#i have been friends with writers and if you let them they will talk for Hours about how x represents their characters and how that ties in

[amiableness]

Peonies ; part three

Pairing: Theo Nott x Fem!Reader

Summary: Theo and reader get even closer, and Mattheo is not a fan.

Word Count: 5280

Warnings: Unrequited love & Mattheo and Reader get into it. Let me know if there’s more!

A/N 💌 God, this took me forever to write. I struggled with writers block so badly on this, so if it’s not my best work, I apologize. As always, thank you to @moonpascal for reading, helping me with ideas, and just providing support and comfort. I love you!

SERIES MASTERLIST <3

“Y’good?” Theo looks up from the fire, his gaze shifting to Blaise, who’s now standing beside the couch. The flames had been the only company he’d had for hours. It was late—he couldn’t say exactly how late—just that the common room had emptied long ago, and he’d been sitting there long after everyone else had gone to bed.

“Yeah,” Theo sighs, his eyes drifting back to the flickering flames. “I’m good.” His words are hollow, almost as if he’s trying to convince himself. Blaise watches him for a moment, studying the tension in his posture, before quietly sitting down in the empty space beside him. Neither of them speaks, both of them watching as the flames dance.

Blaise leans back, glancing at Theo before breaking the silence. “You don’t look it,” he says, his voice calm but direct.

“Just thinking.” Theo just shrugs, his shoulders barely lifting, the gesture heavy with indifference. Blaise watches him for a moment, waiting, giving him the space to say something more—but the silence stretches.

“About her?”

Theo’s reaction is answer enough. He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair with a tired frustration. For a brief moment, he pauses, elbows resting on his knees, his head cradled in his hands.

He drops his hands slowly, lifting his head to glance over at Blaise, his eyes tired, “When am I not?”

Blaise smiles slightly at his words. He’s known for years that Theo liked you—it was impossible to miss. From the moment Mattheo introduced you, Blaise vividly remembers the way Theo looked at you, as if his breath had been knocked from his lungs.

He was completely undone in a single glance.

And if that hadn’t been enough of a giveaway, the little things Theo did for you over the years certainly were—grabbing your favorite sweets from Hogsmeade when you couldn’t make the trip, offering help before you even had to ask, his gaze always seeking you out no matter how crowded the room. It was undeniable, even if Theo never spoke it aloud.

“Listen, mate,” Blaise begins, casting a quick glance at Theo, gauging his expression before continuing. “Do you think this is a good idea?”

“What?”

“Helping her get over Mattheo while you’re in love with her yourself.” Blaise's words hang in the air, and Theo's jaw tightens instinctively, a storm of emotions flickering across his face.

He wants to deny that he’s in love with you, but deep down, he knows it’s pointless. The truth is unquestionable; he’s been drawn to you for years, but these last few months have sent him falling even deeper.

How was he ever supposed to get over you when every moment only pulled him deeper? The way your fingers slipped so easily into his, like they belonged there, the soft curve of your lips as his thumb traced gentle circles over your skin. How sleeping over in your dorm had somehow become routine—he was sure Pansy was staying with Blaise on purpose to give him space with you. And those long walks around the castle, meant to distract you from Mattheo and Veronica, had turned into something else entirely—talks that lasted for hours, about everything and nothing, but always feeling like more.

It’s why he hasn’t left this couch in hours, struggling with the weight of his feelings. The realization hits him hard: he’s completely fallen for you, and he’s trapped. Because in your eyes, he’s just a friend, and that thought feels like a punch to the gut.

“She asked me to, and I can’t say no to her,” Theo replies, his voice laced with a mix of frustration and resignation. “I’ve never been able to.”

“You’re going to get yourself hurt if you’re not careful.” Blaise warns, his tone serious.

“We’ve long passed that point.” Theo sighs.

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

“Where in Hogsmeade do you get the flowers?” You glance over at Theo, sitting next to you on the common room couch, your question pulling him from his thoughts. Whatever everyone else was talking about had long since lost your interest, and if Theo were honest, he’d admit he wasn’t listening either. How could he be, with you so close? The heat of your body nearly pressed into his side, making it impossible for him to think straight.

“What?” He replies, but the pause lingers just a little too long. He's stalling, clearly hesitant to admit the truth—that the flowers aren't from Hogsmeade.

“The peonies.” You murmur, shifting until you're turned toward him, tucking yourself into his side. His arm rests casually on the back of the couch, and the sudden closeness feels intimate.

“What shop do you get them from?” You ask, your voice so soft it nearly melts him.

His mind goes blank the moment he sees you nestled against his side, looking up at him through your lashes. The way your gaze lingers on him, so close, steals any coherent thought he might have had.

“Why?” He asks, feigning casualness.

“I wanted to get some for myself,” you shrug, “I’ve never seen peonies so beautiful before.”

“No,” Theo responds so quickly that it catches you off guard, an amused eyebrow arching as you glance at him in surprise. The truth is, he hates the idea of you picking your own flowers—he wants to be the one to give them to you. “I’ll just take you with me next time I go, yeah?”

“Yeah.” You nod in agreement, a soft smile tugging at your lips, clearly content with his answer. As you turn back to the conversation, that smile still lingers, and Theo can’t help but admire you for a moment, a quiet satisfaction settling in knowing he was the reason for it. But when he glances back up, his gaze meets Mattheo’s.

Mattheo’s brow furrows as he shifts his gaze between you and Theo, a flicker of suspicion darkening his eyes. Without thinking, Theo drops his arm, casually wrapping it around your shoulders in a possessive gesture—one he knows he shouldn’t make. Your body instinctively leans into him, sending a warmth coursing through Theo; it feels so natural to have you this close. Mattheo’s expression tightens just slightly, his gaze lingering a heartbeat too long before he finally looks away.

You barely have time to enjoy being cuddled into Theo’s side, before Pansy turns to you. Both of you exchange annoyed glances at something particularly ridiculous Draco just said, rolling your eyes in unison. But then her expression shifts from irritation to excited disbelief as she catches sight of you nestled against Theo, his fingers absentmindedly tracing gentle patterns on your skin.

Pansy can’t help but raise her eyebrows, a grin spreading across her face as she processes the scene before her. Before you can send her a warning look, she’s on her feet, leaving Blaise protesting. “It’s time for bed,” She declares, pointedly looking at you. “And you’re coming with me.”

You sigh, knowing all too well that Pansy would make a scene if you didn’t follow her lead. Reluctantly, you lean forward, easing yourself out of Theo’s grasp, but before fully pulling away, you pause. Gently, you press a soft kiss to his cheek, your lips lingering for just a moment longer than usual. “Goodnight,” you murmur quietly, the words almost lost in the space between you before you finally stand.

Pansy, giddy and practically buzzing with excitement, grabs your hand and tugs you toward your dorm, both of you tossing casual goodnights over your shoulders to the boys. Blaise grumbles loudly about not getting a proper goodnight from his girlfriend, while Theo remains silent, a soft pink flush creeping across his cheeks as he watches you walk away, still feeling the warmth of your kiss lingering on his skin.

You catch the sound of the boys teasing Theo the moment they assume you're out of earshot, their playful jabs and laughter unmistakable as they seize the opportunity to rib him. Even from a distance, you can imagine Theo's flushed face as he tries—and likely fails—to brush off their teasing.

“Is there something going on between the two of you?” Pansy blurts out the second you step into your dorm, her excitement practically radiating off her as she nearly slams the door shut behind her.

“No, why would you even think that?” You ask, genuinely surprised, but Pansy just stares at you incredulously, like you’ve completely missed the obvious.

“You’re kidding, right?” She says, crossing her arms. “The sleepovers? The hand holding? The fact that you two are practically inseparable?”

“He’s helping me get over Mattheo.” You insist, feeling the need to defend yourself, though even as the words leave your mouth, they sound weaker than you’d like.

After a couple of months of coming to terms with the reality of Mattheo and Veronica, you’ve found that the idea of them together doesn’t sting nearly as much as it once did. Sure, you still dislike seeing them together, but the ache has softened into something more manageable. If anything, what bothers you most now is your lingering dislike for Veronica herself; there’s just something about her that grates on your nerves.

“Babes,” Pansy says, her tone full of disbelief, like you’re the only one who can’t see what’s right in front of you.

“You know I’d tell you if there was something going on.” You say, but even as the words leave your mouth, there's a flicker of doubt in your chest, as if the truth isn’t quite as simple as you want it to be.

“I guess so,” Pansy replies, still eyeing you with clear skepticism, her gaze sharp as if she's waiting for you to admit what you’re not even sure of yet. “Just so you know, I think he’d give you everything if you let him.”

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

Your conversation with Pansy hasn’t left your mind in days, and quite honestly, it’s driving you a little mad.

I think he’d give you everything if you let him.

You can’t quite tell if Pansy is subtly suggesting that Theo has feelings for you or if she simply likes the idea of the two of you together. Either way, her words have been playing on a loop in your mind, so much so that you’ve started to feel nervous around him.

Every time he looks at you or takes your hand, your thoughts scatter, leaving you utterly flustered. You’re trying your best to hide just how distracted you are around him, but Theo’s definitely noticed. This morning, when he leaned in to whisper something, your mind went completely blank, every thought consumed by him.

Him, him, him.

The warmth of his voice, the way his hand rested on the small of your back as he spoke—it was all you could focus on. The way his attention never wavered, how it was solely on you, made your heart race like it was the only thing that mattered in the room.

And when you failed to respond, he paused, concern flashing in his eyes as his brows furrowed. “You okay?” His voice was soft, genuine, and somehow that only made things worse. You had nodded quickly, plastering on what you hoped was a convincing smile, but inside, your mind was a chaotic mess.

Had he always looked at you that way? Like he was genuinely checking in, always quietly noticing when something was off? It made you wonder if you’d been blind to it all this time or if this was something new, something you’d only just started paying attention to.

You’re so lost in your thoughts that you barely register when Mattheo bumps into you in the hallway. You cast a quick glance his way, ready to keep walking, but he reaches out, gently grabbing your wrist and pulling you back.

“Wait, hold on,” Mattheo says, his grip on your wrist warm yet insistent, his voice edged with irritation and disbelief. “Were you really just going to walk past me?”

“I’m not doing this right now.” You huff, pulling your wrist free from his grasp, trying to mask the frustration that’s been simmering for weeks.

“Doing what?” His voice hardens, his eyes narrowing in confusion.

“Talking to you.” You snap.

“Why the hell not?”

You feel a surge of irritation, meeting his gaze with a fiery glare. “Because you’ve ignored me for the past few months, Mattheo. Why should I care to talk to you now?”

“That’s not fair,” he mutters, his jaw tightening as frustration creeps into his tone. “It’s not that I’ve been ignoring you.”

“The last time we properly talked,” you snap, “you asked for your jersey back—the one you gave me.” The memory of it still stings, and you can’t help but throw it back at him. “So yeah, Mattheo, it’s more than fair.”

He frowns, clearly caught off guard by your words, his eyes flickering with something between guilt and disbelief. “Listen, I know we haven’t hung out much—”

“Are you being serious?” You scoff, folding your arms as if that could somehow shield you from the frustration bubbling inside. “You’ve practically disappeared, Mattheo. You’ve been too busy with your girlfriend to even notice anyone else.” You want to roll your eyes at the way he looks genuinely confused, like he's completely unaware of how he's hurt you.

He opens his mouth to argue, but you don’t give him the chance.

“You don’t get to be annoyed with me for not talking to you,” you bite out, your voice sharp with frustration. “Not when you’ve been doing the exact same thing for months.”

“I’m sorry, okay? I know I’ve spent a lot of time with her, but it’s the same for you and Theo.” His voice shifts, annoyance replacing the guilt. “You’re always with him. Holding hands, spending the night together-what the fuck is that by the way?”

You take a step back, the heat of his words catching you off guard. “We’re just friends, Mattheo. We’re allowed to hang out.” You keep your voice steady, even as your heart races at the accusation in his gaze.

“Friends? Is that really what you’re calling it?” He crosses his arms, the tension in his posture unmistakable. “Because it looks like more to me. You’re always with him.”

You shake your head, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. “And whose fault is that? You pushed me away, Mattheo. What did you expect me to do—just wait around?”

“I just don’t get why you’re always with him. You and Theo—" He cuts himself off, the words hanging between you.

You raise an eyebrow, challenging him to finish, but he stays silent, “Theo and I what?”

He takes a moment, his gaze hardening slightly, as if weighing his words carefully. “You know what? Forget it,” he says, shrugging dismissively. “I really don’t care what you two are up to.”

You scoff, crossing your arms tightly and shooting him a piercing glare. “Oh, come off it, Mattheo. You clearly care. And honestly, what does it matter to you if I spend time with Theo? You’ve been wrapped up in Veronica this whole time.” Your voice drips with sarcasm, each word punctuating the frustration bubbling inside you.

He falters, his frustration twisting into something more vulnerable for a split second before he shakes his head. Hearing her name seems to snap something in him. His jaw clenches, and he takes a slow, measured breath before looking back at you, his expression hardening.

Mattheo meets your eyes, his expression unreadable for a moment before he rolls his shoulders, dismissing the tension. “Honestly? I’ve got enough on my plate with Veronica. I don’t need to waste my time worrying about you and Theo.”

The words sting more than you expect, and for a moment, the air between you thickens with unspoken feelings and unresolved tension. “Right,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. “Because you’re so busy.”

He turns away, shaking his head slightly, as if trying to shake off the conversation. “Whatever, just... do what you want.”

You watch as he steps back, the distance between you suddenly feeling too large, and you can’t help but wonder how badly damaged your friendship is—or what’s left of it. You’re so angry that you want to cry, and you’re grateful that the halls are empty as Mattheo walks away, leaving you to stand alone in the deserted corridor.

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

You had promised Pansy you’d be ready in just a few minutes, but half an hour had slipped by while she was in the bathroom and you remained sat on your bed, lost in thought. Your gaze drifted to the pictures of you and Mattheo that adorned the wall, memories captured in each frame. The urge to rip them down clawed at you, but the thought of erasing those moments felt unbearable. Each smile, each laugh shared now felt tainted, leaving you uncertain of what to do with them.

The argument with Mattheo this morning replayed in your mind like a stubborn song on repeat, and the idea of facing him at the party made your stomach twist with anxiety. In all the years of your friendship, you’d rarely fought—occasional bickering was one thing, but this felt different, more profound. The sharpness of his words lingered, and a nagging fear took root: what if this was it? What if this marked the beginning of the end for a friendship you considered so strong?

“You said you’d be ready.” Pansy sighs, casting a disapproving look at the sweatpants you’re wearing. You hadn’t even heard her leave the bathroom.

You glance way from the pictures and send her a half shrug, “I don’t think I’m going to go.”

“Oh, you absolutely are,” Pansy’s heels click against the floor as she heads to her trunk. “If you stay here you won’t stop thinking about earlier.”

You don’t bother responding—you know she’s right. Pansy continues rummaging through her trunk, the sound of fabric rustling filling the room. After a moment, she straightens up, triumphantly holding a sleek dress in hand, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

She shoves the black, silky dress into your hands before pointing at the bathroom, “Go. I’ll find heels for you to wear.”

There’s no point in arguing. Instead, you make your way to the bathroom a slip into the dress, feeling the smooth fabric wrap around you. For a moment, you admire the way it hugs you in the mirror, the cut flattering your body type well. Stepping out, you give a little spin for Pansy, her approving smirk already forming before you even say a word.

“Merlin, that dress was made for you.” Pansy grins as she steps forward, handing you a pair of heels. You take them, slipping them on effortlessly, the added height giving you an extra boost of confidence. Before you can even react, she’s already fussing with your hair, smoothing out stray strands and perfecting every detail. With a quick swipe of lip gloss after making you pout, she steps back, giving you an approving nod.

You can officially call yourself ready.

Pansy laces her fingers through yours as you walk down to the common room. As soon as you step out of your dorm, the noise rushes in, chaotic and overwhelming. You hesitate for a moment, knowing Mattheo is probably at the center of it all. The last thing you want is to run into him after earlier, especially with Veronica around.

You’re relieved when you reach the bottom of the stairs that Pansy has already spotted Blaise, which means the rest of the boys are near. And you’re proven right the moment Pansy pulls you through the crowd. Your eyes land on the boys—everyone except Mattheo—gathered together in their usual spot, laughing and talking like they own the room.

Before you even realize it, your eyes instinctively search for Theo, and it doesn't take long to spot him. He’s leaning casually against the wall with a drink in his hand.

Your breath hitches as your gaze lands on the dark shirt rolled up to his elbows, highlighting his toned arms. The veins tracing down to his hands catch your eye, drawing you in deeper. And those hands—Gods, those hands. An unexpected longing surges within you, a sudden urge to lean into his side, to feel him wrap his arm around your waist, resting his hand on the small of your back, just as he often did.

Ever since his match a couple of weeks ago, it’s as if something has switched within you. No matter how hard you try, your eyes are irresistibly drawn to Theo Nott. It doesn’t help that he’s so attentive, always making sure to check in with you and holding your hand whenever you needed it. In the past couple of months, he has become the one person you feel safest with, the one you can share your thoughts and worries with without hesitation.

Your stomach drops the moment you notice he isn’t alone. A bitter taste creeps into your mouth as you take in the girl standing in front of him—she’s stunning, effortlessly leaning into his space, clearly flirting. A few months ago, you wouldn’t have cared, wouldn’t have given her a second thought, but now it’s all you can focus on. The way she laughs, the way she seems to command his attention—it stings in a way you’re not prepared for.

Without a second thought, you drop Pansy’s hand and head straight toward them. The closer you get, the more her light, flirtatious giggle grates on your nerves, each sound making your stomach twist with irritation. Every step tightens the knot of annoyance building inside you, your focus narrowing in on them, unable to shake the discomfort settling in your chest.

When you draw close to Theo, you reach out and lightly touch his forearm, your fingers trailing down his skin before intertwining with his. It’s a blend of flirtation and possessiveness, and you watch with satisfaction as the girl’s gaze follows your touch.

Theo glances at you, instantly recognizing your touch, but his breath catches in his throat as his eyes travel down your body. Taking in the way the tight black dress hugs your curves, he feels as if his breath has been caught in his throat. The way you’re staring at the girl—your expression unmistakably conveying ‘back off’—stirs something deep within him. He fights the urge to pull you close, his hand finding the back of your neck as he kisses you fiercely, wanting to make it clear that him flirting with another girl is not a possibility.

But he can’t do that.

“I’m so sorry to interrupt—” though you’re not at all. “But I’ve been looking all over for you.” Your gaze flickers up to meet Theo’s, and you catch him watching you with an amused, quirked brow, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his lips.

“Oh,” she says, straightening up, her expression shifting from surprise to something more calculating. “So the rumors are true? You two are together?”

“If you’ve heard we’re together, then why even bother flirting with him?” You challenge, your voice steady and laced with confidence.

Her lips part in disbelief, and her eyes flicker between you and Theo, who stands beside you, bringing his cup to his lips to stifle the amused smile threatening to break free. The corners of his mouth twitch, betraying his enjoyment, while you stand firm, radiating confidence in the face of her surprise.

She scoffs and turns to leave, causing your confidence to begin slipping away.

Now that it’s just you and Theo, the reality of what you’ve done is sinking in. There’s no way your little display of jealousy didn’t just fuel the rumors that the two of you are together. But not only that, you didn’t deny it when she asked. You keep your eyes on the girl walking away and sigh when you realize she’s gone straight to her friends, no doubt to tell them about how you acted.

“You’re going to have the whole school thinking we’re together.” His voice is soft but teasing, a hint of amusement lacing his words as he holds you close.

He releases your hand, sliding his arm around your waist as he pulls you into him. The move is bolder than usual, more daring than the subtle touches you’re used to from him, and you can't help but blame it on the drink he's holding. His grip is firm, warm, and it sends a rush of heat through you that lingers far longer than it should.

“I’m sorry,” you wince, biting your lip as you glance up at Theo. “I probably just ruined your chances of finding a hookup for tonight.”

In all honesty, you feel more relieved than sorry.

His brow arches slightly, a hint of amusement glinting in his eyes. “Who said I was looking for a hookup?”

You scoff lightly, shifting in his hold, though his arm remains firmly wrapped around your waist. “You do remember we’ve been friends for years, right?” Your voice is teasing as you smile up at him.

Theo shrugs like he’s hardly bothered, his expression softening just a bit. “I haven’t hooked up with anyone in months,” he admits quietly, his voice sincere. The closeness between you feels more intimate than ever, the warmth of his body against yours making your heart race.

Suddenly your mind is jumping to the fact that the both of you have been hanging out for months. But there’s no way you’re going to point that out, so instead you smile at him softly before pulling away.

“I’m gonna get a drink. Do you want to come with me?” You extend your hand, and without hesitation, Theo clasps it in his, his grip warm and comforting.

It didn’t take long for you to feel tipsy; with the number of drinks you’ve had, it’s hardly a shock. Theo wasn’t drinking as much as you were, and he certainly wasn’t going to admit it was because he wanted to keep an eye on you.

Typically, he observed from a distance, leaning against the wall with a drink in hand, as you danced and laughed with Pansy and occasionally Enzo. But he realized he liked being the one that was next to you the whole night, and he’d enjoy the parties way more if this is how they all are.

You let out a sigh, and Theo’s brows knit together in curiosity as he looks down at you. You glance into your cup with a hint of disdain, contemplating whether to refill it. But just as you make a move to get more, Theo gently reaches out, stopping you in your tracks.

Earlier you had convinced him to dance with you, and it took plenty of ‘please’s’ on your end to persuade him. Really, the first time you said it had been enough, but he just liked how pretty it sounded falling from your lips. And once he grew tired of dancing, Enzo stepped in while Theo kept an eye on you as he chatted with Draco and Blaise. If he was tired, he couldn’t imagine how you were feeling.

You offer him a grateful smile as you settle back against the wall. Unfortunately, all the couches and chairs are taken, so you find yourself keeping watch, hoping a spot will open up while you take a breather from dancing with Pansy.

“That didn’t take you long.” You comment as someone leans against the wall next to you, but you’re surprised when you see Mattheo in Theo’s place. The sight of him immediately sobers you, and you find yourself standing up straighter, instinctively avoiding his gaze.

“I lied to you earlier,” He exhales slowly, and the tone of his voice reveals that he’s been drinking. He’s not drunk, but you can tell that the alcohol has certainly taken effect, adding a warm haze to his words. “I do care. I care a whole fucking lot actually.”

“No, I’m not doing this with you.” You cross your arms, glancing over at him and Mattheo shifts so he’s fully facing you with one shoulder against the wall.

“Do you know how hard it is to see you with Theo?” He asks, and you scoff, deliberately turning your gaze away from him. “You’ve got no idea how much it hurts.”

“I cannot believe you just said that to me.” Your head snaps to the side, disbelief flooding your voice as you look at Mattheo. “You have a girlfriend.”

“I know,” he replies, frustration creeping into his tone. “But it doesn’t change how I feel about you.”

“How you feel about me?” Your voice rises, the sarcasm unmistakable.

“I’ve liked you. For years.”

You let out a laugh, disbelief and shock coursing through you. “That’s not funny.”

His expression softens, and he steps closer, desperation flickering in his eyes. “I’m not joking. It’s the truth.”

“Really? You think this is how you show someone you care?” You shake your head, trying to grasp the absurdity of the moment. “You’re with someone else, Mattheo. You can’t just decide to have feelings for me while you’re with her.”

“But I didn’t just decide that while I was with her,” he insists, his voice low and earnest. “I’ve always had them. I tried to push it down, to ignore it, but I can’t anymore. Seeing you with Theo…” His voice trails off, frustration giving way to vulnerability.

“I don’t know what you want me to say.” You sigh, trying to swallow down all your emotions. This is the last place you want to be having this conversation. In fact, you don’t even want to be having it at all.

“I want you to say you have feelings for me too.” Mattheo says and you stare at him in surprise.

Theo stood frozen a short distance away, gripping the fresh drink he had just gotten for you. He knew he shouldn’t be listening in, but when Mattheo confessed his feelings for you, he felt compelled to stay put, unable to move. A knot of dread twisted in his stomach as he braces himself for your response. He knew better than anyone about your feelings for Mattheo, and the possibility that they hadn’t completely faded hadn’t escaped him.

It’s over before he even gets a chance. Your feelings for Mattheo have always been there, and maybe it was delusional of him to think that you getting jealous over him and flirting all night meant he had a chance. But he really believed that your feelings might have changed.

“I can’t say that.” You nearly whisper, and Mattheo looks like you’ve just slapped him.

“Because you have feelings for him?”

His question hangs there, thick with emotion, and you can see the way his eyes search yours for an answer.

Theo doesn’t get to hear your answer because, as you move to get past Mattheo, you catch sight of him, and your face crumples with the weight of emotion, the glimmer of unshed tears evident in your eyes. A wave of concern washes over him, and before he can fully process it, you push past Mattheo, urgency guiding you forward. When you reach Theo, you wrap your arms around his neck, burying your face against his shoulder, and he instinctively pulls you closer, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Can we leave? I don’t want to be here anymore.” Theo agrees without any hesitation. He glances up at Mattheo, who scoffs in clear irritation, their eyes locking for a brief, tense moment. Theo gently grasps your hand before guiding you through the crowd and to your dorm.

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[unequivocallyreid]

Why Didn’t You Tell Me?

it has been SO long... i was suffering from serious writers block but it think i'm finally out of it :)

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

summary: Spencer Reid used to be your best friend, but things changed. How long can you pretend that you don't love him before it ruins you?

warnings: angst! (with a happy ending), smut (unprotected piv), character loss, mention of Maeve, very sad Spencer, mental health struggles, light choking, fighting, slight praise kink

wc: 8.8k 🤗

i’m very proud of this one! i hope you love it!

Every morning when you wake up, you feel a familiar and creeping sort of dread in the pit of your stomach.

Don’t get the wrong idea; you love your job. You love helping people and stopping horrible people from ruining any more lives, but the creeping feeling and desire to get out is always in the corner of your mind. Anyone working in this field would tell you that. There’s no absolute separation between you and the victims and their families. You take all of them home with you, and you just have to learn how to deal with that and not let it eat at you.

It doesn’t help that it’s an isolating job as well. The last time you were in a serious relationship was in college. Now, every date you have ends in disappointment. Not only do you lack interest in most of the men and women, but it couldn’t go anywhere even if you did. 75% of your time is spent in the office, on a jet, or hundreds of miles away from your home.

All of this contributes to the feeling, but the worst part of your job is Dr. Spencer Reid.

He’s secretive and dismissive and just about the most attractive person you’d ever seen. You honestly don’t know what is worse: his constant physical presence in your life or the fact that you can’t stop thinking about him no matter what you do. You’ve tried to get over it; you’ve buried yourself in work, lamented to your friends, and gone out on dates (all with guys that looked vaguely similar), but nothing has worked. All his worst traits grate your nerves and light you up at the same time.

The worst part of it all is that it wasn’t always like this. When you first joined the BAU nearly two years ago, you and Spencer got along well. You were friends, he talked to you about his life, he understood you, and you really severely fell for him. He became your best friend.

Everything changed around six months ago. Spencer started to develop migraines, and as those developed, he started distancing himself from you. He became snippy and closed off, he started hiding things from you, and he stopped talking to you about life outside of Quantico. It was like overnight, you became nothing to him, and you really didn’t understand. Everyone else on the team got the same old Spencer, but you went from his right-hand man to someone he only spoke to when it was necessary.

Maybe he didn’t deserve to be vilified. You know, realistically, he can and should be able to decide who he wants to be close to, but working with a man who unknowingly broke your heart was close to the hardest thing you’d ever done. So, you decided hating him was easier. The real emotions you feel toward him sit somewhere inside you, but they have been covered by manufactured distaste. Addressing the actual feeling would hurt too bad, so you pretend to hate the things you used to love.

Nothing, however, could have prepared you for the last case you worked on: helping Spencer save a girl he met about six months ago, a girl he loved. You tried to stay collected, you said nothing when Spencer assisted when he shouldn’t have, and goddamn, did you do everything in your power to find that girl. Maeve. She was perfect for Spencer, and you saw that immediately. Everyone did. The sight of him sobbing in front of her body is one that will never leave your mind.

Now, two weeks later, no one has heard from Reid. The only indication that he hasn’t abandoned his life altogether is the absence of the gift baskets on his doorstep that Pen leaves daily.

Nearly everyone has been to his apartment, but they are met with a closed door and have yet to receive a response. Everyone but you.

Penelope is the first to bring up your lack of appearance at the end of a long day of paperwork.

“Y/n, please, you just have to try. No one is getting anything from him.”

“I really don’t think my presence would do any good,” you pause for a moment, trying to collect the thoughts running through your head like a freight train. “Me and him haven’t been close in a long time, Pen.”

Before you can continue, she cuts in, “Everyone has tried, Y/n. Hell, I’ve even considered tracking down Gideon, and I really, really do not want to do that.”

She pauses for a moment before looking up at you with a pout on her face, “Please, Y/n, for me. I can’t bear the thought of him in there all alone, just wasting away in grief.”

For someone who claims not to be a profiler, Penelope knew exactly what to say to get you to agree. She’s the only person in your life who you told about how you felt, though you’re sure everyone else (aside from Spencer) knew: you’re shit at keeping secrets.

“Okay, okay, I’ll try.”

