.

You guys have been together for a long while now, even before everyone knew him as Ken Sato, the baseball star—the one whose name dominates the headlines.

With millions of adoring fans, you’re grateful you still have a place in his life. At first, there was a looming thought at the back of your head that tells you how easily replaceable you are.

No matter how you repress the thought, the fact remains that it is true. Who are you when compared to Kenji? You weren’t a model, an icon, a singer, or the daughter of a CEO—like all the other women waiting in line for him.

You were just… you. Simply (y/n) in her soft pastel and floral dresses. You don’t own a lot either, just a flower shop in LA. Your favorite hobby is tending to your garden where you grew the flowers that you sold.

All of your issues regarding this have long been resolved since Kenji has always been quick to reassure you of his love. That to him, everything and anyone else pails in comparison to you. He wishes you knew your impact on his life.

You have always been his breath of fresh air. It started at college during his baseball trainings, he’d wait for a certain girl to pass by. His eyes were always quick to find you among your group of friends.

On his games, you were his number one cheerleader. Your friends and his teammates were always so surprised to see the quiet dainty girl that you were yelling and cheering for his name.

Back when his mom was around, you got along with her so well. Kenji would find you and his mom in their kitchen baking cakes and making cute little pastries.

His mom loved having you around. You were always welcome at his house. When she found out that you were an international student who flew to LA alone and lived in a dorm, she almost wanted to adopt you.

But ain’t no way Kenji wanted to be just a brother in your life.

Many things have changed since then. In becoming a baseball star, half of his life was no longer private. In becoming Ultraman, his responsibilities were no longer limited to that of his career and personal life. And in becoming a daddy to a kaiju baby, he realized you deserve better.

You came over to his house every day to visit Emi. He admired your patience with her and how you were always a ray of sunshine to everyone, including a kaiju. And you’re not afraid of playing with her even if she could literally crush you out of nowhere.

You’d come over with fresh flowers picked from your parents’ garden. You’d make big flower crowns just for Emi and smaller ones for yourself and Mina.

Today was a particularly rough day as Kenji got home from a game. You wanted to accompany him today but he insisted for you to watch over Emi. He has been feeling like shit lately, not knowing what to do with Emi and his declining performance in his games.

Upon passing by the kitchen table, he sees a can of his favorite fizzy drink. Under it, a note. He lifted the can and read, “left this up here so mina won’t see (｡- .•)”

For the first time that day, he smiled. You’ve always told him how lucky you thought you were for being with someone as great as him. But the truth is, it’s the other way around.

In one go, he finished his drink so he could immediately head down to see you. You and Mina were too busy playing with Emi to notice him. He stayed at the lounge where he could see you from the other side of the glass.

There you were, beautiful, with flowers adorning your hair. You looked so pure and innocent. Your gentle demeanor had always put him at ease.

Your expressive eyes looked up at Emi in an attempt to communicate beyond words. Kenji loved your eyes. They were always filled with warmth and kindness but when you look at him, all he sees is love.

On the contrary, there’s him. He and his troubled past.

He is distant from his dad, wanting little to no connection with him. If it wasn’t for his mom, he wouldn’t have returned to Japan.

You weren’t like that. You had a good relationship with your parents. You deserve someone who could give you and your future children the same kind of environment you grew up in—peaceful and without the fear of the possibility that one day, your husband might not come home.

He worries he’d be like his dad, absent. He is Ultraman now. His duties would one day require him to be away, sometimes without notice and for extended periods. You deserve someone who can be there for you consistently.

He is constantly under the scrutiny of the public eye, both as Ultraman and the baseball star that he is. And the public is not often gentle. You deserve a private and peaceful life, away from the criticisms of society.

Kenji loves you dearly, he really does. But oftentimes, he thinks he’s not the best person for you. He thinks you deserve someone who can offer you a simpler and safer life.

Too deep in his thoughts, he failed to notice you enter the room. The kiss you gave on his cheek pulled him back to reality.

“Tough day?” You asked, sitting beside him on the couch.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “But I’m okay now. You’re here now.” He turned to look at you, his rest.

“Would you like to talk about your day?” You asked, reaching out to brush strands of his hair away from his face.

He shook his head. “I’d like to hear about yours first.”

You smiled, excited to tell him what you planned on doing. Since he’s staying here in Japan for good, you thought you would too. The flower shop in LA would be left in a good friend’s care. And here, you thought of working as a kindergarten teacher. You had doubts before but after being able to take care of Emi and enjoying it, you were now sure that this is the kind of job for you.

Kenji’s expression shifted upon knowing this. A shadow of doubt crossed his face. “What’s wrong?” you asked. “Do you not approve?”

“You deserve better,” he said, eyes falling downward before turning away to lean properly on the couch.

Confused, you leaned back as well. “Better job?” You asked. “Kenji, I think this is the bes—“

“Better than a guy who’s got a kaiju baby to take care of and a past, present, and future that’s complicated,” he continued his earlier statement, cutting you mid-sentence.

You were shocked. You never expected him to feel this way. You felt bad because for every time he assured you of his love, you failed to realize that he needed reassurance too.

“Oh no, Kenji,” you said. You turned his face to look at you, cupping it with both of your hands. “You’re a good man.”

“I’m worried, (y/n),” he said softly. “I worry that I can’t give you the life you deserve.“

He wants to marry you, he truly does. He dreamed of having children with you, teaching them, watching them grow. And when all is done, living the rest of his life with you.

When he passes by jewelry stores, he always thinks of you. He’d get in, and browse their selection of rings, but thinking of how you’re too sweet for him holds him back from buying.

"You're the best man for me, Kenji. Not despite your past and your duties, but because of them. They've shaped you into the person I love,” you told him.

“You're a wonderful father to Emi. And if you ever wanted more—if you ever wanted us to be more,” you leaned in to press your forehead on his. “I know you'll be an amazing father because of how you love me every day.”

Kenji closed his eyes, leaning into your touch, the tension slowly leaving his body. "You really believe that?"

"Every word," you said softly. "You are my home, Kenji. As long as we're together, I'm not afraid of anything."

He opened his eyes, looking at you with a mixture of relief and gratitude. "Thank you, (y/n),” he said. “I don't know what I'd do without you."

"You'll never have to find out," you replied, pulling him into a tight embrace.

Taglist is open! Comment if u wanna be tagged on future Kenji oneshots

@flowerloves

#kenji sato x reader #kenji sato #ken sato x reader #ken sato #ultraman: rising #ultraman #fanfiction #oneshot

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sturnioz · 5 months ago

Text

‘CRUSH’ — MATTHEW STURNIOLO

pairing. drummer!matthew sturniolo x reader genre. band au, smut, fluff

word count. 10.1k

❝let me take you backstage. just you and me, yeah?❞

content warnings. explicit content, alcohol usage, mentions of weed, unprotected sex, backstage sex, fingering, oral (female receiving), dirty talk, praising, creampie,

authors note. fake bands are mentioned in this. if there is a band with the same name out there, im sorry lol

Despite his love for blending in with the crowd and remaining mysterious and unseen, Matt is anything but unnoticeable. The singular stripe of red dye in his black hair, the black eyeliner that smudges at the corners of his eyes, the tattoos that decorate his arms, and the oversized graphic clothing that drowns his frame… he stands out.

Matt—admittedly—sticks out like a sore thumb.

It isn’t exactly his fault. (It is, but he won’t admit it).

Matt loves tattooing his skin with crazy and memorable designs, wearing clothes far larger than his usual size, and stomping around in heavy boots. Matt also loves filling his waterline with black eyeliner and accessorising with silver jewellery.

Painting his nails is another favourite of his too, though he usually goes for a chipped, all-black look.

It also doesn’t help that Matt is in a band alongside his brothers and childhood best friend. While the band isn’t huge, they perform almost every weekend at a popular bar in their hometown, attracting a crowd over 100 people that try their best to cram themselves in just to see them whenever they manage to book a gig.

So, maybe it is his fault.

But he never expected the level of attention it would bring him—eyes ogling from every direction, hushed whispers whenever he enters a room, and a constant stream of compliments filling his DMs on social media as well as being said directly to his face.

Matt secretly loves the attention, but he has never been the one to make a move when girls throw themselves at him, hinting for a quick hook-up or even a relationship. He just wasn't interested enough—no one has ever truly captured his attention.

That is until he saw you at one of the band’s gigs.

You were sitting in a booth with a friend, sipping a Coke through a straw and taking in your seemingly unfamiliar surroundings. Matt was instantly captivated by your presence, wanting nothing more than to gather the courage to walk over and strike a conversation—to learn more about you.

“Starin’ makes you look creepy.”

Matt’s bandmate and childhood best friend, Nate, remarks, hardly even glancing Matt’s way. His attention is instead confused on his own reflection in the mirror backdrop behind the bar, standing on his tiptoes to see better over the rows of liquor bottles, trying to restyle his newly dyed hair, the sweat on his forehead causing his bangs to stick.

Nate continues, “Go talk to her. Work that so-called ‘Matt Magic’ I hear Chris yappin’ about.”

“Trust me, it’s real.” Chris declares, suddenly appearing and throwing himself down into the seat beside Matt.

He slams a tray of multicoloured shots onto the bar counter, spilling half the contents and leaving the bartender cursing under his breath as he wipes up the mess, glaring at Chris who just grins cheekily, avoiding confrontation.

“I’ve seen it with my own eyes, alright?” Chris continues. “It works like magic—makes the ladies drop to their knees in an instant.”

Nate’s brow raises in amusement, “In the many years I’ve known Matt, I’ve never seen him hook-up or flirt with anyone…” Nate pauses, a teasing grin sliding onto his lips. “Got some problems goin’ on down there or what?”

“Shut the fuck up.” Matt grumbles, swatting away Nate’s hand as he tries to reach out and pat his cheek.

Nate cackles, shaking his head as he grabs one of the shots that Chris eagerly hands out to the group. He then calls out to Nick, who emerges from backstage, adjusting the leather jacket on his shoulders as he settles down beside Chris.

Chris hums as he tugs the collar of Nick’s shirt down, “Nice marks, kid. Who was it this time?”

“None of your fucking business.” Nick answers with a hiss, running his fingers through his blonde hair.

“You’re always in mine,” Chris shoots back, causing Nick to gape at him. “Don’t give me that look, kid. You’re always yappin’ in my ear about the sisters.”

“Oh, Thing 1 and Thing 2,” Nick grins at the mention of the twin sisters that Chris frequently hooks-up with. “Who was the one that was here last time?”

“Zoe,” Chris answers, but the blank look on Nick’s face causes Chris to sigh in annoyance before clarifying, “Thing 1.”

“I thought Thing 1 was Chloe?” Nate chimes in, pulling a confused face.

Chris is quick to jump to Zoe’s defence, arguing that she’s number one, but Matt tunes out the rest of the conversation, rolling his eyes as he picks up the shot glass and downs it quickly before bringing his beer bottle up to his lips.

He then turns his neck slightly to look over at you once again, spotting you this time smiling at your friend and clinking your simple glass of Coke to her colourful cocktail.

Matt can’t help but continue sneaking glances your way. He is, undoubtedly, interested in you. This is unfamiliar territory for him—he’s never felt this drawn to someone before.

He’s not scared or nervous, and he really would walk on over to you to begin a conversation if it wasn’t for the fact you weren’t alone. Your friend was glued to your side… and he hated it.

Matt inwardly curses, wishing he could just get rid of your friend and have you all to himself for the night, but you two seem inseparable. He takes another swig of his beer, his mind racing with ideas. There has to be a way to separate you from your friend, even if it was just for a moment.

He can’t let this opportunity slip away, he’s going to have to find a way to get you alone. Or he’s going to have to wait for the right moment.

“I think he’s staring at me,” Talia whispers across the booth to you. She straightens her posture and runs her fingers through her hair, fixing any stray strands as she takes a quick glance at her reflection in her phone screen. “How do I look? Do I have something in my teeth?”

“You look fine,” You reassure with a nod, sipping your Coke through the straw. Your eyebrows knit together in curiosity as you watch Talia fuss over her appearance, pulling the neckline of her dress lower to show more cleavage. “But who’s staring at you?”

“The tattooed guy with the red strand in his hair, sitting at the bar behind y—The fuck? Don’t turn around!” You ignore Talia’s feeble attempts to redirect your attention as you spin around, easily spotting the man sitting at the bar surrounded by other similar-looking people.

You snort at the sight, but can’t help but notice his attention doesn’t seem to be on your friend. Slowly turning back to face Talia, you see her shoulders sag in defeat.

“He was staring. He looked away as soon as you turned around.”

“I believe you,” You tell her, getting comfortable in your seat as you observe the way she takes quick glances behind you, holding her head high with confidence. “Who is he, anyways?”

“You’re kidding,” Talia baffles, her eyes going wide. She takes offence when you shake your head. “It’s Matt. The guy that’s on my Instagram feed. His band is playing tonight—he’s the reason why we’re here!”

You frown at that, “I thought you wanted to hang out?”

“I do!” Talia quickly says, but you’re less than impressed. She exhales deeply, “Listen… Matt is the drummer in the band that performed earlier, and I haven’t been able to have much free time to see them play. On top of that, we haven’t hung out in a while and this is the only weekend we seem to be available — so I’m basically hitting two birds with one stone here, can you really blame me?”

“Guess not.” You sigh, even though you’re still not impressed with what’s going on.

You felt a little bit used and lied to, especially when she burst through your dorm room earlier and rambled excitedly about how she’s looking forward to spending some time with you tonight.

Your mood turns sour when it dawns on you that you'll most likely be heading back to your dorm room alone tonight, knowing that she will probably blow you off to go blow off some other guy—literally.

You wish you were the type of person to be selfish — to tell her that you’re not happy with her possibly leaving you to go hook-up with some guy, and demand her to stay with you all night to catch up and go home together with a takeout bag full of junk food, and watch a shitty old movie on your small laptop screen.

But you’ve never been that way.

You have never been selfish.

“I need to go pee,” Talia announces, her face twisting in discomfort as she pushes her empty cocktail glass across the table and awkwardly shuffles out of the booth. She picks up her handbag and rummages through quickly, pulling out her purse and shoving it in your hands. “Go get us another drink, and no more Cokes for you either.”

You don’t even get the chance to say anything as Talia waddles away in a rush towards the bathrooms and you push yourself out of the booth with a huff, clutching her purse in your grasp as you weave through the crowd of people blocking your path to the bar, seemingly busy with their conversations to even make room.

The grip on Talia’s purse tightens as you finally reach the counter, watching the bartender lean in to chat up some customer with a flirtatious smile.

You debate on going back to the booth and waiting for Talia so she can work her charm to get you both more drinks. But you decide against it, instead hoisting yourself up onto a vacant barstool, so focussed on the bartender and his cheesy pickup lines that you’re completely unaware of who is sitting next to you.

