#i want to crawl into this fic and never leave

[ok555ficideas]

This is a fragment of a fake/pretend relationship Buddie fic that I will post on Christmas as a gift to my partner (thank god they are not on tumblr so I can post this here). This was supposed to be them just innocently practice kissing and instead they decided to fuck against a wall

Practice makes pe-”

Buck didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence because Eddie’s body seemed to have had enough. His mind was screaming at him to get away and laugh it off, but his lips had other ideas. And what a glorious idea it was.

Kissing Buck was like coming home. It was like taking a deep breath after being underwater for too long or like stretching your legs after a long flight. It was calm and soft and so fuckking gentle Eddie couldn’t bear it. He needed to be closer. He needed to feel every inch of Buck. He needed to crawl right under his skin and never leave.

He let out a quiet whimper and that seemed to convey his message because the next thing he knew the control was being ripped right out of his hands. Buck spun them around to pushed Eddie against the neerset wall and the kiss became the farthest thing from gentle.

It became hungry and passionate. It stopped feeling like just coming home and started to feel like welcoming someone back after a lifetime of not seeing each other. Buck kissed him like he wanted to devour him and Eddie would gladly let him. He gave himself up completely. He parted his lips at the first touch of Buck’s tongue. He let Buck lick into his mouth and explore every inch. He couldn't breath and was on the verge of passing out, but if losing his consciousness was the price he had to pay to kiss Buck even a second longer he would gladly sacrifice himself.

He couldn’t break the kiss because what if this was the only chance he got. What if after this kiss he would never get to taste Buck again. He had to savour it. He had to grab Buck’s curls and tug to ground himself in the moment and never let go of the memory.

Buck was the first to pull away and this time Eddie couldn’t suppress the whine. He was quickly silenced by Buck’s mouth latching onto his neck, but he didn’t stay silent for long. Without Buck’s lips against his, all of the sounds he was making were echoing through the otherwise silent room. He was reduced to a moaning mess and if not for the broad body holding him up against the wall he would surely no longer stay standing.

When all of a sudden his feet lost contact with the floor, he thought that he finally lost his balance. But instead of landing on the ground he ended up with his legs wrapped around Buck’s middle. The sound that escaped him was something that he wasn’t proud of, but before he had a chance to get embarrassed Buck’s lips were back on his.

Buck’s hands traveled up and instead of holding on the back of his thighs they landed on his ass and squeezed. Eddie’s hips hitched forward and his clothed bulge made contact with Buck’s. They both let out a moan at the contact and for a moment the world around them froze.

Buck pulled his face back to look into Eddie’s eyes, but still didn’t drop him to the floor. Eddie tightened his grip on Buck to try and keep him as close as possible for at least a second longer. This was about to end so Eddie had to soak up as much of Buck’s proximity and warmth as he could.

Buck’s gaze was traveling all over his face. It looked like he was searching for something. He finally settled back on Eddie’s eyes and gently, almost like he was afraid, his hips lifted up to grind against Eddie in a small thrust. Eddie’s breath caught in his throat and his mouth hang open. He was so sure that Buck was going to pull away that he wasn’t ready for the glorious friction.

Buck’s eyes were dead focused on his face, but Eddie couldn’t hold his gaze any longer. Whatever was happening here he was going to enjoy it. He didn’t know what exactly Buck was looking for in his face, but he hoped it was just to make sure that Eddie was okay with what they were doing so he started nodding his head in earnest. He didn’t trust his voice to speak, so he hoped with everything that he got that it would be enough.

As soon as he started nodding his head he was rewarded with a faster pace of Buck’s hips and those magnificent lips that he was dreaming off every night ever since he realized he was gay, were latching onto his neck once again. Buck sucked on Eddie’s pulse point like he wanted to leave a mark that would never fade away. Eddie wished it wouldn’t. He wanted to wear Buck’s mark for the rest of his life. He wanted to be his and only his and for everyone to know it.

After Buck was done with sucking a hickey onto the side of his neck, he put a gentle kiss against it and Eddie felt like crying. He could handle the passion and the desperation. He could handle Buck being attracted to him, but for the man to act like he loved him was too much.

He grabbed a fistfull of Buck’s hair and roughly hauled him up and into a kiss. There was nothing gentle or loving about it. Eddie kissed Buck like he wanted to destroy him and in a way that was exactly his goal. He wanted to destroy Buck for anyone else. He wanted to leave Buck with a taste of him so strong that he would never be able to forget it. He wanted everyone who would have the privilege of kissing the blonde from now on to taste Eddie as well.

Eddie bit Buck’s bottom lip and it earned him a delicious sound. Buck’s hips started to move faster and faster and Eddie wanted to get rid of the clothing that separated them, but that would be too much. He was afraid that if there was no barrier between them he would lose all composure. His brain to mouth filter would cease to exist and the words he was holding onto so tightly would spill out. He couldn’t let them do that. He had to keep it all in and let his body do the talking.

He braced his hands on Buck’s shoulders for a better leverage and started to grind his hips down as well. His clothed dick was rubbing against Buck’s belly and Eddie imagined what it would feel like to bite the soft skin. His ass was rutting against Buck’s impressive length and Eddie felt the shudder running all over his body at the thought of what it would feel like filling him up. He would let Buck do anything he wanted to him. Take him in whatever way he desired, but on the occasions that he let his thoughts run that far he was imagining Buck underneath him.

He imagined Buck sitting on Eddie’s couch, completely blissed out as Eddie rode him to oblivion. Buck loved towering over people, but something told him that he wouldn’t mind looking up at him. He would grab his hair and tug it a little just to hear Buck moan.

A sharp bite to his Adam apple brought him back to his current situation and he couldn’t believe he wasted his precious time with Buck on daydreaming about him. He focused back on grinding against the other man and regretted how close he already was. Buck was right there with him if the slightly shattered and less controlled movements of his hips were anything to go by.

Eddie wanted to slow them down and make them last longer, but he knew he had already pushed his luck. He brought Buck into one last kiss that muffled their moans of blinding pleasure. They came at the same time, but their grinds didn't stop. They were still moving, now way slower than before and they were dancing on the edge of overstimulation, but neither of them were stopping. Eddie squeezed all of his limbs tighter around Buck’s body and one of Buck’s hands detached itself from Eddie’s ass and landed on his cheek, cupping it in a way that made Eddie’s head spin.

[finelinevogue]

damn. yeah. i’m sooo super single.

sea view

Pairing: Harry Styles x wife!reader

Summary: Harry and his pregnant wife spending a day at the beach <3

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: fluff

A/N:

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, recommendations, vents or questions are always welcome. I love talking to you guys about anything <3

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

The golden sun hung lazily on the horizon, stretching its warm fingers across the beach. Each wave that lapped at the shore seemed to echo the steady rhythm of your heart, entwined with his. Harry’s hand slid down to yours, lacing your fingers together as you walked along the edge of the tide, the cool water occasionally licking at your toes. His thumb traced idle patterns against your skin, the gesture almost absentminded but deeply affectionate. The closeness of him made your chest feel full, as if the love you shared could hardly be contained in such a quiet moment.

Harry stopped suddenly, letting out a content sigh and stretching his arms out wide as if to embrace the entire ocean. “Do you ever stop to think about how mad all this is?” he asked, his voice tinged with wonder. He looked back at you, his eyes softening as they landed on your growing bump. “Me, you, this little bean in here.”

His free hand grazed your belly, his fingertips trailing delicately over the fabric of your sundress. The tenderness of the gesture sent a wave of warmth through you, a shiver of excitement and love.

“Mad is one way to describe it,” you replied, a smile curling on your lips. “Miraculous is another.”

“Miraculous,” Harry repeated, the word rolling off his tongue as if savoring it. He stopped walking entirely, tugging your hand gently to pull you closer. The sight of him then—bathed in the amber glow of the setting sun, his features soft with awe—took your breath away.

“I don’t think there’s a single word that could do justice to this,” he said, his voice quieter now. His hand splayed fully over your belly, his fingers flexing slightly as if memorizing the curve of your form. “Or to you.”

You felt your cheeks flush under his gaze, and you ducked your head instinctively, embarrassed by the intensity of his admiration. Harry wasn’t having it, though. His fingers tilted your chin up with a gentle insistence, and his smile—equal parts cheeky and adoring—melted your heart.

“Don’t you dare look away,” he teased, his voice low and playful. “I want to see that glow.”

“Harry, you’re ridiculous,” you mumbled, though you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling.

“Ridiculously in love with my wife,” he corrected, leaning down to nuzzle his nose against yours. “And ridiculously lucky that she agreed to carry my baby, even if I did forget to take the bins out last night.”

“Oh, don’t think I’ve forgotten that,” you quipped, poking him lightly in the chest. “But maybe I’ll forgive you… if you’re good.”

“Define ‘good,’” he murmured, his voice dropping into that lower, teasing tone that always turned your knees to jelly.

Before you could answer, he kissed you. It was slow and deep, like the tide itself had paused just to give you this moment. His lips moved against yours with a kind of reverence that made your heart race, and when he finally pulled back, you were breathless, leaning into him for support.

“Good enough?” he asked, a smirk tugging at his lips.

You laughed, pushing lightly at his chest. “Barely. But you’re getting there.”

By the time you reached the blanket he’d set up on the sand, Harry had already shrugged off his shoes and set down the picnic basket he’d carried. The blanket was oversized and ridiculously plush, covered in cushions that looked far too fancy for a beach day. You arched a brow at him as you lowered yourself carefully onto it.

“This is very… elaborate,” you teased, smoothing a hand over the soft fabric.

“Only the best for my girl,” Harry said, dropping to his knees beside you and immediately pulling a container of strawberries from the basket.

“For the lady,” he said with a theatrical flourish, holding one up to your lips. The grin on his face was pure mischief, but it softened when you took the strawberry, your teeth sinking into the juicy fruit. He watched you like you were performing magic, his gaze warm and unblinking.

“You’re spoiling me,” you said, leaning back against the cushions with a smirk.

“You deserve to be spoiled,” he replied, his voice turning serious. He shifted to lie on his side next to you, propping himself up on one elbow. His free hand found its natural place on your bump, his fingers spreading wide as though he wanted to feel every inch of the connection between you and the baby. “Can I spoil you a little more?”

“What are you up to, Styles?” you asked suspiciously, narrowing your eyes.