She nearly bursts with excitement, “Thank God-“

You cut her off before she can finish, “But I’m telling you, I’m not the person he wants to hear from right now. Don’t get your hopes up.”

“Yes, yes. I just want him to know we all want him to be okay.”

Before you can hurry out of the office to follow Pen’s instructions, she stops you and hands you a basket full of assorted snacks and fruits.

“Make sure he eats!”

The walk up to Spencer’s apartment is a hard one to take. The smell of his building hits you as soon as you step into the lobby. From there, everything rushes back at once. Memories of nights you spent watching reruns of Doctor Who or listening to him prattle off about whatever he last read assault you with every step. As you slowly make your way up, you start to question why you agreed to do this in the first place.

You feel a lot toward Reid. More than you should and less than you could. But all that care and feelings that are so close to love aren’t enough to make you forget why you’ve been trying to hate him for so long. He deserted you without an explanation and cut you off without a warning. You spent weeks (three months) crying over him like a love-struck teen. So, as much as you want to hold him and comfort him, you know it’ll hurt you to do so. Penelope sent you, with the whole team’s approval, you’re sure, to try to patch up a broken heart he got loving someone else. There’s a sickness in your gut, but it’s not enough to stop you from rapping your knuckles against his door.

“Spencer? It’s Y/n.”

There’s no response.

“I know you probably don’t want to hear from me right now, but I want to make sure you’re alright. Can you tell me you’re alright?”

Again, nothing.

You know he’s there. Despite your lack of communication, you know Spencer well enough to know that he would never leave his life behind entirely. That being said, your next few attempts at garnering a response are unsuccessful.

You decide to try one final time before just leaving the basket alone on his doorstep and texting Pen it was a bust.

“There’s a lot I don’t know about you now, and I won’t pretend to know what you’re feeling.”

You don’t exactly know where this is headed, but you continue on regardless.

“I know you’re in there, and I know you can hear me, and I know you’re hurting. You shouldn’t- I don’t want you to be alone right now, Spence. You can either unlock your door, or I can pick it, but I’m coming in one way or the other. You know I will.”

You wouldn’t, actually. It’s a last-ditch effort, and it’s met with the same silence you’ve heard on the other side for the past ten minutes. You’re about to turn to head back down the stairs when you hear the very faint sound of a deadbolt turning.

There’s no other sound or movement, and for a moment, you think you might’ve imagined the sound, but you try the handle anyway. It turns, and the door slides open. You take a step in.

“Spencer,” you call out to him.

You don’t see him at first in the mess of his apartment, but when you do, you feel a crack form in your heart.

Beyond the clutter of his entryway, you see his back on the couch. His frame looks smaller than you’ve ever seen it, and you can see his legs curled into his chest. You set down the gift basket by a collection of others on the entry table and walk over to him. Slowly, like you’re trying not to spook a lost dog, you creep in front of him.

His head is down, and his gaze stays trained on his knees.

You reach out your hand and lay it over his. He flinches but doesn’t pull away.

“Spence, I’m so glad you opened the door.”

You didn’t plan out what you would say, but ‘sorry’ feels redundant and useless.

You go on, “I’m here. I- I don’t know what to do or say, and I’m sorry that I don’t. I can get someone else for you. Just tell me what you need, and I’ll do it.”

You wait for him to say he wants Penelope or JJ, but it doesn’t come. Nothing comes. You start to move to get up, figuring you could clean up a bit and try to make him something to eat, then go, but he grasps your arm before you can.

He looks up at you, and his eyes hit you right in the gut. They’re bloodshot and sunken but still beautiful.

“Stay. Please. I just- I need to know I’m not dreaming. I keep thinking I’m dreaming.”

His voice is croaky from disuse and breaks at the end, but it’s so heartbreakingly earnest that you feel your breath catch. You move from your crouch and sit beside him on the couch; your hand is still in his.

You stay like that for a long time. His breathing is shakey and uneven, and every so often, his body shakes with what you can only assume are sobs. You stay pressed to his side the whole time, thumb rubbing back and forth over his hand.

Eventually, you speak again, “I’m gonna get you some food, Spence. You should eat.”

He says nothing back, but he does loosen his grip. You push yourself up from the coach with a promise you’ll be as fast as possible.

His kitchen is nearly empty, and you hope he’s been eating from the baskets. Still, you find enough to make noodles and butter, and you figure the carbs should help his energy some.

You return with the bowl. Spencer hasn’t moved, but his head follows you as you walk back over to him.

“It’s not fine dining.”

He studied you for a second, and you catch a glimpse of the old him in his eye.

“You did the same thing when I was sick on a case a year ago.”

You smile at his recollection.

“It helped you then.”

The rest of the night is spent mostly in silence. Occasionally, you tell him something to try to remind him that you’re there and that you won’t leave as long as he wants you there. Eventually, you get up from the couch again.

“Spencer, it’s too late to still be awake.”

He nods and still says nothing, but he is far more receptive than before. You reach your hand out to him to help him up from the couch, and he takes it.

He leads you to his room at a slow pace. His head stays down as you both take a seat on his bed, hands still interlocked. Being in his bedroom is odd for you. You’ve been to his apartment quite a few times before he disappeared from your life, but you never breached this space. It’s all very him. Almost surprisingly cozy, with books scattered around nearly everywhere there’s space.

You take in the moment for a beat before saying, “I’m gonna head home, Spencer, but please call me if you need anything at all. I’ll come back tomorrow.”

This makes his head snap up, and his eyes lock with yours.

“Please stay.”

That’s all he says, but every part of him is pleading with you. It’s not a good idea, and you know it. You’re the only person he’s seen in days, you aren’t close anymore, and you don’t particularly want to sleep on a couch tonight.

“Spencer, I don’t want to sleep in your living room tonight. I’ll come back.”

He pauses for a moment, “You can stay here with me. I don’t want to be alone.”

Your heart cracks again. There was a time when this was all you wanted. It’s still, deep down, all you want, just not like this. You know he doesn’t really want you there and he’s not himself. But you aren’t strong enough to say no, so you don’t.

He gets you clothes to wear, and you change in his bathroom. You come out and find him in his bed, laying with his back to you. You have no fucking idea what you’re doing, but you get into bed next to him anyways. There are a thousand thoughts racing through your head, but the prevailing one is how badly you want to touch him, to hold him, to make him forget, just for the night. You stay still, though, confined to the edge of the bed and start to count to drown out the noise.

Though, you can’t drown out his voice, saying, “Can- Could you hold me? I think that everything feels better when you touch me.”

Another crack. By the end of this, you know Spencer Reid is going to break your heart all over again.

~

When you wake up the next morning, Spencer is still asleep. You sneak out of his room and call Hotch. When he answers, you tell him Spencer has let you in, and you ask for time off to try to help. You can tell from his voice that he doesn’t think it’s a good idea, but he grants you it anyway.

Much of your day is spent like the night before. You stay next to Spencer, and you cook for him after leaving to pick up clothes and groceries. Then, you get him to shower and wash his hair. He sleeps with his head in your lap, and you feel like a fucking idiot at first, but as long as it’s helping him in some way, you let it happen.

That’s the thing: you don’t really know how to help him. You know he isn’t the type to talk about something until he is entirely ready, so all you can do is add something domestic and bright to his life while he grieves. It’s all you can think about in the moments of silence. Hell, you even read to him to try and get your mind off of it, but it barely helps.

The night is the same. You change in different rooms and slip into his bed at different times. You feel dirty for imagining what it would be like if the circumstances were different: if he wanted you like you have wanted him for the past two years. You hold him against you, and you pray for sign that you should be there.

The sign comes the following morning when Derek calls you.

“Y/n…”

You can hear his teasing tone over the phone.

“Hi, Derek.”

“What are you doing, mamas?”

You sigh, “What do you mean?”

You’re playing coy. You know he’s wondering why you’re at Spencer’s house, picking up the pieces, but you won’t be the one to bring it up.

“Why’d you ask Hotch for the week off, Y/n?”

Another sigh, “You know why, Derek. I just, I want to help him.”

“I know you do, Y/n, I know.”

He pauses for a moment, and you let the moment fill with silence.

“I know you care about him. We all care about him. But who is taking care of you?”

“I am. I can take care of him, and I can take care of me.”

“I know you can, but I don’t want you to get hurt, Y/n. Don’t let this be something that hurts you.”

“It won’t. I- You have to- Fuck, I’ll be fine. He’s not fine. I don’t care about me or any feelings that may get hurt right now. I’ll be fine.”

There’s another bear of silence, “Okay, Y/n. Just know you’re allowed to tap out.”

You try to think of anything else to say, but nothing comes, so you say your goodbyes.

You won’t need to tap out. You can take care of him and be good to him and ignore the other feelings you have. You can be good.

The call does make you think it’s time to push, to try harder, to help him get better. So, you approach him that day before bed, before he tucks himself into your arms and falls into a fretful sleep.

“Spencer?”

He takes a moment and then responds, “Yes?”

“You have to talk about it. I think that you need to talk about it. It doesn’t have to be to me but to someone.”

He’s quiet for a long time, and your breath is caught in your throat, waiting for him to say anything.

“I- I don’t want to,” his voice cracks while he says it.

“Spence, you can’t come back if you don’t. You can’t move forward if you don’t.”

“Maybe I don’t want to.”

A ringing echos in your ears.

“You don’t mean that. She- she would want you to keep going.”

Wrong thing to say.

“You don’t know anything about what she would want.”

He’s seething now, below the surface, but smoke has started to plume from his ears. Still, you don’t stop.

“Spencer, everyone knows that. No one would want you to put your life on hold.”

He speaks his next line through his teeth, “You don’t know anything, Y/n.”

You’ve never heard him sound so angry.

“Spencer-“

“No, just stop. You don’t know her. You don’t know me half as well as you think you do. You don’t know anything. I don’t even know why you’re here. I don’t want you here. You can't be what I need.”

The ringing in your ears is louder.

“Spencer, please. Just-“

“No!” His voice is raised now, bordering on a yell, “I don’t want you here. I want you out, Y/n.”

This has to be what shell shock feels like. The ringing, the tingle in your limbs, and the heat in your face. You don’t know how you are moving, but you are.

His voice is echoing in your head, or maybe he’s still talking, but you can’t tell either way. The only thing you can focus on is how Spencer sounded like he hates you and that Morgan was right about the hurt.

~

You spend the next day trying desperately to shut down the noise in your head. It doesn’t work. The day after is the same. And the days following that. You ignore calls when they come, you ignore the texts, but you can’t stop looking at your phone for a message from the man who fills your thoughts.

Spencer doesn’t call, obviously, and you have to sit with a pit in your stomach while you beg yourself to just get the fuck over it. Two years of reckoning with the severity of your love, months of watching him live happily without you, and it’s the three days you spent trying to help him feel incrementally better that floor you.

You feel like a dumb teenage girl with so much love and nothing to do with it. On top of everything, you feel selfish. Spencer lost the love of his life forever, and you’re nursing the worst heartbreak of your life because a boy will never want you and never has. Still, you send out prayers for him over and over. You hope you’ll see him in the BAU again, even if his eyes glaze over you. Hell, even if they look at you with hate the way they did two days ago. You just want him to function. You want him to be good and eventually be happy. You try to go to bed with soothing thoughts, but you end up with a mantra of his name.

You wake to your alarm and dress for work before you realize you aren’t actually supposed to go back yet. You never set a date to return. You wanted to be open as long as Spencer needed you. You’re supposed to be with him. You’re supposed to be helping and not tapping out. But you aren’t.

You have no reason not to return to the bullpen, so you do. You walk in and feel eyes on you. You wait for Morgan to call out to you, but he doesn’t, so you follow the feeling.

Your breath catches in your throat; it’s Spencer. He’s sitting at his desk, paperwork spread out, and he doesn’t look away from your gaze; he just holds it. His face is unreadable, and yours is definitely not, so you look away first. You don’t look up again until you reach Hotch’s office. You knock and hear him call out to come in.

“I’m back if that’s okay.”

He looks up at you, and you want to cry. You know he can read you. He has always been the best at it.

“Are you okay with that, Y/l/n?”

You lock eyes with him, “Yes, sir.”

It’s no use; he knows your tells and you aren’t being honest.

“Alright, conference room in five.”

Whatever he sees in your face, he ignores and takes you at your word, but there’s a warning in his tone. He knows when to let things go and when to push. More than that, though, he knows you’d never let something like this affect your work.

~

The first case back is in Maryland, and the one after is in Austin, and the next is in Philadelphia with The Replicator. The job takes you all over the country, and the cases blend together. You don’t speak to Spencer through all of it. You’re never partnered, never work together, you sit on opposite ends of the jet. You don’t even speak at Strauss’ funeral. It’s radio silent, and everyone notices it, but no one brings it up.

In that time, you allow yourself to slip away slightly. You don’t go out with the team, you see Pen at nearly half frequency, and basically, the only time you speak is on cases. It’s stupid and melodramatic, but you call it healing. Derek tries to reason with you, JJ sticks to you a bit more than usual, and Penelope calls you virtually whenever she can, but their efforts are mostly in vain. This is your way of protecting yourself. You feel like you have to isolate in order to improve, and you know, given time, you will come back to yourself.

Penelope’s insistence that you go to her Day of the Dead celebration breaks your distance.

“Y/n, please come. I know you aren’t going out, but you have to. I know you have people to honor, and I need you there.”

You sigh, “Whose going, Pen?”

“The team, which you are a part of, so you must be there.”

“I don’t think I can do that. I promise you I will celebrate with you. I’ll help you set up, just please don’t make me go.”

Penelope pauses, but the glint in her eye keys you into the fact that she is not interested in giving up.

“We miss you, Y/n. Everyone loves you and misses you. You’ve been living this stupid, isolated life, and it’s time for you to come back. You are not this person. I refuse to believe it. You’re coming, and that’s final.”

Maybe you don’t have the energy to argue, or maybe you know she’s right, but you agree to go.

~

The thought of seeing him makes your heart race, and the clock you keep glancing at makes it worse. Just a few more hours before you're trapped in a confined space (Pen’s beautiful home) with a man you haven’t spoken to in weeks.

You busy yourself with preparing. Lights are hung, food is made, and you make a trip to the store while Pen sets up her remembrance table. When everything is said and done, you can’t help but feel this is the most beautiful thing you’ve been a part of in a long time.

The first knock comes at 7:30 exactly, and it’s Hotch and Rossi. They are followed closely by Blake, then Derek and JJ. By 7:00, the atmosphere is light and loving, and you feel a bit of your anxiety let up as the minutes go by without Reid. But, eventually, the knock comes, of course it does, and you move into a corner as Spencer walks in. You feel a shift in energy, though you doubt it’s palpable for anyone else. Rossi is the first to make his way over to you, and his presence comforts you nearly immediately.

“How you doing, kid?” His voice is soft like he’s speaking to a scared rabbit.

“I’m better,” you say, and it’s about as honest as you can get. As much as you’d like to think he knows nothing about what’s gone on, you’re smarter than that. He’s the best profiler on the team, and he’s always known when someone was off with you. Even so, you are better than you were, even if you aren’t quite good, and you know he believes you.

There’s some idle conversation between you before he asks, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not tonight. I don’t know when, but I will. Eventually, I will.”

It’s good enough for him, and you move on easily, which surprises you.

Right before Pen gathers you all to present your photos, he says, “Sometimes we think we’ve seen the whole picture, but we miss a big part. People do things because they don’t want to be hurt, but those things hurt them more. Just, be open.”

You don’t quite understand what he means, but you hope you will.

Penelope presents the first picture, which shows her parents. JJ honors her sister, Derek, his dad, Hotch Haley, and Rossi, Hernandez; then it’s your turn. You place down a photo of your best friend. You hadn’t talked much about her, but you think of her daily. She passed a few years before you joined the BAU.

“I was lucky to have someone that hurt that much to lose.”

That’s all you say, but it’s enough for you, and it would be enough for her.

Spencer is last. He places down a picture of Tesla and a picture of Maeve. Your heart is heavy for everyone.

The night dwindles from there. Hotch and Rossi say their goodbyes, and Rossi gives you a knowing look as he leaves. You just smile. You stay for a few minutes after, but eventually, you move to leave as well.

You make it down Garcia’s porch before you feel a hand grab your arm. You turn, and it’s Spencer’s face you see.

“Would you- Do you think you could come over? Do you think we could talk?”

~

The feeling you have walking up to Spencer's apartment is similar to what you felt the last time. You’re incredibly anxious, but at least you know you’ll be let in this time.

The drive over was silent. Spencer had taken the metro to Penelope’s, so he rode with you. It wasn’t necessarily awkward. There was just an understanding that the car wasn’t the place to begin your conversation.

Now, as Spencer unlocked his door, it’s one of those rare moments you felt starved for words, and you know it’s because you’re scared you’ll say the wrong thing and face the same reaction that you did the last time you were in his home.

He leads you to his living room and motions for you to sit, and you do. The two of you are on opposite ends of his couch while you wait for him to say something.

His first words are airy and light, “Thank you for letting me talk to you.”

You look at him but remain silent, waiting for him to go on. All you can think about is why he wants to speak to you at all. The last time you spoke, he made it incredibly clear he did not want you in his life or around him at all.

Before you can think about it more and let your anger and sadness build, he speaks again, “I feel really stupid right now. I kind of feel stupid whenever I’m around you recently.”

He pauses momentarily before going on, “I’m so, so sorry, Y/n. About the last time we spoke. I’ve been thinking about it pretty constantly for the past few weeks.”

You open your mouth, unsure of what exactly to say, but you can’t get there before he’s off again.

“I’m not sure how to talk to you anymore. I don’t think I’ve known how to for a long time. I just, I need you to know how sorry I am for speaking to you like that.”

He takes a shakey breath but keeps going, “That wasn’t me, and that isn’t how I feel. I’m just unbelievably sorry, Y/n.”

He stops there, and you work to collect your thoughts.

“I know. A part of me knows, at least, that you didn’t mean it. I just wanted to be there for you, and hearing that made me- I just- I think it made me hate myself for wanting to be there.”

“I’m so sorry. I’m unbelievably sorry.”

“You didn’t talk to me for months, Spencer. I just don’t understand. I don’t understand why you let me in in the first place. I thought you hated me.”

He’s silent for a long minute.

“I never hated you, Y/n. I just stopped knowing how to act around you, and then I met Maeve. I fell so deep into it that I couldn’t talk to anyone about it. I- And I just started to feel like you didn’t want me to speak to you, so I didn’t. But, when you came here, after everything, I guess I just felt like you were the only person who would get it. You never, no one on the team ever treated me or talked to me how you did. I just wanted that.”

Tears had begun to well in your eyes now. A part of you gets what he means, at least about letting you in, but the other part is so confused as to why he stopped being comfortable around you.

“I don’t understand, Spencer. Why did you stop knowing how to be around me?”

There’s desperation in your voice that makes you sound like a stranger to yourself. Maybe you’re a stranger to everyone right now.

“I uh, I don’t really know.”

“That's not fair, Spence.”

You’re crying now. Just a little bit, but you can feel the wetness on your cheeks. You can see that you are by the look on his face. He looks broken, and you know it's a reflection of your own image.

You wipe your face, “Thank you for apologizing, Spencer. I just, there are parts of this all that I don’t understand, and if you can't explain them to me, I don’t think I ever will.”

“Y/n-,” he calls out your name like a prayer.

“It’s okay, Spence. You don’t have to say anything more. We talked, and things will go back to how they were eventually.”

“I’m so sorry, Y/n.”

You smile sadly as you get up to leave.

“I am, too, for what it's worth. For whatever I did to make things change in the first place.”

You leave it at that, and it takes everything in you not to look back as you leave his apartment.

~

Things do get easier after that. Not completely. You still love him, and it hurts, but it helps to know he doesn’t hate you. He talks to you some, cordial things, and you do the same. You're sure your teammates still sense something is off, but this works for you. Right now, it works. Getting over him, not loving him anymore, is going to take work, but eventually, you know that you won’t hurt anymore.

Shortly after you and him talked, you started going back out with your friends. Spencer joined periodically, but that was normal. Bars were never really his scene.

Tonight, everyone gathers at your local pub. Your last case was particularly grueling, and you all need a way to blow off some steam. It's fun, and you feel good, even with Spencer sitting across from you. You feel proud of yourself for getting to this point.

JJ and Penelope feed you drinks to try and get you to dance, and you let them. Tonight feels as good of a night as any to ‘get back out there’ as Pen says. So, you do. You dance with them, and you ward off the other cops and agents around you who try to pull you away from your group. You aren’t interested in that. Right now, you're just having an appropriate amount of fun for a woman 15 feet from her boss.

Time goes by quickly, and by the time you get back to the table, you, Derek, Penelope, and JJ remain. He tells you that Hotch, Rossi, Reid, and Alex left a few minutes before. The conversation between you flows for a while, up until the drinks loosen Penelope up enough to bring up what you were pretty sure the team designated a no-no topic.

“Y/n, you have to talk about it.”

You’re still laughing as something Derek said when you reply, “What?”

“You know what. You and Boy-Genius. What on Earth happened? You went from ice-cold to semi-friendly. None of us saw it coming.”

“Babygirl-,” Derek tries to stop her, but you cut him off.

“No, it’s okay. I have to talk about it at some point, and I think right now is the only time I’ll be tipsy enough to let you get it out of me.”

You're still laughing slightly, but the pit that's lived in your stomach for the past few months starts to rear its head.

“After your Day of the Dead party, he asked to talk to me. I went to his place, and he apologized. I don’t really understand what he said or what he meant, but I can’t be sad about him forever.”

Pen perks up a bit at that, “I knew that party would bring good things!”

You giggle a bit at her outburst, but then JJ asks, “What did he say?”

The faces around you all tune in at that. You know they don’t see this as gossip. They care about you both too much to trivialize it like that.

“He just said that he stopped knowing how to act around me, and he didn’t know why, but then he met Maeve, and I guess it didn’t matter so much after that. He was my best friend, and then he was nothing.”

JJ shares a glance with Derek and then speaks, “Oh, Y/n.”

“What?”

After a beat, Derek says, “He didn’t just not know how to act around you.”

Now you're confused, “What do you mean? I talked to him, that's what he said. He didn’t know why. I mean, he knows everything and didn’t know why he didn’t want to be around me anymore. How fucking stupid is that.”

You laugh again, but it does come off as genuine in the slightest.

“Y/n, he probably doesn’t really know why. At least not fully. For someone as smart as he is, the kid can be really stupid.”

“Stop being cryptic.”

Derek sighs but goes on, “Pretty girl, pretty boy was in love with you. Probably still is. He just didn’t think you’d ever feel the same.”

“No. That's not true.”

You look at the others around you, but their faces are serious.

“He loved Maeve. He loves Maeve. That, that doesn’t make any sense.”

It's JJ’s turn to talk now.

“He definitely did love Maeve, no one is denying that, but we all saw how he was around you. His whole relationship with her was safe. He couldn’t be hurt by her rejection every day because he had no way of seeing her. With you, he could.”

Your mind is moving a mile a minute, “Did he tell you guys this?”

Penelope puts her hand over yours and says, “He didn’t have to, love. We all say the way he looked at you and acted around you. The way he talked about you. That boy was head over heels.”

“Guys, I appreciate whatever you’re trying to do, but this isn’t real. Spencer doesn’t- this is not real.”

“Y/n, pause. Think about the way he acted around you, the things he said. Think about how Reid is.”

You hear what Derek said, but it all sounds faint like someone stuffed your ears with cotton while you weren't paying attention. All you can focus on are the different scenes running through your head, the scenes of your life with Spencer in it. How he memorized your coffee order and brought it for you every day, how he never shied away from your touch despite his aversion to contact, how he consistently went out of his way to protect you on the field. At his house after everything, the way he clung to you and wanted to be held. How he said in his own words, “You can't be what I need”; not “you aren’t,” but “you can’t.”

Your whole world is crashing down in this bar, and you can’t do anything to stop it.

“Y/n?”

JJ’s voice snaps you out of your spiral.

“Just go talk to him.”

You nod mutely, and you get up.

~

Everything in the last ten months of your life has led you to the exact spot you were when everything blew up in the first place: Spencer’s door.

This time, you aren't too worried about him not letting you in. If anything, it's the opposite. Him opening this door could open a hundred others, and you don’t quite know if you are ready for any of them. You sit there and sit there and sit there, trying to work up the courage to knock, though you aren’t sure it's there to begin with. Right as you're about to walk away and decide you’ll come back another day, his door swings open.

“Y/n?”

His face is lit up with shock, and you notice his hand that is not on the door is holding his pistol.

“What are you doing here?”

You don’t answer, “Why did you open the door?”

He sets his piece down on the entry table before responding, “I heard footsteps in the hall and saw they stopped here. I was anxious. 50.3% of home invasions happen between 8:00 pm and 7:00 am.” He cuts himself off there, “Y/n, why are you here?”

You didn’t pay attention to anything he said. All you could think about was the way his lips were moving and the way his eyes locked onto yours as he talked.

“Do you love me?”

That is not what you wanted to say.

His lips fall open as he takes in a sharp breath, “What?”

“Or I guess did you love me? Before everything? Because Derek and JJ and Pen, they all said that you loved me, and now I can’t think about anything else, Spencer.”

He doesn’t speak, but you don't really give him a chance to.

“I just, I know I sound crazy right now, but I feel fucking crazy. I keep going over everything in my head, and I have been, for the past year I have been, but now it’s all different. It's all different because they said that you loved me, but you didn’t think I’d feel the same way.”

Here, you do pause, but he still doesn’t say anything, so you go on before you can stop yourself.

“Because if that's true, Spencer, it's just- I did. I do. And if it's not, then please just tell me so I can stop feeling this way.”

He sounds resigned when he says, “Y/n,” and you feel like you know what that means.

“Fuck, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I'm doing this. You don’t have to say anything. Actually, please don’t say anything. I don't think I can hear it. Just pretend I never-”

He cuts off your ramble, “Y/n, stop.”

You draw your eyes from the floor, look up at him, and find something in his gaze you have never seen before. He doesn’t say anything, just stares at you, and it takes everything you have not to look away. His hand raises to cup your jaw, and your skin lights on fire. Before you can process what he’s doing, you feel his lips press against yours, and something clicks. At first, his touch is light, like he’s giving you the chance to pull away. But, when he grasps that you won’t, he presses himself to you harder, and all you can think about is how nothing has ever felt so right.

His lips move against yours, and you don’t know how you're managing to reciprocate because it feels like everything in your body has gone fuzzy. The kiss is by no means long, but it feels like it lasts forever, and by the time he pulls away, you’re breathless.

His forehead stays connected to yours, and he whispers, “I do, Y/n, love you. I have.”

You don’t feel the tears on your cheeks until he’s wiping them away.

“Oh, Y/n.”

“Did you know? That you did? Is that why…”

You trail off, hoping he’ll pick up on what you're asking, and he does.

“I didn’t at first, or I didn’t realize I was falling in love with you until it happened. I got scared, so I ran. I just never thought that you could feel the same or that I was hurting you. I didn’t realize that. I just thought I was doing what was best for us. I felt guilty for being in love with my best friend.”

“And Maeve?”

“I loved Maeve. I’ll always have love for her. I was trying to move on, and I thought I could eventually be with her and be around you without it hurting. I wish I would have told you this before.”

“You’re telling me now. That's enough.”

This time, it's you who pushes your lips to meet his. Your arms snake around his neck, and his fall to your waist. You follow when he pulls you into his apartment and closes the door. There is still pain on both sides, but you can feel it dissipating as you cling to each other. You’re just two broken people who have finally found a way to each other.

This kiss is different, hungrier. Neither of you pulls away for longer than a few seconds as you navigate your way from his entryway to his couch. Every touch is desperate like you're searching for something you never knew existed until now. His hands pull you closer and closer until he's pulling you on top of him, and each of your legs rests on opposite sides of his hips.

Your lips break from his for a moment, “What do you want, Spence?”

His reply is instant, “You.”

From there, things move faster. Your hands unbutton his shirt and push it from his shoulders while he undoes your pants. There are moments of awkwardness that come with exploring another for the first time, but it feels good. His hands trace over your hips and push further until you're left on top of him in only your underwear and bra. He takes you in like you are something to be marveled at, and you know your eyes reflect the same adoration.

You raise yourself off of him and work to get him in the same state of undress as you, and when you position yourself on top of him, you feel his length press against your center. The two thin layers of fabric do little to hinder the intensity as you rock into him. He lets out quiet moans at the action as his lips trace down your neck and over your collarbone.

His breath ghosts over you and makes you shiver when he asks, “Can I touch you?”

“Please.”

His hand moves between the two of you, and his fingers find your clit easily, rubbing circles over the fabric of your panties. You pant his name against his lips at the action. You feel like your whole body is lit up, and under any other circumstance, you'd feel embarrassed at how worked up you are, but you can’t seem to care.

After a few moments, he lifts you up and carries you to his bedroom. From there, he positions you below him on the bed, removing your remaining clothes in the same motion. The new setup lets you grip him, and he feels big in your hand. His fingers resume their previous assault before dipping down into you. You cry out at the feeling of him inside you, slowly pushing in and out, finding a spot that makes your legs start to shake. He’s relentless in his pursuit and all you can muster up the energy to say is his name.

“You’re so beautiful, Y/n.”

