#i guess what i’m saying is that he’s perfect for me | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cinnaleaf · 22 hours ago

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「 Rouxed Up | A Very Merry Footballer Ficmas 」

summary: you bring your man home for an american christmas while you try to survive your chaotic family | MDNI 18+

warnings: smut, dom/sub dynamic, dirty talk, language, chaotic family, cultural specificity (black southern american), southern slang, food mentions, mentions of alcohol, humour 🎅🏾: my writer elf worked very hard on this to make it special for the american girlies | pt 4 of my ficmas series wc: ~5.9k

You should’ve known things were going to be chaotic the minute you turned onto the street where you grew up. Houston suburbs were excessive, especially during Christmas. There were overly large brick houses lined with lights that doubled the electric bill, inflatable Santas, reindeer, and other decorations fighting for space in every yard. Your parents’ house wasn’t any different: it was a sprawling 4 bedroom home with a front yard cluttered with holiday decorations, lights, and an inflatable football. Your mom swore it was festive enough to win the homeowner’s association holiday contest this year, but they lost to the neighbors across the street for the second year in a row.

“I guess they do it big in Texas, huh?” Aurélien asked while sliding out of the car to stretch his long legs.

“Always” you answered back, reaching to pull a foil pan full of red beans and rice from the backseat. “This isn’t real Texas though baby. You’re about to step right into Louisiana as soon as we get inside the house.”

You weren’t exaggerating. After the hurricane, your entire family packed up and started over in Houston. They may have swapped New Orleans shotgun houses for oversized Texas bricks, but the food, accents, and chaos all came with them. Now, you were dragging your French footballer boyfriend into the chaos so he could see what a Creole Christmas looked like. He was hype for weeks, asking you nonstop questions about the food, NOLA bounce remixes, if your family had any relation to Beyoncé, and if anyone in the family still spoke French.

When you walked inside, the house was alive with uncles yelling at an NFL game on a large tv in the living room. Your cousins were running around playing hide and seek in rooms they knew they weren’t supposed to be running around in. The smell of seafood stock cooking hit your nose first – shrimp shells, water, and various aromatic vegetables and herbs were bubbling in a pot so big it could feed a small army. The kitchen was at max capacity as your grandma barked orders while your aunt Beverly was busy icing a pound cake.

“Y/N, baby!” Your grandma spotted you before you could even set the tin pan down. She quickly washed her hands and waddled over to you to pull you into a hug that smelled like a mix of cajun seasonings and White Diamonds perfume. “You finally brought him back with you! What’s his name..Leon??”

“Aurélien.” you corrected her politely, enunciating it so she could get it right.

Aurélien stepped forward with a polite, meet the family smile while your grandma looked him up and down quickly and then put on the glasses that were sitting on top of her head to get a clearer look. “Hmm..he’s tall. Very handsome too. Your taste ain’t too bad, I’ll give you that. You must’ve got that from me because your mama never picked ‘em right when she was your age.”

“I told y’all he was fine,” one of your aunts added while checking the pecan pie in the oven.

“Nana..auntie..please don’t start” you muttered, trying not to laugh while Aurélien stifled his laughter next to you.

“I’m just saying!” your grandma gave you a dramatic shrug and then turned her attention back to him. “So do you know anything about real football? Not that soccer stuff.”

“Nana!” you hissed, feeling embarrassed by your family already. “He’s literally a professional footballer.”

“Uh huh” she said unimpressed. “I don’t know nothing about that.”

Aurélien grinned, leaning into his perfect boyfriend performance with an almost too good to be true charm. “I know a little bit about NFL. Y/N taught me a few things.”

Your grandma waved him off with a scoff. “Mhm, we’ll see. Don’t let my son hear you say that or he’ll have you on the couch talking about the Saints all night.” Then she turned her attention back to you with a no nonsense look. “Y/N, you’re making the gumbo this year.”

Your stomach dropped. “Wait what?”

“Gumbo. You heard me” she said, already making her way out the kitchen. “You’re always in the kitchen when I make it. Show your boyfriend you know how to cook so he doesn’t go back home thinking we raised you wrong.”

“Nana I’ve never–”

“Better figure it out!” she snapped over her shoulder, dismissing you with a wave. “The stock is on the stove and everything else is over yonder (nearby) in the ice box (fridge). Don’t mess my kitchen up.”

Aurélien looked down at you, amused by your predicament. “You didn’t tell me you were the chef tonight.”

“That’s because I didn’t know” you muttered while the panic set in. You knew your entire family would clown you for years to come if you fucked your grandmother’s gumbo recipe up. They were still talking about the mac and cheese you messed up three years ago by adding cottage cheese, so you couldn’t take any chances this year.

“Okay..” you sighed and tied your braids into a bun as you made your way over to the sink to wash your hands. Before you could even start getting anything accomplished, one of your little cousins, Myles, came yelling and running through the kitchen out of nowhere.

“Y/N! My mom said your boyfriend has money for Robux. Can he buy me some? Pleaseeee?”

“No!” you snapped, holding up a wooden spoon. “And why are you running in here? You know you’re not supposed to be in the kitchen playing!”

“We’re just playing hide and seek,” Myles said while full of sugared adrenaline. “But I’m not hiding in here..I just wanted to see if I could get some robux.”

“Robux your ass out of this kitchen please” you commanded while wrangling him and the rest of your cousins out of the kitchen.

Aurélien cocked his brow, watching you as you ushered your cousins out of the kitchen area.

“Baby.. I can buy them some robux, it’s not that big of a deal.”

“No. He’s always begging for something” you muttered, shoving flour and oil onto the counter.

“Y/N!” your other cousin, Gianna, yelled from the hallway. “Can you fix my hair? My mama bumped the ends and I don’t like it.”

“Girl, I just got here! Ask Nana!”

“She said no,” Gianna pouted, slowly dragging her feet toward the living room.

Your mom appeared from another room with her hands full of empty tin pans, scowling. “Why are y’all yelling in my house like this?” Her eyes landed on Aurélien and she softened immediately. “Hi Aurél. You hungry?”

Aurélien flashed the same smile he used on your grandma, but it worked a lot better on your mom. “No ma’am but thank you. It’s good to see you again.”

“Is my daughter treating you right?” your mom asked with a smile on her face while setting the pans down beside some plates. “I know she can be a little feisty…”

“Wooow…” you rolled your eyes, not believing your ears.

“Is she treating me right?” Aurélien repeated with a laugh, glancing at you as he leaned against the counter. “I have no complaints. She’s perfect for me.”

Your mom raised an eyebrow, amused by his smoothness. “You like that? I guess there’s someone out there for everybody…”

“Mom!” you yelled, reaching for the knob on the stove with an exaggerated huff. “Can y’all chill on me?”

Your mom laughed as she walked toward the living room with the others. “Alright, I’m gone. Don’t mess up the gumbo.”

“Don’t burn the roux Y/N!” Myles shouted from wherever he was hiding.

Aurélien snickered, leaning down to whisper in your ear. “Yeah. Don’t burn the roux baby.”

You gave him a glare, pointing the wooden spoon toward him. “I don’t need your commentary. You’re here to chop vegetables and shut up. Got it?”

“Got it” he raised his hands up dramatically, but was still grinning like he was about to get on your every last nerve.

You turned back to the counter, yanking the fridge open to pull out the holy trinity. Just as you set the onion, celery, and bell pepper on the cutting board, your Aunt Beverly waltzed in with a glass of something that probably had way too much Crown Royal in it.

“Now why do you have this young man standing here looking like a guest?” she asked, plopping her glass down on the counter. “Aurélien you better start chopping! This ain’t Madrid.”

“I was just waiting for my instructions,” Aurélien replied, grabbing a knife. “I’m ready to work auntie.”

“Aww look at him” she cooed, giving you a look. “You better not mess this one up Y/N. He’s fine and he listens. That’s rare.”

You groaned, already regretting bringing him with you for Christmas. “Why is everyone acting like he’s the only man on earth?”

“Nobody said he was,” Aunt Beverly replied, sipping her drink. “But he’s the finest one I’ve seen you bring around.”

Aurélien didn’t even try to hide his smirk. “Thank you auntie.”

“Don’t thank her” you scoffed, shoving the cutting board closer to him. “Just chop.”

Before you could get into a good rhythm of chopping and stirring, Gianna came storming back in the kitchen, looking even more dramatic than before.

“Y/N!” she whined. “Pleaseeee fix my hair. Look at me!”

You glanced over at her, narrowing your eyes over the bumped ends while you tried not to laugh. “Gigi, you don’t need your hair fixed. It looks fine.” You were lying, she really looked like she worked in management at a call center.

“No it doesn’t!” she cried, stomping her foot. “I look like James Brown!”

You almost burst out laughing so you turned your head back to the stove, tucking your lips in to hide your smile while waving her off. “Just go sit down somewhere.”

“Fine” she huffed, stomping back toward the living room. “I’m telling Nana you’re being mean.”

“Tell her! I don’t care!” you yelled back, very unbothered.

Aurélien was at the counter chopping celery while all of this went down, but you saw him chuckling quietly to himself during the ordeal like this was the most entertaining family he had ever seen. “Do you talk to all of them like that? Is that normal?”

“Only when they act like this…” you muttered, dumping a pile of chopped onions into a bowl. “Which is every time I come home.”

“Your family is funny..I like them.”

“Just chop” you repeated while shaking your head. You were anxious your family would have scared him off by now, but knowing he was enjoying every second gave you butterflies.

While chopping, the sound of the NFL game blaring loudly in the background was interrupted by your uncle shouting, “Y/N! You know what you doing in there? It smells like something’s burning.”

You hadn’t even started cooking yet, and somehow your uncle was smelling phantom scents. You rolled your eyes again, ignoring his comments while you poured oil in the pan. A slow grin crept up Aurélien’s face when he saw how annoyed you were getting. “Burning the gumbo already?”

You whipped your head around, pointing the spoon at him. “Don’t start with me.”

With a heavy sigh, you turned your attention back toward the pan and swirled the oil around under the heat as you slowly added in flour. The roux was a life or death situation; you were either going to be a Creole princess, or your family would be on your neck for the rest of the night.

Aurélien stood close to you, leaning in with curiosity in his eyes. “So how do we do this? What’s the plan?”

“The plan is to stir this until its the color of dark chocolate” you said while moving the spoon in a steady circular pattern. “If I stop stirring it’ll burn and get all clumpy. After that, we add the veggies we just chopped to let it sauté, and then we add everything else and let it simmer.”

He nodded, leaning against the counter to watch you. “That’s simple enough.”

“It’s really not” you replied with your eyes locked on the pan. “And you’re distracting me already, so stop.”

“Baby I’m just standing here.” he smirked. “You’re that easily distracted?”

“No.” you shot back, side eyeing him for a split second. You were that easily distracted when he was around, but you weren’t about to admit to it.

“Are you sure?” He dropped his tone, teasing you. “Why are you gripping the spoon so tight?”

“Because I need to keep stirring..” you muttered while refusing to look at him.

“Hmm.” He paused, leaning in to whisper in your ear. “I know something else that grips like that. And it tastes good too.”

You froze for a second and then snapped your head toward him with your eyes wide. “Aurélien!”

“What?” he asked innocently, but his smirk was far from innocent. “I’m just being honest.”

“Stop” you voiced in a tight tone.

“Stop what?” he asked, sliding his hand to your hip.

“That.” you hissed, smacking his hand away with your free one. “I’m not fucking the roux up because you wanna play around.”

“I think you like it though..”

You were going to fire back but then your dad’s voice cut through the kitchen. “What’s it looking like in here?” Both of you stiffened when your dad walked in the kitchen with a drink in hand, eyeing both of you.

Aurélien straightened up and moved his hands back to his sides like he’d been caught. “It’s going well sir. She’s doing a good job.”

“Hmm” you dad walked up to the stove with his brows knitted in nothing but judgement while he stared at the roux. “Still looks too light to me.”

“It’s not ready yet!” you answered back defensively, tired of everyone getting onto you about the roux.

Your dad took a sip of his drink and shook his head. “I don’t know if I want to eat what you’re cooking…”

“Then don’t” you said under your breath so he wouldn’t hear you. Eventually, he wandered back toward another room. As soon as he was out of earshot, Aurélien leaned on the counter, smirking.

“You look good in that dress, baby.”

“Aurélien....”

“What?” he teased, dropping his voice. “I can’t compliment my girlfriend?”

You huffed a breath and continued stirring the roux as it turned from a caramel color to a rich dark chocolate shade. “Not now.”

He stood behind you, towering over you as he brushed his lips up against your ear. “Later then?”

“Maybe…” you kept stirring with a vengeance, trying not to reveal how flustered he had you.

When the roux finally finished, you let out a small sigh of relief. You had one hurdle down, but the gumbo was nowhere near being finished. You pushed the spoon against the sides of the pan to check the consistency to make sure it was smooth and velvety instead of clumpy.

Aurélien hovered over you, smiling like he was the one doing all the work this whole time. “You said it’s supposed to look like dark chocolate, right? Looks like it’s done.”

“Mmhmm.” You grabbed holy trinity mixture and tossed it into the pan with a satisfying sizzle and the aroma hit immediately.

He leaned in closer. “Smells good already.”

“It’s not even half done yet.” you said, pushing him back with your hip as you reached for the seasonings. You added cajun seasonings, thyme, and bay leaves into the pot. You reached for garlic powder, but Aurélien grabbed it first and held it out of your reach with another smirk on his face.

“Really?” you asked, giving him a look.

“I’m trying to help” he replied while sprinkling garlic powder in the pot like he was a pro chef before handing it back.

You rolled your eyes, dumping the rest of the ingredients into the pot while stirring. Aurélien watched you like he was mesmerized.

“Baby you look so good right now.”

“I’m literally sweating and I probably smell like filé powder so why are you lying?” you tried to keep your tone light but the look in his eye had you ready to bend over the countertop.

“I’m not. You look good.” He stepped closer to you and brushed his hand on the lower curve of your back. He tilted his head and traced small patterns against your dress. “And you keep bending over that pot like you want something else…”

“Aurélien.” you warned again, but it sounded more like a whine because his hand slid up to your hip at the same time.

“You’re doing such a good job baby.” he coaxed while gripping your hip to pull you up against him. If he wanted to play, you could too – so you lightly grinded up against him while the gumbo simmered on the stove.

You could feel his breath hitch against your neck as he kissed you there, lightly nibbling on the skin. “Keep doing that.”

You pressed against him even more while his hands roamed over your dress. Just as you were about to push him off of you, the sound of your aunts’ voice drifted into the kitchen from the dining room. They were in a very loud and animated gossip session, so naturally both you and Aurélien froze in place to start eavesdropping.

“Girl have you seen Linda lately?” Your Aunt Kim’s voice cut through the kitchen.

“Who ain’t seen her?” Aunt Beverly shot back. “She’s all over town riding around in every man’s car but her husband’s. Makes no damn sense.”

“Chileeee…” Aunt Kim said with a dramatic drawl. “She has the nerve to be in church every sunday talking about the lord is her shepherd while she’s creeping with half the deacons.”

“Half?!” Aunt Bev cackled so loud it made Aurélien’s eyebrows shoot up. “Girl she’s hitting the men’s choir and the ushers too. And then she has the nerve to come in there with her wig sitting like a top hat. Baby, secure that wig first, then worry about your next man.”

“Not a top hat!” Aunt Kim howled. “She looks like she’s leading a marching band!”

“Mhm. I might tell you a joke but I’ll never tell you a lie” Aunt Bev continued cackling.

Your hand shot up over your mouth to keep from laughing as Aurélien leaned closer to you, confused. “What are they saying?” he whispered.

You leaned back into him, trying to explain without bursting into laughter. “They’re talking about the pastor’s wife. Apparently she’s been messing around with men who aren’t her husband. And her wig game is real bad.”

Aurélien’s face twisted with disbelief. “So she’s cheating and her wig is crooked? That’s crazy.”

You nodded with tears threatening to spill from how hard you were trying to hold back your laughter. “I swear nobody is safe in this family. They come for everybody.”

“She’s gonna end up in somebody’s sermon if she keeps it up” Aunt Kim said, taking a sip of her drink. “And I’m not saying a damn thing when it happens.”

“Nothing?” Aunt Bev smacked her lips. “Please. You’ll be the first one to say something. You haven’t been quiet a day in your life.”

Both women burst into a fit of laughter and you finally shoved Aurélien off so you could work on plating the gumbo over a bed of white rice. When you were finally done, you called everyone into the dining room. The table was already overloaded with food, but the gumbo was the star of the show. You set the bowls down in front of everyone, ready to hear everyone’s reactions.

“Alright” your grandma said as she sat at the head of the table. “Let’s see if my grandbaby did my gumbo any justice.”

Everyone started digging in and you heard the occasional “Mmm!” of approval from mostly everyone. You noticed your dad had his bowl of gumbo off to the side and he reached for some oxtail instead.

“You’re not gonna try it?” you asked.

He shrugged, unphased. “I don’t eat gumbo unless your Nana makes it. Especially if it has seafood in it. You know that.”

“Wow.” You crossed your arms, glaring at him. “You’re really going to do your daughter like that?”

Your dad glanced up at you with a smirk. “The last time you made a main dish for Christmas, you put cottage cheese in the mac and cheese. I don’t trust it.”

The whole table erupted in laughter, including Aurélien as he tried to cover his mouth. A look of defeat appeared on your face and you slumped in your chair. “I saw it on tiktok.”

“Tiktok doesn’t belong in the kitchen on Christmas day. Do that on your own time.” your grandma shook her head, cracking a crab leg to retrieve the meat inside.

When Aurélien dipped his spoon into the gumbo to take his first bite, his eyes widened. “Mmm” he hummed low and deep in his chest, dragging out the sound as his tongue darted to catch a stray bit of broth on his bottom lip. You froze mid bite, hovering your spoon over your bowl as he let out another groan of appreciation.

“This is so good,” he murmured in a smooth voice. His eyes were locked on yours the entire time, and the corner of his mouth curved into a smirk. “Baby you really did this.”

“It’s just gumbo” you tried to keep your voice even, feeling heat creeping up your skin.

“No,” he said, dipping his spoon back in for another bite. His gaze stayed on you as he savoured it, swiping his tongue across his lips in a teasing way. “This is perfect. I see why you were gripping that spoon now.”

You shifted in your seat, squeezing your legs together while your family was oblivious to the way your boyfriend was dismantling every bit of composure in you.

“Aurélien” you hissed low enough so no one else could hear. “You need to chill.”

“I’m just enjoying your cooking baby” he said, leaning in closer and dropping his voice just for you. “And thinking about what else you’re good at.”

Your spoon clattered on the bowl and you reached for your glass of water, downing it like you were dying of thirst. Aurélien’s hand slipped under the table, brushing against your bare thigh. “You okay?” he asked while continuing to rub your thigh in gentle strokes.

You glared at him, feeling the pool of heat in your core increase from his touch. “No. I’m really not.”

Aurélien didn’t stop his torturous strokes on your thigh as his fingers slipped a little higher. It was taking everything in you to control yourself and push his hand away, but you really wanted to grab it and pull it closer. Your family was still as loud as ever, conversing around the table and had no idea what was happening. Your uncles were arguing about the NFL game with one of your aunts, your grandma was fussing with Myles about trying to sneak a piece of cake before finishing all of his food, and your mom was going on about how she needed better lights next year in order to win the HOA decor competition.

Literally nobody was paying attention to you, and Aurélien took it to his advantage. He brushed his lips against your ear and whispered, “You’re tense baby. Maybe I should help you relax in a bit.”

“Let’s go.” you said under your breath, unable to take it anymore.

“Now?”

You shot him a look. “Now.”

Aurélien didn’t need to be told twice and stood up first, excusing himself from the table with an exaggerated excuse about how he needed to stretch his legs so his muscles wouldn’t get too stiff during the holiday break. It was bullshit, but either way nobody cared. You followed a few seconds later, pretending you needed to refill your glass of water.

