#but what she was really looking at was even more lovely ;)
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that-sarcastic-writer · 3 days ago
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You’ve got my body, flesh and bone
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Obsessed!Rafe x nerdy!girl!reader
Summary: something was different about you, and rafe can’t stop thinking about you ever since you came home from college. He knows you want him, too, even if you don’t show it
Warnings: explicit sexual content, minors dni, penetrative sex, p in v, unprotected sex, cream pie, oral (fem receiving), fingering, obsessed behaviors, pervy behaviors (I think?), Rafe is down bad, reader is secretly naughty, dom!rafe, spitting, choking, bit of degradation, Rafe is rough and she likes it.
Wrote this with s2 Rafe in mind but he’s not as psychotic🥰 reader also wears glasses, hope you like being blind
WC: 5.5k I’m so sorry
A/N: NOBODY LOOK AT MEEEEE. Anyway I couldn’t help myself. Rafe and Drew are in my mind all day and I need them so bad so I wrote it! I dedicate this to the reason of my insanity @bloodibambiidoll love you doll for feeding me into crash out Rafe😩. This was heavily inspired by her own Rafe fics so def check her out!
Also tagging my other rafe baby @babygorewhore🩷
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There weren't a lot of things in this world that Rafe didn’t have. His whole life, anything he wanted, he had, at the palm of his hand. Whatever he wanted, he could do. And he fucking loved it. He didn’t know what it was like to crave something to the point of madness. Until you came around. 
He didn’t know what it was, that feeling deep inside his gut. He didn’t know if it was lust, or desire, or if he truly felt something for you. Perhaps he felt all three. But one thing he knew for certain. If he didn’t have you soon, he was going to cave someone’s face in. It didn’t help that you shot him down every time. The more you ignored him, the more he craved you. Albeit he knew he had a chance in high school and he didn’t take it then. But even he knew he was a prick then. More than he was now, anyway. Deep down he couldn’t blame you for not giving him a chance now, he didn’t want you when you were all quiet and had those ugly glasses, so why should he get you now that you were more confident and stopped giving a fuck what people thought about you? He had to admit, college made you hot as fuck. 
Rafe didn’t know it at first, but the first time he saw you at a party, your hair all pretty, your laugh so contagious he heard it across the room, your clothes hugging every curve of your body perfectly. His jaw fucking dropped. He almost didn’t believe it was you at first. Until he heard whispers about just how fucking hot you had gotten after college. He didn’t know it then, but his sanity was going to go downhill from there. 
That was a month ago, and he still couldn’t get you to give him the light of day. It was almost like you were running away from him, every time. And it pissed him off, really, it did. He craved your attention like he never before. Maybe he was getting soft. Or he was going insane. Either one.
The worst part? 
You were doing it on purpose. 
You caught on pretty quickly. After the first couple of times of catching Rafe blatantly staring at you whenever he saw you, you were curious. It wasn’t entirely outlandish, you were like an exotic animal, having come back to the island after graduating early from university. You didn’t change much, you just learned to manage your social anxiety and started putting more effort into your appearance. You didn’t understand why everyone made such a big deal out of you. But you ignored it for the most part. 
But you couldn’t ignore Rafe. His presence was intoxicating. Even if he didn’t approach you directly. You knew he was there. But you never made an effort to talk to him. You only ever talked to Sarah when you saw her. She was the one that pointed out Rafe in a corner, Topper talking his ear off but Rafe wasn’t paying listening to a word being said, he was looking at you. You, of course, brushed her off with the excuse you gave everyone. 
“He'll get over it, just give it a week.”
He did not, in fact, get over it. 
He thought you didn’t notice, but he followed you on instagram. Of course you noticed. How could you not? Your account was public, but you occasionally looked at who followed you. And the second you saw Rafe fucking Cameron followed you, you almost fainted. Suddenly, the stupid crush you had on Rafe at sixteen came flooding right back. You refused to get your hopes up, but the thought of Rafe quietly stalking your social media never left your mind.
You had no proof, but over the course of a month, you posted on your stories way more than you ever did in college, because you knew Rafe would see them. If you went to a party on Figure 8? Insta story. If you went to the beach? Swimsuit selfies. Felt pretty and did your makeup? Insta story. And what did you notice? Rafe always coincidentally seemed to end up at the exact place you were at. He never came alone, obviously. But he always hung out nearby, always within your line of sight. 
You were driving him mad, certainly. There's no way it was legal for you to wear a swimsuit like that. It actually made his blood boil knowing there were other guys blatantly eye fucking you. Only he should be allowed to do that. He angrily sipped into his cup, silently fuming as he had to stand and simply watch you laugh and run around with your friends, walking past him every time you got drinks for the bar. 
He swore he saw you grin at him one time, a devious and flirty look in your eyes when you made eye contact with him. And he was ready to grab you by the arm and drag you to his car and fuck you right then and there. But he decided against it. Somehow he had enough self control. But it was wearing thin the longer his torture dragged on. 
“Girl, what did you do to Rafe?” Your high school best friend asked you when you came back with your drinks. You frowned, tilting your head innocently. 
“To Rafe? Nothing. I haven’t even talked to him since I came back.” You answered with the truth. Though you purposely ignored what she probably meant. 
“He’s been like glaring at you the whole night. He hasn’t moved from there all night and he’s just looking at you.” She pointed out, more quietly now. And you couldn’t help but subtly shift your eyes in his direction. And indeed, your eyes met with his piercing blue ones. You’d be lying if you said your heart didn’t race the slightest bit when you caught him looking at you like that. He was looking at you exactly how you desperately wanted him to look at you in high school. 
“No idea what you mean. He’s probably just annoyed I’m hanging out with Sarah and her boyfriend. He probably thinks I’m encouraging her hanging out with the pogues.” You mumbled into your cup, shrugging as you quickly averted your gaze from Rafe. You weren’t sure if you wanted to convince her, or yourself.
“You’re better than me, because if Rafe Cameron looked at me like that I’d be dragging him to my car so fast.” She snorted and you almost choked on your drink. “I think you’re the only girl on this island he hasn’t fucked.” 
“Thank God for that.” You responded a bit too quickly, hoping to hide the slight bit of hurt her words brought to you. You always knew you weren’t good enough for Rafe. You always pretended not to care, but you’d be lying.
You left alone that night. And Rafe couldn’t hold back the urge to follow close behind you. He didn’t know when he got in his car after you. Or when he started driving to your house. Or when he got out of his car. He wasn’t sure why, it wasn’t like he was going to knock on your door. Or maybe he would. He ran a hand over his face, squeezing his eyes shut as he swept his hair away from his face, exasperated. The very small, but still present, rational side of his mind told him to get the fuck out. And he was going to, until he saw you emerge from your room on the second floor, and you stood right in front of the large window cell. He panicked, running to hide from sight, behind a large tree, but he didn’t leave, he didn’t want to. 
His jaw dropped, his eyes blowing wide open at the sight of you, untying your bikini top and just letting it fall, right then and there. The sight shot straight to his cock. What the fuck were you thinking? What if someone saw you? The thought of you exposing yourself like that made his jaw lock, but his now hard cock in his shorts was much more evident. He couldn’t look away. He was pissed he couldn’t see below your stomach, especially when he saw you crouch as you presumably took off your bottoms, too. 
Rafe almost moaned at the thought. 
And just like that you were gone. And you didn’t come back to the window. It almost felt like the universe was playing a cruel fucking prank on him. Now he had to drive home with an uncomfortable hard on in his shorts. That pissed him off even more.
~~~~~~
This became a habit for Rafe. He would aggressively scroll through your instagram page multiple times a day, hoping that he’d find out where you were for the night. But not in a weird way. He just wanted to see you. But he still hadn’t found the way to get you to talk to him first. He was starting to see the flaw in that plan. But alas, he couldn’t talk to you himself if he didn’t know where to find you. And sometimes, he’d find himself just standing outside your window, hiding behind that same tree. Sometimes you’d sit by the window cell, play around with your hair, sometimes you would read. And sometimes, you’d walk around completely naked, in full view of Rafe. How many times he all but sped home to rub one out was actually embarrassing. 
Rafe was tired of this little game. Though he didn’t quite realize it was a game at all. You had no proof, but you knew. That one time you caught him nearly running back to his car was proof enough for you. So you kept going, until he snapped. You didn’t anticipate just how fast he would break. 
“Guess who showed up.” Your friend whispered in your ear. You casually glanced over your shoulder to find none other than Rafe, with Topper and Kelce right behind him like lost puppies. It had to be criminal how hot this man looked. The polo shirt he wore was hanging on by a thread under his biceps and you had to force yourself to tear your eyes away. 
“Yeah, so? He shows up to every party.” You shrugged, pretending not to catch on to the blatant connection. She rolled her eyes at you. 
“Oh, so he casually shows up to the one party you’ve come to all week? Don’t you think it’s a little odd?”
You shrugged again. You were sure it was a coincidence. Sure it wasn’t because you posted a selfie of your pretty makeup and your pretty dress with the location of the party you got invited to. And surely the way Rafe was staring at you right now had nothing to do with the way your dress accentuated your chest perfectly, showing enough but still leaving some to the imagination. But it wasn’t like he hadn’t seen them before. 
“Nope. Anyway, want a drink?” You smiled at her innocently, completely ignoring her Rafe interrogation. She shot you a pointed look, surely she would grill you about it later, but she relented nonetheless. 
With a smile you skipped over to the bar, your dress riding up ever so slightly as you leaned over the wooden bar to speak over the loud music. Rafe nearly dropped his beer, his eyes going from your hair down to your ass. He couldn’t take this anymore. 
“Yeah, whatever bro. I’ll be right back.” He cut off Topper as he went on about one thing or another, he didn’t wait for a response and he approached you in long strides. He sniffed softly, running a hand through his hair before opening his mouth. 
You heard your name spoken in a deep voice, with a drink in each hand, you whipped around, not expecting to run straight into a solid, muscled chest. 
“Hey—oh fuck,” Rafe cursed when the drinks you were holding spilled all over his shirt, and over the front of your dress. You gasped loudly, nearly squealing when the ice cubes slipped down your chest. 
“Rafe! What the actual fuck.” You almost screamed at him, desperately attempting to wipe off the alcohol soaking your dress, the front now sticking to your tits. Rafe wanted to say something, maybe apologize, but he was mouth agape at the sight of your soaked chest, it took him a minute to process. 
“Shit, my bad. I didn’t mean to,” he swallowed, his own shirt starting to stick to his chest. Which didn’t slip past  you, even in your anger. But you couldn’t think about that right now. “I just wanted to talk to you.”
“Yeah, alright. I’m sure you totally didn’t want to embarrass me by spilling drinks all over me. Grow the fuck up, Rafe.” You huffed, feeling everyone’s eyes on you. You could feel your face fluster with embarrassment and you had to force yourself not to cry. You had tried so hard to remove yourself from the old you, the one everyone made fun of, the one that got asked out to prom as a prank, the one everyone stared at in disgust. And you felt like that girl all over again. 
Rafe didn’t even have time to argue, you were running off before he could get a word in. He groaned, discomfort settling in from his shirt sticking to his skin. 
“Way to go bro. You didn’t have to embarrass the freakshow like that though.” Rafe sneered in disgust at your high school nickname and he rolled his eyes, shrugging off the casual hand on his shoulder. 
“Shut the fuck up before I shove broken glass down your throat.” 
If there was something in this world that Rafe could never have, it would be patience. And this little game had his sanity wearing very thin. 
He didn’t know exactly when he ended up at your front door, fist pounding loudly as he called your name. His bike was somewhere on the lawn, he didn’t bother to hide it this time. He swore if you didn’t open this door right now he would kick it open. He stepped back, his jaw tight as he waited a few seconds before doing something more drastic. Then, the door swung open. And there you were. 
“I swear to God Rafe.” You sighed loudly, crossing your arms over your now slightly damp chest, having somewhat dried off the front of your dress. Rafe was taken aback by the appearance of your glasses, however. He hadn’t seen you wear them since you came back. Were you always this cute in them? 
No, focus. 
“You didn’t even let me talk back there! I didn’t mean to run into you like that, I swear.” He took a step closer, slightly leaning down to talk close to your face. You couldn’t help but stare at him, eyebrows furrowed with mistrust. 
“Oh right, so was it just a coincidence that you were standing right behind me like a wall?” You shot back, shooting him a suspicious look. He rolled his eyes at you, sighing heavily. “If you wanted to look at them better you could’ve just asked! You didn’t have to knock drinks all over my dress.” 
The words left your mouth in a haze. Fast and angrily as you motioned your hands around. You didn’t realize what you said until the look in Rafe’s eyes shifted. Going from confused to downright sinful. He tilted his head at you, crowding your personal space with his big fucking body. You realized then that you really fucked up. 
“What’d you say?” He asked, his voice low as he made you step back into your house. He followed you, his face close to yours and you swallowed. 
“Huh?” Play dumb, sure. 
“Uh-uh, don’t try to be all innocent now. What the fuck did you say?” He repeated, one of his large hands coming up to grip your jaw. You swallowed, your lips pulled into a pout. 
“You really weren’t that sneaky.” You finally admitted, throwing all logic out of the window knowing you both got caught red-handed by the other. Though Rafe didn’t look embarrassed or even remorseful, if anything he looked pleasantly amused. Impressed even. 
“Well, shit.” A grin pulled at his lips as he laughed, a rush of adrenaline flowing through his already amped up body. “You little whore. You were striping in front of your fuckin’ window on purpose, weren’t you?”
“I didn’t know for sure but, I heard your bike a couple of times.” You shrugged, trying to hide the devious smile on your lips. Rafe scoffed humorously, in utter disbelief. “You following me on insta was kind of a given, too.” 
“You are..” He leaned down, his soft lips mere inches away from yours as he blew out a chuckle, “A dirty little slut. You have any fuckin’ idea what you’ve been doin’ to me? Hm?” He squeezed your jaw between his fingers, forcing your head back to make sure your eyes were on him. 
The words that left his mouth made you rub your thighs together, heat forming between them at the thought of being this close to Rafe, knowing he was on the brink of madness, all because of you. You could see it in his eyes, that utter need to fuck you, take you over and over, or else he would go insane. 
“Thought I wasn’t your type.” You shot back, pettiness lacing your tongue. A groan of annoyance rumbled in his chest. 
“I didn’t know I was your type.” 
“You’re everyone’s type, since when are you humble?” You mocked him with a small laugh, but it quickly died in your chest when his fingers fell to your throat, and he dug his fingers with the faintest pressure. You nearly moaned. 
“Well you’re my type right now. Your tits sure fuckin’ are.” He bit his lip softly, making sure his eyes were on yours when he spoke again, “bet your pussy is my type too. Lemme find out, hm?” 
If you weren’t wet before, you sure were now. You nearly moaned out loud, his words alone bending you to his will. Not that it would take much work. 
Rafe didn’t get to say another word, you were pulling him down by the back of his neck and you kissed him, and you kissed him really fucking hard. He liked your intensity. He craved to find out just what else you were hiding behind your innocent and sweet girl facade. He slipped his tongue into your mouth, his fingers lacing into your hair to force your head back for him. And you happily let him. His other hand shamelessly grabbed at your ass, squeezing it as he kissed you. You couldn’t help but moan into his mouth.
“My bedroom is—“ you were breathless as you muttered against his lips. Rafe chuckled, cutting you off as he effortlessly hoisted you around his waist. 
“I know where your fuckin’ room is.” Of course he did. 
You giggled as Rafe tossed you on your bed, biting your bottom lip as you watched him pull his polo over his head and your jaw fell wide open at the sight. 
“Dude why are you like, so hot? Fuck.” Your eyes were big as you nearly drooled at the sight of his muscled torso. He was so ripped it was unbelievable. Rafe smirked at you, happy to hear that you were stroking his ego. He quickly joined you in your bed, straddling you as he hovered over you. 
“Yeah?” He leaned down, lips curved up into a grin as he pressed an open mouth kiss to your lips. You nodded as his tongue laced with yours, a string of spit connecting your lips when he pulled back. “You should've just talked to me then. Could’ve had me much sooner. You got any fuckin’ idea how long I’ve been wanting to fuck you stupid?” 
“How was I supposed to know? You didn’t want me before. I didn’t know.” You pouted, a bit of hurt laced in your voice. He rolled his eyes at you, long fingers coming to squeeze your face. You held your breath as his blue eyes pinned you.
“No, you just wanted to punish me. You wanted to parade yourself around Figure 8 with your pretty little dresses and your innocent little smile. But then at night you’d strip yourself naked in front of your window.” He huffed out the words, frustration coating his tongue. You shrugged. “You wanted to act like a slut, so I’ll fuck you like one. But first, I wanna taste your pussy.” 
The way your body shuddered when Rafe moved down the bed to settle between your legs was embarrassing. You were already shaking and he hadn’t even touched you. You held your breath in anticipation as he reached underneath your dress, tugging your panties down your legs. Rafe grinned at the blue lacy panties that matched your white and navy blue flowy dress. You pretended not to notice him casually shove the lace into his back pocket. 
“Take off your dress. I wanna look at your tits.”  You totally would punch any other man for speaking to you like this, but Rafe? He could speak to you in any way he wanted, especially when he was in between your legs, nearly drooling at the sight of your already soaked cunt. 
You complied, unzipping the side of your dress before pulling it over your head, to reveal that you were indeed not wearing a bra today. Rafe nearly groaned at the sight. 
“Fuck baby. You’re such a slut, did you plan this?” He laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. You opened your mouth to respond, but the words were replaced by a gasp when he dipped his head and licked a stripe between your folds without a single warning. 
It was actually embarrassing how quickly you were falling apart. You were a sobbing shaking mess as soon as he started to circle his tongue around your clit, sloppy sounds leaving his mouth as he moved his head up and down. Rafe was enjoying this as much as you were, how many times he fantasized about shoving his tongue into your cunt, what you would taste like, how you would sound like for him. It was driving him insane. He was groaning and moaning as he lapped at your soaking cunt. 
“You taste so fuckin’ good baby. You got any idea how many times I went home to rub one out thinkin’ about your pussy?” He groaned, spitting on your clit as he looked up at you, catching the way your back arched off the bed as your eyes rolled back into your head. “Should’ve just taken you. You would’ve let me, right doll? If I slipped in through your window and fucked this sweet little pussy in the middle of the night, wouldn’t even care as long as you got some dick, right?” 
His words slipped past you, only the feeling of his tongue back on your clit. You couldn’t think straight, your pussy was pulsing, it just felt so good, you didn’t remember the last time a man ate you like this, with such intensity and fervor. Rafe looked up at you again, amused by the way you squirmed and writhed on the bed. With a grin, he wrapped both arms under your knees and folded them damn near against your chest, spreading you open for him. And you couldn’t run away either. 
“I asked you a question.” He spat into your clit again, this time watching as the string of saliva ran down your clit before licking it. 
“Ah! Rafe! Fuck—y-yes! You can do whatever you want to me!” You sputtered, your voice breaking into a cry when he slipped his tongue into your hole. His nose bumped your clit as he fucked you with his tongue and you were nearly digging your nails into his scalp as you clutched his hair. You wanted to come so bad. “Please Rafe. I’m gonna come.” 
Rafe groaned into your pussy at your words. His tongue was replaced by two thick fingers and he curled them perfectly, enough to have you thanking the Gods for having your own house separate from your parents' main house. 
“Oh, fuck yeah. You look so pretty begging me to let you come. Say it again, say it again just like that f’me.” His eyes never left you as his tongue was back on your clit, his fingers slipping and curling inside your throbbing cunt in the most delicious way possible. You couldn’t even form a thought, let alone a sentence. You sobbed, your pussy pulsing around his thick fingers. 
“Please Rafe! Wanna come!” You didn’t have to say it twice, the second Rafe hummed at you, his tongue lapping at your swollen clit as his fingers fucked you raw, you were over. You were a shaking mess as you came, all you could do was gasp and cry as his fingers fucked you through your orgasm, and he happily continued to basically make out with your cunt.
“That was so fuckin’ good baby. You were so good f’me.” He grunted into your thigh as he lazily wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. 
Your eyes were screwed shut, heaving as you were still jolting from the aftershock. When you opened your eyes again you found Rafe already hovering above you, his blue eyes staring down at you with devious intentions. 
“You totally look so fuckin’ hot with those glasses. You should like suck my dick with them on.” You blinked at him, mouth slightly open which made him grin at you. “Not right now, I wanna be inside you now.” 
Rafe didn’t waste any fucking time in pressing your knees to your chest, your glistening pussy on full display and ready for his cock.
“I’m gonna fuck this pussy like I fuckin’ own it.” He spat, his jaw slightly falling open as he slipped into you. Your eyes rolled back almost instantly, the feeling of his cock stretching you was better than you could have ever imagined. He was so fucking big, too. “All these fuckin’ assholes lookin’ at you and I’m the only one that gets to fill this pussy, you got that?” 
You nodded harshly as he bottomed out, and without a warning he pulled out only to slam back into you, his cock damn near splitting you open. You threw your arms around his neck, your fingers lacing around his hair as he slammed into you, filling you deeper than anyone ever has before. 
“Just you Rafe! It’s always been you!” You grabbed his face, pulling him into a messy kiss. Your words made his cock twitch and all he wanted right then and there was to keep you here, beneath him, stuffed with his cock and never let you leave. 
“Why didn’t you come back sooner, huh? This pussy is so perfect, so tight. Just f’me. Want you all the fuckin’ time baby.” He grunted into your mouth, both arms caging you in as he drilled into you, his cock so deep you could almost feel him in your fucking guts. 
A string of pathetic sounds, a string of uh-uh-uh’s left your lips as he damn near folded you in half, your cute nails dragging down his back, surely to leave red angry marks. Rafe grunted in delight, his large hand coming to grab your throat. He definitely didn’t miss the way you pussy clenched around him then. 
“Shit, you’re so fucking hot, yknow that? Such a pretty little slut f’me. You’re gonna let me use you, hm? Do whatever I want with you?” He squeezed your throat, forcing your head up and down in a ‘yes’ gesture and you moaned, eyes screwed shut. “Mhmm, exactly. Open your fuckin’ mouth.” 
The sound that left your throat was so pathetic Rafe laughed. You did as you were told, opening your eyes as you opened your mouth, you watched him with glazed eyes as he leaned down and spat straight into your mouth. He watched you jaw slacked as you happily swallowed, feeling the bump under his fingers. 
“You’re so fuckin’ nasty, I love it.” He leaned down again, his fingers tightening around your throat as he spat into your mouth again, but this time he kissed you, it was so messy and sloppy and you fucking loved it. “Act like a slut, I’ll treat you like a slut.” 
“Mhmm yes! I’m such a slut, just for you.” You choked out, your throat raw and sore from the grip he had on it. He shuddered at your words, his cock twitching as he dropped his free hand to rub harsh circles around your clit. Your eyes rolled so far back you actually looked like you were spasming. “O-oh god. I’m gonna come—! Please Rafe—!” 
“Ohh, feels so good, doesn’t it baby? You wanna gush all over my dick huh?” He spoke right into your cheek, his sweaty cheek pressed right against yours as he held you by your throat, your glasses getting squished by him and you were praying to the Gods that he didn’t end up breaking them. 
“Please, please, please Rafe!” You sobbed, your soaked cunt pulsing around his cock, your thighs sore and shaking as you hanged on by a thread, so close to reaching your limit. 
“That’s it doll, squeeze the fuck out of me, come all over my cock, just like that.” He rubbed your clit and drilled into your already abused hole until you were gushing, you whole body shaking as you fell into a fit of sobs. Rafe wasn’t one to come just like that, but the sight of you so utterly fucked out and sobbing almost made him spill right then and there. 
“Ah! Rafe!” You whined as he kept fucking you, his rough hips and harsh pace not once slowing down, driving you to the point of overstimulation. You squirmed, almost as if you wanted to run away from him. He tisked at you, releasing your throat to grab your arm, holding you down as he gripped the headboard with the other, damn near crushing you with his big fucking body. 
“Oh, where the fuck are you going, huh? Who said you could run away? Nah, you wanted it, so now you take it like a good girl.” He reveled in the way you took his cock, jaw agape, eyes screwed shut and forehead screwed into a frown of pleasure. 
You were practically done for when he carelessly shoved your face to the side, damn near knocking your glasses off your face. His lips sucked marks on your neck as your pussy convulsed around his cock for the second time. Your head was spinning so hard and your vision was so blurry, you didn’t even know what planet you were on.
“Hmph! Rafe!” You yelped but he cut you off, a particularly sharp thrust making you slide up the mattress. 
“Shut up. I’m gonna fill you. Gonna ruin every other man for you.” He spat, his voice raspy and his hair falling in front of his eyes as he chased his high. 
“Please Rafe, give it to me. Want it so bad!” Well that fucking did it. A moan rumbled in Rafe’s throat as he spilled himself inside you. His eyes were screwed shut and his mouth hung wide open. He snapped his hips, one, two more times before he sat still with a long breath. 
You laid speechless, blinking softly as you tried to slow your racing heart, and process that this actually happened. Sixteen year-old you would totally freak out. Rafe Cameron just fucked the life out of you. Rafe was looking down at you with a pussy-drunk look, his eyes slightly closed and his lips were parted. Not that you could see him that well. Your glasses were so smudged and foggy all you could see was blurry shapes. 
“I just fucked you dumb and you’re making that face?” Rafe narrowed his eyes at you as leaned on his forearms, holding up his weight as your legs fell to either side of him. You frowned at him, confused. 
“What face?”
“You’re pouting and shit.” He smirked, squeezing your face between his fingers and you shot him a pointed look, groaning. 
“I forgot to take off my glasses. They’re all dirty now. Can’t see shit.” You rolled your eyes, pulling your face away from his grip as you took your glasses off and tossed them on your nightstand. 
“Well you looked cute and shit so. You’re fine.” He pressed a kiss to your pouty lips before laying down beside you, the feeling of your mixed release making you hiss softly. 
Rafe lied with an arm behind his head and he couldn’t help but grin when he caught you looking at him with your lip pulled between your teeth. He nudged you over with his head and you happily settled underneath his arm with your head resting on his chest. You didn’t take him for a cuddling type but you’d happily take this.
You sighed heavily, just wanting to rest your sore muscles for a bit when you heard him speak again. 
“So are you gonna follow me back on insta now or what?” 
948 notes · View notes
authorhjk1 · 2 days ago
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Public punishment
(Yujin X Wonyoung X Male Reader)
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Your face remains expressionless as you pause the video.
"See, daddy? I told you she is such a slut."
You ignore Wonyoung as you stare at the woman on the screen.
Yujin really is a slut. Which you already knew from the first time you met her. Same as Wonyoung. The difference between those two is, that Wonyoung isn't as slutty as the older girl. Yujin shows off her body way more.
The three of you are all in a purely sexual relationship. But it seems like Yujin forgets that from time to time.
"You need to punish her."
You finally take a look at Wonyoung, who is sitting next to you. She's sitting straight, her hands resting on her thighs. You catch the small smile around her lips. She's loving this. She'd gladly throw Yujin under the bus, just so you can see her as the better of the two.
"I really should."
You think out loud, making Wonyoung scoot closer.
"She will be home in two hours."
"And?"
Wonyoung's eyes look up at you.
"Don't I get a reward?"
"For what?"
She pouts.
"Come on, daddy."
You sigh, knowing it'll be hard to resist her. But you try to keep your head clear. You need to find a fitting punishment for Yujin.
"At-At least let me suck it."
She looks up at you with those big eyes of hers, her lips still sporting that cute pout.
"Fine."
"Yes!"
Wonyoung exclaims. But before she can unbuckle your belt, you grap her wrists.
"But not like this."
You gesture at the oversized hoodie and sweatpants she is wearing.