It's somewhere between a whimper and a whisper, but the sound of his voice causes you to clench around his fingers.

He picks up on this, of course he does, and quickens his pace as he coos at you.

“So pretty like this. I’m so lucky.”

You’re embarrassingly close already, so when he moves his thumb over your clit to rub circles as he fucks into you with his fingers, you come undone almost instantly with a warning and cry of his name. He works you through your orgasm, all while whispering praise in your ear. Once you come down from your high, you start to push his boxers down his legs, but he stops you before you can fully.

“We don’t have to do anything more, Y/n. I liked just making you feel good.”

“I want more. I want to feel you if you want that too.”

“Of course I do. I just don’t want you to regret anything.”

“I couldn’t regret this, Spencer. I love you. I want all of you.”

It's the first time you’ve actually said those three words to him, and it feels so fucking good to say.

“I love you, too. God, so much.”

With that, he positions himself back on top of you, running his fingers over your slit gently before gripping himself.

“Do you have a condom?”

“I might somewhere, but I have an IUD, and I’m clean. I can try to find one if you’re more comfortable with that?”

“IUDs have a failure rate of around .05% and are largely considered the most effective form of birth control, so uh, as long as you're okay with it, I am.”

You smile to yourself at his statistic but nod, “I want to feel you, Spencer.”

He returns your smile before rubbing his length over your entrance a few times and slowly pushing himself into you just slightly. He teases you, or maybe himself, for a moment before fully entering you. You push your hips up to meet his, and feeling him in his entirety makes your jaw fall open. He’s big, and you feel unbelievably full.

He waits a moment for you to adjust before he starts to develop a rhythm. His hands are everywhere, but his eyes are focused solely on your face like he doesn’t want to miss a moment of your reaction to him inside of you. To be fair, you are probably putting on a good show. Every movement he makes hits you in exactly the right spot, and you don’t think you could be louder if you tried. You can feel the leg he’s not holding up against his shoulder shake against the bed. Your first orgasm has made way for your second to be incredibly close.

“Spencer, please.”

You’re crying out, desperate for a little more to push you over the edge.

“What do you need, baby?” His voice is tight like he’s not far himself, and it sounds better than anything you’ve ever heard.

“Harder. Please, harder.”

He takes your direction immediately, rubbing circles on your clit with one hand while he thrusts into you with a bruising force. He’s fucking you like he wants you to remember the feeling long after he stops, and you know that you will. Everything about it is overwhelming: his smell, his pace, his eyes. You are covered in him, and he is covered in you.

After a moment, the hand he had on your stomach trails up to grasp lightly at your throat, and you fall into feeling. You can’t warn him that you're about to come before you do. The feeling is white hot. Bigger than your first, and the fact that you're coming on him sends you into overdrive. You can feel his hips falter for a moment, but you're lost in a daze, crying out his name.

He pumps into you a few more times before he follows suit. He pulls out, and you feel stripes of his come paint your cunt and lower stomach as he finishes with a moan of your name.

He falls next to you on the bed, and it takes you both a few moments to collect yourselves and catch your breath.

Once you do, the only thing you can think to say is, “I love you.”

It feels like those are the only words circling around in your head at the moment. Some mixture of his name and that declaration. While you know you each said it before, that your profession was the exigence of the sex you just had, it feels uniquely vulnerable to say now. It’s like the moment you just had together could have changed things or made him realize that he doesn’t actually love you after all.

That shoe doesn’t drop, though. Instead, you hear the three words echoed back to you by a man who, 6 hours ago, you thought would never, ever say them.

You turn to face him, and the love on his face feels like it could knock you out. He’s looking at you and smiling in a way you haven't seen in a long time.

“Will you let me clean you up?”

You know that part of the reason he’s asking has something to do with the likelihood of bacteria growth or something like that, but you think it's mainly that he wants to take care of you. Him wetting a rag and running it over you feels intimate in a different way, in an excruciatingly gentle way. Personal in a way that makes you feel like nothing between you could ever be wrong again, and maybe that's naive to think, but you feel hopeful regardless.

Once he finishes, he takes his space back next to you in the bed. This time, he pulls you into his arms, and it's different than it was all those months ago. This time, you know that he won’t push you away and that you won't hurt yourself by being next to him. This time, you just tuck yourself into him, and you let him whisper sweet nothings into your ear as you begin to drift off. This time, it feels like peace.

~

The following day, you wake up to Spencer still next to you, looking incredibly soft in the early morning light. You search for a moment to find your phone in the piles of clothes and are greeted with a text from Pen.

How did it go????

You smile before turning your phone off and climbing back into bed next to the man you love. It couldn’t have gone better.

-

all done! yay!!!

i hope you guys love it!! i’m not 100% happy with the ending but i’ve been writing this for so long and just needed to be done.

this is my first time writing angst on here and my longest fic, so PLEASE tell me what you think! all (nice) feedback is welcome and i love to hear from you guys!! :)

[sangreprince]

I wanna keep this brief (graphic design is my passion level effort but also it kinda works in a really funny way) !!! I wanna let you all know I appreciate the love you've given Zagreus and I'm so so happy to be here. You're all great and wonderful and I could say so many good things to say about each and every one of my mutuals. So fuck it, that's what I'mma do. Because you all truly deserve it. I'm super happy with Zagreus and being able to share my portrayal and have it be well received means so much !!! It's easy to say 'thank you all so much' but I want to acknowledge that I truly do appreciate and care about each and every one of my mutuals, even if my time / availability makes it tough at times. PART 1/4

@withinchains / @hercarnality : Elle you already know how much ily so I'm gonna keep this short. You're such an amazing friend and writer and you already have the screenshot about me gushing pinned so eat my shorts and play arams with me. Your Morgana is to die for and you write every character to a fucking T because of how you just interpret all their personalities and put them into words SO effortlessly.

@lasraichean : NEMO U SMELL LIKE BEEF and I think you're fantastic. You pour so much effort into all your OCs and that passion does you so much credit. You absolutely shower Annie with love in such a way that I shower everyone else with unrequested amounts of fromsoft lore so MWAH.

@blackrosesmatron : Lucy your LB is fantastic and you're so easy to talk to and communicate with. Genuinely every time we sit down and plot I find myself getting so enthralled in her antics and character. You do her so much justice

@avernusfuries : HAN You single handedly made me like Karlach and that isn't even a joke. Before we met and started writing I always thought her story was one of the weaker ones and you somehow managed to turn her into one of the more realized characters in the game. HATS OFF TO YOU and every day I beg for more of this big doofus.

@feuerwizard : Crys I know I need to get back to you for plotting things, I've just been so busy but I want to say: You and some of the other CR writers you write with are so talented and I adore reading your posts. Were it not for you guys I still probably wouldn't have any interest in CR and I'm so so excited to get started with more stuff and actually get threads going!

@soulcluster : Lilah I think all your portrayals are excellent. Your MM deserves all the attention it gets and I honestly couldn't pick a favorite muse if gave me truth serum. Plotting with you is a blast and I'm so thankful for all the ideas we pass between eachother!

@pitgritted : Your Sett, Taric, and Mutli are all so well done Jojo. I can tell you really care about all the people you write and it shines so brightly, right down the amount of detail you place into every reply and how you format things. Passion shows in the end and this is no exception!!

@palespawn : This sassy motherfucker. We've only just started writing and I still need to get to replies but you've showed interest since almost day one and I cant say how much I appreciate that. Courtney you do such a beautiful job with the twink, I almost dont wanna stab him. Almost~

@infinitysagas : I first of all wanna say thank you for writing such underappreciated characters. To see Damon get love brings me so much joy, I always take a second to read his posts when I see them come up. I know we haven't done a ton but please know that I see your writing and totally wanna do stuff, I'm just very busy skdjhf.

@deathdxnces : Irelia was a character I never cared about too much, but how you humanize her so much and have expanded on her character beyond what Riot's given us does SO much for me. I actually adore how you portray her, Mel, and I wish to get writing at some point soon!! I know you liked a starter a bit ago and I do plan to get to that, but please do not hesitate to hit me up for plotting in the meantime. It really does help and I promise I don't bite!!

@tealbeats : I know you're not super active on Ez (and I still owe you a lot of stuff actually) but I wanna say I love the amount of his personality you're able to paint into every interaction. You have such a way of making him the perfect amount of insufferable (in the best way) while still twisting it in SUCH an endearing light. I love that annoying little bug and I'm so glad you do too, because it really shows.

@agonizedembrace : Han it's been really nice to reach out and get into contact again. You're genuinely a really funny, interesting, and thoughtful person who cares about Evelynn in such a way that brings out every aspect of her character. The agony, the sex appeal, the sass, the confidence, you just nail all of it and I'm really hoping we can get stuff going soon!

@bendwill : Elder scrolls blogs are few and far between, but Miraak is absolutely one of those characters that deserves to be more written out. We haven't gotten to do a ton but please don't hesitate to hit me up and scream ideas at me, the idea of Tamrielic Zagreus is very fascinating to me. (And also I need somebody to ramble about my Oblivion D&D Campaign ideas with skdfjh)

@ofweave : First of all, trans gale is based as fuck and you have a vision. Second of all, I know you're on hiatus but once you come back I'd be so happy to get the ball rolling with this stinky wizard man!!

@kismetwilled : I'm not gonna lie, seeing how you pour effort into your headcanons and thoughtful replies kind of inspired me to do similar with my own. I also want to say that I'd love to plot more and yell ideas all day with you, your style is gorgeous and I find myself appreciating characters on your blog I've never even heard of or are barely familiar with. Seriously Dani, it's top tier and I'm so happy to be mutuals.

@enrogued : We haven't gotten anything started with but I'm so hyped. Rogue as a character has such fascinating potential with her powers, and that's not to mention her attitude towards others in general. Once stuff gets started I'm probably never gonna shut up in your DMs but like that's a constant sdfjkh STILL!!

@lunarrepel : Shadowheart my beloved. The aesthetics, writing, dialog, everything you do with her is SO on point and I can't get over it. I was already biased and liked her after Larian adjusted her a bit during the beta phase of BG3 but still. Man you just nail her and I'm so excited to develop these two out. They give wine aunt energy and THAT alone gives me so much life.

@dreadgloom / @cinderschild : I wont lie to you I was GIDDY when I found out you wrote a WoTR character. I honestly expected that fandom to have more of a presence on tumblr but I'll take what small fanclub we can get right?? And also can I comment on the takes you have from Salvatore are absolutely genius and play really well into WoTC's drow?? Genuinely fantastic worldbuilding and it's always a pleasure to see you crop up on the dash.

@nightsbloom : Your headcanons and replies have been gorgeus and I just want to say despite me being really busy and not getting around to approaching yet, I'm so excited??? Also a while back you reblogged a Qimir gifset and it's still living rent free in my head so thank you for the food chef--- Please though, if you have any thoughts or even just dynamic ideas - toss them at me at mach 5 and I will run with them because I'm HYPE.

@spiderwarden : I think you officially win the title of Minthara's #1 fan. Her performance (as I've mentioned) is absolutely captivating, as is your writing. I'm very excited to see where her interactions with Zagreus go and writing with you (or even just seeing your random hc posts and comments) is such a blast. I will always sit down and listen to you ramble about her, I think she's so fascinating and that's in no small part to how you manage to inject so much life and love into her despite all the cut content.

[aurorangen]

From all the events of those days

Transcript & Bonus:

A neighbour notices the police

...

Charlie: [takes selfie with serious face] Got it ehehe. Look at that! Vincent: Wha-…is that you Charlie? Bleurgh this spit. Charlie: The one and only. Yah I'm gonna show this pic to Pam.

[It turned out that morning, the police came to update the case. My dad was confirmed as missing before we moved away and we did all we could to help then. Moreover, the corrupt officers disappeared too and were found working undercover at Gibbs Hill. So 4 people disappeared that year, although not simultaneously]

[There were no leads, so the investigation was closed. It seemed they truly did vanish into thin air. Loads of theories about their whereabouts were formed and whether they were linked. From all the existing evidence, it was concluded they had some connection to my dad…to me. I didn't want to think about it any longer]

[I was so glad Charlie came. He's the kind of friend that makes you forget all your worries] Charlie: [plays with Bella the dog] Yo I literally begged Dad to let me come too. I've not seen you in ages! Vincent: I can't believe you're here and it's crazy how long it's been. How are you Charlie?

Charlie: Urgh my cousins are so annoying. They both text me to complain about each other and I'm stuck in the middle, like what do I even say? I can't take sides [shakes head] Anyway, how's life Vince? Vincent: I'm a lot better, the countryside's great. And yeah I met the most amazing girl [talks about Nancy]

Vincent: What about you? [chuckles] I notice you keep real quiet about Pam when I call. Charlie: Mhmm…yeah about Pam…I'm dating her. Vincent: She already told me [gets playfully shoved and they laugh together]

...

?: [sees cop car in front of their neighbours] San Myshuno police? [walks to officer] Officer, may I ask why you are here in the quiet countryside? I hope nothing serious has happened to the Wilkinsons. Billy: Ma'am, we're only here to update the family on a missing person case. No need to worry, it's closed now.

Writer's note: I'm still trying to figure out how this will be solved. Strangerville is supposed to be next gen but it is also central to this...I'll think of something! That is why the investigation keeps being revisited or getting put in the archives for the future to solve. I was going to add another pic, "Perhaps it was delusional thinking considering the cases linked but they may have disappeared voluntarily". So guys just allow it, it's obvious to you they are linked but not to them! No one outside knows a thing about Strangerville and its people, they leave nothing behind 👀

[lightofraye]

You are completely so fucking stupid, just because people prefer jenmish they hate Jared? grow the fuck up. and you stanning a person who is mentally a child is pathethic. oh wait you are mentally a child as well, getting pressed over a fictional ship is pathetic. and don't act like you know Jensen personally or his thoughts and feelings. you parasocial fuck. get a fucking life, Jensen isn't a fucking puppet for you to use for your fucking para-sexual fantasies. you need to be permentally locked up in a psychiatric ward allway with your mutals and friends and the fact you pretend to have children when in reality they are your sock accounts is utterly pathertic, no ones actually likes you they are just humouring you and you and you fucked up brain are too egomamiac to realise how delutional you sound.

Wow.

Five, no wait, six days. That’s how long it took for my haters to find out anon asks was on and have a meltdown.

And look! Dehumanization galore! And yes, anon, you are hating on Jared. I’ve yet to met a genuine J2M fan who doesn’t subtly hate on Jared, because he stands in the way of their fantasies.

You say I’m being parasocial. Okay. How aren’t you being parasocial by wanting Jensen and Misha to fuck? Or have Destiel to happen, even though the show’s been over for four years and was never canon?

What do I do? I write observations of the human behavior. I never leave my blog to hate on others. Ever. I ignore my haters, even when they dehumanize me and then try to pretend they’re good people. I’ve tried to stay above it all, to not sink to their level. I won’t sink to yours.

Hate me all you want, anon.

You’re just proving me right, again and again.

Meanwhile, what do I do? I write about how worried I am about Jensen. About how happy I am for his career. Celebrate his joy with Jared. Then I talk about abuse, to help people notice the signs. To help them. I write about my family that I love dearly.

I enjoy talking with other bloggers, and I imagine they enjoy talking with me. If it helps you to think I’m unloved and unwanted and unliked, go for it. Let that delusion be a balm to your wounded ego.

Meanwhile, I’m gonna go live my best life, enjoy being a gossip columnist of three fantastic Texans, a cat mom, a writer, a mother, and friend.

Thanks for the talk.

[wish-i-were-heather]

This is a long post but not a vent its the opposite of a vent ykwim like a long happy rant

I love you all so much.

Maybe I’m just all dramatic and emotional because I’m on my period, maybe because I’m writing this late at night and I’m gonna think it’s really cringe in the morning, but I love you guys so much. Tumblr has brought me so much joy. I’ve been here for maybe three or four months now? And I can’t really think of a time in my life where I was happier. 

I first made an account after scrolling aimlessly. I would go onto the tumblr website and it would let me search a bit until it was like “you need to make an account to keep going!!” And then I’d just close it and move on. But then one day I decided  hey what the heck just do it. So I made an account, and I didn’t really know what I was doing. I came up with this username because I liked conan gray, I gave myself  a daphne blake profile picture because she has red hair, and just kinda explored. 

I looked through tags of fandoms I love like the inheritance games and pjo and shatter me and even scythe (which was when i was then brought to the realization that the aoas fandom really is dead everywhere even here😔). But I just kinda explored.

Then I found all you guys, the cute aesthetic tumblrinas! And omg I thought everyone was so cool. Pretty much everyone I’m mutuals with now is someone who i found their blog and was like OMG I WANNA BE ONE OF THEM!! I loved the friendships and the connection and just seeing everyone interact made me so happy. I think one of the first people to follow me back was Belle and I remember I legit freaked out because omg!! Shes so cool!! 

Now that I’m telling the story it’s a little embarrassing, but it’s fine. I just know I was slowly growing my blog and meeting new people but I still didn’t feel like I had real friends, it hadn’t been that long. But I think it all kinda happened after I accidentally deleted my account, and I sent panic asks to everyone. And you guys were so nice and so sweet and for a lot of people it was some of the first interactions we had. 

I have the world’s worst memory, but it just kinda took off from there. 

And now I am friends with all you guys!! I’m so incredibly glad I decided to make this blog that day because omg. I’d seen people talk about online friends but I’d never had any. But now?? OMGG I UNDERSTAND!!! I finally have people who are just as obsessed with the books/tv/movies/music/everything that I am!! 

My friends IRL are nice, they’ve read the books I read, but I cant talk to them the way I do you guys, yknow? Tumblr is literally just such a safe space for me. I have a bad day, come online, and my mood is lifted. It makes me so happy and it also makes me feel so validated for whatever weird interests or feelings I have! I have a weird thought? Post it to tumblr! It’s just so amazing, how there’s people all over the world who care about me even a little, even just enough to like my shitposts. 

I’ve even infiltrated both the shatter me and tig roleplays, and I’ve really just done everything I could’ve hoped for when I joined tumblr. I used to be the one watching everyone interact, and now I am the one interacting! I don't think you guys understand how much you all mean to me. Especially as someone with bad social anxiety, who struggles with making friends irl. I also don’t believe in popularity in schools, thats stupid, but technically i’m not a “popular kid.” So I have friends, but not a billion. But here? Everyone is friends on tumblr!! It’s so amazing. I love you all so much. 

That’s long and honestly pretty sappy, also yall probably don't care about my whole tumblr history and how i got here (plus no one asked), but I felt like i wanted to share. There’s so much more I wanna say, but surprisingly enough as a writer, I’m not always the best at expressing my feelings over writing. My love language is physical touch, not words of affirmation. Which suckss cause i cant give you guys that. But this is as good as i can get. 

So thank you to everyone, my mutuals and followers and whatever. Thank you for being so loving. Thank you for being stupid with me. Thank you for listening to me rant about nonsense. Thank you for liking my posts. thank you for being here. Thank you for making me feel safe.

Cause every time I get a notification, I smile. It’s hard not to, when I know everyone is so amazing. I hope you think of me when you listen to heather, because I always think of you when i listen to online love. Anyway, I love you all. I hope we meet one day. Actually, scratch that. We will  meet one day. That is a threat :)

LOVE YOU ALL MUAH MUAH MUAH IM BREAKING INTO YOUR HOUSE RIGHT NOW BTW WERE GONNA WATCH HALLOWEEN MOVIES AND HAVE HOT CHOCOLATE AND GO TO THE PUMPKIN PATCH AND DO A BIG GROUP COSTUME AND GO TRICK OR TREATING TOGETHER GET READY 😋😋

[satohqbanana]

This post is not going where you think it is. I won't tag this as a vent post, as I want to use this opportunity to ask for some help and advice, since I am emotionally overwhelmed.

First off, I want to acknowledge Naveena's @thecomfywriter message. Thank you if you think of me that way. I just want to be helpful to the writers who I have added to my list of friends mentally, and whose works I support. I want to help them know if something works or appeals to me, and help them understand better about their works. I'm glad that my presence is appreciated.

But full disclosure: This message has jumpstarted a lot of negative feelings in me.

Like @wyked-ao3 mentioned, not all days are good days. On the good days, I find joy in other's works. I strive to see the positives of every post I am tagged in or am interested in; I strive to understand a lot of these works as best as I could, to what extent of time and effort I can spare. Sometimes, these works even push me out of my no-talk like-only phase because they're just so enjoyable for me.

But on the bad days, I just really see more negative things than good. I try to resist what could be nitpicking, and the things that turn me away from a piece.

Certain pieces have been lovingly shared with me. This as a privilege and I acknowledge it as such. Your works are your babies. You look forward to my feedback and/or our interaction. You have chosen me to personally look at your work and enjoy it with you.

But like I said before, the way that society evolved, there's simply no room for a lot of negatives, for a lot of "I don't like this" or "I'm not sure about this" without it being associated with "I hate this", "I hate you", or the worst of them, "DON'T you EVER write/draw/create EVER again!" I fully understand that our emotions can be out of control - we can't help but feel what we feel.

And sometimes I can't help but feel not good or not satisfied towards someone's work. And it's worst when it's been presented to me in a golden platter with an earnest heart and eyes filled with glee. What am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to be true to myself and honest with the other person, without hurting them? Is it possible for me to do this in a way that doesn't hurt them?

You might suggest, "Why don't you just like the post? How about reblogging it without commenting to increase engagement?" I'm worried that the person who I will treat that way will see my hype and comments on other people's post. I'm worried that the person whose work I didn't really enjoy will get envious of these other people and feel contempt towards me. And I just simply skip over their post, can you imagine how bad it must feel to be ignored while seemingly everyone else is being celebrated? True, in other platforms like AO3, we can't actively see this sort of interaction, but on Tumblr where a lot of people are common mutuals, this can spell social disaster.

Psychology says we evolved to display emotions in certain ways for better communication. In that case, what do you suggest we can do to healthily and successfully communicate "I don't like this" and similar sentiments?

(Before that, let's celebrate me getting to the end of this post without crying. YAY! Baby steps to healthy communication BABY!)

[positivelybeastly]

What have been some of your favorite rps over the years? Have you developed any personal ocs that you particularly enjoy (I know you've got Dark Beasts going on, so if you wanna talk about what's going on there, that'd be cool too!

Oh, this is a tricky one! Not least because it relies on my memory, which is one of my least reliable traits, ha - but I shall do my best!

The first one that comes immediately to mind is this thread with @themckaytriarchy - it was sort of integral to the process of my getting over what X-Force did with Beast by taking control of it, and it also just let me dive into a more horror based thread, which I don't often get to do. Beast is a character who is often very horror-aligned, so getting to really explore that was a ton of fun. I got very poetic in there, but I had a great time.

There's also this thread with the same writer, which was sort of how Cereal and I really got to be such good friends, and how Hank and Tess ended up becoming BFFs. They just had such instant chemistry and bounced off each other really, really well, and I love getting to play Hank as the best aspects of all of his selves - the more mature vibe of his feline self mixing with his younger, gremlin energy, the regret of his modern self mixing in with that, I like when I can pull on all the strings at the same time, if that makes sense.

Oh! Another one is this thread with @silverjetsystm - one of the things I absolutely love about Hank is that he knows goddamn everybody, like, the man's been on every team you can imagine, so there's always some era you can dive into, and his time on the Secret Avengers was so undeveloped, and MK-mun has just been an absolute joy to write with. You can really tell when I'm getting into a thread because I just write reams and reams and reams, and things get more poetic, and Hank starts thinking heavier and heavier things.

Easily another one is this one with @thebettermccoy - I've been wanting a good Dark Beast to bounce off for ages, to the point where I took him on as an extra muse just so he and Hank could interact and I could practise their voices, but then Squirrel-mun took the brave step to take him on, and it's been a joy ever since. It's so gratifying to get to refer to one specific issue from 1996 that no-one but me and Squirrel-mun know about, and they know the lines of dialogue just as well as I do, and we can just dig.

Another one is this one with @themarvelliteraryuniverse - I've lowkey shipped Beast and Sabretooth for years because of Wolverine and the X-Men vol. 1 #8, and getting to actually attack that dynamic and explore it and see Locke's unique take on Victor mesh with my Hank in such an instantly compelling way . . . god, it's a dream come true for me, honestly. Something that often gets lost about Hank is his inherent sexual drive and energy, his repressed primality, his morals interacting with his pull towards the dark, and exploring that is always just a complete joy.

Oooh, ooh! This one with @notmymamasboy - not only is it fun to play Hank as getting used to being pursued again, but Stabby is just so good at throwing this inescapable, unrelenting energy into Raze that makes him feel like a force of nature that Hank has immense affection for and attraction to, but, again, knows has a lot of darkness attached to them. They just bounce off each other really well, and it's probably what fandom would qualify as a crack ship, but I just like the intellectual conflict intersecting with the interpersonal chemistry.

Another one I've loved is this one with @emmatriarchy - I'm an absolute sucker for getting to fill in missing bits of Hank's history, and I always thought it was such a travesty that X-Force never tugged on the very brief but incredibly impactful time where Hank and Sage interacted in X-Treme/New X-Men, because it adds such dimension to their dynamic. Getting to explore that in-situ is a dream for me, and I also just love getting to play Hank from specific periods with specific moods, especially with gloriously obscure and underappreciated muses, with is sort of this mun's whole thing. :)

Ooh, ohh! This one, with @maximummuses - I again felt like this entire thing was swept under the rug back in the 2010s, and it felt like such a disservice to Hank and Logan that they never got to have this conversation, that they never got to just GO AT one another, everything laid out, all honesty, all feeling. This was, again, just another dream for me, and as far as I'm concerned, this is canon and exactly how it happened.

Now we get into stuff that was more dynamics, and also older threads with are, like, a decade old . . . my X-Force Beast's twisted toxic relationship with dusktrip's Wolverine was a delight, and I miss that writer very dearly (they had to stop RPing due to a lack of time) because it let me just drown in a very dark place for a bit in a very controlled way. They, like themckatriarchy, were integral to me coming to terms with what X-Force did with Hank's character.

There are tons of threads with people like brandisnotmygivenname (Abigail Brand), technarchology (Warlock), hulksdontdoweak (She-Hulk), this-city-is-a-symphony (Dazzler), fangedfirecracker (Jubilee), levoleurcinetique (Gambit), healingtheassassins (Elixir), dontcallmejulio (Rictor) - a lot of people from nearly a decade ago who aren't active anymore, but I still think of them a lot, and a lot of the time, I have to remember that Hank's dynamics and history with these people in canon don't necessarily include these versions of the characters, ha.

But, very formative to my interpretation and exploration and journey with Hank.

As for OCs - I'm sort of a one fictional obsession kinda guy, so I don't really have too many! I did have a guy called Danny Jones who was a mutant based on Tito Bohusk from New X-Men. He was from a Young Avengers RP ages and ages ago, and I think at one point he was going to become a Ghost Rider? It was a long time ago, in fairness.

I also have an AU version of Hank called Sir Henry, codenamed Grandmaster, who's inspired by the Ghost Box steampunk version of Hank and Sublime. Instead of being a scientist, he's a Victorian era spymaster with Hank's typical intelligence, but a lot less of his warmth and ethical consideration. He tended to dual wield pistols a lot.

I actually still have some art a friend of mine did from the Exiles RP he came from. This is her OC, Joan, with whom he had a budding romance.

But, as of late, the biggest one has been The Irredeemable Beast, which has spawned a number of characters, the most significant of which is Zeke.

Zeke has always been a clone of Dark Beast, in my conception of him. I always figured that Dark Beast would absolutely be the type of person to keep spare clone bodies around because, frankly, he keeps wagging his ass at people who are stronger than him and can kill him, and the fact that he kept dying and coming back diminished only solidified to me that he would eventually kick the bucket and need an out.

The version of him in Irredeemable is altered slightly, in that he's a recently created clone of Dark Beast - in the original chain of events, he was released as a kid, along with a twin brother, Strauss, and they grew up relying on each other, eking out a meagre existence by living between the lines. They had full lives, but obviously severely disadvantaged, and hated Dark Beast whenever he was around because, well, why wouldn't they?

Zeke's fun to play around with just because he has a lot of Hank/Dark Beast's perception and wit, but he doesn't have the same level of intelligence, knowledge, privilege, or advantages, so he has a bit of a chip on his shoulder - yet he still tries to have fun, which is very Hank. He's a good grounding presence, which is why I decided to make him a central part of Irredeemable, and I have a good few plans for his arc going forward from Dark Beasts.

His narrative arc is sort of meant to tackle a big problem I had with both X-Force and, more widely, the Krakoan resurrection system, which is the amount of wasted bodies/clones, and the lack of thought put into what's a 'real' life and what isn't.

The whole Talon/Wolverine split is treated completely differently to how the clones in X-Force of both Hank and Logan are treated, and I wanted to unpick that, question exactly what a clone's life is worth, and question why we arbitrarily decided that we put more value on Talon/Wolverine, but carving dozens of Hanks and Logans was perfectly acceptable.

Every one of those Hanks or Logans could have been a valid individual in the exact same way that Ezekiel is, and I want Hank to have to think about that, and be faced with the ethical/existential question of the lives he arbitrarily brought into existence in such a cold, mercenary fashion without any consideration for his responsibility for them.