When you met him in the hallway, his hand immediately hiked your dress up, gripping your hips from underneath while his lips met yours in a messy kiss. His tongue slid against yours as you arched your body into him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

“Your room?” he whispered against your lips, already leading you down the hall. You nodded but you could barely think straight when his lips started trailing down your neck. When you reached the door of your bedroom, you pushed it open quickly, expecting an empty bed but you froze in place when you saw someone’s random baby was asleep.

“Who.. whose baby is that?” Aurélien asked in a hushed tone, baffled.

“I don’t even know” you whispered back, shutting the door as quietly as possible before you started laughing.

You wasted no time grabbing his hand and pulling him toward the bathroom. Once you were inside, you locked the door and leaned back against it with a seductive smirk on your face. “We have about five minutes before someone starts looking for us.”

“Then we better not waste it” he said, sliding your dress back up around your hips. You palmed his dick over his jeans, stroking it against the fabric to make him hard while his hand found their way between your thighs. You couldn’t help the whimper that escaped from you when his fingers started teasing you through your panties. His lips moved from your jaw, then to your neck and you tilted back against the door to give him more access.

“Auréliennn” you whispered in a voice shaky as you dug your nails into his arm.

“You need to be quiet for me baby” His voice was low and filled with lust. “Shhhh.”

You nodded, but his fingers slipped under your panties and met with your wetness, causing you to let out a soft, desperate moan. He smirked against your neck, teasing your skin with the warmth of his voice.

“I said be quiet for me.”

You bit your lip to hold back but he wasn’t making it easy for you at all. He had two fingers inside of you while his thumb rubbed your clit, teasing you until your legs started to shake.

“Please” you whispered, still clutching his arm while you struggled to keep it together quietly.

He pulled back enough to look you in the eyes with a smug expression on his face. “Please what?”

“Please” you repeated, voice trembling with want. “Just hurry.” You gripped the belt loop of his jeans with your hand, quickly unzipping his jeans so you could speed the process up. You really didn’t have much time and you were not about to risk not having the orgasm that was pent up and wavering, ready for release.

Aurélien leaned into your ear, arrogantly whispering in your ear. “You were clenching that spoon like you needed something else to hold onto. I’m about to give you something better.”

“Shut up” you muttered, already struggling to keep composure.

“You don’t want me to shut up” he whispered, brushing his lips against your neck as he spoke. “You love this too much. Tell me how good I feel.”

You gripped his shoulders to steady yourself. “You feel so good,” you whimpered. “But we don’t have time.”

“I don’t care” he cut you off, thrusting his fingers inside you with calculation. Your mouth fell open in a silent gasp as he filled you with his fingers, curving just right in a certain spot that made your legs week. “Take it, baby. Good girl.”

You bit your lip to keep quiet but he was driving you wild. His thumb pressed against your clit, swirling with just the right amount of pressure to make your breath quicken into rapid gasps.

“Aurélien I can’t” you hissed quietly.

“You will” he growled, pulling his fingers out and flipping you around so the front of your body was pressed against the door. His hand smacked your ass and you gasped, feeling the sting disperse from pain to pleasure. “Don’t cum until I say so.”

“Okay” you breathed with your cheek pressed against the door as he yanked your panties down. You heard him pull his jeans down and the anticipation made you shake a little. Aurélien lined his dick up against you, pushing inside you in one deep stroke. You clenched around him the minute he was inside and a mewl escaped your throat.

“Damn. You’re squeezing me already? You don’t even want me to move yet?”

“Move.” you pleaded in a barely steady voice. “Please move.”

“In a rush?” He smirked against your shoulder, pulling out slowly before deep stroking back in. The door rattled under his force and he grabbed your hip to steady you. “You want it like that?”

“It’s too loud” you whined, still trying to catch your breath.

“You’re too loud” he shot back, gripping your neck to tilt your head back. His lips brushed up against your ear as he whispered in your ear. “Be quiet or you won’t get to cum tonight.”

The pressure in your core was building fast and he hadn’t even fucked you like he meant it just yet. You bit your lip hard, trying to quiet your moans. His thrusts were deep, hard and merciless with each one hitting deeper than the last. When he reached around to rub your clit again, your legs started shaking.

“I wanna cum” you whimpered in a broken voice. “Aurélien I can’t hold it.”

“Yes you can” he commanded with his grip tightening on your hip as he stilled his movements to an infuriating pace. “You’re my good girl, right? Hold it for me.”

Your whole body was shaking from the intensity of it, you could feel the coil threatening to spring free with every second. “I can’t,” you whispered with tears in your eyes. “Please let me–”

Your orgasm hit you before you could warn him again or finish your sentence. Your body spasmed and a rush of wetness made a mess on your thighs and his. He froze and looked down before letting out a filthy groan. “Aah, fuck” he hissed, smacking your ass again which made you cry out. “Look at you making a mess all over me. Didn’t I tell you not to cum?”

“I’m sorry” you gasped, still trembling from the aftershocks. He didn’t stop and gripped your hips tighter, thrusting into you harder to drag you to another wave of pleasure that had you reaching behind to try and warn him again.

“You like that? You like being punished for not listening??” His voice was raw as he fucked you into a dickmatized state. “I want you to cum again but you gotta wait for me baby.”

At this point your legs were nearly giving out and your body was barely holding it together as he pushed you closer to another orgasm. His hand slipped around your throat, squeezing lightly. “Tell me you want me to fill you up.”

“Fill me up,” you begged, barely audible. “I want it.”

He thrust into you erratically, burying himself deep inside you as he came while trying to keep his groans quiet. You felt the warmth of his cum and the sensation sent you spiralling into another orgasm even more intense than the last. Your whole body shook as you clung to the doorknob next to you, gasping. When he finally pulled out, you were both a sweaty, breathless, wrecked mess. Your legs were still shaking and some of your braids had fallen out of the bun you tied earlier. Aurélien smirked, brushing a stray braid out of your face and leaned in to kiss you softly.

“I love you” he smiled, looking at you in a teasing way.

“Um..are you sure??? I can’t believe you just fucked me like that…” You were still trying to catch your breath and get rid of the ringing in your ear after all that. You wiped a stray tear from your eye as you freshened up the best way you could. Aurélien’s quickie had you exhausted and ready for a nap after just one tiny round. When you exited the bathroom, you tried to keep it together, but you couldn’t even walk properly.

You stepped out of the bathroom first, trying to act as normal as possible while adjusting your dress. Aurélien followed behind you, looking way more put together than you did. Judging by his smirk, he knew exactly the type of predicament he put you in. The moment you walked back into the living room, all conversation stopped and several pairs of eyes locked on you. You barely made it to the couch before your family started pouncing on you like you were prime entertainment. Aunt Bev tilted her head and squinted at you like you owed her an explanation.

“Y/N, why are you walking like that? What’s wrong with you?”

You tried to wave her off as you sank into the couch, crossing your legs like that would make you any less of a target. “I’m fine auntie. Just tired.”

“Tired?” Your grandma’s voice cut through the room. She peered at you over the rim of her glasses, full of suspicion. “You sick or something? You look sweaty.”

“I’m not sweaty!” you shot back, running a hand over your face out of instinct.

“Uh, yes you are” Gianna piped up from across the room with her bumped ends still unbumped. “Why are you shiny like that? You was in there doing push ups?”

“Gigi!” you snapped in a cracked voice as Aurélien strolled past you to grab another bowl of gumbo. Myles came skipping over, still fueled with sugar. He stopped right in front of you and scrunched his face up in confusion. “Why your hair look like that? You look a mess.”

Your hand flew to your head, gripping the loose braids that fell from the bun you thought you tied carefully. “Myles, mind your business!” you yelled, trying to tuck the braids back in while your family cackled.

“I told y’all she was sick” your grandma said while shaking her head as if you had offended her. “Sweating. Hair messed up. Tired. She’s acting like she just ran a marathon and she hasn’t done anything."

“Could’ve climbed a big, tall mountain” Aunt Bev added in with a knowing smirk while sipping her drink.

“Or fell out of a tree” Gianna chimed in, snickering like she was hilarious when it really wasn’t all that funny to you.

“Or got hit by a truck” Myles added with dramatics, which earned a loud laugh from your Aunt Kim.

“Leave her alone” she said, waving her fork at the group before she turned to you. “Seriously though, what were you doing back there? You’re sweating like a whore in church.”

You couldn’t even formulate a proper defense before someone else chimed in, but this time it was your dad who was sitting comfortably in his recliner. “She probably fucked the gumbo up just like I said. I ain’t even touch it. I wasn’t in the mood for one of her little experiments today.”

Your jaw dropped as the entire room started laughing at you. Aurélien was silently enjoying every second of it and finally decided to save you, or so he thought. He leaned against the wall while eating his second helping of gumbo.

“Her gumbo is the best I ever had.”

Aunt Bev raised a brow, slyly smiling as she looked between you and Aurélien. “Mmhmm” she hummed, dragging it out while leaning back in her chair.

“I bet it is.”

#aurelien tchouameni #aurelien tchouameni x reader #aurelien tchouameni smut #footballer x reader #footballer x y/n #footballer imagines #aurelien tchouameni imagine #footballer x black reader #x black reader

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qrrieterisunnq · 3 days ago

Note

Marino smut where he gets jealous easily please but not because she’s like smoking hot because of her personality so he tries not to let his teammates talk to her😂😩🥴

Jealousy, Form of Love - John Marino

MINORS DNI - 18+ content below the cut — WARNINGS: sex scenes, fluff — SUMMARY: John is jealous because of your warming personality, which leads to him fucking you hard after he finally introduces you to his teammates, and you are friendlier than you should be. — WORD COUNT: 2,12K

You are the definition of people saying, ‘I don’t care about looks, but personality is all that matters.’ It was not that you were ugly or something; you were gorgeous, but that was not what caught John’s eyes; it was your friendly and sunny personality.

You always need to help people even though they are mean to you and keep saying they can manage themselves.

Whenever you see a cat alone on the street, you immediately want to take her home. If it weren’t for John, you’d have an apartment full of stray cats.

That is exactly why John fell for you and doesn’t want you to get to know his teammates. They would fall in love with you the moment you'd have to speak, that’s just who you are. But when he finally gets the courage to introduce you to his teammates, he knows he’ll regret it the moment you talk to them.

“Are you babygirl!” John looks down at his watches, making sure they still have time. “The ride is about fifteen minutes, so you better move your beautiful ass over here before I come for you.”

“Just a second, J,” you yell back from the bedroom as you are finishing your outfit and some touch-ups on your makeup. And I’m done!” you say with a smile, taking your handbag from the bed and making your way into the living room, where John is leaning against the wall, his hand folded across his chest.

“Can we go now?” he asks with annoyance in his voice but the beautiful smile on his lips tells you he’s everything but annoyed.

“Yeah, baby! We can.” You giggle soothing your dress, so it looks perfect.

“You’re gorgeous, babes!” he smiles at you pulling you towards him by your waist for a quick kiss. “Now come on, or we’ll be late!”

“We won’t babe! We still have fifteen minutes. Don’t stress yourself.” You kiss his cheek on the way to the door where you put on your sneakers and open the door for him.

“Yeah, you’re right, now let's go!” he smacks your ass urging you to go first so he can lock the doors.

“So, this is the popular y/n? Am I right, Johnny?” Sean asks with a smirk as he watches his teammate reddening from jealousy. Sean takes your hand and kisses the top with his eyes glued to yours.

“Yeah, I guess that is me,” you giggle at Sean’s questing turning your head to the side to look at John, whose cheeks are red. “It’s nice to meet you, —” you stop yourself realizing you don’t know his name.

“Oh, I’m Sean! Nice to meet you too, Y/n.” You shake his hand and step back, feeling John’s rising chest on your back. You melt into his presence and find his hand to interlock your fingers with his.

“Nice to meet you, Sean,” You smile at him, playing with John’s fingers as you smile nervously. “So, you do this Christmas party every year?”

“Yeah, for the past few years, I’ve been on the team, every year. And this year it was my turn, so I hope you like it,” he chuckles looking around his apartment. “My girlfriend helped me, actually. I can introduce you to her.”

“Oh yeah sorry. I completely forgot that Johnny is on a new team.” you giggle and rest your head on John’s shoulder, feeling his lips on your temple.

“I'm going to get you something for a drink,” John whispers in your ear before taking off to the kitchen.

“So, what do you say?” Sean asks with a grin on his lips.

“Yeah sure, let’s get meet her.” you giggle following Sean inside the living room where most people are.

“Baby!” he sighs when he sees her in a group of other wags. She smiles at him, pecking his lips and whispering something to him. After a while, Sean looks back at you with an encouraging smile. “Baby, girls, this is y/n John’s girlfriend. You haven’t met yet, because she was out of the States.” he introduces you with a smile.

“Hi?” you wave your hand with a nervous smile.

“You are so beautiful! By the way, I am Sadie!” Sean's girlfriend pulls you in a hug, making you feel welcome.

“Girl, you are gorgeous,” You yell slightly, slapping a hand over your mouth afterward. “Like drop-dead gorgeous.” You sigh, laughing with the other girls as Sadie blushes at your words.

“Oh, Can I keep her?” A girl on your left says with a grin on her face. “Please? I already like her! Johnny!” she yells, making you all giggle. “Oh, I forgot to introduce myself, Beth.” She smiles, reaching out her ebony black hand to shake yours.

As you get to know the girls, John makes his way to you just a few minutes after Beth yells his name. He looks at you with a grin, but that changes as soon as he sees Beth’s face.

“What happened?” he immediately asks, handing you the drink he made for you. He looks you up and down for some injury but finds nothing.

“Nothing, I just wanted to tell you that I—” Beth points her finger at her. “—am keeping her.” And then at you with a grin on her lips.

“Beth, you know her for what?” he looks at you with jealousy written in the wrinkle on his forehead. “Five minutes and you want her? No way girl. I saw her first.” He shakes his head, curling his hand around your waist, and brings you to his chest as you giggle at his reaction.

Beth sends you a wink and grins at Johnny, saying, “Oh, come on, Johnny-boy. You can share a little, can’t you? She’s got enough sunshine in her for all of us.”

The girls erupt into laughter, and you find yourself chuckling along, feeling an unexpected warmth from this new group of friends. John, however, wasn’t quite ready to let his guard down.

“You’re not supposed to charm everyone within seconds, you know,” he whispers in your ear, his voice a mix of exasperation and pride.

You lean into him, a playful grin on your lips. “I can’t help it, babe. It’s who I am.”

Sean approaches with another drink in hand, giving John a knowing smirk. “Looks like Y/n’s already a hit. Don’t worry, mate. We’ll try not to steal her from you... yet.”

John rolls his eyes but can’t hide the smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He knew this would happen. He knew they’d adore you, just like he did. And while the jealous pangs prick at him every now and then, he can’t deny how proud he feels seeing you light up the room.

“And you never will.” You say, patting his hands that are lying on your stomach while his head is resting on top of yours.

“Eww, stop being so cheese.” Sean shakes his body in disgust earning a slap from his girlfriend.

“Go away and take Johnny with him. We wanna have some girl-talk here with y/n.” She wiggles her brows at you, making you giggle.

As the evening wears on, John’s patience is tested further. Sadie introduces you to the other woman in the group. And not long after, you become the center of attention. Whether it is story sharing, complimenting their outfits, or laughing at their jokes, it looks like you have wrapped them around your finger.

From across the room, John keeps a watchful eye on you. He can see how effortlessly you charm everyone, and while he adores that about you, it doesn’t stop the jealousy from shimmering beneath the surface. His jaw tightens whenever some of the guys make you laugh a little too hard or linger too close.

When Sean’s hand brushes against yours as he passes you a drink, John decides he had enough. He strides over, wrapping an arm firmly around your waist and pulling you close to his side.

“Having fun?” he asks, his tone deceptively light but his eyes sharp as they flick to Sean.

You nod your head, obvious to the tension radiating from him. “Yeah, everyone is so nice! Sean was just telling me about—”

“Yeah, Sean’s great,” John cuts in, his grip on your waist tightening slightly. “But I think you promised me a dance, didn’t you?”

You blink up at him in surprise but smile, nonetheless. “Oh, did I? Well, let’s fix that then.”

He leads you to the makeshift dance floor, his hands possessively settling on your hips as he pulls you flush against him. The warmth of his body and the intensity of his gaze make your breath hitch.

“John are you okay?” you ask softly, tilting your head to look up at him.

“Just reminding everyone who you belong to,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear. His voice is low, almost a growl, and it sends a shiver down your spine.

The rest of the night passes in a blur, with John staying glued to your side, his presence a constant reminder to anyone who might forget that you were his. By the time you both say your goodbyes and step out into the crisp night air, his jealousy reaches a boiling point.

The walk home is quiet but charged with unspoken tension. You can feel it in the way his hand grips yours a little too tightly, in the way his jaw is set, and in the way, his eyes burn with something dark and possessive every time he looks at you.

John doesn’t waste any second the moment you step inside your apartment. He kicks the door shut and spins you around, pinning you against it with a force that takes your breath away.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he growls, his hands framing your face as his lips crash onto yours. The kiss is hard, demanding, and filled with all the jealousy and desire he’s been holding back all night.

“John,” you gasp when he pulls away, his lips moving to your neck. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Watching every man in that room look at you like they wanted you,” he murmurs against your skin, his hands sliding down to grip your hips. “Hearing them flirt with you, laugh with you… Do you know how hard it was not to lose it right there?”

“But you know I’m yours,” you whisper, threading your fingers through his hair.

“I do,” he says, his voice rough. “But tonight, I’m going to make sure you don’t forget it.”

Before you can respond, he lifts you into his arms, carrying you to the bedroom with purpose. The air is thick with anticipation, and as he lays you down on the bed, his eyes lock onto yours, dark with intent.

“You’re mine,” he repeats, his voice low and commanding. His hands slide up your thighs, gripping them possessively as he hovers over you. “And I’m going to show you just how much.”

The room is filled with the soft glow of the bedside lamp, casting warm shadows across the walls. John’s touch is both fervent and tender as he begins to explore every inch of you, his lips following the path of his hands. Each kiss, each caress is deliberate, as if he is trying to etch himself into your very soul.

“Look at me,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. His eyes search yours, the raw vulnerability in them catching you off guard. “You’re everything to me. No one else gets to have this—gets to have you.”

Your heart swells at his words, and you reach up to cup his face, pulling him into a kiss that speaks of your own devotion. “I’m yours, John. Always.”

He smiles against your lips, a soft chuckle escaping as his hands roam lower, drawing a gasp from you. “Good. Because I’m not letting you go—not tonight, not ever.”

He gets rid of all your clothes laying on top of you with his cock laying directly on your pussy. He presses his lips to yours in a hungry kiss whiles his hand reaches between you, angling his cock on your entrance.

Still kissing you he pushes his cock deep inside you, drawing a long, loud moan from your lips.

He moves his hips in frequent motions, while he rolls them every now and then, getting more of the pleasure. You roll your eyes, when his cock touches the spongy spot deep inside you, bringing you quickly to your ends.

It takes you both only a few more minutes of John’s harsh thrusts and you both fall over your edges.

#john marino x y/n #jm6 #john marino #john marino smut #nhl #john marino x reader #john marino x you #john marino fanfiction #utah hockey team #utah hockey club #nhl fanfiction #john marino imagine

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starsenha · 22 hours ago

Text

[27] ABOUT THE BOY - the plan

synopsis: You were the queen of Decelis University. Everybody worshipped the ground you walked on. You were used to having what you wanted when you wanted it. Until the day when park sunghoon arrived, and things changed. wc: 5k tw: use of nicknames, mention of toxic relationships and hurt, kissing, making out, sunghoon is so sweet and so fluffy

a/n: im so sad it's the end already 😭😭 abt the boy is my baby im so sad it's over. anyways, i really hope you like the ending and that it answers any question u might have (if it doesn't im really sorry and don't hesitate to dm me or ask in my inbox!!) thank you for all the support this had, I never thought it would be so successful but im so so grateful 🤍🤍

Sunghoon met Jay outside of Yizhuo’s house. It was one of the biggest mansions he’d seen, outside of yours, of course. Jay was waiting for him, his hands jamming in his pockets and he gave his friend a big grin as soon as he got out of his car. Bur something felt…off.