"I'll go change. Just a minute."
Like an excited little bunny, Wonyoung runs towards her room in record speed.
You unpause the video of Yujin dancing in that little skimpy outfit of hers. She winks at the camera, plays with her pigtails...
All the fans seem to love her. Of course they do. Who wouldn't?
An idea slowly blossoms inside your mind. So many people. And all of them love her. Not just for her music, but her body and face as well.
You hear the door to Wonyoung's room open. You're not being paid badly, being one of Ive's managers and all. But you could certainly make a few extra bucks, if you play your cards right. A mischievous smirk plays around your lips as you finally plan out Yujin's proper punishment.
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Wonyoung wordlessly kneels down in front of you, a satisfied smile on her face. She knows you like it when you can hold onto something. That's why she often wears pigtails or a ponytail.
While you keep watching Yujin's performance, Wonyoung finally gets her reward. You feel her lips close around your shaft. Her head begins to bob soon after, her lips gliding along your length.
While you watch the older woman dance on screen, you reach down and hold onto Wonyoung's pigtails with both hands. She gladly gives up control as you wrap her hair around your hands. You start to pull her back and forth, using her mouth like a fleshlight.
The young woman in front of you stays silent, expect for a couple of gags here and there. She tries to look up at you, although your eyes are glued to the screen. Wonyoung is wondering what you're thinking about. And even more importantly, why aren't you thinking about her?
She'd be completely satisfied with giving you head, if you were focused on her. But that's not the case right now. Wonyoung craves your attention. After all, that's why she told you about Yujin. You've been on vacation for the last two weeks, so you didn't even meet the two of them often during that time. And now that Wonyoung finally has you to herself, you can't stop thinking about Yujin.
But she can't complain either, because her mouth is completely stuffed with your cock. Unable to say a word, Wonyoung lets you use her mouth in what ever way you see fit. Even if you aren't even looking at her.
"What exactly are we doing here?"
Despite her annoying questions, Yujin still follows you into the mall.
"Wait and see."
You say, almost to yourself, as you look around.
"Are you just returning something? What's in there?"
For the nth time, Yujin is trying to sneak a peak inside the big bag you brought with you.
You take her hand and lead her towards a Chinese restaurant inside the mall. Right next to it is a sign that shows the way to a public restroom. The left one for women, the right one for men.
"Isn't it too early for lunch?"
Rolling your eyes at her questions, you drag her inside the men's room.
"Oppa, I shouldn't-"
Yujin finally stops talking when the two of you almost run into a guy who is just putting his pants back on.
"What the-"
"Relax, mate."
You pat his shoulder and lead Yujin towards the stall that is the furthest away from the door.
"What are you doing here?"
The guy, who seems to be a little older than you, is washing his hands while watching the two of you.
"Don't get any funny ideas. The two of you can go have fun at home."
He shakes his head as he dries off his hands.
"Young people theses days..."
You catch him taking a good look at Yujin.
"Although it's not like I can't blame you. If my wife was this pretty..."
Yujin feels a little uncomfortable as she feels him looking her up and down.
You told her to wear the same outfit, which she wore during her last performance. She thought you did so, because you liked it.
Small denim shorts, a white and black top with blue letters on it, a necklace, a choker and her hair in pigtails.
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"You wanna have a go?"
Your question makes Yujin look at you, her mouth open. The guy raises an eyebrow.
"What?"
"Well, I didn't put the butt plug in yet, so her ass might be too tight right now. But her mouth and her pussy are amazing."
Yujin gasped when you first mentioned a butt plug. And now she stares at you in horror. How could you just offer her body, her holes, to someone the both of you don't even know?
"Oppa-"
"I do have a wife..."
She gets interrupted by the guy thinking aloud.
"But I guess a blowjob isn't cheating."
"Of course it's not."
You assure him, while Yujin just stands there, flabbergasted.
What the hell is going on? Why are you doing this? You were always a little possessive, wanting to make sure you're the only one Yujin and Wonyoung sleep with. So why are you offering her up to someone else? Especially without asking her first?
"Oppa, coud we maybe talk for a second?"
She's about to give you a death stare, but you ignore her, while pulling out something from your bag. A collar. With a chain on it.
"What is that?"
An unnecessary question. Yujin has worn this collar a lot of times before.
She leans away, but knows she won't be able to stop you from putting it on her. A moment later, the leather is secure around her neck.
"Would you at least tell me the reason?"
"Because of this."
You gesture at her clothes.
Yujin rolls her eyes.
"This is part of my job, you know? Being an idol?"
"Did you choose the outfit, or did the stylist choose it?"
Your question makes Yujin look down.
"I-I did."
"Thought so."
You pull at her chain, making Yujin stumble into the stall. Before she can react, you tie the chain around the hook that is attached to the wall. Usually people would hang their jackets there. Now it's a way for you to keep Yujin in place. She watches with big eyes as you take out a lock and secure the chain with it. She sees the key disappearing in your pocket.
"Stop this prank, you made your point."
Yujin tries to think positively. There's no way you'd actually do this, right? Letting another man use her mouth?
"We can go home and you can punish me there."
"This fic is called public punishment for a reason."
You walk out of the stall.
"Have fun."
The man looks at Yujin.
"Oppa?"
Yujin calls for you again, while her eyes are focused on the man's crotch. She watches how he pulls down his pants. The young woman can see the outlines of his cock underneath his boxers. She can't help but swallow hard.
He might be a stranger, but that doesn't mean she can't give him head just once, right? She might be an idol, but the guy doesn't seem to know her. And obviously there aren't any cameras here. So why not? You set this up, so Yujin might as well use this opportunity.
She closes her eyes when the man pulls his underwear off. Yujin licks her lips, wanting to get surprised. She smiles, before opening her mouth wide. How many people are you gonna send in here anyway? Three? Not much of a punishment, is it?
Her eyes shoot open when the man fills her whole mouth with one thrust. She didn't expect him to go all in from the beginning. Yujin quickly becomes a toy for this stranger as he uses her pigtails as handlebars. He's fucking her face, while also pulling her head onto his cock.
Yujin was prepared for a couple of lazy blowjobs. The butt plug stuff you mentioned seemed exaggerated to her at that time. Not anymore though. Are you really gonna let random guys have their way with her?
Yujin closes her eyes, letting the man use her mouth however he sees fit.
You feel a little weird as the first guy gives you 5000₩. You put the bill in your wallet and gesture towards the door next to you. He seems to be as old as you. When he opens the door, you hear Yujin gag inside the men's room.
You set up a chair, which people usually use for camping, next to the door. A cardboard sign is standing next to it.
"Mouth 5000₩"
"Pussy 10000₩"
"Ass 20000₩"
As you watch a guy, who barely looks like he is twenty, walk in your direction, you wonder how much money you might be able to make with Yujin today. If only 20 people pay for a blowjob, you'd make 100 000₩ in one day.
As he takes out his wallet to pay you, you hear the door open. The man, whom you met when you went inside with Yujin, is now stepping out of the restroom.
"That was amazing. She is perfect."
"Thanks."
You smile as you receive more money from the younger guy.
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Yujin uses her finger to scoop up the rest of the man's cum. He shot his load all over her face and in her mouth without even asking. She was surprised, almost mad, at first. But for some reason Yujin is really starting to get off on this. The idea of more men walking in and just using her like a whore makes her feel warm and fuzzy. She could've sworn the door opened and closed a moment ago, while he was about to cum on her. Does that mean....?
Yujin can barely contain her excitement. Who comes next? When the next man steps into the stall, Yujin smiles up at him. She's aware that the first man probably messed up her face a little bit already. But the guy in front of her now is already taking off his belt. Seems like she doesn't look too bad yet. Yujin's mouth opens as she watches him undress. She doesn't close her eyes this time, wanting to have the full experience.
When he puts his cock in her mouth, Yujin immediately starts to suck him off. It didn't take her long to accept her new role fully. Her lips move along his shaft, making sure not to miss an inch.
"Damn, you're a whore."
Yujin's cheeks turn red as she hears him groan. Was that a compliment? Is she doing a good job?
She decides to do her best, not wanting to disappoint. Soon, the man's hands hold onto her pigtails too. Just like the first man, he begins to fuck her face as well. Yujin looks up at him, giving him her sexiest look, wanting to feel his load down her throat as soon as possible.
It still feels a little awkward to her. Twenty minutes ago, she never thought this would ever happen. Of course she has fantasies. And some of them include more than just one man, no doubt. But now being able to experience this is something different.
As the second man keeps fucking her face, Yujin hears the door open and close again. Her pussy gets even wetter at the thought of more men coming in to use her mouth. She does her best to use her tongue as much as possible, trying to meet the new guy quickly.
"Gosh, you're amazing."
The man, who's cock is in her mouth, groans once more. Yujin feels him throb and just two thrusts later, he buries himself as deep in her as possible. His cum shoots into her mouth and throat, almost leaving her gagging as he pulls out.
"Might come back later again."
"Yes,...."
Yujin coughs due to the cum in her throat.
"Please come again."
She waves after him as he leaves her stall, eager to see who's next. Her eyes widen in surprise when she sees you.
"Oppa?"
"Having fun?"
Your mischievous smile makes her carefully nod her head. Once more shame colours her cheeks red. She shouldn't be enjoying this, it's a punishment after all. But she can't help it.
"Now that more people seem to be interested, I'm afraid we'll have to raise the stakes."
You walk closer and help Yujin to her feet.
"What do you mean?"
"Turn around."
You ignore her question and make her lean face first against the wall of the stall. Yujin feels how you reach around her and unbutton her shorts.
"Wait, oppa. You're not going to let strangers fuck me, right? Right?"
When you don't answer, a shiver runs through Yujin's body. Giving blowjobs to strangers in a random restroom is one thing. But offering her pussy too? Should she really go this far?
Yujin hesitates, thinking about telling you to stop. The sound of someone stepping closer makes her turn her head. She sees another man, who's now looking into the stall. Is he the one who gets to fuck her? Yujin can't help but notice that he is definitely younger than the other two men. Around her age. And undeniably handsome. Maybe just this once is okay?
The man watches as you start to pull down Yujin's shorts. The way she looks at him at the same time, even slowly biting her lip, makes him reach for his crotch. He slowly cups it through his jeans as you let Yujin's shorts drop to the floor.
The young woman is wearing a light blue lace thong. She's naturally arching her back a little, showing off her plump ass. You reach into your pocket and take out the butt plug and a small bottle of lube. After pulling down her panties as well, you coat the metal with the transparent liquid.
"Oppa, what are you doing?"
Yujin expected you to leave again as soon as you took off her panties. Wasn't that what you're here for? Yujin is quickly proven wrong when she feels the slightly cold metal poke at her rear entrance. You free hand pushes one of her cheeks to the side, making it easier for you to slowly work the plug inside of her.
"Just relax."
You whisper into her ear, giving Yujin goosebumps.
This isn't the first time she's wearing a butt plug. You and her have already experimented a couple of times. But quickly it dawns on her, why you're doing this. So you're not just offering her mouth and pussy to strangers, but also her ass?
Yujin expects fear or anger to bubble up inside of her. Instead, she's surprised when she catches herself thinking about someone, who's not you, taking her ass. In the end, it doesn't matter who fucks her as long as she feels good.
Yujin gasps as you finally push the butt plug completely inside of her. You give her ass a playful slap.
"Have fun."
As you place the bottle of lube on the sink before leaving the restroom, you hear Yujin moan.
"Oh, god..."
Yujin sighs as she feels another man shoot his load deep inside her pussy. How many guys have already used her by now? Yujin tries to count. Two came in her mouth, one on her face and three inside her pussy. Makes six. A dumb smile plays around Yujin's lips at that realization. Six guys within what? An hour? Two hours? She doesn't know what time it is.
When she hears the next guy unzip his pants behind her, Yujin feels her pussy getting wet at the sound. The last three guys all fucked her, so she is still standing the way you left her. Body against the wall of the stall. Cheek pressed up against the surface. She is holding onto the wall and the chain that keeps her in place for support. Yujin's legs are growing weak with every pounding she is taking.
"Fuck, you're tight."
The man behind her groans as he slowly pushes into Yujin's cum filled pussy. She lets out a moan herself, not prepared for his size. He lets her get accustomed to it, once he is fully inside of her.
But soon he fucks Yujin hard against the wall, making her eyes roll to the back of her head. Her moans echo through the restroom with every one of his thrusts. She felt his hands on her waist at the beginning. But now he is holding onto and pulling at her pigtails.
Yujin's back arches further, separating her a little from the wall. Which only means the man behind her fucks her harder. Her ass looks way better when she's slightly bent over. Her cheeks clap loudly against his body. Her own moans grow louder.
"Your cheap pussy feels amazing."
He growls into Yujin's ear as he fucks her as hard as he can. The young woman feels a wave of shame and arousal rush through her. Are you charging theses guys money so they can fuck her? And how much is her pussy worth?
Her deepest fantasies come to light once more as Yujin thinks about that. This whole situation is slowly turning her into a pleasure craving whore. Yujin can feel what a slut she's become. Getting used by strangers again and again in the men's bathroom. And you even take money for it as if she is some cheap play thing.
"Please breed my cheap pussy."
Yujin moans when she finally accepts her place. It's the first time she's said something to one of these men.
The man behind her was about to climax anyway. Yujin cries out as she gets cream pied for the fourth thime today. The man behind her groans into her ear, pressing her against the wall as he leans against her.
When he finally recovers from his orgasm, he pulls out of Yujin and gets dressed. She can feel how his cum slowly starts to leak out of her freshly fucked pussy. He slaps one of her ass cheeks one last time and then leaves the stall. Yujin is left alone, cum now running down her legs.
"Just go inside. She's in the last stall."
You collect the money from the 13th man, who is now entering the restroom. You're surprised that it's going so well. It's been barely two hours and you already made more money than you thought you would. Although you did notice that no one has tried Yujin's ass yet. You wonder if most guys are just not into anal, or if you set the price too high.
"Hi, daddy."
Wonyoung's familiar voice makes you look up. She is standing in front of you in a cute white dress, holding a matching purse. Her left hand is holding onto something that looks like a stick, wrapped in a plastic bag.
"I have a present for Yujin unnie. You don't mind if I bring it to her, do you?"
You shake your head, not without noticing how good Wonyoung looks in that dress.
As the younger girl steps into the men's room, she hears Yujin's moans echo off the walls. She hesitates, thinking about waiting for the man to leave. She saw him go inside as she walked towards you. But to her surprise, she hears him groaning already.
"Oh yes, fill that slutty pussy up."
Wonyoung almost laughs at Yujin's words. She did the right thing by telling you what Yujin did during their last performance. She's a cheap slut after all. The complete opposite of Wonyoung. If she can finally make you see that, Wonyoung will have you all to herself. It's just a matter of time.
"That was amazing."
The man praises Yujin, still catching his breath as he pulls his pants back up. Yujin is slightly disappointed that he didn't last long, but she decides to take it as a compliment. It seems like there will be more than enough dicks for her today anyway.
But when the next person steps into the stall, Yujin's eyes become big.
"W-Wonyoung?"
"Hi, unnie."
"What are you doing here?"
Her shakey voice reveals how embarrassed she feels right now. She was completely fine with being used like a slut while she was alone. But now that Wonyoung can see her, she feels ashamed.
And Wonyoung examines Yujin closely. By now, Yujin doesn't look as put together as before. Her pigtails are a little loose and her clothes are lying in a pile in one of the corners of the stall. Her face is mostly clean. There's still some makeup on it, but most has been washed away by now.
"I have an early Christmas present for you."
Yujin narrows her eyes in suspicion at Wonyoung's cheeky smile. She bites her lip when she sees the younger girl holding something that looks like a rod in her hand.
"Is that what I think it is?"
Wonyoung nods.
"Just for you, unnie."
Yujin holds her breath as Wonyoung takes out the mysterious object. It's almost as long as Yujin's entire torso. One end has a hook on it, the other ends in the same shape as the plug inside her ass.
"I don't think this is a good idea, I-"
"But daddy is okay with it."
Wonyoung steps closer. Yujin feels shame rush through her system once more. She is still feeling a little uncomfortable thinking about strangers being inside her most intimate place. So she was glad to some degree that no one seemed to be massively interested in her ass yet. But the anal hook, might have some men change their mind.
"Why are you even doing this? Did I do something wrong?"
Wonyoung chuckles as she stands behind Yujin.
"You know daddy is a little possessive. And acting like that on stage was a little too desperate, if you ask me. He would've found out at some point anyway."
"Wait."
Yujin can feel anger bubbling up inside of her.
"Did you tell on me?"
A sharp hiss escapes her mouth, when she feels Wonyoung carefully pull at the butt plug. She feels the ring of her muscles stretch around the widest part of it, until she is finally left empty.
"Of course I did. I'm a good girl after all."
The younger girl's triumphant tone makes Yujin curse her silently. Of course she did.
Wonyoung looks down on Yujin's gaping hole. She places the anal hook at her leader's rear entrance and starts to push it inside of her.
The older girl's eyes roll to the back of her head as she gets filled once more. She could swear that this one feels bigger than the one before. She's almost left breathless. As she tries to get accustomed to her asshole being stretched out even further, Wonyoung is already using the other end to secure it on Yujin's collar.
"There you go, unnie. You look so beautiful."
"Oh, please. Stop mocking me and leave."
Wonyoung laughs.
"You think I'm done already?"
She shakes her head.
"I'm already here, so why don't I make this visit a special memory for the both of us?"
Her mischievous tone has Yujin sweating. What else is this brat up to?
Wonyoung takes out her phone.
"Smile, unnie."
"What?"
Wonyoung makes a peace sign with her fingers, smiles into the camera and a flash lights up the stall.
"What the hell, Wonyoung? Delete that."
"Oh, unnie. You still think you can order me around?"
The younger girl looks straight at her.
"Now I'm the one in control."
A smile plays around her lips.
"Why don't you kneel down? I'll get a better picture that way."
Yunin rolls her eyes. She could put up a fight if she wanted to. But would you punish her for that as well? Probably. Wonyoung is right. In this moment, Wonyoung is the good girl. But Yujin has still some fight left in her. She just doesn't move.
Wonyoung waits for a couple of moments, but then tugs at Yujin's collar. It's enough for the object inside her ass to move. Yujin gasps. Then bites her lip. The younger girl does it again, a smile still on her lips.
"Come on, unnie. Just one more picture, hmm?"
After hesitating, Yujin finally gives up. She is convinced it's better to let Wonyoung take a picture of her, instead of letting her watch Yujin getting used.
"There you go. You look amazing."
Wonyoung takes the picture and shows it to her.
"See?"
Yujin's cheeks burn red.
There she is. Kneeling on the floor of some restroom stall. A collar around her neck, a chain keeping her in place. The anal hook is visible as well, making the fact that she is naked even worse. Her face doesn't look as good as she has hoped. One can definitely tell that she took a couple of facials today.
"Oh, we got company."
Wonyoung remarks excitedly as the door to the restroom opens.
"Don't be shy, come over here."
She motions the man to walk over to her.
"Hello."
He gives her a quick bow and then his eyes meet Yujin's. She can tell he's hesitating, not having expected to see someone else here.
"Oh, don't mind me. Just enjoy yourself."
The man glances at Wonyoung, before looking back at Yujin. His eyes roam her body for a couple of seconds. Eventually, he undoes the button and the zipper of his jeans.
Yujin's eyes are fixated on his cock as he pulls it out. Definitely one of the biggest she's had so far today.
"Is it okay if I... If I put it in your mouth?"
His words are dirty, but he looks almost innocent. Yujin nods, a small smile playing around her lips. He's cute.
When the man steps closer, Yujin opens her mouth. She wraps her lips around his cock, sucking on his tip. The guy instinctively puts his hand on the back of her head and slowly pushes his length inside of her further.
"Yes, that's it. Make her take it all."
Yujin almost forgot Wonyoung was still there. But now her eyes stare right at Wonyoung's phone, which is obviously recording. Yujin closes her eyes. It's not like Wonyoung will stop if she asks nicely.
"Try to fuck her face. It feels amazing, trust me."
Yujin is cursing Wonyoung silently once more. The man hesitates, but eventually takes a hold of both her pigtails. His first thrust is shallow, almost weak. The next one barely makes her take half his shaft. Yujin opens her eyes to look up at him. She winks playfully and then forces herself further down his cock. If Wonyoung wants a show, so be it. It's not like Yujin will ever recover from this anyway. Might as well make the best out of it.
"Oh, there you go. My unnie is such a cock drunk slut."
Under Wonyoung's dirty commentary, Yujin continues the combination of blowjob and face fuck. The man in front of her has gained a little more confidence and has started thrusting into her mouth a little harder and faster. His grip on her pigtails has tightened. Committed to delivering Wonyoung the most dirtiest video possible, Yujin decides to become sloppy.
She leaves her mouth open a little wider, stops swallowing her own spit and just starts to let it naturally escape her mouth. Soon the man's whole cock is drenched in her saliva. Her knees and the already wet tiles underneath her get hit as well.
Wonyoung bites her lip when she sees Yujin look directly into the camera. She just looks so sexy while getting her face fucked. The younger girl can't help but rub her thighs together. How much she is now longing for your cock using her mouth just like that. She keeps recording as she continues to think about exactly that. How you used her mouth like a toy last night, barely even looking at her, while your eyes were glued to Yujin on screen.
"I-I think I'm gonna finish."
The man who's fucking Yujin's face clearly hesitates, his grip on her pigtails softening. But Yujin just shakes her head and lets her tongue roam his cock.
"Give her your cum, she wants it."
Wonyoung catches the man's red cheeks, but her focus is on making sure that the camera is capturing Yujin, who's doing her best to make him climax.
With a loud groan from the man, she finally achieves her goal. She quickly moves back, letting his cock pop out of her mouth. With closed eyes, Yujin takes his cum like a pro. He paints her face, coating her cheeks, nose and lips in his semen.
"You look amazing, unnie."
Wonyoung has to hold back a laugh after stopping the recording. She takes one last picture of her leader covered in cum for good measure, before deciding to head out.
"Have fun in here. Daddy promised to buy me lunch."
With a provocative wave of her hand, Wonyoung strides towards the exit.
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Yujin lets out a weak groan as the man behind her closes his pants again. She's bent over the closed toilet, her ass at the perfect height for anyone who would come in.
The man who just came inside her ass is now putting the anal hook back into place. Yujin grimaces as she feels his cum getting pushed deeper into her guts and the cold metal stretches her out again.
Her assumption was right. After Wonyoung came by, a lot of people started to use her ass. By now, Yujin can't even count anymore how many men have used her throughout the day. Definitely more than twenty. Maybe fifty? Or more than that?
Her weak body has made her feel tired and exhausted. As she hears the door open again, just after the last man closed it, she just sighs in defeat. It's not like she didn't enjoy her punishment. In fact, she's still enjoying it. But a break once in a while would've been nice.
As you walk past the sink, you grab the almost empty bottle of lube. You hold your sign in the other hand, smiling as you check the back. You made a mark for every guy who paid you. You almost earned a month's salary within a day.
"Oppa?"
Yujin looks at you when you walk inside her stall.
"It's time to go home, the mall closes in half an hour."
"Is-Is my punishment over?"
Yujin has slid off the toilet seat and is now kneeling on the floor again.
"Almost."
"Are there still more people, who want to use me?"
She looks tired and worn out, but you catch the small glint in her eyes, when she think there are more men yet to come.
"Well, one to be exact."
Realization hits her immediately.
"You're going to use me too, oppa?"
A grateful smile makes its way onto her lips.
"Yeah."
You put down the sign and undo your belt.
"Why don't you get my cock wet first?"
"Yes, oppa."
Yujin quickly takes her place right in front of you. As soon as your pants hit the floor, her mouth closes around your length. Just like the dozens of times before today, Yujin's head bobs up and down on your cock. Her tongue pressed flat against your shaft, her lips forming an airtight seal.
"That's right."
You encourage her as you take a hold of her pigtails.
"This is all you're good for. Offering up your holes like a public slut."
Yujin moans with your cock in her mouth, sending vibrations through your body.
You soon take over, fucking her face like so many men before you today. The young woman's makeup is completely gone and there are still dried up drops of cum here and there.
Wanting to ruin her face even further, you eventually pull out. Yujin looks up at you, mouth still open. You use your cock to smear her own spit all over her face, making her close her eyes.
"Now you look perfect."
"Thank you, oppa."
Her voice sounds a little dry after getting her throat used so often today.
You reach for her collar and pull Yujin to her feet. She moans loudly, feeling the anal hook move inside her ass, stretching her out even more.
"You like it when people use your ass, don't you?"
Yujin weakly nods.
You finally unlock the lock that kept her in place. Pulling at her chain, you guide Yujin towards the sink.
"There we go. It's time for you to enjoy your reward."
Your calm voice had it's desired effect on Yujin. She looks at you through the mirror at the prospect of a reward.
"Which is my cock in your ass."
Yujin doesn't have time to protest. You start to pull the anal hook out of her hole, making her moan and groan once again.
She doesn't stay empty for long. It only takes you a moment to use up the rest of the remaining lube.
"Oh, god."
She sighs weakly as you fill her up completely with only one stroke. Burying yourself deep inside of her, you lean over her body, whispering in her ear.
"I hope you learned your lesson. If not, this will be the new way of spending your free weekends."
"Yes, oppa. I did."
Her reply is cut short as Yujin feels you moving inside of her.
You're amazed at how tight she still is. For how long was her ass totally filled? Probably longer than five hours or something. It still feels as good as if you just pushed into her for the very first time. The tight ring of her muscles grips onto your cock as you thrust into her again and again.
Yujin can't do anything but look at herself through the mirror as her ass takes one last pounding. She's relieved that the day is finally over, that she can rest soon. And yet, she can't help but beg you to fuck her harder.
"Please, oppa. Give it to me hard. One last time."
You hold onto her waist, increasing your pace as you start to properly ruin Yujin's asshole.
She can feel your cock drag along her walls. How your tip reaches the deepest of places, how your hands dig into her flesh.
"Oppa..."
A small, almost lazy, orgasm washes over her.
Yujin doesn't even have enough energy to support her upper body anymore. She's is just lying on top of the sink, enjoying how you use her body for your own pleasure.
"Fuck, Yujin. I'm gonna fill you up."
"Yes, oppa."
Yujin looks at you through the mirror.
"Cum in my ass."
Her weak voice almost tempts you to grab her pigtails and properly ruin her one last time. But you acknowledge that she must be completely dead inside.
You enjoy her tight warmth for a little longer, until you can't hold it back anymore. Leaning over her again, you rest your head on her shoulder. Being buried deep inside her ass, you finally cum, filling her completely.
"Damn, your body is amazing, Yujin."
You don't get answer. Looking through the mirror, you make sure she didn't just fall asleep.
"How many?"
Her voice is barely above a whisper, when she finally speaks up.
"What?"
"How many men used me today?"
You plant a kiss on the back of her head.
"63."
---------
Hi, everyone!
The first story of December is here. I hope you enjoyed the read, there are four more fics to come. The length and quality of the next stories will increase (I hope) so that we have one big final for the last story.
Stay healthy!
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darkmatilda · 2 days ago
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𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐚 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you thought that after a certain misunderstanding, your relationship had taken on a purely platonic and friendly form but then the investigation sent you to the freezing wilderness of alaska, where every night you find warmth in his bed.
𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x fem!bau reader, the same reader as in my story "the bolter" but it's not necessary to read it before! there are no major references, but people who have read it might treat this as a continuation (if they want to). in this story, we still have our wonderful queen elle greenaway, gideon and morgan, and many of my attempts (not always successful) at being funny. mostly smut with A LOT of plot, description of the case, oral (f receiving) and some much actions but described in a subtle way. a little bit of angst, but I wouldn't be myself if I didn't add some. again, GLASSES REID!!