“I was thinking,” he said, a mischievous glint sparking in his gaze, “that the sea looks awfully inviting. Fancy a swim?”

You hesitated, glancing out at the gentle waves. “I don’t know. I feel like a beached whale these days.”

Harry let out a laugh, his eyes crinkling in that way that made your heart flutter. “Don’t even joke about that. You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your temple. “And I mean it. Come on, love. Let me hold you in the water. It'll feel good.”

The water was cooler than you’d expected, but not unpleasant. True to his word, Harry’s arms were around you the moment you waded in, holding you close as if you might drift away.

“See? This isn’t so bad, is it?” he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he spoke. The closeness made your heart flutter, and you wrapped your arms around his neck for balance.

“No, not bad,” you admitted, leaning into him. The sensation of the water buoying your weight was freeing, and you found yourself relaxing completely against his chest.

Harry’s hands roamed gently—one resting against the curve of your lower back, the other slipping under the water to cradle your belly. His thumb rubbed soft circles, and his touch felt reverent, almost worshipful.

“You’re carrying a part of me,” he said, his voice quiet, almost as if he was talking to himself. “Our baby. How do you do it? How are you this strong?”

Your throat tightened at his words, but you managed a small laugh. “I think you’ve got a romanticized view of it. There’s a lot of complaining and ice cream involved.”

“And I’ll listen to every complaint and buy every pint of ice cream for the rest of our lives,” he vowed, pressing a lingering kiss to your shoulder. “You’re everything to me, you know that?”

You nodded, suddenly overcome with emotion. “I love you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the sound of the waves.

Harry kissed you then, his lips capturing yours with a tenderness that made you feel as though the entire world had disappeared.

When you returned to the blanket, the sun was dipping below the horizon, leaving the sky painted in hues of pink and orange. Harry handed you a towel and then promptly decided it was a better idea to dry your legs himself, taking far longer than necessary and sneaking cheeky kisses every time he bent closer.

“You know what I think?” he said, breaking the comfortable silence.

“Hmm?”

“I think our baby is going to be just like you—kind, strong, stubborn as hell,” he teased, earning a light elbow to the ribs. He winced dramatically. “Oi, I’m fragile, you know!”

“You’re insufferable, you know that?” you replied, trying to sound annoyed, though your smile betrayed you.

“Insufferably handsome,” he corrected, puffing his chest out a little. “And insufferably mad about you.”

“Oh, here we go,” you groaned playfully, covering your face with your hands. “Should I prepare myself for another Shakespearean sonnet about my ‘radiant glow’?”

“Not just a glow—your divine luminescence,” he countered with a grin, rolling onto his back and pretending to gaze at the sky. “It rivals the sun, the moon, the stars—”

“Alright, enough!” you said, laughing as you reached for a pillow from the blanket and swung it at him. Harry caught it with a laugh, holding it above his head like a trophy.

“Violence against a man praising his wife!” he exclaimed, shaking his head in mock disapproval. “What will the baby think?”

“They’ll think you’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously in love,” he shot back, leaning over to kiss you despite the pillow still clutched in his hand. “But you wouldn’t have it any other way.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing softly as you pushed him back onto the blanket. “You’re lucky I love you.”

Harry grinned, tossing the pillow aside and pulling you closer until your head rested on his chest again. “I really am,” he said quietly, the humor giving way to genuine affection in his tone. After a beat, he added, “But if the baby gets my sense of humor, you’re in trouble.”

“Oh, God,” you groaned, shaking your head. “Then I really will be outnumbered.”

Harry let out a loud laugh, the sound blending with the waves as the sky deepened into twilight. The two of you stayed there, bickering playfully and exchanging kisses until the stars began to appear, painting the start of your next chapter in a perfect blend of love and laughter.

[tenwhiteandalusians]

and then no one said anything about the fact that if i watched ONE MORE episode tenax pulls a "i'm not angry i'm just disappointed i'm hurt" about scorpus signing with the white faction.

[lilacxquartz]

love you, love you, love you;

mr. crawling x reader

plot: some things are best expressed without the need of words — themes: spooning/cuddling, smut, maybe yan vibes — w.c: 1.1k

a/n: my first homicipher related fic. i want to try one for mr. silvair & mr. gap next, bc they were also my favs. this game has been taking over my life so much lately. like it’s been in my dreams, haaah.

masterlist • ao3

Mr. Crawling was always loud when he was excited within your company; his laughter filled out the vast empty spaces that were otherwise unadorned with familiarity. Whatever you once sought from those winding corridors was ever-fleeting, temporary, leaving you stuck within the confines of his company.

Yet, when he felt what you could only interpret as affection—that’s when Mr. Crawling then became different—quiet, soothing, kind but also… curious.

And when you would usually sleep, he would stand watch, knelt over the floor as per his usual stance but sometimes crouched near you, sometimes leaning back against the wall with his legs pressed up against his chest. He would watch you as his life depended on it, unwavering in focus and with eerie intensity. He would watch as your chest rose and fell, leaning close on occasion to catch the sweep of your breath and sometimes, he would trace the pad of his milky fingertips in long, languid strokes against your face. Always so delicate, so tender, but for the most part, quiet and even shy.

Having once caught a glimpse of Mr. Gap in your blanket space, however, set something territorial off for Mr. Crawling and he was never able to recover from such an invasion. The very idea that someone else was able to infiltrate what he deemed to be your space—especially someone who he disapproved of—wasn’t something he could stand for. Especially with the sort of trickster Mr. Gap was, he couldn’t bear to see you get hurt. It would kill him on the inside (and on the outside, too).

So, just as you were getting into bed to rest up once more, he too, slipped in under the covers with you. At first, you were startled as usual, turning to face him with confusion evident in your eyes, murmuring out some words in a language that he still could not understand. He repeated something back, the meaning lost and indecipherable upon your ears, though soon surrendering to emphasis using gestures instead. A hug to bring you closer, a reassuring pat on your head and a small, longing kiss over your nose.

You listened to his words again, repeating over and over like a broken record.

Perhaps he meant no harm, after all.

You turned your back to him and settled into his chest, finding that he was surprisingly warm for what he was. His taller frame encased your body, wrapping his ashen arms around your waist—accidentally brushing the fabric that sat over your breast—nicking the cloth ever so slightly. Your breath hitched in surprise and as though in sheepish realisation, he withdrew right away, terrified that you were upset with him.

You drew out a long breath, reminding yourself again, that after everything that has happened thus far…

That, Mr. Crawling does not want to hurt you.

That Mr. Crawling has only ever helped you.

So perhaps, right now, Mr. Crawling only wanted to be closer to you.

You relaxed your breathing, settling into his comforting shadow once more and allowed for his presence to envelop you. He repeated the soothing motions of his grappling arm, although he held onto you softer that time. His hands explored your body with a delicate touch, as though afraid of breaking you—of upsetting you again—his motions growing confident the longer that you didn’t protest. It wasn’t long before he, otherwise not disturbed by your lacking, conscious awareness, decided to explore further with you. Mr. Crawling’s fingers didn’t ask for permission that time, creeping beneath the clinging fabric, feeling your skin against his palms, inviting a pleased, almost delighted smile to curl on his lips.

The silence remained unbroken as Mr. Crawling continued his explorative focus on you; the quickly-building evidence of his need growing harder the longer he pushed himself behind your body, the repeated touches arousing something warmer within him. To both his surprise as well as your own—you were not repulsed, allowing him to creep even lower, below the skirt of the dress and up, brushing his hand up to your exposed skin and, reading into it—you communicated your consent from the moment you parted your legs, allowing him to get even closer.

Confidence surged in Mr. Crawling as he pushed himself into your hilt, allowing his hardened length to slip inside. Betraying the stagnant silence, he shuddered out a ragged gasp before giving into his own rising need; grinding himself into your sopping sex with steadily increasing fervour. His fingers clamped around the curve of your hips as he held you in place, slamming every last inch of himself deep into your core.

Ever touch-starved yet wanting nothing more than to surrender to the sensation of you, Mr. Crawling continued to drive his cock into your needy cunt, soon wrapping his winding arms around your body and holding on tight. He bucked intensely as you soon succumbed to breathless whimpers, incoherently begging for his name. Equally desperate whines rolled off the slip of his tongue as he found his lips pressed into the crook of your neck, dampening your skin with sloppy wet kisses—as many as he could give.

It felt overwhelming for you in a way to be worshipped like this but you did your best to keep up with such intensity, especially as the warm, tingling pleasure built up inside of you, too. You held on just as tight as he did, your hand seeking out his own—fingers weaving into his bony digits—interlocking and squeezing tight the closer you got, your grip and otherwise clenching need tightening simultaneously. To feel him losing himself inside of you was dare you admit, addicting, feeling him completely fill and stretch you out leaving you almost dizzied from the impaling force.

Mr. Crawling, like you, soon surrendered to the rolling bliss from the flick of his hips, feeling a surging warmth mount and rise, encouraging him to lose himself to the searing heat of the moment and you. Encircling your body in a possessive hug, he suddenly began to mutter out a new word in a strained mantra, again and again.

Given how desperate he seemed to be, you understood the meaning as ‘close’, especially as his actions grew more strained and less controlled.

“Close, close, close,” he repeated.

It didn’t take his chased release to catch up as his hips grew to a stutter, rutting out one final pump before melting into you. Mr. Crawling cried into your neck, spilling out the entirety of his overflowing love, feeling the pent-up devotion trickle down your thighs—yet not letting you move away—still retaining his claim on you.

Instead, he kept you even closer than before, not allowing you to part from him ever again (despite understanding your yearning for rest).

Words were never the problem, it seemed.

Mr. Crawling would have always found a way to… connect with you.