‘’Okay, you seem really…happy. That’s suspicious,’’ Sunghoon said, raising an eyebrow.

Jay’s grin faltered for a second. ‘’Suspicious? Me? I’m just pumped for a chill night with my favorite bro.” He threw an arm around Sunghoon’s shoulders and guided him toward the entrance. “Come on, man. Don’t overthink it.”

As they entered, Yizhuo greeted them with her signature smile. “Welcome, guys!” she sang, waving them in with a flourish. Her house, with its high ceilings, gleaming floors, and a ridiculous number of chandeliers, was practically a palace.

Sunghoon glanced around. “Where’s everyone else? I thought this was supposed to be a party or something?”

Yizhuo shrugged, looking entirely too nonchalant. “Oh, they’re just… on their way. But don’t worry about them,” she said, giving Heeseung a quick, sly glance.

Sunghoon frowned but decided to roll with it. Yizhuo could be a bit eccentric sometimes, so he wasn’t going to read too much into it.

“Actually,” Yizhuo continued, “while we’re waiting, I’ve got the perfect room for you to, uh, relax in.” She motioned toward the guest room down the hall. “It’s super cozy.”

“Um… okay?” Sunghoon followed her lead, though he couldn’t help but feel like something was slightly off. Yizhuo opened the door to the guest room, a beautifully decorated space with large windows, plush seating, and soft lighting.

“Here you go!” she said cheerfully, giving him a little push inside. “Why don’t you settle in and get comfortable?”

Before he could say anything, the door clicked shut behind him. Sunghoon turned, hearing the unmistakable sound of a lock.

“Park Jongseong!” he called, pressing his hand against the door. “Did you just lock me in here?”

Jay’s muffled voice came through the door, trying and failing to sound casual. “Oh, uh… must’ve been a… draft! Or something. Don’t worry about it, bro. Just chill.”

Sunghoon’s eyes narrowed. “Seriously?”

On the other side of the door, Jay turned to Yizhuo, unable to contain his satisfaction. “He’s in,” he whispered with a grin, giving her a high-five. “Now we just wait for yn. She’s never on time, is she?”

Yizhuo smirked, leaning against the wall next to him. “Fashionably late, as always. But hey, once she gets here… things are about to get interesting.”

Back inside the guest room, Sunghoon sighed, finally letting himself sink into the absurdly plush armchair.

“Guess I’ll ‘chill,’’’he muttered, rolling his eyes.

About twenty minutes later, you arrived at Yizhuo’s house as usual, not even bothering to knock. After all, it was like your own home at this point. You barely had time to shake off the cool evening air when Yizhuo and Jay appeared around the corner, grinning in a way that could only described as suspiciously eager.

“Finally, you’re here!” Yizhuo said, practically bouncing on her heels.

“You’re late as usual,” Heeseung added, smirking.

You raised an eyebrow, glancing between the two of them. “Okay, you guys are being way too cheerful. What’s going on?”

“Oh, nothing,” Yizhuo said airily, waving her hand. “But hey, since you’re here, could you check something for me in the guest room? There’s… um, an issue with the—uh, the light fixture.”

You narrowed your eyes, suspicious but deciding to humor your friend. “The light fixture? Really?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Yizhuo nodded, clearly trying to hold back a grin. “You know, just… making sure everything’s perfect for tonight.”

“Right,” You said slowly, casting Jay a dubious look. But Yizhuo was your best friend, so with an exaggerated eye-roll, you headed down the hall toward the guest room. “If this is some lame prank…”

“Oh, would I do that to you?” Yizhuo replied innocently, exchanging a quick glance with Jay.

You pushed open the door to the guest room, stepping inside cautiously. But as soon as you were fully inside, you heard footsteps behind you. You whirled around just as Yizhuo and Heeseung reached the doorway.

“Surprise!” Yizhuo said with a wink, and before you could react, they gave you a gentle push, closing the door swiftly behind you with a loud click.

You pressed her forehead against the door, muttering a string of curses. Then you turned around, your irritation quickly transforming into shock as you realized you weren’t alone. Sunghoon was sitting in an armchair near the window, looking just as surprised as you were.

“Sunghoon?” you said, narrowing your eyes.

‘’Great,’’ he sighed.

Your expression turned icy, and you crossed your arms, leaning back against the wall, as far from Sunghoon as you could manage in the small guest room. Sunghoon, still processing the abrupt situation, glanced at you with a mixture of frustration and hope, though he could already tell from your stance that this wasn’t going to be easy.

“Look,” he began, trying to sound calm, “I know you’re not thrilled to be here, but can we please just talk?”

“Don’t come any closer,” you cut him off, your voice sharp as you shifted slightly away from him, making it clear you wanted nothing to do with proximity right now.

Sunghoon stopped mid-step, sighing deeply. “Are you really going to stand there and act like nothing bothers you? That’s not you.”

“Actually,” you replied coolly, “this is perfectly fine. Just don’t make it difficult, alright?”

Sunghoon clenched his jaw, frustration seeping into his tone. “Right. Of course, nothing’s ever a big deal to you.”

You shrugged, your gaze drifting to the wall, as though the room’s decor was far more interesting. After a pause, you added with forced nonchalance, “I just hope you’re happy with Chaeyoung. She’s the one you wanted, right?”

He blinked, caught completely off guard. “Wait… what?”

You let out a small, bitter laugh, still not looking at him. “Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about. I know you two are back together. It’s not like it matters,” you continued, your voice carrying an edge. “You don’t owe me anything. We were never official or exclusive, remember?”

Sunghoon let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “Is that what you think? That I’m back with Chaeyoung?”

“I saw the picture, Sunghoon,” you replied, your voice cold. “Don’t make me look like an idiot.”

Realization dawned on Sunghoon, and he couldn’t help but chuckle softly, finally understanding the root of your attitude. Was that why you shut him off completely? “That’s why you’ve been avoiding me? Because you thought I was back with Chaeyoung?”

Your jaw tightened, a flicker of annoyance in your eyes. “Don’t laugh, Sunghoon. It’s not funny.”

“It kind of is, actually,” he replied, unable to stop the small grin forming on his face. “Yn, I’m not back with her. I was meeting up with her to tell her that I’ve moved on. That I don’t want her back.”

The icy wall around you seemed to crack just a little, though you tried to keep your face indifferent. “Moved on?” she echoed, almost reluctantly.

“Yes,” he said, his voice softer now as he stepped just a little closer, though still keeping his distance out of respect. “Moved on. I thought you knew.”

“Well, how would I know that, Sunghoon?” you shot back, a hint of anger mixing with something much more vulnerable. “You didn’t exactly… clarify anything.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I wanted to, but you’ve been avoiding me, Yn. Cold texts, ignoring me on campus, and then when I finally get a chance, you’re always ‘busy.’”

You looked away, biting your lip, unwilling to admit how much it had all hurt. “I was just… trying to keep things simple. We weren’t anything serious.”

“Don’t do that,” he said, his voice firm but pleading. “Don’t push me away just because things got complicated. You can’t keep acting like none of this matters to you.”

“And why not?” you challenged, finally meeting his gaze, though your voice wavered slightly. “Maybe it’s easier that way.”

“Because it’s not the truth,” he replied, stepping closer again, his voice softening. “Yn, I know you better than you think. This isn’t you.”

You shook your head, frustration and vulnerability mingling on your face. “You don’t know me as well as you think you do, Sunghoon.”

“Then tell me,” he begged, his voice barely a whisper. “Tell me what you’re feeling. I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere. Just… talk to me.”

You were silent for a long moment, struggling to keep your walls intact, but under his gaze, you felt them start to crumble. Finally, you let out a shaky breath, unable to meet his eyes.

“I… I’m scared, Sunghoon,” you admitted, your voice barely audible. “I don’t want to go through that again.”

He felt a pang of confusion mixed with concern when the words left your mouth. He knew you had a past relationship, but you’d never really opened up about it, and the raw fear in your voice now was unlike anything he’d seen from you before.

“What do you mean, ‘again’?” he asked softly, watching your face for any hint of vulnerability. “Yn, what happened to you?”

Your expression immediately shifted, your guard snapping back into place. You crossed her arms, your posture growing defensive. “It doesn’t matter,” you replied, your tone colder. “Can we just drop it?”

Sunghoon took a deep breath, frustration simmering but tempered by his care for you. “Yn, I don’t want to push you, but you keep shutting me out. How am I supposed to understand if you don’t let me in?”

You turned your back on him, staring at the door as if you could will it to open. “Sunghoon, just leave it alone. It’s not important.”

“Not important?” he echoed, his voice a mix of disbelief and desperation. He moved closer, his hand reaching out but hesitating just inches from your shoulder. “You’re scared because of something that happened to you, and you’re acting like it’s nothing. I need you to trust me. I want to help.”

You closed your eyes, feeling the pressure build up inside you. Part of you wanted to push him away, to keep the past locked up where it belonged. But another part of you—the part that had started to believe in him, the part that actually loved him—felt your resolve crumbling.

“Please, Yn,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Just… let me in. I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.”

Your shoulders slumped, and you turned your face slightly away, swallowing back the words that clawed at your throat. “It’s not… it’s not something I want to talk about,” you said, your voice strained. “Just drop it, okay?”

But before you could fully turn away again, Sunghoon gently took hold of your shoulders, guiding you back to face him. His gaze was intense, a mixture of desperation and affection, and you felt your heart racing under his stare.

“Yn, please don’t shut me out,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. And then, without another word, he leaned down, capturing your lips in a kiss so intense it left you breathless. It was desperate, filled with all the words he hadn’t said, all the emotions he hadn’t yet expressed.

You hesitated, your hands hovering in the air, caught between pushing him away and pulling him closer. But as his lips moved against yours, the warmth and need in his kiss started to melt the icy walls you had put up. Slowly, almost reluctantly, you let yourself lean into him, your hands finding their way to his shoulders, clutching him like he was your lifeline.

Sunghoon’s hand slid up to cup your face, his thumb gently brushing your cheek as the kiss deepened. And as much as you wanted to keep your guard up, you found herself yielding, your resolve slipping away with every second.

When you finally broke apart, he rested his forehead against yours, his breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps. “Yn,” he whispered, his voice filled with so much tenderness it made your chest ache. “Please. I just want to be there for you.”

You looked up at him, your gaze softened, vulnerable in a way you rarely allowed yourself to be. And in that moment, you felt something you hadn’t felt in a long time—a glimmer of trust, a sliver of hope.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” you murmured, your voice barely audible. But even as you said it, your hands remained on his shoulders, holding him close.

“Then let me help you,” he whispered back, his fingers gently tracing your jaw. “One step at a time. Just… don’t shut me out again.”

He gently guided you over to the small couch nestled in the corner of the guest room. He sat down beside you, keeping one of your hands in his, his thumb tracing soothing circles over your skin. His gaze was filled with a rare tenderness, a quiet understanding that made you feel both exposed and safe at the same time.

“Talk to me,” he said softly, his voice steady and patient. “Whatever happened… I want to know. Let me in.”

You looked down, your fingers gripping his hand as you struggled with the words. You had buried this pain so deeply that the idea of unearthing it felt almost impossible. But something about the warmth in his touch, the way he looked at her like he genuinely wanted to understand, made you feel that you could trust him.

“It was… it was a long time ago,” you began, your voice barely above a whisper. “I was in high school, young and… naive, I guess.”

Sunghoon nodded, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. “Go on. I’m listening.”

“His name was Sunwoo,” you continued, your tone thick with old pain. “He was older than me by a couple of years. Our families knew each other, and my dad… he wanted us to end up together. He thought we’d be this perfect match, two ‘well-matched’ families. My dad practically saw it as a done deal.”

Sunghoon’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing, letting you continue at your own pace.

“We started dating when I was in high school,” you continued, her gaze fixed somewhere distant. “I thought he was everything I wanted. He was my first love, and… I was so young. So stupidly, blindly in love.”

You took a shaky breath, and he squeezed your hand again, his thumb still moving in gentle circles.

“But Sunwoo… he was… well, he was a mess. A total fuckboy, honestly,” you said, your voice tinged with bitterness. “He cheated on me. So many times. And every time I found out, I forgave him. I made excuses for him, telling myself he’d change, that he cared about me.”

Sunghoon clenched his free hand into a fist, anger flashing across his face, but he kept his grip on you steady, silent encouragement in his eyes.

“It was humiliating,” you admitted, your voice barely audible. “Everyone knew, and I still took him back every time. I convinced myself that he loved me. And maybe he did, in his own twisted way. But I let him hurt me over and over because I didn’t know any better. I thought that was… just how love was.”

You took a deep, trembling breath. “Then he graduated. And I thought… I thought we’d finally be okay. That maybe we’d make it work. But instead… he broke up with me. Publicly. In front of everyone. He called it off like it was nothing, made some joke about how he’d ‘outgrown’ high school relationships.”

Sunghoon’s eyes flashed with anger, his hand tightening around yours. “He humiliated you? In front of everyone?”

You nodded, swallowing hard. “I couldn’t believe it. I felt like such a fool. I’d been so blind. After he left, I… I fell apart, Sunghoon. I stopped eating, stopped sleeping. I lost so much weight. I couldn’t focus on anything, and my grades started slipping. My dad didn’t get it; he just thought I needed to get over it and move on. But it felt like everything I believed in had shattered.”

He reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “I’m so sorry, princess. He didn’t deserve you. Not then, not ever.”

You met his gaze, surprised to find your own eyes brimming with unshed tears. “I thought I was over it, you know? But sometimes, the hurt… it’s still there. It’s why I don’t let anyone get too close. I swore I’d never feel that way again.”

Sunghoon’s face softened, and he held your gaze, his own eyes filled with a fierce protectiveness. “You didn’t deserve that. No one should ever make you feel that way. And I promise you… I would never do that to you, Yn. I’m here, okay? I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

A tear slipped down your cheek, and he wiped it away gently with his thumb. For the first time, you felt the weight of your past beginning to lift, replaced by a sense of comfort you hadn’t felt in years.

The room felt heavy with everything you’d just shared, but in the middle of it all, he could feel one thing so clearly, and he knew he couldn’t hold back anymore. He took a deep breath, squeezing your hand gently as he whispered, “YN… I love you.”

Your eyes widened, shock crossing your face as his words sank in. You opened her mouth as if to say something, but no words came out. Your heart was pounding in your chest, and you could hardly believe you had heard him right.

“What… what did you just say?” you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Sunghoon smiled, that gentle, steady smile that always seemed to make everything better. “I love you, princess,” he repeated, his voice filled with a warmth and sincerity you had never experienced before.

Your heart skipped a beat, the weight of those words settling over you like a gentle blanket. No one had ever told you that before—not like this. The only other person who’d ever made you feel loved and cared for was your brother, Mingyu. But this was different; this was deeper, intimate in a way..

A soft, almost disbelieving smile spread across your lips as you gazed up at him, your fingers lightly tracing his jawline. “You… you love me?”

He nodded, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “I do. I love you.”

A rush of emotion overwhelmed you, and you leaned in, capturing his lips in a heavy kiss. It was a slow, gentle kiss, but one that grew warmer and deeper with each passing second. His hand slipped to the back of your neck, pulling you closer as his lips moved against yours, tender yet insistent.

As the kiss deepened, Sunghoon shifted slightly, guiding you so you were nestled against him. His fingers tangled in your hair, and he let out a soft sigh against your lips, pressing you closer, his other hand steady on your waist. It was as if he was filling every broken pieces of her.

“Princess,” he murmured between kisses, his voice rough with emotion as he pulled back just enough to look into your eyes. “You don’t have to be afraid anymore. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Your heart swelled, and you managed a soft, breathless laugh. “You’re so… cheesy.”

“Only for you,” he whispered, a teasing smile on his lips, his thumb brushing against your lower lip as he leaned back in.

You kissed again, slower this time, savoring every second, every touch. You felt herself relax completely, letting go of your fears and doubts as you leaned into him, losing yourself in the feeling of his arms around you.

His hands slipped to your waist, drawing you closer still, and you could feel the warmth of his breath against your neck, his lips leaving a trail of kisses that sent shivers down your spine. You let your fingers explore his shoulders, his back, every inch of him grounding you in the moment, before he came back to attack your lips.

As you kiss deepened, your fingers curled into the fabric of Sunghoon’s shirt, and without even thinking, you murmured, “Hoonie…”

Sunghoon froze for a moment, pulling back just enough to look at you, his lips breaking into a soft, surprised smile. He hadn’t heard that nickname from you in so long, and the sound of it from your lips stirred something deep within him.

“What did you just call me?” he asked, his voice tinged with a mixture of surprise and delight.

Your cheeks flushed, but you couldn’t help but smile back at him, feeling warmth spread through your chest. “Hoonie,” you repeated, letting the name roll off your tongue with a playfulness you’d kept guarded until now.

His grin grew wider, and he leaned back in, pressing a quick, tender kiss to your lips before pulling away just a little again, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Say it again,” he murmured, his voice soft and almost pleading.

“Hoonie,” you whispered, smiling as you said it, your tone teasing as you leaned in to kiss him again, letting the name linger between them.

Sunghoon chuckled against your lips, his arms wrapping tighter around you. “You have no idea how much I missed that,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, the sound muffled as they kissed again, slower. “Hoonie,” you murmured again, smiling into the kiss, your fingers tracing patterns along his jawline. “Hoonie… Hoonie…”

He let out a soft laugh, his forehead pressing against yours as he held you close. “You’re just teasing me now.”

“Maybe,” you replied with a smirk, brushing your lips against his once more. “But you asked for it.”

“Well, I’m not complaining,” he whispered, his voice a mixture of tenderness and joy as he kissed you again, his lips finding yours over and over. Each time yous said his name, each time you whispered that soft “Hoonie,” he felt his heart swell a little more.

After what felt like hours wrapped up in each other, you and Sunghoon finally exchanged a glance, a quiet understanding passing between you. “Maybe… we should head out?” you murmured, your fingers still laced through his.

“Yeah,” Sunghoon replied, though he didn’t look entirely ready to let go of you just yet. “But knowing Jay and Yizhuo, they might actually keep us here forever if we don’t show up soon.”

You both laughed softly as you walked over to the door, Sunghoon reaching out to turn the handle. To your surprise, it turned easily, swinging open without resistance.

“Wait… was this door unlocked the whole time?” you asked, your brows knitting in confusion.

Sunghoon looked equally perplexed, glancing back into the room as if expecting to find some hidden prank. “Are you kidding me?” He shook his head, letting out a soft chuckle.

Together, still holding hands, you made your way down the hallway and your the main living room. But as you turned the corner, you stopped dead in your tracks, both of their eyebrows shooting up in surprise. There, against one of the walls, were Yizhuo and Jay, locked in a steamy make-out session that was definitely not meant for public viewing.

You and Sunghoon exchanged a smirk, unable to hold back their amusement. You cleared your throat loudly, and Yizhuo immediately pulled back, her face flushing with embarrassment. Jay, however, looked entirely unbothered, his arm still casually wrapped around Yizhuo’s waist as he shot them both a mischievous grin.

“Well, well, well,” you teased, raising an eyebrow. “What do we have here?”

Yizhuo’s cheeks were flaming red, but she managed a quick smile. “Okay, okay, you caught us. But I’d say you two should’ve been more than busy yourselves.”

Sunghoon squeezed your hand, smiling at you before turning back to Yizhuo and Jay. “I’d say we’re pretty good,” he replied, grinning.

Yizhuo’s eyes lit up, and she looked back at you, her voice softening. “Are you guys okay?”

You glanced up at Sunghoon, your face breaking into a warm smile as you nodded. “Yeah,” you said softly. “We’re okay.” You squeezed his hand as you spoke, your own smile mirroring his.

Yizhuo’s face broke into a wide grin, her embarrassment forgotten. “I’m so glad to hear that! I was really starting to worry about you two.”

You smirked, raising an eyebrow as you nodded toward Jay. “So… what about you two, huh?”

Jay flashed a smug grin, tightening his hold on Yizhuo. “Oh, we’ve been together for a few weeks now. Officially, anyway,” he said, clearly unfazed by the sudden attention. “Guess we didn’t make it as obvious as we thought.”