𝐚/𝐧: first fic at the beginning of the month, i really wanted to post it today. i think it's time to start posting christmas-themed works? would you be interested? by the way, i hope december will treat you kind <3
𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 11k
“I’m freezing, God, I’m freezing.”
“Me too, look how I’m shaking, I swear, one more hour and my feet will fall off, and then my toes…”
“Guys, for god’s sake!” Morgan finally spoke up, his voice tinged with impatience. The hood of his waterproof, windproof jacket covered almost half of his face, and even so, he was clearly the lightest dressed of all of them. “We’ve landed.” He pulled off a glove to check his watch. “Just under fifteen minutes ago. You still don’t know shit about freezing, so stop complaining like a bunch of old women in a knitting cycle…”
“I’d love to be an old lady in a knitting circle right now,” you sighed, your breath immediately turning to steam. You exchanged a look with Reid, who was freezing just as much as you were, and together, you had been driving Derek crazy with your whining. You all had similar gear, thermal layers, and jackets designed for extreme conditions, but it still wasn’t enough. “Sitting by the fireplace, knitting a sweater. Gossiping with other retirees.”
“Exchanging gingerbread recipes,” Spencer suggested, his tone just as wistful.
“And sharing tips for dealing with worms in our cats’ anuses,” you added.
“I’m done," Derek muttered.
Your work often sent you to various corners of the United States, but it rarely involved Alaska. Well, due to the state’s relatively low population density compared to others, fewer crimes were committed there, especially at the federal level.
However, in recent weeks, strange disappearances had occurred—teenagers and young men. Their bodies were found in remote areas, deep in the forest or in completely uninhabited wilderness, places so isolated that even an experienced survivalist would struggle to find their way out.
The local police, as local police often do in most criminal cases, initially pretended there wasn’t a problem, insisting the victims had died as a result of tragic accidents, simply getting lost during a hike. But when the number of deaths began to rise, and the victims included even high school students—locals who were well aware of the dangers of wandering alone after dark in such perilous areas—the case landed on JJ’s desk.
And so, you found yourselves in the brutally frigid surroundings of Fairbanks, heading toward the inn where you were supposed to drop off your things and immediately dive into the investigation.
"The temperature this week is going to range from 15 to 5 degrees Fahrenheit," Spencer informed you over his shoulder as he opened the car trunk to retrieve the luggage. "Of course, that's during the day. At night, it’ll drop as low as -4 degrees."
Elle shivered as he handed her her bag.
"I was doing just fine without those numbers," she said, nudging you lightly with her shoulder—a touch you barely felt through the thick layers of clothing. "What do you say we make up for this with a New Year’s trip? Mallorca? The Himalayas?"
"I’m dreaming of the Caribbean," Morgan chimed in. "Beaches, sunshine, and cocktails—that’s what I’ll be dreaming of tonight."
"And half-naked sunbathers," you added.
"And half-naked sunbathers," he agreed with a grin.
Elle trudged ahead, sinking into the snow up to her calves. The inn was a sizable wooden building, adorned with balconies and terraces that, given the weather, likely went unused, though they added considerable charm. It was tucked away in a secluded spot, offering privacy and a peaceful atmosphere—ideal for work.
You lingered by the car, waiting for Reid to grab his things, unwilling to leave him behind.
“Do you know much about the northern lights, Rudolph?” you teased, nodding toward his red-tipped nose. “I’ve always dreamed of seeing them.”
“Well, then you’re in luck,” he replied, looking at you with a slight smile. “We’re in one of the best places to see them, during the season with the longest nights. They’ll be visible pretty early, though the most stunning views will probably happen between ten at night and two in the morning. I’ve always wanted to see them in person too.”
"So, what do you think?" you asked, raising your eyebrows. "Midnight, at my door, and we’ll go play aurora hunters?"
You shivered just at the thought. Of course, you were joking—there was no way you'd even stick a single hand out from under the covers at this hour with those freezing nighttime temperatures. You planned to admire the beautiful phenomenon from your room window. Warm, you hoped.
"Alright. Just make sure you bundle up,"
 "Sure. Thermal thong and all that."
Your room was on the same floor as Elle's and JJ's, and you were glad to have them just behind the next door. Unpacking took you only a minute, and within that time, you were all together, sitting as a team, going through the case files.
“These boys were so young,” JJ remarked, shaking her head with a hint of dread. “Sixteen, the youngest, twenty-four, the oldest. They were found in such remote locations that if it hadn’t been for the ongoing professional search and the dogs, who knows how long it would have taken before anyone stumbled upon their bodies.”
“Given the heavy snowfall, they might not have been found until the thaw. What do their parents and families say about all of this?” Hotch asked.
“Unanimously, they believe their kids would never have ventured that far on their own. This is where the mystery starts, though, because there were no wounds on their bodies, except for the ones they inflicted on themselves in their attempts to survive in the cold.”
“So, it looks like someone kidnapped them, drove them out to a place you’d never get out of without serious survival skills, and just left them to die?” Derek asked, baffled.
“Seems that way. Yesterday, an eighteen-year-old named David Moore was reported missing. Normally, it probably would have been classified as a delayed return home or maybe a runaway, and the police wouldn’t have even taken the report. But given the current circumstances and the rising panic among the locals, his parents decided not to wait. A wise decision.”
"How many hours has it been since he went missing?" you asked, running your own grim calculations in your head. "Around eight, right? Is it even possible for him to survive the night out there in these conditions?"
"That depends on what he was wearing and the specific location where he was left," Reid explained, thoughtfully cleaning the lenses of his glasses. You realized it had been a while since you’d seen him wearing them—he used to wear them daily, but lately, it was only on occasion. For a moment, you found yourself staring at his face, liking how the dark frames suited it.
"His parents believe he was likely abducted on his way home from tutoring," Elle noted, flipping through the case file. "People around here dress warmly as a habit, but even so, I doubt his everyday clothes would be particularly suited to weather like this. At night. In the middle of the woods."
An uncomfortable silence followed her words, broken only by Hotch clearing his throat.
"Anyway, we need to join the ongoing search efforts. We’ll be more useful out in the field than trying to build a profile with the scraps of information we have. I’m not sure if I need to remind you, but out of habit, I will: be cautious and don’t, under any circumstances, stray from the search group. They know this area."
Before you all moved out to get to work, Reid shot you a fleeting glance. Like a dad, you mouthed silently, and he let out the faintest chuckle. You both enjoyed spotting those unmistakably parental tendencies in your boss, though they were directed at you and the rest of the team.
Hours of searching had, unfortunately, yielded no results—the crushing pressure of time bore down on you all. The knowledge that each passing moment was stripping this boy of his chances for survival felt almost unbearable. If he had somehow managed to survive the first eight hours in the forest, sixteen seemed an increasingly unlikely feat.
And yet, hope lingered. The group, driven by his distraught family, refused to stop, likely continuing to scour the area despite warnings. Meanwhile, you stood in your hotel room, so close to the window that the cold glass brushed against your nose.
Your thoughts were consumed by the case and the fate of the teenager. Just as Reid had said, the sky was illuminated by that breathtaking greenish glow. Watching it felt almost surreal, and you wanted to take in as much of it as your eyes could hold.
If it weren’t for the fact that you had frozen to your very core during the search, you might have stepped outside to see it more clearly. 
Just as the thought crossed your mind, there was a knock at your door.
You furrowed your brow, not expecting anyone. When you opened it, you came face to face with none other than Spencer. Well, it was hard to tell it was him at first. He was bundled up so tightly in layers of warm clothes that his body lost its natural shape and resembled more of a puffy ball than a person.
"Hey," he greeted awkwardly, raising his hand hesitantly and scanning your appearance from head to toe. "You're not ready yet. Sorry, I think I came too early. I thought we were meeting at midnight..."
"We were meeting?"
"For the northern lights hunt, you forgot? I checked the Kp index, it's a measure of aurora activity that determines its intensity, and it turns out tonight is really favorable... wait, why are you laughing?"
His furrowed brows and face, barely visible in the dimly lit hallway but clearly confused, only made you laugh harder. Shaking your head in disbelief, you covered your smile with your hand.
"Spencer, I was joking," you said, suddenly feeling guilty that your sarcasm had led him to spend time and effort preparing for a night out. "There’s no way I'm going out in this cold. I’d rather dive headfirst into boiling water, at least that would be warmer."
“Oh,” he let out a short, disappointed sigh. He quickly nodded, as if trying to accept the situation, and forced a more neutral expression. “I—I really thought you were serious. Sorry for... for waking you up, then.”
For a moment, you stood in silence, your hand resting on the doorframe. An odd, unexpected thought sprinted through your mind. It had been such a long time since the two of you had been together like this, late at night, in the same room...
“Well, in that case,” he cleared his throat, snapping you out of your thoughts. “I’m sorry again. Let’s just pretend this didn’t happen, okay? Forget I came here and embarrassed myself. That’s all. Sorry. I should probably go if I want to avoid being completely sleep-deprived tomorrow...”
“Go where?” you interrupted, suddenly standing straighter, alarmed.
“Aurora hunting.”
“By yourself? Spencer, have you lost your mind?”
He opened and closed his mouth, caught off guard by your outburst.
“Well, I don’t know when I’ll ever get another chance like this, being in the Arctic Circle...”
“It’s pitch dark and freezing cold. You don’t know the area—”
“...I’ve had a chance to look around, and I’m not going far. There’s a small hill just behind the inn—”
“...And there’s a freaking serial killer on the loose around here, did you forget?”
“Well, I have a gun.”
“Well, I’m not letting you go,” you cut him off firmly, crossing your arms over your chest. Spencer tilted his head, clearly ready to argue further, but before he could speak, you added, “Give me five minutes.”
“What?”
“Five minutes to get dressed. I’m coming with you.”
At first, you could have sworn a faint smile flickered across his lips. But then, just as quickly, he shook his head vehemently.
“No, really, you don’t have to. Not just because of me. I’ll be fine…”
"Five minutes," you repeated once more, slightly flustered and trying not to dwell on the fact that the moment you stepped outside, you’d likely regret this decision. “Wait here. Or come inside—I don’t want to shut the door in your face.” As you spoke, you opened the door wider, inviting him in.
Without wasting another second, you headed straight for your suitcase. Okay, how many layers does one need for a night outside in Alaska?
“I actually bought a set of thermal underwear specifically for this case,” you said, pulling out the essentials from your bag. Most of what you’d worn during the day would work fine, but you debated adding an extra sweater and another pair of socks. “And, oh my God, I hate it. I’d rather wear lace thongs 24/7 than spend more than eight hours in this bugger.”
You glanced subtly over your shoulder, curious to see his reaction and waiting for his reply. It wasn’t like you wanted to embarrass him, but you absolutely adored how, in response to even your most suggestive remarks, he could always respond with complete seriousness—like he was dissecting some profound issue. Judging by the furrow of his brow, this time would be no different.
“Really? You know, thermal underwear is generally associated with comfort. The fabric is typically elastic, soft, and breathable. High-quality models are even seamless, so they don’t cause any chafing. Maybe you bought a poorly fitted one?”
“Maybe. I don’t know, I have no expertise in this area. It digs in so much, though, and I have to keep myself from adjusting it. Can you imagine me sticking my hand in my pants right in front of the missing boy’s family?”
He hesitated before responding.
“Not really. But I can picture Hotch’s face.”
“And I can picture a termination notice on my desk the next day,” you quipped.
You grabbed all the clothes you had gathered and disappeared into the bathroom to layer them on. It wasn’t a quick job—by the end, you felt like your movements were completely restricted by the weight of it all—but at least you were prepared. When the first merciless blast of Alaskan air brushed against the tiny exposed part of your face, it didn’t immediately make you want to run back inside screaming. 
Instead, you sighed in awe.
"I know I’ve invoked God's name a hundred times already, but God, this is beautiful," you said, feeling your own words too inadequate to describe the miracle above your heads. The streaks of light stretching across the sky, an intense green with a certain transparency, a glassy quality, the stars peeking through it all.
 Spencer turned to you over his shoulder. He was only a couple of steps ahead, but he kept doing it as if afraid that in a moment of not seeing you, you'd fall into the snow and disappear forever.
“Wait until we get to the spot,” he said, his smile clearly excited. In his dark eyes, the light seemed to reflect and stay there, even when he blinked, as though he had already absorbed it all deep inside. “It’s only ten minutes away, but it makes a difference.”
"I hope you're not one of those people who says, 'Oh, it's just around the corner, we don't need a cab!' and then leads you to walk halfway across the city" you scoffed. You tried to keep your gaze fixed on his back, his lantern swinging in his hand. Alaska, the vast empty terrain, the thick layers of snow, seemed to hide some sort of mystery beneath them, and it filled you with a fair amount of fear. "Will you shield me with your chest if a bear jumps out at us?"
"Actually, yes, I would," he replied. "But not because of heroism, it's more because I have bear spray in my pocket, and by that very fact, it's probably my duty."
"Okay, let’s make a deal: you protect us from a potential bear attack, and I’ll take care of Bigfoot. By the way, that legend never really scared me. A monkey with gigantic feet just sounds too ridiculous to me. Remember that episode of History's Mysteries that we watched at your place?"
You both shared a love for a certain TV show about conspiracy theories and famous mysteries from around the world.
 "Of course. You know part of it was filmed right here in Fairbanks? Bigfoot never really fascinated me either, but I liked that at the end of the episode they also mentioned other Alaskan legends. Like The Kushtaka, for example."
"I don't remember that. But I'm not sure I want you to tell me," you confessed, taking a breath, the cold biting into your lungs. Despite the layers of clothing, it was getting colder and colder, but at least you'd finally reached the spot Spencer had chosen. He was right; the vast plain on the small hill was perfect for watching the aurora. You had the feeling that the sky was only an inch above your head, and a childlike urge to reach up and touch it. "Alright, you've got me too intrigued. Go ahead."
You noticed that, unlike you, Spencer wasn't tilting his head back to gaze at the sky. He was looking at you.
"The Kushtaka is a creature from the folklore of the surrounding tribes. It is most often described as a hybrid of a human and an otter..."
You couldn’t help but burst out laughing.
"Otters, seriously? Is that supposed to chill me to the bone?"
Spencer raised an eyebrow in a somewhat sarcastic manner.
"Okay, let me tell you the story differently," he proposed in a similar tone, swallowing as if to prepare himself for the tension-building drop in his voice. "Just like now, we're heading out to see the northern lights. Just the two of us, surrounded by nothing but darkness. The sky is overcast that day, and there’s hardly any light to see." At that moment, he switched off the flashlight he was holding, and his previously well-lit face faded into obscurity. You crossed your arms over your chest, silently promising yourself you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of being scared.
“In this story, do my thermal undies also ride up so uncomfortably?”
“Your underwear isn’t a significant part of this tale. Anyway… crap, where was I?”
“The thought of my underwear distracted you?”
You heard him sigh, almost in exasperation, and a sly smile spread across your face.
“Let me continue. No more comments about underwear.”
“My underwear or in general?”
“SO WE’RE HEADING TO SEE THE NORTHERN LIGHTS. It’s dark, it’s creepy, and you’ve got chills running down your spine. Then suddenly, you realize you’ve lost me.”
“Phew,” you exhaled with theatrical relief. “Finally got rid of that creep who kept obsessing over my underwear.”
"You know what, I’m done. I’m done. I won’t tell you the story about the human-otter hybrid."
“I’m devastated by this fact!” you assured him in the same overly dramatic tone. Taking it a step further, you jumped toward him, desperately grabbing the fabric of his jacket. “Dr. Reid, please, I beg you, tell me about the human-otter hybrid. I need this. I’ll sell my soul and body, just please…”
Spencer threw his head back, laughing, and as you tried to calm yourself down, you leaned against him. Taken by surprise, he lost his balance, sending both of you toppling into the snow.
“Damn, we’re going to be wet!” he groaned, trying to get up from the deep snowdrift you both had fallen into. It wasn’t the easiest task with all the layers of clothing and a girl who was dying of laughter on top of him.
“I think that’s enough of our aurora watching,” you said once you both finally managed to get back on your feet. Despite the ski pants and very, very warm clothes, you were starting to feel frozen. “And enough of your legends. It’s late, and we should head back.”
“You didn’t let me finish,” he complained, sounding like a little puppy that had been scolded for peeing on the carpet.
“You can tell me on the way,” you replied. “Come on.”
You sent one last glance toward the sky before moving forward, your mind focused entirely on the vision of a hot, soothing bath and a blanket with an extra layer for warmth. For the rest of the walk, Spencer didn’t try to use his low voice or mysterious narrative tone. He finished the story in his usual manner, sounding more like a fascinated lecturer. You couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed—he had sounded really sexy earlier, you had to admit.
When you both got back to the guesthouse, you glanced at the stairs leading up to your room and shook your head in refusal.
“If I don’t get under at least five blankets right this second, I’m going to die, so sorry my dear, but I’m coming to you and I won��t leave until I’m warm, or I’ll never leave at all,” you said quickly and firmly.
Spencer raised an eyebrow but replied just as energetically.
“I don’t think I have five blankets in my room.”
“Three will be fine.”
And that's exactly how it went. First, you took off your jackets, and then, in your typical everyday clothes, you quickly jumped into bed, covered with the duvet up to your neck, waiting for the pleasant warmth to spread across your bodies.
“Was seeing the aurora worth all that suffering?' you asked, turning onto your side in bed so you could face him.
'Well, it wouldn't have been suffering if someone hadn't shoved both of us into the snow...'
He said this while lying on his back, but shortly after these words, he followed your lead and also turned onto his side. Your breath became shallower. It had been almost a year since you last had him this close, almost a year since you slept together, and then decided to let the situation fade into oblivion.
Honestly, you almost succeeded. After all, that incident was like every other encounter you had with guys. Spontaneous, one-time, followed by bolting. But you didn’t see those other guys afterward. Every day at work, forced to watch him wipe his glasses, his damn glasses, with the same fingers he…
“Are you thinking about something specific?” he suddenly asked, his voice eerily similar to the one he used to tell you the story on the hill, a voice you found so sexy.
That was the kind of man Spencer Reid was. Always wanting to know what was going on inside your head.
You sighed, probably too loudly.
"You don't want to know what I'm thinking right now," 
You felt a little pathetic, realizing that your whole excuse about not being able to go to your room was just a pretext to end up in his bed. Once again. This whole trip to Alaska must have really messed with your head. Or maybe it cleared the fog in your mind and left a single thought, naked and defenseless. You wanted him. 
"I know how pathetic that sounds, but I always want to know what you're thinking," he replied after a moment, swallowing audibly. You heard it clearly, you were so close. So close...
You had to make a quick decision: whether to continue and face the consequences the next day, or, perhaps worse, to be rejected? It was possible that he had learned from your last time together, and didn’t want to get involved with you that way.
"I can show you what I'm thinking," you finally proposed, not blinking for a long moment, just carefully studying the features of his face, any signs of uncertainty or tension. 
Because there was that one small seed of probability that he wanted you too.
His lips parted, but were immediately covered by your kiss. 
Slow and curious. How did he taste after all this time? 
Maybe it was a thought whispered by the moment, but you had the feeling that even better. 
You didn’t play the role of a taster for too long. Soon, still not pulling his lips away from yours, you lifted yourself into a sitting position, propping yourself up with your elbow on the bed, pressing closer to him with every passing moment, more intensely and hungrily. 
Something seemed to haunt you, preventing you from moving any further. Something in his posture—lying on his back, surrendered to your control, yet somehow absent.
You pulled away from his lips, your gazes meeting. There was a certain weakness and sadness in his eyes.
"Is something wrong?" you managed to ask, your voice strangely trembling.
Spencer suddenly sat up, straightening himself, though there was still a slight bend in his shoulders. His movement forced you to pull away from his chest.
"I can't do this," he confessed quietly, taking a deep breath. "I can't sleep with you." In a way, it hurt more than if he had simply refused to let you kiss him. Your forehead furrowed in disappointment and... shock?
"Why?" you asked directly, foregoing any excuses about not aiming for that. Because you had been.
He let out a laugh, filled with pity.
"Because after this, I won’t be able to stop thinking about you. And you, after tonight, won’t want me anymore."
You were breathing heavily, completely unsure of what to say. His words were painfully eye-opening, first and foremost. And secondly... true. Because did you plan, like a normal person, to wake up next to him, greet him, date him? That wasn’t how you operated. In your plans, there was always just one option—escape. Exactly like that time.
You slowly began to slide off the bed, his hand moved to reach for yours, and you hoped he would take it, but at the last moment, he hesitated. He hesitated.
"I'm sorry," he said.
"You have nothing to be sorry for," you reassured him, yet you didn’t look at him the whole time. You sounded stiff, almost reproachful, even though you were the one who should be reproached. You were the problem.
You looked around the floor, used to picking up your clothes from it, but this time there was nothing. Except for the jacket hung up and the ski pants you’d pulled on over your regular ones to avoid freezing in the cold night. Leaving without a word seemed excessive.
Your back rested against the door as you turned to look at him. Your quick-thinking mind raced, searching for something to say to at least salvage some dignity in this situation…
“Let’s pretend this didn’t happen,” you finally suggested.
Spencer was still sitting on the edge of the bed, as if he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to get up or stay there. Eventually, it seemed like he stayed, though you weren’t sure, having already turned toward the door, your hand pressing on the doorknob.
“T-think that’s the best solution,” he admitted, just as one of your feet stepped into the hallway.
Then, you heard someone whistling.
You immediately stepped back into his room, keeping your face turned toward the door.
“Damn, it’s Morgan,” you said, recognizing the person in the hallway by the sound alone. “We better not let him see me leave, or he’ll never leave us alone…”
You expected that when you turned around, you’d find him still sitting on the bed. After all, you hadn’t heard him get up, hadn’t heard him approach. You certainly didn’t expect that, when you turned, his lips would almost immediately attack yours.
It was so unexpected, so sudden, that the back of your head slammed against the door.
“Fuck, sorry…”
But you didn’t think for a second about the pain, nor did you focus on why Spencer had suddenly changed his mind. Your attention was solely on the two of you, two desperate pairs of lips pressing together and pulling apart, never staying away for long.
He pulled you toward him, wrapping his arms around your waist. Unlike the last time, it was your back that hit the mattress first. The cool surface, the heated bodies, and the weight of the layers of clothing between you both.
"You've changed," you noticed.
A different dynamic. The pace was set by him—just moments ago, you were standing by the door, and now, half of your clothes were gone, while the soft skin of your neck was buried under a cascade of messy, impatient kisses.
"Do you like it?" he asked, his face hovering above yours, one hand resting on the bed next to it.
"I haven't gotten enough to say for sure," you replied, teasingly. "But I get the feeling you're more confident now. A lot of practice since last time?"
He shrugged.
"I don't think it's about practice," he said, his hand sliding down your side until it stopped at the waistband of your pants, lingering there but not moving any lower. You reached for his hand, brushing against it before trailing your fingers along its length up to his forearm, feeling one of his veins beneath your fingertips. "I guess... I was just scared you'd leave, and I had to stop you somehow. That’s why I rushed," he admitted.
His gaze lingered mostly on your face, but it wandered across your body, his frustration clear as he eyed the layers of clothing still in his way. Something about his desperation and impatience stirred something playful in you, and you couldn’t resist teasing him.
Propping yourself up on one elbow, you tilted your chin to look at him.
 “If I tried to leave right now, how would you stop me?”
The corner of his mouth twitched at your question, but he decided to play along, nodding thoughtfully.
“I think I’ve got a few ideas.”
“Care to show me?” you asked, your voice dripping with challenge.
For a moment, he didn’t move at all, just kept staring at you, until he allowed himself that first, utterly shameless drop of his gaze and a soft sigh. His lips began their journey, starting at their usual, safe spot on your neck, trailing toward your shoulder, and crossing over your collarbone with deliberate intent. You were still half-sitting, struggling to steady your breathing so your chest wouldn’t rise and fall too much or too quickly, trying not to disrupt him. The first hint of uncertainty appeared between your breasts when his kisses momentarily softened, carefully exploring unfamiliar territory and testing your sensitivity.
You struggled more and more to keep yourself from collapsing fully onto the mattress. But when his cool tongue met your skin, pressing against it so firmly that his forehead brushed against your stomach, relentlessly moving lower, you couldn’t hold out any longer.
He was between your knees, bent in anticipation. He reached them, sliding his hands down your thighs and coaxing them to relax. He fumbled a bit while unbuttoning your pants, and had trouble sliding them down while you were lying there. You lifted your hips to help, even tried to do it yourself, but he stopped your hands, placing them above your head.
“You don’t have to do anything,” he said softly, finally freeing your legs from both pant legs. His hands wrapped around your ankles, his thumb tracing gentle circles around one of them, which somehow completely seized your attention, and you focused solely on that subtle motion. For a moment, you closed your eyes, and when you opened them again, you noticed that his chin was just above your panty line. "Actually, it will be much more pleasant for you if you just focus on feeling and nothing else. I was supposed to show you my ideas, remember?"
“As someone who apologized for being in too much of a hurry, you sure have an unexpectedly large amount of patience now,” you remarked with reproach, lifting your head again. Maybe keeping it down allowed for more comfort and relief for your neck, but on the other hand, the sight of his face immersed between your thighs was simply priceless.
If the sight itself was priceless, how do you describe that feeling?
With every move of his tongue, your hips swayed, adjusted to the rhythm. Often tense, trying to find some outlet, especially when sighs escaped his lips and his cool breath penetrated through you.
"Think I'm gonna cume embarrassingly quickly," you confessed, unsure whether he even understood anything from your sentence, which was at least interwoven with two moans. Three.
When it happened, you uncontrollably squeezed his head with your knees, a similar groan also came from his mouth. 
Spender didn’t stay in that position for long. When you opened your tightly shut eyelids, his face was right above yours, stretched in such satisfaction, as if he was the one receiving pleasure.
"Was it too quick for you?" he asked, still absorbing you with the same gaze, which seemed to pulse with desire. "If you want, we can try again, you’ll surely improve..."
"My God, when did you become so cocky?"
He chuckled, but instead of answering, he once again pressed himself against your body and skin, closing his eyes in devotion and lingering on each spot for as long as it took, as if he could never be satisfied, no matter how much he took in. 
Your hands, instead of tormenting the innocent fabric of the blanket, moved to his back, tightly embracing his neck and basically everything they could latch onto. All of his earlier composure seemed to evaporate; you didn’t even have to ask twice to make him slide in. It actually sounded more like an order than a request, a bit desperate, it's true, but still an order.
"How is it even possible that it feels even better than the last time?” His words, his lips, ticked your neck as he moaned out this question. "Just... I feel like I won’t have enough of you tonight."
"The night is long," you said, almost into the air, not really paying attention to the meaning behind it. "Tomorrow night too."
Spencer stopped, completely. His eyes desperately searched for yours, and when he finally found them, they widened in disbelief.
"Tomorrow night too?" he repeated. "But I thought... I thought you didn't want anything more than a one-night fling…”
"It's already our second," you reminded him. "And I'll be completely honest with you, I don’t want to walk around all day tomorrow sexually frustrated just at the sight of you. Let's make a deal, okay?"
"A deal?"
"Yeah. I'll tell you about it in a moment, but right now...Oh God, I think I’m gonna…”
You both got dressed right after, but not because either of you intended to leave. The temperature inside simply didn’t allow for sleeping naked, no matter how warm you were after sex.
"So?" he asked, handing you the piece of paper you had sent him to the bathroom for. Then he sat on the bed, facing you. "What did you mean by this deal?"
"Well, after thinking about it, I'm not sure if it's a good idea after all..."
"I want to know, even if just out of curiosity."