Matt struggles to contain himself when he feels your shoulder brush against his as you sit down beside him at the bar. He steals a quick glance your way, his heart racing, but you’re focussed intently on the bartender, seemingly oblivious to Matt’s presence.

Matt knows Brent, the bartender, all too well—he’s notorious for getting distracted as he flirts with customers, leaving others waiting, so you won’t be getting served any time soon.

This could be Matt’s chance to finally talk to you, to have the conversation he’s been yearning for since he first laid eyes on you. But the words catch in his throat, and he finds himself unable to face you directly, especially with his bandmates mocking him from the corner of his eye.

Chris makes obnoxious kissing noises, causing Matt to snap his head in that direction, but Chris doesn’t back down from his teasing as he grins and nudges his shoulder.

“C’mon, kid. Show us that ‘Matt Magic’,” The wiggle of Chris’s eyebrows makes Matt want to fight, his knuckles turning white from the grip he has around his beer bottle. Chris quickly throws his hands up in defence. “Just want you to have some fun, man.”

“As much as it pains me to admit it—like it actually hurts me—Chris is right,” Nick chimes in, his eyes flitting between Matt and yourself, who is still wrapped up in your own head to hear the conversation that’s going on. It surprises him. “You’re surrounded by very beautiful women who clearly show interest in you, and you don’t give a fuck. At all.”

“Maybe Matt does have some problems goin’ on down there…” Nate drawls as his eyes dip down to Matt’s jeans, tilting his head to the side teasingly. Matt rolls his eyes at Nate’s comment and reaches out to kick him, but Nick intervenes by pushing Nate to the side while Chris grins, amused by the situation.

“Look,” Nick sighs. “As much as I would love for you to get out there, it’s all on your terms. Don’t let these fucks peer pressure you into doing shit.”

Matt doesn’t feel pressured, not one bit.

But all he wants right now is for his brothers and friend to give him some space so he can be alone with you. It would be the perfect opportunity, and he wouldn’t have to worry about the others making grand gestures behind his back or worse, interrupting the conversation.

As if reading his mind, Nick grips the back of Chris and Nate’s shirts, hauling them away from the bar, though they don’t stay too far—still within reach of their drinks and shots.

It’s not perfect, but it’ll have to do.

Matt takes a deep breath, gently tugging on the earring dangling from his ear as he finally turns in his seat to face you… just in time for the bartender to finish his flirting.

Fuck.

“Sorry about that,” The bartender apologises to you with a faint chuckle as he stands in front of you, running his fingers through his dark hair and adjusting the glasses on the bridge of his nose before resting his hands on his hips.

It gives you a full view of his all black sleeveless shirt that’s tucked into a pair of dark jeans, and you can’t help but notice the white name tag that stands out against the outfit, identifying him as Brent.

Brent gives you a charming smile, “What can I get for you?”

You hesitate for a moment, trying to remember the name of the cocktail Talia had ordered earlier. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip as you scan the drinks menu above the bar, pointing to the cheapest options and you’re about to speak up until a voice suddenly interrupts you.

“Can I have a beer, a cosmopolitan, and a Coke?”

You whip your head to the side in annoyance, ready to give the rude customer a piece of your mind for cutting in. But the insults die on your lips as you realise who exactly it is.

It’s the tattooed arm and the flash of red in his hair that lets you know who it is—the guy that Talia has been non-stop talking about, and has been so fascinated with the past couple of months, and even the main topic of tonight's conversations.

Your eyebrows raise in slight shock. You’re beginning to see the appeal… Matt is really pretty.

With Matt seated so close—shoulder to shoulder—you have the opportunity to really take in every detail of his appearance. Though you’ve basically heard Talia rave about him, you’ve never seen him up close and personal before.

The smudged eyeliner and subtle black eyeshadow around his blue eyes give him a slightly intimidating look, but there’s a certain allure to it that makes you sink back into your seat, captivated.

You can’t help but notice the tattoos decorating his arm, the flash of vibrant red in his hair, and the small hole on the side of his nostril that makes you wonder if that’s where a nose piercing once was. The redness around the area suggests he or someone else may have attempted to pierce it recently — perhaps even today.

“That’s what you’re both drinkin’, yeah?” Matt’s question snaps you out of your captivated staring, and he shifts in his seat as he turns to face you fully, the chains on his all-black outfit jingling with his movements.

As he drums his fingernails against the bar as he waits for your answer, you notice the black chipped nail polish, some definitely more chipped than others, but the look suits his edgy appearance perfectly.

“Yes—yeah, I think so…” You answer quickly, realising you’ve been quiet for far too long. But then you pause, your face twisting in confusion as you glance between him and the drinks being made. “How did you know that?”

The corner of Matt’s lip curves upwards in amusement, and he shrugs his shoulders. “I guessed.”

“Here you go, gorgeous,” Brent interrupts as he slides the cocktail and Coke glass in your direction with precise aim, managing to not spill a drop. He then settles the beer bottle down in front of Matt next. “That will be—”

“Wait, can I get another one of those?” You cut him off as you point to the pink-coloured concoction in front of you, and Brent sends a wink your way as he turns on his heel to prepare the drink.

You give him a small smile as a thank you and you turn back to look at Matt who’s already looking at you with his eyebrow raised, and you suddenly feel the need to explain yourself.

“It’s for me.”

Matt nods slowly, “Had enough of the Cokes?”

“No, not exactly… She told me earlier not to get another one,” You say as you glance down at the full glass of Coke in front of you with pursed lips. “But I’ll still take this, you know, just in case I don’t like the cocktail.”

Matt smiles at that, and he reaches for the beer bottle with one hand while the other dips inside his pocket as soon as Brent returns with your newly made drink. He gives you the price and your eyes almost bulge out at the numbers, swallowing down the lump in your throat as you tell him you’ll pay by card.

You’re already mentally preparing yourself for Talia’s reaction when she finds out about the cost. It makes you grimace just thinking about the consequences as you dig through her purse to find her card, but the sound of a machine beeping brings you out of your search, and you lift your head to see Matt with his arm outstretched, his own bank card in hand and pressed down on the card reader.

Did he just…?

Your mouth repeatedly opens and closes in shock, unable to fully process what just happened even though it was the most simplest thing.

Brent’s giving Matt an amused look, his tongue prodding at his cheek to hide the obvious smirk on his face as he shoves the card reader back beneath the bar, and he flutters his fingers at you for a quick goodbye as he serves another customer — you briefly overhear him compliment their hair, but you pay him no attention as you’re meeting eyes with Matt who seems nonchalant about paying for all of your pricey drinks.

“You didn’t have to do that,” You protest quietly. “I had the money, I—”

“I wanted to,” Matt cuts you off, bringing his beer to his lip and taking a sip all while keeping his eyes on you. “I haven’t seen you around this bar before, so think of it as a welcome gift… from me to you.”

“That’s… sweet. Thank you,” You show him your gratitude, warmth spreading in your chest at his unexpected gesture.

Matt nods his head and reaches over to gently clink his beer bottle against one of your cocktail glasses before taking a sip. You decide to follow suit, bringing the reddish-pink cocktail drunk to your lips.

But the second the liquid touches your tongue, your face twists in an unexpected reaction to the flavour, the taste catching you by surprise which causes the involuntary expression that flashes across your features.

Matt watches your reaction intently, an amused glint in his eye as he takes another sip of his beer while you place the cocktail back down on the bar to quickly grab your glass of Coke, washing down the taste with something you’re a lot more familiar with.

“You don’t like it?”

“It’s different,” You admit with an awkward laugh. You feel slightly embarrassed at pulling the most unattractive face and not enjoying a drink that he bought out of his money. “But it’s still a gift, so I’ll drink it.”

“Nah, you don’t have to do that,” Matt shakes his head, the amusement still sparkling in his eyes as he reaches for his card. “Let me buy you another—”

“No!” You immediately interject, not wanting him to spend any more of his money on the expensive drinks. Matt seems a little surprised at your sudden burst, and he reels his hand back to his lap. You cringe at your tone before adding. “I will drink it.”

“Yeah?” He hums, his eyes flitting down to the cocktail on the bar before meeting your gaze again. He tilts his head slightly, a smirk playing on his lips. “Are you sure about that?”

Your heart thumps at the intensity of his stare, a look you’re unfamiliar with. You nod, doing your best to sound confident as you mutter, “Very.”

“Was there a queue at the bar or something? You took so long,” Talia frowns as soon as you arrive back at your shared booth with both cocktails in hand.

Your tongue pokes out in concentration, careful to not spill anything as you hand one over to Talia who takes it in her grasp.

“Thanks, babe. But did you not use my card? I didn’t get the notification on my phone that my card was being used—did you get us a cosmopolitan?! Do you realise how fucking expensive these are here?!”

“Relax, I didn’t buy these,” You tell her as you slide into the booth, sliding Talia her purse. She stares at you, confusion written across her face, so you clarify; “Courtesy of your favourite drummer boy.”

“Matt bought me a drink?” The look that plasters across Talia’s face is priceless, and you bite back the urge to add on how he bought your drink too. But you let her live in her moment as you nod your head, watching as she takes the information in with wide, excited eyes. “Holy shit. He totally likes me—I fucking knew it. Did he say anything?”

“About what?” You ask, your brows pulling together and Talia points at herself. “Oh, no, not really. He was just talking about alcohol, you know… considering we were both at the bar.”

Talia sighs dreamily, “My type of guy.”

“Yeah, he seems interesting.” You find yourself agreeing, pressing your lips firmly together as you glance over your shoulder in a somewhat hopeful manner that you’ll see Matt still at the bar, sipping his beer or maybe even watching you from afar. But when you don’t see him, you feel an unexpected pang of disappointment.

It’s strange — you’ve never spoken to Matt before today, and your interaction was brief. Yet there’s something about him that has piqued your curiosity, leaving you wanting to know more.

You struggle to explain this newfound fascination. It’s completely out of character for you to be so preoccupied with a near-stranger, especially one that is your best friend’s crush. Normally, you would shrug something like this off and focus on the evening with Talia.

But now, there’s a heaviness in your chest, a restless energy that has you craving another encounter with Matt.

Was it the intensity of his gaze that captivated you? The confident, almost flirtatious yet mysterious way he carried himself? Or was it simply the unexpected gesture of buying you a drink — a gesture that, for whatever reason, has left a lasting impression.

You’ve never been like this before.

So why now? Why all of a sudden?

“What are you thinking about?” Talia’s voice yanks you out of your thoughts and you turn your head back in her direction. You quickly shrug your shoulders and shake your head to silently tell her that it was nothing, but she doesn’t seem convinced. “I don’t believe you.”

“I’m not thinking—”

“You were staring at the bar,” Talia points out before she decides to follow your gaze, her lips pursing in deep thought as she scans the surroundings. She suddenly smiles, “Are you staring at Brent? The bartender?”

“I said I’m—”

“You should go for it. I heard he gives really good head and honestly—no offence—you need it. He could definitely loosen you up and give you a good time.”

You deadpan, “Are you saying that because it’s the truth, or is it because you’ll feel bad that I’d have to walk home alone while you’re getting laid?”

“Both.” Talia sends you a sly wink, and she clinks her cocktail glass to yours before taking a sip.

You exhale softly with a roll of your eyes, reaching for your own cocktail until your hand stops halfway when you realise you’ve lost the Coke you had left at the bar — it’s likely been snatched up by another customer that got excited over a free drink.

You really don’t like the flavour of his cocktail, and you find yourself wishing you had something to wash it down with. It pains you.

You consider being a bit dramatic, holding your nose to avoid tasting it, or digging through your purse for some gum that you know is pooling at the bottom somewhere. But you decide to just suck it up and drink it without making a fuss.

After all, it was a gift.

Just as you’re about to bring the glass to your lips, another is suddenly placed in front of you — a fresh, bubbly Coke with ice and a red straw that faces towards you..

Talia’s the first to respond to this stranger, her hand flying to cover her mouth to stifle her reaction as she chokes on her drink, her eyes strained and watery. You check on her to make sure that she’s okay before you glance up, slightly taken aback when you see Matt.

“You forgot your drink at the bar,” He tells you in a low tone. His eyes flick down to the cocktail in your hands, and his eyebrow raises slightly. “Are you sure you’re goin' to drink it?”

“I was going to.” Your reply in a whisper. But before you can say anything else, Matt is taking the cocktail from your hands and replacing it with the fresh Coke he’s brought over.

He holds the stem of the cocktail glass between his fingers, eyeing the brightly coloured drink for a moment before sliding it over to Talia, who is still uncharacteristically speechless. She quickly regains her composure, grasping the drink and pulling it close to her chest, as if it’s the most meaningful thing anyone has ever done for her.

“Enjoy this one instead,” Matt murmurs to you, and just as he begins to turn away, you find yourself calling out his name.

You’re not entirely sure why you’ve done so — perhaps it’s a reluctance to let him go so quickly, a desire to indulge the growing fascination you’ve developed for him. Or maybe it’s because you can see the gears turning in Talia’s head as she tries to figure out how to start a conversation with him—to flirt with him.

You’re a good friend to Talia, you always have been.

You always put her first.

“Do you want to join us?” You offer with a friendly smile, and you gesture towards the empty seat opposite you—beside Talia. “You’re welcome to come sit with us and hang out, unless you have somewhere else to be?”

Matt is quiet for a moment, his eyes darting around the bar as if he’s searching for something, but then he nods and takes you up on your offer. Talia’s beaming ear to ear with excitement, shuffling to the side to make space for him on her side of the booth.

But to your surprise, Matt sits down beside you instead, his shoulder knocking heavily against yours as he settles into the small space. He apologises quickly, lifting a hand to gently rub the sore spot.

You find yourself glued to your seat, sandwiched between the wooden barrier on the right and Matt’s body pressed against your left. The heat radiating off him envelops you, but you try not to pay too much attention to it, especially when you see Talia eyeing the two of you with a slightly wrinkled nose and an upturned lip.

However, Talia’s expression soon shifts to a grin as she turns her attention to Matt, “Thank you for buying the drinks,” She gestures towards the cocktail in front of her. “I’ll get your next one.”

“I appreciate that,” Matt replies, dipping his head in gratitude.

He takes a quick sip of his beer, and you notice Talia watching him carefully, her eyebrows furrowing as she tilts her head, trying to read the label from her seat.

Matt seems to pick up on this, and he comically and slowly rotates the bottle in Talia’s direction. “It’s new — Brent got it delivered today.”

“Lost Boys? He got a drink named after one of your songs?” Talia teases playfully, and Matt simply nods in response. You fight the urge to snort at that fact, finding it a little amusing.

“You should try it,” Matt nudges you softly, offering you a taste of his beer. You are about to decline, to shake your head and say you’re fine with the Coke, but the smile that dances across his lips is enough to make you slowly change your mind. “I think you might like this better than the cocktail.”

You don’t question it further, and instead take the beer in your hands, taking a tentative sip. You’re a bit hesitant on the initial taste, rubbing your lips together firmly as Matt and Talia watch you, waiting for your honest opinion. you just take the beer in your hands for a sip and you’re hesitant on the taste that hits your tongue, rubbing your lips together firmly as the pair watch you, waiting for your honest opinion.