[rindreamery]

to be loved is to be seen.

the little things that the blue lock men do for you as their way of saying, "i love you." featuring: itoshi rin, itoshi sae, michael kaiser, oliver aiku 𝜗𝜚 content: fluff

note. spreading down bad bllk men agenda 🫦 finals is this week, so that means i will not be able to write at all for 3-4 days, so i just wanted to pop this out rlly quickly (event fics will be written as soon as i wrap up this sem, PROMISE)

itoshi rin picks out the things you don't like in your food.

not that he’d ever admit it out loud, but rin has a folder in his notes app about you— things you like, things you dislike, and every little thing you’ve mentioned to him in passing. he wants to know every little detail about you, to write it down and memorize it until the knowledge becomes stuck in the back of his head. to the point that it becomes like common sense to him (if there were ever a pop quiz on facts about you, he would pass with flying colors.) at the end of every date, or every time he hangs out with you, he’ll update his notes with another little thing he’d learned. you will never catch him admitting it out loud, but it definitely shows in how he treats you.

there is one thing he’d memorized about you, by now, though. it’s written in bold, italicized, and underlined in his notes: you hate mushrooms. 

rin catches himself looking at the ingredients of certain meals whenever the two of you would eat at a new restaurant, or order food from an unfamiliar place. it’s not that he’s necessarily a picky eater because, frankly, he really doesn’t care. but he wants you to enjoy it, he wants you to be able to eat without stressing about having to pick it out. his eyes are always scanning through the print, actively checking if mushrooms are one of the ingredients listed. 

but, there are times when the ingredients aren’t listed, and there are times when you end up ordering something with mushrooms in it. 

he may be dense in certain aspects, but it’s hard for him to miss the disappointed look on your face. the way your expression falls ever so slightly, and your smile falters for half a second. before you could dig in, before you could even put yourself through five minutes of digging through the food— he’s swiftly grabbing it from you. 

truthfully, he does it without thinking. he’s acting on his thoughts before he could even process what he’s doing. rin tries to fight the blush that threatens to form on his cheeks, the way the heat crawls up his neck and to his face at the realization of what he’d done, and he fails. but he’s committed to the act now, and he’s not going to give it back to you until he’s done what he needed to do.

he tries to ignore the somewhat perplexed look on your face, and the way you watch him closely as his fingers make quick work of moving the mushrooms from your plate to his. (he tries to sneak in some of your favorite food from his plate to yours, but he’s not slick, and you definitely notice.)

“here,” he says, pushing the plate closer to you after a few minutes. “you can eat it now.”

he sees you glance at the plate, and then back up at him— he looks away as you beam at him with a grateful smile, trying to ignore his ever-increasing heart rate. 

itoshi sae remembers the small details about your routine.

it is almost guaranteed that sae will wake up before you do. his alarm is set to go off at the crack of dawn, right as the sun starts to peek through the horizon, and he's starting his day while you're still in deep sleep. there’s a set routine that he follows, to a tee: wake up (and then contemplate staying in bed, just to cuddle with you a little longer), stretch, do morning yoga, and then go on a jog. it’s something he’d been doing for years, and he has never gone out of his way to add anything new to his routine— that is, until one morning. 

at first, it started with a random thought. as he was getting ready to leave the house, to go for his morning jog, he had unsystematically decided to set out your favorite mug and go-to morning snack. 

sae didn’t think it would be that significant to you, and he, initially, had no plans of doing it again. he simply had extra time to spare, and he knew that making your morning drink was always the first part to your routine, so he decided to get the first step out of the way for you.

truly, he wasn’t planning to make a habit out of this. but then, you told him, “that was a sweet way to start off my morning,” with that sleepy, morning smile of yours. he tries to not pay attention to the way his heart softens at the sight, and the realization that that had made him happy. yet now, he does it every time.

from then on, his alarm was always set to go off two minutes earlier. it’s rewarding, in his opinion, to come home to you— sitting at the dining table, messy hair and still in your pajamas, eyes half-lidded from sleep, with a smile on your face as you take a sip from the mug. and then you greet him with a thank you and a kiss, without fail, even when he tries to lightly guide you away because he’s sweaty.

it never works, because he folds the second you tell him, “g’morning. i missed you.” and he finds himself adding another part to his schedule. 

before sae’s even aware of it, much of his daily habits had been molded to fit with yours. 

on days where he’s far from home, in another country, he finds that his morning just never feels right without you. it feels weird not having to set out your favorite mug, and it feels even weirder not having you there to smother him in kisses. his routine had always determined his mood, and without you, he’s extra sour. 

“i miss you,” he ends up texting you. (that, too, becomes part of his routine when he’s far from you.)

michael kaiser has all your subtle behaviors memorized.

if kaiser were to be asked to name one annoying habit of yours, it would be the fact that you, sometimes, say things that contradict how you truly feel. he calls you pesky, he tells you that he’ll take your word for it and not read too deeply into whatever you’re saying— but, in a way, he’s contradicting himself too by saying that. he’ll always read into it; he’ll always analyze you, gaze narrowed, and watching for every subtle sign in your body language. he knows you, all too well. 

but there’s one thing you always say, one contradictory statement that you always make, that he’d memorized at this point. “it’s okay, i’m not cold,” even when you visibly are.

it irks him to no end. he doesn’t understand why you would say that even when there are goosebumps scattered all over your skin, when you have your arms wrapped around yourself, and you’re visibly trembling. he can practically see the bones under your skin, rattling, making some comical, cartoony noise in his head. you know that he can see you, and yet, you still lie to him.

and, at times, he does this on purpose— he puts the air conditioning in the car on full blast, all vents pointed at you, just to see how far you’re willing to go. and every time, it’s always the same, with the same answer.

kaiser isn’t completely cruel, however. he’s tucked one of his spare hoodies (your favorite, actually) into the backseat, existing purely for your use. first, he’ll scoff at you, roll his eyes, and let you suffer for a few more minutes. but eventually, the guilt will catch up to him, and he’ll constantly be glancing at you through his periphery, shaking and looking absolutely miserable in your seat.

he’ll think to himself for a second, as if contemplating whether he’ll actually help you out (he always does, he does not want you to actually suffer). and then, he’ll internally sigh, before speaking up. “stupid,” he mutters under his breath. “i have a spare hoodie in the back, take it.”

it’s almost laughable, the way you quickly turn your body around to reach for the backseat, visibly seeking warmth. he sees the look of pure joy in your eyes when you realize that it’s your favorite, and he smiles to himself.

“you’re the best,” you always tell him, as you pull the fabric over your head, and he's content. 

he doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t reprimand you— he lets you do this, every single time.

oliver aiku is always willing to listen to you ramble.

it doesn’t matter if aiku’s had an exceptionally long day, it doesn’t matter if he feels as if he’s on the verge of succumbing to sleep— he will always make time for you. he will never pass up a chance to call you, to listen to you talk about whatever you want, whenever you want. you could talk for hours, going on and on about something that he doesn’t quite understand, and not a single complaint will slip past his lips. then again, he thinks to himself, why would he complain? hearing your voice is the best part of any day, good or bad. and every night, he finds himself waiting by his phone, waiting for your contact to appear on his screen.

he finds no shame at the speed in which he accepts your call, which is immediately, nor does he try to mask the anticipation in his voice.

and if he were to look into a mirror at that exact moment, he would also see the lovesick smile that had started to tug on the corners of his lips. you can’t see him, but he’s sure you can hear it in his voice. the way it softens, the way it loses its rough edges and lightens up ever so slightly, when he greets you. you probably know he’s grinning from ear-to-ear. (he doesn’t think he is, but when it comes to you, he’s completely transparent.)

it doesn’t take long before you’re divulging into another one of your endless tangents. but aiku’s attention remains undivided, only for you. he sits on the other side of the phone, silently, only responding when you want him to. it doesn’t matter if his own thoughts are clouded with exhaustion, his mind racing with the weight of the day—when you call, everything else fades into nothingness.

“did you know that venus is an evening star for 263 days out of the year?” he can hear the excitement in your voice, he can practically see the sparkle in your eyes, even without seeing you. it’s been three hours, and he’s sure that he should’ve been in bed one hour ago. but you’re still as energetic as ever, so he fights the way his body craves for sleep. he locks his jaw, and bites back a yawn, and listens. “and then, the fact that it disappears from the sky for 50 days, before returning as a morning star?”

there’s silence on your end, and aiku takes that as his cue to talk. “no,” he responds, and there’s an amused lilt in his tone. “i didn’t, actually. you should tell me more.” and you do. 

one look at the clock to his side tells him that, at this point, he won’t be getting enough sleep. he’s sure he’s going to be exhausted when he wakes up in the morning— though, he doesn’t really care, and he’s sure he won’t regret it. he’ll let you ramble about the stars for as long as you want, even when the stars themselves start to fade into the morning sky. 

© rindreamery, 2024

[whokilledsamara]

Hello! I don’t usually make requests but i have one could u pretty please if u have time? 🥺

Anyways the request would be like homocipher boys (especially my bbg Mr Crawling) pussy drunk. Pls.

PUSSY DRUNK

a very short fic for a few of the Homicipher boys. {Mr. Crawling, Mr. Scarletella, Mr. Silvair, Mr. Gap, Mr. Hood}. Homicipher x afab!reader.

warnings! : each are different so a bit of violence, neediness, switch!reader, smut, porn, PORN NO PLOT!!! almost all of them are cunnilingus

{an: if you meant a fic with all of them in a gangbang sense, you can send in another request}

MR. CRAWLING

"Not now Mr. Crawling, im busy." you say softly, gently petting his head as he tugs at your skirt. "Please..", he practically begs, his lips turned into a pout.

he was always so desperate to please you, stopping at nothing as long as it made you happy. his eager face made it so hard to resist, and with a sigh, you gently part your legs before continuing to use your hands with what you were doing.

almost as soon as you do so, his face is shoved as far as it can go, a whine leaving his lips as he has to pull away to remove your underwear. a giggle escapes you while you watch.

...

"mngh.. fuck, please.." the words slipped so effortlessly from your lips, Mr. Crawling's head so deep between those legs of yours that you couldnt think straight.

your hand was fisted in his hair, tugging often. whines left him almost constantly, his hands holding up your thighs on his shoulders and off the chair. "Me want, More" he states softly, his voice muffled as he stares up at you, the lower half of his face still stuffed between your thighs.

as you nod softly, he hums and shoves two of his long and slender fingers inside of you, effortlessly curling them upwards towards your g-spot. "a-ah..!" your voice hits a high peak at the sudden intrusion, legs trembling as yet another orgasm rips through you, despite how many you had previously.

as overstimulated as you were, the man between your legs gives a few more licks to your clit, slowly pulling away. as he sits up, Mr. Crawling stares up at you with a cheeky grin, his chin covered in your juices. "Good." ..... "Big, Good."