"You want to know everything, Spence. But fine. I thought maybe... while we're in Alaska, we could just, you know, allow ourselves to do whatever we want. In more direct terms, fuck each other as much as we want.”  
It sounded a bit...crazy? Spencer kept his gaze suspended in the air for a moment before turning it back to you, questioning.
"But only as long as we're in Alaska?"
"Exactly. Since there's only one floor between us, why not take advantage of it?" you tried to joke, lightening the mood.
It didn’t seem to have much effect on him.
"But what happens next? When we get back?"
"Do we really have to think about that?" you wondered, moving closer to him, to the body that just moments ago made you feel so good. "We'll get used to being apart, just like before."
"Okay," he sucked in a breath, clearly torn over the proposal. "I mean, no, I didn’t mean okay... because it doesn’t seem like a great idea, but on the other hand... on the other hand, I really, really want you, even if it only means for this short time."
You smiled, though deep down, somewhere very deep, there was something somber in that gesture. 
Ignoring that, you kissed him to seal the deal. And not just that.
"That was for good night and goodbye."
"Goodbye? You're leaving?" A clear look of disappointment crossed his face, but he quickly shook his head, trying to get rid of it. "Good night, then."
 "It's not that I don't want to stay. It's just that it would be better to be well-rested for work, and I don't think we'd sleep properly if I decided to spend the night here. “
You saw him open his mouth, ready to protest, but you had already gotten up from the bed and started gathering your remaining things.
"Wait," he called as you were about to leave. "You said... you said something that's been bothering me, you know? I can even quote it, so listen up. You said that you don't want to walk around all day tomorrow sexually frustrated just at the sight of me."
You couldn't help but let out a burst of laughter.
"And that bothers you?"
"I don’t understand what you meant by that. What in my behavior makes you feel that way?"
"A lot of things."
"Like what?"
"I'll tell you someday. Maybe it's better if you're not aware of it."
"Hey, now I won’t be able to sleep!"
"Anyway, good night, sweet boy."
*
Almost the first thing in the morning, you found yourselves at the local police station, full of disappointment and anxiety. You had to inform the parents of the missing boy found in the forest that he had been located. But unfortunately, it was not good news.
The first hours of the day passed in constant analysis and discussion, until finally, around noon, you gathered in front of the town's police officers, ready to deliver the profile. You didn’t have much time for any reflection on the previous night, or even for a conversation with Spencer. A sober one this time, when you weren’t intoxicated by desire and each other.
You stood in the corner of the room, listening to Hotch and Gideon.
"The UNSUB is a white male, likely with military experience or, at the very least, extensive survival skills, estimated to be around 50-60 years old. He abducts teenagers, boys, and young men who look younger than their actual age, which suggests he doesn’t know his victims very well."
"If he observes them, it’s for a short period. He doesn’t have time to get to know them but understands their routine and daily schedule well enough to know when to strike."
"He doesn’t drug his victims, which means he is physically capable of abducting them without assistance. This ties into the type of victims he selects. All these boys were more the intellectual type than athletes. When abducted, they were coming from school, tutoring sessions, or the library. David Moore, for instance, was tall but lanky. His family described him as gentle, with a big heart and a passion for learning."
"The UNSUB abandons them in remote forest locations. Forcing them to fight for survival gives him a sense of control and serves as a way to prove his belief that modern society and boys today are incapable of handling adversity. He openly despises them, viewing them as weak and effeminate. His mindset reflects a toxic approach to gender roles and what he considers the traditional male archetype."
“White men aged 50-60 with survival skills make up about half the population here,” a policeman noted. “Take me, for example…”
Hotch began providing more detailed information, while Gideon stepped out of the center of the room, and the atmosphere became more relaxed.
You approached Reid, who was sitting in a chair, and ruffled his hair with your hand.
“Watch your back, genius-boy,” you warned, standing behind him. From his seat, he tilted his head all the way back to look up at you. A smile instantly appeared on his face.
“You might just be next. And we wouldn’t want that.”
“So, you think I’m effeminate?”
"I know very well that you're not. But you do have that intellectual spark in your eyes. And, you know, those glasses don’t help."
Ever since you’d been in Alaska, he’d worn them less often because, as he’d told you while chatting in bed, they kept fogging up. But now, they were perched on his nose, making him look... delectable. Simply delectable.
The rest of your team approached, Elle's gaze lingering on your hand resting on the back of Reid's chair. As usual, she had to notice everything.
"I need to send you all to a few places to check out some individuals the police have identified as matching the profile," Hotch announced. "Y/N and Elle, I’d like you to speak again with the bus driver who drove David Moore just before he was abducted. Once he understands the profile, he might be able to recall more details."
You lingered in the room, wanting to exchange a word with Spencer. In complete privacy... He was slowly wiping his glasses, as if hoping for the same. Watching the movements of his hands, you shook your head.
"This is it—what you asked me about yesterday. What makes me sexually frustrated. Our agreement still stands, right?" you asked, running your hand along his shoulder, just to touch him. Even though the many layers of clothing made it almost impossible to really feel him.
He looked at the glasses he was cleaning, then at you, disbelief written all over his face.
"That's what you meant? Cleaning glasses?"
"Don't judge me. It's about the motion. Or maybe the glasses themselves, I don't know. Maybe I’m a fetishist. Anyway, are you going to answer my question?"
Still seated in the chair, he had to tilt his head back to look at you, which reminded you—just a little, okay, a lot—of another situation where he was down below.
"What about you?" he countered. "You haven’t changed your mind?"
"Absolutely not."
"In that case, yes. It still stands."
“Oh, I don’t know what I’d do if you’d answered differently. See you tonight, then,” you promised, glancing around the room to make sure none of your team members were still there. Just a few local officers... who weren’t paying much attention to you. Even if they were, it wasn’t their business.
You leaned in quickly to kiss him. He closed his eyes, as if hoping for more.
“Not now, and not here. I need to go find Elle. Hotch gave us an assignment. Have a good one.”
You walked away, feeling his gaze on your back.
You found your friend in the car, one of those suited for tough terrain, with high tires. She was sitting behind the wheel, tapping her nails on it.
"So, what was the address of that driver?" you asked, fastening your seatbelt.
"Forgive my bluntness, darling, but I’ll die if I don’t know. What was that all about?"
"What do you mean, ‘What was that all about’?"
"Oh, come on, you know exactly what I mean. Messing with his hair, the chair, the looks. Are you two sleeping together again?"
You technically had no reason to hide anything from her, after all, you trusted her completely and had never hesitated to talk about your sex life. But this time... you kind of liked the idea of keeping whatever happened between you and Spencer just between the two of you.
"I have no idea what you're talking about. We're just acting like we usually do," you said.
"Yeah?" She raised an eyebrow, slowly pulling away from the police station, her gaze shifting between the road and you. "Then what were those sounds last night from his room?"
"Oh shit, did we make noise?"
She smiled triumphantly.
"I don't know, you tell me. I'm just teasing you. I'm on a completely different floor. But I'll take that as an admission of guilt."
"Manipulative bitch!"
"I'll take that as a compliment. So?"
You rolled your eyes with a heavy sigh, but eventually, you confirmed her suspicion with a nod.
"I thought you didn't sleep with the same guy twice."
"The air in Alaska really does something strange to me."
"Sure. The air," she scoffed, and you furrowed your brows in slight confusion, looking at her, waiting for her to elaborate. The car glided along one of those completely empty, snow-covered roads where there was nothing to focus on. "You know, I wonder why you just don't admit that you like him?"
"I don't hide the fact that I like him."
"Then why not give it a try?"
"Try what, Elle?"
She glanced at you sideways, her lips tightening at your obviously irritated tone. She didn't mean to upset you, of course, but that's how you felt. She sighed, as if thinking about how to approach the subject.
"You've learned to live with it," she finally began, slowly and cautiously weighing her words. "With that fear. Of intimacy and commitment."
"It's just a preference."
"No, it's not a preference. It's fear. You're afraid that if you get emotionally close to someone, you'll be abandoned, and you don't want to risk another painful loss. You want to have full control over the relationship and disappear when you feel like it's fading. Usually in the morning. It's a common mechanism, and it's not just about you. And no mechanism can be broken without making an attempt."
"Elle, stop. You're profiling me, and you know how much I hate that."
And actually, you hated being confronted with the truth about yourself and being internally forced to draw conclusions about yourself.
It was easy, living without reflecting on oneself. Especially when those reflections were painful. You could hurt yourself, unsuccessfully trying to confront them, or flow along with their current, completely subordinated to them and deaf to the words of others, who said you were only hurting yourself in the bigger picture.
 Elle dropped the subject, as you had arrived at the house of the man you were supposed to interview. She didn’t bring it up again afterward. The hours at work passed, and you only waited for that specific moment when you'd cross the threshold of that room again.
The previous night danced vividly in your mind, never slowing down or taking a break for a moment. As soon as he opened the door, you threw yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his neck, kissing his face, and unbuckling his belt.
Spencer took a sharp breath, shocked and amused, as soon as you touched him.
"It would be incredibly awkward if someone were at my place right now," he chuckled into your mouth, half of his sentence drowned out by your kiss.
You pulled your face away just slightly, raising your eyebrows. It was only then that you noticed he was wearing glasses. Oh, he was so completely unaware of what you were about to do to him...
"How many people do you bring to yourself every night?" you asked.
"In that regard, only you. Besides, this is only the second time, so I wouldn’t call it every night... but I could always be here with someone, talking..."
"Keeping each other warm," you added.
Your hands slid under the fabric of his clothes, brushing the lower part of his stomach.
He noticeably tensed under your fingers, swallowing slowly, impatient and pleading.
"Engaging in a worldview discussion and exchanging conclusions," he finished, a smile playing on his lips.
"Uh-huh. Exactly like we are now. Honestly, does that turn you on? Do you want me to share my political views while you’re eating me out?” 
"This is probably the only scenario in which you could make me not feel pleasure because of it."
His hands hesitated, roaming uncertainly across your body, unsure of where to start. They brushed over so many spots, moving from one to the next, chaotic and desperate. 
You didn’t know where to focus – on the lips in the hollow of your neck, on the hand on your hips, or the other, slipping lower and lower?
Or perhaps on that sound, right by your ear, sweet, pleading whimper?
Moan left your body just for that reason and you already knew how you wanted the rest of the night to unfold. 
You gently pushed him back, and with quickened breath, you dropped to one knee, then the other.
"After yesterday, I couldn't stop thinking about you," you confessed, making sure your lips were close enough to his body as you spoke. You heard him inhale sharply, whispering something under his breath. "I couldn't focus on work at all. So today, I want to take care of you, completely."
You thought he would be satisfied with the offer; well, it was hard to deny that he was. Still, for some reason, he started shaking his head.
"N-no, that's not... I want to do it. Take care of you, I mean."
You couldn’t stop smiling, but at the same time, you weren’t about to back down, which should probably be enough to describe the dynamics of the following hours. 
At times, it was brutally slow, while at other moments, it was hurried and impressive. Sometimes, you interrupted each other constantly, unable to stop talking, and at other times, the only sound filling the room was your two breaths, the only constant, restless, and laced with moans and cries.
"You’re not leaving me tonight, right?" he asked, drawing closer to your body and holding you almost pleadingly. You laughed against his skin, shaking your head in denial.
 "At some point, I will have to. For about fifteen minutes, before everyone wakes up."
 "You’ll say you just came by for something. To ask a question or something," he tried to convince you.
 "Oh, at this early hour, looking like I’ve just done a two-hour workout? Derek would eat us alive. His eyebrow would never drop again. If I ever end up in hell, it will be with him there, looking at me like that." You tried to mimic his expression, tensing your jaw as you did.
"Stop, I feel harassed."
"You see? And if he found out about us, this is how the next... God, I can’t even predict when he’d get tired of it. Maybe in a year. Do you want to suffer for another whole year just to be with me for an extra fifteen minutes?"
 "I’d be able to survive that," he declared quietly, placing his hand under your head and playing with your hair with one of his fingers. "But if you don’t want it, I’m not going to waste time and try to convince you."
"Sure," you scoffed playfully. "So many things could be done in that time."
"Like what?" he asked, clearly intrigued. "Try to sleep. What were you hoping for?"
"Nothing, nothing. But you used a plural in that sentence and then only gave one thing. So, I’m waiting for the rest."
"That’s an overinterpretation."
"More like a simple analysis of sentence structure."
"Maybe sometimes it's better to analyze a little less. Spencer."
 "I don’t think I’m capable of that," he admitted, his tone a little more serious. You furrowed your brow, looking at his pale face in the weak light, showing signs of the night’s exhaustion. "That’s just how my brain works. It doesn’t give me much time to rest."
You often wondered what the world looked like from his perspective. How, in many ways, his genius was both a revelation and a curse. But you’d never heard him complain about it—until now. In fact, it wasn’t even a complaint, just a statement of fact, somewhat melancholy.
You kissed the top of his head, hoping it would have a soothing effect.
And indeed, it worked. He moved even closer to you, rested his head, and after a moment, almost at the same time, your eyelids fell.
*
The morning passed slowly and longingly, even though you were still so close to each other. However, there was the awareness that with the arrival of the day, you would have to wait many, many hours before you saw each other again. In a similar way, you meant. After all, at work, you constantly spent time together, which only made everything more difficult. It would have been much easier to push him out of your head and focus, if it weren’t for that.
Meanwhile, Spencer, perhaps trying to gently play on your nerves, cleaned his glasses much more often than necessary. But there was also the possibility that he was doing it the same amount as usual, and you were just imagining it.
"Are you doing that again?" Morgan nodded in his direction as a greeting when you were sitting in the guesthouse room that served as your team's meeting place. There was a long table in there, similar to the one in your office, but much narrower. Sitting across from Reid, you could easily touch his hand. If you wanted to. "Is this some new nervous tic of yours? Polishing them?"
"I don’t know what you’re talking about," Spencer furrowed his brow in mock surprise, stopping the corner of his mouth from twitching. You kicked him under the table, and he couldn’t suppress a gasp.
To hide your amusement, you covered your face with your hand, but Morgan immediately picked up on it.
"Is this some new inside joke of yours?"
"He’s literally just polishing his glasses, leave him alone," you said.
Morgan’s eyebrows raised in the same way you had imitated him the night before. Neither of you could hold it in and burst into laughter.
"What’s going on?" JJ asked, walking into the room.
"Something very strange is going on," Derek announced mysteriously, staring at you both intently. His hands were resting on his hips, and his head tilted in thought. "Something very strange..."
Then Hotch arrived, even more serious than usual, which immediately dispelled the good mood. The rest of the team also arrived—Elle and Gideon—and everyone took their seats at the table.
"In the past few hours, there hasn’t been any concerning missing person reports," Hotch informed you. "On one hand, that’s good; on the other, it means the unsub will strike again soon. And we can’t let that happen."
"And you even have a plan," Gideon stated, with some sort of understanding in his eyes.
Hotch looked at you all with hesitation before nodding in confirmation.
"That's right, I have. I've concluded that we have no choice but to set a trap."
At those words, his gaze rested on Spencer, which was enough for you to figure it all out even before the main subject did.
"With all due respect, Hotch, have you lost your mind?!"
And how exactly do you envision this?" Elle asked, not as shaken as you but clearly concerned. "Sure, he fits the profile of his victims, but how is he supposed to set himself up? Walk around town and hope to get kidnapped?"
"At least two of the victims were abducted on the same stretch of road, after getting off the bus at the same isolated bus stop while walking home alone. It’s an exceptionally safe location for him," your boss explained.
"Honestly, I’m not convinced," Derek interjected, staring ahead with a furrowed brow. "I just don’t think he’d use the exact same spot again. Word has probably spread around the area that the FBI is on the case. He might be more cautious and change his methods."
"But he might just as well try again," JJ said quietly. You looked at her with clear surprise, as you had expected that, with her characteristic care for the team, she would be against the idea. "Right now, it’s the only thing we can do to try to prevent another abduction."
You drew a breath, understanding her arguments but remaining entirely opposed. Your gaze finally fell on Spencer, for the first time since the idea had even been brought up. He was sitting very upright, his brow furrowed, and he slowly began nodding.
"JJ’s right, it’s the only thing we can do," he said. He wasn’t looking at Hotch, nor even at the team as a whole—he was looking at you, directly and only at you. A calming, slightly nervous smile crossed his face, making you scoff. "Nothing’s going to happen to me. You’ll all be around, on the bus, near the stop."
With his words, the decision was made, and all you could do was shake your head in disbelief.
"I want to be on the same bus," you declared desperately, crossing your arms over your chest. You simply couldn’t reconcile with the fact that Spencer was willingly putting himself in harm's way—especially when the unsub's desire was to hurt people like him. "I’ll pose as a civilian. A random young woman. I shouldn’t seem like a threat, and someone from our team has to be inside."
"You’re right," Hotch replied, looking at you with sharp attention. "But it will be Elle."
You and your friend exchanged a confused look, startled by the firmness in his voice.
"I don’t think it makes much of a difference," she tried to intervene, which made you feel grateful.
Although, it didn’t change anything…
"I’m not obligated to explain myself to you about this decision, especially in front of the entire team. This is an order," Hotch announced with almost brutal professionalism. "The only thing I can say is that we need someone who won’t break character until the very end. Someone who won’t let emotions cloud their judgment."
"Are you sure you’re up for this?" Gideon asked, directing the question at Spencer. His tone was understanding, prepared to accept any refusal without judgment.
This time, he didn’t look at you. As Spencer nodded in confirmation, he actually avoided your gaze.
"Then we have the whole day to prepare for the sting. Let’s hope this leads to catching the unsub," Hotch concluded the meeting, signaling that you could leave the table.
You were torn between staying and screaming at your boss or leaving the room after Reid. Well, the second option wouldn’t get you fired. And, honestly, it seemed like the better choice. It turned out he wanted to talk to you too, as he was clearly waiting for you in the narrow hallway of the inn, where animal antlers hung on the walls and an informational board about moose was displayed.
"Are you angry because I want to do this?" he asked, the narrow walls around you making you stand quite close. Well, not as close as you could be, but close enough to add gravity to the conversation and allow you to study his face carefully.
Especially his determination. The determination for this job, for solving the case, and for preventing others from suffering the same tragic fate at the hands of this killer. Finally, you understood that your reaction was a bit irrational. Because if the victims were young women with your looks... you’d agree to it without hesitation. Some hypocrisy, huh?
"No. I'm just terrified that you're going to do this," you confessed, your honesty and concern making his face twitch in surprise. You snorted, trying to ease the tension. "I’m angry at Hotch for calling me emotionally unstable in front of all of you."
Spencer smiled gently, though there was stress hiding behind it. He may have been determined to go through with it, but that didn’t change the fact that there was fear accompanying him. He tried not to show it, but anyone in his position would feel it.
"Well, in his defense, he phrased it a bit more subtly."
You let out a soft laugh, stretching your arm out to gently touch his forearm. As your hand slid up, you leaned in a little, the simple gesture helping you feel more grounded and at ease.
His gaze followed your movements with a gentle satisfaction. You didn’t pull him closer, you were simply stroking his arm in that easy, caring way that calmed both of you.
"You’ve never done this before, have you?" you asked quietly. "You’ve never put yourself in this position like this."
He shook his head in denial.
"I’m really... really worried that I’ll do something wrong and we won’t be able to catch him because of me."
"You should worry about yourself, Spencer. Not about that. I’m sure you’ll play your part better than anyone could. "But I really regret that I won’t be able to be right next to you, in case something goes wrong."
His lips parted and closed in a kind of... amusement?
"I was going to say that maybe Hotch could be convinced, but then I realized, no, he won’t be. No matter what you say. And besides, having you there wouldn’t let me focus fully."
"I’m aware of that," you joked, tossing your hair dramatically. "After all, I look stunning."
"I was more referring to the fact that I’d be focused only on making sure nothing happens to you, but yeah. That’s one of the reasons too."
You fell silent, oddly moved by that confession. It was so simple, driven by care, affectionate. And it definitely made your head spin in the context of your relationship. You shook your head, pulling yourself away from those thoughts. As long as you were in Alaska, you could afford anything. After that, who knows.
You swallowed and put on a playful expression, it came with some effort, but you managed.
"Okay, genius-boy. Let me prepare you. You need to know how to behave."
"I thought I was just supposed to be myself," he noted, letting you pull him by the wrist.
"Well, mostly, yes. But it's still better to rehearse, get you into character. Don't you have any random fun facts to share?"
"I always have some fun facts to share. An endless amount."
"We'll see."
For the rest of the day, up until the inevitable moment of setting the trap for the unsub, you listened carefully to everything he had to say. His constant chatter allowed him to occupy his mind, pushing the stress aside to the point that, when it was time for him to head to the designated location, he seemed almost surprised that the hour had come. Only then did certain shadows begin to cross his face.
You paced restlessly around the inn as the whole team prepared. Your task was to take a position with Gideon at a certain distance from the bus stop, to cut off the unsub's escape route if necessary. The bus driver had agreed to cooperate, and JJ was giving him instructions, asking him to act as naturally as possible. There were to be no civilians on board, only Elle and a few inconspicuous local police officers. Hotch and JJ planned to follow the bus from a distance by car. Morgan was to lay low at the bus stop, also posing as a civilian.
You moved closer to Spencer, breathing heavily, his presence alone calming you down.
“You’ll be fine,” you reassured him just before you were about to leave. Morgan gave him an encouraging pat on the shoulder, and everyone was still gathered around you. You gently hugged him, just as any other friend would, just like Elle and JJ had moments before.
He, on the other hand, wasn’t concerned with appearances. He wrapped his arm around your shoulders and rested his chin on top of your head in a strong, lingering embrace.
“Y/N, you and Gideon need to go now," Hotch interrupted.
As you were walking away, you noticed out of the corner of your eye that he also gave Reid a brief squeeze on the shoulder.
It was a truly tense moment. You found yourself in a position where you had no visibility on what was happening inside the bus, nor could you gauge the gravity of the situation. All you could hear through the earpiece was Elle's whispered signal informing you that the suspect, fitting the profile, had just entered the vehicle.
And even though you didn’t have high hopes for the plan, everything unfolded exactly as it was meant to. Spencer exited the bus, and the unsub followed him. The suspect seemed intent on tracking him down that desolate, shadowy road, planning to attack and abduct him. But at the last moment, Reid turned, and before the man could react, he was surrounded by the police.
On your last night in Alaska, you found yourself on top, with his head resting against the headboard of the bed, his hands placed on your hips, and in a position where you could look at each other and talk.
"You really did great today," you praised, leaning in to gently kiss his collarbone.
He didn't seem flattered by your words, no smile on his lips, just that sad, aching expression that caused you pain. Wanting to shake off the feeling, you quickened your movements, hoping it would work, but then he tightened his embrace, making you slow down once again.
"I want... I want to enjoy you," he said with a slightly embarrassed tone, his fingers tracing restless, tender circles on your bare skin. "Since this is our last time together."
For a moment, he gazed at your face, as if hoping you would say something. But he couldn't find any trace in your expression that would suggest you had changed your mind. The small, naive spark in his eyes faded. Elle's words about breaking the cycle echoed in your mind, but not in your heart. You couldn't turn them into reality; you simply couldn't. The agreement remained the agreement.
Once you returned, everything would go back to how it was before.
another author's note: I plan to create a tag list and I want to know who among you would like to be on it. please, let me know in the comments.
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rafecameronssl4t · 2 days ago
Note
I enjoyed reading your rafe fics of love island and I was wondering if you could write one where reader and rafe are coupled up but he went to casa amor. Rafe started getting close to another girl and ended up kissing her. The reader saw a video of what happened in casa amor and she’s all sad and heartbroken. When it comes to the re coupling, the reader stays single while rafe brings back the girl to the villa. It’s sad but also a happy ending? I understand if you don’t want to write it!! I’ve been watching season 6 of love island USA and now I want to read sad fics lol
Oscar Winning Tears || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader love island au
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A/n: sorry bb this isn't a happy ending but I might end up writing a part 2????
Warnings: angst!!!! justice for my girl, it hurt me writing this :(
Word count: 1,905
MASTERLIST (love island au masterlist)
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Divider by @h-aewo
The firepit crackled softly, its warmth doing little to ease the icy weight in your chest. You stood among the other girls, the glow of the villa lights illuminating your tense expression. Casa Amor was over. This was the moment that would decide everything. The whispers around you were nervous, expectant. Some girls were murmuring about their hopes, clutching onto the chance that their boys had stayed loyal.
You barely heard them. Your mind was consumed by a single image: Rafe’s lips on another girl’s. That damn video. It had been quick—a montage of clips sent to the main villa to stir the pot. It worked. You’d seen him laughing with her, their bodies closer than they should’ve been, the playful touches that turned into something more. And then the kiss.
You’d felt your stomach drop as the girls gasped around you, some trying to reassure you while others exchanged worried glances. But you didn’t cry then, and you wouldn’t cry now. You refused to give anyone, especially him, that power. Your stomach churned just thinking about it, but you refused to let anyone see how much it hurt.
Sophie's voice broke through the tense silence. "Ladies, the boys are on their way back. Please stand by the firepit." You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to stand tall, even as your legs felt like jelly. Your palms were sweaty, and you discreetly wiped them on your dress, hoping to mask the anxiety clawing at your composure.
The first footsteps echoed from the path. A single pair. One of the girls next to you exhaled a shaky sigh of relief as her partner walked in alone, grinning sheepishly. Another boy followed, also alone. The tension was unbearable. Then, you heard it. Two sets of footsteps. Your breath hitched. A bitter chuckle escaped your lips before you could stop it, soft but sharp, enough to make the girls around you glance your way.
You didn’t look at them. Your eyes were fixed on the pathway, your heart sinking deeper with each passing second. You’d been prepared for this, or at least you told yourself you were. But nothing could really prepare you for the sight of Rafe walking toward the firepit with another girl on his arm. And then you saw him.
He walked in, his hand lightly resting on the arm of another girl. He didn't meet your eyes. His head was low, his expression unreadable. If you didn’t know him so well, you might have missed the subtle signs of guilt: the tightness in his jaw, the way his hand fidgeted at his side, the occasional glance toward you that he quickly averted.
The murmurs from the other islanders grew louder as they registered the scene. You could feel their eyes darting between you and Rafe, their pity and shock palpable. When he reached his spot across from you, Sophie turned to you with a sympathetic smile. "Y/n," she began gently, her voice laced with concern, "how are you feeling, darling?"
You let out a dry laugh, the sound bitter even to your own ears. "How am I feeling?" you repeated, your voice trembling despite your best efforts. You took a moment to compose yourself, sucking in a deep breath before continuing. "I’m not surprised. I expected it." Everyone at the firepit watched silently.
"I saw the video," you added, your tone flat but sharp, like the edge of a knife. That did it. Rafe’s head snapped up, his blue eyes wide with shock. Guilt was written all over his face. He opened his mouth, but you weren’t done. "Y/n—" he started, but you raised a hand to cut him off. "Don’t," you interrupt, your voice breaking slightly. You looked up at the sky, blinking furiously to keep the tears at bay.
You refused to cry—not in front of everyone, not in front of him, and certainly not in front of her. The girl at his side, her hand still loosely resting on his arm, spoke up. "It’s Love Island, babe. You gotta do what you gotta do," she shrugs. Her voice was light, almost dismissive, as if her words weren’t twisting the knife already buried in your chest.
Your head snapped toward her, and for the first time that night, anger flared in your eyes. "You’ve literally been here five minutes," you snapped, your voice sharp and cutting. "Don’t tell me what Love Island is about." Her confidence faltered, and she blinked taken aback by your tone, but you didn’t give her the chance to respond. Your attention shifted back to Rafe.