You swallow thickly, but are pleasantly surprised. “It’s actually really good.”

Matt hums, “Told you.”

“Let me try,” Talia chimes in, reaching out for the beer. You happily hand it over to her, but then you realise your mistake, turning to look at Matt with a slightly apologetic look on your face as it dawns on you that you’re sharing around his drink.

Matt’s already watching you when you look at him, and you go to apologise, but Talia’s already handing him back his beer with a satisfied expression.

“I like it too—it’s sweet.” She confirms.

“That can be the next round of drinks then, yeah?” Matt says, his eyes briefly darting down to Talia’s purse beside her.

Talia’s smile falters for a moment when she remembers that she was the one that offered to buy him his next drink. You can tell she’s thinking about the dent these drinks are going to put on her bank account, but she quickly musters up another smile and nods her head, excited at the thought of buying Matt something.

Before Talia can respond, you decide to come to her aid as your hand slips towards your own purse. “You don’t have to buy the next drink. We can go in halves—”

“Don’t offend me like that,” Talia cuts you off with a playful flip of her hair. “I have the money. I’ll get it.”

You wince at that, unconvinced. “You sure?”

“Totally,” Talia smirks. She then turns to face Matt, who has been quietly sipping his beer. “Your set earlier was fucking amazing, by the way. The band is so—”

“DID SOMEBODY SAY SHOTS?!” An unfamiliar voice screeches at the top of their lungs as a tray of multicoloured shots is suddenly thrust onto the table in front of you all, causing some of the liquid to spill over. A quick hand reaches out to try and recover them despite half of the liquid pooling around the tray.

As your eyes trail up the arm of the person who brought over the shots, you’re surprised to see an identical-looking guy to Matt, but with a backwards cap on his curly head of brown hair. His cheeks are flushed—a clear sign that he’s had quite a bit to drink already.

Standing on one side of him is another identical-looking guy, but with blonde hair, and he’s cursing under his breath and scolding the backwards capped one for the mess he’s created.

The capped guy is trying (and failing) to scoop the spilled alcohol back into the cups using just his pinky finger. It’s a comical sight, with his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth in pure concentration.

“This is the second fuckin’ time this has happened,” Matt informs with a sigh, but the chuckle that escapes him shows he’s not as annoyed as he’s letting on. “Chris also spilled them earlier.”

The backwards capped guy, who you now discover is named Chris, snaps his head up in offence at Matt’s comment and stops his failed attempts at trying to scoop the alcohol back into the shot glasses.

“I tripped over your fuckin’ dumbass shoe actually,” Chris hisses through his teeth as he knocks his foot against Matt, who doesn’t seem fazed at the attack at all. “Anyway. Scoot up, let us in.”

“Are you joining us?” Talia’s eyes twinkle at the thought of her favourite band joining the booth, and you couldn’t help but feel happy for her, knowing that she’s been waiting for this moment to happen.

However, you can’t help but feel a bit confused and slightly worried about where the others would fit, especially inside the cramped booth. It could fit four people at most, but you weren’t sure about the six. You’re already feeling a bit squished beside Matt and the wooden barrier.

“Of course we’re joining you, that’s the reason why we got shots.” The blonde-haired guy, who you found out is called Nick, scoffs as he makes a quick gesture to Talia to scoot up, creating just enough room for him and the other bandmate, Nate (who funnily enough has a name tag written across his chest), to squeeze in on her side of the booth.

“Excuse me, kid.” Chris grunts as he clamps a hand down on Matt’s shoulder to push himself up, placing his shoe on the smallest bit of booth space between Matt’s legs before climbing over you both, muttering how he doesn’t want to sit on the end.

Matt’s arm slides around your middle in an instant as he moves to the edge of the booth, pulling you along with him to let Chris sit at your other side, allowing Chris to be squashed between you and the wooden barrier instead. He weirdly seems okay with it, although he does wince when he feels your purse dig into his side, and you’re quick to move it with an apology, but he dismisses it with a wave and a kind smile.

Now you’re pressed right up against Matt, his arm bringing you even close to him. After a few moments, he lets you go, his fingers brushing against the exposed skin of your back as he gently pulls your shirt that had risen up back down, keeping you decent before his arm falls back into his own lap.

The brief touch sends goosebumps crawling up your skin, and you involuntarily shiver. You straighten your posture and tear your attention away from Matt’s wandering eyes, missing the small grin that tugs at the corners of his lips.

What you don’t miss is Talia staring at you, and as soon as you meet her gaze, her lips pull into a tight smile which you return back, grabbing your glass of Coke to distract yourself from what just happened.

“You. Nuh-uh—no way, kid. Put that down,” Nate points a finger at you and shakes his head with a tut. “We’re taking shots before we continue anythin’. You pick first.”

Reaching for one of the spilled shots that has the least amount of drink in it, you go for the easiest option. Nate’s mouth drops and his eyebrows knit together, as if you’ve just outwardly offended him, but he doesn’t say anything as he and the others quickly pick their own shots and clink their glasses together, eagerly downing the drinks.

You’re pleasantly surprised at the fruity taste that slides down your throat, but you can’t help but wince at the burn it leaves behind, similar to Nick, who starts to complain.

“What the fuck was that?!” Nick fake retches and rubs his throat, his other hand quickly reaching for his beer to wash down the taste. “What flavour was that—What did you fucking get?!”

“I dunno—a whole bunch of different shit,” Chris shrugs as he picks up Nick’s empty shot glass, taking a sniff. His eyebrows raise in surprise. “That’s passionfruit, kid. I had that too. We matched.”

“Oh, I hate it.” Nick gags again, bringing his beer bottle to his lips again to take a few hefty gulps, clearly trying to rid himself of the unpleasant taste.

“I think me and Matt had strawberry,” Talia announces, staring at the red stain on Matt’s chosen shot gloss. She grins, “We matched.”

Matt nods, then turns to you, “What did you have?”

“Raspberry,” Nate answers for you as he winks at you from across the booth, signifying you matched shots with him.

“Oh! So not only did I have a disgusting flavour, but I matched with Chris?” Nick scoffs, eyeballing every single one of you with irritancy. “Un-fucking-believable.”

“So, what brought you both here tonight?” Chris asks you and Talia after a few more drinks, courtesy of Talia who had promised to buy the next round.

Originally, the next drinks that were bought by Talia were supposed to be for just you, her and Matt. But with the others joining the table and their constant pleading, she ended up purchasing more than she had planned.

You feel bad, especially knowing how pricey this bar is, and make a mental note to pay for half of the drinks bought at the end of the night — even though Talia keeps giving you side glances, letting you know that everything is fine.

This is her favourite band after all, and she would do anything to spend a few more minutes with them… or even just Matt.

“Just to catch up over some drinks,” You tell him, glancing over at the stage where a few of their set pieces are still laid out. “We came to listen to your band too.”

“Yeah?” Chris grins, leaning back into his seat, his legs spreading wide beneath the table. “Are you a fan of our music?”

“I’m a huge fan,” Talia gushes, and you allow her to take the lead in the conversation. She leans forward, elbows on the table, causing her cleavage to almost spill out of the top of her dress in a deliberate gesture.

You admire Talia’s confidence, even though you want to tell her that she doesn’t need to try so hard to get their attention — she’s gorgeous as is.

Talia continues, “I’ve pretty much seen every single one of your shows here.”

“Have you been to any of our shows?” Matt asks, and it takes you a moment to realise that he’s talking to you, as everyone at the table is now staring and waiting for your reply. The corner of Matt’s lip curls upwards slightly as he tilts his head. “This your first time?”

“She’s never been,” Talia answers for you. “She doesn’t listen to this type of music. I practically had to force her out of her—”

“Is there something wrong with our music?” Nick asks you with mock offence, pressing his hand against his chest like you actually wounded him. Chris tuts with a shake of his head, making a joke about how much of a fake you are while Nate stays silent with a grin, watching everything unfold.

“No, nothing is wrong with your music,” You laugh softly. “I just really like the band ‘Solarz’.”

“You like Solarz?” Nick gapes at you, the mock offence look dropping from his face as his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. You nod your head to confirm, and he breathes out, “I think you might seriously be my favourite person ever.”

Nate and Chris laugh at that while Matt remains quiet with a small grin on his face, keeping his eyes locked. You start to feel a little stuffy and nervous, especially with how his body is pressed against yours.

“Solarz is incredible,” Talia chimes in above the laughter, and you smile at her, grateful for the times she’s cleared her schedule to go to their concerts with you. You really do owe her. “Matt, do you like Solarz too?”

“I think they’re great,” Matt nods, his answer short and to the point. Talia smiles, but before she can speak again, Matt turns to you and asks, “Is this really your first time watchin’ us?”

“Yeah,” You nod, glancing over at Talia, who seems a little dejected. You don’t want to see her upset or left out, so you gesture towards her, hoping to bring Matt’s attention to her. “But, like Talia said, she’s a huge fan of y—”

“I think you should let me show you what’s backstage…” Matt cuts you off, leaning forward to whisper to you, even though his words are heard by everyone in the booth.

He stares at you through the strands of hair that have fallen in front of his eyes, waiting for your answer. You struggle to respond, feeling all eyes on you.

Talia is clearly not impressed by Matt’s sudden invitation to you. Her mouth is hung open in shock, and her eyebrows are pulled together in a clear expression of displeasure. You can’t blame her, given how she’s been trying to flirt with Matt this whole time, only for him to disregard her advances and ask you instead if you want to see what’s backstage.

The phrase itself seems to hold a deeper meaning, based on the reactions of the others. Matt’s brothers and Nate all look quite shocked, some more smug than others, subtly nudging each other under the table. Chris even wiggles his eyebrows as he mouths the words ‘Matt Magic’ to Nick and Nate, the former gasping in response.

You feel conflicted as Matt’s hand slips into the gap between the table and your own, his palm facing upwards as he laces his fingers with yours. The warmth of his hand is a contrast to the cold metal of his rings, and you find yourself curling your fingers around his in a gentle grip.

“What do you say?” Matt asks, his gaze unwavering as he looks at you. “Let me take you backstage. Just me and you, yeah? Come with me.”

You are aware of how stupid you must look right now, not speaking a word while the others are staring at you. You’re unsure of what to say, especially when a big part of you wants to decline for Talia’s sake — she’s the dedicated fan, and deserves this more than you do.

But another part of you is tempted by Matt’s invitation, drawn to him. The part wants nothing man that for you to grip his hand tighter and allow him to drag you wherever backstage.

You’ve always been unlucky with situations like these, always the one that’s left behind during hangouts at a bar while others had fun with boys or getting drunk — which, to be fair, is all on you. You never were the one to go home with some complete stranger or let yourself indulge in alcohol until you were able to function, it was never your thing.

You nod your head just as Talia calls out your name, and your head immediately snaps in her direction, meeting her wide eyes with your own.

“Talia, I—” You start to say, but the words catch in your throat as Matt is already sliding out of the booth, his fingers tightening around yours and pulling you along with him.

You barely have time to react, hurriedly grabbing your purse as you’re whisked away from the group. You send an apologetic smile Talia’s way, wishing you could explain yourself to her, but the noises of Nate and Chris’s hollering and whooping drowns out any chance you have.

You tighten your hand around Matt’s as he pulls you through the crowded bar, and you duck your head low to avoid the stares of strangers who watch you with him — wishing that they were in your position. It gives you a slight confidence boost, knowing that people are jealous of you, and you dwell on that feeling for a moment.

Soon, Matt is leading you down a vacant hallway, heading towards a red door that reads ‘BACKSTAGE. STAFF AND BAND ACCESS ONLY’ in bold lettering.

“Here we go…” Matt mumbles under his breath as he pushes open the door, allowing you to walk in first.

The backstage area is a sight to behold. Fancy string lights hang from the ceiling, their bulbs flickering as Matt flips a switch to turn them on, bathing the room in a warm glow. The colour scheme is a combination of red and black — the walls are painted a blood red, adorned with various posters of bands, while a plush black carpet covers the floor, littered with instruments and clothing.

Your eyes are immediately drawn to a pair of light blue panties thrown across the arm of a leather sofa, and Matt seems to follow your gaze.

“One of Chris’s girls was in here before the show; Zoe,” The name doesn’t ring any bells, but you nod anyway, watching as he unzips a backpack with Chris’s name on it and shoves the panties inside as he mumbles under his breath, “At least Nick fuckin’ cleans up after himself.”

“Cleans up?” You can’t help but ask, and Matt responds with a grin, gently kicking the backpack to the side, out of your curious gaze.

Your eyes scan the room, taking in the various items scattered about — a few zip lock bags on the glass coffee table, some filled with pre-rolled joints and others with just the marijuana.

“Chris and Nate,” Matt whispers in your ear, causing you to jump slightly at his sudden closeness. They like takin’ a hit before goin’ onstage, calms their nerves.”

You’re quiet for a moment, then ask, “What about you?”

“Sometimes, but not tonight” Matt moves to stand directly in front of you, his hand coming up to caress your cheek, his rings gliding gently over your skin as he meets your gaze. “You know the reason why I brought you here, right?”

“Apparently not just to see what’s backstage,” You respond with a lighthearted laugh, though you can’t deny the nervousness bubbling within you. You swallow thickly, your palms sweaty and clammy. “I don’t—I don’t do this type of thing.”

Matt hums, “Do what?”

You feel a surge of embarrassment as the heat rises up your neck, and you can’t bring yourself to look Matt in the eyes, instead focussing on the horse necklace hanging around his neck. You wish the ground would swallow you whole this moment.

Suddenly, Matt gently grasps your chin, using his fingers and thumb to tilt your head up, forcing you to meet his gaze once again.

“Hey, if you’re uncomfortable, I can take you back out to the back right now,” Matt tells you, his tone sincere and honest. “Just say the word and we’ll leave — I’ll take you back to your friend and even call a cab for you to go home if you don’t want to stay.”

“That’s the thing…” You pause, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth as you grapple with your inner turmoil. “I do want to stay. You’re… you’re interesting.”

“Me? I’m interesting?” Matt can’t help but chuckle, a grin spreading across his face. “Sweetheart, it’s actually you that interested me. You caught my attention the moment I laid eyes on you. I’ve never seen you around before, and yet you make me feel like I’m goin’ crazy. I just—” He stops, voice huskier as he stares at you. “I want you so bad. I want to play with you.”

“Play?”

“Will you let me play with you?” Matt asks you sweetly despite the dark look in his eyes. “I can make you feel good… wanna make that pretty pussy of yours ready for me.”

You let out a shaky breath and nod your head, “Okay.”

You gasp as Matt instantly turns you around, your back now pressed to his chest with his lips grazing across your shoulder, his teeth nipping at the skin as his hands slowly slide down the strap of your purse, letting it drop to the floor with a thump.