MR. SCARLETELLA

as usual, he was feeling needy.

every since you pretty much marked him as your "slave", he has been near you at all times, getting upset whenever you interact with others instead of him.

this time in particular though, you watched tears fall from his eyes as he stared up at you with a desperate expression. despite the cold look on your face, and the amount of times you rejected him, he still pleads. "Please." he whines, his hands trembling against your thighs. "Please what..? not this again." you ask, glaring down at him. his hands grab at your raincoat, face a pleading mess.

"Need, You." he begs. you think for a second, a long exasperated sigh leaving your lips before you finally do what he always dreamed of. you roll your eyes, head tilting to a nod. that was all the conformation he needed.

...

hours had gone by, your unfortunate yet aching cunt so desperately clenched around his tongue, his hands clawing at your thighs.

his skilled tongue circled your clit an uncanny amount of times, his pace never slowing. "A-ah wait.. wait i cant.. fuccckk.." another orgasm ripped through you and then, only then, did his pace falter. "You, Like?" he asked, pulling his face up from your legs with an uncanny glare.

you nod many times, his smile only growing wider. his lips lean in and press against yours, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue. as much as you denied your feelings for the man, you couldn't think of anything but how good he felt and tasted. with a thoughtful groan, you wiggle your finger at him, signaling for him to stand. immediately he obeys, face flushed and juices dripping down his chin. your eyes are locked on his for a second before you speak in a demanding tone.

"Take off your pants."

MR. SILVAIR

he was NEVER needy. so why was today different?

one of the other residents had managed to piss him off so much that he couldn't think straight. his usually calm demeanor shifted completely dark, not even a hint of his usual smile on his face.

even Mr. Chopped seemed worried, asking softly if he was okay. Mr. Silvair ignored him, his gaze fixated on your eyes. he nods his head to his "research room", silently instructing you to go. he follows closely behind you, the heavy door slamming shut and locking you both in the room.

...

a huff leaves his lips as his hands angrily lift you up and slam you on his examination table, ass up for him, with little to no way for you to escape.

"W-what are you doing? Whats wrong?.. Mr. Silvair-!" you ask hurriedly, hands scrambling to find something to grab. he ignores your pleas and hikes up your raincoat, forcing off your panties with one quick motion. you couldn't see him as you tried to look behind you, but you felt him sink to his knees. "H-hey- ah..!-" your words are cut off with a moan as his long, snakelike tongue slips between your folds.

Mr. Silvair's strong hands keep you spread with ease, giving him full access as he greedily eats your pussy like its the last meal on earth. "Stop Squirming." his usually calm voice turns dark, his fingers digging a touch deeper into your hips as he keeps you held up for him.

as hard as you can, you attempt to keep your hips still. his tongue reaches as deep as it can reach, making you harshly bite your lip and see stars, juices running down his face as you finally orgasm. "A-ah right there--fuck! please.." your begs go unnoticed as he releases you and stands, walking out of the room without another glance. seemingly, this little outburst would hold him down for a while.

be glad it was only his tongue this time.

MR. GAP

a while after you got used to your residency at the complex, you learned your lesson about walking near the gaps.

the man who always seemed to appear at the worst moments, would mainly only mess with you. usually, it would only be a small poke as your ankle as you walked by, a tug at your hair when you had your back turned, or small scares he would pull off.

eventually you learned to ignore it, or altogether stay away from the walls, but unfortunately for you, today was a day you slipped up. as careless as it seemed, you were walking on your own, tiredness taking over your expression. the day was hectic, having to deal with more than one entity at a time.

a sudden yelp escapes your throat as you are yanked by your arm into a small opening in the wall. your back ends up pressed against the nearest wall, Mr. Gap's face level with yours with that sick, uncanny expression he always has.

you huff and use your hand to push at his face, the ever so sassy man rolling his eyes and grabbing your wrist. "You're No, Fun." he grumbles, hands fumbling with your shorts. "The fuck are you doing?" you mutter as a hushed yell, eyes glaring at his.

the grin on his face grows wider as he shoves off your pants, before suddenly dissolving into nothing. your eyes dart around, confusion evident in your expression until a sudden whine leaves your lips at an unknown feeling hits your core.

looking down, you find Mr. Gap nose deep in between your legs, eyes locked on yours as he smirks into you. your hand shoots down to grab his hair, attempting to pull him away as embarrassment fills your expression. though unluckily for you, or luckily depending on how you take it,, he doesn't move. instead, he groans into your hand, his hands tighten on your thighs as he pushes his face deeper, licking and sucking anything he can manage.

after many failed orgasms, and many tears from his constant edging, finally after everything he lets you cum, sucking hard enough on your clit to have a loud moan escape you, thighs clenching around his head.

though something tells you he isnt done.

MR. HOOD

as mono tuned as the man was, and as little as expressive as he was, he couldn't help his built up tension.

while no, he didn't understand the concept of love, or at-least he wouldn't admit it- he knew and felt the need for touch.

he often would allow you inside of his coat, usually just chilling in there or whatever you called it- but you never saw it as anything more than companionship. or so he figured. the moment he felt you experiment by placing your hand just above his crotch, his views changed.

with little to no effort, Mr. Hood plucked you out of his coat, setting you gently on the nearest table. he stared at you for a second, chest heavy. he could definitely sense your confusion- but as he kept his gaze on you, he reached out to grab your leg, his oddly feeling hand sat calmly on the inside of your thigh. "May, Touch?" Mr. Hood asked, an almost worried tone in his words. quicker than he could get his words out, you were nodding.

his body stilled for a second, almost as if he was debating his life choices, but ultimately decided to continue. gentle fingers reach under your raincoat, tugging down your panties with ease. and while he would never admit it, he quite greatly enjoyed the small sounds you made when his fingers traced your lips.

he hesitates for a second, before pushing a single ghostly finger inside. it was oddly cold, but felt so good inside of you as he worked his way in. a long moan leaves you, your hands reaching out to grab his arms.

one of his tentacles shoots out, replacing his finger that instead opted for your clit, rubbing in tight, hard circles. "Oh fuck.." you breathe out, legs trembling at your embarrassingly close orgasm. "I-im gonna c- mmngh!!" a hushed scream leave you as the tentacle curls, thrusting hard at your G-spot. it sends you over the edge, your juices flowing down your thighs and around the appendage. with a sigh, he pulls out, seemingly pleased.

"Turn Around."

{ made by @whokilledsamara }

[diy-dynamite]

Television Influence

Homicipher || Mr. Crawling + GN Reader

So... I have no idea how to use Tumblr to write fics But. Consider this my trial before it goes down :3

CONTENTS: (1) mentions & descriptions of murder, (2) kissing

Disclaimer: the part about MC being an assassin is just a hc I came up with. There are spoilers under the cut, though (at least I think I put the cut, idk tho)

So hear me out. Idk if anyone did this yet, but listen: after bringing your sweetheart (Mr. Crawling, obviously) to the real world, things went back to normal. Sort of. You were never really normal to begin with.

********

You went back to your old job, hacking and killing, keeping the bills steady with commissions, yada yada. Corporate worker on weekdays, but at night and on weekends, you're a highly sought out eliminator.

This busy schedule didn't sit right for Mr. Crawling, though. Every time you came back, you noticed that he sat before the door, already waiting for you to twist the knob and push. You installed cameras to try to keep your eyes on what he did, only to find out that if his presence was caught on camera, the film would glitch and blur and static would pepper across your screen. Still, you were able to decipher what he did through the choppy feed.

He stood his ground in front of the door with that small, anticipating grin on his grey face. Your heart ached at the sight, cooing aloud right in front of your victim before you slammed your crowbar into their skull.

That's when you realised you didn't like leaving him for hours on end. You didn't want to make him wait like that.

An idea sparked in your head when you were getting ready for your morning job. Mr. Crawling was still lying on his spot next to yours on your shared bed. You couldn't tell if he was sleeping or spacing out. Did he even need sleep?

You shrugged that thought off and quietly tip-toed your way into your living room. You switched on the TV—which you never used until now—and left the volume at a moderate level before leaving for work.

Truly enough, the sweetheart confusedly crawled over to sit at the front of the screen, watching the rom-com show that just got aired.

You smiled, leaving the monitoring app as you sipped from your favourite morning tea. You checked in on him around every five hours, and he never moved from his spot, not until you were already at your front door, though. The humanoid man seemed to hit a realization and crawled to the front door once again. It's like he already knew when you usually arrived.

He just sat there with that same thin smile on his face, waiting for your return. If he had a tail, it'd be swaying slowly. Patient and hopeful, like a dog.

You pushed the door open, and his chipper laughter rang through the air.

"You home! You home!"

He pushed a chuckle out of your lips, embracing you by the hips as you locked your front door with shaky hands due to his movement.

"Home, home," you nodded, sighing, yet you still smiled. "Hungry? Want eat?"

He giggled again, his smile practically cutting from ear to ear.

You served him his red soup—it wasn't tomatoes, but it was the chunks and blood of your victim last night.

"You enjoy?" You asked, leaning on your palm as you watched him eat. "Thing," you pointed at the TV in the nearby room. "Thing fun?"

Mr. Crawling wiped the leftover soup from his lips, pitch black tongue licking over where the blood was on his hand.

"Thing fun," he agreed. "You more fun. Many more."

You laughed. Thank goodness for all the language lessons you took on his dialect because these little gems that left his cold lips would've flown last your head.

Suddenly, Mr. Crawling paused.

"Want... try something."

"Try?" You tilted your head in confusion, and he mirrored your expression as you uttered a word in English. "More eat? Eat another?"

He giggled. "No!"

Your brows knitted together, and your lips pursed as you pondered. "Try what?"

Mr. Crawling crawled around the chabudai table, already hovering over your lap. His lips formed that same loveable (and slightly uncanny) smile. "You, me..." he gestured between you two with one hand. You nodded along, hoping to understand. "Me, you," you said.

He gestured again. "Not the same. Me, you, different. I saw other—other like you," he pointed at the TV. "Saw many like you. They say love, but they not show. Why?"

"...?" You had to process that for a second. Lengthy sentences in his language were harder to decode. "Er... um," you sighed. "They not ready? Love big, but they know small."

He watched you expectantly, so you continued.

"Uh... love big. Yes. Many meaning. Few word, few say."

"You love me?"

This was a question you got daily. It didn't hurt to answer repetively, but now that you thought of it....

Your hesitation made Mr. Crawling shrink back, his smile slowly turning into pouting.

"No no," you quickly added. "Me love you. You kind. You rescue."

He perked up, his joy bouncing right back. "Me love you!" He chirped.