The anger in your chest burned hotter now, but beneath it was a raw, aching hurt that threatened to consume you. You forced a bitter smile onto your face. "I hope you’re happy with your decision, Rafe. I really do. I hope you don’t regret it." The firepit was silent except for the crackling of the flames. The other islanders shifted uncomfortably, unsure of what to say.
Some of the girls moved closer to you, murmuring quiet words of comfort that barely registered. Rafe looked like he wanted to say something, his lips parting slightly, but no words came out. He looked down again, his shoulders slumping under the weight of his guilt. Straightening your spine, you turned away from him, heading back to your spot with the girls.
Your heart felt like it was shattering, pieces of it breaking off with every step, but you kept your head high. The tears still threatened to fall, but you blinked them back, refusing to give him—or anyone—the satisfaction of seeing you cry. This was Love Island, and you’d play the game. But this time, you’d play it for yourself.
~
The recoupling ceremony ended in a blur. The moment Sophie dismissed everyone, you were the first to stand, your legs moving on autopilot as you stormed off. The heels of your shoes clicked sharply against the wooden planks, the sound punctuating each shaky breath you took. Behind you, the murmurs began—low and uncertain—as the other girls watched you retreat.
It wasn’t long before they followed, one by one, a show of solidarity that left the Casa Amor girls awkwardly planted in their seats. You held your head high as you walked away, desperate to maintain the last shred of composure you had left.
Rafe sat frozen at the firepit, his hands clasped tightly in his lap. He could feel the weight of everyone’s eyes on him, the tension radiating like a storm about to break. His jaw clenched as he stared down at the ground, guilt eating away at him like poison. “Mate, what the fuck were you thinking?” one of the boys muttered, breaking the silence.
Another chimed in, leaning forward to fix him with a sharp glare. “She stayed loyal to you. You had the real deal, and you blew it for… what? A bit of fun?” Rafe swallowed hard, his throat dry as sandpaper. He couldn’t defend himself. He couldn’t even look up. Beside him, the girl from Casa Amor shifted uncomfortably, her confidence waning as the tension mounted.
“Seriously, Rafe,” one of the others said, his voice lower but no less disappointed. “She deserved better than this. You know that, right?” The words hit Rafe like a punch to the gut, but he stayed silent, his guilt too overwhelming to let him respond. He risked a glance toward the path you’d disappeared down, but the sight only made his stomach churn.
The tears you’d been holding back spilled over, unstoppable, hot streams burning down your cheeks. Your chest felt tight, suffocating, as if your heart was collapsing in on itself. You pressed a trembling hand to your chest, trying to steady your breathing, but it was no use. Sobs wracked your body, and you stumbled slightly, leaning against a railing for support.
Despite your efforts to escape, you were still within view of the firepit. You hated that they could see you like this—breaking apart, vulnerable, destroyed. The girls were by your side in an instant, Sofia’s arm wrapping securely around your shoulders. “It’s okay, we’ve got you. Let’s get you out of here, okay? Away from everyone,” she murmured softly, her voice low and comforting as the others circled around you protectively.
You nodded mutely, unable to speak past the lump in your throat. They guided you to one of the outdoor lounges, the soft cushions offering little comfort as you collapsed onto them. Sofia sat beside you, pulling you into her arms as the others hovered close, their faces etched with concern. You buried your face in Sofia’s shoulder, gripping her tightly as sobs tore through you.
It all spilled out—the heartbreak, the anger, the betrayal. “I can’t do this,” you gasped, the words spilling out between sobs. “I fucking can’t do this.” The raw pain in your words made the girls exchange worried glances, their sympathy etched in their faces. “I stayed loyal to him,” you choked out, your voice breaking. “I stayed loyal, and he…” You couldn’t even finish the sentence.
The memory of him walking in with her was enough to shatter you all over again. “He’s a fucking idiot,” one of the girls said fiercely, her voice cutting through the haze of your pain. “You gave him everything, and he didn’t deserve any of it.” Sofia wiped your tears. "You did everything right. This isn’t on you." Her words only made it worse.
You had stayed loyal. You’d turned away from every temptation in Casa Amor, reminding yourself over and over that Rafe was waiting for you, that he was worth it. You’d trusted him to do the same. But he hadn’t. “But why?” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “Why wasn’t I enough?” The question hung in the air, unanswered, as your sobs filled the silence.
Sofia tightened her hold on you, her own eyes glistening with unshed tears as she tried to comfort you. "I gave him everything," you choked out between sobs, your voice breaking. "And he just… he didn’t care. He didn’t even think about me." The girls murmured quiet reassurances, their hands resting on your back, your arms, wherever they could offer comfort.
But nothing they said could touch the aching void inside you, the gaping wound left by his betrayal. Your heart ached, a dull, throbbing pain that radiated through every inch of your body. The memory of Rafe walking in with her—his arm around her, his guilty eyes refusing to meet yours—was seared into your mind. For the first time, you truly doubted if you could keep going.
Back at the firepit, Rafe’s guilt was palpable. He finally glanced up, only to see the other boys still staring at him with varying degrees of disappointment and disbelief. “You fucked up, man,” one of them said bluntly. “Big time.” Rafe didn’t argue. He didn’t try to explain. What could he say? That he’d been tempted, that he’d let his guard down, that he’d convinced himself it was harmless until it wasn’t? None of it mattered now.
The damage was done. His gaze shifted to the path again, and for a fleeting moment, he thought about going after you. But when he saw the other girls walking back toward the villa, their arms around you like a protective wall, he knew he’d lost any right to comfort you. You were gone. And it was entirely his fault.
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evieelyzabethh · 19 hours ago
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"lacy"
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⭒"i see you everywhere, the sweetest torture one could bear"⭒ Arcane characters when jealous {fem reader}
cast ✧ Vi, Ekko, Jayce, Viktor, Mel
cw ☞ slight angst but they all have a happy ending, kissing, and the usual stuff (slightly pervy Jayce)
♞Vi♞
♞Making Vi jealous is a terrible game. She is about that action and absolutely loves to fight, nothing beats that flow of adrenaline as she chases someone down to bash their face in. I feel like she would also get a bit mean. Jealousy is a nasty thing, it bites, and she bites back harder. The pit it creates in her stomach tries to swallow her whole and sometimes she wants to bring you down with her
♞She doesn't understand why you would want or need the attention of anyone else when you have her. Chiefly at the beginning of your relationship, it would cause a rift, intention or not. Vi doesn't have a proper education, she’s constantly guilt ridden about her childhood and her sister, she's broke, and an absolute hot mess. She's already constantly questioning why you're with her in the first place and the last thing she needs is some random coming up and flirting with you and you even bothering to dignify their presence with a response.
♞She would go dead silent, brushing you off for what feels like weeks, stewing in her increasingly negative thoughts. She doesn't even think you're cheating, but she feels like it's only a moment of time before you realize there's something better out there. Always the one to make the wrong decision, she pushes you away for a bit. She's very short with you, brushing off your attempts to make peace, playing a mean game to see if you're gonna give up on her so she can use it against you. This is definitely her biggest red flag.
It's dark and rainy out, rain pelting at the ground, seeping and sliding into its cracks to rehydrate the already soft foundation. It was supposed to be a calm night out at the Last Drop involving a few drinks to get Vi out of her current terrible mood, bookended by an unstable walk home as you both barely support each other under your weight and constant fit of giggles. Instead, Vi was a few paces ahead of you, hands shoved into her pockets, her head down rather than putting her hood up to keep her head dry from the rain. Every time you approach her, she slightly leans away. At first you thought it was an accident, maybe she was trying to avoid stepping on a rock or into a puddle, but after the umpteenth time it happens, the message becomes clear. She's avoiding you. As argumentative as she is, you may even be worse. "What the fuck is your, problem?", you bark, the alcohol in your veins curving the embarrassment of passersby clearly tuning into the argument they think is about to break out. "You've said some choice things and have been awfully rude these past few days, and I really don't appreciate it, Violet." But she doesn't have it in her to make a big scene. It's definitely the alcohol, because she's genuinely scared that if she starts a screaming match with you right now, she'll cry. She turns to you swiftly, hair dripping wet, stray dye rolling down her cheeks and down the slope of her nose. You had just dyed it together a few days ago, back before she decided to be mad at you for who knows what reason. "Look at me", she grabs your chin before you even get the chance to break eye contact with her. Petty, pissed, and unable to jerk your face out of her grip without giving yourself whiplash, you close your eyes. This pisses her off even more. "What, you don't have any more charity work left in you? You can giggle with what-his-face for hours, but you can't even look at your girlfriend?" That gets you to open your eyes, at first confused as to what the hell she was talking about then glittering with amusement that causes her to immediately let go and continue her fast paced walk back home. She isn't far enough to escape your light voice, cheery with the realization that you finally broke her down and occupied with what you think is the silliest thing in the world. "Oh, my gods, you're jealous about that guy from last night! Vi, you're so ridiculous, I don't even remember his name." And she is still teeming with anger, but that anger will dissipate soon after that last admission. Once you sober up, you don't find it as funny, but she's at your every beck and call trying to convince you it won't happen again.
♞After a little while together, she feels more stable in the relationship. Trust, she still gets jealous, but it usually looks like a smirk on her face before she pulls you into a heated kiss in front of whoever is bothering her. She makes a real show of it too, prying open your mouth to slip her tongue inside, her hands squeezing your sides and hiking up your dress, knee pressed firmly in between your legs. She continues long after the person leaves, before shrugging and sarcastically wondering where they possibly could've gone off to. You often scold her for this. You've never been to jail, and you'd hate to go for a public indecency charge.
★Ekko★
★Ekko doesn't really get jealous, like out of everyone I think he would get the least jealous so most of this section would be about his complete lack of jealousy. He doesn't believe in getting into relationships without trust first and it's because of this confident trust that he wouldn't get jealous. If anything, he wouldn't be jealous as in feeling like your relationship was in danger but jealous when it comes to your time. Like he would get slightly pouty if he felt like you were spending too much time with your friends, and it was significantly cutting out of your time together. Even then, he wouldn't really act on it.
★Ekko would be a "I don't care what my girlfriend wears, I can fight" kinda guy. Especially because he likes picking out your outfits, he does it with the intention of showing off the goods. He likes looking at you, he knows the world likes looking at you, he sees it as doing a favor to society. He is the first to tell you your tits look scrumptious in that top.
★Same concept with you being approached or flirted with. If they have the gall to do it in his direct presence, he has a great many words to say about it, but if he's watching it go down, he likes to watch it happen. He'll get involved as soon as he gets the feeling you are uncomfortable, but for the most part he sits amused a few feet away laughing at the glances you give him as the conversation goes on.
★I feel like if anyone was to get jealous, it would be you. Ekko spends a lot of time with a lot of different people which leaves space for certain people to not know that he's spoken for. I think he would be less aware of this than you. You are always at the forefront of his mind; he cannot fathom giving his attention to other people. Especially because he talks about you so often, he makes it quite clear that he is not single and when people choose to ignore that fact, he doesn't notice.
Warm light flitters into your shared room through half open blinds that reveal the orange and yellow that the blue sky had faded into. Ekko had just gotten home eager to strip down into some old, tattered tee shirt and some boxer shirts. Instead, he was met with a slightly agitated girlfriend, and he notices this immediately. He gives you space at first, greeting you at the door and asking you how you were and listening to your expectedly short answer. He only lasts a few minutes of this passive aggression before sliding beside you on the couch, sliding his arm around you and pulling you in close. You reluctantly lean in, trying to ignore how inviting he smells and how warm he feels. "Baby," he draws out, scooping you completely into his arms to straddling your thighs over his waist, his large palms remaining on your upper thigh. He's trying to whittle down your resolve and it is working. "Don't you wanna tell me what's wrong?" You rolled your eyes. "I've already told you what's wrong." He thinks it's cute that you're jealous. He likes the way your arms cross over your puffed chest, and you furrow your brow to try and appear serious but all you look like to him is a rabbit about to thump its foot. "And I have already told you, I am completely yours." It's cheesy and he knows it and he amps it up by scattering kiss all over your face, even as you try to evade his touch. "I don't doubt that, it's just..." He derails your sentences as his kisses move lower and his hands get more adventurous, exploring your upper thigh and the curve of your ass and the small of your back from underneath your shirt. "Hey!", you snap, "I'm being serious, Ekko." He pauses, withdrawing his hands to the fat of your hips and, reluctantly, his lips from your neck. "I'm listening, baby." "I've told you I don't know how many times that I do not like that girl. She is all over you." His mouth opens to try and protest, but you cut him off. "I can literally smell her perfume on you." He gets slightly defensive at this. "You don't think I'm cheating on you, do you?" A look of hurt flashes across his eyes. "Of course, I don't, Ekko. I'm not questioning you; I'm questioning her. I know she knows we're together and she just doesn't care, and you don't shut it down. Why else do you think she kept you out this late? What were you two doing?" Nothing. A whole lot of nothing, actually. The girl you were referring to, Thalara, had been a topic of conversation before. She was new to the commune, which landed her the benefit of the doubt with you, but it's been months now and she still hasn't laid off. Ekko, ever trusting of his people, never assumed malintent, but you saw right through her. You cup his head in between your hands, looking him in his eyes to make sure that the message is clear. "I love you, and I'm not mad at you, but she's pissing me off. You need to make it very clear that she needs to leave you alone or I will send the message for you." And you meant that. He makes it very clear to her the next day that he has absolutely no interest and comes back to you the next day beaming in accomplishment.
★Jealous you turns him on so incredibly much. Whatever you say goes, he is not one to turn you down when you're in a jealous mood.
❂Jayce❂
❂I feel like you would both get jealous, but he would get far more jealous than you do. While he is far from someone who would tell you to change what you're wearing, he does try and tag along with you when you're wearing something low cut. Like babe, what do you mean you don't want him to join girls night? Are you sure you're not cold?? You must be cold; your ass is hanging out, why won't you take his jacket?? Please take his jacket!!! Because of this he walks behind you, making it much harder for those undeserving to stare at you like he does.
❂While he loves showing you off at fancy events, ain't shit funny if you look too good. If you're lucky enough to make it out the house on time (he insists on helping you zip up but then gets confused which way zippers go), being there is a struggle. He likes staring at you and did not have the forethought to think other people would enjoy staring at you too. Let someone make a comment too, he is glued to your hip for the rest of the night.
He waits anxiously for the stupid gala to be over. Had he been more of a drinker, he would've been content to have a few glasses of the fancy champagne they brought around, but he hates the ethanol aftertaste it leaves behind and that is the last thing he needed after already feeling nauseous. He was trying so hard for you, he knew he had to give you your space, and he knew you were excited to go out to his Hextech showcase to show your support. He's being bitter and he hates it, he hates biting his tongue while watching you giggle with a councilman and the fact that he feels like a petulant child watching some other kid play with his toy He's been getting better with his jealousy, honest! That's why he's self-aware enough to know that his urge to go after you, sling you over his shoulder, and carry you home himself is childsh and silly and that you would chastise him over it as he looked at you like a kicked puppy. Gods, this was stupid. But he puts a smile on his face anyway, making his way over to you from the balcony he was just standing on, and sliding his hand on your shoulder. You look over at him, startled for a second, but relax when you see his amber eyes and slightly gapped smile. And then you say the magic words. "Oh, I was just about to go looking for you. Are you ready to go?" He cannot say yes fast enough. After he has you all to himself, he is insatiable, kissing you deeply as soon as you step foot in the carriage taking you home, losing balance and nearly sending you both toppling onto the floor of the moving vehicle. The seats are awkward and not long enough to properly lay you down, but he's too desperate to care about the discomfort, his hand cradling the back of your neck to make sure you are as comfortable as you can be. He's ruthless, the force of his kisses knocking the breath out of you and you can never catch up. You're almost dizzy, his desperate whispers nearly going through one ear and out the other. "You love me, right? Me and only me? You don't need anyone else.", and he's trying to find your zipper again, but his hands are clumsy and cold, and it only serves to arch your back further into him, not that he's complaining. When you do come to your senses, you giggle, running your nails through his hair as he looks up at you with wide eyes. "How long have you been holding that in." He looks at you sheepishly, fighting the urge to hide his embarrassment in the crook of your neck. "All night." You shake your head at his ridiculousness, pulling him in for a slower kiss, properly savoring the moment, before pulled away to peck his nose. "You are the only one for me, handsome, I don't know how many times I have to say it." He shrugs his broad shoulders. "A few more times wouldn't hurt." You roll your eyes and ask if he wants a collar, and he does not look as adverse as you expected.
❂He is so incredibly unhinged when it comes to jealousy. He doesn't act on it, but his mind goes to wild places. In a modern AU, if you dare not reply to a text in ten minutes he's asking, "What position he got you in?" Even worse, he knows he's being senseless, it's his way of asking for reassurance in a joking way. It's so absurd, you don't take him seriously which slightly frustrates him because he wants you to reaffirm him on what he already knows.
❂He gets really pouty when jealous too. He'll usually try and thrust himself into his work to occupy his mind and get it back to a rational place. Viktor calls you immediately because he ends up talking to him about it and he thinks the entire ordeal is unreasonable and doesn't have time to be asked at the ass crack of dawn "I know she loves me, but what if (insert insane scenario here)." He is a chronic overthinker and sometimes you just have to shut his brain off.
☽Viktor☾
☽Viktor is another one who doesn't get super jealous, but when he does, it usually stems from insecurities surrounding his leg. It doesn't happen often, but sometimes, especially as his condition gets worse, he gets frustrated that he can't do the things as easy as he used to be able to. However, he is entirely too proud to admit it or act on it. You probably wouldn't even notice, to be honest, and he wouldn't want you to.
☽I think he would absolutely throw himself into work when jealous. He's already at the lab damn near day and night, but unlike usual when he'll try for conversation here and there and be more lively, he's throwing himself into it out of necessity. It is one of his pride and joys, when his ego takes a hit, work is his refuge. This, of course, hardly ever works because he does not get good work done when it's being forced. He'll usually end up staring at the photo he keeps of you at your desk and feel lonely.
☽He'll invite you around to his lab more, though he is uncharacteristically stiff and rigid. He's trying too hard to focus but he just can't. His leg is tapping furiously beneath the table, he's biting the inside of his cheek, his hand is running through his hair every couple minutes. Things just aren't computing like how he wants them to and he hates it. His pride is a double-edged sword here, jealously is Jayce's thing. He thinks he is leagues above it and he gets frustrated with himself when he feels that green sickness in his heart.
☽He would be the type to address it head on. Once again, he's very analytical. He will tell you what exactly got him upset, why exactly it upset him, be very clear that he isn't blaming or upset at you, and silently hope you go overboard with affection for the next few weeks for the sake of his ego. After he does, he likes to ignore it even happened. Him? Jealous? You must have him confused with another ridiculously attractive, impaired, Czech-accented man. Jealous isn't even in his very extensive vocabulary, he has no idea when or why you dreamed of this completely fictitious scenario. He wouldn't try and gaslight you that it never happened, but he is petty enough to get selective hearing when it comes to mentions of it
For the first time since...ever, Viktor is home before the sun goes down. To say it catches you off guard is an understatement, so unused to the doorknob jiggling before the wee hours of the morning, you had a knife in your hand before you heard his keys in the door. You had been making dinner, and the smell alone makes his heart skip a beat. He hardly ever gets a warm dinner and for a minute, he deeply regrets being in his lab all the time. He slides off his shoes and loosens his tie as he pads over to you in the kitchen, wrapping one hand around your waist and the other gripping the counter for support. "You're home early.", you chirp, turning around to face him to peck his lips. "I was just making dinner, you want a taste?" Though he would never say no to that, you already have the spoon to his lips with a hand under to catch anything that might fall before he can even answer. He indulges, of course, and as the warm liquid soothes his throat, he hates that lab even more. Soup is one thing; but warm soup is to die for. "It's delicious, tchotchke." You smile as you turn back around. "Any reason you're home so early." He looks back the new ceiling fan you called Jayce over to put up and lets out a sardonic chuckle. He understands why you called him; he'd need to get on a ladder to put it up and have to abandon his cane for however long it took to hold the thing up and take care of the wiring. He wouldn't be able to balance himself and if he came down, the fan was coming down with him, probably on top of him. And yet, he still would've rather done it himself than you call Jayce to do it. "Yes, but it's admittedly a very stupid reason." You cannot fathom this. You remove the pot from the stove and onto a folded cloth on your counter and desert the stove. "Did something happen?" And he can't handle the look of concern on your face over something he knows to be trivial. "It's just that..." when he realizes he can't put it off any longer, he sighs. "I got jealous of Jayce." Had it not been for the serious look on your face, you would've burst into laughter. Those words had never fallen out of his mouth in that order before. "I know it's absurd, but it started when he put the fan up and it bothered me more than it should. I don't like that there are some things I can't do around the house, and it's been this way my whole life, but it's different with him. He's just always "the guy" and I hate the thought of him being "the guy" to you. It's irrational and a leap in logic, I know, but I hate it." And even better than pity, you just smile at him. In a way it's better that you want to laugh at him, he wants to laugh at him too. The thought of Jayce replacing him is maybe even more of an impossibility for you than it is for him. "So, next time I should just call a guy." He chuckles. "Yes, please."
☼Mel☼
☼I feel like she would be very calm about her jealousy, but also have a slight inclination to anger, albeit a silent one. She doesn't fear the betrayal of a potential cheating, but rather the embarrassment. If she were to see you get too chummy with someone, rather than approach you, she would watch from afar to see what you'd do. This is also a big reason why she usually doesn't take action herself; you never disappoint her when it comes to letting people know you're taken.
☼She is a bit clingier when jealous, but more than that she would insist on doing more couple things together. If she feels it is not known enough, she will make it known that the two of you are together. This often means gifts like expensive jewelry that only she could afford you, a new outfit that conveniently matches with one of hers, or even just letting you borrow bags or earrings of hers. It's her way of scenting you almost. She's too classy to try and "stake her claim" in a more showy way, so she does it in a more inconspicuous way.
Waking up alone wasn't something you were completely unused to. Mel was a very busy woman, and you were content with the nights you had together and rare mornings. These mornings were made extra bearable when you woke to a box on your nightstand, wrapped in a silk ribbon with a note in your girlfriend's handwriting slipped under the bow. 'From my heart, to my darling', it read, a lipstick mark beneath where she had signed her name with an elegant flick of her wrist. Perhaps just as eager to be opened as you were to open it, the ribbon fell loose as you gently picked up the box. It was too small to be a dress and too large to be a ring but large enough to contain maybe a fancy watch or a necklace, but judging by her unusually clingy demeanor last night, you had a feeling you could pretty accurately guess what was inside the ornate jewelry box. Unsurprisingly, within it lay a gold and pearl necklace, pearls that must’ve been rare due to their black hue rather than their usually pale pearlescent coloring.  The chain felt light in your hand, the heaviest part sinking into your palm as you stared at. Your first initial and an M. No matter which way it was taken, the M to be her first name or her last, the possessive message was clear, not that you minded. Mels smile was bright when she saw you for the first time that day, and even brighter when she saw what decorated your neck. She excused herself from the councilmember she was talking to before walking over to you, practically gliding on air. She takes your hand, kissing the inside of your wrist then your knuckles then pulls you by your hand into her. "I take it you're enjoying your gift?" Your hand still in hers, she spins you, taking you in at all angles for the first time that day. "It's beautiful, but I can't help but wonder what inspired the decision." She knows you know exactly how she works, and she doesn't mind admitting she's jealous. "Am I wrong to give my pretty girl a gift?", she says, mocking the comment you received last night. She rolls her eyes and her face gives away her impending rant. "Am I wrong to give a pretty girl a compliment? I still can't believe he said that to you last night. He only did it to piss me off, you know." You bite your lip to hide your laughter, but it eventually slips from you. "I hope I'm more entertaining than Salo was last night." She can't even feign annoyance, not with the sound of your laughter filling her ears and her name around your neck. She laughs herself, with how much the two of you talk shit about the man, you'd think anything he did could never affect her, but she had been biting her tongue since last night. "Shall I list to you all the ways you're better than Salo?" She waves the idea off nonchalantly. "No, my darling, I should hope I never need an ego boost that desperately."
☼You would definitely get jealous far more often than she does. She's gorgeous, smart, well spoken, rich and affluent, and perfection embodied in a person, there is much to be jealous of. Especially as someone who is on the council where part of the job is being great at sweet talk, I feel like you would get your feelings hurt sometimes. You catch more flies with honey, and she may be the sweetest honey there is. She does tease you for your jealousy though, she finds it utterly adorable.
☼She wouldn't allow you to be jealous long. She is very good at reading you and your emotions, she seems to always know exactly how you're feeling. You couldn't even hide it from her if you tried, she'll always find a way to corner you and help you talk your feelings through. She tries very hard to make sure that you can never question who she loves the most.  
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its-avalon-08 · 3 days ago
Note
I don't know if you're taking requests, but can you do something where the reader and Lando broke up after they had a stupid fight about where readerfeels they haven't spent any time together so lando tells her to leave in a fit of rage. (One Lando regrets and is very sad. Sad boy.) And a few weeks later reader gets into a accident and the hospital calls him because he's next of kin when they were dating and when he gets there he's freaked and the doctors surprises him by saying the baby's fine, but reader tells lando that he has to be there for them both thats why she didn't tell him because she didn't want her baby to feel second best. Happy ending, though, please. I'm sorry if that's long.
never enough (ln4)
✦ pairing - lando norris x female!reader
✦ genre - angst, tears, comfort, break up
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The tension in the room was suffocating, every word between them cutting deeper than the last. Y/N stood near the dining table, her arms crossed, her face a mixture of frustration and heartbreak. Lando sat on the couch, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, running his hands through his hair.
“You don’t even try anymore, Lando!” Y/N’s voice cracked as she spoke, but her words were sharp. “I can’t remember the last time you actually looked at me like I mattered to you. Do you even care?”
His head snapped up, his eyes blazing. “Don’t you dare say that, Y/N. Don’t you dare act like I don’t care. I’m doing my best here!”
“Your best?” she scoffed, her tone bitter. “Your best is spending every waking moment either at the track, with the team, or in your own world. You’re never here. Not really.”
Lando stood abruptly, the movement startling. “I’m sorry that I have a career that demands everything from me! What do you want me to do? Quit? Give it all up just to sit here and hold your hand?”
“That’s not what I’m asking for, and you know it!” Y/N fired back, her voice trembling with barely contained anger. “I’m asking for you to make time for me. For us. But I’m always the one waiting, always the one begging for scraps of your attention. I can’t keep doing this, Lando. I feel like I’m not even a priority anymore!”
His fists clenched at his sides, his voice rising as frustration overtook him. “And I feel like no matter what I do, it’s never enough for you! I’m stretched thin, Y/N! I don’t know what else you want from me!”
“I want you to act like you actually love me!” she shouted, tears now streaming down her face. “Like I’m more than just someone waiting for you at home!”
“Fine!” he yelled, his voice thunderous in the quiet room. “If I’m so terrible—if being with me is such a burden—then maybe you should just leave!”
The words hung in the air like a death sentence, and Y/N froze, staring at him as if he had just struck her. “What?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
“Leave,” Lando said again, though his voice was quieter now, the anger giving way to something more hollow. “If this isn’t enough for you, then just...go.”
Her breath hitched, the weight of his words crashing down on her. She shook her head, her voice trembling. “You don’t mean that.”
“Maybe I do,” he muttered, though his eyes betrayed the regret already forming in his chest.
Y/N’s hands trembled as she grabbed her bag from the chair, slinging it over her shoulder. “You’ll regret this,” she said quietly, her voice breaking on the last word.
He didn’t respond, his silence cutting deeper than any argument could have.
And when the door slammed shut behind her, the emptiness it left behind was deafening.