Your heart beats wildly in your chest as his tentative touch, trying your best to steady your breathing as his fingers fiddle with the hem of your shirt, his knuckles brushing your sides as he lifts the shirt up, bringing it over your head and letting it pool to the floor.

Matt’s teeth snag at your earlobe and you crane your head to the side, allowing him to nip and suck at the area as much as he pleases, eliciting a satisfied hum from you. He pushes his hips forward, his bulge rutting against your lower back while his hands come down to rest at your hips.

You fight the urge to laugh when you feel his fingers drum a beat on your skin, a similar pattern to the one that was playing earlier when he was on stage performing, but the urge to laugh soon disappears when he bites down on the junction between your neck and shoulder, your knees almost buckling from shock if it wasn’t for the grip he tightened around you.

“You’re so fuckin’ sensitive,” Matt murmurs against your skin, his tongue flattening over the area he bit down on. “Are you sensitive in other places too?”

“Matt…” You whisper his name when you feel his blunt fingernails dig into your hips to turn you around, his nose brushing over your own before he leans in to push his lips to yours for the first time.

The kiss is soft at first—a few second lip lock that causes your body to tingle with nerves that soon slip away when you feel the intensity grow, and your hands slide around his shoulders while his come up to cup the sides of your neck, his head tilting to the side as his tongue parts your lips.

You grip the hair at the nape of his neck to bring him as close to you as possible, and Matt follows, his body flush against yours with his hands secure around your neck, taking control of the passionate and heated kiss.

It makes your head spin and lungs burn—desperate for air, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to part away from him so soon. His kiss is intoxicating.

Matt breaks away from the kiss as he pants, “Need you–need you to—” He cuts himself off only to reconnect your lips, unable to finish his sentence until he has to force himself back. “Fuck—I need you to lie down f’me.”

You immediately drop down to the carpet with no further questions, not daring to lay across the sofa after seeing the underwear one of Chris’s girls had left behind on the arm of it.

Matt drops down carefully to sit at your waist, his knees planted on either side of your hips. You watch as he takes off his oversized graphic shirt, messing up his hair even more than it already was as it’s tugged over his head.

You’re in complete awe at his body, your hands reaching out to trace the happy trail that leads down to his jeans, making your mouth water.

His horse chained necklace glides across your skin when he leans down to litter kisses across your body, paying extra attention to your breasts that he’s eager to rip free from your bra—he doesn’t even apologise once he tears the material.

Your head tips back with a gasp as his tongue rolls over your pebbled nipple before it’s sucked into his mouth, his teeth grazing against the sensitive bud which elicits a moan from you, unable to control the subtle twitches of your body.

“Pretty—fuckin’ pretty…” Matt praises, his tongue swirling around the opposite nipple as his fingers knead the plush skin of the other. “You’re so sensitive. So easy to play with.”

“Matt—”

“Shhh, sweetheart…” Matt shushes you as you moan a little too loudly, peering up at you through hooded lids as he pulls your jeans and panties down your legs, discarding them somewhere to the side as he pries open your thighs, his gaze flitting down to your glistening folds.

Your heart races as he stares at your pussy, feeling shy and too exposed. You debate on closing your legs so he couldn’t look anymore, or telling him to hurry up so you don’t feel hot under his gaze.

Matt moves down to lay between your legs, his mouth trailing kisses over the skin of your inner thighs. You almost lose yourself as his tongue presses between your folds, his nose rubbing against your throbbing clit that’s been begging for his attention.

“Matt…” You whisper out his name pathetically, your back arching off of the floor as his hands join, two fingers pushing through your entrance and curling, drawing out a long moan from you.

He’s sloppy with his tongue, licking you in all the right places that has your toes curling over his shoulders, and his fingers that fuck into you has you wailing. You’re loud now — too loud to the point Matt’s free hand moves up your body to press over your mouth, keeping your noises muffled by the palm of his hand.

Your cunt clenches around Matt’s fingers in desperation, and the vibrations of his satisfied hums sends your eyes rolling to the back of your head in pure bliss, unable to watch the mess of hair between your legs no more.

His fingers stroke your gummy walls, the cold metal of his rings (that he really should’ve taken off) sends shivers down your spine.

“You taste so fuckin’ good,” Matt compliments before his lips wrap around your clit, and you moan beneath his palm, your thighs shaking on either side of his head as he fingers you faster and harder — the wet, sloppy sounds of your cunt making you want to curl up in embarrassment, but your orgasm is rapidly approaching and you want nothing more than to come undone around his fingers.

He repeatedly whispers praises and compliments as he continues his ministrations through your orgasm; his nose nudging your little bundle of nerves, leaving messy and sloppy kisses on your cunt, and his fingers curling to graze against the spot deep within which is enough to make you tear up, becoming far too sensitive.

You’re pushing him back with your foot, and Matt chuckles as he finally lets you go. He moves to kneel between your legs that have fallen from his shoulders, and he watches your chest rise and fall rapidly as you try to catch your breath.

“Doin’ so good for me, sweetheart.” Your heart warms at Matt’s praise, and you peel your eyes open just in time to see him bring his two fingers to his mouth, covered in your arousal. He keeps eye contact with you as he pushes the digits past his lips to suck them clear, and you find the sight unbelievably attractive.

He pulls his fingers out of his mouth with a pop! before his hands drop down to the belt on his jeans, unbuckling with one hand and pulling it through the loops. He’s quick to get rid of the rest of his clothing, moving them out of the way with a hard shove so it wouldn’t cause any interruptions between you both.

Matt’s hand locks around your wrist to tug you upwards, forcing you to sit up, and your forehead almost knocks against his chest from the force.

His head dips low to kiss your lips softly before he orders you to turn around — to get on your hands and knees in front of him. You do as you’re told without question, flipping around onto your knees with your ass in the air and face resting against the plush carpet.

“Shiiit… wish you could see yourself from this angle.” Matt curses, his fingers gripping the flesh of your ass, giving the skin a few hefty slaps. He moves forward on his knees, and his fingers wrap around his cock to tap the head against your puffy folds, collecting your arousal with a low groan.

“Please, Matt… Please.” You manage to pathetically plead out, and Matt nods with a hum. His tongue licks across his bottom lip before tucking it between his teeth, watching as he pushes his thick tip into your cunt.

Your eyes widen at the stretch—the burn—fully understanding how big he is even without seeing it for yourself. He stops for a few seconds to let out a shaky exhale, his hands rubbing at your hips as he feels you tremble beneath him. It sounds like he’s mocking you, but you pay no attention as you wiggle your ass back onto him, begging for him to move.

“Fuck, sweetheart.” Matt hisses through gritted teeth at the go ahead, and he moves his hand from your hips to your lower back, thrusting forward to push himself in deeper, bottoming out completely.

A choked gasp rips from the back of your throat, your nails scraping across the carpet in search of anything to grasp onto to keep yourself grounded as Matt’s hips press against your ass, his cock buried deep within the warm of your walls. He’s panting while you’re unable to make a noise, mouth stuck open wide as Matt pulls his hips back before rolling them forward, thrusting back into you.

His deep strokes have you struggling to speak, wanting to let him know how good it feels as he’s angling his hips, hitting a particular spot inside of you that has you squealing, almost sending you flying forwards if it wasn’t for his grip.

“Easy, girl. I got you,” Matt laughs between grunts, his hips slapping against your ass. “Am I makin’ you feel good?”

“S’good.” Your words slur, mind too blank to come up with a functioning sentence. He laughs again before finding a good rhythm to work with—a rhythm that has your eyes rolling to the back of your head, moving too fast for you to register.

“I’m gonna cum in this tight cunt of yours—fill you up. Gonna fill you up with my cum, make a fuckin’ mess.” The way his tone sounds and how he rambles his words indicate how close he is to cumming, and you’re not far behind.

You wish you could move back against him. You wish you could do more than just bend over with your ass in the air and take what he gives you. You want to make him feel good too, but you struggle to find your strength and your mind is too clouded with lust and pleasure to even begin to move.

You’re stuck as a moaning mess for Matt to use — not that you’re complaining.

The only thing you can do is tighten your cunt around his cock in hopes it will do something to make him feel as good as he’s making you feel, and he gives you one big thrust before he stills, his cock pumping long spurts of cum deep within your pussy as he hits his climax.

The feeling alone sets you off into your last orgasm of the night, your body tingling at the warmth that spreads through you. He’s panting heavily behind you, slowly rolling his hips to ride it out, and he grins when he feels your body convulsing.

Matt takes his time pulling out of you, stroking your lower back tenderly. Once you’re free, your body flops down to the carpet, the air knocking out of your lungs from the harsh impact, leaving you gasping for air as you try to regulate your erratic breathing.

You grimace a little when you feel Matt’s cum drip out of your pussy, making a sticky mess between your thighs and the carpet below you, knowing you’ll definitely have to go home after this and shower.

Mustering up enough of your strength, you try to turn your head to peer over your shoulder to see if Matt is okay, but a gasp fleets past your lips and your body stills when you feel Matt’s hands run up the backs of your thighs and to your ass, kneading your asscheeks before pulling them apart.

He leans down, leaving a kiss on your leaking pussy from behind. “Thank you for lettin’ me play with you.”

#©sturnioz #☆ drummer!matt #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo smut #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo triplets x reader #sturniolo triplets smut

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bunnylovesani · 11 months ago

Text

An Arrangement

Summary: You’re a princess taken from your home planet and forced to marry Darth Vader. Turns out life on the Death Star isn’t as bad as everyone makes out. Based on the prompt shared with @luminoustarlight !

Content warnings: p in v sex, degradation, sub dynamics, begging, some violence, slow burn smut

WC: 9.3k

You stare out the grand palatial window in the coronation room, passively observing the flames swallowing the city of your home planet Onderon. Unintelligible screams flood the background, soon mercilessly silenced by the thuds and cracks of brusquely operated laser guns.

So this is how you were to meet your end: powerless at the mercy of the imperial army. You’d been trained for such a scenario before and you always carried a vial of poison in the event of capture; you’d rather die than be made to serve the Empire’s twisted interests.

“Princess, you need to take cover, follow my men into the vault below!” Your faithful attendant, Silas called out in panic.

“No, Silas. I will not cower in the basement waiting for them to breach our walls. I will remain here and eagerly await them.”

“But Your Grace-!”

“Enough.” You bark back. “It’s over. You have been discharged from duty, run while you still can. Thank you for all your years of service, I pray that our paths might cross again in another life.” You turn from him, tears flowing down your stiffeningly cold cheeks.

“May the Maker keep and protect you, Princess. You are our only hope.” He replies solemnly, before fleeing through the stony back passage of the palace.

You chuckle mirthlessly at the futility of his words and reach into your bosom where the corset of your gown has a sewn-in compartment. You extract the compact glass ampule of viper venom, so toxic that one drop is enough to send you into an eternal sleep, and fiddle with the intricate bottle for a few moments. With a heavy sigh, you tuck it under your sleeve; you decided you wanted to gaze into the eyes of your captors before you bid farewell to life.

With a resounding crash, the barricaded gate before you falls and the imperial army- donning armour plastered in dust and foreign blood- swarm into the great hall of the palace. You force the knot in your throat down with a gulp and turn on your heel to face the brutes responsible for the massacre of your people.

“Ah Princess, excellent. We thought you’d be grovelling underground with your father but you’ve just made our job a whole lot easier.” A masked figure that you presume is the Commander of the battalion addresses you. “Grab her. But keep her alive, she’s got a special purpose to fulfil.”

Hearing the ominous plans they have in store for you, you rush to reach for the poison in your sleeve but are hindered by the stampede of soldiers hurtling at you, slapping the vial out of your hand and shattering it all over the nitid marble floor.

‘Ah, ah, ah. Don’t even think about it.” The unnaturally deep voice of the commander booms. “You’ve been specially requested at the behest of the Emperor.” Dread consumes you as you’re roughly cuffed and dragged out of the safety of your childhood home. The soldiers marching comes to a sudden halt and you’re made to turn around and stare at the palace, a deadly silence hanging in the air.

“Burn it.”

Triggered by the commander’s words, a roaring blaze fulminates, the building being crushed in an instant by the force of the explosion. All you can see is the reflection of smouldering flickers through the thick veil of tears filling your eyes.

The commander smugly trudges over to you, sharply inhaling. “Ah, there’s nothing better than the smell of a coward’s smouldering corpse.” He hisses, words dripping with venom. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

Your heart burned at the injustice, at the innocent civilians decimated- but you couldn’t fool yourself into pretending that scorn extended to your dearly departed father.

Refusing to reply to his provocation with anything other than an expectorated glob of spit aimed at his helmet, he takes the barrel of his gun and pummels it with brute force against your temple. You’re instantly rendered unconscious and your limp body is packed into the nearest starfighter, chained up and ready to make the journey from Onderon to the Death Star.

The first thing you do as you’re rudely awoken is cradle your aching head- a wave of nausea overtaking you and the electric pain behind your eyes knocking the air out of your lungs.

“Rise ’n shine, Onderon whore.” One of the soldiers grabbing you by the elbow spat and you stumbled to your feet like a newborn foal. After being dragged through a fortified steel tunnel, you were harshly thrown to the floor in a cold control room before two cloaked men, one of whom wore black combat boots- no doubt robust and heavy enough to crack open a skull. The light in the battle station glowed painfully bright and you lifted your head as best you could to observe the squabbling figures through squinted eyes.

“Here she is, my young Lord. I think she’ll do nicely, yes?” The ominously raspy voice croaked and you knew at once it was none other than Emperor Sheev Palpatine.

“She’s shivering.” The monotonous voice of the other cloaked figure stated callously and only then did you notice how your body was trembling- whether it was from the cold or the fear, you weren’t sure.

“You’ll have plenty of opportunity to warm her up on your wedding night.” He cackles wickedly but is met with silence from the man opposite him. The last thing you remember before it all went black was the light reflecting off of the quiet man’s helmet, and wondering what might be lurking underneath.

“Tskk poor thing, look at this cut on your head.” You flutter your eyes open to see a woman in a billowed white cloak tutting and fussing over you. “Good morning, princess.”

“Who are you?” You scowl, trying to get up and immediately being knocked back down by the overwhelming pain.

“Whoa, easy now! Nice ’n slow.” The woman puts her arm around your waist and helps you to sit up. “I’m Sabe, a royal handmaiden. Your handmaiden, to be exact.”

“Where am I?” You croak, uncertain you wanted to know.

“You’re on the Death Star, ma’am.”

Bile rises in your throat at the realisation that none of it was a dream- your recollection of the last 24 hours starts flooding in and your chest seizes in panic. The fire, the cloaked men, the people in the vault.

“You’re all right, just breathe. No harm is going to come to you. He’s made sure of that.” Sabe spouts and your head snaps at her.

“He?”

“Oh yes, Lord Vader gave orders for your protection. Under penalty of death. If you ask me, he just needs a woman’s touch to soften him up and he’d finally succeed in shaking that leech of an emperor off. Suppose that’s where you come in!”