Zeke is just a really good foil for Hank, and Hank absolutely needs a foil, because his internal monologue is fascinating, but it really can get maudlin and self-involved, so you need to break that up with some youthful 'I don't give a shit' energy, which Zeke provides in spades.

One of the other characters in Dark Beasts, Yekaterina, is a pretty minor character, but pretty much any time I come back to my long term plans for the fic, I keep wanting to give her more to do. I think it's really important to me that X-Men have human characters who are friendly and pro-mutant, who make up the other half of the mutant metaphor, because that's something the comics really did just give up on for the longest time, and it makes such a difference to have a human who's like 'no, fuck Orchis, fuck all these racists, I'm with you because it's the right thing to do.'

I also have a tendency to write exclusively dudes, so Yekaterina and Jennifer Nyles keep being given more and more to do so that I break out of that writing rut. Same thing with Olivia Ocampo, the Orchis commander in Dunfee - I explicitly gave her a Marvel branded alliterative name so that I would use her more, and I know where her story goes. I need to get on that, actually, I want to release that chapter close to Christmas if I can . . .

Gorobitz and Taft are pretty shameless Rosencratz and Guildenstern expies. I like giving goons personalities, and I think it's funny exploring the weeds of the arbitrary distinctions of anti-mutant racism through the lens of a pair of garden variety Orchis grunts. They're gonna turn up in future chapters with similar segments.

I think that covers the majority of it? There are other characters who are going to appear later on, including an Orchis agent that I want to be a bit of a surprise. The entire fic is about the ramifications of Hank's actions and dealing with them, and that agent has a backstory that is all about Hank's actions and what they meant for her, and I think he's gonna struggle not to feel like he should just let her shoot him in the head when he finds out what her deal is.

Thanks for the question! It was a really good one!

[nomaishuttle]

i literally hate the argument of like I bet the writer didnt even think abt that metaphor lolll

1. even if they didnt interpretations of the text are still important and symbolism can be unintentional but still very powerful

2. You would not believe how insane writers r abt their metaphors

[hoseoksluna]

LIQUID STARS | jjk

pairing: fuck buddy!jungkook x f. reader (feat. bam)

genre: angst, smut

word count: 11.8k

summary: to seal the deal, you give jungkook what he wants—your kiss, your cunt and your virginity.

playlist: liquid stars / pinterest board: wine

warnings: size kink, heavy dd/lg themes, provocation, dry humping, dirty talk, mentions of porn, oral sex (f. + m. receiving), multiple orgasms & countdown, dom/sub dynamics, reader has daddy issues (like the writer), first time, jealousy, inner child healing, plushie used during intercourse, jungkook fucks her numb & dumb, praise kink, cum eating, pet names and the establishment of a title, bondage, raw sex, tummy bulge, desperation, pain felt during intercourse, squirting

note: as difficult as it was to write this, i'm immensely thankful. this changed my life; it healed me and i'll dream about it for a long, long time. i was as exhausted as oc once i finished this, because i truly did give my all. everyone, this is part four to my series 'wine' and therefore the very end. this is the very beginning of jungkook's and oc's relationship. can be read as a standalone as there aren't any quirks from the other parts (except for bunny), though if you wish to read them now, now is the perfect time. now you can see the beautiful gradual development of their relationship. please, enjoy as you read and let me know your favorite parts bc i need to talk about this. heed the warnings as there are dd/lg themes that can be uncomfortable for some. thank you! and thank you for all the love on this series. i'll never forget it. i love you, guys. ʚɞ

side note: give some round of applause for 3D daddy provider jungkook everyone!! he deserves it!!!

Silky lilac bows adorn the tops of your pigtails that cascade down in loose braids, sprawled on the cotton of his pillow and on the soft belly of a bunny plushie. There are still traces of sunlight left on the bedding, which dissolve, little by little, into nothingness as the large star goes down, saying goodbye. It’s lightweight, the atmosphere—homely almost. And much to your surprise, you feel relatively at ease, despite the fact a man lies on top of you—a man you have a certain liking for. 

It was natural for you to end up here and you, yourself, wished for it, even. Deemed it was only right after the man took you around for a walk while his silly Doberman guarded each and every step both of you had taken in sync, especially so when he persisted in buying you a small plastic ring of the same bunny you’re lying against. He didn’t even forget about his own canine friend waiting outside patiently like the obedient dog he is, and fed him the snackies he got for him as soon as he returned from the shop. You swore Bam was as giddy as you when he received his gift. 

Now the ring glints in the last rays of the sun. His, too. 

While yours is as white as the cloudy morning sky, Jungkook’s is as black as the drowsily dozing night sky. You think it’s the perfect contrast between the pair of you. Not that you should be noting these things, considering you’re just friends. But his skin is satiny soft, painted in impressionist tattoos, while his muscles, that his well-fitted T-shirt graciously allows you to see, are strong. You’re sure he could just lift you and throw you around without much of a strain. And it certainly doesn’t help that he’s such a striking image of pure beauty. How could you not notice these intertwinings when they’re this lovely?

You like him—without a shadow of doubt. Can feel the call of an emotional attachment forming the more he studies your skin with the tip of his index finger, embellished with the Miffy ring, and it’s owed to the fact you’ve never been touched this way before. No one has ever come this close, no one has ever been interested in the moles scattered upon your shoulders, in the veins that make the pathway to the column of your neck. No one has ever gazed twice at them—but Jungkook?

He hasn’t stopped looking at them ever since he laid you down in the middle of his bed. 

How could you stop such a call? Such a lull, such a magnetic pull. You know you should, but for the meantime, you simply don’t want to. Can’t lose this moment, can’t lose this once in a lifetime opportunity—

Jungkook presses his lips against the prominent mole in the center of your left shoulder. Those pretty, puffy lips, closing against your skin, the smallest dart of tongue swiping past. It shocks you for a moment before the feeling dissolves beneath, adjusting within the freshness of your system. How could you refuse such dynamic poetry, expressed against your own forlorn body? When it’s so blatant that it’s natural, that your body willingly accepts it without a fight. 

You couldn’t. 

Stretching your fingers between the thick strands of his hair, you close your eyes to savor the feeling of being wanted. The movement of his mouth, going even as far as to the first vein rooted in your arm—following it with those half-closed pillows. Up, up until he finds the line of your collarbone. Jungkook pauses there, simply breathes against you before he interperses little pecks there, nibbles and gentle swipes of tongue. The lining of your top won’t let him go further down, so he changes direction—relies on the pathway of your veins to guide him to your neck. And there… at the first contact, you grip the roots of his hair. 

His kisses and nibbles are much harder here. And what’s worse, he takes the sensitive skin into his mouth and sucks. You fail at containing the whimpers that break out of your mouth and Jungkook reacts to them. Hums ever so deeply, rocks his hips against the mattress. You wish you were a bit bigger so you could feel the collision, but you’re just so small compared to his large form. You imagine he’s writing down the poems collecting inside of him with each cursive roll of his tongue. Wonder if there’s enough paper on your skin for all his words. 

“You sweet little thing,” Jungkook coos onto the crook of your neck, dragging his lips up and down before he stops at your jaw. You feel the warmth of his breath and his body heat seeps into yours, creating unity, blackening the ink. It feels strange, it feels so new. Brisk and springlike, like fresh air in a stuffed room. You want to stay here for a long time, tasting the wholeness of spring captured in him. You want his words to flush you red with the tinge of the entire sunlight that opens the buds of flowers during all seasons in a loop. “Can I kiss you?”

You haven’t gone beyond the innocent touching of hands with him. You brim with a tight feeling of thankfulness that he asked you such a graceful question, although something else steals your attention entirely. 

“Little?” you say, the smile on your lips pulled so taut that it quivers ever so slightly. It makes you crazy that he calls you that, but you play the game. Revel in it. “What do you mean little? I’m bigger than you.”

Jungkook cocks his brow at you, mouth falling into a lopsided grin. He sits back and you feel a whiff of coldness pass by the perimeter of your body, as if someone opened the window and let the winter air in, when it’s just his brief distance that caused it. The forming attachment in you tenses and before you can think about your actions, your hand finds his knee, his thigh and traces slow patterns there. Jungkook suddenly squeezes your waist, surprising you, and the ecstatic fluttering of butterfly wings break havoc all over your body. The solidness of his hands, their weight, their firmness, giving life to your body, meaning. You note how his fingers touch when he has his hands enveloped around you like that. And the inkling that your body matters in his hands like that slips into your mind, spreading through its axis. 

You bite your lower lip. A small ache begins to grow in your intimate parts. It’s so nice to be wanted, to be considered good enough to be touched, to be kissed. 

“You? Bigger than me?” Jungkook squeezes your waist again. Sucks in a breath through his teeth. Smiles softly; in a way that you find unbearably endearing. “No, you’re just little. Just a tiny, little bug. So tiny in my hands.” 

For the breath he inhaled, you exhale it. 

He leaves his hands there when he bends over you, hovering his lips over yours. His weight, his heat. You sigh against him in relief, in a newly blossoming excitement that he’s back again. You spread your legs wider, feet grazing his calves—

“Let me kiss you, please.” 

You’d give in, but the game is just so pleasurable. 

Your laugh is but a breath. “You wanna kiss me?” 

You exhaled, he inhaled. 

“Don’t ask stupid questions.”

“Since when do friends kiss?” You cock your eyebrow at him just like he did, prodding your tongue on the inside of your cheek. 

He hovers a little bit higher above you, hanging his head in defeat, sighing. Places his hands in fists on either side of you, caging you in. 

“Premium friends do,” he mutters, lifting his head, face all serious. You dig your toe into the toned muscle of his thigh, twirling sweet little circles, gliding up and down. Watch as his eyes lid and he tries to control it. “Don’t do that or I’ll fuck you.” 

Your body panics, but you will it to relax. 

“Does that come with the premium subscription?” 

Jungkook purses his lips, supports his weight on one hand as the other, the tattooed one, grips your jaw. He squishes your cheeks, bites his lip once—seemingly ponders whether he should play your game or not before he lets go of your pout, but still keeps his hand there. He traces the shape of your lips with this thumb, feeding his desire to kiss you with scraps. 

“Yes,” he utters. “Kisses, orgasms, my dog. It’s all—”

Orgasms, not just sex. Orgasms. 

“I get to take Bam?” 

Jungkook tuts at you. “You get to take me,” he corrects you. “Though, can even such a little thing like you take me?” 

Probably not. Definitely not. 

“But what about Bam?” 

He looks at you as if he couldn’t believe the words you’re saying, turning his head slightly to hear you better. Then, he scoffs, running his tongue across his lips swiftly, letting them express the enjoyment of your provocation by stretching into a smirk. He places his hand back on the right side of you, thinking over his words. 

“Bam is mine, but you can pet him. You can kiss him.” You can hear the feigned venom in that word as he spits it and you grin, pleased with yourself. You enjoy doing this to him. “And if you’re good, I’ll let you take him out for his walkies.” 

You gasp slowly, fingers absentmindedly gripping his thigh. Butterflies buzz you with a mere hint of arousal and to convey it, you wet your top lip with the tip of your tongue. The dominance, the principle of proving to him whether you’re deserving of something. Your heartbeat quickens, reaching for him with each swell. 

Oh, you’ll be good. You’ll be good until he’s sick of it. 

It seems he’s as pleased with himself as you were with yourself, reading your body language as he beams down at you, dimples poking holes in his cheeks. You want to stick your fingers there, pinch the skin at the corners of his mouth. Feel them, kiss them—

“Deal.” 

Jungkook blinks at you. He most likely expected you to be difficult. You like the look of surprise on him. A sweet kind of glint perches itself upon his irises. You’re at awe of how he manages to be so adorable and alluring at the same time. You could never understand it. You deem he must be otherworldly. 

“A kiss to seal the deal?” he tries, raising his brows, lowering himself to his elbows. 

He skims his lips across your cheek, descending to your neck. Places one, singular kiss there. Lifts his head to hear your answer, a soft curtain of hair falling across his forehead. 

You make a face as if you’re thinking about it. 

Jungkook groans. 

It’s cold, the way he turns away from you and it startles you—but then he slides his hands under your back and lifts you with ease, sitting you down on his lap. He moves you from the muscles on his thighs to the hardness of his intimate parts and you groan at the feeling of it. You’re wearing an airy short skirt with tights and knee socks underneath, the barrier so thin that you feel the solid, thick shape of him right under your femininity. 

You rock against him once. Jungkook lets out a sound akin to yours, fingers flexing—hands almost reaching for your behind before he decides against it and keeps them planted against your back. 

He desires your consent. And that makes you feel light-headed. Tipsy on the wholeness of him, on the pleasure coursing through your body. 

You rock your hips again—and this time, Jungkook whimpers. 

You take your hands and, slowly, you make a pathway down his chiseled chest. He twitches against you when your fingers pass by his nipples, his body following and squirming along. And once you reach the definition of his abdomen, your hands rise and fall against its quickening movement as his lungs heave. You’re mesmerized by his reaction to your touch. It’s as if it was his first time as well and something about that makes you woozy, savage and absolutely feline. 

And something about the way you’re allowed to do as you please, whereas he’s not, strengthens that state of mind, enriches it, thoroughly worsens it. 

You want him. 

It began with a ring and ended right here. 

And the process of your decision starts at his hips, finalizes at the pebbles of his nipples and finishes completely at the sides of his neck. He gives you the same, if not better, reaction, his manhood moving against you, and it’s settled. 

The giving of virginity to seal the deal, not just a kiss. 

Hovering your lips against his, you slip your hand to the place where you’re connected to feel up the shape of him. You moan onto him, vigorous power seizing you, propelling you to wrap your fingers around him. The breaths Jungkook emits are desperate, tortured, wafting over you, intoxicating you. It fills you with confidence unlike any other that you’re able to coax such a thing of beauty out of him—that you, the artist, have the upper hand momentarily while he doesn’t. 

And he waits, depends on you. You want to cry due to how happy it makes you, due to the way it suffuses an empty part of you, left abandoned by someone who should’ve taken care of it a long, long time ago. 

Because of that—if it’s kisses that he wants, you’ll give him as many as his body desires as a thank you. 

“You’re so hard against me,” you whisper. 

Jungkook grips your waist hard. 

“If you want it, you have to seal the deal,” he mimics your intonation, voice deep, tingling your tummy. 

“I want it.” You clutch both of your hands on his jawline, thumbs finding the invisible dimples. 

“Kiss me, then.” 

You whimper at the longing to do so. Your tummy clenches, butterflies inside swarm around and—

When you close your lips against his top lip, they burst into smithereens. Jungkook sighs in relief, enveloping you in his warmth. 

The kiss is hungry. You expected his first taste of you to be careful, contemplative, but he goes all in. Takes charge of the lip lock, swallowing you whole, moving against you, uttering low sounds that make your head spin and you just comply. Accept that you’re the one who submits to his craving and you find yourself liking it; find yourself wanting to deepen your submission. 

You wrap your legs around his waist, your head tilted as you reciprocate all of those hard kisses. When he comes up for air, he just gazes down at you, out of breath. One hand still on your back, the other cradles your cheek. There’s something puzzling in his eyes, as if he was fighting something within. You’re radiated by that energy, heavied down by it, letting him pet you like a puppy while you wait for the next step. 

“You’re so good that I’m considering letting you take Bam out,” he breathes, curling a wisp of your hair behind your ear. “Sweet little thing.” 

He pecks you once. You grind against his manhood and as he shortly groans onto your mouth, you splutter into giggles. Behind you, as if he heard him, the dog peeks his head out of the door, giving his Daddy a questioning look. Jungkook chuckles. 

“Bam, house.” 

The dog leaves and Jungkook sinks his fingers into your hair, sighing. Kisses you, again without tongue—only does what you’ve allowed him, but you overflow with the desire for more. He’s so considerate, so respectful and while you’re grateful for it, you want to break it. Your trust in him, made whole by all that he’s done for you, settled within you, made a bed in the sensitive parts of you that now shine. He doesn’t need to remain there—you want to go beyond that. 

“Touch me, please.” You look up into his eyes as you say it, willing them to see with all your energy how much you want him. 

He rubs soothing circles on your back. “If I touch you, I’ll fuck you, sweetheart.” 

You lift your butt ever so slightly and bounce down on him, your skirt furling. Jungkook moans, pleasing you to the core. It’s bratty of you, but it serves him right for being so stubborn, so firm in his control. You want to break him. 

“Can’t you see how much I want that?” you purr, bunching the cotton of his T-shirt in your fists. 

He merely shakes his head, licking his lower lip, fucking with you. He tugs on one of your braided pigtail, the other hand gliding to your hipbone. “This little girl is horny? I couldn’t tell.” 

A yellow light, sleepy in nature, spills through the blinds, latching onto the side of your neck. His eyes flick to it and his teeth sink into the wetness of his lip. He looks back at you when he says, “what was it that made you horny? The neck kisses?” 

He straps both of his hands to your hipbones now, adjusting you so your sweetest spot rests against his cock, rocking your hips like he wants them to. He swallows down his noises, makes room for yours. You figure he wants to hear them. 

You think about what made you horny. His respectful behavior. An electric spark spasms in your core at the memory and you roll your body against his at the impact—nipples pebbled, grazing below the hardness of his pecks. You moan loudly. He breathes heavily, can’t for the life of him contain that, gripping you with strength that will surely leave bruises. You add it to the list. 

His control—the momentary, delicious lack of it, too. The dominance that follows it. His noises and how unrestrained he is when it comes to them. The allure and the attractive charm of his looks, blended with that insufferable cutesiness. His hard cock. The neck kisses, too, of course. 

You summarize your answer and you tell him, “you.” 

A hitch in his throat. “Fuck.” 

Fuck, indeed. Fuck the steady rhythm—Jungkook speeds up your movement, the pace so fast your pigtails and your ribbons bounce, tits following suit. Your breath falls in step, moans echo within the walls of his room. He kisses you harshly, but that doesn’t silence you. He swallows your noises down, grunting. 

“You wanna know what made me hard for you?” 

You nod your head, lips forming a natural pout at the loss of contact. 

“Those fucking pigtails of yours. The knee socks. How tiny you are in my hands. Seeing you lose your fucking mind when I kissed your neck. Those marks I left behind, hm, fuck yes. Those marks made me crazy,” he mutters, staring you down. “And you know what else?” 

You wait for his answer as white flashes blind you, your roaring orgasm beckoning you close. He doesn’t stop rocking you against him, not once. Fills your brain with emptiness with his words coated wet by his dominant energy. You feel your own wetness soaking the fabric of your panties. 

“Your brattiness,” he says. “I want to fuck it out of you and make a good girl out of you that won’t misbehave again with her smart words.” 

A faint part of you, half affected by the pleasure he gives you, arises to stand up for you. “But I was good and you said so.” 

He clicks his tongue, disapprovingly shaking his head. Slows down the pace so you’re able to hear him loud and clear, your orgasm backing away. “You see the thing is with little bratty girls like you, even when they act good for me, there’s still that dark little side of them that hides. Unless I fuck it out of them, they play with me. And trust me, I like the game until I don’t.” 

You frown at him, but a moan betrays you. A fight throngs inside of you, his dominance yet again permeating you, causing you to flourish, but on the other hand, you don’t like being added to the mix. You want to be the only one—and it makes you angry that he had someone like you before you, that he even said it altogether. Though unfortunately, that’s something you can only keep to yourself. 

The forming attachment breaks, splitting into two, with the knowledge that your wish is futile. You understand he said it for the sake of the role-play that you both naturally, wordlessly established through sexual attraction, but you still have a lot of getting used to within the dynamic. He’s experienced, you’re not. Though, when you think about it, he doesn’t know a thing about your purity. You never told him. 

You blame yourself for your own pain. It’s your fault—you should’ve had a conversation with him about it before you let him do anything to you, instead of playing flirty games with him. You wouldn’t have gotten hurt, if he knew you were a virgin. The thought of what you’ve done stains you, makes you feel filthy, but you will it to kneel inside of you like a wounded animal. You need to be strong if you don’t want to storm out of his room in tears. 

No attachment, no liking. 

Just sex. 

There’s still a frown to your face, despite the fact you set yourself free with your decision. Jungkook chuckles at it, oblivious to your internal storm. 

“You didn’t like that, did you?” You didn’t like being compared to other girls he’d been with; there’s nothing to be said of the like about the role-play aspect. Being called bratty did rouse a moan out of you. “You prove my words right.” 

You roll your eyes. Jungkook grips your ass hard and spanks you. As the sting reverberates, along with it comes the realization you got what you wanted. 

You broke him. 

And now you have to face the repercussions. 

Good thing you’ve sobered up from the stupefaction of your arousal. 

You cradle his face and kiss him deeply in effort to change the narrative. No feeling of affection from earlier hangs upon your heart and you find that it’s easier like this. No strings, no pain. It relieves you—so much that you sense a layer of lightness to your body and tiny, manageable tears well in your eyes. You get to enjoy this after all. 

There’s radiance to your eyes, rooted in hope, and true softness to your words when you say, “I want you to fuck it out of me. I want you to be my first.” 

You want to be different—your pride is uninfluenced by your decision. If he fucks it out of you, the new narrative you’re longing for will fully take place and make living through this bearable. You know you can’t have him the way you’d like, but if fate wrote that you’re to have him this way—you don’t mind altering it to the little desires you’re allowing yourself to have. 

Once in a lifetime opportunity. You can’t lose it. 

Jungkook is left astounded by your words, eyes widening, shock evident on his features. Like your words, he softens, unclenching his fingers from your suppleness, the darkness in his irises making a way for gentleness to come through. He rubs the small of your back, hands ascending to your spine, feeling the clip of your bra, until he finds the nape of your neck. He holds you there, tenderly, as if you were a porcelain doll he now was careful not to break. 

The change in his demeanor is stark. It surprises you as well—and like everything that has happened within the hour, it isn’t something you expected from him. The emotion that emerges from the roundness of his eyes touches the hardness of your decision, tries to get through, pokes a gap inside, letting the light in. 

He tucks his darkness back inside. Strokes the back of your head, the silky ends of your ribbons sifting through his slender fingers. You relax against him and your body does it for you. It welcomes his tenderness, glad for the truth to be out. You fight against it—against yourself, willing your decision not to break but remain firm. 

No strings, no pain.

But to no avail. The light spreads. His light. Celestial twinkles of stars, small parts of him that make him who he is. 

“You’ve never had anyone before me?” he husks, regret glossing over his eyes, holding your head firmly as he awaits your answer. More stars spill like liquid. 

You shake your head ‘no’, your chest tightening. 

He kisses you and there’s something different about the way he does it. Now you can sense the carefulness you searched for earlier and you taste the primal core of loving care in the movement of his lips. The kisses are long, deep. As if you’re a different person now, a girl unlike any of the ones he mentioned. Someone who matters, someone who’s solid. You’re back at the beginning. 

A lump forms in your throat. 

“You sure about this?” he asks. 

One part of you, greater and illuminated by his stars, wants it gently like this, with flowers of innocence and purity besprinkled across his features, never leaving you out of his sight, taking care of you. But you fear that if you allow him to be tender, your heart will choose him again and cling to his side. The other, more faint part of you, affected by your decision, thinks it’s better to stick to the role-play, for there’s the aspect of illusoriness that will not bruise anyone’s hearts, especially not yours. It will make you horny, Jungkook will get you off and, glowing, you’ll go home.

You can’t decide. It’s too much of a heavy weight to bear on your shoulders. You can’t do it.

You need him to say the word. You need him to decide what will be the face of the trajectory of your premium friendship. 

Flowery or deceitful? 

A small candlelight in you hopes for gentleness and purity before your fear unfairly puffs it out. 

“Yes, I’m sure. I want you.” 

Jungkook lays you down and, at last, you feel his manhood against you. He bends to pepper apologetic kisses along the column of your neck and you feel the authenticity of his regret, thrumming against you warmly. Your breath hitches in your throat, the principle of the candlelight in you not being a high hope after all—

“I’m sorry. I should’ve gone about this better.” A kiss to your cheek; you stifle your sobs. “I should’ve checked in with you, but I jumped straight in. This was a mistake on my part. I’m sorry.”

He blames himself, not you. 

You want to remain stoic, but his authenticity beckons yours to come out and envelop him whole, gives access to your emotions and you can’t stop the miniature teardrop from flowing down the side of your nose. Neither can you stop the words that follow its footsteps. 

“I should’ve told you first,” you whisper, sniffling. Jungkook furrows his brows at the expression of your pain in tender emotion, wiping it away. “But I was bad—reckless.” 

He chuckles softly, caressing your hair. “You’re an angel. Sent to my side for me. You weren’t bad. I didn’t mean what I'd said.” 

His words, his touch, the kiss he adds to your cheek to punctuate his sentence—Jungkook erases everything that has just happened. 

Newness rushes in your chest, the pouring of spring into summer permeates your whole being. You hear the birds sing, the rustle of flimsy flower petals on tree branches as the warm wind grazes it with its touch. Jungkook seals this feeling by pressing a kiss to your sternum. 

He said it, so it must be so. You trust him. 

The firmness of the cage around your decision unlatches. Doesn’t fly away like the birds. Is a little bit afraid of peeking out. The candlelight returns to light up the room around that cage, blossoming into the sun. 

“We don’t have to do anything, if you don’t want to,” he says, looking up at you from the place where he dragged your top down to kiss your skin. 

The sun rays in you absorb all of the darkness. The firmness extends one wing. 

You run your fingers through his hair. Figure the only thing the summer in you is missing is the heat. You want him, you want sex and you don’t want to think about feelings or consequences. You don’t want to choose between anything anymore. You just want to enjoy yourself. 

“I meant it when I said that I want you to be my first,” you say, fingers curling around his ear. Jungkook leans into your touch and it’s as if he’s massaging the wing to alleviate it from a cramp due to being tucked in for so long. 

“Okay,” he sighs, taking your hands and pinning them on the pillow and bunny above your head. He sits up, examines you and you wonder if he can see how truly fragile you feel. “Do you trust me?” 

He’s had half a year of going out with you, mingling his life with yours, spending money on you and treating you like an absolute treasure to build your overall trust. And what he did just now? How he erased your pain? Your nod is immediate; you don’t need to think twice. 

“Of course I trust you.” 

“Good.” A soft smile. “I’ll make sure your first time will be beautiful for you.” 

Your heart thuds. His words steal all the breath in your lungs, smoothing out the surface of your body for his stars to fill. Tears prick at your waterline. 

“Are you scared?” 

You’re an empty canvas. 

“Not anymore.” 

Jungkook nods, gladness pulsating off of him. “I’ll be here the whole time. I won’t leave you, not even once, okay?” 

“Okay.” 

He finds the zipper on the side of your skirt and yanks it down. “How many times do you wanna come?” 

The ridiculousness of the question makes you laugh and you hide your face beneath your palms. “To be honest, I don’t expect to come at all. It is my first time after all.” 

You marvel at the honesty seeping out of you. His work, no doubt. 

Jungkook frowns, ridding you of the skirt, fingers hooking under the hem of your top. At the reveal of your pink, flowery, see-through bra, he stops altogether, stunned. He fondles the material, grazing over your soft nipples, at last reaching the embroidery of the small petals. He gasps in wonder, eyes flicking to your intimate parts to see if you’re wearing a matching set. 

The same flowers adorn the suppleness of your tummy. 

Jungkook smiles at his discovery. Is hasty as he drags the nylon of your tights down your legs, along with your knee socks. 

“I’ll decide how many times you come for me, then.” 

Heat pools in your femininity. There it is, the dominance that you love. Yet this time, it’s laced with his gentleness. Heaven on earth—a meadow full of flowers in the middle of summer. Like the ones on your lingerie. 

Joy grasps your heart. “Do I get to know before you start?” 

Jungkook chuckles, pressing a kiss on your tummy. “What, you wanna count them down for me?” 

You asked just because, but the idea excites you. You nod. 

Your response prolongs the rumble of his laughter and you feel its vibration as he kisses his way up to your clothed breasts. You’d think he’d focus his attention on them, but he straightens—reaches for something behind him and retrieves your white knee socks. He bunches them in his hands and puts them on you as if he were dressing a child. 

Paradoxically, goosebumps spread all over your thighs. 

Smoothing the material over your thighs, he lies back down against you, lips latching on the spillage of your breasts that your bra gives him. While it feels dizzying, you still want to know the number. You poke him in the bulging muscle of his arm and in the process, you flush his cheeks red. 

Jungkook pushes your tits together and licks over the line in the middle. The sight of the shine of his wet tongue against it drenches your pussy, ruining your pretty underwear, and you want him there, on your sweetest spot. Your nipples stand to attention and Jungkook listens to their call, thumbs brushing across them. 

You mewl, grinding your hips against his stomach. 

“Two times when I eat you out; two times around my cock,” he answers finally, awakening your butterflies. “How many times is that, then?” 

Amidst the pleasure, you do the math. “Four.” 

“That’s right. You think you can do that for me?” 

You’re not sure. In fact, you’re not sure of anything—lost in his touch, in his energy. 

“I don’t know,” you say, truthfully, skimming his face for a sliver of disappointment in his features. 

You find none. Only tenderness—round, soft eyes, brown in the light he radiates, nose and mouth buried in your tits, sucking on the skin, making you feel good. 

“That’s okay. We’ll try together. Nothing bad is gonna happen to you if you don’t come as many times. Or at all. I promise.” 