Sunghoon laughed, genuinely happy for them. “Yeah, I had no idea! Congrats, you two.”

You nodded, your eyes twinkling as you looked between them. “Really, I’m so happy for you both. It suits you,” you said, glancing pointedly at Yizhuo, who was still blushing furiously.

Yizhuo grinned, tilting her head as she looked pointedly back at you and Sunghoon. “Well, it suits you too, Yn. You guys look good together.”

Sunghoon smirked at that, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind, pulling you close in a playful back hug. He leaned his chin on your shoulder, his grin both smug and affectionate. “Hear that, princess? We look good together,” he murmured, giving you a little squeeze.

You rolled your eyes, though you were clearly fighting a smile. “Oh, please, don’t let this go to your head, Hoonie,” you teased, your voice warm but your expression feigned with indifference.

He chuckled, pulling you even closer. “Too late,” he whispered in your ear, his breath warm against your cheek. “I’m already the luckiest guy in the world.”

You couldn’t hide your smile any longer, and Yizhuo squealed, practically bouncing on the spot. “This is the cutest thing ever! Look at you two, all ‘we’re not official’ to completely inseparable!”

Jay smirked, crossing his arms as he looked at Sunghoon. “So much for your ‘no feelings’ rule, huh, Hoon?”

Sunghoon rolled his eyes but didn’t let go of you and you knew he would now never let go. “Yeah, yeah. Guess I’m a little too whipped to care,” he said, not even attempting to hide his grin.

You tilted your head back to look up at him, your smirk teasing. “A little too whipped? That’s the understatement of the century, Hoonie.”

He pretended to pout, leaning down to brush a quick kiss to your cheek. “You like it, though.”

“Maybe,” you murmured, your smile softening as you looked up at him.

Yizhuo clapped her hands, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Look at my best friend being all lovey-dovey. Who would’ve thought?”

“Certainly not me,” you laughed, still nestled comfortably in Sunghoon’s arms, feeling warmth spread through you as you exchanged a knowing smile with him.

Jay chuckled, reaching for Yizhuo’s hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. “Guess we’re all a little whipped tonight.”

And for the first time, none of them felt like they needed to hide it. As Jay and Yizhuo started to make their way to the living room, chatting and laughing together, you were about to follow them, but you felt Sunghoon’s hand slip into yours, stopping you in your tracks. Before you could turn around fully, he gently pulled you back against him, wrapping his arms around your waist, and leaned down to brush his lips against your ear.

“Wait a second,” he whispered, his voice soft and full of warmth. “Can’t let you go just yet.”

A warm shiver ran down your spine at the sound of his voice so close, and you felt herself relax into him, your hand instinctively reaching up to rest on his arm. “We’re going to lose them if we stay here,” you murmured, though there was no urgency in your voice.

Sunghoon chuckled softly, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of your neck. “Let them go. I just want you for a minute.”

You smiled, tilting your head to give him a little more space, your eyes closing as you savored the feeling of his closeness. “Only a minute?” she teased, her voice light.

“Well, I could ask for more,” he whispered, his lips now at your cheek as he trailed soft kisses along your skin, making your heart race.

“You’re being awfully sweet,” you said, turning around to face him, your hands finding their way to his chest. “Not that I mind.”

He grinned, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his gaze soft. “You deserve a little sweetness, princess,” he said, his voice barely above a murmur. “After everything… I just want to make sure you know how much you mean to me.”

Your cheeks flushed, your usual confidence softened by the sincerity in his eyes. You could feel herself melting, a smile spreading across your face as you looked up at him. “Sunghoon…”

Before you could say anything else, he leaned down, capturing your lips in a soft, lingering kiss, his hands gently holding you close. The world around them seemed to fade, and in that moment, it was just the two of them, their kiss deepening as if they were the only ones who mattered.

After a long moment, you pulled back, laughing softly as you glanced toward the living room. “Okay, we really need to go before they come looking for us.”

Sunghoon sighed dramatically, his hands still resting on you waist. “Fine,” he whispered, stealing one more quick kiss. “But don’t think you’re getting away that easily later.”

You rolled her eyes, grinning as you took his hand and started to lead him toward the living room. “Come on, Hoonie. Let’s not keep everyone waiting.”

Hand in hand, you walked to join their friends, the warmth of his touch still lingering as you settled into the cozy happiness of being together.

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eideticmemory · 20 hours ago

Text

SCRIBE | SPENCER REID

You: I need someone to document everything I say.

Spencer Reid: Done.

Word Count:

Warnings: Older!Reader, FamousRealityStar!Reader, Fuckboy!Gradschool!Spencer?? My brand I guess?? PreBAU!Spencer. And smut of course!!!

There is a perpetual knot in your neck. You cannot remember the day you woke up with it, but when doctors ask you about it, you estimate that it’s been there for about two months. Around the time the current season went on air. It is located between the base of your brain and your shoulder blade. It’s hard to raise your right arm too high. It is prominent and sharp at the most inconvenient times and only rests when you are asleep.

Today, it is giving you a migraine. You are slurring your speech in interview from interview, only halfway focused on each person. Each bright eyed, ivy bred, I-Am-The-One candidate with words per minute as high as 290. You are sitting at your desk, elbows resting on the glass as you rub the back of your neck, grimacing.

“Are you having a stroke?” Spencer asks.

“What?”

“Are you having a stroke?”

“Why would you ask me that?”

“Um…concern?”

“I’m not having a stroke.”

“Oh, okay,” he says. “Good.”

You shake your head, “How many words did you say you can type a minute?”

“Oh, like, on the computer?” he asks. You actually look up at him when he says this and he is chiseled in the face. Leaned back in his seat, his head held up by his hand. “Like…70, maybe?”

You look him dead in the eye and say, “70?”

“Yeah, around there.”

“Around there?”

“Plus or minus 5.”

You take a deep breath and your head hurts. You put both arms on the desk and ask, “What’s your name again?”

“Spencer.”

“Spencer, right,” you nod. “How, exactly, did you make it to the interview round?”

“Oh, I slept with your personal assistant. He’s a fiery little guy.”

And for a second, you think about Luke, you look at this pretty little boy and you think that it is plausible until Spencer says, “Oh, my god. Is that really all I had to do?”

You’re stunned, and you keep having to shake your head because there is no way this interview is happening.

“I have an eidetic memory. I don’t need to type. I just stand there and look pretty. Kinda like what you do.”

“Bite me.”

“Sore spot?”

“Okay, thank you for coming,” you say and you start to get up from your chair. Your head hurts with movement.

“Are you having a stroke?”

You stop in your tracks, you look at him, and with every fiber of your being, you say, “What?”

“Are you having a stroke?” he continues. “Why would you ask me that? Um…concern? I’m not having a stroke. Oh, okay, good. How many words did you say you can type a minute? Oh, like, on the computer? Like…70, maybe? 70? Yeah, around there. Around there? Plus or minus 5. What’s your name again? Spencer. Spencer, right, how, exactly, did you make it to the interview round? Oh, I slept with your personal assistant, he’s a fiery little guy. Oh, my god. Is that really all I had to do? I have an eidetic memory, I just stand there and look pretty, kinda like what you do. Bite me. Sore spot? Okay, thank you for coming.”

You stare at him.

“And the conversation repeats from there,” he nods.

You continue to stare and he says, “I know. It freaks people out. But I thought, hey, a job as a scribe. I’m perfect for that. I’m not that ugly I can be on TV-“

“When can you start?”

“O-oh,” he stutters. “Start? I can start tomorrow.”

You pick up the stack of applicants on your desk and drop them in the trash and tell him, “Luke will show you out.” And you go home to take a nap.

This is the one interaction in your life that was not filmed. Figures. Something of substance, something truly integral to the coming months of your life and it is done in private. How it should be, supposedly.

On Spencer’s first day, you are negotiating with Vogue. Vogue. The crew is there an hour before you. And he has the nerve to show up in sweats. A slutty little shirt with sleeves that cuts off at his elbow. He has prominent blue veins that run down his forearm and he is unbelievably pale today. His hair is disheveled and he walks in with his hands in pockets. Truthfully, there has not been much contact between the two of you, most communications running between him and Luke, who has a massive crush on Spencer.

He’s just so magnetic, Luke says. And the fact that he couldn’t care less is just soooo attractive.

But he’s a dick. He says to you, “You look professional.”

“You look sloppy. Did no one send you a dress code?”

“No, just a tax form.”

You roll your eyes, “Someone needs to dress you,” and with a snap of your fingers, you call, “Marcie!”

“Do you always snap at people like dogs?”

Marcie dresses Spencer in spare clothes. A nice button down and slacks. There are no spare shoes in his size so he has on his sneakers. He is sitting at the meeting room roundtable and from the waist up, he looks a bit more distinguished. He has bags under his eyes that have to be touched up with makeup.

You sit down beside him, because, after all, he is your backup here. He leans over and whispers, “Is every day like this?”

“Every minute, pretty boy, keep up.” You rub the back of your neck.

“Oh,” he smiles at you. “You think I’m pretty?”

You give his question some thought, get nervous when the two of you make eye contact. And then the cameras are rolling.

For most of the meeting, Spencer is leaned back. His eyes flicker from person to person, from camera to camera to you.

His eyes fall on you a lot.

In the weeks to come, he is, surprisingly, good at his job. He submits transcripts at the last minute, and he still hasn’t nailed the A-List dress code, but his work is immaculate. With every day, every week, every month that goes by, there is a new reason not to fire him. There is subtle assurance that you will not find a better scribe, even if you tried.

He comes to your home while the cameras are rolling and winks at Luke, who has to hide his face as he blushes.

“What are you doing here?” you ask him. You are poking around your walk in closet, fabric swatches for your upcoming fashion line splayed across the floor.

“The Elle Magazine meeting? Doesn’t it start soon?”

“Not for another hour,” Luke tells him. He’s giving Spencer this gooey, lovesick smile.

“Well, hey, look at that, I’m never early,” Spencer laughs.

You turn around as he plops down in your loveseat and you groan.

“What?” he asks. “What?”

“Come with me,” you order. You are at your limit. You leave the room and Luke and Spencer look at each other. “Now!” and they hop out of their seats.

Cameras trail behind you all through your massive home. You grab your car keys and Luke asks, “Where are you going?”

“We,” you explain. “Are going to get this boy some new clothes.” You stick your finger in Spencer’s face and he is very tempted to smack it away.

“I don’t need any new clothes,” he says.

And you only reply by looking him up and down. His gym shorts, his white shirt.

“Oh, spare me, little miss I-have-a-new-versace-outfit-for-every-day-of-my-life,” he rolls his eyes. “I dress just fine.”

“No, you don’t,” you tell him, and he crosses his arms over his chest like a child. You look over at the camera crew, “Tell production we’ll be behind two hours.”

Spencer is overwhelmed by paparazzi. He is in utter shock over the way they invade your space, crowding your car before he can even get out the back seat. He pops open the door and a flash goes off his face and he shoves the guy out the way.

“Hey!”

“Get out of the way, dude!” he grumbles.

“I’ll sue!”

“I know [y/n] [y/l/n], I’d like to see you try!”

Luke looks over at you from the passenger seat. His cheeks are red. “Could he be any hotter?”

Spencer has never set foot in any of these stores. GQ, Maxfield, Fred Segal. He is in awe by the size of these stores alone, and even more so by the price tag on everything. Luke takes the lead, strolling through each department, plopping shirts and pants over his forearm in collection. Cameras and faces are pressed against the glass, watching you all like animals in a zoo. The pain in your neck is starting to radiate down your arm and you take every chance you can to sit. You offer comments from the sidelines, watching Luke dress Spencer from head to toe.

Spencer comes out in a polo and khaki pants and says, “I feel stupid.”

“You look amazing,” Luke grins, and he takes this opportunity to touch Spencer. Fix up his collar, smooth out his chest.

And while he may feel stupid, Spencer looks so good. The thought flashes through your mind for just an instant. You’d be blind to ignore it. The black fabric contrasts starkly against his skin. His waist is hugged by the fit and his hair falls into his face just enough that he has to tuck it behind his ear. You do not realize you are staring until he looks at you. His eyes catch yours and you look away.

“Oh, yes,” Luke grins, placing one last touch on Spencer’s shoulders before turning to the sales associate. “This is perfect. Evan, add this to the tab.”

You look back at Spencer and he has not stopped staring at you. He is fixated and holding your gaze. He gives you a small smile and you avert your eyes once again.

You drop five grand on Spencer and he cannot believe it every time you swipe your card. “Holy crap,” he says. “Thanks, sugar mama.”

Luke chuckles and you cut your eyes at him. Security surrounds you as you put shades on and leave the store. Spencer attends the Elle Magazine meeting in the polo and khaki combo. He has a tendency to make people nervous, the way he just sits there and watches and listens. When executives ask about him, you say he’s a scribe and you say nothing more. You’ve asked him to bring a computer, something, to make him appear less crazy, but he is incapable of listening.

“And, so, basically, what we would do, [y/n],” an executive says before clearing his throat. “Is use your image to promote the skincare line and divide those residuals amongst your team with, of course, you taking forty percent off the top.”

“It should be fifty,” Spencer says. Everyone’s eyes cut to him, including yours.

“I’m…” the executive laughs anxiously. “I’m sorry?”

“It should be fifty. [y/n] should be getting fifty off the top.”

“No…no, scribe, I’m pretty sure it’s forty.”

“Really? Hm?” Spencer tilts his head. “Clause 4, paragraph 5 of the contract sent to Miss [y/l/n]: Elle Magazine agrees to distribute remaining residuals amongst the [y/l/n] team, provided a fifty percent split profit between Elle and Miss [y/l/n] as per applicable profits. Now, I don’t have the document with me, but I’m willing to bet that fifty percent that I’m recalling correctly. Y’know, as a scribe and all.”

You take your eyes away from Spencer and turn to the executive who has gone red in the face, “Trying to pull one over on me, Vince?”

Vince sputters, “Of course not, [y/n]. I-I simply misspoke. Um, Eva, can we get an updated transcript to reflect the fifty percent divide, please? Thank you.”

You slowly turn your head back to Spencer, your lips pursed. He winks at you and leans back in his chair, tapping his finger to his forehead, “Eidetic memory,” he whispers.

Business discussions are very rarely filmed from start to finish, but once you exit the meeting room, you wish you hadn’t made an executive exception today. “What the hell were you thinking, dude?” you snap at Spencer.

“They were trying to go over your head. Isn’t that what I’m there for? To make sure contracts you signed are being honored? Why am I in trouble? Vince should be in trouble.”

“Actually, Spencer, that’s not your job. Your job is to sit and listen and document. Did you read the duties in your job description or what?”

“I can list them off the top of my head right now. Attend all relevant business and editorial meetings…”

“Okay, I can’t - I can’t do this right now,” your neck hurts. “Luisa, scrap that footage.”

“No can do,” Your producer responds. “We’re keeping that in.”

“What?” you cut your head to him and wince.

“In fact…” Luisa trails off, stepping closer to you and Spencer. “I think we should shoot the scribe here more often.”

“What?” you and Spencer ask at the same time.

“We’ll chat,” she tells Spencer. “Let’s get you some updated forms, a new NDA, and you’re gonna need some new clothes.”

“This shirt was five-hundred dollars,” Spencer pinches his polo. “What more do you want from me?”

“Luisa!” you interject.

“We’ll chat,” she touches your shoulder and walks off.

You sigh, pinching your neck and rolling your head back.

“You okay?” Spencer asks, reaching in to touch your neck, but you flinch and step back.

“I’m fine,” you snap. “I’m going home.”

“Want me to give you a neck massage?” Spencer asks. “We could add that to my contract.”

But you have professionals for that. You lay on a massage table, your favorite masseuse’s hands on your neck and Luke is standing in the corner, his hands clasped together, going, “Please, [y/n], please, please, please.”

“Lucas!”

“Pleaseeee. He’d be so good.”

“The boy has star power, [y/n],” Luisa chimes in and you groan. “You can’t deny it.”

“Do we have to talk about this right here? Right now?”

“I’m not quite saying we make him a regular. No,” Luisa continues. “But we get a few decent shots over the next few months, start off with that Elle debacle, maybe script a few more business disagreements. Oh, it’s perfect.”

“Why don’t you just offer him his own show?” you mutter.

“Well, y’know, the sexy broody genius thing is not a bad pitch.”

“Oh, he’d be so good!” Luke exclaims.

“Luke,” you sigh. “I’m begging you, just fuck him already.”

“Oh, p…please…like he’s interested?” he chuckles. “Why? Why? Did he say something to you?”

“That’s it!” you pop your head up and your neck cracks and you wince, “Fuck! Out, now!”

Nothing goes without your permission. Nothing is done, nothing is said. Nothing is written, nothing is signed. Spencer knows this. Yet, when he sits down to read and sign a new contract, he looks you dead in the eye and asks, “This is what you want?”

You avert your eyes, rub your neck without thinking.

“[y/n]’s already read over the contract, finalized filming schedules, updated your salary,” Luisa rambles and Spencer only gives her a quick, tired glance and looks back at you.

“This is what you want?” he repeats himself and he stares at you until he catches your eyes.

“Mhm,” you nod. “You’re already on camera enough. It makes sense.”

“It makes sense?”

“It makes sense.”

Spencer scoffs. It’s more of a huff. He glances down at the newly revised contract and shakes his head, “No.”

“No?” Luisa cuts her head to him.

“No,” he says to you. “No. I signed up to be a scribe, not some TV personality. I have classes, I have…goals. No.”

And you don’t say anything. But you look at him and you smile. Just a small smile, but he’s a smart boy and once he sees that smile, he stands. He leaves.

Luisa scoffs as she looks at you, her mouth open in shock. You drop your smile, purse your lips tightly.

You shrug, “It’s a shame I can’t fire him. He really is such a good scribe.”

He is. He knows his job description, he knows it well. He performs nothing more and nothing less. He authorizes the use of any film prior to the ill fated meeting and whenever he works, he thinks about that smile.

Hard as he tries, he can’t go unnoticed. He’s too pretty. Too…nonchalant. He’s not there to make friends, though the crew strikes up conversations when he can. He’s not there to get laid, though pretty girls and boys flock to him when he’s least expecting it. It’s obnoxious. The whole too pretty for the room thing. You don’t actually expect him to show up to the wrap party but he was explicitly invited.

Throughout the festivities, you massage the incessant pressure point on your neck, exhausted from doing nothing at all to put this party in motion. You’re there as a figurehead, an image to be photographed and immortalized. But your neck is fucking killing you. It’s the one thing that can kill the facade very quickly and it’s working overtime. You tuck yourself away in a corner and just across the room, Spencer is leaning against the wall, practically pinned underneath a tall, slender girl who drunkenly fiddles with the top buttons on his shirt. You can see the signs she’s spitting out from a mile away yet you don’t see him rejecting them. He even wraps his long fingers around her wrist and scrunches his nose up at her and whatever he’s saying is so funny that her laugh actually echoes.

With a vocal, “Ugh,” you roll your eyes and march to the bathroom, a single stall with a crystal mirror and a toilet that somehow sparkles. You splash water on your face and the cold grounds you just a bit. You rub the water into your eyes and press your frozen palm to the back of your neck. Blinking, you reach for a paper towel and press it into your cheekbones. It’s while you’re temporarily blind that you hear the door swing open. You gasp, coming face to face with Spencer who looks the most apologetic you’ve ever seen him.

“Oh! Sorry!” he implores. “Sorry. Thought it was empty.”

“It’s fine.”

He notices the way you lean on the sink, your head ducked down like you’re avoiding eye contact, so he naturally asks, “You alright?”

“Fine. I’ll get out of your way.”

But when you go to exit, he steps in front of you. “Woah,” His arms reach out to caress your shoulders but he stops himself so his hands hover over you. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing. Nothing,” you shake your head. “Clearly you’re having a good time so don’t worry about me.”

His eyebrows raise and furrow in such rapid sync with his confusion that his face eventually just falls flat. “Yeah…the fancy spring water is a real rager…”

“And all the girls.”