-- time skip --
It had been weeks since Y/N left, and the emptiness in Lando’s flat mirrored the hollow ache in his chest. The regret weighed heavily on him, an unrelenting reminder of what he had lost. He tried to focus on racing, to bury himself in work, but it only made the silence louder.
Every room held memories of her—the scent of her perfume lingering in the air, the mug she always used sitting untouched on the kitchen counter. He stared at it now, running his thumb over the rim, a pang of guilt twisting his stomach.
"I’m sorry," he whispered to the empty room, though he knew it was far too late.
His phone buzzed on the counter, jolting him from his thoughts. The screen lit up with an unknown number. Frowning, he picked it up.
"Hello?"
"Is this Mr. Norris?" a calm but urgent voice asked.
"Yes, this is Lando Norris," he replied, his chest tightening with unease.
"This is St. Thomas’ Hospital. You’re listed as the emergency contact for Y/N Y/L/N. She’s been in an accident."
The world seemed to tilt on its axis. "What? An accident? Is she okay?" His voice cracked as panic surged through him.
"She’s stable, but you need to come down to the hospital immediately."
Lando didn’t think twice. Grabbing his keys, he bolted out the door, his heart pounding in his chest. The drive to the hospital felt like an eternity, every possible worst-case scenario playing in his mind.
At the Hospital
He burst through the hospital doors, scanning for the reception desk. "Y/N Y/L/N," he said breathlessly. "She was in an accident. Where is she?"
The nurse directed him to a room, and he practically sprinted down the hall. When he reached her room, he froze in the doorway.
Y/N was lying in the hospital bed, her face pale and a bandage on her forehead. But she was awake, her eyes widening when they landed on him.
"Lando?" she asked, her voice faint.
"I’m here," he said, stepping inside. His voice trembled as he approached her. "God, Y/N, are you okay? They told me about the accident—"
"I’m fine," she interrupted gently, though her voice was tired. "Just a few bruises and stitches."
Before he could respond, a doctor walked in, holding a clipboard.
"Ah, Mr. Norris, I’m glad you’re here," the doctor said with a kind smile.
"Is she okay? What happened?" Lando asked, his panic bubbling to the surface again.
"She’s stable, and the baby is fine as well," the doctor replied casually.
Lando blinked, the words not registering at first. "The baby?"
Y/N closed her eyes, exhaling deeply.
The doctor, sensing the tension, quickly excused herself.
Lando stared at Y/N, his mind racing. "You’re pregnant?"
"Yes," she said quietly, her gaze fixed on the blanket covering her legs.
"Why didn’t you tell me?" he asked, his voice breaking.
She finally looked at him, her eyes glistening with tears. "Because I couldn’t do this alone with you half in and half out of our lives, Lando. I needed to know you’d be there. Not just physically, but really there. For me and for this baby. I didn’t want my child to feel like a second choice."
"Second choice?" he repeated, his voice filled with anguish. "Y/N, I’ve made so many mistakes, but loving you was never one of them. I was stupid, I was selfish, and I pushed you away because I didn’t know how to balance everything. But this? This is everything. You and our baby are everything."
Tears slipped down her cheeks as she listened to his words. "Lando, I can’t do this if I’m going to be fighting for your attention. Our child deserves better than that."
He moved closer, kneeling by her bed and taking her hand in his. "You won’t have to fight anymore, Y/N. I promise. I’ll be there for you and for our baby. I’ll do whatever it takes to prove it to you. Just—just don’t shut me out."
Her lip trembled as she stared into his eyes, seeing the sincerity in them. "I need you to mean that, Lando. Not just for me, but for them."
"I do," he said firmly, his voice steady despite the tears pooling in his eyes. "I’ll be there for both of you, every step of the way."
After a long pause, she nodded, her grip on his hand tightening slightly. "Okay. But you get one chance, Lando. Don’t waste it."
"I won’t," he vowed, pressing a kiss to her knuckles.
For the first time in weeks, a sense of hope filled the room. It wasn’t going to be easy, but together, they could make it work.
time skip
Months later, Lando stood in a nursery he had painted himself, his hand resting on Y/N’s bump as they admired the crib he’d built.
"You really went all out, didn’t you?" she teased, smiling up at him.
"Nothing but the best for our baby," he said, leaning down to kiss her forehead.
Y/N smiled softly, her heart full as she rested her head against his shoulder. Maybe they had started rocky, but in this moment, she knew they were exactly where they were meant to be.
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enwoso · 3 days ago
Note
Maybe younger Williamson reader causing trouble
The setting could be at training
Hope you’re doing well
Have a nice day🫶
DOUBLE TROUBLE — lionesses x williamson!reader
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masterlist
you and your big sister leah were polar opposites.
leah had always had a sense of seriousness to her, a strong defender whom always had a frown donning her face in team photos but always seemed to have a strong dress sense to her.
whereas you, you couldn’t be more opposite if you tried. you were a midfielder, an attacking midfielder to be specific and your family were sure you didn’t have a serious bone in your body always finding something funny out of any situation even sometimes when it wasn’t very appropriate as well as not really caring about you wore, if you could you would be in a tracksuit twenty four-seven.
but there was something you and your older sister shared a strong love for and that was football and more specifically a strong love for arsenal.
you both falling in love with the club with each match you went to see when you were growing up before you started playing — and maybe it was a was a little because you wanted to be just like your big sister when you were little, not that you would ever give her the satisfaction of knowing that.
so being with your sister and playing football with your sister both at club level and international level meant you spent a considerable amount of time with each other. and with that you knew exactly what made you sister tick and how to do it quickly sometime at your teammates expense when they would have to deal with the after affect of her.
“y/n! get back here now!” leah huffed as you ran off with her left boot in your hand, rushing down the hallway of st george’s park and placing the bright white boot on the first random shelf you passed, placing it carefully hoping to not knock any memorabilia off the shelf before racing further down the hallway and into the canteen.
a smug smile plastered on your lips which the team had learned to know this meant you were up to no good. “what you up to now, trouble?” beth raised her eyes brows with a knowing smile as you slipped into a seat opposite the blonde as she was sat on a table with alessia and ella.
“pfft me? i wouldn’t ever be causing trouble” you played off as cool as cucumber as you regained a normal breathing pattern. beth giving a knowing look towards alessia and ella as they both nodded, they knew trouble wasn’t far behind you.
“mhm and pigs can fly-“ beth mumbled taking a sip of her drink as a stifled laugh left the lips of both alessia and ella.
“i’m a literal walking angel, ask my mum!” you grinned sweetly, a hum coming from beth knowing that your mum did in fact think you were an angel and could do no harm and so when in practice was something that always riled your older sister up.
you sat there with a smug smile on your face as you joined into the girls’ conversation about the uncoming match in the netherlands, discussing some places you may go if you get the chance on your downtime.
but maybe instead of being so tuned into the conversation you probably should of been watching your surroundings as then may you have seen-
“what the fu- leah!” you screamed as you sister yanked your chair from the table, you almost falling off as the eyes in the room turned to look at what was all the commotion about.
“i’m gonna give you three seconds to tell me exactly where my boot is-“ leah said through gritted teeth, as she pinned your shoulders to the chair. a sense of urgency in her tone as the team was to be out on the fields for training in the next thirty minutes.
“-otherwise you can find yourself doing hill sprints while everyone’s warming up.” leah gave your sarcastic smile as she let out a sigh, a light giggle leaving your lips knowing you had done your job today and officially pissed your older sister off in probably record time, considering it wasn’t even eleven am yet.
“oh c’mon le, you wouldn’t do that to you own sister-” you gave her a loving smile as the blonde just raised an eyebrow, showing no signs of cracking.
“watch me.” leah paused before continuing, a noise of stifled laughs and some pats on the shoulder as some of the team passed, knowing how it was going to end. having seen the situation play out one too many times on camp and at club.
“three-“
a small gasp came from your as you reached up to hold a hand to your chest, as you pouted “your own blood, your baby sister leah. remember that!”
“your twenty two?”
“exactly. your basically a fossil-“ you casually say holding your lips together to hold the laugh that was so desperately trying to escape as a few ooo’s could be heard in the room but quickly where shot down by the death glare that was given to them by their captain.
“two.” leah’s patience was running thin, extremely thin.
“you really need to loosen up le- it’s just a bit of fun.” you shrugged as leah’s face was donned with a deep frown clearly bored of your silly games, you on the other hand were enjoying every second.
“or you just need to grow up?” leah quipped back quickly as the comment left a smirk on your face, your mouth hanging open slightly.
“well at least i won’t have permanent frown marks on my face-“ you mumbled under your breath as that was leah’s final straw, a laugh huff coming from her.
“just tell me where my fucking boot is!” leah voice getting a little louder with each passing word she said as your eyebrows furrowed slightly.
“you said i had three seconds and you’ve only-“
“ONE! now for the love of god will you please-“
“mhm since you asked nicely it’s literally been over there the entire time-” you lifted your arm up slightly with the little movement of your arms that you had from them being pinned to the chair by your older sisters firm grip.
leah’s head quickly spinning around to see where you were pointing to, her grip loosening on your shoulders so your took your chance using your strength and bolted out the chair while your sister was focused on scanning the room for her boot which had in fact not been over there the entire time.
but before leah even processed what you’d said, you were out the chair and out the room as chorus of laughter filling the room as a defeated sigh come from your sister.
“she’s such a pest!” leah groaned loudly ironically sitting down on the chair you had just bolted from, leah giving up on chasing you knowing that’s what you wanted her to do.
beth getting up from the table after watching the whole scene take place and getting some enjoyment from it.
“she’s such an angel, our little williamson eh!” beth laughed patting the english captain on the shoulder as a role of the eyes at the comment,
“more like pain in the backside!”
but even with the amount of winding each other up the two of you did to each other, at the end of the day you were sisters and you would always have each others backs.
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she-ra-ra-skirt · 3 days ago
Text
Chocolate Cake
I love chocolate cake. And when I was a boy I loved it even more.
Sometimes we used to have it for tea and Mum used to say, 'If there's any left over you can have it to take to school tomorrow to have at playtime.' And the next day I would take it to school wrapped up in tin foil open it up at playtime and sit in the corner of the playground eating it, you know how the icing on top is all shiny and it cracks as you bite into it, and there's that other kind of icing in the middle and it sticks to your hands and you can lick your fingers and lick your lips oh it's lovely. yeah.
Anyway, once we had this chocolate cake for tea and later I went to bed but while I was in bed I found myself waking up licking my lips and smiling. I woke up proper. 'The chocolate cake.' It was the first thing 1 thought of.
I could almost see it so I thought, what if I go downstairs and have a little nibble, yeah?
It was all dark everyone was in bed so it must have been really late but I got out of bed, crept out of the door
there's always a creaky floorboard, isn't there?
Past Mum and Dad's room, careful not to tread on bits of broken toys or bits of Lego you know what it's like treading on Lego with your bare feet,
yowwww shhhhhhh
downstairs  into the kitchen open the cupboard and there it is all shining.
So I take it out of the cupboard put it on the table and I see that there's a few crumbs lying about on the plate, so I lick my finger and run my finger all over the crumbs scooping them up and put them into my mouth.
oooooooommmmmmmmm
nice. < br>Then I look again and on one side where it's been cut, it's all crumbly.
So I take a knife I think I'll just tidy that up a bit, cut off the crumbly bits scoop them all up and into the mouth
oooooommm mmmm nice.
Look at the cake again.
That looks a bit funny now, one side doesn't match the other I'll just even it up a bit, eh?
Take the knife and slice. This time the knife makes a little cracky noise as it goes through that hard icing on top.
A whole slice this time,
into the mouth.
Oh the icing on top and the icing in the middle ohhhhhh oooo mmmmmm.
But now I can't stop myself Knife - 1 just take any old slice at it and I've got this great big chunk and I'm cramming it in what a greedy pig but it's so nice,
and there's another and another and I'm squealing and I'm smacking my lips and I'm stuffing myself with it and before I know I've eaten the lot. The whole lot.
I look at the plate. It's all gone.
Oh no they're bound to notice, aren't they, a whole chocolate cake doesn't just disappear does it?
What shall I do?
I know. I'll wash the plate up, and the knife
and put them away and maybe no one will notice, eh?
So I do that and creep creep creep back to bed into bed doze off licking my lips with a lovely feeling in my belly. Mmmmrnmmmmm.
In the morning I get up, downstairs, have breakfast, Mum's saying, 'Have you got your dinner money?' and I say, 'Yes.' 'And don't forget to take some chocolate cake with you.' I stopped breathing.
'What's the matter,' she says, 'you normally jump at chocolate cake?'
I'm still not breathing, and she's looking at me very closely now.
She's looking at me just below my mouth. 'What's that?' she says. 'What's what?' I say.
'What's that there?' 'Where?' 'There,' she says, pointing at my chin. 'I don't know,' I say. 'It looks like chocolate,' she says. 'It's not chocolate is it?' No answer. 'Is it?' 'I don't know.' She goes to the cupboard looks in, up, top, middle, bottom, turns back to me. 'It's gone. It's gone. You haven't eaten it, have you?' 'I don't know.' 'You don't know. You don't know if you've eaten a whole chocolate cake or not? When? When did you eat it?'
So I told her,
and she said well what could she say? 'That's the last time I give you any cake to take to school. Now go. Get out no wait not before you've washed your dirty sticky face.' I went upstairs looked in the mirror and there it was, just below my mouth, a chocolate smudge. The give-away. Maybe she'll forget about it by next week.
Alright tell me in the tags, what’s Your Poem? That poem you heard once and it has dwelt within you ever since?
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Text
So Demon twins but Danny was never raised in the League. He was brok sickly so Ra’s chucked him in the Lazarus pit and he never came out.
He emerged on the other side of the world in a pool of ectoplasm and got adopted by the Fentons.
14, he died.
15, he had a clone, Danielle, and she went to travel the world, starting in Venice
He knows he was adopted, Vlad spilled the beans during a fight, and when he was 16, he decided to tell his parents he was Phantom. (for the first time in my prompts) It went well.
When he was 17 and about to graduate high school, he decided to do a DNA test and find out who his bio parents are.
Bruce Wayne and an Unknown
Sends a letter to Bruce and doesn’t really expect a response.
He gets one.
Bruce Wayne knocks on his door 5 days after he sent the letter and offers to let Danny stay in Gotham with him while he takes a gap year. Danny agrees.
He meets Damian (doesn’t really matter is Damian knew of Danny existence or not) and everyone else and has a great time.
Eventually, Danny brings up things that alludes to his vigilante past
“Ya know, back when I was dead-”
“Metaphorical, right?”
“… sure. Anyway!-”
-
“Killed 17 people?! Tsk tsk, my rouges would never! Not even the clown! So, do you want Thai or Indian takeout?”
“… what was that?”
“Thai or Indian?”
“What- no, that not what I- *sigh* Thai, please.”
Eventually, he brings up his Dani.
“Oh yeah, my clone loves to travel!”
“Your what?”
“My clone! She’s more like a sister though.”
“Okay… where is she??”
“Shes traveling. Last I heard she was running with a group called the League of Assassins. Or was it assailants?”
“👁️👄👁️”
“Do you want to meet her..?”
“YES.”
-
So Dani joined the LOA. Not the worst thing she could’ve done.
Talia took one look at this girl she found in Venice that looked exactly like her beloved and thought ‘why not?’ And offered her a place to stay.
Dani took one look at this women she met in Venice that offered her a place to stay and though ‘bet’ and accepted.
So she’s been running with assassins. It’s not that bad and she learned how to fight. Talia mothers her and protects her from Ra’s good mom Talia, she will not raise Danielle like she raised Damian Eventually Dani gets a message from Danny saying that his biological family wants to meet her.
She goes with Talia’s okay and heads to Gotham.
Unlike her template, she knows that the Waynes are the Bats and loves teasing them about it.
“You’re billionaires, right? Wow, I really hope you don’t have a secret lair under this mansion!”
“… right, right. That would be weird.”
Damian doesn’t know what to make of Danielle. On one hand, he’s always wanted a sister, and she’s biologically related to him. On the other hand, she willingly works with the people that took away Damian’s childhood.
Danielle doesn’t have the blind devotion to the LOA that he had, and he thinks that she’s been manipulated by Ra’s and spends his time trying to convince her to stay in Gotham with them.
So now Bruce Wayne and Talia Al Ghul get into a custody battle. (Talia wants also Danny and Bruce wants Dani)
Wind of it reaches the press and now the whole world is invested.
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randombush3 · 2 days ago
Text
te hacemos falta
alexia putellas x reader
prologue, que te quiero, busco lo de antes
summary: you wake up but you're not sure where
words: 4715
content warnings: bit of smut
notes: the end was written way before the beginning. i couldn't decide what to do with this for a while but it came to me in the shower earlier today so here we are, finally completed
there will have to be more parts to this because i'm not done yet 🙄
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The duvet falls to the floor. 
Swathes of tanned skin spread over your smooth legs, encapsulating, suffocating. It’s good though, so good. And it’s exploration of somewhere familiar, crevasses that she knows, divots that you wish you did. Dimples where muscle tenses and relaxes and veins that throb at the sight of… this. Oh, how she has missed this. 
There’s a hunger in her eyes – desperate, ready. Her tongue is warm and wet as it slides down the valley of your breasts and your stomach and the apex of your thighs. She’s moaning, you’re moaning. It’s a cacophony of sound and pleasure and this might kill you, might just end it all, because is this what it used to be like? Blazing, fiery, passionate sex? 
She sucks and bites and kisses and you’ve never been at anyone’s mercy quite like how you are at hers, back arching, legs clamping tightly until blonde hair and stars are all you can see. Her breath sears and your skin must be branded: ‘Alexia, Alexia, Alexia’ it must say. The sound of your heartbeat pounds in your ears, louder than her name falling from your lips, louder than her appreciation that you are here and doing this. 
It’s better than it ever has been. And it’s building. Climbing, growing more intense. Her tongue swirls your clit and it’s almost enough, your hands gripping the sheets as though that will anchor you on your ascent to Heaven. You might be screaming. She’s making you scream. 
Your stomach drops as you go soaring through the sky. And then it’s gone.
“It’s a sex dream.” You look up, ignoring the heat of your cheeks, trying to remind yourself that you’re allowed to feel like this in therapy. “The same one, right?” 
“I wake up sweating.” 
Your therapist nods, her expression neutral and free of judgement, pen poised on her knee as she waits for your confession to settle, really making you sit in it. Then, she speaks, measured tone like always, “And when you wake up, what’s the first thing you feel?” 
Her question is gentle but purposeful. She is a deliberate woman. 
“Embarrassment, mostly.” She doesn’t quite buy it. “Sometimes I… get off? After?” 
“Are you asking me?” 
“It’s uncomfortable,” you fire back, defensively. “She’s in the next room to me. My daughter is in the same flat. I’m acting like a horny teenager.” 
“Sex is biological. Your body was accustomed to the regular hormone release, a stable sex life. You’re young and you were both in high-stress professions. Is it so absurd for you to crave it?” You shake your head, although her rhetoric is clear. “And as you’ve already said, you’re attracted to Alexia, memories or not.” 
“I’m not blind,” you protest. (Is it really a protest?) 
Your therapist nods again, considering your words with slight amusement. “Not blind,” she repeats. She inhales. “What about the feelings that come with that attraction? Are you angry with yourself for still wanting her, even if the memories aren’t there?” 
The leather sofa creaks as you shift in your seat. You briefly wonder how many people she has made want to die of discomfort in this office, but she’s pretty good, you’ll give her that. “It’s not anger,” you murmur, the tightness in your chest still constricting in its nameless fashion. “It’s… guilt, maybe? Frustration? She looks at me like I’m supposed to remember, like I’m supposed to love her the way she clearly still loves me. And I want to. God, I want to. But I feel like I’m trying to love a stranger.” 
She leans forwards slightly, eyes deep and gentle, subtly glancing at the clock above the door before refocusing on your face. “You said you still feel attracted to her. That’s not nothing. Desire can be a bridge – it is for many relationships.” 
You sigh, rubbing at your temples. Months have dulled the ache of your head, the physical pain of the accident now almost gone, but nothing seems to have stopped your insides from howling in anguish. It echoes in your emptiness. You’re not sure if that makes it worse. “It feels hollow. We wouldn’t have fucked for a while, not if I had Amaia – she would’ve been so young.” The clock ticks over another minute. “And she deserves more than just me physically. It would be failing. Her. Amaia.” The crack of your voice betrays the steadiness of your tone. 
“She’s not asking for perfection,” your therapist says carefully. “She’s asking for effort, for honest. And if she didn’t believe in you, she’d have left, wouldn’t she?” 
“She wouldn’t do that.” 
“She wouldn’t do that to you,” she corrects. 
That merits a pause. It’s true, probably. When you have concocted some kind of response, you shuffle your legs so that they are crossed, one over the other – a pose Alexia had claimed to be the signpost of being ‘lawyered’, shivering as she’d said it. “Every moment we try to connect, I mess it up. She’ll talk about something we did, some moment that was important to us, and I just sit there. Blank. It is only a matter of time until she gets fed up and leaves. She’s surely just patient.” 
“From what you have told me about Alexia, she is not a patient person,” she rebukes. The harshness of her voice is not explicit, more like the piercing shot of a pistol equipped with a silencer. It makes good contact. “Have you told her how this feels for you?” 
You don’t reply. 
“Alexia might be holding onto the version of you from before the accident, the person she remembers,” your therapist continues. “But she’s also here, now, with this version of you. That tells me she’s willing to rebuild, even if it’s from the ground up.” 
Fuck. “You have a point.” 
She smirks. “Of course I do.” 
Alexia sits at the kitchen table with a mug of coffee clasped tightly in her hands. The hum of the fridge does nothing to mask the rustling of your sheets, nor the music Amaia thinks is too quiet to be heard. No one is asleep, yet no one is together. She wants to scream. 
Her coffee has long since cooled, her last sip maybe even hours ago. Time is no longer real. Time has fucked her over and she’s really renounced it. 
The decorations are starting to peel their way off, the tree going brown, the batteries in the lights dying. Maybe the horror of Christmas will also be lost, and maybe that’s for the best; awkward gifts, dinners where inside jokes left you on the outside, alcohol doing nothing to jog your memories or ease you into making new ones. Amaia’s birthday also carried that same awkwardness, worse at night, when she had asked to be cuddled and you’d frozen the moment she had fallen asleep on you. 
Nights suck. 
Nights leave space for Alexia to remember everything you don’t, cold in a bed that isn’t hers, with no one there to hold her as tears spill out and make her feel fucking pathetic. She pretends not to notice, but Mapi’s texts get later and later each day, as though she has caught on to the worsening bags under her captain’s eyes and the dark swirl of her mind. 
And at night, under the covers, all Alexia can do is picture you. 
She’d felt the shift when you had come back from Bilbao. She’d seen your body tense – no stranger to its signals. It’s been a waiting game ever since. 
She suspects it has something to do with Amaia. Your responsibility is unfaltering, even if you seem to not recognise it, and it is reminiscent of the first time round, when Alexia had been refused sleepovers and late nights, working with quick makeouts in daylight and steamy kisses in the five minutes you’d allow her to pull over for on your way back home. “My daughter needs me more than you do,” you’d joke, batting her hands away, grinning at the whines she’d let out. “And someone needs to teach you how to wait.”
“So many women would jump at the chance to sleep with me,” would be her instantaneous response. She’d say it to your back, because you’d already be on your way out. 
Sex shouldn’t be on Alexia’s mind like this. She felt guilty about it then, and she feels even guiltier about it now. 
You’re attractive. Beautiful. Intelligent. You’re more than the sound you make when she’s pressed inside you just right. Or the swears you hiss when you’re returning the favour. 
You’re the words you say when you’re trying not to let Amaia down: careful, caring. And the look of support when Alexia is watching nothing ring a bell and wanting to die because of it. 
And you’re still you, if not set on different tracks with different thoughts and feelings and perspectives. 
You are still the woman she loves – which she knows and clings onto. And you’re braver than she is, because she would not have survived this situation. 
Alexia pictures you again, when she finally gets herself into bed, hand wandering down her sculpted body, jerking away at the slightest sound like she is not allowed to be doing this. She does it anyway. 
It’s a relief, a fleeting escape, and the only thing that doesn’t make her feel so fucking hollow. Briefly, the world hasn’t ended. Her fingers find familiar paths, mapped out by yours as she’d melt beneath your touch, and, for a moment, it isn’t her hand. It passes, and the pleasure is only a ghost of what it once was. 
She tries again. 
Her breath hitches as her mind fills with memories – your face, your voice, the sparks beneath her fingertips, the heat between the two of you. A lump grows in her throat. She has to stop. 
A part of her wants to give in completely, to let the tension in her body break, to seize the satisfaction that’s right in front of her. But another part of her recoils. Guilt settles, a weight on her chest, as she thinks of your blank stare. 
She pulls her hand away, her body trembling. She feels pathetic. This isn’t what it used to be. Love is too distant, too faded. 
And there’s the other thing. What she doesn’t want to admit. 
She can’t do it alone anymore. 
She rolls over and buries her face in the pillow. This might be her breaking point. Where the fuck does she go from here?
To establish a sense of normalcy when your physical injuries finally get written off by your doctor, your therapist suggests you take Amaia to a football match. Obviously Alexia’s match. WIth her tickets. And her mother. 
Although Amaia looks like you, there is so much of Alexia in her. Her enthusiasm, her dedication, and… her love for football. You imagine they must have killed you with their obsession with kicking a ball into a net. They tend to not talk about it now, most family dinners casting a glance backwards to catch you up about the last decade. 
She is radiating excitement beside you as you take your seats. 
The stadium roars as fans pour in, a sea of blaugrana that your daughter slips into, donning her jersey with pride. You wince a bit at the sight, but Amaia is quick to whisper that she doesn’t wear it when Barça plays Bilbao. She speaks with such familiarity. She hardly lets on that her mother doesn’t know who she is. 
Alexia’s own mother, Eli, is a very nice woman. You once employed her, which is how you and Alexia met. You get why she was a good fit – wise, reliable, kind. You also get why she managed to set you up with her daughter. Eli can apparently see right through you. 
Thankfully, she says nothing during the match, the buffer of Amaia actually working. 
You had glanced at the news before, stuff with Alexia’s name in it always catching your attention, and, of course, you’d admired a few photos. But it doesn’t compare to the real thing. 
Since September, Alexia has fumbled her way around you, cautious and unsure. On the pitch, she is the opposite. Determined, commanding, majestic and she swerves and dribbles and takes out players left, right, and centre. She seems to read the future, apprehending attacks, anticipating defensive lines and destroying them before they can even be formed. This passion, this intensity… this is the woman you must have fallen in love with. You’ve been getting to know a shell of her.
You get a lot of things now. (You should’ve let your therapist convince you to attend a match way sooner.)
The final whistle blows and you feel transformed. Not reformed, but, rather, made anew. A butterfly emerging from its cocoon. 
Okay. No. Maybe you’re getting ahead of yourself. 
But right now, as a sweaty Alexia jumps the barrier and sweeps Amaia into her arms effortlessly, you are certainly less resistant to experiencing your recurring dream again. Something guilty ebbs and flows at the back of your mind, but if it were the ocean, it would very much be low tide. 
Her eyes are fixed on you as Amaia recounts the match with her own analysis like a mini-manager ready to sit down and review the footage. Her mother clears her throat once silence settles between the four of you. 
“Mama, we’re getting dinner,” comes the next spoken sentence. Not from Eli. 
You blink.
“Alexia,” Amaia repeats, tugging her arm. “Dinner.” 
“Zer esan duzu?” you mutter under your breath, accessing the private form of communication you have with your daughter like it is the Washington-to-Moscow hotline. It’s often too constrictive, too close, to Amaia for comfort – you’re not quite there yet, no matter how much effort you put into trying to bond with her. 