“Me?” You screech, wondering when you’d say something not in the form of a question.

“Oh, you poor thing, you don’t know…the Emperor is arranging a wedding between his young protegee and a princess from a seized planet. The princess being you, if that’s not clear.” She continued chattering incessantly.

“Yes, I got that.” You snap. “And when is this supposed union meant to be taking place?”

“Tonight.”

You choose to remain quiet, rather than parroting back her last word in the form of yet another question.

After your handmaiden assists in bathing and dressing you in clean robes, you still can’t seem to escape the dull throbbing of the headache that permeates every cell of your body, leaving you in persistent agony. You beg Sabe to find something to help, knowing that you yourself weren’t allowed to leave the confines of the east wing. Stepping out onto the enclosed observatory space by your chambers, you stare out into the stars surrounding the vessel. You wished you could break beyond the thick glass enclave and just glide away, joining the stars and freeing yourself from the pain.

“Who hurt you?” A raspy voice questions and you turn around to the sight of Lord Vader, enveloped in his armour and mask.

“Uh, whoever the commander of the battalion was.” You reply, startled.

“He will be dealt with. Now come here.” He reaches his gloved hand out, signalling for you to grab it. With a great deal of uncertainty, you approached him, timidly giving him your hand. He takes it into his palm and holds it firmly to his chest. As if some force had siphoned the contusions and swelling out of you, you felt your agony slowly subside- until there was nothing at all in its wake.

“H-how did you do that?” You took a step back from him, holding your fingers up to your temple in disbelief. You’d heard of force healing before but assumed it was either a myth or a nearly lost practice only wielded by the most masterly of Jedi.

“Go back to your chambers and rest. You have a long ordeal ahead of you.” He leaves your question unanswered and marches out of the observatory as quickly as he entered it.

You’re compelled to follow his commands so you retreat to your chambers, forcing yourself to drink the healing tea Sabe concocted after having decided it was easier than explaining the bizarre experience you’d had. That was the dark Sith Lord that struck terror into the hearts of everyone who faced him? Ruthless, soulless, devoid of all human compassion- and channelling force healing to ease your headache? You spent all afternoon writhing in confusion, all the way up until a neatly packaged box was left on the doorstep of your assigned room. Upon closer inspection, the box contained an intricate white lace dress, paired with a beaded, scallop hemmed headpiece. A wedding outfit.

Standing at the forefront of the cold metallic arena, you twiddled with the sleeves on your dress- the material itching terribly and making your skin crawl. In a way, you were glad to have something occupy your mind beyond the impending prospect of marrying a Sith brute. You wondered why he wore that clunky helmet- is he so hideously deformed he has to hide behind it lest people faint at the sight?

A frightened-looking man you can only assume is the officiator of this sham of a wedding is escorted through the heavily guarded gates and takes his place before you, not daring to make eye contact. Your body fills with dread at the familiar sound of heavy boots dragging along the steel plates of the floor. He doesn’t spare you a passing glance for even a moment, despite your stubborn resolution to face him for the entirety of the ceremony- you wanted to look deep into the supposedly merciless eyes of your new husband. There aren’t any vows, there’s no exchange of rings, no kiss to celebrate the union- just some legal jargon and a couple of witnesses. Although you can’t see him, you can feel Palpatine’s snake eyes burning into you, no doubt observing from another room to ensure his mysterious plan came to fruition.

“Follow me.” A stormtrooper orders you and begins to head back in the direction of your chambers. Confused, you allow him to escort you out of the hall as you see a cloaked figure approach Lord Vader out of the corner of your eye. You just about hear the Emperor’s gravelly voice hiss out the word “consummate” before the doors shut behind you and you’re carried away to the bedroom. For some reason, the thought of sex hadn’t crossed your mind- you assumed villains like him had interests that surpassed such blunt mortal affairs - but now standing in front of your 4-poster bed, waiting for the sound of his heavy footsteps again, reality sunk in. You swallowed the thick lump in your throat and lay on the bed, removing the first layer of your dress and remaining in a white negligee. “Just lie back and think of Onderon.” You thought.

Your whole body tensed as you observed him enter your joint chambers, completely walking past you and going to the connecting bathroom, door left ajar.

“I’m ready, Lord Vader.” You stiffly announce, hoping to get it over with as soon as possible.

Hearing your words, he peers out of the doorway and although you can’t see his face, his body language seems perplexed.

“What are you doing?” He remarks accusingly.

“I-I’m…waiting for you to consummate our marriage. Like Palpatine wishes.” He scoffs at your comment- laughs even- and goes back into the bathroom.

“I will do nothing of the sort.” You hear him say.

Sitting up on the bed and dragging the covers over your exposed body, you’re bewildered.

“Oh, c-can Sith Lords not…?” You stutter, searching for an explanation.

“I assure you I’m perfectly capable.” He snaps back. “I just have no desire for the task.”

Although relief floods your body, you feel slightly offended at the presumption that lovemaking with you should be a task.

Just then, you hear a steamy hissing sound, followed by a loud thud. The figure emerges, back facing you without his layers of armour- donning a simple black shirt and black trousers. He wanders over to the window at the far end of the room, staring out into space.

“I’m sorry about your father.” He grunts after a while and you finally hear his voice- free from robotic static, with no menacing growl - just him, and it sounds beautiful.

“Don’t be.” You say sincerely, fixated on the back of his head. You notice he has dark blonde curls, gathering in tufts at the nape of his neck. “Come on, turn around.” You think, bracing yourself for what you might find.

“Alright, if you insist.” He remarks and you scowl in confusion- you didn’t say that out loud, did you?

He pivots round to face you and you feel as though someone has knocked the air from your lungs: he glares at you with mesmerising cobalt-blue eyes, embellished by abundantly thick lashes and even thicker eyebrows sitting atop his handsomely chiselled face. His cheekbones stand at attention, enhanced by his sculpted jawline, which works in perfect harmony with the rest of his body- even his collarbones are perfect. He’s full of sprightly vigour, he’s young even. You are floored and contemplate how anyone could hide such a face away in that clunky helmet.

“Not what you were expecting, huh?” He speaks, sensing the utter shock his appearance has inflicted on you.

“You…you’re-” You stutter.

“Not hideously deformed?”

“-beautiful.”

He raises his bushy eyebrows disapprovingly and you scold yourself for being so forthright. He may be devilishly handsome, but that doesn’t mean you can swoon over him. He’s a monster, remember? Sure, he has the most seductive pair of lips you’d ever seen on a man - all plump and the perfect shade of pink- and sure, he’s sparked a desire within you that you don’t think you’d ever felt before but…where were you going with this?

“I’m going to sleep in the adjoining room, you can take my chambers.” You’re snapped out of your dreamy haze by his velvety voice as he begins to walk away.

“Wait! Y-you don’t have to, I’m sure the bed is uncomfortable over there.”

“No, it’s perfectly fine.” He continues marching away.

“Wait! The bed here is more than big enough for the both of us, we wouldn’t even touch.” You stumble over your words, melting under the scrutiny of his gaze.

“Do you want me to sleep with you, Princess?” His movement comes to a halt and you’re rendered speechless. “Because that really would be something. Captured and brutalised after all that you hold dear is set alight, forced to marry a servant of evil- and then you request his company in your bed? That would be deranged. You’re not deranged now, are you Princess?”

Your mouth goes dry at the snarky way in which he’s talking to you- you admit it sounds mad out loud but the situation is more complicated than he thinks.

“N-no.” You mutter, barely above a whisper.

“Good, I wouldn’t want to find out I’ve married damaged goods.” He remarks impertinently. “I’m retiring for the evening- and I am not to be disturbed.” With that, he slams the door between you shut and you slide down your headboard, consumed by embarrassment, shame, desire. His dastardly good looks have really thrown a spanner into the works.

You barely managed to get any sleep that night, much like every night the week following the wedding. Your dreams were plagued by visions- of your father, of your captors, of your husband. Before your seizure, you already knew your future would hold a forced marriage; although an even less desirable one. Your father had plans to marry you off to your cousin, a brainless specimen by the name of Fester who was too dim-witted to even realise he was being used as a pawn in the family’s bloodline feud.

Despite your many attempts to plead and beg your way out of this union, your father dismissed you entirely- even going so far as to sanction you to the confines of your stuffy quarters, striking you remorselessly when you defied his orders.

You’d spent a lifetime dreamily peering out of your windows, waiting to be liberated by a saviour that never came- at least not in the way you thought.

Lord Vader was never present, aside from a very brief juncture in the evenings, when he would pass through your chambers on the way to his bedroom. You tried to make conversation but he either stared at you with dead, unamused eyes or flat-out ignored you. Asking him what he did during his working hours was not one of the things you tried to speak about- much preferring to stay in ignorant bliss- and he was more than happy to not be at the receiving end of your questions for once.

Growing increasingly tired of questioning your purpose on this wretched behemoth of a ship, you took the liberty of posting yourself outside his bedroom that night, waiting to block his exit until he at least acknowledged your existence. You’re ashamed to admit that you selected your nightwear especially for him- tonight choosing to wear the thinnest of slip dresses in the pathetic hopes that he might be drawn in by your pert chest.

As is routine, you hear the doors to your chambers swing open and are greeted with the welcome sight of the young Lord, who strides over to you intimidatingly. Removing his helmet and towering before you, you gulp at not just the height difference- but the sheer broadness of his shoulders compared to your slender ones.

“Move.” He states, glaring at you unaffectedly.

“No. I’m not going anywhere until you talk to me.” You stubbornly huff and you think you spot a glint of amusement in his eyes.

“You don’t give the orders around here, Princess.” He asserts as he lifts you up by the waist with ease and drops you out of his way like you were a meagre traffic obstruction. You’re filled with disbelief as he enters his room, shutting the door in your face. “At least he didn’t slam it tonight.” You ponder.

Slouching down the door defeatedly, you pout as you hear him undress, desperately in need of an explanation.

“Please.” You plead pitiably, not expecting him to hear you.

You almost fall to the floor as your backrest swings open, and you lift your head to see him, sighing above you.

“What is it?”

“I-I just wanna know some things.” You mutter, cradling your knees on the floor.

“Then talk.” He taps his foot impatiently.

“Well uh- for starters, why am I here?” You rise from the floor to face him. “Why did Palpatine want you to marry me?”

“He wants me to sire a son- to ensure his plans can be carried out should I be otherwise indisposed.” He looks away coldly.

“I don’t understa-“

“Palpatine will live into his 200s. I am only human. If I am killed, he wants another apprentice to bend to his will, one just as strong with the force.”

“So why haven’t you attempted to do any siring yet?” He looks at you with a look of intense shock, disgust even. Of all the things he’s said, you take issue with his lack of action in the bedroom.

“I refuse to participate in this charade. He’ll see that you’re barren after a while- and we’ll dispose of you accordingly.”

“But I’m not barren.” You interject, dismissing the latter part of his sentence.

“It would be in your best interests to pretend you are.” You’re beguiled by his smooth voice and find yourself yearning to hear it all night. “I’ve brought someone to keep you company, hopefully with them in attendance you’ll be less inclined to seek my attention.”

“Another handmaiden? Ah, spare me- the current one is more than irritating enough on her own.” You shudder at the thought of 2 Sabes, prattling in your ear all day.

“No, I’ve ordered for the capture of your former attendant. I believe you were quite fond of him- Silas, is it?”

Your heart seizes, he’s alive? More importantly, he’s being brought to you? You stare at the scowling face of your husband, who looks afraid you might try to do something overly affectionate.

“A purely self-indulgent measure. To prevent any future ambushes like the one tonight.” He backtracks, attempting to impose some distance but you disregard it entirely. “If that’s not enough to keep you occupied, you can also have access to my private library - Silas will be waiting for you there tomorrow.”

“Thank you, my Lord,” You whisper, throwing caution to the wind and wrapping your arms against his waist, face snugly pressed into his firm chest. You feel him tense up at the intrusion, but he relaxes ever so slightly with an exhale, hovering his arms above your own- careful not to let them touch lest he give you the impression he’s embracing you back.

“Call me Anakin.” He mumbles softly.

You wake up the next day, your chest feeling lighter than it has in years. Bounding out of bed, you instil deep confusion in Sabe, who enters your room with fresh clothes.

“Having a good morning?” She asks.

“I think actually, yes. Yes, I am.” You reply resolutely, allowing her to dress you without your usual complaints as she tightens your corset.

“Might this have anything to do with Lord Vader?” She raises an eyebrow, consumed with curiosity.

“Perhaps. Or perhaps I see that my new life might not be so bad after all. I believe I have someone waiting for me, you’re dismissed for now, Sabe.” You waltz out of your chambers to the library that Anakin mentioned you were granted entrance to.

You enter the room and stare in wonder at the rows upon rows of polished shelves, furnished with all kinds of large, leather-bound books. Among the volumes of publications is a tall, spindly man- standing with his back turned.

“Silas!” You cry out and dart towards him, colliding against him in a tight embrace.

“Princess! Let me look at you, are you hurt?” He grabs your face, inspecting it for any cuts or bruises.

“No, no I’m perfectly fine!” You smile.

“How could you possibly be fine? I heard about the wedding- it’s a scandal, it’s a disgrace! The intergalactic senate will hear about this- I promise I will get you out!“

“Silas, it’s okay, I’m being treated well here.” Your reply sends him into a stunned silence.

“You’ve been married to a Sith Lord. A princess of the purest blood made to intermingle with the lap dog of the Emperor. I don’t even want to think about what you’ve been forced to do here to survive.” He shudders.

“I haven’t been made to do anything. And Anakin really isn’t that bad once you get to know him a little.”

“Anakin?” Silas almost breaks out in hives at what he’s hearing.

“Yeah, that’s his real name. And oh, Silas, he’s so handsome!” You clamber on, reading the titles off a nearby bookshelf and digging for something that might take your fancy.

“I don’t believe this. One week under captivity and you’ve been brainwashed already.” He takes his head into his hands.

“I haven’t been brainwashed.” You chuckle. “Anakin is the one who brought you here. Just for me. And he lets me have the nicest quarters on the ship- and I’m allowed private access to the whole library!” You gush.

“So he’s built you a very pleasant cage. Fantastic. Just because your prison has a nice interior doesn’t make it your home.”

“Well, it’s no less of a prison than Onderon was. At least in this one, my marriage isn’t incestuous.” Silas’s eyes widen beyond measure at the boldness of your statement and he takes a seat before he collapses.

“He used the force to heal me when I was in pain.”

“And what caused you to be hurt in the first place?” He snaps back accusingly.

“Silas, listen to me.” You kneel beside him, taking his hand into your own. “I’ve spent too many years worrying about the fate of my future, cursing the Maker for how little control I had over my own destiny. No more. I can only take life as it comes in small waves- I have relinquished control. This is my new home now.”

With a heavy sigh, Silas nods- looking away as if unable to process your revelation.