You sighed, but your breath of relief didn't last long. He took you by the chin, his cold and calloused hands as gentle as he always was, and he poked his lips against yours in a brief kiss.

.

.

.

"You cute," he giggled, and you realised your face went red. "Cute, cute."

"Where did you learn to do that?" You blurted out, confusion and fluttering shyness grasping your stomach like a ruthless vine. "I mean—" you snapped out of it, seeing his confusion. "—how... how you know... do that?"

He pointed at the TV again. "Saw many like you. Say they love they, then they do!"

.

.

.

He saw people kiss?

"You—"

He kissed you again. Did it even count as a kiss? It was more like tapping lips together than a kiss.

"Cute!" He chirped and kissed you again. It didn't take much for you to know that he was pleased with your reddened cheeks and wanted to see it over and over. You counted twenty times before you stopped him, which made him frown.

"I teach," you sighed, your shyness wearing off. He practically bounced at your words. "I teach you how. My language, I call 'kiss'."

He tilted his head.

You said it again. "Kiss."

"....Ck...ck..."

"Kiss." You nodded.

"Ki...iss?"

You patted his head in approval. "Kiss."

He giggled. "Kiss! Kiss! Me kiss you!"

You couldn't help but laugh. "I teach you how. Don't move."

He didn't.

When you leaned in for a kiss, he stiffened, but he didn't move away. You held his hands and brought them to your waist, and then you held the sides of his head, pressing on.

You didn't take it too far, no—he wasn't really ready for English yet, let alone French if you know what I mean.

"....Me kiss you," you said.

It was almost as if steam was blowing out of his ears. The place around his cheeks darkened into a deeper grey, and you laughed. Before you could comment, however, he pounced at the chance to kiss you again before you changed your mind.

********

Erm so this was kinda ass LMAO

It's just practice anyway 😞 didn't proofread either so I guess that'll be my bad when I wake up tomorrow to see a bajillion of mistakes

[incognit0slut]

Crawling back to you

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Simmons!Reader Summary: You never planned on having a casual fling with your brother's friend five years ago, nor did you expect him to fall in love with you, which forced you to end things abruptly. But now he's unexpectedly back in your life—older, wiser, and fully intent on winning your heart. Content: (18+) >12k words, reader has commitment issues, he’s the softest softdom i’ve ever written, female oral, fingering, unprotected p in v, a little squirting? teeth rotting fluff and a chaotic ending because who am i without my crack humor A/n: This is for @imagining-in-the-margins FWB writing challenge and somewhat a celebration post for 7k milestone. Idk how that happened but tysm :( I hope you like this as much as I did writing it because matt simmons is so underrated??? I’m also freaking nervous with this i haven’t posted a new fic in a while so please please please be nice i feel like throwing up

Surprise has a way of stopping time. Although you're not sure you can call it that. What you’re experiencing is more than just surprise, it’s the kind of feeling that makes you freeze in place. It’s not just a jolt to the system—it’s a full-body takeover. Your breath catches, your heart skips, and your thoughts scatter like leaves caught in the wind. How could they not, when the last person you expected to see is standing right in front of you, clad in the most questionable clothes?

You almost laugh at how absurd he looks. He’s wearing an oversized hoodie with a tacky “Washington D.C.” print sprawled across the front. It’s baffling why he’s draped in that shapeless thing over his freakishly tall frame, but it’s too hard to focus on something so trivial when you’re still grasping with the reality of seeing him again. You really can’t believe it. Spencer Reid is here. The Spencer Reid.

The guy whose heart you broke five years ago.

You should have seen this coming. In fact, you kind of did, when your brother’s friends came rushing into the hospital room, their voices a chorus of “oohs” and “aahs” as they crowded around the newborn cradled in Kristy’s arms. You exchanged polite greetings when they noticed you—Penelope even pulled you into a tight hug, gushing about how amazing you looked—and thankfully, there was no sign of him.

But you’d almost allowed yourself to believe he wouldn’t show up. When the small space became overly crowded, you stepped out into the waiting room to catch your breath… only to find him standing a few feet away with JJ.

And just like that, all the air seems to vanish from your lungs.

You had a plan, of course. In the back of your mind, you always knew a chance meeting was inevitable, whether you liked it or not. And that plan was simple. You’d offer him a polite smile. Exchange a few words, nothing too personal. You’d be friendly but distant, always make sure to keep the kind of composure that says you’ve moved on, and that the past is just that: the past.

But those well-laid plans seem fragile now, almost naive as you suddenly caught his smile. Now how do you stick to a script when your heart is starting to rewrite all the lines? Or blur the lines specifically, when the past and present merge so seamlessly that you’re reminded of the first time that same smile had charmed you.

You’re suddenly thrown back to that day five years ago, when your brother had thrown a barbecue cookout to celebrate some joint investigation his team had wrapped up. You didn’t know the details—didn’t really care to, if you were honest—but Matt had called you and insisted that you join him.

You hadn't thought much of it at the time. It sounded like another family gathering with a few new faces. But that was the day you met Spencer, and what began as a simple introduction quickly spiraled into something much more complicated. Really complicated. Because as charmed as you were by his smile, he had wanted something more from you when all you could offer him was your body.

So you ran away.

Although not very far, because apparently, he’s standing a few steps away from you, five years later. And the worst part? He’s now very much aware that you’re here. You watch as his jaw slacks open as he takes a double-take. You’re rooted in place. JJ, on the other hand, tugs his sleeve as she notices his demeanor slowly shutting down. She turns around to see what’s caught his attention, and when she spots you, a huge smile spreads across her face.

"Hey! You're here!” You force yourself to look away from him as she moves forward. You reciprocate the hug she throws at you. "How are you?”

You’re not entirely sure how to answer. How do you even explain that your heart just did a triple backflip and landed somewhere near your stomach? Or that you’re seconds away from having an internal existential crisis because, of course, the universe would choose this moment to throw Spencer Reid back into your life?

There's really no good way to sum that up. So instead, you plaster on a smile that probably looks more like a grimace and reply, "Good. I’m good.”

JJ doesn’t seem to notice the strained edges in your voice. “It’s so nice to see you again! How long has it been?”

There’s a moment of silence as you try to gather your thoughts. But before you can respond, Spencer’s voice suddenly cuts through the quiet. It’s soft, almost hesitant, as if he’s been holding onto this detail for far too long, but every syllable rings in your ears.

"Five years," he says. "Five years, three months, and seventeen days."

Your stomach does another flip. JJ raises her brows, her eyes darting between you and him. You carefully meet her gaze. "Actually, you and I met up last year.”

“Oh, right!” She exclaims, her face lighting up as the memory clicks into place. “You were in town for a conference, right? I totally forgot about that.”

“You were in town last year and you didn’t tell me?”

God, he’s making it terribly hard for you to keep your composure. You throw him a sidelong glance. “I didn’t know you wanted to see me.”

His expression shifts slightly, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. He looks at you as if your words sounds ludicrous to him.

“I always want to see you.”

You can't decide what surprises you more, the fact that he still wants to see you after all these years, or how easily he says it. The words roll off his tongue so casually, so effortlessly, as if the weight of your shared past doesn’t cling to them. And to make matters worse, he's saying this right in front of JJ, who is now staring at him, clearly scrutinizing the significance behind his words.

You quickly shift your attention to her, forcing another smile. "So, are you going to head inside?"

JJ blinks at you. “Oh, yeah, I probably should.” She turns to Spencer and gives him a quick but knowing glance. "See you on Monday, Spence."

You glance at him. “You're not going to see the baby?"

"Spencer’s got something he needs to take care of,” JJ chimes in. There’s a slight edge to her voice, like she knows exactly what that ‘something’ is, but she doesn’t elaborate. She gives him one last look before heading inside.

You catch yourself looking up at him again. “You’re leaving?”

Spencer pauses, studying you carefully, his brow furrowing just slightly like he’s trying to read between the lines of your question.

“I was,” he says softly.

There’s a sudden tightness in your chest. “Right.”

“But now I don’t want to.”

There it goes again, the butterflies in your stomach. This is exactly why you didn’t want to see him. You knew that once you looked into his eyes, heard his voice, it would stir up everything you’ve spent five years trying to bury. You’d told yourself it was better to pretend that whatever happened between you was nothing more than a stupid choice. But now, standing here with him so close, you can feel all those walls you built crumbling down with just a few words.

You finally look at him, like really look at him. It’s impossible not to notice how he’s changed over the past five years. There are faint lines around his eyes now, signs of age that wasn't there before. His hair is longer, a little messier. It curls around his ears in a way that makes him look almost boyish, yet undeniably charming which suits him more than you'd like to admit.

But even with all the changes, his smile—gentle and just a little shy—remains the same. That smile reminds you of a time when things were simpler, where it was enough to convince you that you didn't have to keep your guard up all the time. But then you remember the reason you walked away, and his smile becomes a little harder to look at.

Because while he's changed, grown, matured, so have you, and you're not sure if there's room for the person you are now in the space that once belonged to both of you.

His eyes scan you in the same way you’re assessing him. “You look good.”

Your mouth twitches at his words. You didn’t expect him to be so straightforward. “Thank you.”

“You’re even prettier than I remember.”

The sigh you let out is long and weary. He really knows how to push your buttons.

“Spencer. Don’t.”

“What?”

“You can’t just say things like that after—” You hesitate, crossing your arms. "After everything. What happened to 'Hi, how are you?’. Or maybe something simple like ‘What have you been up to? Anything new?’”

He blinks, clearly taken aback by your abruptness. “Okay. Hi, how are you?”

You cast him a wary glance. “Good.”

"What have you been up to?"

"Work."

"Anything new?"

"No."

He pauses again, his eyes searching yours before he asks, "No new boyfriend?"

You frown. “Huh?”

“Girlfriend?”

"Spencer."

"Are you seeing anyone?"

"Spencer."

He smiles sheepishly, his shoulders sagging slightly. "You're right, that was inappropriate. I didn't think I would see you again, it’s throwing me off a bit."

“You didn’t think I would be here for my newborn niece?”

His smile turns into a grimace. "I guess I wasn't thinking clearly." He shifts on his feet, fidgeting with his fingers—a small, familiar tic that you hadn’t seen in years. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make things weird.”

“It’s fine,” you reply, though there’s no real bite to your words. His nervous energy is making it hard to stay annoyed. Your eyes narrow on his oversized hoodie again, the casual, almost careless choice that seems slightly out of character for the Spencer you remember.