“What…” he stumbles, he laughs, “The…brunette?”

“Oh, that’s what you call her? It looked like you were already on a first name basis.”

“Her name’s Erica,” he shrugs. “But it wasn’t relevant to our conversation.”

“Oh, well, then, please. You and Erica carry on. Just avoid the vertical dry humping.”

“Oh, the…” he dissolves into chuckles. “You’re exaggerating.”

“It was pornographic.”

“And why does that bother you so much?”

It’s the first thing to actually throw you off guard because you don’t have an answer. So you shrug, “It doesn’t.”

“You sure?” he takes a step closer to you. “I don’t remember a no flirting, no dry humping and no sex clause in my contract.”

“Um, actually, it kinda is in your contract. It’s about the image.”

“The image? There’s people sniffing coke out there!”

“It’s tacky. It’s a PR nightmare.”

“Is it?” he takes another step and you instinctively step back even though he smells so good. “I mean, is that really what it’s about?”

“What?” you roll your eyes. You step back further but find yourself backed against the sink. “What are you implying?”

“That you think I’m pretty,” he grins.

“Ugh! Whatever.”

“That maybe…you wish you were the girl pressed against me? Not the brunette.”

“You are something else,” you shake your head. “Just so full of yourself.”

“I think you’re pretty,” and at the same time he murmurs the words, his hands run up your thighs. All the air leaves your lungs so you’re done talking. “I think you’re the prettiest girl at the whole party. Don’t you?”

His hands reach underneath your dress and when you don’t swat them away, when, instead, you stare him down and climb up to sit on the counter, he persists. “I knew you were the prettiest girl the second I met you.” He starts to rub you through the very thin material of your panties and you have to lean on your palms just to keep from falling back. You suck in a quick breath and exhale it with a soft moan. He grins, he presses against you a little harder.

“I just thought…” he kisses your cheek once, softly, and you all but melt. “She’s too tense. And you are, you’re too tense.”

You agree. By the way you’re rolling your hips against his hand, your body fully agrees.

“Can I push these to the side?” he asks, his fingers hooked onto your undies. He only hooks them further once you nod. He shudders at the feelings of his fingertips instantly drowning in an ocean of your own creation. Or…his? Either way, it’s nice and inviting. He shoves his fingers all the way into you and instantly, your thighs clamp down around his wrist. You release this strained moan before you clamp your hand over your mouth. Self satisfied and emboldened, Spencer starts to pump his fingers against your tummy and his dick is sooooo jealous. But this will do for now.

He wraps his arm around your waist to keep you right where he needs you. He peppers kisses all along your collarbone just so your muffled sounds are right beside his ear. Although his wrist aches at the angle and his veins are threatening to break through his skin, he never loses his rhythm or intensity. He presses his crotch against your knee but it’s too much, he doesn’t trust himself not to explode in his pants so he pulls away, counters it with a hard flick of his wrists that makes your body jolt.

And when the wave starts to roll over you, dangerously close to pulling you underneath, you wrap your arms around his shoulders and pull him close. Spencer’s crotch lands in the warmest place possible and he realizes he’s gonna have to finish this fast before he loses his dominant aura. He follows the cues of your body and increases his pace and determination and you have to bite down on his shirt to maintain control of your volume. It all happens so fast that when you tense up, dig your nails into his back, Spencer’s mind struggles to keep up. He pushes his fingers even deeper just to feel the way your pussy tightens so perfectly around them and then he withdraws them slowly.

He rubs your back, gives you another kiss on the cheek as he wipes his hand on your thighs. He tries to help you pull your dress back down since all you’re doing is whimpering but you huff, “I’ve got it…I’ve got it.”

“Okay.” Spencer steps back to let you off the counter and you wobble as your heels hit the floor. “Not bad for a guy who can only type 70 words per minute, huh?”

You break a smile and shake your head, “This…never happened.”

He figured. Is it a fun thing to hear? No. But nothing could ruin his mood, not right now. “What never happened?” he shrugs and leaves the bathroom.

You splash more cold water on your face. Immediately after, you’re driven home where you have a nice, warm bath and the best night’s sleep you’ve had in a long time.

Where, for the first time in an eternity, you awake in the morning without any pain in your neck.

And it’s like it never happened. Spencer got the memo. He’s the scribe who’s primary duties include attending all relevant business and editorial meetings, document all verbal communication within said meetings, and fingering Miss [y/l/n] whenever she’s in the mood. He just hopes you’re in the mood soon.

He has no idea that you’re doing your best to keep him out of your thoughts. That your feelings are all scrambled inside since the dust was shaken off your g-spot. Every time you hear his name, your tummy caves in like it’s missing something it only had once. So when Luke says, “Would it be crazy to shoot my shot with Spencer?” you just say, “Yes.”

“But I know he likes boys. He’s always flirting with me.”

“You’re always flirting with him.”

“Exactly, so we should hunch.”

“Ugh,” you gag. “Lucas.”

“[y/n], I need him so bad. It’s driving me insane, do you have any idea what that feels like?”

Oh, yes. You do. “Since when is the lanky, scrawny nerd your type? Don’t you prefer them a bit more big and beefy?”

“Aha, see, that’s the illusion. The beefy muscle men get all the hype when in reality, it’s the lanky, scrawny nerds who can put you through the mattress.”

You scoff. You roll your eyes. But what a concept.

As if the universe knew you needed a distraction, you’re pulled into a PR crisis. Immediate damage control is required and when that happens, there is a very specific change of events that must occur and in a concise amount of time. Like world leaders preparing for war, you gather with your team and assume your Barbie position. As in, wherever you need to be, you’ll go. Whatever words you need to say, you’ll speak. And by the end of it all, you’ve ground your teeth dust and you can hardly swivel your head on your neck.

At home, you drink directly from a bottle of wine. Your mouth around the rim is necessary to live to fight another day. When your doorbell rings, you’re dubious that it’s one last command, coming in to stage and pose you in the required manner but it’s not. It’s Spencer. His tall frame looks so tiny on the front porch, a camera peering down at him from the corner. You open the door and he can see there’s no light left in you so he’s soft when he speaks, “Hello.”

“Hi.”

“Tough day.”

“Yeah…”

He invites himself in and you’re stunned but not surprised. You just close the door behind him. “What are you doing here?”

He shrugs, “Just wanted to check on you.”

“You don’t need to check on me…” you shake your head. “I’m a grown woman. If anything, you need someone to check on you.”

“I’m fine. How are you?”

“I’m fine.”

“Liar.”

“I’m fine!” you implore and the vibration causes an ache in your neck so you grab your shoulder. “Fuck…I’m okay.”

He sighs, “You know, you should really get that checked out,” and he touches your throat so lightly.

“It’s fine! I’m…you’re not gonna do this.”

“Do what?”

“Swoop in a-and end up inside me again. It’s not happening.”

“Why not?”

“Spencer.”

“Why not? You had a nice time. I had a nice time. That’s…a-a nice time. That’s nice.”

“Eloquent.”

“You don’t even have to pay me for it. I’ll give it up for free.”

“You are…a child.”

“A…I’m 23!”

“Just a baby.”

“I can buy alcohol.”

“And my employee.”

“I can buy cigarettes.”

“It’s unprofessional.”

“What else you got?”

“It would be a media shit show if word got out, you could end up suing me, I could end up being labeled a cradle robber, and for what?”

You are trying so hard to convince yourself.

“I wouldn’t sue you. And I wouldn’t tell a soul. And I would-I would do whatever you asked and whatever you needed and…”

“Oh my god, shut up,” you groan and with a careless force, you pull him in by his shirt collar and kiss him. He moans but it could just be the shock or the wine on your lips. Either way, he wraps his arms around your waist, his hand grabbing anything they can reach because holy shit! Being absolutely pathetic works!

“Come on,” you order and his feet scurry immediately as you drag him into your bedroom.

His first thought is that he’s never seen a bed this big but then he’s thrown on top of it and watching you undress.

“Oh my god,” he exclaims. He actually holds his face in his hands, his jaw dropped wide open.

You have to bite back your smile as you tear off your panties, step out of them. “Okay, hot spot, your turn.”

And he thrashes around as his pants fly off and then his shirt and then his boxers and his out of breath already. His entire body is so long, so pale, save for the red blush on his nose and chest. He reaches for you, his hand grabby and pleading. And as soon as you run into them, there’s so much commotion that the fitted sheet pops off the mattress.

Spencer is so eager that he forgets to purse his lips so every time and everywhere he kisses you, his mouth is wide open and wet. You can’t stop shuddering because he can’t stop groping you and his hands are big enough to spread warmth throughout your entire body. The rush is the only thing distracting you from his dysfunction but he’s vividly aware of his inability to get it up. The anxiety of finally having you is making him so insecure that his cock refuses to get hard. So he slides his fingers into you again but it’s nice because this time he gets to pin you down and watch your face. He gets even deeper than he did last time and you don’t have to be so quiet. It’s nice.

When you reach for his flaccid cock, he goes straight to eating you out because he’s not ready yet. He buries his face between your thighs and he starts off rough, pushing his entire tongue against you so you lose the ability to think. The trick, he suspects, is making you come. He grunts as you pull at his hair and scoot away from him because his mouth is just too much. That’s it. More, more, he needs more.

Once he gets past it, the anxiety, the nerves. Once he reaches the ideal maximum blood flow and his soldier stands straight up, once you roll the condom onto him so swiftly, he puts you on your back. He throws your legs over his shoulders and yeah, Luke was right.

Spencer puts you through the fucking mattress.

Afterwards, you’re upside down on the bed and wheezing like you’ve punctured a lung. You can’t even feel your legs. When Spencer starts kissing your angle, all the way up your knee, it helps you get the feeling back a bit. He kisses your lips, your cheek, your neck. He doesn’t want to stop.

“You okay?” he breathes.

“Yeah,” you huff. You wipe the sweat off your face and nod, “Yeah, I’m good.”

“Oh, now, that seems much more honest,” he grins and you can’t help but laugh. He’s quite proud of himself. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you laugh.”

“What? Sure you have.”

“Nope. Trust me, I’d remember. You laugh much more on TV.”

You cut your eyes at him, tilting your head, “You watch my show?”

“Of course,” he shrugs, like this is common knowledge.

“You just don’t strike me as a reality TV guy.”

“Oh, well, thank you.”

You chuckle and prop yourself on your elbows, “Wanna take a bath?”

His eyes widened because he expected to be kicked out three minutes ago. But a bath? Completely unexpected and completely accepted. “Yes. Yeah. Yes.”

And in this bath, which is big enough to fit you both with room for one more, your bodies recover and your guard is down and you ask Spencer all the things you probably should’ve asked when he was first interviewed. Turns out, he’s a genius. Turns out, if you give him a chance, he’s funny. You don’t know if you keep inviting him back for the orgasms, or the fun facts or the laughs. Who cares?

He keeps coming back.

Spencer keeps coming back and each time, he’s nervous, but a little less than the time before. He’s great at still performing his scribe position like he hasn’t seen you naked. He’s still accurate and precise. He still has your back when executives don’t quite remember every clause of their contracts as well as he does. The sex. The baths. The time you eat Chinese food on the floor together. All of that is just a perk. Charge free.

You should’ve known it was doomed because it’d been weeks since you felt an ache in your neck. You should’ve known. The pain is your true state of equilibrium. The cloud you’ve been riding on was doomed to burst.

“What is this?” your publicist, Clara, asks as she sets a photo down in front of you.

It’s clearly Spencer, leaving your house at some ungodly hour, but you shrug, “That’s my scribe.”

Clara chuckles but it’s far from genuine. She glances at Luisa and back at you. “Mhm. What’s he doing at your house at one in the morning?”

Another shrug, “Scribing.”

“[y/n], what are my four D’s?”

“Oh, god,” you roll your eyes. “Clara…”

“You are required to tell me about all dates, dick, disasters and disagreements. That’s my rule.”

“Well…I forgot.”

“Yes, the dick option is well known for causing amnesia.”

“Paparazzi shouldn’t be allowed past the gate, that’s the whole reason I live there.”

“Oh, they’re not. A neighbor’s friend took this. Crazy inventions, those smartphones. They really make my job a lot harder.”

You sigh, “So…what do I do?”

“You gotta fire him, babe,” Luisa chimes in and it’s the casualty with which she says this that makes your head swivel, which it can now do with ease.

“What?”

“Look, I could’ve spun the scribe to lover storyline if he had let me, but he didn’t. Now, it’s not a good optic. I’m sorry, but pretty boy has to go.”

“Is that not more incriminating than just keeping him on?”

“He can easily be replaced. He’s a background character, it won’t cause commotion. Plus, if you wanted, this frees him up completely to be your boy toy.”

“Oh, my god…” you shake your head, put your face in your hands.

“Hey, plenty of scribes out there,” Clara shrugs. “Problem solved.”

Yeah, there’s plenty. But one like Spencer?

Never.

You go to his apartment with the full intention of telling him. You locate his address on file and take yourself to a neighborhood that you’d normally never frequent. You knock on his door and when he opens it, it’s only for a second before he slams it in your face. Stunned, you listen to the commotion on the other side. He is tossing clothes in the hamper, tidying up his bathroom, stacking books in some type of order to make them appear less scattered. This is as good as it’s gonna get so he opens the door back up.

“Hi. Sorry. Wasn’t expecting you.”

“It’s okay, I didn’t call,” you shake your head. “Can I come in?”

“Yes, of course.”

You step into the small studio and it’s exactly how you pictured it. Tiny, cluttered, dark, but charming. Maintained.

“Can I get you anything? I don’t have that fancy spring water but, um, there’s tap.”

You chuckle, “No, thank you. This place is cute.”

“Ah, rich people speak for crap pile.”

Now, you cackle, “Nooo. No, not at all. It’s nice.”

He smiles as he wraps his arms around you. It’s so casual, so mindless. He’s so happy to have you here. You can see it all over his face. Feel it in the gentleness of his touch. So, you fuck him. For a while, you rattle around on his tiny bed so hard that his neighbor ends up banging on the wall. It’s spineless of you, to use your body to procrastinate, but you have to admit. It helps.

“Coffee?” Spencer offers and you haven’t fully landed from the stars yet so you give him a weak nod.

He kisses your forehead and springs into action, walking around naked in the kitchen. You pull his bed sheet around your body and keep a hold of it as you wander around his apartment. You check out all the photos and the books and the mess overrunning on his desk. You catch a quick glimpse of his assignments and all the numbers and big words hurt your brain so you salute him silently for managing it all. What truly catches your eye is the FBI logo buried underneath the chaos. You think it can’t possibly be the actual Federal Bureau of Investigation so you look closer. Despite the obvious invasion, you read through the letter.

You pick it up, your eyes flicking off the last word and over to Spencer. “What-what’s this?”

Spencer looks up at you with a smile but it quickly drops when he sees the paper in your hand. Awkward. “It’s…” he breaks eye contact with you. “It’s a job offer.”

“Oh,” you respond immediately but not for the reason he thinks.

“I-I…wasn’t sure I would be accepted. I’m not at all buff or tough or anything of the sort but, um…the behavioral analysis unit…it’s a pretty big deal.”

“Yeah…” you nod, floating over to him with the sheet hugging your body. “I could tell just from the stationary.”

He laughs, but it’s uncomfortable. He feels like he’s been caught. So you want to assure him. “You…want this? You want this job? You’d move to DC?”

He exhales a long breath out of his nose and he knows he has to look at you, “It’s a solid offer. I don’t see any reason I shouldn’t accept it. Is there…”

You furrow your eyebrows at him, “Is there what?”

“A reason I shouldn’t take it.”

Fuck. You want to say there is. Any reason. Any reason at all. But, “You should take it.”

Spencer feels like his entire chest just got cracked open. He can feel the ache in his sternum like he’s been shot. But, he just nods. He holds up a mug, “Coffee?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

Informally, that night is his one month notice, even though he doesn’t come into work any more after that. He still gets two final checks. And severance. Major severance. That was your call.

The next time you visit his place, you don’t make it to the bed. His stuff is all in boxes, his bed doesn’t have any linens, his plane is taking off in the morning so there’s no time. You stand in the middle of the living room and hold each other tight. You smother each other with your lips, making out so passionately that you can hardly breathe.

Spencer has to take a moment just to catch his breath. Just to touch your face, “If…you ever find yourself in DC…”

You laugh. It’s sad, but you laugh. “You think they’ll let me into Quantico?”

“Oh, yeah,” he nods. “I’ll leave your name at the door. [y/n] [y/l/n], allowed entry any time.”

You giggle and you kiss him. And you kiss him and you kiss him. You roll around on a bed with no sheets and then you refuse to spend the night. If this is it, you demand to do it yourself. You demand to be the one to leave. You never say it out loud but Spencer understands. It’s the reason he doesn’t fight you on it. Instead, he hugs you. For an eternity, tight. Tight, tight, tight, tight. You can feel the pressure decrease as soon as he lets you go. You give him one last kiss. You whisper, “Give ‘em hell, pretty boy.” And he swears he will, just because you asked.

You walk out, you close the door behind you and almost immediately, you cradle your neck.

Author’s Note:

As always, thank you for reading!!! Please like, reblog, comment, all the things!!! Thought of this while I was binge watching Keeping Up With The Kardashians so this fic was entirely inspired by Kris Jenner randomly deciding to get a scribe to document everything she said. Been in the drafts for a while!! SingleDad!Spencer x Nanny!Reader coming up next. Love you all, stay safe out here! Mwah 💋

#mine #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid/reader #spencer reid #spencer reidxreader

44 notes · View notes

grimmweepers · 12 hours ago

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even before i started reading i was SCREAMINGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG at the content tags. it’s so up my alley and i knew i was going to love this. i wish i could idk take this all in and rub it all over my body and eat it hehe.

but courtney!!!! where has your writing been all my life!! i can’t believe this is your first time writing sukuna. you write him so amazingly and you have such an eloquent way of setting the scene and describing feelings that i just feel so immersed. it genuinely feels like i’m getting pulled away when i have to stop reading. and a whopping 8.3k words… you have spoiled me 🥹💖

i also really appreciate how you characterised reader (me… i can’t believe it!!!). every dialogue reader says just has me nodding and agreeing and cheering her on because i, too, would say those things. while i was reading i made a list of parts that made me unwell /pos because i tend to do that when i read and if you do not mind, it does involve screaming so be prepared !!!! :

They carry the weight of something unspoken a recognition of the four-letter word he is not yet ready to voice

“If I’m to entertain a mortal festivity it will not be done poorly.”

He walks to you, thunderous steps shaking the forest floor but doing little to shake you tucking and readjusting your furs once more before ushering you back to the estate

HE IS SO LOVING IN THE MOST SUBTLE AND SUKUNA-ESQUE WAYS IM SO GOOEY RN!!!!!!

i’ll just be including this entire thing because it’s so beautifully written and i still can’t believe it’s about me.

YOU ARE SO THOUGHTFUL AND I JUST WANTED TO LET YOU KNOW I ACKNOWLEDGE AND AM OBSESSED WITH THESE EASTER EGGS. love changes people and if this isn’t the most crystal clear form of proof….

the whole hansel and gretel scene made me giggle. his nodding of approval when they spoke about eating the kids and luring them in lmfaooo!!!! i’m crying KGVAJAHAAJABNWJWAHAN and i love the way you characterised his tummy mouth to be like a lil puppy. it almost makes it endearing, especially imagining it dusted with cookie crumbs and frosting hehe so silly

“This isn’t the Heian era, despite how much you like to talk about it.”

I LAUGHED OUT LOUD

“He trespasses into their domain and then defiles it. Disgusting.”