Your chest clenches. You grab his face and kiss him, licking over his bottom lip before you slip your tongue inside. Jungkook grunts, rolls his own muscle over yours, tasting you, feeling you. He inhales sharply against you, once again taking charge of the kiss, taking each and every thought and negative feeling you had and crushing it to smithereens. 

He lifts you and switches places with you, sitting you down on his lap with your back supported by his chest. He roams his hands all over you—tits, tummy, hips, sides and thighs while he busies his mouth on your shoulder. As your eyes follow each movement, you notice the marks he embellished your breasts with and your arousal grows—so much that you take his wandering hands and hook them under the waistband of your underwear, guiding them down your thighs. 

There’s a change to his breath when his index and middle finger feels up the fleshiness of your cunt for the first time. Hard, raggedy and absolutely tormented. He glides those digits up and down your dewiness, listening for the squelching sound that makes his cock twitch beneath you. 

He moans onto your neck, nose tracing the column on its way to your ear.  “How do you touch yourself?” 

A sudden shyness overtakes you and you turn your head, needing to hide in his neck this time. You remain silent, the words lodged in your throat. 

Jungkook sees you. 

“Do you rub your little clit from side to side or in circles?” he questions, helping you answer. 

“I—I like both,” you whisper onto his skin, moving your hips so his fingers slip to your clit, the sweet spot where you need him the most. He grabs the back of your thigh and lifts it, spreading you open, meanwhile you chase the firmness of his fingers.

“Just like that, ride them,” he husks, eyes dazed, fixed on the roll of your pelvis. “Feels good, doesn’t it?” 

Head on top of yours, you nod, never ceasing your movement, transfixed, just like him, by the constant way the pads of his fingers fondle your clit before dipping between your lips. The heat of the summer tightens in your lower belly and it’s a desperate litany of begging what your mouth utters, despite the fact you’re not really sure what you’re asking for, but you let him hear it. You’re close, so unbelievably close, yet still have a road to walk on before you, and you close your eyes to feel the delight of his touch more deeply, only to find that you manage to do nothing of the kind. 

When you sense his eyes on you and by instinct you reciprocate his stare, that’s when you feel the depth you sought after. Mouth parted, pupils dilated, eyelashes a drowsy catastrophe, messy hair casting a soft shadow over the planes of his blissed-out face. You want to kiss him. You want to make him feel as good as he’s making you feel—

“Let me do it now,” Jungkook says hurriedly, sensing the nearness of your climax. 

“Yes,” you croak out, halting the movement of your hips—and ‘yes’ is the word that ripples out of your mouth a hundred, a thousand more times when he spreads you wider and rubs his fingers on your clit from side to side. 

He feels the pleasure in sync with you, accepting all of your yes’, twisting his face the moment yours does, quickening the rapidness of his hand once he switches to circles to carry you to your summer-breathed paradise. 

And when you come all over his hand, he slips two fingers inside your hole.

He stills the buck of your hips. 

You widen your eyes at the new feeling of fullness and, panicking and constricting around him, you look at Jungkook, who merely strengthens his hold around you. 

“Trust me,” he says, breathing heavily. He doesn’t move his fingers past his first knuckles; he lets you adjust to the size. Gives you a kiss full of tongue to distract you. “Does it burn?”

You begin to pant against his mouth, the high of your orgasm long gone. You’re uncertain to count it as one when it was so short lived, ruined by the sudden plunge of his digits. But much to your surprise, you don’t detect any burn in your walls that he speaks of, which you realize was his intention.

“No, it just feels a bit uncomfortable.” 

He kisses you again. You feel your lips go numb, eyes lidding at the pressure you feel as he sinks his fingers a little bit deeper and begins to move them sluggishly, your slick creating another ring for him around his fingers. You try to meet his thrusts as the visceral sensation of being filled by longer, thicker fingers settles within you and takes roots. You discover that movement is the key to parting the uncomfortable feeling and it steps to the side to let the pleasure walk forward.  

Jungkook presses his palm flat against your clit, guides the pleasure to envelop your body when he plunges his fingers deeper, past the second knuckles and fucks you in swift jerks. Your mouth falls open in a silent moan and he fills in the sound, expressing his fiery delight for you at the clench of your walls against him, accommodating for him, for his desire to stretch you out, so when he finally enters you, no pain comes to greet you. 

Deeper and harder—yes, that’s what feels good. You roll your body, becoming waves of the sea as wetness and the build up of pleasure—seafoam—is all your senses wrap around. 

“Feels good, baby?” 

His need to check in with you speeds up the nearing expansion of your orgasm. Pointer and pinky finger digging into the skin of your backside, you watch the in and out motion, the digits coming out wetter and wetter each time.

“Feels so fucking good. I’m gonna come. I’m so close.” 

It’s quicker. Way quicker than your first tiny orgasm. He slips in and out of you so smoothly—you’re obsessed with the sight, ravaged by it entirely. You grind your hips and fuck yourself back, picking up the pace but slowing down instantly when you feel yourself at the peak of your climax.

You want to prolong it. You love the feeling too much to end it too soon.

Jungkook stops your movements fully.

“I want to be the one who makes you come,” he murmurs. “I want to be the one who fucks your brain out. I want to feel you squeeze around my fingers. Fuck, I want it so bad.” 

His hand drifts to your neck just to hold you there, the other, the busy one, fingers you harder, your fast approaching orgasm blinding your senses. Your drenched cunt squelches around him, the sound so lewd it causes you to seek comfort—your hand flies to his on your throat, fingers wrapping around his wrist, the tip of your pointer reaching the fat bulb of bunny’s head on his ring. 

Harder and faster. A scalding fire burns you and you just take it. Loll your head back against his shoulder, giving him the space to grip your jawline. Flames grow closer and closer, leaving a layer of sheen on your body in its wake. You feel the sudden need to pee.

“Oh my god, Gguk—” Your muscles tense. Close, so close. “Gguk, Gguk—”

“What, baby? What’s the matter?” he husks, squeezing your neck once. “You’re gonna come for me? Gonna come on my fingers?” 

You nod quickly, too quickly. Flames of the sun, licking you. Flames of the summer heat. Just what you wanted. 

Jungkook opens your jaw, swirling his tongue around yours. “Let go. Come for me. You can do it, I got you—I got you. Come for me, baby, please.”

Obeying his desperate order, you do.

A small stream of your pleasure, a faint fountain, trickles out of you and into his hand. He gasps, in unison with your whimpers, and you’re transmitted elsewhere. The wildly colorful, blooming meadow on a hill, overlooking the languorous sea and he’s there. Reaches behind himself. Offers you his hand. The wind ruffles his black hair, sweeps it back and you’re giddy—as giddy as Bam, as giddy as you were in the moment the slid the white bunny ring on your finger—to take the last two of his slender fingers, the pinky and the ring, and sit with him by the edge of the cliff. 

“Did so well for me.” 

The whisper takes you back and you awake. 

You’re different. Incandescent. Of life, of stars and its light, of growing fondness for the man you sit perched on the lap of, whose fingers still remain sheathed inside of you. He changed you. Perpetually, absolutely. He changed you and made you into something new. Something that is softer, more elegant—smaller but assertive. Alluring and kind. Indisputably good. 

He fucked everything negative out of you with his fingers. Left the vast canvas of stars inside of you.

You’re no longer a plain spread of cotton, but a living, breathing artwork. His artwork.

Once he fucks you with his cock, you wonder what further internal changes are going to occur within you.

You feel a great deal of gratitude for him—and you want to reciprocate all that he’s done for you. You want to work hard at it. Spoil him. Make him whimper. You believe he deserves it.   

“You finger yourself often? How come you took my fingers so well, hm?” 

You’re panting, unable to speak. Absorbing the sharpness of the stars, acclimatizing to the change. 

“I guess you do, huh?” he deduces. “Good little girl, preparing herself for me.” 

For the life of you, you can’t catch your breath.

Jungkook kisses your cheek deeply. Pecks you on the same spot a hundred times, slowly taking out his fingers. Lets you see your slick coating his fingers and, softly, you gasp at the little ripples of wrinkles upon the tips of his fingers, mouth parting.

And then he sinks them into your mouth. 

His hardness twitches behind you and you moan, your daintily bittersweet taste making your head spin. And when you look at him, you’re met with the utmost pink-dusted adoration painted on his face. You kiss it, inhaling it, letting it flow into your system so it suffuses your bloodstream, letting him taste you. You may not feel your lips, but the sentient poetry of the stars begins to sing in you. His stars. You feel like a flushed floweret visited by a bee. Spent, but happy. 

Happy to be wanted.

Good, because he said you were.

As if internally intertwined with him, you feel the identical heat tinge your cheeks. 

He says nothing as he lays you down and spreads your legs back to the way they were. Though when he’s graced with the sight of your bare cunt in all her glory, his face says everything that his mouth isn’t capable of. Hunger and torture—lips agape, corners of the mouth shiny with the rush of drool and Jungkook wipes it away, then lowers his fingers to your clit, to your lips, becoming more acquainted with this intimate part of you that no one had seen before him. He traces your small hole, even going as far as to your other, tinier hole and you yelp, stopping his exploration. 

Jungkook merely chuckles, eyes darting to yours. “You’re so pretty.” You grow so hot that you think you must be on fire. “Especially there.” 

You mewl, shrinking, hands looking for anything to hold and finding his bunny plushie. You take her into your arms, inhaling a scent that could never be hers. You recognize immediately whose it is. 

Musk, vanilla, wood. 

The thought of Jungkook cradling her while he sleeps moves you and you pout. 

“How we feeling?” he asks, still caressing your fleshy cunt, dripping with dew. 

Overjoyed. Overstimulated.

Heavenly.

“Good.” 

A foxy smile. “How many orgasms was that, hm?” 

You don’t know where your shyness comes from and why it chokes all of the words you want to say. You bury your face in bunny for a moment, taking a breath to fight against it, so you can please him because that’s all you yearn to do. 

You open your mouth, but no words come out. 

Jungkook stifles a laugh and it makes you feel terrible. And it’s worse when he leans over to kiss you, turns his head at the last moment and faces bunny.

“Bunny, how many times did she come?” he asks her, offering her his ear to hear her answer. Looks at you. Widens his eyes. Gasps. “Two,” he mouths. Listens some more. Nods. “I know she thought she wouldn’t come at all. Crazy, right?” Then he lets out an endearing sound. “She said she’d believed you could do it the moment you said it. She’s so happy for you. How cute,” he coos. 

You giggle, the bridge in your throat loosening, light flooding you, over and over, until you think you can’t take any more of it. You feel so full, so happy and the sensation threatens to pour out of your tear ducts. 

It heals something within you—that he treats you like this at your most vulnerable state. Your inner child flares, the stars the strength that fixes her stoop, helping her arise, stand straight, stand powerfully. 

He smiles down fondly at you. “So what number are we at?” 

You hide your face behind your hands. “Two.” 

“What did you say? I didn’t catch that.” 

You drop your hands and with as much energy as you can muster, you repeat the number. 

He purrs, caressing your cheek. “Good girl.” As a reward, as if the praise wasn’t enough, he kisses you deeply. “Will you let me taste you?” 

You swallow his desire, but speak up your own, “I want to taste you first, please.” 

Jungkook hums, curses under his breath. He straightens and kneels before your form, fingers pinching the back of his T-shirt and pulling it over his body. You catch the sight of his broad shoulders, of each dip and muscle, and your irises grown in width. Him ridding himself of his clothes dishevels his hair and as he untangles his arms from the material, he smiles down at you, noticing your stare. 

He caresses the back of your thigh before his hand flies to his hard length. He palms himself once, then continues to undress—tugs his sweatpants down to his knees, though he doesn’t bother himself to fully take them off. The shape of him is more prominent through the fabric of his white Calvins, the bulge of his mushroom wet and pellucid, and you sit up, hand itching to touch him, to join his in making him feel good, but he cups your chin—forcing you to look up at him. 

He swipes his thumb over your lips. “You want it?” 

You nod. “So bad.” 

Jungkook curses again, the sound low and rough. 

“Touch it,” he orders and both of your hands listen, wrapping around his girth, squeezing beneath the head of his cock. The thickness of him makes you see the light of the stars that you sense fluttering feverishly inside of you. Your mind is too empty, too washed out by your orgasm, by the change that you don’t even think about how you’re going to take him. Jungkook hisses, tilting his head back before he looks down at you intently. “You did this before?” 

You’ve never seen one in real life before, let alone touched one.

“I’ve never let anyone get this close.” 

Jungkook strokes your pigtails. “How come you know what to do then?” 

Instinct or memory from porn you watched—you don’t know, it all blends together within the fuzziness of your mind. And you tell him.

“I watch a lot of porn.” 

Jungkook smiles coyly and it strikes you. You’ve never seen him smile this way before or, even, feel this way before. All you know from him is dominance, dominance and dominance. 

You release him from the confines of his boxers and repress your gasp. His ever glistening tip reaches just below his navel and the thickness of his girth obscures most of his pubic hair. Along with the sound of your surprise, you also have a hard time swallowing the saliva collecting in your mouth. 

“I want you so bad,” you whisper, needy eyes looking up at him. Shy, too shy to let your gaze linger at the most intimate part of him. 

He sucks in a breath at your words, hissing. And you need him inside of you all over again. 

Fuck fuzzines in your mind. You’re fuzzy all over. Wrecked with nerves, suddenly. Your hands tremble, hovering in front of his manhood. Jungkook covers them with his, soothing you, and guides you to his shaft. Wraps your fingers around him. Doesn’t let go. 

The feel of him under his supervision is slow. He allows you to take in every ridge of him, every vein—the softness of his skin, the warmth and the weight. Round after round, up and down, until you get familiarized with him. A trickle of his male essence drips down the side of him and your tongue instinctively darts out. Like your hands, Jungkook’s breath shakes and he anticipates your next move, despite the fact he’s in charge. 

He’s been patient all this time, giving you the time you needed. But that hardly applies when you have him in your hands, when you own his neediness. His whimpers while he waits coax your slick out of you, soaking the bedding beneath you and you can’t take it anymore. 

Neither, evidently, can he. 

“Baby, please,” Jungkook croaks out. Tortured, so terribly tortured. Grip tight and clammy around your hands. 

So vulnerable. 

You ache. 

You lick up a stripe of his essence on the side of his cock and Jungkook shudders. Shifting onto your knees, you show him the milkie on the tip of your tongue and Jungkook pulls your hair, tilting your head back. Kisses you nastily, licking into your mouth. Moans, lowly. Then, he holds his girth at the base and pushes your head. 

When you take him, a mewl ripples around the thickness of him. His eyes roll back and his grasp of your hair tightens, burning your scalp, adding to the fire. He lets you feel it out; lets you figure out what to do, testing your knowledge from the porn you’ve watched. And the tensing of his stomach divulges his strained effort not to fuck your mouth. 

You go slow about it. Swirling your tongue around that rosy head of his, along that delicious ridge, licking a flat stripe across that line of his slit. Getting to know him in all those intimate places, relying on your senses—on them to tell you what he likes. Your hand begins to move on its own, gliding back and forth in tandem with your tongue stimulating his sensitivity. You try not to think about how you can barely fit him in your mouth, because if you do—you’ll ruin his bedsheets. 

But then Jungkook hums in approval, sending a gush of wetness out of you and you whimper—you whimper at the worsening ache you feel, at the helplessness that pools in your system by being just so filthily wet and horny. 

He moves your hand faster. Breath jagged, bedroom eyes zeroing down on you. And then—

Jungkook moans your name. Over and over, clenching and unclenching his hand on the back of your head. 

“Don’t have to teach you shit,” he spits. “You just watch porn all day, don’t you? Naughty girl.” 

Losing control for a split second, he rams his cock into your throat—and you don’t panic, you don’t yelp. Instead, you groan. 

He pulls you away from him with a sharp tug. Kisses you harshly. Shoves you down into the pillows with one push on your sternum.

Bending you in half, he drinks your cunt. Lips immediately suck on your needy bundle of nerves and it’s so fast you don’t even know which part of you he’s focusing on because he’s everywhere. Clit, hole, clit, hole—sucking, licking. Alternating, alternating so swiftly and deliciously that you completely lose your mind. 

And then he lifts your hips and holds them in the air, wanting you to see what he’s doing to you. Like you, he darts out his tongue and teases you, hovering the muscle above your clit. Shiny, nimble, capable of doing unspeakable things to you. He watches as your pussy drools for him and he chuckles darkly. Tongue lowering to collect it, but unlike you he never does it. He lets the dew trickle down your skin. 

“Cute little pussy. So wet. Wetter than when I fucked it. You liked playing with me on your knees, didn’t you?” 

With your fucked out brain, you don’t think it’s taunting what he’s doing. You deem it’s just him reveling in what he’s able to do to your body—in the fact that he owns it, that he teaches it new things. The glint in his dusky, lustful eyes proves it. 

Jungkook drags a long stripe on your clit, making your eyes flutter closed and your teeth to sink into your bottom lip to cage in your moans. 

“Talk to me.” 

You can’t. You don’t know how to talk. 

He stares you down. 

No answer from you. Just hard pants. Pussy drooling. 

“I won’t play with you, then.” 

Panic. “No.” 

He cocks a brow at you. “No?” 

Silence. 

He begins to lower you down but you grip his forearm. 

“Jungkook.” 

Bent over above you, head low, he merely flicks his eyes to yours. Duskiness, such blackening duskiness in those orbs. 

“Beg.” 

All your muscles tense. Wetness gushes out of you. 

Lucky for you, that word he wants is the one you haven’t forgotten. 

“Please.” 

“Please what?” 

You groan in frustration. 

“Be nice or—”

“Please, lick me.” 

That dark chuckle. You feel yourself becoming obsessed with it. 

“Where?” 

A challenge. Your throat dries up. 

“There.” 

He shakes his head disapprovingly, making a sound that expresses just how much he didn’t like that. 

“Try again. Last chance, little girl.” 

The loving smile on his face says everything about how that threat is feigned. You hear it tell you—you have as many chances as you need. He’s merely encouraging you to step out of your comfort zone. 

And something about that mellow, hidden kindness gently ushers you to do just that. 

“Lick my clit, please.” 

A hum. A long stripe on that sensitive, thumping spot. A roll of his tongue forward and backward.  

“Like this?” 

You choke out a moan. 

“Yes, please.” 

“Or—” He blows on you, causing you to tremble. “Like this?”

He shakes his head against you briskly, not yet at a full tilt. Just like his, your body shudders in his hands and he tightens his grip on your supple hips. You can’t take it, the pleasure is overwhelming and—

“Look at me,” he orders and you open your eyes, immediately. “Like this?” 

Jungkook adds more pressure and rapidness to the movement, leaving you glazed sweetly in the sheen of his saliva. He moves your hips up and down on the firmness of his tongue and you scream, taking a strong hold of his hair.

“Oh my god, yes, fuck, Daddy—”

Shocked, Jungkook groans against your pussy, slowing down to ingest what your mouth has just uttered. It’s more than natural to call him by a title like this, instinctual, innate. It fits him so well and it drenches your pussy, your slick amalgamating with his liquid love. You’re certain he feels the rush.

Your Daddy. 

You roll your hips against his tongue. Dark and more dark, those eyes of his. Bottomless pit.

“Fuck yes, call me Daddy again.” 

The whimpers you let out are pathetic and Jungkook shudders at them, groaning. You whine the title over and over again, a verdant, dreamlike litany of your feminine sexuality pampered, cared for, supervised. Jungkook accepts the gravity of it all, each declaration propelling him to suck your clit harder, bruises forming on your hips from his deathly grip, black eyes never leaving yours, hypnotizing you. 

And when you come like this, it’s unification what happens. 

You’re bound to him and he’s bound to you. 

Daddy and little girl. 

Throughout your sexual experience today, you had a hard time accepting things but this—this is something that slept inside of you all your life and just now has been awoken to a flickering canvas of bright stars. You feel it blink, adjust to the piercing light, before it smiles dolefully—happy to be conscious, happy to be caressed.

Jungkook kisses you and takes his time. The taste of your femininity, the fresh coldness of your change, the strong wine of his desire. You’re drunk. You’re slurring your mewls. 

And one thing about unification, it’s a mirror. 

You swallow down the same mewls, uttered by his throat. 

“Daddy’s gonna give it to you,” he whispers, adjusting between your legs. “Will be gentle. You’re safe with me.” 

He rakes the tip of his length along the entirety of your little sea-kissed seashell. 

“You want it? You want Daddy’s cock inside of you?” 

Jungkook looks into your eyes deeply as he asks you that question, the tip ready at your significantly smaller hole. He peppers kisses along your jawline and chin. 

“I’m scared it’ll hurt,” you murmur, brows furrowed. 

He kisses your cheek, the corner of your mouth. 

“We’ll chase the pain away,” he promises.

Your frown deepens. 

“But what if it doesn’t fit?” 

You expect him to chuckle, but he does no such thing. He absorbs your worry by kissing you tenderly. Then he glances at your body. Remembers he never took off your bra and fixes his mistake. 

“You may be small, but you were made to take me,” he says and your heart skips a beat; you wonder if he understands the gravity of his words as they take roots within you, rising to bloom into splendid flowers. “Besides, my dick is tiny. You won’t even feel it.” 

It is so far from the truth that you burst into giggles. He laughs along with you—a mirror reflected. 

Stars and flowers. Sea and freshness. You were made to take him. You trust him. 

He kisses your breasts, licking over your nipple—but briefly. Holding his shaft, he asks if you’re ready. You nod, your fingers desperately searching for his and Jungkook notices. Sinking slowly inside of you, he grabs his bunny plushie and tucks her into the crook of your elbow. 

There’s a pinch of pain, blended with the feeling of discomfort as your walls stretch around his head. 

Seeing it painted on your face, Jungkook draws close, enveloping you and bunny in his heat. Pushes a little more in. You wail softly, the pain intensifying. Fear intermingles with your features and Jungkook—the worry in his countenance makes you almost weep.

“Hold onto me,” he says, brows scrunched, so—so serious. “Relax, baby. I got you.”

You hook your arms around his neck, bunny sandwiched between your chest and his. Jungkook saves this time to let you adjust around him. 

“I know it hurts,” he whispers onto your mouth, index finger, the ringed one, stretching to graze your cheek. “Just relax your muscles for me. It’ll feel good soon.” 

You nod, trusting him. 

He pecks you. Smiles. 

“How many orgasms are we at?” 

You roll your eyes, your own smile threatening your lips. “Three.”

Jungkook hums. Pecks you again. You feel your walls loosening, little by little.

A smug smirk. “You didn’t expect that, did you?” 

“You obliterated my expectations.” 

“Just wait until I fuck you properly.” 

You blush, eyes twinkling. 

“Pretty girl.” He kisses you and you feel your attachment forming again, though this time—newly. As light, as free as an entanglement of seaweed upon seashore, you and him. Connected. Bound. No fear, not even a hint of it. “I heard you watch porn.” 

Your flush deepens. Jungkook sinks a little deeper. A faint pain—nothing bad. 

“Who told you?” You laugh, the sound ridding you of your shyness. 

But Jungkook grows solemn.

“Tell me what kind you watch,” he whispers, angling his head to give you a tiny kiss. 

Your cheeks hurt from the smiling, from the onrush of emotions within you, sloshing to and fro. You feel hot all over.

“The one where all the focus is on the girl,” you whisper back. “The guy uses all kinds of toys on her and she just takes it. Comes so many times and there’s a countdown for it.”

Humming, he begins to nibble on the skin beneath your jaw, making your breath shallow. He pushes in another inch—and the pain is worse. You tighten your grip around him.

“And how many times do you come when you watch it?” Deep, deep is his voice, the calmness to your nerves due to the pricking you feel. 

“I don’t stop coming.” 

Jungkook swears under his breath and clenches his digits into a fist beside your head.

“And you finger yourself?” 

You nod, confidently. Another inch. He smiles at your confirmation of his deduction.

“How many fingers?” 

You scoff. “Just one.” 

“Well done,” he praises, kissing you once, keeping his mouth on you even as he asks, “ready?” 

You nod, again, even though there’s fright to your eyes. He sees it and he brushes his eyelashes against your eyelids while he kisses you, taking it all away. And he doesn’t stop, even as he pulls out and thrusts back into your heat. Gently, so awfully gently. 

He didn’t break his promise. 

Jungkook rocks his hips in slow, sensual, prolonged staccatos, moaning into your parted mouth. You’re so focused on him—on the bulging of his muscles on the either side of your head, the broadness of his shoulders, the slick sweat dripping down his neck, right from the top of his tattoo; on the sheerness of his pleasure as he moves in and out, carefully so as to not frighten you, that the pain quickly subsides. 

And there you feel it. 

The sensation unlike any other. 

He rams into you, seeing the wrinkle between your brows smoothing, the lust clouding your eyes as the delight spreads all over your body, bringing along little dots of goosebumps. The night sea, windless, still hot from the afternoon’s goodbye kiss. You feel it—and you feel it deeply, sinking inside of you with every inch of his manhood. So much that you meet his thrusts. 

“That’s it, baby. Fuck yes,” Jungkook murmurs, enraging the waves within. “Feels good, doesn’t it? Being fucked?” 

Stars and its light. He picks up the pace, hooking your leg over his shoulder, entering you deeper and deeper, giving you more than half. The thrill of feeling so full—you curse, you moan, you can’t hold it in, even if you tried. And Jungkook coos at your conveyance of the pleasure he’s giving you, never lifting his eyes off of yours, off of your features, your emotions. Surveying you, controlling you, making sure you’re okay—more than okay.

You sense the pressure coil deep within your core, the sense of your climax approaching and you’re astonished at how quick it is. You halt your own movements, needing—wanting him to be the one to get you there, the one who owns your orgasms. 

“Gguk, Gguk, fuck—”

“I know,” he breathes. “I’m gonna make you come all over my cock.” 

He fucks you harder, making you cry out. Deep, deep staccatos, so different from the slow, languid ones. You can’t catch your breath, the sea within you sloshes violently and then—

Softly, you sprinkle him with your fountain of pleasure. Not enough to drive him out, but sweetly enough to force him to groan against you and pound you harder into the mattress. Continuing as if you hadn’t come. 

You don’t have the time or the space to think about what just happened—he fucks each and every thought of you. 

“My little squirter,” Jungkook mutters, kissing you. “One more, baby. One more for me and I’ll paint you with my cummie. Hm, you want that?” You’re gone, flung out of this world into a tranquil island. The palm trees, the sea and his cock. Your emotions are numb, body limp. All you feel is his cock, ramming and ramming into you. “Or you wanna swallow it for me like a good girl?” 

“Swallow, please,” you croak out and Jungkook makes a sound of approval. Rewards you by giving you the full thing, filling you balls-deep. 

“You feel me?” He kisses you, tugging your bottom lip with his teeth. 

Glorious, glorious delight. You can’t breathe. Too much. 

“I feel you—” You lift your head to look down where you’re connected. “I—I feel you in my stomach.” 

Sitting back, he lifts your hips and palms the bulge just a little bit above your mound. Feels it move under him once he resumes fucking you. He replaces his hand with yours, keeping you distracted as he undoes the ribbon in your hair and ties your wrists with it. Right there above the bulge, where he fucks you. Then he latches onto your hips and jackhammers his cock into you, watching as your tits along with bunny bounce with each slam. 

“You look so pretty like this, tied up for me, taking all that I’m giving you,” he says, thumbing your clit, making you cry out. “Such a good fucking girl for me. I’m bringing you up so well.” 

“Daddy,” you call out and Jungkook nods.

“Yes, that’s right. Daddy is fucking you so good.” 

White flashes. Seafoam. The pressure in your tummy deepening and deepening. The roar of the night sea and your body following—you come all over him, painting him iridescent with your dewiness. His joggers, dragged halfway down his thighs, his boxers are all ruined—pelvis, thighs and cock glistening. It’s such a beautiful image to you that it suffuses you with energy and you begin to speak. 

“Please, come for me.” 

Surprised, Jungkook chuckles. “Don’t you have orgasms to count down?” 

The ever persistent need for control. You kiss him, slip your tongue into his mouth to shut him up and you struggle against your ribbon, for the feeling of kissing him without your hands makes you feel iffy.

“Five. I came five times for you just like you wanted,” you whisper. “You fucked me so good. I’ll never forget it.” 

And it’s the truth.

Jungkook pecks you once deeply, humming into the kiss. He pulls out of you and whilst he strokes his cock, his fingers tug down the ribbon around your wrists. You take your place on your knees, gazing with awe and hunger at his shiny length. And as if he needed it, he plunges his fingers into your mouth for more lubrication. Then, grabbing your jawline gently, he pulls you in towards his cock, letting your lips play with his tip the way you like it as he jerks himself off. You flick your tongue under the ridge of his head and his length twitches, stunning you. You do it again, more rapidly, and you don’t stop until Jungkook begins to tremble. Pulling him inside your mouth, then out, flicking faster and faster. Repeat. 

Jungkook grunts. 

“Yes, like that, princess. Fuck, I’m gonna come for you.” 

He announces it, but it still comes as a surprise when the first rope of hot cum spills onto your flushed cheek. You suck him harder for a moment before you stick out your tongue, eyes flick up, as he empties his balls for you, his hand never ceasing the swift tug on his length. 

And he just keeps coming. Rope after rope. Liquid star after star.

And you swallow it all. 