He seems to notice you staring so blatantly. “What?”

“You look funny.”

A hint of surprise flashes across his face. “You think I’m funny?”

“Different,” you correct. “Did you raid someone’s closet on your way here or something?”

"Oh… I had to change my clothes. I got wet at the park earlier.”

You glance towards the window with a frown. "It's not even raining."

"I ran through the sprinklers."

The cease on your forehead deepens. Even that sounds so unlike him. Spencer Reid doing something that carefree in public?

“You ran through the sprinklers? Alone?"

You notice his expression shift as the question leaves your lips, something very subtle, but you’ve known him long enough to catch it. The way his eyes flicker, the slight hesitation before he answers, makes it obvious. There’s a hint of something unspoken in the way he looks at you, and suddenly, it all clicks into place.

He wasn’t alone.

You look away. It's ridiculous, you think. To feel this somewhat… jealous when it should be the last thing on your mind because, really, what right do you have? What you had with him wasn’t even a relationship to begin with. But despite all the logic in the world, you can’t help the pang in your chest, the twist of something bitter and familiar curling in your gut.

"It's not what you think," he slowly says.

You force a small, awkward laugh, trying to brush it off. "I wasn’t assuming anything. It’s none of my business, anyway."

"No, really, it's nothing like that." he insists, scrunching his nose in the way he does when he's trying to think. "I mean, I did meet someone at the park, but it’s not like… what you might be thinking. We were just talking, and… and then there were these sprinklers and it wasn’t really planned or anything, then she—well, technically, we weren’t even alone the whole time because there were other people around, and it’s not like we—”

“Spencer, you don’t have to explain—” you begin, but then something dawns on you. “Wait, is this what JJ was referring to? Did you… Did you have plans?”

You notice his Adam’s apple dip as he swallows. "Kind of," he admits. “But it wasn't anything serious. It was just, you know, a casual thing.”

You can't help the way your stomach knots. Casual could mean anything. Maybe a simple coffee between two friends, or even a lighthearted conversation over lunch. But in your experience, at least in the book you and Spencer had written together in the past, casual had always meant sex. And now, hearing him say it about someone else feels like a punch to the gut you hadn't expected.

You suddenly feel foolish for letting your mind go there, for assuming that whatever he meant by casual was the same thing it had meant for the two of you back then. It's been five years, and so much has changed. Maybe casual means something entirely different for him now, and you're the one stuck in the past, reading into things that no longer hold the same weight.

He must have noticed the slight falter in your expression, the way your eyes momentarily cloud over with something you can’t quite hide. He takes a step forward. "It’s really nothing.”

You take a step back. “Even if it is, it’s really not my business.”

“But it’s not,” he urges. He’s suddenly so persistent, and you can’t help but feel the embarrassment gnawing you at how easily he can read your mind. It's one thing to wrestle with these feelings privately, but having them so clearly acknowledged makes it all the more humiliating. You can’t believe you let yourself get so worked up over something that shouldn’t matter this much.

You eye the exit door. “I need to go.”

"Right now?” His brows knit together in confusion. “But your family’s here."

You’ve only spent a few minutes with him and you’re already running away.

"I just remembered I have to take care of… something."

The excuse sounds weak even to your own ears, but you don’t wait for his response. You quickly turn on your heel, and when he calls out your name with concern, you force yourself to keep moving, scurrying off down the hallway.

Me: I'm heading back first Big bro: You okay? Me: Bad headache Big Bro: You didn't eat anything, did you?

You scoff. What is it about your brother always zeroing in on eating whenever you complain about feeling off?

Me: You know I did. Just not much Big Bro: That’s what I thought. There’s some leftover dinner in the fridge. And check the second drawer in the kitchen, there should be some ibuprofen Me: Yes, Dad Big Bro: Don’t get smart with me Me: 🫡 Big Bro: Drink lots of water Me: Yes, sir. Anything else on your mind while you’re giving out parental advice? Big Bro: I’m just trying to keep myself from dragging you out of my house if you collapse Me: 🙄 Big Bro: The kids are staying with Kristy’s parents, I’ll drop by tomorrow morning Me: Okay Big Bro: Call me if you need anything

You toss your phone down on the bed, then let out the most exasperated sigh. Spending your Saturday night in your brother’s guest room is the last thing you expect to be doing, let alone faking a headache just to avoid confronting a situationship from the past. You honestly thought you’d outgrown this kind of avoidance, but here you are, slipping back into old habits as if no time has passed at all.

Ironically, your mind stumbles into the past, and you remember a conversation you once had with Spencer. It was during one of those nights when you both were tangled in each other’s arms. You could faintly remember the conversation started with him talking about his work.

He never actually told you the details of his cases, but he liked to share his thoughts on the different complexities of the human mind. And on that particular night, he was rambling about the psychological concept of avoidance, which he claimed to have detected the first time he spotted the bad guy. He went on at how people often retreat into familiar behaviors to protect themselves from discomfort.

At the time, you had brushed it off with a joke, teasing him about overanalyzing everything when the situation had already played out. But now the irony isn’t lost on you. You’re doing exactly what he once explained. It’s almost laughable if it didn’t sting so much to realize how right he was.

A sharp ding from your phone pulls you out of your thoughts, and one glance at it tells you exactly who’s messaging. The name on the screen makes your chest tighten, but you don’t even give yourself a moment to consider responding. You quickly turn the phone to silent, push yourself off the bed, and head straight for the kitchen. True to your brother’s words, there’s leftover pizza in the fridge, but the idea of reheating it doesn’t seem appealing to you.

You reach for the bottle of wine instead.

The red liquor tastes like butter, or something close to it. It’s similar in the way the liquid melts over your tongue, spreading warmth through your chest and settling comfortably in your belly. By the time you're sipping the second glass, you feel more relaxed, but then the sharp sound of the doorbell ringing cuts through the calm.

You glance at the door from the position of the couch. You have a strong feeling about who it is. But as much as you're sure of the who, what really gnaws at you is the why.

You hesitantly make your way toward the door, and sure enough, when you pull it open, Spencer is standing at your brother’s doorstep. The corner of his lips turns upward in an awkward, almost apologetic half-smile as if he’s unsure of how to begin or whether he should even be there in the first place.

You lean against the doorframe. “Did Matt tell you I was here?”

He gives you a pointed look, his eyebrows raising slightly. “No, but it wasn’t hard to figure out.” You throw him the same questioning look, and he explains, “This is the only place you’d stay in town because not only do you hate staying alone at a hotel, but Matt wouldn’t let you even if you tried.”

You can’t believe he still remembers your offhand comment about sterile hotel rooms. It’s one of the reasons you used to prefer staying at his apartment whenever you were in town.

“Why are you here anyway?” You ask. “I thought you had plans.”

He pauses for moment as if deciding how much to say. Finally, he clears his throat. “Can I come in? I’d rather explain it inside.”

"I don't think you owe me any explanations about what you do with your time," you reply, crossing your arms.

"Maybe I don't owe it, but I want to give it.”

“Which isn’t necessary.”

“But appreciated, I hope.”

You find yourself caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. You tell yourself not to read too much into it, but there's a part of you that can't help but soften at his words. Maybe it's the way his eyes reminds you of melted chocolate as he stares at you that makes you want to let him in, despite your better judgment.

You pull the door open. “Fine, but take your shoes off. Kristy’s very serious about hygiene.”

He does as he’s told and tucks away his shoes on the rack by the door.

“Do you want anything to drink?”

He shakes his head slightly, offering a small smile. "I'm good, thanks."

You nod and gesture toward the living room. He follows you, and as you both approach the couch, he instinctively moves to the far end, settling down cautiously as if not wanting to invade your space. You take a seat on the opposite end.

“So, what do you want to talk about?”

He leans back slightly, resting his hands on his knees. You can tell he's trying to gauge your mood, figure out how much to push and when to hold back. "Do you remember when we went on that date at the street fair?"

You frown, remembering how you had missed your bus home in one of your trips here and ended up wandering at the fair with him. “That wasn’t a date.”

"Fine. Do you remember when we went to the street fair together not on a date?"

“I remember."

His shoulders relax a bit at your response. “You spent ages deciding what to eat and you ended up choosing that little Korean stall in the corner. We had to walk a bit further to get there even when your shoes were hurting you.”

You think back, internally scolding yourself for wearing those damn boots that day. “You thought I was being ridiculous.”

"I didn't think it was ridiculous. I just didn't get it at first. Your feet were practically covered in blisters."

"I really wanted kimchi."

"I could tell, and it took me a while to understand why you went through all that trouble. Now I do.”

You glance at him, sensing there's more behind his words. “Why are you bringing this up?"

He meets your gaze. His brown eyes looking a little more golden underneath the dim light. "I guess this is me choosing.”

“That you’re craving for Korean?”

He gives a soft, genuine laugh, the kind that starts in his chest and reaches his eyes, making them crinkle at the corners. “Not exactly,” he says and leans a little closer. “What I’m trying to say is, that’s how I feel right now. I'm here because I want to be, not because it's convenient, but because it’s you.”

There’s a subtle flutter in your chest, and your skin prickles with a familiar warmth as he speaks. Your heart beats a little faster, not enough to be alarming, but just enough to remind you that you’re not as unaffected as you pretend to be. You can feel your palms start to sweat, and there’s that almost imperceptible hitch in your breathing that you hope he doesn’t notice.

“Spencer…” You don’t even know how to start. “It’s been five years."

He nods slowly. “I know.”

“No, I don’t think you do. A lot of has changed since the last time we saw each another, and you’re here acting like we both separated on good terms? Don't you hate me?”

His brow furrows slightly. “Why would I hate you?”

“Because I broke your heart. I—" Your voice falters as you struggle to find the right words. "The moment you told me you were falling in love with me, I... I ran. I couldn’t handle it. I pushed you away like a coward.”

“You weren't a coward, you were scared. And maybe I didn’t understand that back then, but I do now.”

You shake your head. “But I hurt you.”

The sigh he lets out is heavy, yet there's something deceptively calm about it, almost as if he’s already made peace with the past. “You did what you thought you had to do, and sure, it hurt. But I’ve had a lot of time to think about it, and I realized that I don’t blame you for needing space. It wasn’t about me not being enough, it was about you needing to protect yourself.”