You’re not dignified by a response, instead met with an uninterested eye-roll (the cheek!) and commotion as everyone starts to move. Well, half the party. Eli kindly lets Amaia drag her away. 
“Did you enjoy the match?” Alexia asks awkwardly, waiting for you to pick your bag up from the concrete floor. She stops herself from getting it for you when you grimace, still getting used to the tightness that will always remain in your ribs. She knows you’d hate that.
“I don’t like football,” you say, because her hair is wet and falling over her face, and her neck is flushed, and her kit is sticking to her in a very flattering way. And you walk past her because you’re probably not going to get this relationship back. 
Your therapist does most of the talking in the next session. Internally, she is screaming. 
Sticky glue on clean fingers. Amaia grimaces. She prefers the mess of mud to glitter and paint, but the black pages of the scrapbook are almost full and her end goal makes it worth it. 
Alexia asks what she does in her room that keeps her so quiet, her voice laced with curiosity and that same exhaustion she hasn’t been able to shed since the accident. Alexia, with no answer given, probably assumes it’s reading, or homework, or some other thing that elevates her to saintly status – Oh, Amaia, aren’t you just so special. 
Special girls wouldn’t have been forgotten by their mothers… No. Amaia believes she should not digress. 
The scrapbook is her cure. Or at least, what she has convinced herself will help you, because she is a little girl and what would she know about ground-breaking neurological treatments and the effectiveness of a good psychiatrist? She sees the appointments listed in the calendar Alexia keeps on the dining table – an illicit activity only undertaken when no one seems to be ready to take her to training and she worries she has gotten the time incorrect – but they are just abbreviations and addresses to her. Pictures are real. Pictures cannot be cancelled or argued about or scheduled on top of school concerts and meetings with her concerned teachers.
It was difficult at first, finding the pictures. There were only so many on the iPad you let her borrow – then subsequently forgot about and allowed her to claim. She’d asked Eli for help (Eli would never reveal her secret mission), who told her about something called a disposable camera and then proceeded to go off on a tangent, showing photos of Alexia when she was a baby. But, eventually, when photo-Alexia had reached adulthood, Eli agreed to participate and the next time they convened, she had an envelope of at least three more pages’ worth of material. 
And so they got to work. 
Pages upon pages were slowly decorated with lost memories. Birthdays, holidays, first-times, last-times. If there was a photo of it, in it went. Afternoons in Eli’s kitchen were spent with gel pens and scissors, mornings before school dwindling in length as nights got later and alarms began to be snoozed.
You don’t know what to say when one day, red-cheeked from the exhaustion of the extra goalie sessions, Amaia barrels into the car with exciting news. You’ve been privy to this news, you think, because the coaches have already messaged you about trial dates for better teams (teams that wear blaugrana, to Alexia’s satisfaction), even if the Infantil-Cadet begins at the age of twelve. “I’m so proud of you, txiki,” you begin, before Amaia can speak, your joy bursting at the seams, barely contained in your voice. Affection for her has certainly been something you’ve mustered, even if it has grown from a seed all over again. She is not hard to love. “Alexia has been speaking to Cata and she is going to find time to give you some tips! The girls will be older and you’ll have to work with more powerful shots, more precision.” You’d had a conversation with your footballer (things are still awkward but Amaia is in no-man’s-land and requires civility), who had been monitoring this inevitable progression in Amaia’s life and already had an argument prepared for why she should be allowed to trial. Maybe in another universe, you would have said no. “Don’t worry. I’m sure it won’t be too much of a challenge for you.” 
You turn to watch for Amaia’s reaction, expecting elation or nervousness or something like that. Instead, you are met with confusion. “What’s wrong?” There’s nothing else to ask. 
“That wasn’t my news,” she states. The glimmer in her eyes – your father’s eyes – illuminates the cracks in her serious expression. “You’re going to like my news more, Amatxu. It’s not to do with football. You don’t even like football.” 
“I like football,” you instantly argue, indignantly mentioning Athletic Bilbao’s recent victory. 
“You didn’t before.” She’s somewhat insistent. She reminds you of Alexia, the way her smile is barely contained, her amusement too obvious, too profound. “When we used to go to Alexia’s matches, you’d just stare at her. And I would say ‘Amatxu, the ball is on the right wing’, and you’d still be watching her.” 
“I don’t like football.” 
“You like it when Alexia’s playing.” 
You huff in annoyance. You’ve been… lawyered? By a child. “Tell me your news, Ami.” 
“You stopped calling me that,” she points out.
“Alexia told me you like being called that.” Or, rather, implied it. 
“By my mum.” 
“I’m your mum.” Amaia looks almost prepared to disagree, which stings but in a familiar way that your therapist tells you is a part of healing. Therapy might still be a scam. “Tell me your news, Amaia.” 
“I like Ami.” The car may swerve a little, but then you see darkness and hear screaming and your hands are tightly gripping the wheel again. “My news! Yes, my news. I have a present for you. I’ve been waiting to give it to you for a long time.” 
That’s all you get until you arrive home. 
Alexia is making dinner, the smell of tomatoes and garlic wafting down the hallway as the lift doors swoosh open. She’s listening to music – happy music – and there are rhythmic thuds against the floor. You’re surprised Alexia knows how to dance. 
Her hips sway at the stove, grey joggers outlining toned legs and… Your daughter is right beside you. You blink and hope those thoughts disappear. 
“Ami!” Alexia exclaims at the telltale sound of pitter-pattering. The spoon drops from her hand, stirring be damned, as she swipes the girl into a hug, kissing the top of her head. “How was training?” 
“Seré la nova portera del Barça.” The excitement is infectious as Alexia lifts her slightly off the ground with the force of her hug. It’s immediately warmer, the room filled now that they are together. You try to feel included. The sight momentarily plucks a string somewhere deep inside of you, but before it vibrates, Amaia throws a glance back at you, her cheeky smirk a reminder that she is still hogging her news. 
Alexia sets Amaia down gently, wiping her hands on the teatowel slung over her broad shoulders. “What’s that face for?” she asks, raising a curious brow as the girl slips out her grasp and scurries towards the dining table, schoolbag in tow. 
You linger by the worktop, trying to work past the need to hide from Alexia and failing miserably. Amaia unpacks her bag – ludicrously capacious and stuffed to the brim with art supplies that make you question why you are paying school fees. “I’ve been working on something,” she announces, her voice just shy of a triumphant proclamation. Out comes a spiral-bound book, decorated like a unicorn ate a rainbow and then had diarrhoea. She’s eleven, you suppose. 
Then she opens the book and you regret judging it by its cover. 
She flips past pages filled with images that hitch your breath. Holidays you don’t remember. Birthdays lost to the void that exists between then and now. 
“What is this?” you ask softly, stepping closer despite yourself.
Amaia looks up at you, her expression both shy and proud. “It’s for you.” 
The slosh of sauce being stirred stops abruptly. You try not to look, but Alexia is leaning towards the table for a better view, bottom lip between her teeth as her eyes deepen and her chest grows heavier.
Undeterred by the silence, Amaia continues fervently, “I’ve been making it for months.” She pulls the scrapbook close to her chest for a moment, before offering it to you with both hands, glitter floating to the floor. “It’s so you won’t forget anything anymore.”
You freeze. The walls are touching your sides, too small. Alexia is watching you for your reaction. “Forget?” you echo faintly, hands trembling as they reach for the book. 
Amaia tilts her head, innocence piercing and painful. “Like how you forgot my birthday. Or, like, didn’t know it was.” 
The air is knocked clean out of your lungs. For a moment, you can’t move. You can’t breathe. Alexia’s eyes dart between the two of you, her jaw tightening as she grips the worktop. You know she wants to jump in, wants to soften the blow, but she doesn’t. Not yet. 
Amaia keeps going, her voice steadily reporting shortcomings like bombs she doesn’t know can kill. “I know you didn’t mean to. And I know that you don’t remember things because you hit your head really badly. So you don’t remember my first football practice, or when we used to go to the beach. So… I made this!” 
She flips the pages for you, her tiny fingers smudged with gel pen ink. “Here’s the picture from when we went to New Zealand and Alexia won the world cup.” You’ve seen that one before. She turns the page, “And this,” a small, faded photograph with fridge-worn edges, “is from when I won my first school race. This is in London, see?” She’s grinning widely, front tooth missing, a green field behind her with a grey sky that is certainly not Barcelona. 
Your throat tightens. You can’t look away from the book, each page a kaleidoscope of colours and slipped-away moments. Drowned memories that have sunken into a trench of blackness – still there, just unrecoverable. “Amaia…” Your voice cracks. You might break.
Alexia moves quietly, reaching a hand out to your back before steadying it centimetres away. Her warmth is felt only for a second before she remembers herself and moves away. “This is what you’ve been doing,” she deduces, her surprise comforting. For once, you were not the only one in the dark. 
Amaia beams but she is not looking at Alexia. “I told you you’d like it,” she says. You’ve not given your opinion yet. “Now you’ll never forget again, not even if you want to.”
Silence presses down on the room, save for the gentle bubbling of the tomato sauce on the stove. You clutch the scrapbook tightly, afraid that dropping it will send the wrong message. It’s not perfectly made – far from it. The edges are uneven, the colour clashing in some places, the glue smeared in translucent stains past photos. But it’s beautiful. It's yours, from Amaia. It is her love for you. 
Tears pinch in your eyes. “I don’t deserve this,” you whisper, the words slipping out before you can stop them. 
Amaia frowns, her brows knitting together in confusion. “Of course you do. Zu zara nire ama.”
Your skin bristles as Alexia moves past you, hand resting on the worktop. “You do,” she agrees. She seems to want to say more, but Amaia, satisfied with her convincing, turns back to the scrapbook, taking it from your hands and opening it to the very last page. 
“This one’s my favourite.” 
The final page is a drawing, not a photograph. It’s sketched carefully, although a little garishly done in neon green, but it’s unmistakable. Three figures stand together, arms linked. Surrounding them are words (Catalan words, you think) and images. Alexia’s hand presses harder into the worktop.
“Alexia says Barça is the best team in the world,” Amaia starts smugly, “but she’s not right.” A grunt of disagreement comes from the woman beside you, but she allows the girl to continue. “We are.” 
The words fall from her lips like a statistic, indisputable yet hard to believe. 
“We’re like a football team, to help Alexia understand,” she then says with a smirk. “Badakit ez duzula gehiago behar, Ama. Oso adimentsua zara.” 
“I’m not stupid,” grumbles Alexia. 
She’s ignored. “You are the attack, Ama. You’re, like, the glamourous one, the one everyone wants to be like, with glory and success and shiny trophies.” You’ve seen Alexia’s trophies, but you don’t argue, assuming it will be pointless when your daughter can be so stubborn. “And then Alexia is in the middle. Attack and defence are a pair, but it’s not right to have them on a pitch without the midfield. It’s never as seamless. The team would be incomplete.” You pause to consider if Alexia is ever afraid of being loved by Amaia. She’d have had no reason to be. “Of course, I am in goal. Nothing slips through me, even if it’s really scary and the ball is coming fast. I make sure we don’t lose.” 
Your breath catches. Something inside you shifts, not the fragments left by Alexia’s football match a few weeks ago, but a new part of this new life. A root in fertile soil. “Thank you,” you murmur, pulling Amaia into a tight hug. She tenses at first, almost shocked by it, but then she is relaxing and hugging you back, face buried in your clothes as though it is what coming home feels like. “I love it. I love you.” 
Alexia watches, her expression softening as she steps back towards the stove. “Dinner’s almost ready,” she announces, giving you both a moment to breathe. 
Amaia pulls back, her grin wide and triumphant. “I told you you’d like my news.” She pauses, glancing slyly at Alexia. “Much better than football, right?” 
The woman’s laugh is warm and free. You want to bottle it. “Careful, nena. You’re about to lose your biggest cheerleader.” 
“Never!” shouts Amaia, before leaning back into you. And for the first time since the accident, part of you is at home. 
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mel4rock · 3 days ago
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"They don't love you, you are just normal." The tallest of the group spoke. It was obvious that they anted to breake you to take you over on their side afterwards especially since you heard them talk about it earlier when they still thought you where unconscious.
"Are you kidding me? I'm literally their favorite child." You respond "Do you even know how many school calls they got because Lora accidentally put something on fire or because Matt broke something? Don't get me started on Emma. They love me for being normal.
Belive me, mom thought about retireing just so she could attend all these conferences. Also I'm the only one my siblings trust and who can give them commands. I'm the one staying behind organizing every fight my family has with every villain.
To the public I am the calm one that never gets into trouble but belive me without me my siblings will be uncontrollable."
Your voice gets calmer the longer you talk but the guys in front of you don't seen to belive you. They are five, you are alone that could become a problem if you would try to flee. The room has two doors but only in front of one is a smaler but burly guy in position. You can't see any windows and you doubt that the unprotected door will lead anywhere else than a dead end.
The cuffs that tie you to the chair are easy to open, just because you are normal doesn't mean your parents didn't train you well. Actually -you think waiting for the right time to attack - it's weird that you only got kidnapped now like it's literally the first thing you would come up with as a villain, but hey, who are you to complain?
One of them excused himself to go to the toilet and you used the moment when it was only four against one to attack. More accurate you start running for the door. Confused as they were you actually reached the door 'till one of them reacted and grabbed your arm.
"What do you think you are doing there young lady?" Asked the tall one who already spoke to her.
"The chair is really uncomfortable so I thought I would disstretch a bit." All of them look at you confused and probably muffled by the comlete nonsense comming out of your mouth. You are as well. You take a step away from the door joust a second before it flies out of their angles. Lora Matt and Emma sorming the room. "Ohh," you say, "I wanted to say distract you, that's what I was doing." You kick ta.. guy in the stomach so he would back off and it worked.
Your siblings totally knocked out all of the men in no time. "Mom says you can't skip family day that easily." Matt said it in a tone that makes you smile.
"Wouldn't dare to." On your way out you see lots of other guys lying around every single one of them knocked out some of them having bruises or burns and some siluettes seem a bit off like something elementary messed with their bodies. Damn are you happy to be one of the good ones.
You, a normal human, were born to a family of famous superheroes. You’ve been kidnapped by a supervillain, who keeps trying to convince you that your family doesn’t love you because of your ‘condition’.
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thesand-snakes · 2 days ago
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I can't get over how fucking awful Mythal actually was.
Don't read below this if you haven't finished Veilguard, lmao.
The fact that Solas wore her vallaslin, and somehow still saw her as a friend, and trusted and loved her enough to do everything she asked of him makes me so angry/sad. Friends don't make their friends wear slave markings on their faces. Him being called her lapdog by Elgar'nan makes so much more sense.
And then Solas goes and accepts the blame for decisions that she made, and then manipulated him into agreeing to, and she fucking accepts no fault! If you confront her about the Blight when you meet her in the Crossroads, she basically just says, "not my problem."
And he blames himself for her death because he couldn't convince her to walk away from the Evanuris! But really, sorry Mythal, that's her own fucking fault?! She saw herself as above Solas, so she refused to heed his warnings, and then Elgar'nan killed her because Elgar'nan's a bitch.
And then if you pick the good ending, and Solas sees her again, you cannot tell me that his reaction to her is not one of someone who has been abused being confronted by their abuser. The way he curls around the dagger...Mythal, when I get my hands on you, Mythal...And then she says, "I release you from my service." Bitch. I wanted my Lavellan to punch her ghost with her prosthetic hand so fucking bad, lmao.
Solas was a spirit of wisdom! And she corrupted him from his purpose. If he had stayed a spirit, he would have become a pride demon because of her manipulations.
Cole has a couple of lines in DAI that I can't stop fucking thinking about.
"He didn't want a body, but she asked him to come. He left a scar when he burned her off his face."
And, "He wants to give wisdom, not orders."
Solas gets to be himself in Inquisition. He gets to return to giving wisdom. Regardless of whether or not you're romancing him, if you're not a dick to him, he offers these beautiful stories about the Fade, and GDL does a fucking incredible job of making each of them sound poetic as fuck. And he's so kind to all the companions. Even Vivienne who has so much contempt for him, and he tries to offer her advice when he notices things about her magic that he finds...unsettling, lmao. Like their interaction about her staff's aura and him being like, "Are you sure that's the aura you want your staff to have, I can cleanse it for you?" And she's just like, "Yup." And he just lets it go.
When he leaves the Inquisition, Solas forces himself to be what Mythal made him. Which makes the line, "You are Mythal's creature now!" so distressingly ironic.
People talk about how he hates the Dalish elves, and Qunari, but that's just factually inaccurate. He's frustrated by the Dalish because he spent how many years fighting to free the elves from the influence of the Evanuris, only to wake from uthenera to find that he is the villain in all their tales, and the Evanuris are regarded as gods. And when he tried to tell a clan the truth, they tried to kill him! And he doesn't hate the Qunari, he hates the Qun. He hates that under the Qun, people do not get to make their own decisions.
Iron Bull's biggest fear is becoming a rabid Tal'Vashoth, and he expresses as much to Solas. And if you play as a Qunari, Solas points out in party banter that Inky isn't rabid.
If you have Iron Bull side with the Chargers, Solas checks in on Bull several times in party banter, assuring Bull he won't become like the Tal'Vashoth that he fought in Seheron. Because Bull has the Inquisition, and his friends, and Solas. And then they play mental chess, and if that's not friendship, idk what is.
And his interactions with Sera, who doesn't think she's elfy enough, so she makes fun of elfy things as a defence mechanism, are fucking hilarious. The way he gets her to talk about the Fade by asking her about the Breach, and what she sees when she looks at it, and you kinda see that Sera is a lot more elfy than she realizes. And then when she realizes it and gets mad, he basically tells her it's payback for her filling his bedroll with lizards. And she just fucking giggles and is like, "yeah, fair." (These two are my absolute favorite characters in DAI and I would die for either of them, lmao) But he kinda makes her connect with her heritage even though she doesn't want to, and I think that's good for her.
Solas also gets angry with Blackwall, not for lying about actually being Thom Rainier, but because Blackwall led his men into fights, and to their deaths in many instances, for nothing more than his greed. And then he APOLOGIZES for that interaction. And Blackwall tells him it's fine, that Solas was right, and he deserved it. And then Solas commends him for taking the first step towards redemption by owning his past and his mistakes.
And then there's him and Varric constantly joking about having to clean up messes made by humans, and "Why are an elven apostate and a dwarf here, again?" Their interactions are some of my favorites, and it's why I firmly believe that if there had been one more wolf statuette to find, it would have been his regret over Varric's death.
Solas deserved better than having Mythal as a "friend." She manipulated and corrupted him. And then let him take the fall for things that she did. She regrets NOTHING about what they did to the Titans. Meanwhile, it's one of his biggest regrets.
Anyway, I love the Egg, and I hate Mythal. That is all. I hope Solas and my Lavellan Inky get to have plenty of Fade-ordered therapy. They both fucking need it.
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ohbueckers · 3 days ago
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HEART OF A WOMAN. fuckin’ and arguing, fuckin’ again. after you said we not fuckin’ again, never say never, just say what it is.
07, CHAPTER SEVEN. WE COULD QUIT DELAYING.
ju speaks. rushed to get edit and post this for you guys before i go out tonight but hey, they’re even i guess… the love shown for this fic is UNMATCHED, i love you all. pairing. wnba!paige bueckers x fem!oc. warnings. sexual content… crash out p.
present day, june 2025.
paige: yo why you leave?
fr
you really just gon dip like that after everything i said to you?
read 11:12pm
i stare at the texts, the screen blurring for a second before i blink it back into focus. the strobe of my phone lights up the backseat of ana’s car, where i’m half-sprawled against the leather, her hand creeping up my thigh. my head’s foggy—not drunk, but just tipsy enough to feel audacious. ana’s lips skim along the side of my neck, hot and slow, and i don’t stop her, not at first.
i came straight to her job after i walked out of the game. i wasn’t gonna stay, pace the sidelines all night, pretend i wasn’t watching paige. pretend it didn’t eat me alive when i caught onto everything maya was telling me. showing me. so, i left. let paige have the last laugh (in her own eyes) while i drank my way through ana’s shift.
paige’s texts must mean she’s just now picking up her phone. took her long enough. probably had to say goodbye to maya first. the thought burns, and my fingers tighten around my phone.
“mm,” ana hums against my skin. it feels nice. “you’re so tense.” her fingers trace lazy circles against my inner thigh, lips grazing my jaw now.
i try to fall into it, but i scrunch my face up, pulling away slightly when my phone buzzes again.
paige: i know you saw ts
i do something? 11:14pm
bro answer the phone 11:17pm
i scoff, and ana’s lips pause. she pulls back just enough to look at me, her eyebrow raised. “that her?”
i nod, tucking my bottom lip between my teeth. “keep doing what you’re doing,” i breathe out. she smiles, all thirty two showing as she places a kiss to my lips before dropping to her knees.
paige: where are you? 11:21pm
i don’t think about why that’s her next question, i just stubbornly type back something vague.
nailea: i’m jusr out
paige: don’t play w me
out where?
who you with?
read 11:23pm
nailea: no one
read 11:24pm
i hear her tone through the screen—skeptical, irritated. i wait, expecting her to follow up with another question, but the screen stays stubbornly blank. no more bubbles, no texts.
i furrow my eyebrows, scrolling up the thread, reading her last messages again like i’m missing something. did she give up that fast? doubtful. paige doesn’t give up. she digs in. especially when it comes to me.
ana’s hands tug at the waistband of my shorts, and i lift my hips slightly, letting her pull them down. i yelp, smiling down at her when she pulls me closer to her mouth. my breath stutters as she kisses down low, everywhere but where i need her. she knows what she’s doing, and i almost let myself fully fall.
i almost let it go for the night.
almost.
and then i realize—paige’s last text, the one that asked who i was with—it didn’t feel like just a question. it felt like she knew something. she’s looking at my location.
i fumble with my phone, swiping through settings faster than i’ve ever moved before. the notification pops up immediately after i flick the toggle to off.
i’m probably only making her angrier. paige and i never stopped sharing our locations. not since high school when we weren’t even dating. no matter how bad the argument got, no matter how many times we called for a break up. i can’t find myself caring, though. i’ll match her anger.
you stopped sharing your location with paige at 11:28pm
paige: oh
😂😂😂
ight 11:28pm
imma ask you something 11:30pm
and istg nailea
she takes a moment to type, the text bubble going in and out, almost like she’s bracing herself for her own question. my head falls back against the seat, a shaky exhale escaping me as ana attaches her lips to my cunt, getting straight to work.
you with her?
i am. she knows i am. i don’t know why she’s asking.
nailea: why do you care?
paige: tf you mean why do i care?
are you with her?
somehow, the second ask makes me wanna be honest. the messier, the better. she deserves every ounce of what i throw back at her. my fingers hover over the keyboard, my head foggy from the drinks, from ana, from everything. i feel her pause for a second before her mouth returns to me, a measured dip of her tongue that drags the answer right out of me.
nailea: yuppp
she fucks me sioooo good p
could’ve been you tn
but i’m done
paige: no you’re not bro don’t say shit like that 11:34pm
call me so we can talk? 11:36pm
please baby
nailea: talk? like you talked w maya?
nahhhh i’m good
i know everything
you want her. go have her
paige: nai what the fuck did she tell you? 11:37pm
the part of me that knows better says to put the phone down, but the other part—the one paige always has a hold on—can’t resist. i need her to know what i know. i stare at the messages, my heart twisting in ways i wish it wouldn’t. the denial, the deflection—it’s textbook paige. she’ll never admit it. it’s not enough. it’s never enough.
paige: i told you how i felt
you KNOW how i feel about you???
you think i’d lie about that?
don’t let her mess us up
yes, i do. because you lie about fucking everything.
nailea: you tell maya you love her too?
btw her jeans? unzipped
i think i get the picture
a minute passed. two. three. i screw my eyes shut at the silent confirmation. she really did it, didn’t she?
paige: call me 11:41pm
my stomach drops, but i’m too far gone to care. ana’s hands grip me tighter, and i can’t tell if it’s to keep me grounded or to remind me that she’s the one here, not paige.
i drop the phone, letting it clatter to the seat, paige’s messages lighting up the screen like a flashing red light i refuse to acknowledge. ana’s name falls from my lips now, i let my hand fall into her curls, gripping her hair tighter, letting the anger burn out through her.
“there she is.”
i forget about everything else.
the beach looks perfect tonight, though i’m sure cam planned her and ben’s pre-wedding bonfire down to a tee. the weather, the crowd—everything’s falling into place. i’m happy for her. the fire crackles, sending out occasional pops, and people are lounging on blankets around it, standing, chatting in groups, soaking in the warmth as the sun dips below the horizon. it’s almost like a little piece of paradise.
i force myself to be in the moment, even though my mind keeps drifting back to the mess i’ve been trying to avoid for the past week, nearly two. paige. i’ve been dodging her calls and texts, shutting down every attempt she’s made to get me to talk.
i’ve been doing a fairly great job at it. dodging maya, too. but i spotted them near the pier, paige leaned against the railing, maya going off about something the blonde looks like she doesn’t wanna hear, and i’m right back in it. i furrow my eyebrows, as if squinting hard enough will help me lip-read whatever maya’s laying on her. but i can’t. and it’s infuriating.
oh, and ana? somewhere behind me, i think. i brought her here—like an idiot. i thought it’d help me focus, distract me from paige, but now i’m just starting to think it might’ve been a mistake.
“…you’ve outdone yourself. as usual,” rae says, and i snap my head back over to the conversation in front of me. i take a sip of my cocktail, the condensation dripping onto my fingers.
cam grins, brushing imaginary dust of her shoulders. “ben and i wanted something with everyone since the wedding will be a little smaller.”
i murmur my agreement as i take another drink, and i’m so lost in thought that i don’t notice rickea until she loops an arm through mine, dragging me away.
“hey, back,” i tease, waving away at rae and cam who didn’t seem to mind.
she leans in close, the smell of her coconut lotion wafting as she speaks just loud enough for me to hear. “you wanna tell me why ana is here?”
i shrug, and my eyes scan over the crowd until i finally spot ana by the cocktail bar. too far away. she’s been out of my sight for too long.
“damage control,” i reply, though the explanation feels like a flimsy excuse the second it leaves my lips.
rickea lets out a disbelieving laugh, tugging me a little farther from the group, out of earshot. “you mean paige control?”
the words hit harder than i expect, even in jest. my grip tightens around the glass, nails trying to dig into it. “she’s fine,” i say, but it sounds like i’m trying to convince myself of it.
kea tilts her head, eyes narrowing in that way she does when she’s reading you too closely. “sure she is,” she says, dragging the words out. her gaze shifts past me to the pier, where paige and maya’s conversation seems to have escalated. maya gestures wildly, while paige stands still, her jaw tight.
“it’s not my problem anymore,” i tell her flatly.
rickea stops in front of me, unliking our arms to cross her own, but the smirk stays. “mm-hmm. and ana being here has nothing to do with reminding paige of that, right?”
i nod. “right.”
the lie tastes bitter. because even if it’s true—if ana being here isn’t just about paige—it doesn’t feel that way. not when i feel the same sting of her actions that’s lingered all for nearly two weeks.
rickea studies me for a moment, her smirk morphing into something almost sympathetic, but she doesn’t press further.
“let’s just get you another drink. at the cocktail bar. where ana is.” she speaks in periods, and i shake my head, ultimately agreeing.
i let her pull me along, glancing back one more time at the pier where paige and maya stand like two actors in a scene i don’t want to watch. i catch a familiar set of blue hues already looking my way. ana’s name is still somewhere on my tongue, but it’s the wrong one, isn’t it?
the sun’s fully set now. most people are starting to head towards the house cam had reserved for the night for dinner and games she’d carefully curated. i can’t focus on the bonfire, on the mounds of people who would probably love to talk to me, or the stupidly perfect weather.
she’s over there, somewhere, and i can’t shake the feeling that she’s watching me, even though i know i’m not the one she’s looking at tonight. or at least not the only one.
not with ana here.
i push down the knot tightening in my chest and glance back toward the pier, where maya stormed off to just a few minutes ago. our conversation keeps replaying in my head, and every time it pops back up, it only makes me angrier.