ANOTHER FAVE. he can sound like such a baby sometimes HAHAHAHHAHAAH poor ‘kuna getting hot and bothered by christmas

OH AND THE PART AT THE SOFA WHERE WE WHERE WE WHERE WE AHGQBAJFQBHANHABAJQHQBWNJQVABAJWHWVWBJWHWBWKJWBWNWKWJWBWNWKHWBWNWJWBWBWJWJBW WJWJWBWNWJWJWBW SKWKWJBWWKWK sigh that’s all i have to say about that

AND WAIT THERES MORE…. WITH HIS TUMMY TONGUE KISSING ME NOW HFFGABAJAJQHABAJAJBANAKAJABAJAKAJANP. that scene was so absolutely HOT. it’s only 12:30pm here but i just woke up and wow what a way to start the day. i never thought i’d say this but sukuna is so adorable trying to guess what i’m gifting him

OH MH GOD HE GIFTED ME PERFUMEEEEEEEEEE THAT HE CRAFTED HIMSELF AND IT SOUNDS SO PERFECT AND ETHEREAL I WISHED I HAD IT IN MY HANDS RIGHT THIS INSTANCE 😭😭😭 the blends the notes - i wish it were real. courtney this is the best!!!!!

“You see me,” he finally speaks, uncharacteristically hushed. You see him—demon and protector, destroyer and creator, ancient force and the being who has learned to nestle mortal joy in hands only meant for destruction

the sheer rawness in this paragraph. i’m in awe. i’m also hushed because the way you write makes me cry. you really explain him in the same way i view him :(

“And I see you, Ryu.”

AND WHAT IF I DIED WHAT THEN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! IM TEARING UP. THIS IS TERRIBLE. MY HEART IS JUMPING OUT OF MY CHEST

The naked feel of you against his torso pleases him, and beneath the prideful smirk against your mouth, beneath the snicker from his belly, you taste that four-letter word in his mouth, siphoning as much of it as you can before you pull away and rest your forehead against his.

A mortal who hates spiders, but loves Gothic architecture, monsters, and the many books that line his walls.

hehe what can i say… spiders scare me… monsters don’t … like sukuna

AHFDHFHFJJGBA AND THE END. thank you so so so so much for the gift. i can tell you really did your research and i am eternally grateful and will be keeping this close to my wee heart. i don’t talk about sukuna all that often anymore but he was my first ship and first comm ever EVER! so he will always remain special to me. and lately i’ve been feeling a little doubtful about that ship. only because i begin to wonder if our personalities would even mesh well which would inevitably lead to me getting insecure about sukuna becoming soft for me. but the fic - your gift - showed me that even after all these years, ryukuna can still work. that he can love me. and that i can love him while still being myself. i’m so sorry this is so rambly and long. i woke up with my heart a lil heavier today for unrelated reasons but this just made me feel 1999999616161881 times better. you have such a way with words that scratches an itch in my brain and i know i will be coming back to this when i miss sukuna or when i’m feeling sad. every time you referred to me as Queen i get a little giddy. because even without sukuna, that is the type of confidence i should have. that’s how i should see myself. i am a fiery woman by nature so it’s a huge affirmation seeing myself depicted this way. in fact reading this might give me the confidence to talk about him more and even write about him again. what a wonderful thing gifts can be :[

courtney thank you for your time and kindness and thoughtfulness and talent and all of the above ! may YOU have a merry christmas and may YOUR heart always be full <3 i am elated!! on cloud 9!!

Merry Christmas from my little corner at the @pixelcafe-network. Thank you so much for hosting this gift exchange! I had so much fun writing this for my elf @grimmweepers. Your Christmas list gave me the opportunity to write Sukuna for the first time. I wanted to lean as much into your likes as much as possible so that it feels like it's you in this story.

I hope you enjoy!

Pairing: True Form!Sukuna x Reader (Ryu)

Rating/CW: slight dark romance, fluff, implied sexual content, dark themes (references to violence, blood, destruction, and a hint of cannibalism because it's Sukuna). MDNI!

WC: ~8.5K

Summary: Sukuna gives in to mortal festivities, for the promise of a worthy gift, unaware that some traditions leave marks deeper than ancient power.

Divider: @cyberbeat @arminsumi @firefly-graphics

The winter night drapes itself across the ancient estate, stars scattered above like diamonds on black velvet. Fresh snow has transformed this formidable domain into something almost magical—though no amount of pristine white can truly soften the centuries of power that seems to pulse through every shadow of the grounds.

You used to take these walks alone, finding solace in the environment that gave way to the shifting change of the seasons. But now, on this chilly and almost silent night, your solitary footprints are accompanied by another. Deeper, more commanding treads belong to Sukuna, whose very presence seems to make the stars above burn brighter, as if they, too, acknowledge the power that moves beneath them, feeding off the cursed energy he emits with every breath.

Your exhale forms a frosty white cloud before vanishing into the night air. It’s cold, far too cold for a walk, but you’re out here to clear your thoughts, to quell the overwhelming urge to ask Sukuna a question that you don’t want to imagine the answer to.

The thought first emerged when fall gave way to winter, the autumn leaves replaced by the starkness of bare branches now hidden beneath blankets of snow. The thought of markets late at night adorned in yellow lights, of hot cocoa and gifts wrapped in red ribbon.

The words, having coiled behind your teeth for days like a spring, finally slink past your lips. “I was thinking…what if we celebrated Christmas together?”

“Christmas.” The word leaves his mouth not as a question, but as if it’s not worth inflection.

You bite the inside of your cheek, fighting your rolling anxiety. He’s never been one for new things. This is his domain, after all—his home, his formidable walls that he has erected and ruled with an iron fist. The mere thought of anyone—let alone a mortal—suggesting something outside his design is almost laughable.

You pause in your footsteps, tracing his looming shadow in the snow before you look up at him. He’s tall, looming with a height that comes not from this realm, his silhouette dwarfing everything around him. While you are covered in furs and wool and warmth, he stands in a simple black Haori, barely covering his skin and open to show his chest.

The dark markings of his tattoos glow like black embers in the moonlight, each one a testament to the ancient power that pulses beneath his skin. Two pairs of muscular arms fold across his chest, large and thrumming with strength. An archaic strength that can level cities and destroy with little effort, yet those same fearsome arms cradle you with unexpected gentleness in the depths of night.

The fact that you understand this side of Sukuna, gives you the strength to press on.

“It’ll be our first Christmas together,” you press.

“A mortal festivity,” he claps back, naturally sharp but with little heat.

“I’m a mortal,” you counter, meeting his gaze head-on, refusing to back down from the menacing glare you can see right through. “And from what I remember, I am your Queen.”

Quadruple crimson eyes narrow from your truthful declaration, their glow cutting through the frost-laden air like embers in the snow. The two on the right gleam brighter against the rough texture of his half-petrified cheek, like jagged stone contrasting with smooth flesh on the other side. “You mistake indulgence for approval.”

You shrug, nonplussed, sniffing the chilly air up your runny nose. “Then indulge me. Mortals, like myself, put up Christmas trees, decorate their homes, bake treats, and watch movies.”

He hums, taking a step toward you. As he draws closer, the air shifts. While you have no cursed energy, you’ve come to know his intimately. It presses against your skin like an unseen force, electric and stifling, its movements mirroring the emotions he tries to smother. You’ve learned to read it like your favorite book, though it’s a story only you seem privy to, and you don’t intend to let him know.

“Indulge me?” you try again.

He remains unconvinced, his characteristic indifference plucking at your cold skin as you look up at him unflinching. It’s not like he denies you often. Sukuna, for as powerful as he is, gives to your many asks with a wave of his hand as if your happiness is unwarranted, even if his gaze flickers to you minutely for praise at haven catered to you.

Your confidence has only grown steadily, but that anxiety that curls around an ask still tastes sour. So you pull out another mental note card, a line you practiced in the mirror for days for this very moment.

“Gift-giving is also another tradition,” you sigh in faux nonchalance, pursing your dry lips as you try to ignore the flicker of curiosity you see on his face. The subtle tick of his jaw, the way one of his eyes tightens just so, the feel of his cursed energy pausing in its movements as if to hear you more clearly. “I know you’d never turn down any sort of offering. Especially from your Queen.”

Only seconds of anxious silence pass before that deep hum permeates the air, a gentle give. “You use that title often, Ryu.” You shrug again, biting the flesh of your cheek to suppress the victorious smile you can feel in your muscles. “Why must I wait for a specific day of the year to receive a gift? I can simply take what I want with little effort.”

His hubris knows no bounds. Neither does your perseverance.

“You put up with a few days of Christmas cheer, and I’ll make sure you get the best gift ever. Something wonderful and fitting for the King of Curses,” you promise, hoping to bring him home with your sales pitch. “But no griping.”

Sukuna scoffs, indignation heavy in the sound as he puffs white smoke into the air. “I do not gripe.” The look you throw him is unimpressed; one brow arched in a silent challenge that grants you a narrowed-eyed glare of concession in return. “Why do you assume you will get what you want?”

He reaches for you as he complains, and despite his sharp tone, you lean into the weight of his touch. You’ve come to know the language of his hands, each gesture a revelation of the complex nature he embodies. Like now, as he adjusts the furs draped around your shoulders—precious things hunted and skinned himself. His movements are deliberate, with hands impossibly gentle despite their proven capacity for destruction.

“Because you see me,” you whisper, the words soft but heavy with meaning. They carry the weight of something unspoken, a recognition of the four-letter word he is not yet ready to voice—your understanding of his care beneath his praise, his protection weaved into his possession.

A sales pitch now seems trivial, disrespectful even, in light of how the tone has shifted around you. Shame prickles at your skin, but it fades just as quickly, overwhelmed by the truth of your words. You do see him, even when he's being stubborn.

Sukuna’s answering hum to your question—to the anxious worry that started this conversation—reverberates through the air, an unspoken approval that settles in the space between you both.

Days later, the skies bloom with gentle hues of cotton candy—pale blue and pastel pink, slowly darkening as the sun peeks on the horizon. The dawn of winter greets you with its chilly embrace, its breath sharp and unrelenting, its touch frostbitten. You’re bleary-eyed as you shuffle over broken branches and moss-covered paths in the East forest.

The weight of your determination keeps you moving, even as your body protests, regretting your tenacity because why would Ryomen Sukuna, King of Curses, buy a tree when he can simply ‘get one from the backyard.’

“I like that one,” you offer, shakily pointing with a heavily gloved finger at a modest six-footer, its snow-laden branches slumping under the weight.

“If I’m to entertain a mortal festivity, it will not be done poorly.”

You’re far too cold to point out his first gripe of the day. His voice carries that familiar edge, but beneath it rests a note that only you can hear—the same careful attention he uses when observing the movements of his enemies, now turned to the expansive forest to the east of his estate.

You close your mouth around an exhale, your cheeks puffing like a fish in your own rendition of a pout as you follow him. The forest stretches silent and vast around you, a living extension of how far his power goes. Sukuna stops abruptly, still as stone as he surveys the trees with a menacing gaze. The dominance he exudes seems to make the air itself hold its breath. You’re simply a spectator—watching an apex predator stalk its prey—it would be a marvelous sight if you weren’t shaking like a leaf.

“This one,” he declares at last, voice carrying the familiarity of pride and authority as he looks up at a magnificent pine.

It’s uncharacteristically different in every way; a shadow brown trunk as thick as his waist, strong branches that house deep green needles, forming their own canopy over the other and covered in the white blanket of snow. Its towering height practically pierces the sky, a physical representation of how the being in front of you sees himself—ambivalent and all-seeing.

With a flick of two fingers, Sukuna’s Cleave technique slices cleanly through the thick trunk. The looming pine shivers, snow plopping from its arms in white globs before it slowly falls to the ground with a muffled thud. The wind that picks up from the disturbance tousles his pink hair, strands whipping against his marked face. One of Sukuna’s muscular arms grabs his prize and effortlessly hoists it onto his shoulder.

You can’t help but admire the broad expanse of his back. The curve and dip of muscle against black markings that shift with each movement, the skin warm to the touch despite how cold he makes himself seem.

The sight of him makes you think of his Christmas gift—your secret project—the fabric carefully chosen to embrace that strength with something just as enduring. You wonder if he will notice the details, the painstaking intricacy you’ve chosen just for him.

His gift is soon forgotten when his gaze falls on you, an unmistakable glint of satisfaction in his eyes. Carmine pools that invite you to step closer and gaze beneath its liquid, to see small slivers of vulnerability presented in the form of the pine on his shoulders. He’s waiting, expecting not praise for his strength, but praise for what he has provided. An offering.

You smile gently, genuinely, and without quivering despite the temperature. “I love it,” you compliment, watching as your words card over his offering like a caress that only fans the flames of his pride. His belly mouth curves into a smirk, chuffed in agreement with its host, white teeth glistening and ghostly breath puffing in steaming plumes.

He walks to you, thunderous steps shaking the forest floor but doing little to shake you, tucking and readjusting your furs once more before ushering you back to the estate, his unspoken need for you to get warm carving a smile onto your face.

In Sukuna’s vast estate, where shadows roam, and servants move with silent reverence, there is no room for joviality and merriment. He rules unflinchingly, with a face usually etched in disinterest and a heart that beats only in the throes of violence and battle. But since you’ve set foot in his domain that he keeps dark and teeming with fear, things have changed.

Now, the halls carry the scent of your vast perfume collection, a blend of smoky oud and earthy florals that linger in the air long after you pass. The servants, once bound by fear, now offer gentle smiles to the mortal who goes against the rules of this cursed realm.

Now, the shadows walk with you, satisfying your thirst for the paranormal as they follow you like a silent watchdog, a testament to the orders of their master—a being with four arms, four eyes, and a grudging acceptance of your presence.

Now, the mortal who carved her way into Sukuna’s domain with hardly a blink, the mortal who can see beneath his veneer of bleach-white bone and hardened blood…

Now… that mortal has decided to bring Christmas to these ancient halls.

Darkness now flickers with light. Pine garland decorates the windowsills in the expansive front room of Sukuna’s estate, its sharp scent striking through the air with every brush of your fingertips along its needles. The front room, what was once empty and meant only as a tunnel to another destination, is now lively from your touch.

A tall fireplace, its mantle wrapped in garlands of cypress and silk ribbons the color of deep red wine that reminds you of his eyes, casts a warm glow over goblet-red curtains that frame looming windows and fur-lined chairs that you curl into when you read your many books.

Sukuna has molded his domain to fit your silent requests. Your Christmas spirit that Sukuna continues to entertain if only for the promise of his reward, breathes life. His spoils—the cleaved pine—stands proudly by the fireplace, its branches wrapped in shining white lights and delicate ornaments.

Uraume was diligent, while unwilling to entertain anything pertaining to mortals, their loyalty outshines their disinterest when it comes to their Queen. Said loyalty shines in the snow that rests on each emerald branch, crystalline shimmers colored amber and orange from the roaring flames of the fireplace. Their technique ensures it will never melt, an ethereal touch of winter preserved.

You can’t help the warm smile that graces your features as you admire the transformed space. But it’s the scents wafting from the kitchen that draw you from your admiration. Cinnamon and nutmeg dance with something darker, a metallic tang that speaks to how well you’ve learned to blend your world with his.

Uraume, for as menacing as a curse user they are, has the cooking skills worthy of Michelin praise. The kitchen is their sacred domain but is now a battlefield of flour and spices, mortal and ancient alike. The heat from multiple ovens warms your bare toes, and copper pots and pans clank and steam with soluble renditions of a Christmas feast.

Sukuna’s dutiful servant moves about the kitchen with practiced ease, refusing help from the other cursed spirit-like servants in your presence no matter how many times you’ve insisted that you don’t mind.

“The consistency is correct,” Uraume observes, subtle praise in their soft tone as they nod toward the ruby liquid you’ve folded into dough. “Sukuna-sama will find it acceptable.”

You hide your smile at their careful choice of words. Months of coexistence have taught you to read the subtle ways in which Uraume expresses care—their meticulous attention to your recipes when cooking for you, your happiness from delicious meals enough to mask their fondness they will never admit to.

“We’re going to make gingerbread houses,” you exclaim an hour later to an indifferent Sukuna. His presence in the kitchen is rare, and you’ve had to ignore the peep of garbled eyes from cursed spirits who poke through the kitchen doors in disbelief before scuttling away in fear of being caught.

The counter is littered with cooled cutouts of gingerbread house walls, arches, and windows. White icing in pastry bags that will serve as glue and gumdrops to be adorned as paneling is the perfect setup for this small occasion between you both.

Despite Sukuna’s menacing demeanor, he is astute. It’s why he’s achieved the status he has now, why he’s feared among the world, both mortal plane and astral. So he wastes no time piecing together his own creation, his eyebrows creased in concentration fitting of a warrior planning a siege.

As Uraume flutters around you both, you recount the tale of Hansel and Gretel, Sukuna’s crimson eyes gleaming with interest at the more gruesome parts of the brothers Grimm.

“So this witch,” he muses, two hands delicately pipping white icing for a jagged wall, his other two hands covered in flour. “She devoured children who wandered into her domain.” His eyes twinkle with approval, his belly mouth curving into a devious smirk. “An acceptable response to trespassers.”

“She built the house to lure him in,” you add, swallowing a chuckle as you feel his cursed energy wiggle around you in interest. “That’s why it was made out of sweets.”

“Why did these children not become a proper meal?”

“They outsmarted her,” you explain, watching in muted supplication as his face drops from satisfaction to disapproval. “Pushed her into her own oven.”

His belly mouth scoffs, frowning as his thick tongue tastes the spiced air. “Mortals.”

As your special cookies perfume the air with metallic sweetness, you admire Sukuna as he works. He utilizes all four hands to guide his gingerbread creation to completion, clicking his teeth when a wall crumbles in his palms and humming in delight when the icing holds steady. Your gingerbread house lays half-created as you watch him, observing in silence until his masterpiece sits before you.

It’s a fortress—walls as imposing as a cathedral’s, windows designed to daze would-be escapees. The path to the door winds hypnotically, sugar-crystal steps that seem to pulse with cursed energy, leading young feet exactly where he wants them. The final touch? Miniature figurines made of pretzel sticks and marshmallows that are arranged at the front door like an offering.

“The witch’s failure was in her execution, not her concept,” he declares. Where normal gingerbread houses invite warmth, his promises something darker—a blend of Christmas tradition and Sukuna’s deadlier inclinations. “No child would think to check for a secondary barrier here.” He speaks as if defending a dissertation, pointing to the candy canes that could easily become weapons instead of the holiday cheer they should represent.

You can’t help the laugh that bubbles from your chest, soft and genuine, as you admire his evil architecture. Four eyes find you immediately, piercing in their gaze as if defensive, yet still holding something akin to wanting your approval. Your hand finds his marked cheek, fingers tracing the tattoos that mirror all over his body. He leans into your touch with imperial indifference, wary of Uraume’s presence in the kitchen but not indignant enough to deny your warmth.

“A domain worth of the King of Curses,” you praise, watching how his belly mouth curves into the wide grin that his master does not offer. It’s more than enough to know he’s satisfied.

“And why is yours unfinished?” Sukuna asks, crossing his arms in mock reproach despite the splattering of flour on his skin and Haori. “Surely, my Queen will make something of equal likeness.”

The oven behind you dings before you can reply, and Uraume retrieves your treat, the aroma rich and spiced. You slide the steaming plate between you, the burgundy cookies still piping hot and ready for him.

“I had other priorities,” you supply, blowing on your fingers before you offer a cookie to his belly mouth. It opens wide, tongue lolling to the side like a panting dog and already watering before you place the cookie on his taste buds. He chomps loudly, sharp teeth devouring the concoction of ginger, blood, and aged spices from Uraume’s private garden—a perfect blend of your world and his. His cursed energy warms, wrapping around your waist in approval as Sukuna throws cookies into his own mouth now.

“Is this my gift?” is all he asks, satisfied but ever impatient as he and his stomach finish the plate. You don’t resist the eye roll. “It’s a very acceptable gift. However, I wouldn’t have entertained Christmas if you only wanted to cook.”

“It’s not your gift Sukuna.” You wave him off, snatching the now empty plate before his belly mouth’s tongue can lick at the blood crumbs, another heaping plate taking its place that Uraume leaves. “And don’t try to guess. You won’t get very far.”

“Hm.” He leans back slightly, one of his hands reaching to dust flour from his forearm. You roll your eyes again, choosing instead to finish your gingerbread house while he sulks. “Then it must be something more…significant. Ancient scrolls, perhaps? Found deep within forgotten temples, imbued with curses?” His voice drips with mock curiosity as if daring you to reveal even the slightest clue.