His words start to chip away at the wall you’ve built around your heart. “I thought you’d hate me,” you admit quietly.

“I could never hate you."

You lower your gaze, your fingers fiddling nervously with the edge of the cushion. “Alright, let’s say you choose me. Now what? What is it that you want?”

He pauses for a moment, his fingers curled into his palms. He looks away briefly, taking a deep breath as if gathering his thoughts, then returns his gaze to you. “I want another chance.”

If you were surprised to see him at the hospital earlier, this is something entirely different. There’s something akin to panic fluttering in your chest. It’s amusing, really, how the human body reacts before the mind fully comprehends as if your heart knows what’s coming before you do. You can feel it in the way your breath catches, in the way your stomach knots with a nervous energy you can’t quite shake. Because how do you even react to that?

You finally turn to face him, leaning your head against the back of the couch. This moment feels like some sort of déjà vu, and just like the last time, your mind is already bracing itself, preparing to give him the same answer you did back then.

“You know it’s never going to work.”

He mirrors you, but instead of the frustration or sadness you half-expected, there’s a gentle smile on his lips. “You sound so sure.”

“That’s because I am,” you reply. “I know what you’re asking for right now, and we don’t function like that. Not in the past, at least.”

“How did we function?”

“Based on sex.”

“And what do you think I’m asking for now?”

“More than sex, which isn’t going to work."

“Why not?”

“Because—” you start, but the words catch in your throat. You’re not even sure how to explain. The fears, the doubts, the past... all of it feels too big, too overwhelming to articulate in a way that makes sense.

“Because the idea still terrifies you?”

You frown, caught off guard by the directness of his question. “No.”

The smile stretches even more across his face. “Then give me one good reason why you think so.”

"Oh I can name a few."

He studies you, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he’s trying to read every thought racing through your mind. “Let’s make a deal then. You give me those reasons why we can’t work, and I’ll give you reasons why we can.”

You’re quiet for a moment, considering his offer. It’s bold, almost reckless, and yet... there’s something in his eyes that makes you want to accept the challenge.

"And if your reasons aren’t good enough?"

“Then we’ll deal with that when we come to it,” he replies softly. “But I’m willing to bet we won’t have to.”

"You really think you can convince me?"

"I can try." He leans a little closer, just enough for you to feel the warmth radiating from his body. "So, what’s your first reason?"

That’s too easy, too obvious. “You’re one of my brother’s closest friends,” you point out. “What happens if this doesn’t work out? I don’t want to put him, or us, in that position.”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “That didn’t stop us in the past.”

You scoff. “Spencer, we were sneaking around behind his back. It’s not exactly the same thing. This… whatever this is, it would be out in the open, and that’s a whole different level of complicated.”

“It would be different, yes. But that doesn’t mean it has to be a problem. If anything, it shows how serious we were then, and how serious we could be now.” You scrunch your nose at his response. “Now what’s next on your list?”

"Uhh.. the distance! You’re in D.C., and I’m not. It’s not like I can just drop everything and move closer.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You’re a three-hour drive away, maybe two if I take the expressway. And honestly, with how much we both travel for work, I don’t see how that’s an issue.”

His reasoning is so undeniably logical you feel a flicker of annoyance, not at him, but at how easily he’s dismantling your arguments.

“You didn’t even want to visit me back then.”

"You were the one who didn't want me to. You kept saying it was easier for you to come here.”

His words hit harder than you expect. You remember all the times you insisted on making the trips yourself. You'd convinced yourself it was about convenience, but with him calling you out on it, you realize it wasn't about convenience at all. It was about keeping things on your terms, maintaining a safe distance even when that distance wasn't physical.

"Well, I had more flexible hours," you claim. The excuse is flimsy, and the way Spencer looks at you—patient, but not fooled—makes it clear that he sees right through it.

You try to think of your next reason, although the words seem to get stuck before they even form. You know you can easily rattle off more excuses, but something about the way he’s looking at you makes it harder than it should be.

“That’s it? You’ve only thought of two? I was expecting a bit more of a challenge.”

You scowl at him. "I didn’t say I was done."

"Take your time," he comments, leaning back slightly, still wearing that infuriatingly patient smile.

You huff softly, trying to regain your footing. "Okay, how about this? Sex."

There's a beat of silence. "What about sex?"

You feel the words forming, but they sound ridiculous even in your own mind. Still, you force them out of your mouth. Your subconscious is urging you to come up with more excuses to keep him at arm’s length. "That was all that we had. What if… what if we just fall back into the same patterns?"

“Don't you think that's a reason why we can work? If we were only ever about sex and we're still here, doesn't that show there's something more between us?"

“Or it just means we had a strong physical connection. That doesn’t necessarily mean there’s something more.”

“You really believe that? That all we had was just physical?”

“Yes,” you retort, though the confidence in your voice wavers slightly. Your eyes flicker away for a split second before you meet his gaze again. “That’s all it ever was and I don’t know if it can turn into something you’re trying to imply.”

He lets out a low, amused sound, as the corners of his mouth twitches upward. “You’re deflecting.”

“I’m being realistic,” you shoot back. “What if we try, and it doesn’t work? What if everything falls apart because we weren’t good at anything but the sex?”

His eyes light up, and suddenly he’s wearing the most boyish grin you’ve ever seen on him. “So you're admitting the sex was good?"

You stop yourself from rolling your eyes.

“You know what I mean. What we had was...” Wild? Passionate? Crazy-hot-mind-blowing sex? “…intense. But intensity isn't enough for a relationship. What if the rest of it doesn't hold up?"

He leans in closer, his hand hovering near yours on the couch.

“But what if it does?”

All you can do is stare at him.

“You’re giving me all these reasons to push me away again,” he continues. “But I’m here because I’m not afraid of those doubts. I’ve always wanted to give you more than what we had because you deserve something real. I want us to be real this time, and I think you do too, even if you’re scared to admit it.”

His words are affecting you more than you like to admit. You can slowly feel it in the tension building between you, it’s surprisingly not the uncomfortable kind, but the sort that pulls you in, that makes you want to move closer even though every instinct tells you to stay put.

And then it happens. You feel a slight tremor in your leg, an involuntary movement that causes it to brush against his. The contact is so light it's almost like it didn't happen at all, but it did. He notices—Of course he does—and now there’s a certain gentleness in his gaze like he knows exactly what's going on inside your head. He doesn't push, doesn't rush, just watches you with those impossibly kind eyes.

And in the softest, most careful voice, he asks, “Can I move closer?"

Your heart is pounding now, the rhythm echoing in your ears, in your chest, in the pulse at your throat. The sensation travels downward, a slow, steady beat that moves through your body, inching its way down your spine, tightening in your stomach before it settles low in your abdomen. It’s a heat that spreads outward until it reaches your core, leaving you acutely aware of every inch of space between you and him—and how much you want to close that distance.

You find yourself nodding. He shifts closer. “Can I touch you?”

You really want to say something witty, something that might deflect from the weight of the situation, but the words won’t come out. You can only manage another nod. He moves slowly, carefully, giving you every opportunity to pull back. But you don’t. You can’t. You’re rooted in place as his hand reaches for you.

His palm gently rests on your jaw. Your eyes flutter closed against your consciousness, and the tension that’s been coiling in your chest slowly unwinds, replaced by a sense of calm. When his thumb slides across your cheek, he speaks again. His voice is so close it's as if the words themselves are brushing over your lips.

"Can I kiss you?"

You inhale sharply. The word "Yes" hovers on the tip of your tongue, but you don't need to say it out loud. He can already see the answer in the way you’re leaning into him, and his mouth is on yours in an instant.

The reality is, you’ve kissed Spencer before. Plenty of times, actually. You know the feel of his lips, the way they can be both gentle and demanding, the way he tastes faintly of coffee or something sweet when he’s had a treat. You also think back to those hurried kisses in the past when time was short and the world was pressing down on you. Or the playful pecks that came with laughter. Even the desperate, heated moments when the need to feel something, anything, was too overwhelming to resist.

This kiss, however, isn’t like any of those. This one is slow, and achingly tender. His movements are unhurried. The way his lips glide over yours carries a deep sense of care, like he’s trying to memorize every soft curve. Just as you begin to melt in his arms, he pulls away slightly, not very far, but enough to hover close that you can still feel the heat of his breath on your lips.

There’s a tense silence as the tip of his nose brushes gently against your cheek. You can tell he’s giving you the space to decide what happens next, and there are a lot of scenarios running in your head. You could push him away, repeating history all over again. You could be in denial and pretend all of this never even happened. But something inside you snaps.

Maybe it’s the way he’s holding back, so gentle, so careful, too afraid of pushing too far. Or maybe it’s the realization that you don’t want him to hold back, that you need more, that you’re tired of resisting what you’ve both been dancing around for so long. Before you can second guess yourself, you’re clutching onto the fabric of his hoodie, tugging him closer.

He tenses for a moment, but the hesitation is gone almost as soon as it appears. His mouth finds yours again, and he lets out a deep, relieved sigh. You feel the soft, insistent push of his tongue against the seam of your lips. You hold onto him, parting your mouth eagerly before he slips his tongue with a desperation that catches you off guard.

Then his hands seem to be everywhere all at once, tracing the curve of your spine, sliding down to the small of your back, and brushing along the edge of your jaw. His fingers then tangle in your hair, tugging gently while his other hand skims over your waist. But when his hand slips inside your shirt, calloused fingers brushing your soft skin, you slowly pull away. “W-Wait.”

His eyes widen slightly, and you can feel the shift in his body. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“No, no,” you say quickly, tugging him closer again. “I just… I think we should continue this conversation somewhere more… private?”

He pauses for a moment. “Really?”

“If you want to.”

A subtle smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Are you trying to seduce me for sex?”

You’re oscillating between being incredibly turned on and equally mortified. In a sense, yes, that’s what you’re asking. But you didn’t expect him to be so blunt about it. You don’t think he’s ever been this direct in the past, and now you’re wondering if you missed something before, or if he’s just tapped into a level of confidence you’re struggling to keep up with.

“Would it be inappropriate if I said that I am?” you ask hesitantly, and you can’t help but wince a little as the words leave your mouth.

“Since when have you been worried about being inappropriate with me?”

“Well, Spencer, if you haven’t noticed, there’s a five-year gap since the last time we slept together.”