Spent, sweaty and breathless, he helps you swallow it. Dragging his fingers to the places your tongue can’t reach, he feeds you his cum and you suck on his digits. Your heart thuds in your ribcage, especially when he begins to play with your tongue, smiling down at you in that dopey way. 

He pats you on the cheek once you show him you’ve swallowed it all. 

“Good girl. Good little princess.” 

That you are. A changed person for all eternity.

“Is your tummy full?” 

You nod, beaming vehemently up at him, the aftertaste of the bitterness of his liquid stars still wafting through your senses.

The three forbidden words rise in your tongue, even though you don’t believe them—you think it’s just the opulence of new emotions and experience that forces those words on your tongue. But they remain adamant when he bathes you clean, when he brushes your hair and gives you his clothes to wear to bed. They provoke you right there on the tip of your tongue when he gives you his zipper hoodie to wear on his balcony once you tell him you need a smoke and he joins you, giving you his pack of cigarettes. 

And they come off the edge, in a different form, when you tell him of how he changed you while you hold his hand and he caresses your damp strands with a cigarette propped between his index and middle fingers, kissing your cheek. The smoke fixes a makeshift halo around both of your heads. One body, one halo. Bound.

“You’re such a lovable person, Gguk.”

What you don’t know is that those mere words changed the entire trajectory of his life. Yours, too.

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

BACK to masterlist / read part one, read part two, part three

[avocado-writing]

Hi gorgeous could I request a Deadpool x reader x Wolverine smut where it's basically the car fight in the movie and the reader is in it? Reader can regenerate just like them but during the fighting things for a turn? Also female reader :)

sure - I’ve seen a few takes on this, so here’s my brief one too! (I am not an action writer. I am a smut writer. Be kind).

words: 2k

rating: explicit. minors dni. spit roast; oral (reader giving); p in v sex; violence as foreplay; excessive use of the word ‘fuck’; a LOT of dirty talk

If you could trade all your powers for the ability to make Wade Wilson shut the fuck up, it would be no contest. You wouldn’t be a mutant and Deadpool would be silent. 

Fucking hell, how many holes has his mouth dug you into? He’s a dear friend, of course - one you’ve definitely not been nursing a crush on, don’t look at that too deeply - but come on. The guy’s an idiot. You don’t know how he managed to get someone as ruggedly handsome and emotionally constipated as the Wolverine to come along with you (not that you’re complaining, he’s pretty good eye candy too. You’ve had a thing for the idea of him for probably about a decade and, though this particular variant is as rough as they come, he’s still hot) but there has to be a time limit to this success. This is only accentuated when Logan slams the brakes on the Odyssey, throwing you forward from your position in the captain’s seat. 

“Fuck!” you mutter. You definitely just broke your nose from the way you slammed into the cup holder. Turns out seatbelts are made to be worn, who knew? As you focus on twisting it back into place, feeling the cartilage heal and blood congeal, you’re vaguely aware of the argument happening up front. 

Logan’s finally cottoned on to Wade’s bullshit, and it giving a pretty savage monologue about how much of a fuckup he is. You frown. 

“Come on, dude, chill out, he was only trying to —”

“You can shut the fuck up too! You’re just as fucking bad as him! Jesus Christ he may be shoe-in for the world’s biggest asshole but you’re the one trailing around after him with the fucking puppy dog eyes,” Logan snarls. You see Wade frown from under the mask, letting Logan’s vitriol towards you sink in.  

“Don’t you dare talk to her like that.” His tone is serious. Deadly. Logan laughs. 

“Or fuckin’ what, mouth?”

He does not see the sucker punch Wade throws, and then his nose is bleeding. He lunges for your friend with his teeth bared. A wild animal.   

“Stop-!” you shout, darting forward to grab him. An elbow collides with your already sore nose and you yelp in pain. Wade has a knife in his hand immediately and is sinking it into the soft meat of Logan’s thigh, who hisses and extends his claws. One set goes through your calf, the other into Wade’s chest. 

“You fucking cunt!” you scream, grabbing your gun from your belt and unloading it into Logan’s centre mass. The force makes him retract his hand but doesn’t stop him from grabbing your hair and slamming your face into the console. 

“Shit!”

“I told you that you needed a haircut, pookie,” sighs Wade as he shoves baby knife into Logan’s jugular, having to reach over your body to do it. You shoot him in the kneecap. 

“Ow! What the fuck, I’m on your side!” he shrieks. 

“Don’t talk about my hair Wade! It’s a very! Sensitive! Subject!” You punctuate your sentences with fists to the Wolverine’s abdomen. He doesn’t even seem fazed. Instead, Logan lunges for your friend, pressing his groin into your face - and that makes it very obvious that he’s having a… reaction. 

“Holy shit,” you whisper, not loud enough for anyone to hear. 

Logan throws Wade out of the car, the sound of breaking glass a symphony behind you. Some of it decorates your hair. The two of you are left with a second alone; when you reach forward he goes to punch, but when you cup him through his suit he freezes. 

“What…?” Logan snarls, half taken aback, half turned on. 

“Sorry, old man, all the fighting working for you? Surprised you can even get it up any more…” you breathe. From the way his pupils dilate the answer is yes. Pain shoots from your chest as his claws stab you through the heart, but you grin and reach in to lick a line up the side of his face, burying your tongue in his beard. 

“Fuck… you…” he manages, growling when you bite the shell of his ear a little too hard. 

“We don’t have to fight, Lo.”

The door is ripped off Wade charges back in, throwing you into the back so that he can get at Logan. Clearly he mistook your flirting for fighting, when it was definitely the other way around. He unloads a clip into the other man’s stomach, but you grab his arm and redirect, sending a spray of bullets through the Odyssey’s ceiling and grazing your shoulder. 

“What are you—?” asks Wade, but then his face is in your hands and you’re kissing him over the mask. A pause as he registers what’s happening. Then he buries his sword through Logan’s chest to keep him pinned as he wrestles with the fabric, freeing his mouth so that he can kiss you back. 

“I don’t understand,” Wade breathes, taking you in, eyes wide and breaths heavy. 

“Don’t try to,” you argue, pulling his blade out of Logan and cleaning the blood off it with your tongue. Wade clearly isn’t entirely sure what’s going on, but from the way his mouth drops open, he’s never been so horny for something so weird his whole life. 

You turn to Logan and kiss him with his own blood on your lips. He grunts beneath you, sinking a claw into your hip to keep you in place. It hurts, but also…

“Fuck. Sadistic old man,” you breathe, sinking your nails into his face.  

“Little fuckin’ freak,” he replies, biting your lip so hard it bleeds. 

“Holy shit, is this happening?” Wade asks. You manoeuvre so you’re aimed towards his lap, grabbing Logan’s arm and forcing it out of you. Your blood spills down your flank. 

“Stop commenting about it and fuck me, Wade,” you sigh.

He looks across the length of you to Logan who gives a curt nod. 

“Put your fuckin’ money where your mouth is, bub,” he hisses. This is all the permission Wade needs. You hear him tearing at the belt of his suit, positioning himself so that he can free his cock. There’s no time to strip. This is going to be rough and dirty and mostly clothed. 

You’ve never been so glad to dress in a two piece in your life. 

Your fingers work with Logan’s at the fly on his suit as Wade’s hands drag your pants down; he traces the cheeks of your ass, kneading your flesh and giving a running commentary of how fucking pleased he is. 

“Holy shit, baby, look at you. Thought honey badger was the kinky one here but you’re dripping wet,” you hiss as he slaps down on the meat of you, throwing a look over your shoulder at him. He shrugs as if to say, what did you expect me to do? Logan’s hand on your jaw quickly guides you back. 

“Eyes on me,” he growls, finally able to pull his cock from the confines of his suit. It bobs in your face, thick and heavy and delicious. The fingers still cupping your face press down, popping your mouth open for him. When Logan’s thumb presses inside you suck on it so hard that his eyes go wide; it tastes of blood and dirt and fuck you can feel yourself leaking down your thighs as Wade rubs his length against your folds. 

No more encouragement is needed as you open your mouth and swallow as much of Logan down as you can fit. He groans above you, hands burying into your hair. 

God, he’s big. Fucking threatens to dislocate your jaw. Oh well, you could click it back into place anyway and keep going. It’s the sort of thing you’re willing to compromise on if you can keep getting him to make those noises - filthy, laboured, desperate. Bucking his hips upwards into your mouth to make you take more of him. You moan around him and the rumble of your throat makes him hiss, pulling your hair so tight he threatens to rip it out. 

You don’t care. 

You wonder why Wade hasn’t pushed inside you yet, and your question is answered when you hear him spit. You’re aware of the feeling of saliva dripping down your cunt, thick and halfway to sordid. Wade rubs it into your clit, marking you as his, before finally sheathing himself with one thrust. 

Ohhhh fuck. Yeah. There it is. 

You moan around Logan’s dick as Wade stuffs you absolutely to the brim. You’ve never been so full. Your mouth is stoppered and so is your desperate pussy, and when Wade starts to piston himself inside you it only serves to force you forward into the older man’s lap. The hair at the base of his cock presses deliciously against your lips and he makes a choking sound that could be your name. His hand, still present, is less strict now. He holds you in something akin to a caress. 

“Fuckin’ look at you…” he breathes. You want to roll your eyes at him pretending this is anything other than gratification. You leave his cock with a wet pop. 

“You just want something warm and tight to cum in, old man,” you say, letting your hand take over for a second while your jaw rests. 

Wade laughs as he holds you even tighter, but there’s something tinging it. Bitterness?

“You should see the way he looks at you when he thinks you don’t notice, pookie. Looks like our Wolvie is smitten.”

You glance up at Logan from where you’ve started kissing the length of his cock, and he looks… disgruntled. Oh shit. Wade’s hit a nerve there. 

“She’s clearly fuckin’ in love with you, you idiot,” he snarls. 

Wade’s hips stutter as he’s pistoning in and out of you, this unexpected revelation interrupting his pace. 

“You are?”

Aww man, this isn’t the time for this, but it looks like it’s happening anyway, huh?

“I like both of you,” you say, simply, because you do. “That’s why both of your cocks are inside me. Now put them to work.”

There’s a beat as they digest this information; then Wade starts fucking you twice as hard, lifting his leg up on the gearstick for leverage, and Logan pulls you mouth-first back into his cock. You make a pleased noise as they fill you, happy to let yourself go brainless for a moment as they use you however they want. There’s a warm feeling building in the pit of your stomach and you can feel an orgasm wanting to crescendo. 

Soon you hear Logan begin to breathe heavily, and you’re pretty sure he can’t be far. You make a show of looking up at him with your biggest, most fucked-out eyes. 

“Cum in my mouth,” you say, pulling back and sticking out your tongue as a target. He is powerless against that, spilling down your throat as you grin at the taste of him. 

“Oh fuck, you’re so fucking filthy, so fucking hot, holy shit, holy shit,” Wade breathes, thrusts getting erratic. Suddenly Logan is lifting you up by the shoulders, pushing you into Wade’s embrace.  

“Make her cum or I will,” he says, and you’ve never heard an orgasm be used as a threat before but fuck it does it for you. Wade’s hand scrabbles to your clit and it only takes a few desperate circles to have you coming all over his cock as he fills your cunt with his spend. Logan manages a boneless grin at the show. 

You collapse between them, and they support you. For a moment there is nothing but the sound of breathing and the smell of sex.

For a moment. 

“Are we a polycule now?” asks Wade. You roll your eyes fondly at him and slap his arm where it’s slinked around you. 

“Shut up,” you and Logan say in unison. 

“Okiedokie, guess we can address that if there’s a part two.”

taglist: @falsewordz @malfoys-demigod @belilwen @mildly-salted @tvwebs @childeslegstrap @getmeoutofhell @s1eep-o @just-a-beatlemaniac69 @yrthr @momopad @sugarplumz100 @captainjinkx @madspads @acrosstheunivcrse @yeethaw13 @na-is-salty @florduarte @hunterispunk @starfleetteddybear

[witchywithwhiskey]

a birthday ended with a bang

pairing: best friend!steve rogers x female reader

summary: your best friend picks you up for some ice cream on his birthday on the fourth of july and things escalate.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), smut, sexual tension, kissing, dry humping/dry sex, dirty talk, praise kink, pet names (sunshine, baby), aftercare, very quick friends to lovers

word count: 4.1k

a/n: ooof i have been suffering from the worst writer's block and i seriously didn't think i was gonna be able to post anything for steve's birthday, which would've made me so sad. i finally got through the worst of it i think, as of yesterday, but so this was written in a rush and i'm sorry if it's not very good but i tried!!!! anyway i hope everyone has a happy steve's birthday ❤️🤍💙

I’m picking you up in 10.

It was just after sunset on the Fourth of July, the sky still fading from a glowing indigo into the deep midnight blue of night, when the text from your best friend Steve Rogers came through. 

His text came as a surprise. Steve had been scheduled to work all day and he’d said he just wanted to go home and sleep after, so you hadn’t thought you’d see him. Instead, you had plans to celebrate his birthday on the weekend, but you’d have been a liar if you’d said you weren’t disappointed you wouldn’t get to see him on his actual birthday.

So you were excited by his text—but less so by the implication he would be taking you somewhere.

After all, you’d already gotten comfy and cozy in your bed, wearing a skimpy tank top and shorts you’d sleep in, and you didn’t want to get dressed again. Thankfully, you knew Steve wouldn’t care what you wore, but you were a nice friend, so as you dragged yourself out of your comfortable bed, you sent him a warning. 

i’m already in my pjs

By the time he replied, five minutes had already gone by. You’d managed to collect your keys and wallet from your bag, shoving them in a little wristlet that you looped around your arm as you stuffed your feet into some sandals. You read his text as you pushed through the door to your little cottage, prepared to wait the other five minutes for him in the cool July evening. 

Idc what you’re wearing. It’s my birthday and we’re getting ice cream.

You snorted a laugh, hearing your best friend’s bossy tone in your head, shaking your head to yourself at how much you loved it while you locked your door. Shoving your phone in your wristlet, you sat down on the top step of your porch and watched the neighborhood kids run through the yards along the street waving sparklers through the air.

Steve’s truck rolled to a stop in front of your small yard exactly 10 minutes after he’d texted you. An easy smile pulled up the corners of your mouth and you bounded down your wooden stairs, hurling yourself into the cab of your best friend’s truck.

“Happy birthday!” you cried as soon as you were inside. You tossed your wristlet on the dash and slid across the bench seat to throw your arms around Steve’s neck, hugging him tight while you pressed a smacking kiss to his cheek. 

His low laugh was like warm honey trickling down your spine, his breath skimming past your cheek and making goosebumps raise all up and down your arms. Your heart thumped in your chest and you buried your face in your best friend’s shoulder, ignoring the way your body was reacting—like it always did when you got too close to Steve. 

Seemingly unaware of your plight, Steve’s hand settled on your forearm, squeezing softly before his warm palm slid up to your shoulder, his other arm digging into the seat and wrapping around your waist to haul you closer. You let out a little squeak of surprise, burying your face further in his shoulder to hide the fact that you were enjoying the way he held you far too much. 

“Thank you, sunshine,” Steve rumbled, resting his head on the crown of yours as he hugged you back. For a long, long moment, the two of you sat entwined together in Steve’s truck, just enjoying the feeling of being close, though you suspected it meant much more to you than it did to your best friend.

Finally, when you realized the hug might be getting weird, and bordering on something more-than-friendly, you extricated yourself from Steve, smiling up at him as you broke the quiet. “Let’s go get some ice cream,” you said, your voice a little lower and raspier than normal as you stared into his achingly familiar blue eyes. 

A grin spread slowly across Steve’s face, and you felt your heart beat unsteadily in your chest at the devastating handsomeness of the expression. But thankfully Steve looked away and your lungs spasmed, begging you to breathe, so you sucked in some air while your best friend grabbed a ball of fabric from the backseat of his truck.

“Here, I’ve got the windows down,” he said, pushing the garment into your hands. 

Only when you shook it out did you see it was one of Steve’s hoodies, the navy blue sweatshirt massive to fit over your best friend’s broad shoulders. On the front, to one side and below the collar, Steve’s name was stitched into the cotton. Your heart gave another flip at the thought of wearing Steve’s name stitched over your chest. 

“I don’t want you getting cold,” your best friend murmured, his voice lower and rougher. When you looked back at him, Steve wore an expression you couldn’t quite interpret, his gaze almost possessive. It made something low in your belly squirm.

Swallowing thickly, you turned your attention to tugging the hoodie over your head, inhaling the familiar scent of Steve’s cologne. For the brief moment when your face was hidden, you closed your eyes in pleasure, feeling your body heat—from more than just the warmth of the sweatshirt. Then you pulled the fabric down over your head and stuffed your arms into the sleeves.

The hoodie was big on you, but you loved the feel of it, and you smiled up at Steve to show your appreciation. Your best friend was wearing a pleased smirk, his eyes a little hooded as they raked over the sight of you in his sweatshirt. 

“Looks good on you, sunshine,” he rumbled, something new in his tone that you’d never heard before. 

“Thanks, Stevie,” you whispered shyly, wrapping your arms around yourself. You felt a little awkward under the weight of his gaze, his eyes feeling like they were burning you up from the inside out, so you gave your best friend a goofy grin and said, “Now’m all nice and toasty.” 

Steve snorted a laugh, which broke the tension between the two of you, the mood in the truck lightening instantly. Shaking his head and wiping a hand over his face, Steve turned back to the steering wheel, and shifted his truck into drive.

You started to move into the passenger seat, intent on buckling up, but Steve’s big hand shot out and he grabbed your thigh, just below where the hem of your pajama shorts ended. His palm was warm, his fingers slightly rough with callouses, and you were immediately, acutely aware of the fact that Steve had never, ever touched you there before.

Heat crashed through your core as you sucked in a gasp of surprise. Instinctively, your fingers closed around your best friend’s wrist, holding him where he was, making sure he kept touching you. You stared down at his hand, your mind spinning a little at the sight of him clutching your thigh.

Steve’s fingers dug lightly into your thigh, almost reflexively, like he couldn’t help himself from seeing just how soft you were beneath his hand. Before you could do more than squeak out a quiet sound of delight, though, Steve pulled away and cleared his throat. The fingers of the hand that had been touching you curled and flexed like he already missed your softness.

“Want you close,” Steve muttered, his tone almost apologetic, like was asking for forgiveness for grabbing you so suddenly. His eyes dropped to somewhere near your feet and you watched as his adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. “Please, sunshine.” His plea was rough and so quiet you had a hard time hearing it over the sound of the fireworks your neighbors were setting off at random intervals.

“‘Course, Steve,” you said, your own voice soft and breathy, almost sounding sultry to your ears. You swallowed to wash away some of the throatiness, and tried to put on a light, friendly tone to steer you and Steve back to something normal—not whatever alternate universe you’d entered when you’d gotten in his truck. “You want birthday cuddles, you’ll get birthday cuddles.”

Steve let out a small snort and, as you watched, a tension you hadn’t realized had been there drained from his shoulders. Your best friend’s eyes raised back to yours, a flicker of something restless and reckless coursing through you while a small smirk tugged at the corners of his soft lips. 

“Yeah, sunshine, gimme some birthday cuddles.” 

When you’d said the words, they had sounded friendly, innocent even. But there was something in Steve’s voice that sent a shiver racing down your spine, heat simmering between your thighs. You told yourself he hadn’t intended his words to have such a reaction and pushed your body’s desirous response to the back of your mind as you shifted into the middle seat.

Carefully, you tucked yourself into Steve’s side, wrapping your arms around his bicep and clinging to him like he was your favorite stuffed animal. The bare skin of your leg brushed against the rough denim of his jeans and you trembled slightly, the sensation feeling far more erotic than it should. Steve’s hand landed on your leg just above your knee.

It was, ostensibly, a much more friendlier grip on you, but you felt arousal flare, hot and quick, in your core. Again, you ignored it and tipped your face up, planting your chin on the edge of Steve’s broad shoulder as you smiled up at him. Steve ducked down, kissing your nose and making you giggle, seemingly back to his normal self—your slightly silly best friend.

“Alright, let’s get some ice cream,” Steve rumbled, repeating your words while he gave your knee a squeeze, using his other hand to turn his truck around on your street and head in the direction of town.

There was a slight chill in the air as it swirled through the open windows of the truck cab, the heat of the July day having burned off and leaving only the coolness of night. Thanks to Steve’s hoodie, and the way your body was pressed into his warmth, you didn’t feel anything but comfortable, the breeze tickling your cheeks and making you smile. 

For a little while, you rode in silence with your best friend, but your mind kept straying to the feeling of Steve’s hand on your leg, to the memory of him gripping your thigh. You couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to have his big hands roaming all over your body, groping your thighs and hips…and other things. 

To distract yourself, you raised your voice above the wind and asked, “How was work?”

“It was fine,” Steve answered, his deep rumble sending a tremor of delight through your body. 

His eyes were on the road since he was navigating his truck through the town where you both lived, making turns to get to the small ice cream shop that would be open late for the holiday business. Still, Steve managed to shoot you a smile that made your insides flutter as he went on. 

“I would’ve much rather gone to the fair with you, though.”

A melty, gooey heat swirled in your belly and you squeezed his arm in yours, hiding a big, beaming grin in your best friend’s shoulder at his comment. When you managed to get control of yourself so you didn’t look like a lovesick fool, you raised your face again.

“We’re going on Saturday,” you reminded him, still smiling a little goofily. “Are you going to win me a new stuffie?” 

“Sunshine,” Steve started, using one hand to turn his truck into the small parking lot of the ice cream shop. “I’m going to win you all the stuffies.” His voice was warm and affectionate and you couldn’t help the way your heart beat unsteadily at his promise. Your best friend was none the wiser, though, as he parked his truck and turned to you. “C’mon.”

Steve helped you climb down from his truck, lacing his fingers through yours as you walked into the shop. It was busy, families and groups of friends getting some last-minute ice cream before heading over to the fireworks just outside of town. Steve and you fell into an easy conversation, your best friend asking you about your day to pass time while you waited in line. 

Once it was your turn to order, you asked for your favorite in a cone, then Steve got a couple scoops of dark chocolate in a sugar cone. You fought with Steve over who was going to pay. He insisted he should pay because he’d dragged you out of bed, and you argued it was his birthday and there was no way you were going to let him pay. 

Unfortunately, Steve’s arms were longer than yours and he was able to shove his card across the counter farther than you could. Grumbling about your stubborn best friend, you dropped a couple dollars into the tip jar and grabbed your ice cream. Steve followed you out, laughing at your poutiness and led you back to his truck, opening the driver side door for you and holding your cone while you got in.

Without being asked, you sat in the middle seat again, and held Steve’s ice cream while he drove, pushing it in his face whenever it started dripping. Both of you were laughing at the ridiculousness of him licking up the dripping ice cream while trying to drive by the time Steve pulled onto a dirt road that led up a hill beyond the edge of town.

After a few minutes, the trees parted into a clearing at the top of the hill and Steve rolled his truck to a stop, putting it in park overlooking the field where the town’s Fourth of July fireworks display would be. Wordlessly, you handed him his ice cream and the two of you sat in comfortable silence waiting for the show to begin while you enjoyed your sweet treat together. 

Steve finished his cone first, and you could feel his gaze on you while you licked up the last remnants of creamy goodness. You popped the last little bit of your cone into your mouth with a satisfied hum, your tongue licking sticky sweetness from your lips. 

“You have something on your…” Steve trailed off when you turned to him, his eyes dropping to your mouth and sliding along the curve of them. 

You felt his gaze like a physical thing, heat settling heavily in your core as warmth bloomed between your thighs. Then his thumb was following the the path of his eyes, swiping away some ice cream from the edge of your mouth that your tongue hadn’t been able to reach. 

Acting on impulse, and not questioning where it came from, you chased after Steve’s thumb, your tongue darting out to click the sweetness from the pad of his finger. Since your eyes were fixed on your best friend’s face, you watched his blue gaze darken and go heavy-lidded, his own mouth falling open with surprise. 

Heat filled your cheeks, making your face feel like it was on fire. “Umm,” you said, not knowing what else to say. 

It was on the tip of your tongue to apologize for licking your best friend, but just then, the first boom, pop and fizzle of fireworks sounded. Dazzling red light distracted you from Steve for a moment, dragging your eyes away to watch the fireworks display begin. You’d jumped at the first boom, the loud noise surprising you.

It was nothing, though, compared to the shock you felt when Steve grabbed your face, turned you back to him and ducked his head to capture your lips in a fierce kiss. Air filled your lungs as you sucked in a sharp breath, your body frozen while you sat there stunned, unable to do anything but feel the softness of Steve’s lips against yours.

Another sharp boom from overhead shocked you enough to make you jump again, and suddenly you remembered how to move. Your hands curled into the front of Steve’s shirt, clinging to him as you surged forward, pressing your lips harder against your best friend’s. 

Steve groaned low in his throat and your response seemed to unleash something within your best friend. Between one breath and the next, he was hauling you into his lap, your legs were straddling his thighs and his mouth was doing its best to devour yours.

You could taste the chocolate on his tongue as it slipped between your lips, exploring every inch of you and stroking against your own. Giddy excitement and heated desire swirled through your body, making you feel like you could float away as you and your best friend tasted and explored each other. 

Your hands uncurled from Steve’s shirt and slid up his shoulders, diving into the soft blond hair at the nape of his neck. He groaned again when you raked your nails softly against his scalp, his mouth going soft and slack as tremors of delight wracked his broad shoulders. 

“Fuck, sunshine,” Steve grunted, his hands pushing beneath the hem of the hoodie you wore so he could grope your hips. You rocked into him, wringing another moan of pleasure from your best friend when your heated core pressed against the bulge in his jeans. “You have no idea how long I’ve dreamed about feeling you like this.”

“Steve, I—”

Your response was cut short by your best friend’s teeth nipping at your bottom lip, making you whine and grind harder against his lap. Steve swallowed your sounds of pleasure, his big hands groping and kneading the soft flesh of your hips and thighs like he couldn’t get enough. It was better than you ever could’ve imagined.

“That’s it, sunshine, ride your best friend’s bulge,” Steve rumbled, a little bit of teasing in his tone. His lips trailed kisses along your jaw and down your neck. He sucked on the skin over your pounding pulse, pulling a whimpering sound from your mouth that was unlike any noise you’d ever made. “Ya gonna come on my cock, baby? Gonna come before we even take our clothes off?”

Your best friend’s filthy words poured over you like gasoline on a fire, turning the heat in your blood into a raging inferno. “Steve, god, please, I need…” You tried to form a coherent thought, your lips gasping for breath in between every false start, your hips working harder and faster as you chased your pleasure.

“Good girl, baby, take what you need,” Steve cooed in your ear, his hands slipping beneath your tank top and groping your tits. He plucked at your nipples, rolling the pebbled peaks between his fingers and making your eyes roll back in your head, your loud moans filling the cab of his truck and nearly drowning out the sounds of the fireworks from the field beyond. “Ride my bulge, sunshine, make yourself come all over my cock.” 

You were making a mess in your panties and shorts, your arousal soaking through the thin garments until you were certain you were leaving a wet spot behind on Steve’s jeans, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Not when your clit was rubbing just right against the bulge pressing against his fly. 

“Oh god, Steve, ‘m gonna…” 

Your hips worked frantically, humping against Steve’s cock through both your clothes while he murmured encouraging words in your ear and played with your tits until he figured out what made you squirm and writhe the most. Then he kept that up until you were suddenly at the edge.

“Come for me, sunshine, come for your best friend.”

Steve’s words were what did you in. His soft, murmured urging pushed you off the ledge and sent you tumbling into pleasure as you came for him.

Your arms locked around your best friend’s shoulders, nails digging into the back of his neck as bliss like you’d never known swept through your body, leaving you a shaking, trembling mess. Mindless moans and whimpers slipped from your lips, your hips still bucking on Steve’s lap as you rode out your release.

It wasn’t until Steve let loose a guttural groan, a warm wetness spreading through the jeans pressed against your bare thighs, that you realized he was coming too. You wrenched your eyes open, your gaze locking with his, seeing your own pleasure mirrored in his sparkling blue depths. Then your mouths were colliding, both of you having surged forward to meet somewhere in the middle.

The kiss was messy, mouths sliding and teeth knocking, both of you swallowing down the pleasured sounds of the other. Steve’s hands gripped your hips hard, fingers digging into your softness, helping you rock on his lap while you both rode out your releases and shuddered through the last remnants of pleasure together. 

Finally, when you were sated, your lips broke free and you pressed your forehead to Steve’s, closing your eyes as you tried to catch your breath. You could hardly believed what had just happened, and your mind struggled to catch up. 

“Christ, sunshine,” Steve rasped, his own chest still heaving shallowly. His hands were idly kneading your hips, like he was soothing any pain that might be there. “I really didn’t plan on doing anything more than getting ice cream for my birthday, but this was—wow.”

You giggled at the awe in Steve’s voice, leaning back enough that you could see him properly. His handsome, familiar face was slack from satisfaction, a dazed smile curving his mouth. Unable to help yourself, you ducked forward and sucked his lower lip into your mouth, making him groan like he was in pain. Beneath you, you felt his cock twitch, and you laughed again as you sat back.

“If you want, we can ditch the rest of the fireworks show and go back to my place?” you suggested, an eager smile on your face. 