“you’re not being honest with me,” maya had snapped, almost like she was sick of holding it in, and also like she was trying to keep it from carrying to anyone nearby.
“what the hell are you talking about?” i’d asked, leaning against the pier railing. i’d agreed to come over here to talk, and i’m starting to regret it. i didn’t want to be over here.
she gestured vaguely, her face flushed with every ounce of anger she carried. “you know exactly what i mean. you keep dancing around it like i’m stupid! like i don’t see what’s going on between you and nai.”
my stomach had dropped, but i didn’t let it show. “there’s nothing going on, bro.”
maya had then laughed bitterly, shaking her head. “right. that’s why you walked out on me at halftime to go looking for her, huh? that’s why she keeps giving you the cold shoulder every time you’re in the same room.”
she was grasping, but i couldn’t deny that she’d hit too close to home. “you’re imagining things,” i muttered, pushing off the railing, ready to end the conversation.
but then she’d stepped in front of me, her voice lowering. i looked down at her, quirking a brow. “no, i’m not. and you wanna know how i know?” she paused, waiting, and when i didn’t answer, she leaned in just enough to whisper, “i unzipped my pants on purpose.”
those words are still ringing in my ears.
nai walked out on me, angry and hurt, and nothing i’ve said since has convinced her otherwise. now i’m stuck here, catching hell for a mess i didn’t create. i wasn’t sure where it left maya and i, but it was wholeheartedly the last thing on my mind before i left.
i don’t even remember what i said after that—probably something defensive, because i didn’t want to believe it. maya had smirked, though, like she knew she’d hit her mark. “you can’t keep playing both sides, paige. someone was gonna call your bluff.”
i spot nai near the bonfire, rickea by her side. she’s wearing this long, heather grey skims dress that hugs her hips just right. she looks good. too good. she’s laughing, her head tilting back just a little, her hand brushing her hair out of her face, and for a second, it’s like none of it happened.
but i know her. i know the way her fingers curl just a little tighter around her drink when she’s tense, the way her laugh comes too quick, like she’s trying to convince herself she’s having fun. i know the way she’s avoiding looking at me. she’s pretending, and it pisses me off.
but then there’s ana. she’s standing by the cocktail bar, her long legs crossed casually as someone i don’t recognize talks her ear off. she’s everything nai probably thinks she needs right now, and i hate her for it.
ana doesn’t flinch when i slide into the space between her and.. whoever. she just glances at me, taking a slow sip from her drink before setting it down. her smile doesn’t falter, even as her eyes narrow, her stance shifting just enough to face me fully.
“well, if it isn’t the infamous ex,” she announces. somehow, the word ex makes everything remotely cordial i was gonna say fly out the window. “you always this bold, or is tonight special?”
i lean against the bar, letting the corner of my mouth tug into a smirk. “depends who’s askin’.” i glance down, then back up at her. “but you? you’re nothin’ special.”
she laughs, a cocky one, like i’m exactly where she wanted me. “you’re cute,” she says, tilting her head. “but you don’t scare me, paige.”
i furrow my eyebrows, but it doesn’t match the curve of my lips. “scare you?” i chuckle, letting the words roll off my tongue slow. “nah, i ain’t tryna scare you. just makin’ sure you know your place.”
her eyebrows raise. “and what place is that?”
“second,” i say easily, adding a shrug to the jab too. “always second. ‘cause you ain’t got her like i do.”
ana leans closer, her voice dropping to match mine. “you sure about that? ‘cause right now it looks like you don’t got her at all.”
alright.
the words hit where she wanted them to, but i don’t flinch. instead, i lean in just a little closer, my smirk widening. “you think you’ve got her? think she’s moved on?” i shake my head, glancing away from her, as if the ocean is more interesting than this conversation. “she’ll always come back to me, ana. you’re just a pit stop.”
ana doesn’t break eye contact, her smile tight now, but before she can respond, nai’s voice interrupts.
“ana.”
we both turn, and there she is, standing a few feet away, her jaw clenched, eyes not sure where to land, me or her. she ditched her drink, and i look to where rickea is, holding two glasses, and giving me a look like she knows what i’m stirring. i jerk my head up in her direction, as if to say, “what’s up?”
ana steps back immediately, her smile returning like it’s on autopilot. “right here, babe,” she says, moving toward her.
since when is she on babe status? was that another line to get under my skin? it worked.
nai doesn’t even look at me as she grabs ana’s arm, her fingers wrapping tight around her wrist. “let’s go.”
i can’t help myself. “what, no hello for me?” i call out, my voice etched with mock innocence.
nai freezes, her back stiffening before she slowly turns her head toward me. she looks like like she’s trying too hard not to give me anything. “you’re good at one thing, paige,” she says, her tone clipped, like she’s dismissing our talk as soon as it started.
i raise an eyebrow, my smirk deepening. “what’s that?”
“making a mess,” she spits, before yanking ana along without waiting for a response.
i watch them walk away up towards the beach house, and when i’m sure she won’t turn around, i turn towards the bar, stroking my chin.
“another, please.”
the beach feels different at night, quieter in a way that makes everything louder in my head. the waves roll in and out, and the moon is bright enough for me to see out. it should be peaceful, but it’s not.
everyone’s still inside, but after i told cam what happened, she offered me two blankets and a bottle of tequila to clear my head, and i, for one, wouldn’t turn it down. i can hear everyone’s laughter, the music. i couldn’t stay there any longer, let paige stare like she still had access to me.
i dig my fingers into the sand, cool and grainy against my skin, trying to ground myself. it doesn’t work. my thoughts are too loud, too messy, tumbling over each other in a tangle i can’t unravel.
i hear the soft crunch of footsteps on the sand. a pause. then her voice.
“nai?”
i don’t turn around right away, because i already know it’s her. paige. she sounds hesitant, like she’s not sure if i’ll even let her talk. maybe she’s hoping i’ll stay quiet instead.
“what are you doing out here?” she asks, a little too casually.
i finally glance over my shoulder, meeting her eyes for the first time since i stopped her antics by the bar. she’s standing there, a few feet away, her hands shoved in the pockets of her blue jeans, shoulders hunched like she’s trying to make herself smaller. i almost feel sorry for her. almost.
when i don’t respond, she asks another question. “where’s ana?” she takes a seat next to me, and the blanket’s large enough for the two of us. almost like it’s fate again. she wants to know. she’s still jealous, and i can feel the weight of that jealousy in the way she says it. the way she looks at me. like she’s waiting for me to tell her something she doesn’t want to hear.
“she left,” i say, not bothering to explain further. i don’t owe her that. ana has work in the morning, and i wasn’t gonna keep her here any longer as my rebound toy. not while i was already feeling bad about it.
paige exhales, and i hear the relief and frustration in it before she bites down on her lip. she looks down at the ground for a second, like she’s working up the courage to say what’s really on her mind. “look, about earlier… i’m sorry. shouldn’t’ve been bickering with your girl like that.”
i finally turn to look at her. “she’s not my girl.” her lips twitch, like she’s trying not to smile, and it sets something off in me. “that all you’ve gotta apologize for?”
she shifts, close enough that her knee brushes against mine. “that’s not what happened with maya.”
“don’t,” i say, shaking my head as i look away. “don’t sit here and lie to my face.”
“i’m not lyin’, nai,” she defends, leaning forward, trying to catch my eye. she’s almost pleading for me to believe her. “you think i’d do that to you? again?”
“uh? you want me to tell the truth?” i spit, and those seven words shut her right up. “i know. i saw it. her pants were unzipped. she was smiling at me like she got what she wanted. what the fuck am i supposed to believe?”
“me!” paige runs a hand down her face. “me… for once.”
silence. the kind i hate.
“you’re never gonna trust me, are you?”
“no,” i mutter under my breath, closing my eyes for a second, like that might stop the storm brewing inside me. but it doesn’t. it makes it worse. i hate how she’s still able to pull at me like this, how she knows exactly how to get under my skin, how she knows how to feel like home in a way no one else does.
but most importantly, i hate that she can do all these things, make me feel all these things, and still not be a better person for me.
she flinches like i’ve struck her, but she doesn’t back down. “you think you can trust her? ana? you don’t even know her.”
i scoff. “and you wanna argue with me about trust?” i snap, turning to face her fully now. it takes a lot of effort to not yell.
she shakes her head, exhaling slowly. “i don’t wanna argue at all, ma. just wanna have you.”
“just wanna have you.”
the words leave my mouth before i can stop them, and i hate how badly i need her to believe me. it shouldn’t have had to be like this. i don’t want to say it, but i know it’s true. everything else can wait. it’s her. it’s always been her. i just need her to hear me, to feel me—because she hasn’t let me show her anything in too long.
nai looks at me, her eyes softening just enough, and i can see the battle inside her—she’s pissed, but she’s still here. when her lips meet mine, it’s like everything i’ve been holding back for the last week and a half explodes. i sink into her, tasting the tequila in her kiss. everything about this feels wrong, but it feels right too. she’s still here, still letting me touch her.
she pulls back just enough to look at me, her eyes narrowed but warm. vulnerable. it’s a look i know all too well, one i never wanted to see again, but somehow, i’m grateful for it. i hate how much i’ve hurt her, how much i’ve fucked this up, but i’ll be damned if i let her walk away without trying.
“what can i do to make you believe me?” i ask, my voice cracking just a little. there’s desperation there, but there’s also hope—hope i shouldn’t have, but i can’t help it.
“explain,” she whispers, barely audible, her lips still swollen from our kiss.
i don’t even have to think about it. the words spill out like i’d been waiting for the change. “maya knows. she’s… she tried something out, tested you to see if it was true. she knew i was lying to her about us. i didn’t—i didn’t want that to happen. not like that.”
her eyes search mine, like she’s trying to read through me, and it makes me want to break. shit, she’s so close. her body is almost against mine, and the urge to touch her is too much to ignore. before i can stop myself, my lips are trailing down her neck, tasting the skin there, trying to get closer, to make her feel how much i need her to understand.
“i didn’t touch her,” i mutter against her skin, my hands finding their way under her dress, fingertips grazing her hips. “i swear, nai. you’re it. you’re all i want.”
the words are coming faster now, and everything about her—her scent, the way her skin feels beneath my fingers, the way her breath hitches as i kiss lower—it’s too much. i don’t know if i’m trying to make her believe me or if i’m just trying to keep her here, to keep her from leaving me again.
i look up at her, my lips just inches from her own, and i can see the hesitation, the fight still in her eyes, but it’s softer now. she’s softening, letting me in.
“i shouldn’t have made you doubt that,” i whisper, my breath hot against her ear as i lean in closer. i can feel her body trembling under my touch, and it drives me wild. fuck, i’m so close to losing it.
and then i’m kissing her again, this time deeper, more messy. i don’t have time for any more words. all i need is this. her. me and her.
before i know it, she’s guiding me down, her hands threading through my hair as she pulls me closer. she doesn’t say anything more, but i don’t need her to. i can feel it—the way her body moves against mine, the way she breathes my name like it’s the only thing that matters.
and then i’m all the way down in front of her, looking up into her eyes, feeling her breath catch. she’s so fucking beautiful. i don’t care about anything else. just the way she looks at me, like i’m everything she needs, like i’m the only thing that matters.
“fuck,” i murmur, my hands moving up her thighs as i hike her dress up over her hips. i hear her let out a soft gasp as my lips drag over her stomach, leaving kisses in its wake. my fingers hook into the band of her panties, and i look back up at her for confirmation that this is okay.
she’s lost in it, finding my eyes once i stop. i give her a smirk, and she rolls her eyes. “yes, paige.”
“tell me you want it.”
“so badly,” she retorts.
i move more of the grey fabric out of the way before i drop my head again. she spreads her legs further, just enough for me to dip my tongue in between her folds, and sure enough, she’s wet already.
i wrap both of my hands around her thighs, veins poking through from the grip as i pull her closer to my mouth. i suck a little harder, lapping up her juices and pushing it right back in.
she arches her back, indicating i’m doing something right. “feel good?” i mumble, and she meets my eyes, nodding rapidly. i chuckle against her, teeth grazing her cunt, and she jolts.
“shit, paige. don’t do that,” she scolds.
“why not?” i stick my tongue out again, swiping it through her folds slowly before sucking her clit into my mouth. her head falls back, jaw open to let out some whiny, pornographic moan, like she’d been holding it in.
“gonna make me c—ha—ome quicker.”
when i slide a finger in, she tenses up a little, body rising to the sky, not expecting the stretch. “relax, i got you,” i chastised her, diving back in to mouth at her clit. her moans are like music i never wanna turn off, and i’m enjoying myself way too much to think i couldn’t do this for the rest of my damn life.
“paige,” she gasps, biting down on her lip in attempt to refrain from being too loud. i don’t want that. i wanna hear her. my name falls from her lips in a breathless moan, and i groan.
“say my name again,” i purr, finger curling inside her like it’ll drag it right out. “i love hearing it, baby.”
“mm, paigeeeee.” she drags it out purposefully. it makes me smile.
she quickly grinds against my face, hand in my hair pushing me in further. deeper. i place my free hand on her stomach, pushing her dress up as it travels higher, right over one of her tits. she wasn’t wearing a bra.
i groan against her again, continuing my assault on her clit. “you taste so good, nai. so fuckin’ good.” i feel her dripping from my mouth, out her hole, and i know she’s closer to the edge, closer to soaking this blanket up.
she brings her hand up to her chest, embracing her own with mine, adding just enough pressure in the way she likes. “just like that,” she breathed. i added another finger that slid in with no problem, making her yelp out, tightening her grip on my scalp.
“so close, p. just like that,” she repeats.
with one quick curl and movement, i can tell the tension she feels building up in her stomach. i remove my hand from her breast, using it to keep her legs open as she lets go. she repeats my name over and over again. it sounds like sin on tongue.
i stare at her in awe as she finishes on my fingers. they catch most of it, and i dip my head down to taste that too as she falls back completely, chest heaving, dress disheveled.
i give her a moment before i move back up. she stays there, out of breath, not moving once. i place a wet kiss to her lips, and she winces at the sensation, pushing my head away.
“gross!”
i laugh, and my chest warms at her smile, even through the dark. “you were right, you know,” i finally say, leaning to sit up on my elbow, like i didn’t just wreck this girl.
she rolls her eyes. “i always am. about what, though?”
“‘bout me being good at making a mess.”
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reiding-writing · 20 hours ago
Note
For a Christmas fic you could do a Secret Santa with cold!reader where spencer gets her name and freaks out cause he had no idea what to get her you could make it more fluffy whatever you're feeling like <3
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SECRET SANTA — SPENCER REID!
spencer’s a little stumped on what to get you for secret santa.
spencer reid x cold!reader | 1.5k | fluff | cold!reader masterlist.
main masterlist.
a/n — requests have been open for like 12 hours and i have 7 new requests alreaady 😭
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A teacup is thrust in front of your face.
“What the hell are you doing-?” You give Garcia a less than impressed expression as you push the mug away, eyebrows furrowed and nose scrunched enough to leave frown lines.
“Secret Santa! Pick a name sweetness,” She’s not deterred, and the flowery cup is held out towards you once more.
“Yeah, no thanks,” You shake your head decidedly. There was no way you’d participate in something as idiotic as picking the name of some random coworker out of a proverbial hat only to buy them a useless, crappy present because you didn’t actually know, nor care about, what they actually liked.
”You can’t just not,” Morgan tuts. “Embrace the spirit of the holidays, Ice Queen,”
Your eyebrows twitch. “No?”
“Awe come on,” There’s a soft jingle as Garcia leans her torso towards you. “Please? It’s only the main team, and we’ve got a 25 dollar limit,”
She shakes the mug again, and you eye it like it’s full of cockroaches instead of paper.
“At least pick a name,”
You concede with a exasperated huff, begrudgingly picking a piece of paper and unfolding it between your fingers.
You didn’t look too happy with the result. Or maybe you did. Spencer didn’t have a clue really. You could be overjoyed right now for all he knew.
He was mid sip of coffee when Garcia turned her efforts to him.
“Your turn genius,”
Spencer froze with his mug halfway to his lips, the steam curling up into his face. He placed it down carefully and stared at the teacup Garcia was shaking with far too much enthusiasm.
“I don’t think I—”
“No excuses, Doctor Reid,” Garcia interrupted, her tone light but insistent. “It’s team bonding. Don’t you love us? Don’t you want to show us your undying affection through a thoughtful and budget-friendly present?”
Spencer hesitated, then gave in with a reluctant sigh. He reached into the mug, plucked a folded piece of paper, and unfolded it. His heart sank.
Your name stared back at him, bold and unmistakable.
His stomach did a little flip, and his heart thumped louder in his chest. You. Of all people, he had to get you.
Not Morgan, who would have been happy with anything sports-related. Not Garcia, who would squeal with joy at something glittery and eccentric. Not even Hotch, who would surely appreciate a simple tie.
It was you. The cold, guarded enigma who somehow made his palms sweat whenever you gave him one of those rare, fleeting smiles.
Garcia’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What’s that face, boy wonder?”
Spencer blinked rapidly, trying to school his expression into something less... panicked. “Face? I’m not making a face.”
For a profiler, he really was horrible as masking his tells.
“Oh, you have to tell us who you got!” Garcia said, leaning in eagerly.
Spencer immediately clutched the paper to his chest like it contained state secrets.
“Doesn’t that defeat the point?” You speak over the rim of a book, pulling a coffee receipt from between it’s pages to continue where you’d left off, quickly having moved on from whoever you’d landed like you didn’t want to waste any mental energy on it.
He wished it was that easy for him.
Garcia pouted, but Morgan laughed. “Look at him. That’s the face of someone who’s in over his head.”
And Morgan wasn’t wrong.
What was he supposed to get you? You liked coffee, but only from recognised establishments, you liked reading, but he didn’t know what you had and hadn’t read, you liked mint, maybe, and anything else was anyone’s guess.
He wanted to get you something that proved he knew you, but it also had to be *practical*, you wouldn’t appreciate something that you had no use for.
He figures he should at least start with something familiar to him, so he drops by a bookstore first.
His local bookstore may as well have his name on it, and he greets the owner like an old friend as he begins his browse, running his fingers over the spines of books as if they could somehow tell him what you would want. He had to make this right. He needed it to be perfect.
Although his gaze quickly wandered away from the novels as he wandered past a trinkets table. Nothing too out of the ordinary, some business cards, a few pens, some small book lights and bookmarks.
And then he’s decided.
Now, Spencer’s own books were in several states of distress. Cracked spines and creased covers were practically a staple, either from second hand buying or how fast he read through them, but yours were practically pristine.
You liked to take care of your possessions he’s noticed, and every book you read in the office is treated as carefully as any case file, although with one highlighted exception.
You liked to take breaks, and when doing so, saving your page was done in a rather… impulsive manner.
A sticky note, a bus ticket, a receipt from a coffee shop or even sometimes a pen, although never for too long with the latter.
You‘d never buy yourself a bookmark, you’d probably say it was a waste of your money, that a scrap piece of paper would do the job just as well, but that was kind of the point of gifts wasn’t it? To buy something for someone that they wouldn’t necessarily buy themself?
So he sets off home with a mission. Find you the perfect bookmark.
He had a two week time limit, and a 25 dollar price limit, so no custom ordering anything from an obscure European website, but it had to be good.
He didn’t want to buy yourself some flimsy piece of cardboard with a crappy design. He wanted something sleek and cool, something that fit you and your personality.
Simple but not too simple. Practical and attractive. And not too expensive. You’d kill him if it was too expensive.
You’ve gotten Hotch a tie pin if the size of the box, and it’s rattling tell the room anything, a half awkward press of your lips together in what’s probably meant to be a smile.
Hotch’s retrieval of your gift isn’t any more graceful, but trust the two most stoic members of the team to be paired in one direction.
“Alright, Spencer’s up next,” Garcia eggs him on with a small nod and a smile, and he sucks in a breath before holding out his gift to you.
Your a little surprised as you take it from him, royal blue tissue paper crumpling under your fingernails as you offer him a strained “thanks,” before glancing back at Garcia to urge her to move on and take the attention away from you.
You shove it into your pocket without opening it. And Spencer doesn’t know why he feels so disappointed.
It was only like you right? He should be grateful you even accepted it at all, right?
Maybe he was being a bit too optimistic at how close the two of you had gotten. He at least thought you’d open it. Let him see your reaction so he could know how to improve next time.
The thought still prays upon him by lunch, and he stares blankly into the little chess piece battery lamp that JJ’d got him like a moth to a lightbulb.
“You’re going to ruin your vision doing that,”
And like always, you cut through everything else.
Spencer blinks, and true to your words there are stark spots of light that cloud his eyes as they flicker across your opposing desks towards you.
Sometimes he swears you have a sixth sense. You weren’t even looking at him, your nose buried in some new novel you were reading.
“Yeah, sorry,” Spencer clears his throat as he attempts to clear his eyesight, blinking harshly.
It manages to clear up just in time for him to watch you stretch in your chair, reaching under your monitor before sliding a gleam of metal between the pages of your book.
It sticks out over the pages just enough for Spencer to catch the snowflake engraving at the top, and he swears he forgets how to breathe.
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r-1-der · 2 days ago
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warnings: i love her boobs, banter, a little dirty talk, cum eating, ab riding. might re-visit this later.
you nuzzled your face against her stomach, holding onto her sides, your tongue peeking out to lick over her toned midsection.
her hand found its way to your hair, using it to pull you up, but you swatted her away.
"quit that, let me admire you."
"i dont come to you to be 'admired'." she pulls you harsher, forcing you up. with a huff and a wince you straddle her stomach instead, underwear separating the two of you.
"i dont care what you come to me for," you say placing your hands down on her tits to squeeze them while you lioked down on her. her hair astray, long out of her old weak hairtie, her cheeks healthily flushed, and that dark lipstick smeared across her mouth and jaw.
"fuck... look at you, pretty."
sevika rolled her eyes at the name, not one for sweet-talk, though her warm hand pushed up against your stomach, gliding towards your chest, not an ounce of shame in her as she ogled you.
you smirked to yourself and pushed her hand away, earning yourself a raised eyebrow.
"really?"
"really. no touching."
"why do i bother coming here? remind me."
"your wallet is running dry, thats why. your girls at babettes might be pretty, but so are the pennies theyre worth."
she only closed her eyes as you continued playing with her chest, leaning down to lick and suck across her dark nipples, truly believing you were enjoying the sensation more than she was, even with her breathy sounds.
scratching your nails down her stomach you ground your hips down against her strong abdomen, letting her nipple go, leaving it wet and cold for sevika to, probably, grimace at.
you bit your lip as you looked down at her, even with her endless complaining she did look very content every time she landed herself in your old bed.
"...what are you doing?" she asks with furrowed brows.
"enjoying you," you say, your hips moving back and forth with languid movements over her muscles, sighing as your shoulders slump at the feeling.
"thats enjoyable to you?" she moved her hands again to drag them up your working thighs.
"its hot."
"it is?" they settled onto your hips with her question, her voice low as she spoke. she pushed and pulled against your motions, drawing you down tighter onto her abs, causing your mouth to fall open. "you going to cum like that?"
"mhm... yeah, mh, it was the plan," you say grinding against her stomach, eyes closed in concentration over the new sensation. it was different than her thigh, or her hand, or her face, or most importantly, her pussy. but still her and impossibly good as your hands gripped onto her.
"yeah? take your panties off." sevika tells you, slipping her fingers under the waistband. you didnt even brother to get off her to work them down your legs, the maneuvering was awkward at best, and you pretending you didnt notice it when you kicked her. eagerly you settled down against her again with a moan.
"good girl... so desperate to cum on me," she guided your movements.
"hah.. you want to talk about 'good girl'? always so eager to take my cum. just love to be covered in it, dont you?" you taunted with your ragged voice, it was too easy to get off with this woman, on this woman.
"its charity." a slap landed on your ass where she harshly grabbing it to pull you down harder onto her stupidly sculpted body, her tight stomach.
"oh fuck..."
you tipped your head back with a moan. it didnt take much work to have you cumming across the planes of her stomach, trembling on top of her as her already wet skin soaked in your cum.
she pulled you down to kiss across your cheek and down to your jaw, smearing her lipstick further onto you too. you slowly caught your breath laying on her as she kissed and sucked lightly onto your neck and jaw. it was an oddly intimate moment.
"you made a mess," she murmurs below your ear.
"you liked it," you murmur back.
"lick it up, since you want to hump me like a dog."
you bit your lip at her low command being delivered straight into your ear. the way down wasnt long by any means, though you took your time kissing a trail down her form. you faced the wet pool on her abs, smelling yourself.
"good..." she mumbles to the feeling of your warm tongue lapping up your own cum, knowing youd have your fill of hers later.
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trappolia · 2 days ago
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caitvi with a girlfriend who loves shopping a little too much.
even disregarding vi's upbringing, her personality and priorities don't exactly call for her to fawn over the latest fashion trends. dolls and trinkets and other collectible items are something she can't grasp either. she has her emotional support bunny, what else could she want?
caitlyn may be of a more prestigious upbringing than either of you, but her status as a piltovian scion has also granted her the privilege of realising that not all fineries are exactly comfortable, or even necessary. she has more clothes in her closet that she knows what to do with, some of the styles are which are just a bit too… much for her. she has her own style and preferences, and she very much prefers to stick to them.
you, on the other hand, are completely different from your two lovers. raised in that space between the "best" of the undercity and the "worst" of topside, you were that little girl all bright-eyed and dreaming of wearing princess gowns, satiated only by your parent's promises of "we'll get you those pretty dresses when we have some extra money, my love."
you never did, really— get that extra money, you mean. it was never your family's fault, of course. even when you lived so close to the bridge, you were still considered to be citizens of the undercity, and life was hard. you learned to put your craving for designer clothes on the backburner, learned your way around a needle and a thread to fashion your own image of your wardrobe— and, later when you meet vi, to patch up the tears on her clothes.
vi is a darling girlfriend, who rebuffs your attempts to dress her up with gifts of fabric bought with the coin from her own pockets. she wants to give you more, she truly does, but prices for proper rolls of fabric are steep and hard to come by down in the undercity. it's not until caitlyn comes along, with the extra money to fund an entire wardrobe for you and then some, that your dreams as a child are finally come true, with not just one, but two generous girlfriends to boot.
caitlyn may not know the ins and outs of the fashion district of piltover, but her family has a private tailor that caitlyn commissions much more often when you and vi finally move into the kiramman estate. the two women are often content enough to sit back and watch as you fawn over the designs offered to you, occasionally giving input to the designer; cait sometimes recommends certain fabrics that she thinks will move about your frame much more smoothly, and vi learns to give in her five cents whenever she has something she'd like to see you in.
they even indulge you when you huff and puff about "window shopping being a part of the experience!" the fashion district becomes a common part of your dates together, and the three of you make quite a sight: the leader of house kiramman looking fond as she points out her mother's favourite shop to you, while vi balances an absurd amount of shopping bags in one hand, the other wrapped firmly around your waist.
it's never actually acknowledged, but watching you show off your pretty little outfits becomes the staple of caitlyn and vi's day. whether you've returned from an impromptu shopping trip and want to show them your latest purchases or they've just woken up and you want them to give their five cents on your outfit choices for the day, it brings them so much joy to watch you twirl around like a little princess— just like your dream come true.
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