“Come on, there’s someone I want you to meet.” You say, mischievous twinkle in your eye.

The remainder of the day is spent flicking through various books, amassing a pile of them in your bedroom so high that you could barely see Sabe’s head poking through when she entered.

“Um, m’lady? If you won’t be requiring anything else for the night, can I retire? Silas and I were thinking of wandering down to the observatory by my quarters…”

“Of course, Sabe, enjoy.” You chuckle as she meekly smiles and exits your room. You knew they’d hit it off, one perennial chatterbox with another. Flicking through the last page of the first edition volume of The Tragedy of Darth Plagueis the Wise, you hummed discontentedly. “What a terrible ending.” You thought as you inspected the piles on your floor for the second volume. You suspect you must’ve left it in the library when you were packing your books onto the trolley so you wrap a thin robe around yourself and march down the hall. You notice the lights already burning as you enter the library cautiously, peering your head through to see Anakin, sitting on an armchair and reading something out of a thick, metal-encased manual.

“What’s your book about?” You query as you approach him slowly.

“It’s a story about a very naughty princess who loves to go looking for trouble.” He sneers, lip curling up into the shadow of a smile.

“No, it’s not!” You titter as you pry over the bind, seeing various starfighter diagrams and mechanical cross-sections.

“What do you want now?” He shuts the book promptly.

“I just came to collect something I left behind.” You reply innocently.

“I trust you’re enjoying my collection, then.” He looks up at you for the first time and your breath catches in your throat at the sight of his dreamy eyes.

“Oh yes, it’s very impressive. I didn’t think Sith Lords read so much.”

“They don’t.” He gets up from his chair, sauntering over to a nearby shelf and picking out a specific book. “Try this, I think you’ll like it.” He throws the book in your direction and you catch it; observing the cover, you speculate it’s some kind of historical tale about a lost civilisation.

“Thank you, I’ll be sure to read it.” You tuck it under your arm. “Are you retiring for the night yet?”

“Yes, I’ll leave the library to you.” He gets up to leave but you stand in front of him.

“I was only here to get something, escort me back?” You ask and he looks you up and down before making a low grunting sound, something you can only assume is a sign of acceptance. He heads out the door and you follow, trailing behind him like a lost puppy.

“I never got to thank you.” You say as you enter your chambers, seizing the short moment you have to converse before he disappears into his bedroom.

“What could you possibly have to thank me for?” He rolls his eyes.

“For rescuing me.” You reach out to touch him by the arm but back down, courage failing you.

“You’ve lost your mind.”

“No, really. My circumstances back home were…less than ideal.” You stare down at your feet.

“I admit I find it peculiar that you don’t seem to be in mourning.” He notes, more intrigue in his tone than you’re used to.

“Would you be in mourning over a man who oppressed and rebuked you at every turn?”

“I see. I suppose that explains your…unorthodox behaviour.” For the very first time, he takes a seat on the chaise lounge by your bed- does he actually want to have this conversation with you?

“I guess you could say that. After he locked me up in the palace and forced me to accept my cousin’s betrothal, I abandoned all hope for the future and resigned myself to perpetual misery. And then you came along.” He squints his eyes, looking almost frustrated with your positivity.

“Are you sure you understand the situation you’ve found yourself in? You’re aware you’ve been abducted- forced to spend every day locked up here, never to see your planet or familiars again? Forced to play wife to me?” He gawks incredulously.

“You’re not as bad as you make out.” You smile at him. “And you’re certainly very easy on the eyes.” You look for changes in his demeanour but it remains unaffected. “Would you have preferred it if I was terrified and unwilling to go near you?”

“Terrified? Of course not, the thought of it sickened me. Unwilling to go near me? I’m not sure I’d mind.” He states and you wonder if that was his way of making a joke. “I regret that you’ve been ensnared into this. I wish it could’ve been different.”

“I don’t.” You pluck up the courage to sit beside him, placing your hand on his leg. “I can see there’s goodness within you. It’s almost tangible in the way you treat me.”

“Clearly I’ve given you the wrong impression.” He mutters gruffly, visibly uncomfortable. “And you can stop wearing those little dresses around me. All you’re going to succeed in doing is get frostbite.” He pushes your hand off him.

“Do you find me that repulsive?” You question sharply, tired of being made to feel undesirable. “I’ve been told my looks rival that of some of the fairest Princesses in the galaxy. Is a man like yourself so completely cold to the affections of women?”

“I fail to see how that is relevant.” He dismisses.

“It’s relevant because I’m tired of my bed being cold. You chose to marry me, now act like a husband!”

“What choice? I had no choice!” He shouts back and your blood runs cold when he stands towering over you.

“That makes two of us. But I fail to see what good can come from sulking about it.” You lower your tone.

“You’re that desperate, huh?” He sneers condescendingly.

“So what if I am?” You throw caution to the wind, fully aware of the way you’re debasing yourself right now; after the breadcrumbs of affection he’d been giving you, you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Fine.” He says, making his way over to the bed, ripping off his shirt.

“W-what are you doing?” You murmur as he undresses and positions himself in the middle of your stately bed.

“I’m ready, Princess.” He mocks, parroting what you’d said to him on your wedding night. “You wanted to fuck me, right? Well here I am. At your royal disposal.”

“N-not like this.” You mutter, trying not to stare at his firm pecs or chiselled abdomen.

“What’s the matter? You’ve been prancing around in those little dresses all week, practically begging me to give you a scrap of my attention and now I’m in our marital bed, you’re too scared?”

“I’m not scared, I just don’t want to feel like I’m forcing myself on you.” You mutter quietly, drained of all confidence.

“You’re worried about all the wrong things. Palpatine told me to brutalise you to within an inch of your life, you know that? To take all my anger out on you and make you pay for the sins of your family. And you’re worried about whether you’re taking advantage of me. I fear I have been too soft. You seem to forget who you’re speaking to.”

“But you didn’t.” You sniffle.

“What?”

“But you didn’t do those things. You’re a good man, Anakin.” Your voice softens and you climb up the bed to join him, allowing your gaze to linger on the small line of blonde curling hair starting from his belly button, travelling down to what lay underneath his underwear.

“No. I haven’t quite lost all my humanity.” He breathes heavily, seemingly noticing your staring.

“Let me show you my appreciation.” You bit your lip and bravely met his intense gaze. He doesn’t respond, the only noticeable reaction being his eyes wandering down to your breasts, thin material doing little to conceal your pert nipples.

“Do you wish to see me?” You ask, fingers toying with the straps as he huffs slightly, acting as though this were beneath him- but still remaining silent. You shrug the material off, revealing your round, perky breasts to him. You think you can see something twitching in his boxers but you can’t be sure.

“Can I?” You ask, gesturing to sit on his lap but he remains speechless. “Please, my Lord, I need to hear you-“

“Yes.”

A grin spreads across your face as you mount him, completely bare. Putting your hands on his chest, you move your hips a little to feel him. Not that you were expecting any less for a man of his stature, but you felt yourself getting soaked at his formidable size; he was surely 8 inches, and just as satisfyingly thick. Your eyes fall to his pretty face and you’re overcome with the urge to kiss him all over. Reaching down to plant small kisses over his temple and cheeks, you feel him stiffen even more.

“What are you doing?” He grumbles.

“Shut up and kiss me.” You pant as you capture his lips in a soft kiss, brushing them against each other. You can feel him almost fighting the urge to hold you so you take the initiative and grab him by the jaw, kissing him deeply and passionately. You think you hear a moan slip out of his mouth but when you pull away, he’s still got the same cold expression on his beautiful face- brows slightly furrowed and lips pursed in disaffection.

“If you’re waiting for me to make a move, it’s not going to happen.” He sighs, looking fatigued. A quiet rage simmers within you. You’ve had suitors lining up at the palace gates since you were a teenager and now this glorified servant is behaving as though he is the prize. You craved the chance to teach him not to underestimate you, to make him see you were special. “On another occasion, perhaps.” You thought. Tonight, you just wanted to make him writhe beneath you.

“If you’re going to be making snarky comments all evening, I’m going to stuff my panties in your mouth to silence you.”

“What panties? You didn’t wear any.” He grins and your chest sets alight. However brief it was, it’s the first time you’ve seen a genuine smile. His teeth were pearly and straight, and his smile broad enough to reach across his whole face in a bright, radiant flash. You felt like your day had gotten better just by being witness to it.

“Why do you always do that?” He breaks your trance.

“Huh, do what?”

“Disassociate. You stare right through me when you do it.”

“M’sorry. I can’t help it.” You feel a fierce shyness overcome you.

“You find me that handsome?”

“Yes.” You whisper. You have no idea why you’re admitting to it.

“Is that why you don’t mind being married to me?” He continues and you’re confused by the volume of questions coming your way- it’s more than he’s talked to you all week.

“Partly.” He smirks a little at the ego boost and places his hands on the back of his neck, arm muscles flexing as they’re extended. You trail a line from the centre of his chest down to his abdomen with the tip of your index finger, stopping as you reach the band of his boxers. You look up at him and he raises an eyebrow at you, almost daring you to go further. Toying with the band for a little while, you steel yourself and pull them down in one prompt motion. You have to hold in a wince as you take it in- in all its thick, veiny glory. With a shuddery breath, you savour the view before you: his strong, toned arms trailed down to his athletic torso, v-line achingly defined and sloping down to his large, pink-tipped member. “Even his dick is pretty.” You mentally cursed. His smirking, confident simper never faltered, not feeling a fragment of insecurity for even a moment.

Knowing you weren’t going to get any warming up from him, you lifted your hips and angled yourself up, tip kissing your entrance. Maintaining eye contact, you slowly sunk down on him, lowering yourself gradually until your bare skin brushed against the curls around the base of his cock. He shuts his eyes for a moment and exhales lightly, pretty lips forming into a small o shape. You try to subdue the overwhelming feeling of being filled so deeply, not wanting to stroke his ego even more than you already have. You begin to move, riding him very slowly and focusing on his chest as it rises and falls, eyes watering at the sensation of being stretched out. Worrying that he’s going to question why you’re going so slow, you begin to speed up even though it aches.

“Slow down.” He speaks softly. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

“As if you care.” You huff.

“Don’t get on my bad side, Princess.” He shoots you a deadly glance and you slow back down, knowing better than to disobey him. It takes you a good while to accommodate to his size, oo’s and aa’s escaping your mouth every time you straighten up and sink down on his cock a little too deeply- but after the adjustment period, you start to ride him confidently. Your tits bounce with a hypnotising jiggle as you smack the flesh of your ass against his thighs, wetness drenching you both. Noticing how his arms lay by his side, you grab him by the wrist and lay them on your hips. He grips onto them slightly for a moment, but quickly releases and lets them fall back down to his sides. You whine a little, starved of affection. You were bouncing on his cock yet you still felt like you weren’t close.

“Please?” You moan.

“You wanted this, not me. I said I’m not participating, didn’t I?” His voice rings out, completely unaffected while you were a panting mess.

“Don’t pretend like you’re not- ah- enjoying it. F-feels good, doesn’t it?” You stutter, feeling his tip prodding that spongy spot within you that threatens to be your undoing.

“It’s fine.” He replies, still refusing to engage in any meaningful way.

“Oh come on, Anakin! Give me something.” You feel like you’re one snarky comment away from resorting to begging.

“I’ve given you my cock. What more do you want out of me?”

“I want you to talk to me, I want you to touch me. To be present!”

“And I want for my wife to not be such a whore.” Your mouth gapes open at his harsh words, but you continue bouncing, getting too close to stop now. “I mean seriously, you’re being held hostage and all you can think about is getting fucked? There’s nothing in that little brain of yours other than visions of me fucking you, is there? I’ve seen them.”

You moan at his degrading words- if you weren’t so cock drunk, you might be ashamed of the way you’re allowing him to speak to you.

“Oh my God, are you gonna cum from me talking down to you? Does me calling you a stupid whore get you off?” He rambles and you can’t stop yourself from turning into a whimpering mess, moans spilling out at every turn and unintelligible groans flooding the room as you bounce on his cock.

He reaches up towards you and you think he might be pulling you in for a kiss but instead, he hooks his fingers into the corners of your mouth, stretching it out. You babble out disjointed syllables, too overwhelmed to establish a rhythm that isn’t completely sloppy.

“The fuck are you even saying right now?” He laughs and oh god, there’s that smile again- if his cock wasn’t enough, now his grin is making your legs feel like jelly.

“What are these dumb little sounds you’re spluttering out? You sound like an idiot.” The lewd squelching noises increase in intensity as you fall apart on top of him in a sudden climax- pleasure hitting you like a truck and nearly knocking you out. You pant on top of him, trying to catch your breath with your head resting on his chest. He clears his throat after a minute and you shuffle off him, laying your head on the nearby pillow instead.

“Wow. That was…did you not cum?” It occurs to you that you’d just used him for your own pleasure.

“Of course not.” He gruffly responds, legs still spread and cock exposed, glistening with your arousal. “I have self control.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask and he turns to face you.

“You’re like a bitch in heat. It’s not very princess-like of you.”

“Well, I’m not a princess anymore. I’m a Sith Lord’s wife.” You counter.

“Wives don’t ride like that.” You know he didn’t mean it as a compliment but you chose to take it as one anyway.

“Aren’t you going to cover up?” You point at his exposed body while you clutch the crisp white sheets around yourself.

“Why should I?” He snaps back and you’re taken aback by his show of confidence. And you certainly weren’t complaining.

“Yeah, I bet you aren’t.”

“Okay, you’ve got to stop doing that! It’s unnatural.” You complain.

“I don’t ordinarily pay such close attention to these things but your mind is so dirty.”

“Oh yeah? What have I been thinking about in the last couple minutes then?”

“You’ve been wondering how I’m both a shower and a grower, how you’ve never been so wet before - oh, and how you want to fuck me again.” Your cheeks redden at his painfully accurate observations- and you feel his vulgarity plant a renewed desire within you.

“Really, you want another round? Fine. Hop on.” He sighs, tapping his thigh. You stare at him affectionately with a smile as if to say “really?” and you clamber over him again. You only have to press your dripping body against him once and he quickly hardens again, tip oozing with precum. You waste no time impaling yourself, pussy swallowing him greedily- slightly sore but still stretched out enough to take him with ease.

“Anakin, please.” You mumble, reaching for his hands- needing to feel them on your skin.

“What do you want?” He replies breathily.

“Please, touch me.” You slide up and down his shaft, body racked with delirious pleasure. “Pleasepleaseplease - please Anakin!” He scoffs smilingly at how you’ve been reduced to a needy mess before he’s even put an ounce of effort in. “Do you want me to beg? I’ll get on my knees and beg- please, touch me just a little, please Ani-“

“Alright, alright, enough!” He stops you and you wince at his harsh tone, wishing that just for once, he’d be gentle with you.