Steve chuckled, wrapping his arms around your waist and leaning forward until every inch of your chests were pressed together. You could feel the steady beating rhythm of his heart against your sternum, making your smile soften as you melted in your best friend’s arms.

“Sunshine, the fireworks are already over,” he murmured before capturing your lips in a kiss. When he broke away, he left you panting. “And if you think I’m doing anything other than taking you home and taking you to bed…” He trailed off, getting distracted by pressing kisses against your jaw. 

You hummed in acknowledgement, but then a thought suddenly occurred to you and you had to bite back a laugh. “Your birthday is on the Fourth of July,” you began in a leading tone. “And you know what that means, Stevie?” 

Instead of responding, Steve sank his teeth lightly into skin over your thrumming pulse, sucking and licking like he was intent on marking you with his mouth. Your thoughts scattered for a moment, your head tipping to the side to give him better access while your fingers raked idly through his soft blond hair.

It took you a second, but you managed to finish your thought. 

“Because it’s the Fourth of July, we have to end your birthday with a bang,” you murmured, unable to stop yourself from giggling at your own joke.

Steve, on the other hand, groaned. His mouth abandoned your neck as he buried his face in your chest, reluctant laughter shaking his shoulders. Before you could poke him and get him to admit he liked your joke, Steve was flipping you onto your back, laying you down on his truck’s bench seat and slotting his hips between your thighs. His revived bulge bumped against your heated core, making you moan softly.

“Y’know what, sunshine? You’re right,” Steve rumbled, his blue eyes sparkling with humor and affection as he stared down at you. There was so much emotion in his gaze, it nearly stole all the breath from your lungs. “We’ll end my birthday with a bang.” His hands began to strip you out of the hoodie he’d given you to wear, his gaze hungry and determined. “We’re gonna see if I can make you scream louder than those fireworks.” 

Your laughter dissolved into a hot, hungry heat. You pulled Steve down at the same moment he ducked his head, your lips crashing together in a fiery kiss that fogged up the windows of his truck, your bodies working together toward the same goal.

Between you and your best friend, you made sure the Fourth of July—and, more importantly, Steve’s birthday—ended with a bang.

[creatingblackcharacters]

“Romance Will Not Solve Racism”- Interracial/Biracial/Blended Black and White Relationships and Families

I broke this lesson on white/Black interracial relationships and identity off from my multicultural lesson because this is one that demands its own talk. People think that the existence of interracial relationships, biracial children, and blended families means that we are “moving forward as a society”. While admittedly it’s no longer illegal- and the fight that went into it for the right was very important- it doesn’t mean that the world is “getting past racism”. Far from it, if I’m being very direct.

Tokenism

“It’s a given that they’re not racist, they’re in a relationship with a Black person.”

Some of the most antiblack racist people I’ve ever had the displeasure of witnessing are the ones that think they ‘could never be racist’ because they draw “Black” characters, reblog “Black” posts, or “enjoy” Black characters. What I need you all to understand, going into your creation, is the proximity to Blackness does not mean antiracism. In reality, they are usually just tokenizing Black characters and people.

Tokenism: “the practice of making only a perfunctory or symbolic effort to do a particular thing, especially by recruiting a small number of people from underrepresented groups in order to give the appearance of sexual or racial equality and equity within a specific societal system (workforce, school, university, movie, tv-show etc.)”

In other words, the token Black friend/partner/child/favorite character is the person that white people will point to, to suggest that they are not racist because there is someone Black that they can stand to be around. They value them as pawns, not as people.

This can and often does apply in these scenarios. A white partner that might be nice to their Black partner may switch up one day if said Black partner doesn’t act the way they want (‘you’re not like other Black people’), revealing a side they hadn’t before. Many white spouses have rejected their spouses’ Black biracial children or treated them less in comparison to their own white children. It has been noted that white foster families will adopt Black children for the money (because they’re ‘cheaper’) or performance value, since people don’t adopt Black children as much (one family even murdered all of them in a murder-suicide).

Meanwhile, the whole time, they ‘seemed so nice!’ Racism can come from ‘nice’ people. So moving forward this is something we need to keep in mind. If anything, you need to be even more aware of this when writing, as these characters supposedly have a close relationship.

“What are you mixed with?”- Colorism

It’s also not coincidence that many of the acceptable, “beautiful” Black biracial people are the Zendayas of the world. Light skin, looser textured hair. These are the Black biracial people that are brought to the forefront, but they are not representative of every Black biracial person!

Now, this is one of my biggest pet peeves, both in character design and in life, so say it with me:

BEING BIRACIAL DOES NOT AUTOMATICALLY MEAN LIGHT SKINNED, AND BEING LIGHT SKINNED DOES NOT AUTOMATICALLY MEAN BIRACIAL!

I want to bite everyone that thinks this lmao. People will see lighter-skinned Black people and ask “what are you mixed with?” It infuriates me, the idea that we are somehow more beautiful for that proximity to whiteness. The idea that being Black alone is not enough to be beautiful, there must be something else in you that makes it that way.

(I’ve also known some unattractive light skinned and mixed people so… It’s just not true.)

This belief easily permeates society, and that includes artists and writers who want a specific look for their characters. Every mixed child is NOT going to be light skinned!!! LET IT GO!!! “I want my character to have long, thinner textured hair, but I want her to have a natural ‘tan’ (their brown skin) so by being mixed, I can have that! How beautiful!” No. It’s very racist. If your goal is to obtain Eurocentric beauty standards for your character, but to ‘claim diversity and benefits’ in their Blackness, that is very much racist. Y’all gotta catch yourselves on that one!

"Passing"

I want to reiterate a point, that you’ve likely walked past many a Black biracial person and just assumed they were Black. Blackness is not just a skin color, but a measure of social standing as well. We have been socialized to think of Blackness as less than, so once someone has been perceived as Black, someone’s perspective will be affected by antiblackness, regardless of their complete background.

But, when it comes to being biracial with whiteness, there’s also the concept of “passing”, where you might have assumed they were white!

Now, this is a controversial, and U.S. American-centric, view that I’m about to express. People will disagree with me, and that’s fine. Colorism does offer privilege to light skin. But I am of the opinion that if you have to ‘pass’ as white, you are not White. White people don’t have to pass. They just are. No matter what other marginality they are, that whiteness is the one thing they can lean on. If you can have that whiteness and the privilege that comes with it revoked by sheer awareness of the Blackness in your genetics, you are not White, because white people can never have that happen to them. So you might be able to get away with whiteness, as long as no one knows!

It’s why things like the One Drop Rule, the Paper Bag and Pencil Test, and terms like quadroons, octoroons, creoles, mulattos and such exist.

Strong dependence on the Mammy stereotype in this movie aside, one of the main plot lines of Imitation of Life is a Black woman, Annie, and her mixed daughter Sarah Jane. Sarah Jane is beautiful, but most importantly she can pass as white (the actress is Jewish). But Sarah Jane struggles with the reality that her society treats her better when she’s ‘white’ but will immediately and violently turn their back on her when she’s revealed to be half-Black. She hides and rejects her Blackness to protect herself from the pain, but rejecting her Blackness means rejecting her beloved mother, and everything she’d done for her. Annie dies of illness and heartbreak, having accepted that this is the choice she’s made.

(also, Trouble of the World by Mahalia Jackson is one of my favorites)

Fetishization vs Reality of Black biracial children

Again: people like to place a lot on the existence of Black biracial babies. They think the existence of a Black biracial child means that race simply isn’t a factor. They’ll seek the ‘beauty’ of mixed children, plus the performance points of ‘non-racism’ because they exist. Imagine your own parent- whom you’re supposed to love and trust- treating you as violently as the world outside; treating you like those puppies people get at Christmas where it was fun as a concept but ready to toss by Easter because they’re no longer titillating. Black biracial children are not toys, and they are not symbols: they are human beings!

If you plan on writing a white parent to a Black child (biracial or not) that is a GOOD parent, then they need to be aware of their child’s specific needs! There are still things that will apply to your Black child character that are different from a white one that your white parent character needs to know. Otherwise, your Black and Black biracial viewers will notice that this kid would not realistically be safe, healthy, or happy.

This includes learning to do their hair, or where to take them to get it done; recognizing when some conversations just aren’t ones they can have on their own, when they are treating their Black child like their life experience and day to day needs are that of a white child’s. I recognize that every story isn’t going to center racism, but if your story does want to acknowledge it, this also includes learning how to catch when their child is being discriminated against by their own white family members (just because THEY as a parent are okay, doesn’t mean their families are), in school or in other social spaces. That child might be in danger, but if their white parent does not recognize that, they will not protect them!

Antiblack racism from white parents has been spoken about often amongst Black children. Children of color in general adopted by white parents can speak on it. The rapper Logic has rapped often about his white mother calling him slurs. You can tell when a Black biracial child’s hair is not being done properly because their white parent does not care to learn, and is trying to physically force whiteness upon them via assimilation. It can actually be incredibly damaging for a Black biracial child to have a white parent that does not know how to take care of a child that will face the world far differently than them.

This can include feeling excluded from certain parts of your identity, just because you aren’t “enough”. One example multiculturally is the pressure to assimilate. For example, some Latino families not teaching their children Spanish, or Kenyan families not teaching their culture, to assimilate in (white) American culture.

Very often, white people no longer in a relationship with their Black partner will isolate their Black biracial child from their Black family, thus cutting off access to half of their heritage. Thus, many Black biracial kids find themselves confused about that line. Ideally, their parents will be healthy enough to have those conversations and strengthen their self-identity, regardless of their relationship with one another.

So when you’re writing your character, they should not be telling them that ‘we don’t see race’, or any other things that imply that the Blackness within them is somehow shameful or doesn’t need to be acknowledged.

How to actually treat a Black partner

Any Black person (with any self-respect, let me clarify) will not want to be with someone that’s racist. This doesn’t mean that their white partner will be perfect immediately, but they should still come in with some decency.

I personally do not find it romantic teaching someone how to treat me like a human being. I’m passionate about these topics and education on them, but there’s still a distance between you and I, reader. You are a person I don’t know, that could either learn from what I teach (which is good!) or decide to… Well, stay racist, and be treated as such 🤣 But I would never give my heart to someone that I’m unsure of. It’s far safer to be with someone that has already done much of the work on their own, or at least has put the effort in and will continue to do so.

Black viewers do not want to spend time watching a white person realizing they’re a human. Partners are supposed to be a space of respite and security. How can you be safe and comfortable if someone’s always throwing microaggressions at you (unintentional or not), refusing to or incapable of understanding your perspective when it counts, only understands your experience on a surface level, or is determined to ‘make it not matter’… and then call it love?

Like if a white character is giggly because ‘omg they’re listening to “Black” music they’ve never heard before’ or ‘eating “Black” food’ because of their Black partner, that’s… god I’d close the book immediately. We’re not a different species. That’s not romantic, it’s just weird. You can have a new experience without treating it like your white character is going to the zoo and reading the exhibits.

Your white characters should be learning and applying constantly- consent to touch hair and body, learning what not to say or when it’s not their space to speak on a topic, learning about how the world treats their partner so that they can understand. This includes their own friends and family- why would a Black partner want to be with someone that doesn’t defend them from racist family members?

Your white character may not always get it right, and that’s fine*. But one thing I’ve discussed in a prior ask is that the bar for knowing if your relationship with a white person is a safe one (at least, at that moment) is if you can correct them. If you can tell your white person that they have done something wrong, something racist, or that there’s something they should know to continue this relationship, and they react well? Okay. That’s an opportunity for writing character AND relationship growth!

*There’s levels to this; obviously there’s some things you can’t (or shouldn’t) come back from

Depicting this may be hard for someone that… that hasn’t had that conversation. I have been able to write that sort of scene. But if you’ve never had that conversation, you won’t know how it goes. I have to be honest with you… This is where it would be good to have Black friends that feel comfortable enough to have these conversations with you. I mean, you shouldn’t go make friends just because you want to use them for creation. That would be disrespectful. But if this is something that you want to write, I would highly suggest that you grow familiar with microaggressions and acts of antiblack racism, so that you can understand WHY they are a problem. Can’t really apologize and “not do something again” if you don’t know what that something is.

Fetishization of Black Partners

The Jezebel and the BBC stereotypes come into play often via the idea that a Black partner is something wildly exotic and can be used for sexual experimentation. ‘Wanting to know about big Black dick’ or ‘if all Black girls squirt’ is objectifying. You can write us in your sex scenes- many of us do enjoy sex and can even be kinky! But watch that you’re being respectful, from your descriptions to your dialogue. We’re not raging sex beasts and sex toys for your fantasies. We deserve care and our needs met as well.

There’s also this thing where white girls will date a Black man to ‘spite daddy', and when they’re done rebelling, that Black man is left in the dust, maybe even accused as an aggressor to excuse her ‘leaving’ her own (he manipulated her, tempted her away from the right path). We may side eye you if you have a white character ‘fake dating’ a Black person or ‘friends with benefits’- not because these tropes are racist, but often can be written that way if you’re not paying attention.

One controversial example is that of Rege Jean-Page’s character in Bridgerton. There’s a scene where his love interest essentially forces him to come inside her during sex. Now, there are people do enjoy consensual-noncon. The issue is that 1) some Black viewers who watched felt disturbed at the imagery of a Black man being forced to breed, especially given that historical context, and that it wasn’t treated as seriously, and 2) this scene if he had been the one forcing her would never have been received as well, especially with a Black male lead- it would not have been received as ‘spicy CNC’.

Interracial relationships- specifically with a white woman and a Black man- may also be looked upon with worry by Black family members. There is a history of Black men (and their surrounding Black community) being lynched for ‘defiling white women’. It’s not unusual for us to worry that we will not be safe in a white partner’s homes or lives, and will be asked to leave our information, who we’re with, and what part of town we’re in or going to. Get Out was a fantastic example of this; of how the only reason Chris escaped was because a friend of his knew where he was and came to get him. Otherwise, he would have been body snatched. So your ‘fake dating’ interracial AU might seem silly and fun to you, but a Black reader might look at it and go ‘wow, I would never put myself in this situation or deal with this sort of treatment without extra planning’.

As a side: the gigantic Black/Brown man in chains and a tiny white man holding those chains as symbolism for BDSM or 'possession'… Yeah that’s usually just racist beast and slavery imagery recycled. Please. I beg. I’ve almost never seen the opposite in fan art, and we all know why. There’s got to be something else we can use.

Black Parent, White Child

This is one that I almost never see talked about! Partially because our society deems any child of a Black person also Black, but there are blended families where there will be an existing child- and that child might be white! But we don’t see white kids adopted by Black families as much as we do the reverse, and there’s a reason for that!

There’s a difference in the dynamic! White parents with Black children are often seen as ‘saving’ them. I was once friends with a nice, older white (also racist, as it turned out) neighbor of mine, and people would often look at me like I was some poor, piteous negro child when we went to the store. But if my 50+ year old father were to walk around with a preteen white girl, people would react far more defensively.

Think about this: toddlers have tantrums, right? The world is ending in a heartbeat, that’s just where they are mentally. You’re ready to leave the store, they aren’t: boom. Tantrum.

A white toddler falling out into a tantrum and getting hauled off by a Black parent could very well get that parent arrested or killed if someone, misunderstanding due to their pre-existing biases, calls the cops for ‘kidnapping’. And that white toddler might not know that, but that’s the amount of power that they hold over that Black stepparent as a BABY.

There was a Black Twitter thread that discussed what Black people would do if a crying white child came up to them and looked lost, and part of the discussion was that people were genuinely afraid to be seen with this child, because someone might assume that THEY made the kid cry, and it would get them hurt. Has nothing to do with not liking white kids, but the fact that we live in a world with a literal hair trigger on us- the last thing we need is to be seen as a threat to a white child.

Viewers will be affected by this bias as well. White parental characters to Black child characters will be given more grace and understanding versus the opposite.

A good example (of parental figures/mentors) is from Across the Spiderverse, with Peter and Miles vs Jessica and Gwen. Both mentors were a part of the Spider Society, both were in the wrong about how they treated Miles (damn near the whole Society did, which is another message on how we treat Black and Brown kids there!), and with how they treated their respective mentees. But Peter is treated with far more grace, despite his actions symbolizing that disappointment that Black kids often experience from white adult mentors that we’re supposed to trust, than Jessica Drew, who treated Gwen like the business mentor she was. Jessica was not motherly (remember that Mammy stereotype?) to Gwen because it wasn’t her job to be. But people were furious at her not ‘treating Gwen better’, for ‘putting her own child in danger’ and ‘not considering how Miguel would react’. But they were not as angry at, or offered more potential forgiveness, to Peter, who failed at the very same things with Miles.

Writing a Black Parent

Okay, so yes, there is ‘Black parenting’. To be honest, you’re not going to be able (and shouldn’t attempt) to write that, because it is a very specific experience that you’ll only know if you were brought up in it. Bringing up Jessica Drew again, another perspective to consider is that people thought she was a ‘bad mentor’, but as far as how my Black childhood went, she was quite gentle and firm.

Black parents are still humans, and parenting is still parenting. Be normal about it. All you need to do is keep in mind that we’re offering all of these characters and their relationship dynamics the understanding and writing they deserve.

If you’re writing a healthy relationship, there needs to be a sense of trust and respect between everyone involved, and that can reveal itself even in small interactions. If you’re writing a complex or negative parental relationship, that’s fine, but you’ll have to avoid certain overarching stereotypes of Black parenting styles (The ‘ghetto welfare queen with six kids’, the ‘absent thuggish father’, the ‘overaggressive woman that beats her kids’, the ‘Strong Black Mother who don’t need no man’). Make sure they’re a complex or bad parent because they suck, not because they’re what you think of when you think of Black parents.

Conclusion

There’s no free passes from antiblack racism just because you’re close to Black people; there’s no ‘invite to the cookout’ just because you don’t say slurs. This applies to your writing as well. It is not a given that your white character is in the clear just because they have a Black partner, children, or friends. If anything, they’ll need to be putting in extra work to maintain that intimacy. These are different forms of love, but all love takes effort, and it certainly won’t hold if they’re not being considerate of their loved one’s identity. By incorporating this level of thought into your writing- however subtly- it will show your Black viewers that you as the writer are aware, that you actually thought about us in these more intimate settings. Because as you and your white characters need to know, it’s the thought that counts, but the action that delivers!

[cimmanonrowl]

Cyber Sex

You can only put up with so much as Aaron Hotchner's girlfriend. Busy office hours? Case files scattering your usually neat living room? Rescheduling appointments? Impromptu dates? Fine. But what about ovulating while he's out of town?

Pairing: aaron hotchner x writer!reader

Theme: smut heaven

Contents: age gap, soft dom!aaron, cam sex, daddy kink, dirty talking, powerplay: older man/younger woman relationship, squirting, guided masturbation.

The soft mattress of your shared bed dipped against Aaron’s weight. On a normal day, you would’ve greeted him excitedly downstairs. He’d gotten used to seeing you first thing with your curls tied in a messy bun, only wearing your skimpy underwear under his old and oversized Law School shirt; all with a warm, angelic smile on your lips as you hugged him tightly.

Tonight, however, was different.

When he stepped inside the bedroom, you quickly felt his hand on your waist, the pad of his thumb tracing soft circles on your bare skin. Another stifled sob escaped your lips at the contact. Your eyes already stung after hours of crying, blood rushing down your head as you were forced to swallow the lump in your throat.

You heard Aaron heave a deep sigh before cautiously inching closer to your trembling figure, your back facing him.

“Sweetheart…” His voice was quiet and rough, obviously twinged with exhaustion. “I know you’re awake, baby. Look at me, please?”

You scooted away from the warmth of his hand, letting another set of warm tears cascade down your cheeks.

“Sweetheart,” He called out softly, shuffling towards you. “I know you’re mad and I can understand why. And I know that I deserve it, but at least let’s talk about what happened.”

“Go away, Aaron.”

“Hmm?”

Instead of being offended, Aaron just pursed his lips. He carefully placed his big, calloused hand on your waist again, rubbing soothing circles on your skin as he silently watched you. His heart clenched at the state you’re in, fresh tears dripping down your face and straight to your pillow, your shoulders racking in a quiet sob.

“Darling, you know we won’t fix anything without having to talk about it. You have to tell me what you feel and help me fix this…” He urged gently.

The room was quiet for a moment, just the sound of the whirring of the AC and your wet sniffling could be heard on occasion. Your brain flew back to the memories of today’s events. Waking up early and excitedly preparing Aaron’s lunch, kissing him goodbye with his promise of taking an afternoon off from work for your date, you anxiously waiting for him to arrive at your book event, then spending the rest of the day all by yourself.

No reply nor callback from him, not even a single notice that he won’t be able to fulfill his promise. You even had to call Garcia to know that your dear boyfriend was called to an emergency meeting.

Your heart aches even at the mere thought of it.

Of course, you’re aware of the consequence of being with Aaron. When you introduced him to your parents, both of them sat you down and talked to you about the possible dangers of being with a Federal agent. The criminals he’d thrown in jail might get their revenge on him through you, or that you might be targeted as a mere collateral damage. The idea lingered in your brain— it still does every now and then, if you’re honest. But you trust Aaron with your life so much that you know even with those possibilities, Aaron will do his best to protect you.

But it was different when you told your friends about your new relationship. Ever since they’ve been vocal about their concern about your setup: Aaron Hotchner is a busy, busy man. They were worried about you being neglected, or for your efforts to go unnoticed and taken advantage of. Regardless, you fought for him and convinced them that as much as Aaron is a man with a high sense of duty, he is a good partner who always tries to spend as much time with you, with the little free time his job can ever offer.

And for three years, it was enough.

Just not for today.

You sniffed quietly, your voice hoarse when you spoke again. “I rescheduled three reservations since last week, Aaron. I had a book event today and you promised to accompany me.”

“I know, sweetheart…” He whispered regretfully, combing through his hair in frustration. “I’m sorry.”

“You always say that.”

You felt him stiffen at your words, and his thumb stopped its movements in accord. You could almost sense the dread washing over him. “I know, baby, and this isn’t what I wanted you to feel. So let me make it up to you, sweetheart. Work’s just been…”

“I don’t want to hear about your work right now, Aaron.” 

The pleading in your voice caught him off-guard. That was the truth. You’re too upset and pissed to listen to his work problems. And he knows that’s one of the things you loved doing. Normally, you’d let him vent out to you about the things that worried him, stressed him, or angered him for the day— and it usually ends with his cock deep down your throat or pounding in and out of your willing cunt.

But not right now.

He won’t even bother spending an afternoon to support you and your work. Why would you listen to him, right? Right.

After another beat of silence, Aaron nodded in understanding. “Do you want me to sleep on the couch, sweetheart?”

You quickly shook your head.

“I prepared—” You swallowed thickly, almost choking on your own tears. God, you missed him so much.

As much as you felt neglected and hurt by his recent actions, you couldn’t bring yourself to stop caring for him. The image of him spending his night cramped on a couch, and not being able to rest properly isn’t something you can easily stomach. Maybe you’re too in love it’s almost pathetic.

“Yes, sweetheart? What were you saying?”

“I prepared the guest room. S-sleep there.”

“Oh…” His words came out like a whisper, so comforting you almost let yourself melt into it. “Thank you, baby, but I’d like to stay here in our bedroom. I can take the couch if you don’t want me near—”

“Aaron.”

“Yes?”

He waited for you to continue, his warm hand continuously rubbing soft circles on your waist. 

“You’re getting on my nerves, Aaron. Leave me alone.”

As soon as he heard the words come out of your mouth, you instantly felt the subtle change in his grip; it turned firm and rigid. And you couldn’t help but bite your lower lip and expect whatever was about to come.

Aaron exhaled a little sharply.

“I don’t appreciate this attitude, little girl. I’m trying to talk to you.”

“And I just said I don’t want to talk!” You argued back, your voice still hoarse from crying, now raising a tad.

“Lower your voice down. I don’t want to start a fight.”

“Yeah, how noble of you.”

“Jesus…” He mumbled under his breath. Even with your back facing him, you can imagine the look of disbelief on his face. “I’m trying to solve this before this night ends but all I’m getting is this attitude.”

“If you don’t leave me alone, I’m leaving.”

“And where would you go at this late hour, huh?”

His challenging voice infuriated you even more. “I don’t know, some dude maybe. The one who can spend time with me and maybe fuck me—”

“Oh, so is that what this attitude is about? You’re so horny that you’re willing to knock on a stranger’s door and let him fuck you with his small dick, just to get back at me?”

“Whatever you say, old man.”

With a tender yet forceful grip on your waist, he was able to flip you on your back. You watched him as he stood, his hand quietly traveling down his belt and deftly unbuckling it.

“You don’t mean that, little girl.” He pointed out calmly, shaking his head a little. “I think we both know your pretty, little cunt was too ruined by my cock you won’t ever feel satisfied with anything else.”

“You’re so full of crap, Hotchner.”

He raised an eyebrow. 

“Am I now?”

“You’re so full of yourself. There’s a lot of guys out there—”

“Oh, really?” He tugged his necktie from side to side, loosening it before swiftly taking it off. You saw the glint in his eyes as he smiled at you in amusement. “Then why are you scrambling to remove your soaked underwear, sweetling? I thought there’s a lot of guys out there?”

Heat crept on your cheeks as your eyes wandered down your body. Your pink cotton underwear was already pulled down on your ankles, with an obvious wet stain on the fabric.

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

Aaron smiled as he flicked his pointer finger, urging you to come closer. “How about I eat you out, make you cum over and over again until you squirt on my face? Would my little girl forgive me then?”

You scrambled on your knees, your plump lips shut as you shuffled closer to him. He chuckled softly as you glared at him with your rimmed red eyes. In his eyes, you look heavenly; your hair messy and tear-stained cheeks glowing with a soft hue of rose.

He ran the pad of his thumbs on the remnant of tears on your cheeks before placing a gentle kiss on your forehead.

“You’re so pretty even when you’re crying, doll…” He whispered softly, his apprehensive eyes wandering all over your face. “But I hate making you upset. I’m so sorry I hurt you. Let me make it up to you, sweetheart.”

You sniffed with a nod, whispering. “Okay...”

“Okay what, sweetheart?”

“Eat me out, daddy…” You demanded in a soft tone, staring at him through your lashes, blinking almost innocently at him. “I want your tongue inside my pussy. Let’s see if I’ll forgive you after that.”

He smiled a little. “Oh, I’ll make sure you will, little girl. I will fuck you dumb on the balcony you’d be ashamed to face our neighbors.”

He pressed a sweet kiss on your lips, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his thumb lingering on your cheek.

“Sounds good, daddy,” you smiled back, subtly rubbing your thighs in need.

Sunlight filtered into the room, casting a warm glow on the walls and floor the next morning. You stirred, feeling the warmth of the sun on your face and the coldness of the mattress. Your eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the light, your eyes quickly wandering around the room to look for Aaron who was no longer lying beside you. 

Instead, the sound of hurried footsteps and rustling clothes filled the air.

“Aaron?” You called softly, sitting on the bed as you stifled a yawn.

You turned towards the walk-in closet, noticing Aaron moving frantically around the room, already dressed in his work clothes. A frown unknowingly lidded your expression as you glanced at the bedside table, seeing that your digital clock displayed it was only 9 AM.

“It’s Saturday,” You couldn’t help but point out. “It’s your day off.”

Aaron turned to you guiltily. “I know, sweetheart. But Strauss just called; we got a case. I need to gather the team, you know how she’s been lately. With budget cuts and everything she’s complaining about.”

“Where are you off to this time?”

You watched his reflection as he effortlessly knotted his tie. He looked so good and professional you can’t even bring yourself to feel upset. From a short distance, you can smell his perfume and body wash. The sight was enough to stir your lustful thoughts and send tingles down your sore and well-spent cunt.

“You okay, angel?” He called out, watching you tentatively in the mirror. “I’ll be home in a few days, don’t worry.”

“You said you’ll take me out on a date later…”

Aaron took a deep breath, contemplation plastering his face. You listened to the sound of his footsteps coming closer, the morning sunlight enveloping you in its warm embrace.

“Sweetheart, I’m so sorr—”

“It’s okay, Aaron. I understand,” You smiled in assurance, reaching for his tie to straighten it. “People need you.”

“I want to be here with you, too,” He pressed his forehead against yours. “I’m really sorry, angel. I’ll come home as quickly as I can then file for a leave. We can go on a vacation together.”

You hummed with a small smile. “Okay.”

“Just like that, sweet girl?” He laughed teasingly. “Oh. Is it because of last night? Did daddy remind you how he kept true to his words?”

You blushed at the question. “It’s too early for this talk, Aaron.”

“Well, I did tell you I’ll fuck you so good you’d be pliant on my wants.”

“I saw Mrs. Moore smoking on her balcony last night, she definitely saw us…” Your blush deepened. “I can’t face her ever again.”

Aaron’s eyes lit in humor, and he leaned down to press a quick, gentle kiss to your forehead. “What a whore you are, baby…” he whispered before straightening up. “I really have to go, angel. I’ll call you later, alright?”

You nodded, watching as he grabbed his go-bag and headed for the door. “Hmm. Come home safe and quick.”

“Will do, angel,” he replied, giving you one last look before disappearing down the hallway.

You spent the entire day working and tending to house chores. Aaron called you the moment they landed, assuring you once again that he’d be home as fast as he could. The house was quiet for hours, only the sound of your fingers occasionally hitting the keyboard lingering in the air.