You snort, pausing mid-pipe to give him a flat look. “First of all, ancient scrolls? Really, Sukuna?” His belly mouth grumbles at being ignored, lips covered in a red dusting of cookie smacking for more. “Second of all, what would I be doing roaming around a temple? This isn’t the Heian era, despite how much you like to talk about it.”

He tilts his head, eyes narrowing slightly, more intrigued than annoyed by your commentary. “So I am wrong?”

“Completely,” you answer, biting back another laugh as you return to your task of piping green icing along a gingerbread wall to resemble bushels of grass. “Do you think your gift revolves around curses and destruction?”

“Why wouldn’t it?” he counters smoothly, his tone smug and his gaze unwavering.

You roll your eyes for what feels like the nth time in only so many minutes, feeling the warmth of his cursed energy curling around your waist again, tugging at you like a child pulling his mother’s sleeve for attention. “Just eat your cookies and stop guessing, Sukuna. You’re nowhere close.”

His belly mouth snickers as Sukuna throws another cookie into it, but his narrowed gaze lingers on you as if memorizing every shift in your expression, every subtle movement of your hands, waiting for you to slip. You have a feeling that even though Christmas is only days away, his curiosity will make it seem like an eternity.

As he often says, Sukuna indulges for you quite often. Trivial mortal instruments meant to stave off your boredom. He tells himself it’s for his own peace, to keep you from pestering him in the throne room, even though he still searches for you and longs for your presence in his lap.

One of those mortal instruments? A television. He knows what they are but has never been bothered to pay attention—an invention he dismissed as frivolous and mind-numbing. The flickering screen is often a source of laughter and comfort on one of your sleepless nights, and though he swore to never sit beside you while it played, here he is. On Christmas Eve. Reclined casually on the expansive sofa in your chambers, a disdainful sneer aimed at the annoying mortal known as ‘Buddy the Elf’, judgment radiating from his very being.

“Ryu, you cannot possibly enjoy this,” he huffs, one hand picking at nonexistent lint on his linen pants, another draped over the back of the couch, and one more cradling your soft form against him.

“Elf is a Christmas tradition!” You insist, handing a heaping hand of buttery popcorn to his belly mouth who accepts with a please grumble. Unlike Sukuna, who prefers a more…carnivorous diet, his belly mouth will eat almost anything it is fed. You chuckle softly, laying your head on his naked chest as you both watch Buddy decorate the department store into a winter wonderland. "I love it."

“He trespasses into their domain and then defiles it. Disgusting.”

“I thought you agreed not to grumble.”

“I never agreed.”

You hide your smile in the warmth of Sukuna’s side, breathing in the familiar aroma of burnt incense that clings to his skin, grounding and intoxicating. The movie plays on, you enjoying, while Sukuna analyzes each scene with the precision he’d use to raze a village. He won’t admit what he’s been reduced to—a powerful being indulging in idiotic entertainment to please the mortal lady of his estate. All for a gift that he cannot guess.

You trace idle patterns on his marked arm. Each touch makes his cursed energy flutter beneath your fingertips, electric kisses on your skin that he pretends not to notice. These are the moments you love most—when the fearsome King of Curses allows himself to simply…exist beside you, his pride softened by the peace you often bring.

“A weapon,” he says suddenly, his voice cutting through Buddy and Jovie’s shower singing.

You blink, craning your neck to look up at him. “What?”

He gestures expectantly to the room around him. “You’ve found a weapon worthy of my domain.”

You should have known the moment he stopped complaining about the movie that his attention had drifted. The fact that this is what he is thinking about makes warmth bloom in your chest. “Are you guessing?”

“I do not guess,” he insists, glowering at the television to avoid looking at you, his curiosity-tinged cursed energy betraying him. “I deduce.”

A weapon would be fitting for someone like him—his strength, his dominance, his endless hunger for power. But it’s a far cry from what he will get. You throw more popcorn into your mouth to stop yourself from laughing at just how wrong he truly is.

He’s silent only for a moment before he adds. “Why must I wait until tomorrow, when you can simply tell me now?” His logic is, as usual, rooted in authority and impatience. You chew another handful of popcorn deliberately, ignoring him as you keep your eyes glued to the screen.

Not even five minutes pass before one of his large hands brushes against the nape of your neck. His fingers card through your hair, tugging the strands—not enough to hurt, but enough to send a shiver down your spine.

You know what he’s doing. His touch feels like a predator sneakily luring in prey. You know this game—this is Sukuna feigning boredom because he’s curious, using seduction to coax you when you’re being stubborn. It’s as effective as it is dangerous. But this time, you’re prepared.

“If you’re going to ignore the movie,” you trail off, your voice a mix of seductive challenge and amusement. You twist in his lap to straddle his waist, sliding your hands up his chest, tracing your fingers around his nipples in slow, deliberate circles. He does not react, at least not on his face. But you can feel the imperceptible jut of his hips, feel his cursed energy hum up your calves, and wrap around your body like a warm fog.

“I know of something else we can do.” You’re suggestive, voice dropping to the pits of your stomach as your lips brush along the sharp edge of his jaw. The shift in power is immediate, and exactly what you want. His hands tighten on your waist, head tilting slightly, giving you better access to lavish him with praise.

“Is that so?” His voice is pitched low, heady already. “Anything is better than this drivel.”

You roll your eyes as you fall back on the sofa, your body arching under his touch as he pulls you closer. Your hand slides lower, tracing the edge of his haori where it hangs loose against his skin.

“You’re impatient as usual,” you whisper, nipping lightly at his neck. “But you’ll wait this time. Won’t you?”

His eyes narrow as if in protest. But he doesn’t answer—not with words, at least. Instead, his hands roam your body, each touch firm and possessive. You grin against his skin, knowing you’ve managed to distract him…at least for now.

“A temple,” his voice rumbles through the darkness, shaking you from the deep edges of sleep. His massive form curves around you possessively, his warmth seeping into your skin. Both of you lie tangled in the aftermath of your earlier indulgences—the sofa, the wall, and, finally, the silk sheets of his bed. All bearing witness to his insatiable need for you.

“Mmm?” you mumble, still trying to pull yourself awake.

“Built in my honor,” he elaborates without repeating himself, shaking you again with a harshness that makes you yelp and throw a glare over your shoulder. He smirks to himself as if he’s finally solved the mystery. “That is my gift.”

You groan, burying your face in your pillow, but secretly relishing in the way he can’t seem to let this go. Rolling over halfway, you peek up at him through heavy-lidded eyes. The moonlight creates a shimmering backdrop, outlining his form with silver, blood-red eyes gleaming with determination. For someone who claims to have no interest in mortal traditions, he’s relentless about this one.

“You woke me up to guess….again,” you grumble, glaring at him through a half-open eye.

“I do not guess,” he starts, ready to repeat the same phrase from hours ago. “I simply—”

“Deduce, yes, I got that the first time.” You cut him off and surge up to give him a kiss, feeling his surprise for only seconds before he melts into your affection. “Go to sleep.”

“A secret text,” he murmurs against your lips, undeterred even as his arms pull you closer. “Written in blood.”

You grimace before answering with your lips on his again, your leg curling around a thick waist, ready to use the ammo from your arsenal just like a few hours ago. “Do I need to distract you again?” you ask, lifting an eyebrow.

The midnight air watches with bated breath as Sukuna rolls on top of you, his towering frame rousing the tingle between your legs.

“I know your method of distraction,” he whispers against the skin of your neck. His belly mouth kisses the skin of your inner thigh, licking its lips at the promise of what you might offer if you’re willing. “Considering you are no novice, one might think that you keep secrets from your King often.”

Your affronted laugh dissolves into a sigh as both stomach and Sukuna adorn your skin with wet kisses—one along the vein of your pelvis while the other works at the skin behind your ear. “O-one might think,” you manage, gasping as his mouth finds the pulse in your neck, “that my King is simply impatient for Christmas morning.”

“It is already past midnight,” he growls at the feel of your touch drifting lower, his cocks already throbbing and oozing precum. “Merry Christmas.”

“A proper Christmas morning!” you correct with a chortle, smacking his chest playfully. He hums noncommittally, the sound vibrating through you both, possessive and yet tender in a way that only you are privy to. “A few more hours. Let me wake up properly.”

With those final words, you promptly roll over, denying him any more sensual touch that could ignite the early morning. Sukuna, used to your defiance, simply grumbles at your withdrawal, choosing instead to press searing kisses along the naked skin of your back. They ignite the embers in your belly but are not persistent enough to tempt you further.

“A domain expansion,” he insists, inhaling the perfume at the dip of your spine, lips brushing the soft skin there.

“I can’t even do that.” Your voice is heavy, the dredges of sleep finally pulling at your consciousness.

“More blood cookies.”

You remain silent, using his solemn guesses as music to lull you back to sleep.

Sukuna can feel your presence even deep in sleep, his cursed energy wound tightly around you like a second skin, always attuned to your warmth, your breath, the way you shift beneath the covers. So when that connection shivers—when his energy touches only empty space—his crimson eyes snap open. Your side of the bed is still warm, a ghost of you lingering on his silk sheets.

He can still feel you in the estate, so he rises slowly, surveying his chamber. He takes in the transformation--the pine and silk ribbons that are around the mantle now present in his chambers, and the smell of cider and blood cookies that still wafts in the air around him. Resting along one wall is a beautiful vanity carved from marble with obsidian-lined mirrors and velvet surfaces adorned with your plethora of fragrances. The table near his window is littered with books, a speaker—another mortal instrument—rests quietly, no classical music that you enjoy playing.

His room—once untouchable, dark, and sacred—is now infused with you. It should feel like a violation, his personal sanctum defiled with the touch of a mortal. And yet.

His body is no longer cold in the halls because you thrive in warmth. His servants may bow in fear to him, but they smile at you. Shadows, once tools of terror, are now a source of protection and amusement, a manic gleam of fascination with the otherwordly preventing you from being fearful.

His emotions are still a mystery, but slowly unfurling like petals that have been sleeping for many winters. Anything besides strength and power, besides determination and tenacity are weak—should be weak. But you feel these emotions plenty, and to Ryomen Sukuna, you are far from weak.

The soft yellow lights from the pine tree spill against the floor, welcoming his bare feet as he enters the large living room that has come to life because of you and for you. He won’t admit it out loud, the pride that surges through his chest like a rushing wave when he looks at the tree. A pagan symbol meant to honor a god that is not himself, willingly brought into his domain by his own hand, a rare sight in his forest that only his eye could catch. He cleaved it. He carried it upon his shoulders. He cupped the approval in your eyes like water in a shallow pool in a drying desert, sacred and coveted.

His efforts have become yours, decorated in tinsel and ornaments, in obnoxiously bright lights and snow that will never melt. And you sit next to it, your silhouette glowing against the roaring fireplace, your gaze looking up at what he’s allowed you to have. You noticed his presence long ago, but you remain transfixed with the tree, a soft smile gracing your features as he draws closer.

“It is far too early,” he rumbles, his voice gentle but heavy in the silent Christmas air. “Come back to bed.”

You huff in reply, not bothering to offer words even as he sinks down next to you. His arms crossed over his chest, his legs folding in to sit with grace on the fur-covered floor. This close, he can smell another fragrance that you collect, a smoky Oud that coats your skin like a second skin.

It’s one of his favorites, yet another thing he will not admit, but you know. You know from the way he buries his face in your neck at night, his chambers shrouded in darkness beside the slanting of moonlight on his sheets, his cursed energy caressing your skin in appreciation.

“It’s a great tree, you know,” you sigh, wistfully. You hope to keep the tree up and lit long after Christmas passes. It’s a wonderful sight, a depiction of a past life before you became aware of the unknown, of curses and spirits, sorcery and realms besides Heaven and Hell. To see it now, in the domain of a powerful king, shining brightly as if the one who cut it down did not have four arms and eyes. “It’s strong…resilient.”

“Of course it is. Who do you take me for?” he snaps, tone not holding any heat as his sharp gaze looks at you from head to toe. He leans imperceptibly into you when you laugh, a sound that shakes from your robe-covered chest and into the warm air, the shadows catching it as if they are fireflies in the night.

You finally pull your gaze from the tree, looking to Sukuna and he refuses to let you hear the hitch in his breath. He refuses to tighten his jaw or let you hear the click of bone as he fights the urge to openly bask in your gaze. “I have something for you.”

You grab a box beneath the tree, the only object that decorates the skirt. You’re climbing into his large lap before he can protest, willingly invading his space without fear of the consequences. For others, a swift death. For you, a subconscious shift in his form, one of his arms falling behind you and hitching along your hip to steady you on his thigh.

“I hope you like it,” you muse, shrugging with indifference to shield your anticipation. “I know "human sentiments" are not your specialty.”

The hands not holding your back trace along the red ribbon, silky soft and tied neatly by you. But before you can push the box more insistently into his hold, his hands slide under yours, firmly stilling your movements.

One of his hands reaches behind his back, his form shifting closer before he presents you with his own box. It’s smaller than yours, crafted in dark, polished wood, the flames from the fireplace glimmering along the surface.

“How can I let you meddle and not have anything to counter it with?” It’s all Sukuna offers, tone low and edged with something warmer than usual. He places the box in your hands, his gaze heavy on your face as though waiting for a reaction. Truly, the thought of him getting you something had not crossed your mind. Sukuna seemed more than willing to put up with your holiday antics if only to get something in return. So the weight of the box in your hands, cool against your palm, feels substantial.

Your fingers tremble as you lift the lid, the dark wood creaking softly. Nestled inside a bed of rich blue velvet, is something that steals the breath from your lungs. It gleams against the firelight as you pick it up, its crystal surface refracting shards of gold and crimson that dance across your body. The shape is elegant yet otherworldly, the surface etched with markings that you’ve come to see throughout his estate. A stopper made of black Onyx crowns it, carved into a teardrop that you pinch and pull to open.

The scent curls into the air, smoothing beneath your nostrils in a delicate yet commanding embrace. It’s sharp at first, with notes of what you recognize as juniper and lemon, fresh and crisp like the frost that curls on the windows in your chamber. You’re an expert in fragrance, so it doesn’t take you long to detect the undercurrent of bergamot and pepper, adding an edge that’s reminiscent of Sukuna’s power—lurking beneath the surface.

It seems as if the notes are never-ending. Pine needles and incense weave into a rich, earthy warmth, like the forest you both walked through to cut down the decorated pine that rests behind you. Amber and balsam provide a sweetness that lingers with its base notes and a touch of vanilla. Finally, the richness of cinnamon adds a spicy conclusion, as if kissing your skin before it fades into the morning air.

“You didn’t,” you begin, mouth suddenly dry, your eyes quite the opposite. “You made this…?”

“Do you think anyone else could, Ryu?” he counters, his tone holding a rare softness that you wish you were more levelheaded to preserve forever. A hand not resting on your back drifts along your shoulder blades, caressing in a mixture of observance and reverence. “It is yours.”

Like everything else in this domain.

That is what he wants to add. Is what curls at the tip of his tongue. But he uses your fluttering eyelashes to distract that urge that throbs in his chest. Uses the sight of you resting the perfume carefully back in its velvet encasing before closing the wooden box as if it might break.

“It’s beautiful,” you finally whisper, uncaring of how shaky you sound. The gift is uniquely Sukuna, deeply reflecting his essence but still having you in mind. “Thank you.”

He offers that characteristic hum, rumbling through your body and clenching around your heart with a force he’s not yet ready to acknowledge. His belly mouth curves into a smug grin, but his eyes are still on you as if searching for something.

“Another example of my indulgence that you mistake for generosity.”

The way his cursed energy hums around you, warm and protective, tells you otherwise. And it only serves to make you laugh, finally wiping the tears from your cheeks and gently setting the wooden box on the fur rug beneath you both.

“Uh huh,” you tease, snickering at his frown you can see right through. You finally pick up your box, the surface warmed by the fire, now resting in his hands. The teasing air around you both falls to the wayside, hushed anticipation taking its place.

He’s spent days pestering you about what he would get, and now, with you on his lap and his massive hands cradling the box with unexpected gentleness, his curiosity morphs into something else. A prize he’s excited to have and now afraid to open. Not in fear—Sukuna has no room for fear—but in anticipation.

It takes everything in you not to snatch the box and open it yourself, but eventually, he does, and the purse of his lips and the narrowing of his eyes fall before you like a book as old as time finally opening.

The silk is as dark as the shadows that roam these halls, shimmering like oil in water as it slides along Sukuna’s thick fingers. To anyone else, the material would simply be silk. But to Sukuna, he can feel the cursed energy that pulses along it, no doubt stitched together with a cursed thread strong enough to embrace him and yet still soft to the touch.

You had no way to conjure or control cursed energy to weave into the fabric, so you had to turn to Uraume for help. Their frosty hands had guided yours, harnessing the cursed energy necessary for you as you wove the threads, ensuring the haori could hold the weight of Sukuna’s power while remaining as delicate as the intentions behind it.

The silk mirrors the intricate markings on his skin, its edges dyed in gradients of shadow and blood.

“It’s a Haori,” you finally speak, soft and given space so he can observe his gift without hurry. “It’s all you really wear, so I thought crafting something of my own would be….nice.”

Words gather on his tongue, and then scatter like leaves in a storm, too feeble to express the weight of what he feels. He knows that a simple hum of approval won’t be enough—not this time. Not for you. But as he readies himself to speak, opening his mouth just so, his breath catches when he looks inside one of the sleeves.

The inner lining is adorned with ancient symbols sewn in patterns only he would recognize, the same ones you’ve felt him trace in the air around you when he thinks you’re sleeping, offering protection for when he cannot be near you. They shimmer faintly, their glow deepening in the shadowed folds of silk and fading when touched by light—a testament to the darkness he commands and the solace he finds within it.

“Ryu—”

“At least put it on,” you interrupt, voice slightly shaky and betraying your exposed nerves. You hold the garment delicately, taking it from him and helping each arm through the sleeves. The silk moves like smoke around his massive form, designed to accommodate while maintaining the elegant lines that befit a being of his stature. Your eyes are on his skin, focused on the hem of his lapels as you trace over it and rest your hand on his chest.

“There,” you whisper, smiling but not looking up at him. His heart is steady beneath your palm, not fluttering like a bird in a cage, and you’re not sure whether to be upset that your gift doesn’t make his heart race. “It looks good on you.”

It fits him perfectly and thrums with a warmth that echoes the temperature blooming in his chest. That three-letter phrase—that elusive word that’s made his lip curl in disgust since the beginning of time, now pounds in his ears from the garment that sits on his skin.

It’s not just a garment—it’s an acknowledgment of who he is in his truest form, a declaration that you see his beauty in both his power and his evolution. The way it drapes over his marked skin, how it seems to pulse with its own life in response to his cursed energy—these details speak to your understanding of him, how you’ve learned to…love both the demon and the subtle changes your presence has wrought in him.

They’ve always been directed at you. Not from him. He’s never said them before. He’s never really known how, and part of him has always been envious of how the words can fall so effortlessly from your lips.

He’s never said them before. And yet now, at this moment, it feels like if he doesn’t act, the opportunity will be lost forever, forced down into the pit of his belly for who knows how long.

You hold your breath when you feel one of his hands cradle your cheek, massive enough so that his fingers card through your dark hair.

“And I see you, Ryu.”

The words feel like a promise. Like they will probably be rare but will only hold more and more weight as time goes by. And that’s okay for you. To be in his presence. To open him up and show him that he is capable of something gentle enough to hold you. That’s your gift that you will never need to wait until the 25th of December for.

His belly mouth is unusually silent, but his cursed energy tightens around you like a caress. Warm and vibrating, a protective weight that will remain around you for as long as you breathe. It speaks volumes that his pride won’t quite let him voice.

You lift a hand to rest on his cheek, tracing along the smooth skin that gives way to the rough texture that wraps around his right side. His two eyes on this side are more narrowed, encapsulated in the hard surface around it but still oozing dominance that could make others cower and definitely not come closer like you do. You cup his jaw before finally meeting his gaze—soft meeting a harshness that will never affect you, love meeting the beginnings of the same that linger beneath crimson pools.