“I’m sorry, it’s okay. I’m right here.” He reaches out and wraps his hands around your dainty waist, right arm gradually trailing up your body. His knuckles brush against your cheek tenderly before he wraps his strong hand around your jaw and pulls you in for a kiss. You squeak in shock at the unexpected affection as your breasts press against his chest, one hand squishing your soft flesh and the other wrapped up in your hair.

“Mmm, Ani.” You hum, your deepest craving finally quelled.

“No one’s called me that in a really long time.” He mumbles into the kiss, sliding both hands down to your ass cheeks and gripping them firmly.

“Is this what you wanted?” He asks as he slides you on and off him, commanding your movements with his strong grasp.

“Oh God yes, fuck Ani- ah.” You gasped as he began lifting his hips and fucking his cock into you, fingernails digging into your hips. “‘m not gonna last much longer if you keep go -oh, just like th- aah.”

“You don’t need to.” He whines, finally allowing himself to utter his own sweet sounds.

“Nuh uh, I-I want you to cum with me.” You whimper in his ear as you wrap your arms around his neck. Cradling you, he wraps one arm around your back and rests his other hand on the back of your head while drilling you with such vigour you almost black out.

“Shh, baby, shh- ’s okay.” He moans and your walls flutter at the heavenly sound. Try as you may, you can’t stop the drool that streams out of your mouth, fucked so dumb that you’re losing control over your senses.

“You’re close, can feel you gripping me.” He sputters, barely audible over the sound of your squeals. “You want the whole ship to hear you, huh?”

“I want them all to know who I belong to.” You manage to get out clearly, trying to get a handle on your faculties. Rising up from being tucked into his neck, you start bouncing on him with the excitement of a little bunny, so desperate to bring him to his release. You look down at him, eyes screwed shut, gnawing on his bottom lip and you feel how furiously his eager cock throbs inside you.

“Want you to fill me up.” You warble, dropping your hands to lay on either side of his face, soft locks brushing against your wrists. “I wanna be yours.” You stare into his eyes, which have just fluttered open, eyebrows knitted close together.

“You’re already mine.” He whispers, grabbing you by the waist and turning you over in one swift motion, your back hitting the plumpness of the bed. Before you can take a breath, he slams into you again and your back arches from the overstimulation.

Hooking his arms around your thighs and pulling you deeper into him, he roughly pounds against you, cock gliding into your sensitive core. You try to focus yourself, gnawing on your lip and mentally repeating: “You can’t cum this quickly again.”

“Oh yes, you can.” He asserts mischievously, speeding up his sloppy strokes until your eyes roll to the back of your head. You grip the sheets around you, trying desperately to hold on for just a few seconds longer.

“Don’t you dare.” He growls, slapping against you roughly. Beads of sweat trickle down his defined pecs, down to the creamy mess where your bodies meet. With one final gloopy thrust, you scream out his name and collapse entirely, body convulsing with pleasure as he moans at the sight, burying his face into your thigh.

“Goddamn…” You hear him mutter as he continues using your body like a toy, dragging you onto him in a way that you don’t even notice in your cock drunk stupor. You hear a glorious groan escape his lips as he pulls out, painting your body with his creamy white cum.

“Why’d you pull out?” You whine, completely spent and feeling woefully empty now that your bodies weren’t connected anymore.

“You know why.” He exhales as his head hits the pillow beside you. “I refuse to let a child come into this.” You huff a little but feel too exhausted to argue.

Shuffling over, you test his boundaries by leaning your head against his shoulder. When he noticeably stiffens and backs away a little, you sit up hastily to face him.

“Really, Anakin? You’re still not comfortable around me?”

“I’m as comfortable as I need to be.” He murmurs and you let out a fussy whine.

“I’ve just given myself to you entirely and you can’t even hold me after? Please, Ani, you’re making me feel really-“

“Fine! If it’ll get you to be quiet.” He pulls you in swiftly, his strong arm wrapped around you protectively and you let out a satisfied hum while he shakes his head- no doubt wondering how he got stuck with such a petulant child.

The days that followed were full of you waltzing around the ship, lost in your daydreams. Anakin had been dispatched to a different system for a mission and much to your displeasure, wouldn’t return for several days yet; you never knew exactly how long his journeys would last, you only knew they were doubtlessly too long. You missed him dearly - and if the way he hugged you back before he left was any indication- you were growing on him too.

After enthusiastically getting through the book Anakin recommended, he told you that he’d left a stack out by his desk in the library- a personally hand-picked selection that he believed you’d enjoy. Your heart fluttered at the thought and you felt yourself keenly gliding over to it. You reminisced fondly about the way his soft hair felt when it brushed through your hands, how his dreamy eyes made you weak at the knees- how he had the prettiest cock you’d ever seen. You didn’t realise it was possible for someone to be so perfect- so what if he had an unsavoury pastime? It was a flaw you were willing to overlook if it meant you got to wake up next to that face.

Entering the library, you hum a chirpy song and float over to the desk where you find a neat pile of books in varying colours and sizes. Just as you were about to pick the first one out of the stack, Silas rushes in- scruffy and disorganised, looking over his shoulder.

“Princess! Princess, you must hurry. They’re here- they’re finally here.” He sputters, grabbing onto your wrist like a madman and leading you out.

“Slow down! What’s going on?” You question, wondering why you were running along with him.

“Oh but we must be quick, the stormtroopers can only be held off for so long! Sabe is leading the distraction-“

“What are you talking about?”

“Word finally reached them, they’re finally here!”

“Who? Who’s here?” You shout back, brain spinning in confusion.

“The Senate has sent an army - a rescue team for you!” Silas stares at you with crazed eyes, sweating with anxiety. “We can finally go home!”

“W-what?” You stutter, allowing him to lead you out to the docking bay where you can see a battleship undoubtedly belonging to the Galactic Republic- suspended midair awaiting boarding.

“Wait, wait, no.” You backtrack but the grip Silas has around your wrist is too strong to easily break from.

“You don’t mean to tell me you wish to stay here with that brute?” He glances back at you, face painted with disgust as he pushes on for the last few metres left until you reach the ship. “He doesn’t care about you.”

“That’s not true!” You shout, propellers buzzing over you with a furious intensity.

“Is that so? Then why isn’t he putting up a fight right now?” He gestures behind you and you turn around to where the observatory window is. There he is, standing behind the glass, looking at you calmly.

“Do you see? He doesn’t even care enough to stop you!” Silas digs his fingernails into your wrist as you reach the ship, doors unloading with a steamy hiss. “Get in!” He yells, pushing you forward with all his might.

He’s letting you go. He’s letting you leave.

“No!” You fight back, striking Silas across the face and sprinting out of his reach as soon as his grasp on you loosens.

“You idiot! Stay here and rot with those Sith devils!” He curses, clambering up the stairs and smacking the handle, signalling for them to shut. Tears course roughly down your face as you stand back and see the ship ascending before darting off into the distance in a beaming flash. Turning around, you run as fast as your feet will carry you, scrambling up to the observatory to the man you’d just abandoned life as you knew it for.

Throwing the doors open, you see him: mouth parted, eyebrows raised and a singular tear rolling down his cheekbone. You jump into his arms, colliding and entangling yourself with him.

“Why did you do that, huh?!” He grabs your face with both hands, kissing you desperately. “Why would you do something so stupid?” You break out into a sob as he mumbles against your lips. “I would’ve let you go, you could’ve left.”

“I know, that’s why I stayed.” You wrap your hands around his own, still in a firm grip around your face. “I love you, Ani.” You gaze up at him with such adoration he feels his cold heart bursting.

“I love you too.”

As soon as the words leave his beautiful lips, you leap to kiss them- trying desperately to memorise every detail and every sensation that belonged to this moment.

“I-I thought you would’ve surely left if you could.” He murmurs, struggling to break away from your lips. “Thought you were jus’ making the most out of a bad situation.”

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” You say sincerely, hoping he could feel the love you have for him pouring out of you.

“I don’t believe my eyes.” A dreaded raspy voice resonates across the room. “The Princess has fallen in love with my apprentice. And he seems to love her back? Now this is just precious.” Anakin stands in front of you protectively, pushing you back.

“She will prove to be useful in the future.” The Emperor hisses, glaring at you with an empty hunger in his eyes. “Now that she has demonstrated her loyalty.”

“It’s the last show of loyalty you’ll ever see.” Anakin spits as he draws his lightsaber from the left belt hook on his robes and strikes Palpatine, beheading him in one swift motion before he can even register what’s struck him.

“He always taught me that even the most powerful of enemies can be defeated-“ He turns to face you, retracting his glowing lightsaber. “with the element of surprise.”

A twisted grin creeps up on your face as he swoops you up like a true bride- lifting you with a firm hold and carrying you out of the room while you wrap your arms around his neck, planting kisses all over.

“I think it’s high time me and my wife got some privacy, don’t you think?” He gestures at the incoming stormtroopers, who confusedly back away after spotting Palpatine’s decapitated body. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

You giggle as he carries you to your chambers, throwing you onto the bed and peering out of the large doors one last time before shutting them with a loud clamber- ah, free from disturbance at last.

@erinkeifer @crazy4men @mortalheartache @arzua10

#hayden christensen #star wars fanfiction #darth vader #anakin skywalker fanfiction #anakin skywalker smut #anakin x reader #anakin fanfiction #anakin x you #star wars smut #sam monroe #life as a house #anakin x reader smut #anakin fluff #sw anakin #star wars anakin #darth vader smut

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teapartyprincess4two · 8 months ago

Note

Can i ask for a johnnie guilbert x reader where the reader is a friend of tara who is a very private person, so she gets know in the channel as "baby" and people start to notice that johnnie gets shy and is always looking somewhere off camera (to her)

A LOTTTT of pinning by johnnie (like so much it hurts)

And maybe at the end he confesses she kisses him and a lil sum-sum 😏

Thank uuuuu 😘

Babygirl- J. Guilbert

pairing: shy!reader x Johnnie

classification: fluff

warning: use of y/n, slight cursing, slow build up, Jake and Tara are dating in this, suggestive content but NO smut, very long

inspiration: request^^, Deaf, Mute, and Blind Baking, Becoming Tara Yummy for a Day

summary: You didn’t choose a life in the limelight, you were just famous by association, and now you’ve earned yourself the nickname “babygirl” by the entire internet.

—

Most people wish they had the fame you had, they spend their entire life reaching for an unattainable dream that fell in your lap by coincidence. They wish for the fancy cars, the expensive clothes, and especially to be so famous they’re stopped by fans on the street for a picture.

Tara, your best friend, was one of those people. She spent her childhood and teenage years fangirling over pop stars and YouTubers, hoping that one day people would be fangirling over her too. She worked hard to earn the platform she has today, bringing you along with her to the top. But you never asked for any of this.

At first her newfound fame didn’t affect you, you were just a recurring background character in her videos and would sometimes, but very rarely, have a main role in them. Although you tried remaining in the background, the internet is quick to get attached to shy, background characters and before you knew it the fans were begging for more content with you.

So now you and Tara are a well known YouTube duo and you’re featured in almost every one of her videos, most of the time opting to participate from behind the camera. You especially remain behind the scenes when Jake and Johnnie are involved, specifically because you’re never able to hide your crush on Johnnie and would probably die from embarrassment if the fans caught on.

Like today for example, Jake and Johnnie are over at your house filming. They’re filming a video they’ve filmed many times before, they’re turning Tara emo. The three of them are piled onto the couch, discussing topic after topic as Johnnie packs on black eyeshadow on Tara’s eyes.

“Ow, Johnnie. You’re hurting me!” she squeals as Johnnie accidentally pokes her in the eye with the bristles of the brush. You can’t help but giggle from behind the camera, watching as Johnnie becomes flustered. “Sorry! I only ever do my own makeup, okay?” he apologizes, not becoming any more gentle with his motions. Johnnie glances at you quickly, a smile forming on his face because of your laughter.

“Why are you laughing, Y/n? You’re next,” Jake chimes in, following his statement with a boisterous laugh. Your face flushes slightly as you reply with a laugh, “no I’d prefer not to be tortured.” Johnnie laughs at this, sending you a fake pout, “you hate my look that much?”

Your face becomes even more red, if that was even possible. You didn’t mean the comment like that. Tara, whose face is being attacked with makeup, chimes in, “No, Y/n is too babygirl for this.”

“Oh God, you’re making me sound so high maintenance,” you laugh, shaking your head in disbelief at Tara’s comment. “It’s true though!” she exclaims, turning to face you just as Johnnie begins applying eyeliner, causing a black streak to run from the corner of her eye to her hairline.

“Guys, Y/n is probably the most high maintenance out of the four of us. She gets a manicure exactly every two weeks, she gets her hair redyed like once a month, her room is NEVER dirty. She almost never ever has dirty laundry, AND she irons her clothes. Who irons their clothes?” Tara exclaims, flailing her arms in the air dramatically.

“So yes, she’s babygirl,” Tara’s talking to the camera now, completely oblivious to her appearance. You scrunch your name at the nickname, the internet tended to latch onto things like that, “First of all, you look ridiculous right now. And secondly, don’t call me that. I don’t need to be known as ‘babygirl’ for the rest of my life,” you reply, laughing as Johnnie tries to fix his mistake but fails.

Jake, who’s sitting on the couch next to Johnnie, straightens up and leans forward to look at Tara. He immediately laughs at the sight, the black eyeliner smudged all over her face. “You’re just mad that it has a nice ring to it,” Tara retorts, choosing to ignore the mess Johnnie made. You scoff, glad that the camera isn’t on you to catch how your eyes train on Johnnie.

“Okay, but doesn’t it sound cute?” Tara proposes the question to the boys, waiting expectantly for them to answer. Jake was always quick to agree with her, it was a trait she trained him to have over the years of their relationship, “yeah, it’s pretty cute.” Tara nods her head in triumph, turning to Johnnie for his response.

Johnnie doesn’t know what to say, he agrees that the nickname is cute, but he’s afraid he’ll say too much and expose his crush for you. “Johnnie?” Tara says, widening her eyes as she awaits his response.

“What was the nickname again?” Johnnie asks, trying to act casual. But if the cameras zoomed in they’d easily catch how his hands tremble as he fixes Tara’s eyeliner. “Babygirl?” he reiterates, attempting to sound confused and oblivious. Tara nods her head, causing Johnnie to mess up once again, but he’s too busy trying to keep his composure to care.

Coming from him the nickname doesn’t sound so bad, it actually makes you want to take back everything you just said. “Babygirl is cute,” he murmurs, sending you a small glance before quickly turning back towards Tara. You hide your face in your hands, trying to hide your flushed cheeks and the smile that won’t go away no matter how hard you try.

“Enough with the babygirl talk,” you groan, but you really loved hearing him say it.

—

From that moment on, you were known as babygirl within the fandom. You couldn’t escape the nickname no matter how hard you tried, and the fans loved teasing you about it. Whether it be through edits, Instagram comments, or tweets; the fans were always calling you the nickname.