Aaron’s office was cloaked in a soft glow of corner lamps. You sat at Aaron’s desk with your laptop open in front of you. The book you were writing was already coming to a climax, the cursor blinking on a blank document, waiting for words that refused to come.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair as you stared at the screen. You had been trying to write for hours, but the scene in your head just wouldn’t translate into words. It was as if the characters were mocking you, their actions vivid in your mind yet stubbornly silent on the page.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, tapping out a few words before deleting them in frustration. You leaned back in your chair, closing your eyes in an attempt to visualize the scene more clearly. Your characters were supposed to have a slow, intimate moment. But for some reason, all you can think about is Aaron’s tongue buried down your dripping cunt, his thick fingers pounding in and out, his thumb rubbing your clit; desperately chasing your high. 

Last night, by the third orgasm, you squirted on his mouth. And he happily lapped your release, whispering encouragement and how he’s so lucky to be able to please you. Then he fucked you near the balcony door, putting on a show for anyone to see.

Minutes crawled by and you found yourself browsing your laptop, scrolling through the locked folder you shared with Aaron, the one containing your sex videos. You eagerly scrolled down, your free hand rubbing slow circles through the thin fabric of your cotton underwear.

You settled with a video Aaron taken just a month ago. It was a close-up shot of his cock pounding gently, slowly, inside your cunt— his cum dripping out with every thrust. With a sharp sigh, you quickly removed your underwear and propped both your legs on the armrest of Aaron’s swivel chair.

You rubbed your clit in a teasing movement, watching the video with wide eyes. Arousal was slowly dampening your cunt which only triggered the pace of your fingers. Heat was slowly licking your skin, a coil tightening in your stomach, watching how Aaron was filling your pussy with his seed, almost too much that some of it spilled out after his shallow pounding.

“Look at this pussy, angel. Fuck. It’s so warm… feels like heaven…” Aaron moaned on the video, his voice rough, his thumb pressing hard circles on your aching cunt, making you clamp your legs a little.

“Moan louder, baby. I want to hear your pretty voice...”

You thrust in your middle finger in desperation, your eyes focused on your laptop screen. “Daddy… Oh my god…”

The camera focused on Aaron’s face as he caged his head in between your thighs. With his cum dripping out of your pussy, he gave your cunt a few teasing licks before finally slipping his tongue inside, moving it around with such expertise. As he continued tongue fucking your hole, his thumb was incessant on abusing your clit.

Once satisfied with your reaction: moaning like a whore and tugging on his hair, he thrusted in his cock once again.

“Daddy! D-daddy! I’m cumming!” Your hysterical moaning rang in the four corners of the room. “Gonna s-squirt. Fuck, daddy– yes! Yes, there, there! Oh m-my god, faster!”

“Oh, this spot right here, little girl?”

Your teeth sank on your bottom lip as you continued watching. Aaron suddenly took out his cock, slapping it against your clit with vigor. You eagerly watched how that pushed you on the edge. You squirted so hard some of Aaron’s cum dripped out, your legs trembling and tightening in so much pleasure.

The lewd sound of your wet cunt squelching was accompanied by your shameless moans. The video already ended on your screen but you can’t bring yourself to stop, too desperate to reach your incoming orgasm. Your fingers were already cramping in effort. God, how you wish Aaron was here to fingerfuck your pussy instead.

But a notification startled you out of your wits. Grounding you back to the reality that you’re actually fingering yourself in front of your laptop. You even forgot to block your camera.

The notification, luckily, was a FaceTime call from your boyfriend.

You quickly propped your legs down to the ground and fixed yourself. Trying to slow down your ragged breathing, you found yourself accepting Aaron’s call almost instantly.

“H-hi!” You greeted excitedly, combing your hair as you saw yourself on the screen. Hell, you looked fucked out. “Hi, love. Done for the day?”

Aaron’s eyes seemed to harden at the sound of your voice. His hair was damp as if he just got out of the shower. You can tell that he’s not wearing a shirt yet, beads of water cascading down his neck down to his chest.

“Yes, gorgeous. Am I interrupting something?” He prompted shortly, making you blush.

“N-no, not really… I was just writing…”

He hummed, shuffling on his bed. “Yeah, right. That’s exactly what I just saw, sweetheart.”

“What—” You frowned a little; until realization dawned on you. You quickly whipped your head in the direction of the CCTV. “Oh— you were watching?”

He chuckled softly, enjoying the look of embarrassment on your face. “You didn’t reply to my texts so I checked the security cameras on my laptop. And to answer your question, yes, dirty girl, daddy’s watching.”

“I’m sorry, daddy. I just missed you…”

“It’s alright, my love. I’m the one who should be sorry…” He assured you with an adoring smile. “Have you orgasmed yet, angel?”

You shook your head bashfully. “Not yet, daddy… you called so...”

“So it’s my fault again?” He teased, chuckling. “I can’t let my little girl not orgasm now, can I?”

You shook your head eagerly, unconsciously rubbing your thighs together as you listened to his mesmerizing, deep voice.

“Can you go back to your position earlier and show me your pretty cunt, little girl?”

You didn’t have to be told twice. You spread your legs in his command and propped it on both armrests, running your pointer finger up and down your wetness.

“I’m so wet, daddy. Was watching our videos…” You confessed sultrily.

A groan rumbled from Aaron’s chest with that. “I saw, baby. What were you watching exactly?”

“The one with— the one in the hotel. You shot a video of my pussy dripping full of your cum and you’re fucking me slowly…”

“I remember that…” He answered shortly, his piercing eyes focused on your fingers tracing slow circles on your aching cunt. “You squirted twice, didn’t you? One from daddy’s cock and one on my mouth. You taste like heaven, little girl. You’re making daddy hard.”

You blushed at his words. Aaron has always been good at talking in bed, he never failed to push you to orgasm with his dirty mouth. “Can I see, daddy, p-please?”

“See what, pretty girl?”

“You big cock, daddy, please? W-wanna see…”

“Rub your clit faster, baby. Go on…” He encouraged softly, palming his hardness through his sweatpants.

Carefully, he laid his laptop on the mattress, giving you a full view of him. Indeed, he was topless, and to your surprise, he was wearing gray sweatpants.

“Daddy…” You plunged in your middle finger, moaning at the sudden intrusion in your pussy. “I miss you. N-need you here…”

“I know, baby. I’ll be home quick,” He said assuringly, still rubbing the hardness outlining his pants. “I spent almost 4 hours fucking that pussy last night and I still can’t get enough. Fuck, angel, if only I can taste that wet cunt—”

A series of pained moans escaped your lips, adding another finger as you saw Aaron finally taking out his cock. With curious eyes, you watched as Aaron spat on his palm before rubbing the wetness on his veiny cock.

“D-daddy… Want your cock down my throat… then my pussy…”

You feel so wet the only thing you can almost hear in the room is the lewd squelching of your fingers assaulting your pussy. Aaron groaned at the sound.

“You’re so wet, baby. I want to suck on your clit as you cum from my fingers,” His eyebrows were tugged together in a frown as he matched the pace of his hand with your fingers. “Then I will fuck you with my big fat cock until you’re a drooling mess. Faster, baby. That’s it. Good girl…”

“Da... daddy!”

“Yes, angel. That’s it... faster, baby. You’re so pretty like that. God, look at that pussy, dripping and desperate to be filled...”

“Need you inside me, Aaron... want your cum...”

“You like that, baby? Like putting on a whore show for daddy?”

“I l-love it d-daddy… wanna p-please you always— oh god, Aaron!” Your legs trembled as you finally hit the spongy spot inside.

“Fuck… I want to pound that fucking pussy until it’s full of my cum…” His voice sounded breathless and restrained, throwing back his neck with his eyes closed to savor the dirty sounds you’re making. 

“O-oh! Want your cum inside… want you t-to breed me, daddy. Want your babies inside–”

“Fuck, angel. I’m not going to stop fucking you until you’re pregnant. Wait until I get back...” He moaned, thrusting on his fist hard and fast. “You’re such a good girl for daddy, baby… Cum for me, come on. Make me proud.”

Your vision blurred as your orgasm ripped through your body. You felt a wave of arousal leak through your pulsing cunt, squirting so hard it almost reached your laptop. Catching your breath, you clamped your legs together as your cunt clenched tightly around your fingers.

“Fuck, sweetheart. You’re going to be the death of me.” You heard Aaron mumbled quietly. And you could only giggle in exhaustion, voice too raw and fucked out to reply.

I suck at tagging, I know. As always, every thoughts and reactions are highly appreciated. Drink your water, babes, and slay!

[iheartcurlyfries]

cause baby, you get me so...

dom!mascellie x sub!femreader

|| authors note: this is the first story I've ever actually felt proud enough to post || also sorry if it's iffy! I'm still new to writing but I've been taking awhile observing my favorite fic writers and have learned a few things so.. enjoy!! :) || (I made this because of shy smith's new song.) ||

|| CW: smut with a lot of plot, mdni, wlw, friends with benefits, ellie loves tits, LITTLE use of 'y/n', fingering, use of swear words, praising, ellie is soft, barely experienced reader, ellie shows reader true pleasure, and light masturbation. ||

you and ellie had been friends since almost forever, you've always been inseparable. and when you both grew older your innocent mind turned into something you never expected, you saw ellie in a different light and seemingly grew a liking to her. she's always protected you from everything and always treated you better than any other girl in jackson (which made you admire her even more), it was almost like she had a sweet spot for you, which you never understood why she did.

ellie was very proudly out, she loved having people know she was gay, she had multiple girlfriends but everything seemed to end up in the same way, ellie gets bored and she breaks up with them. and then there was you, a girl who was scared to come out, you had always pretended to like guys and even dated a few, but no one ever caught your eye as much as your bestfriend did. something about her made you tingle inside, you'd get the butterflies in your stomach even by just thinking about her, but you knew you'd never be able to tell her.

after every stressful day, you'd lay down in your bed, your gaze would shift from the wall to the window, trying to poke at every detail to entertain you. you'd shift and turn, trying to get comfortable, groaning when you couldn't find something to distract yourself with. you'd pick up your phone, scrolling through your messages, trying to find someone to talk to for entertainment.

and that's when it hit you, you saw ellie in your messages, the thought of her instantly creeping into your mind. a small smile formed with a curve on your lips, you'd sigh as you thought about her, putting your phone down as you stared at the ceiling. her being in your thoughts made your thighs rub together, you gently bit down on your bottom lip, picking at it with your teeth.

you couldn't lie to yourself, you always fantasized about ellie, thinking about all the things you'd let her do for to you. you always imagined her in between your legs, you'd yank at her hair as whimpers would escape your lips in a muffled tone. she'd always take it slow with you, making sure you'd adjust to her, she'd never wanna hurt you. she'd slide a finger into you, gently pumping it in and out of you as she swirled her tongue around your bud, making sure to be as gentle as possible. you'd whine and run your fingers through her hair, the sight of her fucking you always made you just wanna cum

you always gave in to your thoughts, everytime they got to intense, you'd gently swirl two fingers over your clit, biting down on your lip to hold back a hoarse whine, your thighs would press together when you got close, you were so very sensitive, a few flicks to your bud and you were done. you'd be a whimpering mess, making sure her name was the only word in your vocabulary in those moments. and when you were done you'd lie there, thinking as if she was the one pleasuring you. but you'd always think to yourself how much more you'd feel better if it was her and not you.

whenever you and ellie would hangout she'd throw flirty comments at you, being oblivious you never knew what she meant by the flirts, always thinking she was just being friendly. you never knew how she felt about you, you could've never imagined the fantasies she'd have, she always saw you as a pretty and delicate thing, like a porcelain doll. she always imagined how good it would feel to be the one to show you a real experience, something that your hand couldn't give you, something that only hers could.

you sighed, leaning back on ellie's couch as you watched her play a game, call of duty. you stared at the screen, smiling when she won and got all excited, you thought she was cute when the game fed her ego, and you rooted for her, giving out gentle and sweet praise to her. 'you're doing great- els.' you cooed as she got another kill. your gaze turned to her hands, she gripped the controller tightly as her fingers pressed the buttons at a quicker pace. you admired how patient she was with this game, how quick she would adjust after getting a kill, it was something you always admired about her.

'thank you ma' she'd say, smiling at you. "ma" was always a nickname she used for you, you liked it of course, it was special, something only she called you.

you'd giggle when she would call you that, a peachy tint covering your cheeks as you looked back up at the screen. "I don't understand how you're so good at this game." you'd tease, you were never really a big fan of video games, it was never something you were good at. but you enjoyed watching her play, you didn't know if it was just her being the one playing or if you actually enjoyed the game, but nonetheless you always found yourself loving watching her play.

'I'll teach you how to play one day, you'll be a natural I bet." she muttered, her eyes never leaving the screen. you looked over at you again, admiring her concentration on the game. "you got this 'els, you got this." you'd praise, the tone of your voice dripping with sweetness.

after your praise she got her last kill, winning the game before celebrating, a big 'ol grin always on her face when she'd win. she leaned back, man-spreading as she put the controller down on the couch, taking a deep breath as she looked over at you.

'do you wanna try, mama?' she asked, handing you the controller with a serious face, a smirk slightly creeping onto it.

"ellie no-" you obliged, 'I'd be humbled instantly.' I said with a nice little chuckle, pushing the controller back to ellie.

'no c'mon ma, I'll show you..' she said, her tone gentle. 'c'mere.' she whispered with a smile, patting her lap. you blushed, and you felt your eyes lightly widened, "okay.." you said with a soft smile, you sat up, crawling over to ellie. she grabbed your hips and sat you onto her lap, lightly rubbing her hands up your sides.

she handed you the controller, guiding you through the loading screen. she leaned over and whispered into your ear- 'this is the shooter..' she began explaining the "simple" instructions, you could barely focus, just the sound of her whispering in your ear and the feeling of her hands on your sides were enough to get you going. 'okay...' you mumbled, your voice lightly cracking. as you loaded in she moved her hands to yours, guiding yours on the controller, helping you get a few kills as she whispered a few praises in your ear. 'you're doing so well mama, look at you go..' she'd say, you'd bite your lip, rubbing your thighs gently together. you felt it, the same feeling, the feeling of being soaked.

after she helped you win the round she smiled, praising you more as she leaned back, her hands creeping back to your hips, rubbing them with her thumb. 'see? you're a natural.' she grinned, running her fingers over your hips, she pulled you back lightly. 'I love how easy you are to teach mama.' she whispered, her tone soft as she tried to get you to turn to face her. you smiled and turned around, facing her as you sat on her lap. 'I still hated it, it was stressing me out..' you giggled, putting a piece of hair behind your ear.

'that's okay, you don't have to play again.' ellie said, her hands now running down your thighs. 'but you did so good ma..'

god her voice.. you thought, everything she was doing made you feel amazing, the way she praised you and the way she stared at you. but oh the way she touched your thighs made you feel the best, it almost felt like she was just teasing you so she could get a reaction. but you didn't care, you got pleasure out of her touch.

you smiled at her, not saying anything as you just admired her, everything from her freckles to the details of her scars on her face. she looked up at you, her gaze softened slightly as she stared at you. 'do you know how beautiful you are, y/n?' ellie said as she lifted a piece of your hair out of your face, moving it gently as you let out a sigh. 'that's sweet, els..' you smiled, licking your lips slowly as you took a deep breath in.

'are you just gonna stare at me forever?' ellie muttered with a teasing tone, it snapped you out of your day dreaming. she giggled before putting a hand on your chin, gently pulling you in. you gasped slightly as she captured your lips in a kiss, she pulled her hand away from your chin, both hands on your hips as her gripped tightened.

you whimpered softly against her lips as her grip tightened on your hips, you put your hands on the side of her face, deepening the kiss more as the butterflies grew in your stomach.

as she kissed you she pulled her hands away from your hips, she guided them to your button up, gently unbutton-ing the buttons slowly, making sure to take her time. she pulled back for a second to slip the shirt off of your shoulders, you helped her, all with a smile on your face. you couldn't believe what was happening.

she smiled back at you, she guided a hand up to your chin again, lifting your jaw up before leaning in to kiss down your neck. she made her way to your collarbone, leaving behind pinky love marks. you let out a delicate moan as she kissed your collarbone, sucking another hickey onto it. 'wear these with pride, ma, they add to your beauty.' she whispered, her tone had a hint of playfulness as she pulled back.

'may i?' she asked, grabbing the hem of your skirt as she waited for your confirmation. 'yes, you're aloud anything..' you reassured her, you smiled as you adjusted yourself on her lap, helping her slide your skirt down your thighs.

as she got the skirt off of you she put it over on the other side of the couch where your shirt was. she turned back to you and leaned in for another kiss, taking everything slow with you. after a good minute she unlatched her lips again, she looked up at you as she made her way to the back of your bra, gently and slowly un-clipping it and guiding it off your chest. she smiled as she saw your perky breasts. 'mm so beautiful mama..' she whispered, gently putting her hands on them, fondling them. she took one finger and gently pinched at your nipple, making you let out a whimper in response. 'so responsive..' she praised, running her thumb over your nipple.

you let a few more whimpers slip as she played with your boobs, her fingers glided over your nipples before she leaned in and took one in her mouth, lightly sucking. 'mm that feels s'good els..' you'd whine, sliding a hand into her hair and gently playing with it.

with a pop she pulled away from your breast, smiling up at you as she kissed up your chest to your neck again, putting a hand on the other side of your neck. you lifted your head up, giving ellie more room as she claimed your neck, as she got closer to your ear she leaned in and whispered. 'mama, m'gonna fuck you..' her tone was smooth and it made your ears tingle, your breath hitched slightly while letting out a soft sigh. she giggled before kissing your neck again, as she was kissing up and down your neck, only leaving more hickeys she slid a hand down your thigh. you let out a gasp as you felt a hand rub at your clit, she rubbed in a harsh way as the wet spot on your panties only grew.

you let out a needy whine, gently spreading your legs more. you slid your hand back into ellie's hair once more, giving it a light tug. 'mmpph..' you moaned, slowly bucking your hips into ellie's hand. you honestly couldn't believe it, one of your fantasies actually coming true, the way she touched you so skillfully through your panties was just oh so fucking good, the way it was just as you imagined, gentle yet quick.

your thighs lightly shook as your head tilted back. she pulled away from your neck, leaning back on the couch with a lustful expression. 'gotta give you something real, princess.' she uttered as she pulled her hand back, guiding them to the hem of your underwear before slowing pulling it down your legs. you lifted yourself up slightly, helping her take them off.

she threw them to where your other clothes were with a grin, looking up at you. 'you're so beautiful..' she cooed, she leaned back again and ran a hand down your thigh. she took her ring and middle finger and gently slid them up and down your delicate folds. her touch making you squirm. she pulled her fingers back and put them in her mouth, tasting your slick, she moaned before pulling her fingers out, making sure they were really wet and ready for your cunt.

she pulled you by your hips, guiding you closer before slowly rubbing your nub with her thumb, 'you ready?' she whispered, looking up at you.

"as ready as I'll ever be..' you giggled, she smiled softly before slowly spreading your folds with her other hands, then slowly sliding the tip of her fingers into your entrance in a teasing way. you whimpered softly before she slid her full fingers into your tight sopping hole. this simple action made you moan, your teeth biting down on your bottom lip, your gummy walls lightly clenched around her fingers. she admired how your cunt swallowed them instantly, after a second she slowly pumped her fingers in and out at a weak pace, but the way they hit your sweet spot every thrust made it feel better than she thought it would.

you were messy as hell, she pumped her fingers into you, slightly increasing her pace as she whispered sweet praises into your ear. telling you how much of a good girl you were being and how well u were taking her. It made you melt, not only her voice but her touch too, you felt a pressure build up in your stomach, something you never truly felt before, and it made you glad ellie was the first person helping you feel that way.

'c'mon baby, you got this..' she'd whisper as she picked up her pace, her fingers pumping in and out of you at a more quickened rate, your walls gently pulsed at the speed changed but you adjusted quickly, gently moaning into ellie's ear as you rested your head onto her shoulder. 'm'gonna cum els, i can feel it..' you got a sentence choked out, it wasn't a cohesive one but it was good enough for these circumstances. she smiled at your words, only picking up her pace more as she rubbed her other hand up your thigh.

you couldn't help it, you lifted your head up and tilted it back with a moan, the way she was fingering you made you feel so fucking amazing. 'mmghh-- ellie..' you whined, you felt it coming, the pressure getting too good.. your eyes rolled back as your walls started to pulse, you felt it, coming down from your high as you let yourself come undone onto ellie's fingers. ellie was delighted, whispering more praise into your ear as she slowed down her pumping, after a few seconds she gently pulled her fingers out of you, licking them clean before she rubbed her hands up your thighs again, you laid your head back on her shoulder, panting heavily.

'good girl, ma, I knew you could do it..'

A/N: ahhh this is so bad but I love it so much!! writing makes me so happy and I hope this fanfiction made you happy too <3

[rkvriki]

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ enhypen obliviously in love

hi.......lmfao i keep disappearing i swear i'm alive but my isnpo has been going down the drain but i got this cute lil idea also to take a break of all the smutty things i've been posting lolz... anyways hope you enjoy this one !

make sure to leave feedback and reblog! my requests are closed and my talk box is always open so lets talk!

WARNINGS ! none really i think?? this is just not my best work im sorry </3 word count: 1.9k a/n: sorry that some of them, mainly hee's, are smaller than others, my brain isn't functioning and i had a writer's block during this and if it's not goo it's bc i quite forced myself to write this bc i wanted to post sth :(

୨୧ LEE HEESEUNG ! - trying to hold your hand and failing

you and heeseung met through mutual friends in your first year of college and you became almost inseparable ever since then. in the beginning of it, you would only be together when the whole group was, but as time went by and you both started feeling more than just platonic feelings you two started hanging out alone as well. it was usual for heeseung to walk you to your apartment after classes and today was no different. you two walked side by side, the sun almost setting behind you. it was mostly quiet except for the background chatting and the small talk you two would make about something you saw. you could feel heeseung’s hand brushing against yours from time to time and you were internally cursing him out for not holding your hand already. after a few moments of silence, you heard heeseung sigh as he gained courage to hold your hand. his hand got closer to yours but- oh! a light post came between you two. needless to say heeseung was a blushing mess while you laughed at him.

୨୧ PARK JONGSEONG ! - confronting you about it

anyone had to be really blind to not notice the romantic connection there was between you and jay. it was so obvious you were both in love with each other, it was almost painful how one of the sides didn’t notice. that side being you. it’s not like you didn’t like jay romantically, because you do. a lot. but you felt like he just saw you as a best friend he tends to protect a lot. jay didn’t really show it, but he gets really frustrated when he tries to make a move on you in a subtle way, only for you to put him in the friend zone, but it’s all unintentional. every time someone tells you “jay totally likes you.” you’re quick to dismiss them because he would never see you like that. even though you’re the one saying it, it breaks you inside. until one day, you’re both in a diner, sharing fries and a milkshake and you can see jay fidgeting nervously and bouncing his leg repeatedly. “you’re restless, what’s going on?” you ask him, worried. jay sighs heavily and props his elbows on the table, staring at you with a serious expression. “look, i don’t know if i should just give up, because at this point you have to be pretending not to know.” he says “T-to know what?” he laughs at that. “that i like you, dummy.”

୨୧ SIM JAEYUN ! - tries to kiss you and fails

as childhood friends you and jake were always expected to end up dating by your fellow family members. you would always brush off any comments about you two (deep down you wish they were true) while jake just smiled like a fool while looking at you. it was no surprise when jake told his friends he liked you. it wasn’t hard to notice how he felt about you, seen the way he looks at you with glimmering eyes as he took in every word you say. he has never really tried to hide how he felt about you. he wasn’t ashamed of it and couldn’t wait for the moment you realized he liked you, because deep down he knew you felt like him too. it’s funny to him how he’s always making flirty comments and giving you kind of romantic presents and still you just thought he was playing his role as your best friend. but still, even though it was all funny and entertaining to watch, jake was tired of waiting and he decided to just directly show you how he feels. so that’s how you find yourself sitting in the park bench with him as layla plays around. jake takes a quiet deep breath as his hand comes up to brush your hair from your face, making you face him. he takes that as an opportunity to lean down. you, thinking he was gonna whisper something, turned your face to the side, making him bump his head against you. he starts laughing at you, making you confused. “you can’t really see it, can you?”

୨୧ PARK SUNGHOON ! - misunderstanding gone right ?

no one who knew you two understood how in hell you and sunghoon weren’t a couple. it was so obvious you both liked each other but still none of you seemed to do anything about it. you two were your class’s representatives so you two were almost always together and it wasn’t too hard to notice the lingering touches or stares you shared. but something the other students didn’t know was that you two had actually talked about your “feelings”. one day sunghoon almost overheard you telling your friend you liked him. “you like me?” he had asked “no! no, i don’t like you, sunghoon.” you answered trying to play it off. he nodded, his lips pursing. “good, then because i’m in love with someone else.”. it was something along those lines and you two had never talked about it again, but the tension never left. it felt heavy on you and it was painful to spend time alone with sunghoon so you settled that you were gonna tell him the truth. “remember that day you asked me if i liked you?” he hummed as he stopped in his tracks. “well, i lied. i like you, actually. i don’t want things to get awkward because you don’t feel the same but i needed to be honest.” his eyes widened as he stared at you like you were crazy. “are you kidding me? i only said i didn’t like you because you said you didn’t like me.” you gasped and pointed an accusing finger at him “why did you lie then? you said you were in love-” “hey! don’t put the blame on me now you lied too.” “well, we still can fix it right?” you said laughing making him do the same.

୨୧ KIM SUNOO ! - “PFT! who would ever like me?”

you and sunoo weren’t the closest people ever but you two spent a lot of time together since pretty much all of your friends were mutual. still, that fact didn’t stop you from developing a silly crush on him that quickly turned into something more serious the more you got to know him in the very few times the two of you were left alone after a group hangout. no one knew about it except for your best friend. you never told sunoo, not because you were afraid of rejection or him being rude because with how sweet his personality is, he would’ve rejected you in such a friendly manner it would make you think he’s reciprocating the feelings, but because no one like him would ever like you, he was way out of your league. so, confessing was definitely out of question, no matter how much your best friend would insist you would simply not do it. but in reality, it wasn’t really like that. one day you were hanging out with sunoo and your best friend at a cat cafe when suddenly in the conversation you said something along the words of “who would ever like?” and bold sunoo, was not afraid to hide his sincere feelings and answered with “i do.” he smiled while you looked up blushing furiously. your best friend laughing maniacally. “w-what?” sunoo chuckled at your reaction. “i thought i made it quite obvious that i liked you, silly.”  oh! who would’ve guessed!

୨୧ YANG JUNGWON ! - heard you liked “someone else”

you and jungwon had met each other in sophomore year of highschool and it was safe to say there was a connection instantly that was more than just a platonic one. you two quickly became attached at the hip. if jungwon said he was going somewhere it was sure that you would be here two, if you were being invited somewhere they could already expect the “can jungwon come along?” question, and vice-versa. it wasn’t strange when people came up to either you or him and asked if you were dating each other and it honestly shocked everyone when you both would always answer no to it, even your own girlfriends found your “friendship” strange. they did not find the idea of a boy-girl friendship weird or impossible to exist but they just couldn’t see your dynamic as friends so it was bound for them to question you. you heard the question so many times you decided to just tell them “fine! yes, i like him so, what?” you saw their shocked faces but they weren’t looking at you. you looked behind you seeing jungwon behind you. when you locked eyes he was quick to turn his back and walk away making you panic. a few days have gone by after that and you decided you needed to talk to him. “i’m sorry i didn’t tell you sooner. i didn’t want things to get ruined by this.” jungwon stared at you “who even is tha guy?” he asked making you look at him as if he had three heads. “what?” you asked “what what?” “jungwon the guy is literally you, i thought that was settled already.” jungwon stayed silent before laughing like a maniac. “if you’re here to make fun of me you can-” jungwon shut you off with a kiss, making you relaize where things went wrong.

୨୧ NISHIMURA RIKI ! - i don’t even know how to word this one

let’s settle one thing. you two knew you both liked each other. romantically. you just don’t bother on labelling it or directly showing it to each other. everyone around you found your dynamic honestly weird but to you two it was more simple than people put it to be. it all started when you were really oblivious about ni-ki’s feelings for you so he decided to hint that he liked you more than a friend. like one time you were walking to his house and he just shoot “you look cute.” but you didn’t quite hear what he said, distracted by a dog “what did you say?” he sighed “i said you look like a fruit.” “riki that does not make sense, but whatever you say.” and he started gradually getting bolder. “i can’t get this song out of my head.” you told him during class “i can’t get you out of my head.” oh! that was new information for you “thanks…?” at this point you were acting dumb for him and he couldn’t take it anymore so he got even more straightforward. during one of your daily walks you were rambling about a flower you saw on the way and he just let you talk as his hand sneakily grabbed yours, making you stop talking and falter in your steps “what?” he asked as if it was nothing “n-nothing!” he smiled as he kept walking along with you. after that day he noticed a change. a good one. and that’s when he realized you had realized so he decided to just get to the point “is it weird if i kiss you?” he asked when you were eating lunch in the school garden. you put your drink down and turned to look at him. “honestly, riki? yes. do i care? no.” so with that he grabbed your face, kissing you as he smiled against your lips.