“I see you too, Ryomen.”

The sound of his name makes his chest tighten, the organ behind his sternum pounding irregularly for only a second before falling back in line. His given name is forbidden for any who wish to speak it in likeness—he will only tolerate the name ‘Ryomen’ if it is wrapped in fear, or if it falls from your lips.

The silence lingers for what feels like forever, his hands holding you on his lap while he lets you map his face. Your heart flutters, happiness pulsing through your veins with every beat, cataloging every aspect of this moment in your mind forever.

“There is one mortal tradition,” he finally muses, his voice carrying that particular note of mischief that always makes your breath catch, “that I find…acceptable.”

It’s the kind of tone that usually follows lips along your skin and hands between your thighs, reminiscent of a man who can only bask in vulnerability for moments before shifting to something heady and tinged with lust.

Before you can question his motives, one of his hands lifts to hover above you both. His cursed energy manifests between his fingers, dark and potent, morphing itself into something that makes you snort in delighted surprise. Dark tendrils grow slowly from the mass of energy between his fingers, twisted and mangled to form branches, its leaves pitch black with berries that gleam like drops of blood.

A twisted version of mistletoe, the only representation that would be acceptable to someone like Sukuna.

“Of course, you’d make it look menacing,” you tease, giggling softly as his other arms draw you closer to his chest. His belly mouth snickers from below you, ready to join his host in whatever is planned. One of your fingers traces the metal of his gauges, your eyes narrowing in playful indifference.

“Then I advise you to have one ready for next year.”

Your heart stops, lungs seizing in your chest as the words tunnel into one ear and out the other. Next year. The idea hangs in the air, fragile and precious—proof that even Ryomen Sukuna, with all his arrogance and dominance, is willing to entertain a future with you.

The mistletoe pulses above you, casting reddish shadows across your faces, and you don’t need to think any longer as you lean in to slide your lips along his. His hands widen the expanse of your back, your robe slipping off your shoulders to hang in the crevice of your elbows, the heat from the pulsing mistletoe spreading over your chest. The naked feel of you against his torso pleases him, and beneath the prideful smirk against your mouth, beneath the snicker from his belly, you taste that four-letter word in his mouth, siphoning as much of it as you can before you pull away and rest your forehead against his.

“Merry Christmas,” you whisper against his lips, your body warming even further despite the heat from the fireplace.

He offers that hum—that characteristic hum that means so much.

Acquiescence.

Agreement.

I see you.

The mistletoe falls to the floor, crunching beneath your weight as Sukuna lays you on the fur, hands tracing your waist, sliding along your spine, hiking your legs around him. He doesn’t speak, content to admire you beneath him—a mortal without cursed energy who loves perfume, the paranormal, and classical music. A mortal who hates spiders, but loves Gothic architecture, monsters, and the many books that line his walls.

A mortal who has crawled beneath his skin and nestled there, unwilling to leave. And he’s too ashamed to admit that he gave up trying to pry you from inside of him a long time ago.

You throw your arms around his neck, impatient and tired of his staring, carding your fingers through deceptively soft pink hair to pull him down so that you can once again honor this particular tradition—one that, like everything else between you, has been transformed into something uniquely yours.

Merry Christmas, @grimmweepers !!!!

#recs 📚#ryukuna #i’m so sorry this was long winded #i don’t even think this captures the entirely of how reading this made me feel #entirety**

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dimlylittorch · 1 day ago

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part 1 ended with angst :( i made myself very sad so here is a second part

My Masterlist🌱

Silco x transmasc!chubby!sweetheart!assistant!reader

small synopsis: more silco and his assistant working out their dynamic. sorry these aren’t longer !! i have adhd so its easier to do multiple parts

The walk home after that night had been.. rough. To say the least. Tears slipping down your cheeks, feeling that crushing pain of doing something wrong. Misinterpreting something. Ruining any connection you had with your boss.

The next day you walked into work with your head down and your gaze averted. Not making eye contact with anyone like you usually would, not even bothering to put up a somewhat realistic fake smile. Walking into the office where Silco sat at his desk smoking and reading papers, you walked to your desk and sat down without a word. No greeting. No kind words. Not even a smile.

Silco feels a stabbing pain in his heart when he sees how crestfallen you look. His eyes follow your soft form as you sit at your desk, pulling your supplies out of your bag and getting started on your paper work immediately. Usually you’d offer to get him a coffee, make small talk. But not today.

You both sat in silence for a small while, silently hoping there wouldn’t be a moment where you were forced to speak. You wanted to stay quiet, not knowing what to say. He wanted to speak, but he had no idea how to put his feelings into words. After a few moments, you spoke before he could.

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

His brain practically stops at your words. Uncomfortable? The thought that he could even be uncomfortable anymore.. when was the last time someone cared about his comfort? He puts out his cigar in the ashtray on his desk before standing up and slowly walking over to where you sat. Moving behind your desk, he sits on the corner of it with his gaze locked on you.

“You’re a silly little thing.” He murmurs, grabbing a pen on your desk and twirling it between his fingers. “I’m not used to dealing with something this.. weak.”

His words make your grip on your own pen tighten. You know you’re not strong like everyone else down here- but weak? That was rich. You let out a shaky breath as you try to calm yourself, trying not to snap.

When he sees how your body tenses, a small smirk appears on his lips. Teasing you was a way to make you look at him.. god how he wanted you to look at him. But he’d never seen you angry before. Maybe a little annoyed.. but never like this. He leans down so his breath ghosts over the shell of your ear. “Pathetic.” He breathes.

You suddenly slam your hands on your desk, pushing your chair back as you stand up as quickly as you can. As you move your head hits against his slightly, mainly hitting his nose. He quickly leans back, holding his nose with a huff, his eyes still on you. “Pathetic? I’m pathetic?” You seethe as you turn towards him, face flushed and a rage in your eyes he’d never seen before. “That’s hilarious coming from the man that is only powerful because of other people- why are you in charge again? Because of shimmer. Do you make shimmer? Do you sell shimmer? Do you even sign off on the shimmer contracts you make? No! Because guess what? I do- I forge your signature just like you told me to. Your entire empire was made off of the backs of other people. Without manipulating others, you’re nothing.” You yell at him, ragged breaths slipping past your lips. When you see how he’s simply staring at you blankly, you grab his collar and push him into the wall. “What? Not a big scary man anymore? Just going to let your stupid brainless assistant push you around?” You hiss.

Silco knew it from the second you raised your voice. He was gone. His little ball of fluff could turn into a ball of rage. You were perfect. He can’t help but gaze at you as you yell at him, simply admiring how nice you looked when you were angry.

When he sits there staring at you, your breathing start to slow and you just stare back at him. It starts to set in what you’d done.. yelling at your boss. Pushing him into a wall. Fuck, you were definitely fired. But before you can say anything or make a move to leave, he grabs your chin and pulls you into a kiss.

“You’re anything but brainless” he whispers against your lips when he pulls back for only a moment, his eyes locked on yours. You’d stopped breathing completely, frozen in shock. “You’re.. everything.” He says faintly before he kisses you again, slipping one hand to the back of your head and the other around your waist.

After a few seconds, your brain starts to catch up with everything. And you can’t help but push him away slightly, looking at him with pure confusion, breath ragged. “I- I just-“ you stutter out. “I just yelled at you.”

“Yes. You did.” He says quietly as he cups your chin, his thumb gently tracing over your lips. “You remember what I said, don’t you?” You stare up at him with confusion which makes him chuckle. “I said.. if someone has a problem with you, they have a problem with me.” He murmurs. “I couldn’t protect you from myself.”

“Silco..” you say softly, confusion turning to concern.

“You were a good boy.” He says firmly, making your heart skip a beat. “You stood up for yourself.. when I couldn’t.” He sighs. “Last night my heart tore itself to shreds for what I said to you. Soft little thing.. I am the weak one. Not you.”

Your breath hitches at his words and you look downcast, trying to think. “You.. you still hurt my feelings.” You say faintly. While his words made your heart stir, you still had some sense of self preservation.

He frowns slightly, letting out a soft sigh as he moves his hand to cup your cheek. “I’m sorry.” He whispers. Christ.. when was the last time he said those words to someone? Anyone? “I’m a stupid man. With a scarred heart.”

You let out a breath at his words, leaning into his hand a little. “I’m sorry too.” You murmur, looking up and cupping his cheeks, pulling his face close. “Is your nose okay? I didn’t mean to hit you.” You say softly as concerned eyes trail over his face.

He chuckles faintly, covering your hands with his own. “I know you didn’t.” He says comfortingly. “I shouldn’t have teased you.. but I’d rather angry you than emotionless you.” He smiles.

“You can hit me back if you want” you smile softly. “Settle the score.”

He sighs at your words, leaning forward and resting his forehead against your own as his eyes close. “Don’t start something you can’t finish, little one.” You both stay like that for a few moments before you break the silence.

“You kissed me.” You murmur faintly as you both straighten up again, looking at each other as your hands leave his face. “A minute ago.”

“I did.”

A few seconds of silence pass as you try to think of what to say next. What could you say?

“Was that alright?” He asks softly before you can say anything.

You gaze up at him for a moment, a million thoughts swirling behind your eyes. “I wish you had done that last night.” You murmur softly with a faint chuckle. “You would’ve saved me a few tears.”

“Don’t tell me you cried over me?” He smiles faintly.

“Shut up.. I’d walked in here today fully prepared to be over you. And now look at me.” You murmur, looking down at how close the two of you were.

He sighs softly, his hand moving from your back to your hip, gently molding the flesh in his hand. “I was going to fuck the anger out of you if I had to.” He whispers under his breath. “But a pretty little thing like you.. so forgiving. More so than I deserve.”

Your heart rate picks up at his words, letting out a shaky breath before it turns into a small chuckle. “Not everything has to be rough you know.”

He looks up, his eyes meeting your own. “Rough is all I know.” He confesses quietly. You don’t think you’ve ever heard his voice so.. raw before.

“Hm.” You hum as you gently cup his cheek again. “For such a powerful man, there sure are quite a few things you don’t know.” You smile teasingly.

A weak laugh slips past his lips as he only slightly leans into your touch. “Teach me.” He muses.

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fantom-princess · 2 days ago

Text

Music to My Ears

A/N: This is my first fanfiction in a really long time. I would love to know your thoughts, if you enjoyed it, constructive criticism, etc.! I don’t know if anyone is reading this, but I thought I would give it a try. Also tried writing as a gender neutral person.

Trigger warnings: Alcohol mentioned, swear words, cheating mentioned

(y/n) - Your Name

(y/f/n) - Your Friend’s Name

(y/e/c) - Your Eye Color

(y/h/c) - Your Hair Color

~~~

“Hey, Spence! Glad you could make it!” Angela said, as she saw Spencer enter the busy bar. “I wasn’t sure you were gonna be here.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t sure I was gonna come, but you said it would be worth it,” he responded.

“Well, I definitely think you’re really gonna like (y/f/n).”

“C’mon Ang, not another set up.” He whined.

“Just hear me out! Okay? She’s the guitarist for the first band. She plays guitar- -” she gets cut off as she starts her list.

“Thank you all so much for coming out tonight for our ‘Cover Me Excited: Cheater’s Edition’ showcase!” an announcer proclaims on the stage. The entire bar erupts with applause and cheers. “Tonight, we’re celebrating the ones who have been cheated on! We hear you, we see you, we want you to know you’re not alone. Tonight is a night to say, ‘Fuck that! We are worth so much more!’ with some of the most famous songs, covered by some not-so-famous bands. We’ve got an exciting line-up tonight, starting with a band you all know, ‘cause they won’t leave us alone, Moonlight Extracted!”

The crowd roared with excitement as the instrumentalists started getting settled with their instruments and the announcer handed the microphone off to an extremely attractive person, in Spencer’s eyes. They had (y/h/c) and sharp (y/e/c) and he had a hard time taking his eyes off of them.

Angela turned to Spencer and said, talking over all the cheers, “That’s her! That’s (y/f/n)!” She turned back to cheer her friend on.

Shit, I’m supposed to be watching someone else, Spencer thought. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t take his eyes off of the one holding the mic at the front of the stage. Granted, he didn’t really try all that hard.

“That’s not true! They’re the ones who keep begging us to come back!” they say into the microphone.

Everyone laughs, as the announcer yells from offstage, “Only 'cause drink sales go up whenever you perform!”

They just shrug with a chuckle. “Whatever works to keep us on this stage. Speaking of, please tip your wonderful bartenders! They work so hard!” Everyone cheers. “Wow! This crowd is electric! Thank you so much for welcoming us! My name is (y/n) and we are Moonlight Extracted!”

The drummer counted the band in and their cover of “Carnivore” by Bear Attack started. Spencer noticed the singer close their eyes and bob their head to the music.

I wonder what (y/n)’s thinking about, he thought. They’re really getting into it.

Sitting in the dark, staring at the wall

You're with someone else, you tell me it's my fault

That I deserve it all

Every time you say you're gonna change

It sounds so familiar

But every time, it happens once again

Spencer couldn’t tear his eyes away from (y/n), despite knowing he should. But the singer just seemed to know how to command the stage. (y/n) took the mic off the stand and walked over to (y/f/n) to sing the first chorus.

Well, I'm tired of your bullshit

You took my heart and ate it

But I won't be your victim, can't take it anymore

I guess I wasn't perfect, but you were further from it

You're nothing but a monster

And I was your prey, carnivore

They were so into it; using their whole body to convey the pain of being cheated on. They floated around the stage, seemingly commanding everyone to look at them; not forcefully, but because everyone wanted to. I wonder if they’d ever been cheated on.

Sneaking in the door, you think that I don't know

Try to shrug it off, I caught you in the act

Don't you even try, to tell me that this time you're gonna change

It sounds so pathetic

'Cause every time it happens once again

Next, they went over to the drummer, both singing the chorus in harmony.

I'm tired of your bullshit

You took my heart and ate it

But I won't be your victim, can't take it anymore

Now to the keyboardist,

I guess I wasn't perfect, but you were further from it

You're nothing but a monster

And I was your prey, carnivore

Back to the front, they put the mic back on the stand, to really grab the attention of the audience for the bridge.

After all is said and done

I let you in to drink my blood

But you'd never had enough

Because after all is said and done

You're just a carnivore

They grabbed the mic, like their life depended on it and crouched down, to be a little more eye level with the audience.Their eyes were brimming with passion. Or rage, Spencer couldn’t tell which. Either way, it was absolutely captivating, and Spencer felt like it was just the two of them.

I'm tired of your bullshit

You took my heart and ate it

But I won't be your victim, can't take it anymore

Finally, they got up and put the mic back on the stand for this last part.

I guess I wasn't worth it, but you were further from it

You're nothing but a monster

And I was your prey, carnivore

I wonder who the asshat was that could have cheated on them, Spencer couldn’t help but think. If I were with them, I would never - - could never do that.

Everyone in the bar erupted with applause and cheers. Spencer heard Angela scream, “Go Moonlight Extracted! Go (y/f/n)!” and he broke out of his trance to clap as well.

After a quick bow, the band left the stage as the announcer got back up and said, “Thank you so much, Moonlight Extracted! They will be back out after a few more bands, so don’t go anywhere! Next up, we have the,” the announcer stopped to read a notecard, clearly not knowing this band as well as the first one. “Phantom Unicorns, playing ‘Before He Cheats’ by Carrie Underwood!”

The crowd cheered again as Angela grabbed Spencer and said, “C’mon! They’re coming out! Let’s go say hi to them!” As the pair made their way closer to the stage, (y/n) and (y/f/n) made their way closer to where Spencer and Angela were. There was a small lump in his throat just thinking about talking to (y/n). Right before the two pairs reached each other, (y/n) veered off towards a different direction. His heart sank a little, thinking about how he wouldn’t get to meet them.

“You were so great! Really had the audience in the palm of your hand!” Angela yelled, as soon as they reached her friend. She gave her friend a quick hug and then turned to Spencer. “Hey Spencer, this is (y/f/n). (y/f/n), Spencer.”

The two shook hands, a little stiffly and awkwardly. “Nice to meet you. Ang has told me a lot about you.” (y/f/n) said.

“Has she now?” He questioned, his curiosity piqued.

Angela just rolled her eyes. “Spence, would you mind grabbing me a marg from the bar, please?”

Assuming Ang wanted some time with her friend, Spencer agreed. He felt a small need to get out of there anyways. As he approached the bar, he saw (y/n) talking to a bartender. “Can I get four bottles of water, please?” He heard them ask. The bartender nodded, then turned to grab them.

Spencer took the chance to approach the singer. “Are four bottles enough after a performance like that?” He asked, trying as hard as he could to come off smooth.

They turned around with a smile that could have melted Spencer into a puddle, if it wasn’t so cold in the bar. “Well, you know, we gotta stay hydrated in order to keep going,” they responded with a laugh. “These are for my bandmates. I’m their pack mule, it seems.”

Spencer chuckled. “You are definitely more attractive than a mule.” (y/n) blushed at the comment. “And more talented. That was quite a show you put on.” He continued.

“Thanks for coming out to support us. It’s so much fun to perform. I’m (y/n), by the way.” They reached their hand out, probably expecting a handshake.

“Spencer.” He took (y/n)’s hand and shook. They both seemed to linger with their hands intertwined for longer than a regular handshake usually takes.

In the background, the announcer seems to be saying something into the mic again and that seems to break (y/n) out of their trance and let go of his hand. “Well, Spencer,” seemingly trying the name on for size. “It was really nice to meet you.” Hearing them say his name made him weak in the knees and he had to try hard not to let it show. “I gotta get back to the band before we go on again.” They turned to grab the water bottles, but turned back to look at the man one more time.

As they started backing away, Spencer called out, “Can I get your number?” (y/n) seemed to pause. “Y’know, so I can keep up with the band’s events… and stuff…”

(y/n) smiled up at him. They walked back, put the bottles down, and pulled a pen out of their back pocket. They grabbed Spencer’s hand, which sent shivers throughout his body, and started writing something on the back. “Shoot me a text sometime.” They said, casually, as they picked up the water bottles and walked away.

Spencer stood there in awe of the person who just walked away. He didn’t even notice Angela walk up behind him until she said, “So, what’d you think of (y/n)?”

Caught off guard, he replied after a brief pause. “She was nice; she played a good show and her guitar skills - - “

“No, not (y/f/n). (y/n),” she clarified, elongating the last syllable of the name.

Spencer just stood there, confused. “What are you… How did you - -”

“You got their number! Nice! That’s farther than I thought you were gonna get tonight!”

“What the hell is going on here?”

“Sorry to trick you, Spence. But you said no more set ups, so I just happened to… organize a meeting in which you might meet someone I wanted you to meet.”

He was still trying to wrap his head around everything that just happened. “But you said that (y/f/n) and I had so much in common.” Thinking back, he realized she’d only listed off one thing.

“Yeah, I think that’s the only thing you guys have in common. Great timing with the announcer, right? I can’t believe how well that worked out! I was gonna start bullshitting stuff.” She elbowed the shocked man in the stomach. “But you and (y/n) have way more in common.”

“Wait, so you’re friends with them too? Were they in on it?” Spencer felt a little betrayed.

“What? No! (y/n) had nothing to do with it! It was all (y/f/n) and me. Honestly, I didn’t think you’d get to talk to them tonight. Or they’d talk to anyone. They get really in the zone when performing.”

Blushing, he replied, “Yeah, I could tell.”

She smiled at the flustered man. “C’mon, they’re about to perform again,” she said as she tried to usher him back to where they were standing.

“Wait! I never got your marg,” he said, a little embarrassed about how sidetracked he got.

“All a part of my plan,” was all she said as she led him through the crowd.

~~~

A/N: I’ve had this idea for a little bit now and wanted to get it down before I forgot. I’ve thought about continuing the story, having this told from (y/n)’s perspective, or even trying out different stories here and there. I don’t know if anyone is interested, but I definitely had fun with this. Thank you so much!

#spencer agnew x reader #smosh x reader #spencer agnew fanfics #spencer agnew #smosh #smosh fanfiction

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