Johnnie, Jake and Tara are currently filming yet another video, despite your protests. The three of them are standing behind the kitchen counter, with either tape on their mouths, earmuffs on, or blindfolded. They were trying to bake a cake, something they struggled to do even without the inhibiting factors, so all they were really doing was making a big mess.

They understand your hesitance with being on camera, so they never force you to make any special appearances, but you still loved to watch. You sit behind the counter, just out of view of the camera, watching in amusement as the three interact.

Johnnie keeps getting distracted by you, fumbling and stuttering his way through the intro. You watch as Johnnie struggles to find the supplies needed for the video, searching through every cabinet in the kitchen. “Every time Johnnie says he’s ready, he’s never ready,” Jake comments, adjusting the black beanie on his head. “Where the fuck did I put it? No, Jake where did you put it?” Johnnie replies, scavenging for the baking supplies.

“They’re in the pantry,” you comment, walking over to Johnnie briefly and guiding him towards the pantry. Johnnie smiles at you, grateful that there’s at least one sane person here to help him. The interaction was caught on camera, but you were too distracted to realize.

“Thanks babygirl,” Tara exclaims, bopping her head to the music blasting through her headphones. You roll your eyes, helping Johnnie take everything out of the grocery bags and sprawling them out onto the counter. Once everything is in order, Johnnie’s mouth is quickly covered with a sticker, but he’s happy he isn’t blindfolded because he can keep sneaking glances at you.

The entire situation was chaotic, none of them had any clue how to communicate properly and they had less knowledge on how to bake a cake. Jake’s arms were stretched forward as he tried finding his way through the kitchen, Tara’s loud singing making it hard for them to concentrate on one task alone.

Tara, who wore the headphones, was more focused on singing than the cake. You watch them intently, unable to stop yourself from laughing, “you need to whisk the cake!” Tara, who can’t hear a single thing you’re saying, repeats your statement causing you to burst into laughter.

Johnnie pulls out a plastic butter knife, deeming it appropriate for the task. “Get the beater!” Tara yells, following it by belting out song lyrics. Johnnie has no idea what Tara is talking about, so he sends you a pleading look. If there’s anyone here who’s going to help him finish this cake, it’s you.

“The whisk, get the whisk!” you exclaim, trying to talk over Tara’s singing as best as possible.

“What’s going on?!” Jake asks, one of his flailing arms slapping both Johnnie and Tara. Johnnie’s laughs are muffled by the sticker as he holds the whisk out for Jake, guiding him to the bowl.

“Babygirl?!” Tara is being so loud, her voice a good three octaves higher than normal. “Stop yelling!” you exclaim, but she ignores you and changes the song, continuing to belt out the lyrics.

“Y/n, we need your help,” Jake comments, stirring the bowl so aggressively that it was twirling. “We have no idea what we’re doing,” he continues, lifting the whisk up and blindly taking a lick.

“JAKE DON’T LICK IT!” Tara yells.

Johnnie’s laughter and shocked scream are muffled, his face scrunched up as he laughs uncontrollably, and you can’t look away. You wish you weren’t so shy, so that way you’d be able to join them in this fun activity without feeling anxious.

“This cake is going to be so bad,” you chuckle, catching Johnnie’s attention. His eyes linger on you for a little too long, a moment the fans were definitely going to clip and edit.

“What did you say?! Did you say my singing is bad?!” Tara is still yelling, following each and every statement with loud singing.

Many dirty dishes and a messy kitchen later, the cake is finally done. The oven rings throughout the kitchen, and Jake and Tara send Johnnie to fish the hot pan out. The cake didn’t look too bad, but considering you watched them make it, you weren’t too excited to actually try it.

“You have to wait until it cools to frost it!” Tara exclaims, the headphones causing her volume to be more than pleasant. Johnnie can’t respond because of the sticker, and he doesn’t want to wait for it to cool, so he continues haphazardly spreading the icing over the camera. Jake, on the other hand, is in his own world.

“That actually looks disgusting. It’s raw,” you gasp, watching as Johnnie lifts the spatula to reveal an uncooked, watery mess. “It’s undercooked!” Tara yells, her inability to hear you causing her to repeat everything you say in different words.

Johnnie’s muffled laughter is infectious, earning a string of laughter from you. “Let’s just eat it,” Jake suggests, facing the complete opposite direction of the group. The beanie on his head inhibits him from seeing the state of the cake, but even if he could see it, he would probably still ask for a bite.

“Wait let me help,” you get up from your seat and walk behind the countertop, immediately searching for something to serve the cake in. “This is gonna have to do it,” you hand Johnnie three plastic cups. He scoops up the raw batter, the liquid cake jiggling in the cup and running down the sides, immediately coating his fingers in frosting and batter.

“We’re gonna get salmonella,” Tara is staring at the goopy mess in shock, how had they managed to mess up such a simple recipe?

“I wanna see… I think we should take this off,” Jake yanks his beanie off, a fit of laughter attacking him as soon as he sees the state of the cake. Tara was subconsciously poking at it, creating a big hole in the center. Johnnie’s hands were full of chocolate frosting, and he held them up in exasperation as he waited for someone to remove the sticker from his mouth.

“Here lemme help you,” you murmur, gentle hands removing the sticker. Your touch lingers a little too long, but he doesn’t complain. If he had it his way, you’d have your arms around his neck and his lips would be on yours.

“Thanks, babygirl,” he whispers in return, loving how easily the nickname riled you up. You hated how much you loved hearing him say it.

“This is actually not that bad!” Tara’s boisterous voice breaks you two from the intimate moment, forcing you to reenter reality. “Try it,” Jake suggests, going back for a second scoop.

Johnnie is hesitant, but he grabs the cup and puts a spoonful of the raw cake batter in his mouth. His face contorts in disgust, but it couldn’t be that bad, could it? “Here let me try,” you take the cup from him, using his spoon to take your own bite.

As soon as the cake hits your tongue, you’re gagging. “Oh wow this is horrible,” you say, fighting the urge to throw up. They’re all laughing at your reaction, Jake pulling a long hair from his mouth in the process. “I love this hair, adds flavor.”

“Oh my God, I’m gonna throw up,” the hair Jake held between his fingers was only making the situation worse for you.

“See, she’s so babygirl,” Tara laughs, joking about the situation even if she found it equally as gross.

—

It seemed like your friends were always filming because every time the four of you hung out there always seemed to be a camera lurking not too far. Like today for example, Tara gathered everyone for a casual hangout, but once you arrived she explained that everyone was going to be living like her for the day. At first, you declined her invitation, making a lame excuse about not feeling good. But she begged and begged for you to be in the video, and before you knew it you were an integral part of it.

“Okay, since you guys are becoming me for the day, it’s only fitting that you dress the part. So, put on these track suits,” Tara says as she hands you, Jake, and Johnnie each a pink track suit. You’re trying to hide from the camera as much as possible, but Tara keeps pulling you back in every time you almost wander away.

The three of you shimmy into the outfits, immediately feeling the Tara Yummy essence wash over you.

“This is sexy,” Jake comments, admiring his figure as the sweatpants hang loosely from his hips. “I’m serving cunt,” Johnnie says, joining Jake in admiring himself. Their tattoos peeked through, contrasting the pink outfits entirely.

You emerge from the hallway seconds later, the track suit providing you with a newfound confidence, “I feel so stupid, but I also kinda feel like that bitch.” You stand still, allowing the camera to pan to you before hitting a dramatic pose. You turn around to show the camera the backside of the suit, the word babygirl written in curly white letters across your ass. “Slay, babygirl, slay,” Tara chimes in, strutting over to you and hitting the same pose.

“Let’s please not start with the babygirl jokes,” you groan jokingly, adjusting the sweatpants that kept riding up, you were starting to get a wedge. But you knew you weren’t going to escape the babygirl comments today, especially not with it written across your backside. It was like a label that you were forced to wear for the rest of the day, and the fans would surely seize the opportunity and run with it. To top it all off, the four of you were so well color coordinated that you looked like a 90’s girl group, ready to perform on stage at any moment.

“This is fun, but I still don’t understand why I’m being forced to do this,” you say, staring at Tara blankly.

“Because you’re my best friend,” she replies cheerily, offering you a big smile and booping your nose. It was hard to stay mad at her. She walks away, joining Jake as they engage in conversation.

“And you’re babygirl,” Johnnie teases, coming up from behind you unexpectedly, immediately causing a blush to form on your face. He loved watching you get flustered over the nickname. He laughs at your reactions, relishing every bit of it.

“Alright, first things first, time to eat. Mama’s hungry,” Tara says, ignoring yours and Johnnie’s interaction before facing the camera and leading everyone to the car. Jake and Tara are far ahead, leaving you and Johnnie to trail behind.

“It’s gonna be leaves,” Johnnie whispers to you, earning a laugh in response. He loved making you laugh. “Yeah, how much you wanna bet we end up at Health Nut?” you ask, settling the bet with a firm handshake between you and Johnnie. His hand holds a firm grip on yours, almost like he’s hesitant to let go as he says goofily, “$2, take it or leave it.”

As predicted, the four of you end up at Tara’s favorite restaurant; Health Nut. It’s no one else’s restaurant of choice, but you’re living as Tara for the day so it doesn’t matter what the rest of you want. You’ve been here with Tara enough to be familiar with the menu, so you order a simple salad and drink before moving to the side and allowing Johnnie to order. Once he’s finished ordering, he pays for your meals before letting Jake and Tara order.

Johnnie is playing it up for the cameras, trying to embarrass himself with his actions before the pink track suit does it for him. He’s sitting on a toddler chair and you stand next to him, choosing him as your comfort zone.

Because you always opted to remain behind the scenes, most of the viewers weren’t completely aware of yours and Johnnie’s dynamic. You two were always clinging to each other in uncomfortable or unfamiliar situations, making quiet jokes to make the other laugh. You both also had a huge crush on each other, which further served as a gravitational pull.

“Order for… babygirl?” the employee calls out, a hint of confusion in their voice as they read the name on the order. This immediately causes you to laugh out loud. “You did not do that,” you whisper shout at Johnnie, who held his hands up in feigned defense as he tries not to burst into laughter. You awkwardly grab the food, both of youwalking over to Tara and Jake’s table.

“Did they just call you babygirl?” Tara asks as soon as you’re sitting down. “Yes dude, fucking Johnnie told them that was my name,” you laugh, hiding your red face in your hands. They call out Tara’s name and she dismisses herself briefly to pick up the food.

“Let’s go!” She exclaims from the restaurant’s front door, bag and drink in hand as she pushes the door open and walks outside. “Oh, I guess Tara Yummy eats in the car,” Jake says sarcastically, the three of you following Tara to the car.

Once you’re in the car, you and Johnnie sit in the backseat while Jake and Tara occupy the front. “I wanted to eat in there, but you guys are so embarrassing,” Tara says, handing Jake his food.

She doesn’t give any of you enough time to respond, “you guys are already pretty embarrassing, but the pink track suits make us all look genuinely crazy.” She’s obnoxiously shaking her salad from the front seat, causing the entire car to rock.

“Damn, don’t gotta put your whole pussy into it,” Jake laughs, earning a sly remark from Tara. Soon, they’re lost in a conversation of their own, leaving you and Johnnie to talk quietly in the back seat.

“Why do you keep pushing this ‘babygirl agenda,’ sir?” You ask, both in true curiosity and to make light of the nickname. He blushes, mindlessly picking at the salad in front of him.

“Oh come on, don’t get all shy now,” you tease, piling up a good bite on your fork. He smiles at you awkwardly, preparing to admit something embarrassing.

“I think it’s kinda cute,” he admits with a shrug, taking a big bite of his food. Your eyes blow open in shock, this whole time you thought he was teasing you, but now it turns out he thinks it’s a cute nickname? “Don’t make fun of me,” Johnnie pleads in defense through a mouthful of food.

“I’m not, I just wasn’t expecting that,” you respond, trying not to be too loud. You couldn’t help it though, your giggles were soon filling the backseat. There was something about the confession that gave you hope that maybe you and Johnnie could be more than just friends. But you don’t want to get your hopes up, ir could easily all be for the video. You’re about to say something crazy and bold, but you’re cut off by Tara.

“Are you two done flirting? Cause I’m in the mood for coffee.” Leave it to her to ruin a sweet moment.

—

The day is finally over and the four of you are now wearing pajamas, reminiscing on the day’s events. Tara and Jake leave once the video is over, leaving you and Johnnie to lay on the large couch. The room is silent, but it’s not awkward, you’re both just catching up and joking.

“I was serious earlier, by the way,” he murmurs, staring at the ceiling above. “Yeah?” you say in a teasing tone, rolling over on your side so you’re facing him.

He takes a deep breath before continuing, “Yeah. If I’m being honest, I’ve had a crush on you for a long time. I’m surprised you haven’t noticed, I mean the fans definitely have.” You mindlessly play with the strings of your robe, subconsciously scooting closer to him.

“So that’s why you keep calling me babygirl?”

“Mmm yeah, mostly. I think it sounds cute,” he smiles down at you, your figure just slightly further down the couch. You feel a surge of confidence wash over you, something you don’t usually feel as a shy person, and straddle his lap.

He looks at you in shock, both arms limp at his sides. “Say it,” you whisper, moving your face dangerously closer to his. You use your hands to grab his, placing them on your waist. He feels excited, nervous, and shocked all at the same time, was this really happening?

You grind your hips down onto him, hoping to elicit a response from him. “Babygirl,” he whimpers, the sudden friction sending a shiver up his spine that has his hips bucking. You hum in response, finally inching close enough to connect your lips to his.

You’re in a heated make out session, completely obvious to the world around you. Johnnie’s hands are roaming your body, your hips are grinding down onto him, and your fingers are tangled in his hair. You kiss from his lips down to his neck, sucking and biting the delicious skin until you leave a hickey.

The situation is about to escalate, but Jake and Tara interrupt before it can. They saunter in loudly, both you and Johnnie jumping off of each other in shock.

“About damn time!” Jake says, applauding you both for finally make a move on each other. “Get it babygirl!” Tara laughs, joining Jake in his obnoxious round of applause.

“So annoying,” you groan, throwing a pillow at them and shooing them out. Once they’re out of the room, you and Johnnie share a sheepish look.

“You’re never escaping that nickname,” he chuckles, silently pulling you back on top of him. “That’s okay. If you’re the one saying it, I don’t mind,” you murmur, kissing him again.

“Okay, babygirl.”

—

MASTERLIST

a/n: Such a good request, I LUV being challenged with these specific requests!!! Hope I did it justice bby, I rewrote this like 5 times & had a different storyline each time. Also, I mentioned the famous hickey (💀💀) and I changed it from “baby” to “babygirl” because he mentioned that he’s “so babygirl” on Trisha’s podcast.

anyways, enjoy hunny bunches. Luv uuuuu

-L.A.M.B👼🏻💗

—

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note: requests are open, I will be writing as many as possible because you guys have sooo many good ideas. Please be patient 💗✨

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