His hand on your waist tightens slightly. “Five years too long, if you ask me.” Then he pulls you closer until there’s barely any space left between you. “You do realize this is you giving me a second chance, right?"

In a way, you do. You've spent so much time convincing yourself that you were better off keeping your distance. Walking away in the past was easy, but now… now it feels different. The years have stretched on, and the excuses you’ve made have started to wear thin. Especially when just being near him is starting to stir memories you thought you’d buried—some good, some less so—but all intense, all Spencer.

Maybe he's right. Maybe five years is too long to pretend that whatever was between you didn't matter.

You slowly meet his gaze. “I realize.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

You hesitate, not out of doubt, but because of the sheer gravity of what you're about to say.

"Maybe."

His sigh is audible when he hears your answer, and without missing a beat, he brushes the barest, lightest, most gentle of kisses on your lips. “Maybe is good.” Kiss. “I can take—” Kiss. Kiss. “—maybe.”

You think you should say something more, but all coherent thoughts scatter the instant his lips meet yours again. You return his kisses, hesitant at first, but quickly falling into a rhythm that feels achingly familiar. It doesn’t take long until his lips move into something more urgent. There’s a hunger there, a pent-up longing that he can no longer hold back. His tongue flicks against yours, teasing, coaxing, and you know you need to stop him before he starts to undress you right there on the couch.

You reluctantly pull back. “Bedroom. Now.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He pulls you to your feet, and you’re practically dragging him to the guest bedroom. When the door closes behind you, he’s quick to guide you toward the bed, his hands firm on your hips as he steers you backward. The moment your legs hit the edge of the bed, he pauses, his hands lingering on your waist, and for a moment, he just looks at you.

“Having second thoughts?” You tease. The sarcasm drips sweetly in your voice, knowing full well he’s been trying to win your heart the entire evening.

“No,” he mutters. “I’m trying to see if you are.”

You draw back from his arms just enough to climb onto the bed and lay down in the middle. “Does it look like I am?”

He shakes his head with that cute, bashful smile. Although there’s nothing bashful about the way he pulls off his hoodie and tosses it carelessly onto the floor. The shirt underneath is crumpled, and his hair is even messier, sticking up in ways that make you want to run your hands through it.

“Come here,” you motion for him. Without hesitation, he crawls between your legs and leans in for another kiss. His hair feels like the smoothest silk when you finally reach for it. There’s a slight dampness from the faint sheen of sweat on his skin, the way it curls just slightly at the ends, brushing against your forehead as he dips his head to capture your mouth.

You don’t think you can ever get tired of kissing him. There’s a familiarity in the way he moves. His lips mold perfectly to yours, soft yet demanding, as if he knows exactly how to draw out the deepest parts of your desire. And you feel it everywhere. In your pulse, in your veins, all the way down to the spot between your legs.

It intensifies even more when his lips begin to trail down your neck. You feel the first warm rush of arousal pooling in your panties when he presses an open-mouthed kiss to your throat, the fluttering veins below your jaw with so much intensity as if he's taking every one of your heartbeats for himself. Your grip tightens in his hair as he marks another spot near your collarbone.

“I’ve missed this so much,” he murmurs as he slowly nips down your neck. “I’ve missed you.”

You can only hum a reply, your voice catching in your throat as your head starts to spin from the way his hands are now trailing down your side. He reaches the hem of your shirt and pauses, fingers lightly tugging at the fabric.

“Can I take this off?” He asks, pulling back slightly just enough to look down at you. With his messy hair falling into his glossy brown eyes and swollen wet lips, how can you possibly say no to him?

Without a second thought, you nod, your fingers already moving to help him with the fabric. His eyes never leave yours as he slowly lifts your shirt. It slides up over your skin, and you raise your arms to let him pull it off completely, tossing it aside without a care. Your bra comes off next, and when that follows to the floor, his eyes sweep over your body.

There’s a certain look in his gaze. Devotion would be too strong of a word, but it’s something close—something softer, yet just as intense. You’ve seen desire before, felt it in fleeting touches and heated glances, but this is different. This feels different. It’s as if his gaze is reaching into the spaces between your thoughts, gently pulling at the threads that hold you together to unravel you in the most tender of ways.

He kisses the spot between your breasts.

“You’re always so pretty.”

He gives a soft peck just above your heart.

“So incredibly beautiful.”

Then his tongue flicks along the delicate curve of your chest, making a slow, teasing trail upward until he takes one of your nipples into his mouth. He sucks gently, rolling it around with his tongue, and you’re mesmerized by the lewd scene of him drawing your flesh between his lips. Your fingers instinctively find their way back into his hair, tugging on the soft strands as he continues to lap at your sensitive skin.

He then shifts slightly, his mouth releasing your nipple with a soft, wet sound before moving to give the same attention to the other. While he suckles and nibbles on one hardened peak, he rolls the other between his thumb and forefinger, sending a rush of pleasure straight to your core. If you thought you were wet before, you’re certain you’re drenched by now. Your panties cling uncomfortably and the growing desire makes you ache to peel them off.

He must sense your growing need because his kisses trail lower, down to your stomach, while his fingers toy with the waistband of your leggings. His touch is teasing, slipping just under the elastic, and you instinctively lift your hips, silently begging for more. He takes his time as he slides the fabric down your legs, his knuckles brushing against your skin before discarding them somewhere in the room.

Your attention is on him as his palm dances along your inner thigh, and the closer he gets to where you ache him the most, the more your breath hitches in your throat. When his thumb brushes over the wet patch on your panties, your hips buck against him. “Spencer…”

He glances over at you and lets out the most appreciative sigh. You really are beautiful. Eyes full of lust, skin flushed with his marks. You’re a vision of longing, and every part of him is consumed by the sight of you. “Yes?”

You squirm under his gaze. “Aren’t you… going to take them off?”

A slow, teasing smile spreads across his face. “What, these?” He gives a playful tug at the edge of your panties, his fingers just barely slipping beneath the fabric before pulling away. “Are you sure you want them off?”

You try to hold back your groan when his thumb finds your clit. “Yes. I-I’m sure.”

He grins, clearly enjoying the effect he has on you, but instead of giving in immediately, he begins to circle your clit slowly with his thumb, watching your reaction closely. “On a scale from one to ten, how sure are you?”

Now he’s starting to get on your nerves. You can’t hold back the small huff falling from your lips. He simply laughs then slowly takes off the last piece of your clothing. The cool air instantly hits your skin as he grabs your knees, spreading your legs apart. He skims along your naked body and when you notice where his gaze settles, you swallow hard, suddenly feeling very shy.

It's kind of ironic, you think, how you've gotten this far, and now, of all times, you're suddenly blushing like a damn teenager. It's as if your brain is catching up to everything your body already knows—that this is real, and it's happening. You can't help but laugh at yourself a little. Here you are, all tangled up in each other, practically begging him to get you naked and yet you're acting shy now?

He seems to notice the shift in your mood, his hands pausing on your thighs as he looks up at you with concern. He tilts his head slightly, his brow furrowing. “Did I do something wrong?”

You quickly shake your head. “I’m suddenly feeling very self-conscious.”

He studies your face for a moment. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No!” you blurt out, more forcefully than you intended, your hand instinctively reaching out to grab his wrist. “I… I guess I’m not used to feeling this exposed in front of you.”

He shifts slightly, moving closer so he’s eye-level with you, his hands still resting gently on your thighs. “We’ve done this countless times before.”

“I know, but that was years ago. Things feel different now… like there’s more at stake, maybe?” You let out a sigh. “It’s silly.”

“It’s not silly,” he reassures you. He soothes the skin behind your thighs. “But you don’t need to feel self-conscious with me. You’re beautiful, and I just want you to feel as good as you make me feel.”

If he keeps talking to you like that, there’s no doubt you’ll end up giving him your heart on a silver platter by the end of this. He shifts lower down your body. “We can go as slow as you want,” he continues, pressing a kiss to the inside of your thigh, then another. “Just tell me what you need.”

You take a deep breath as his soft stubble grazes your skin. “I need you.”

“Then you’ll have me.”

You watch with heavy lids as he drags his lips along your skin until he presses the most tender kiss on your cunt. He really wasn’t lying when he said he could go as slow as you want because every kiss is achingly gentle, barely more than a feather-light touch. It’s the kind of softness that makes you writhe beneath him, and before you know it, your fingers are tangling in his curls while your hips buck against his face.

There’s a slight vibration on your skin—it could be his laughter, or maybe just a hum of contentment—but you don’t bother deciphering it. You’re too lost in the sensation as his tongue breaches your folds. You peer down and watch as he trails the tip of his tongue through your wetness, slowly tracing up and down your slit until he flicks it against your clit.

You’re honestly gone after that. You’re not surprised, though. If there’s one thing Spencer Reid is good at, it’s knowing exactly how to use his mouth. Sure, he’s a bona fide genius who spouts off random facts and quotes obscure literature, but his mouth? His mouth is a whole different level of expertise. It’s almost unfair how good he is. It’s like he’s studied you, memorized every little thing that makes you go crazy, and now he’s putting all that knowledge to devastatingly good use.

And it’s not like he’s doing it just for your pleasure. It brings him the same deep satisfaction. His eyes are closed, and he seems to lose himself in the act, savoring every taste, every reaction, every subtle shift of your body beneath him. It’s as though he’s completely immersed in finding an almost insatiable need to drink in everything about you. His tongue delves deeper, swirling around your entrance before sucking gently on your folds, pulling the soft skin into his mouth.

You find yourself pressing his head closer to your heat. His eyes flickers up to you. “You’re back.” Your response is simply another push of his head. “Oh. Needy, are we now?”

"Mhm," you manage to squeak out, feeling a rush of wetness seeping out of you. He leans in, his tongue catching a bead of moisture before it drips further, dragging it between your slick folds.

Your grip in his hair tightens.

“Spencer…”

“I know, I know,” he murmurs, his lips curling into a smile before his mouth descends again, this time focusing on your clit. His tongue flicks over the sensitive nub before he gently sucks, pulling it into his mouth with a slow rhythm that has you gasping. Each motion is perfectly timed and you feel yourself growing even wetter under his attention. His tongue swirls, then flattens before he sucks a little harder.

It doesn’t take long for you to feel that familiar coil in your stomach. The pleasure builds steadily, the tension winding tighter and tighter until it slowly overwhelms you. Spencer seems to sense it too, his hands gripping the back of your thighs a little tighter, pushing them further apart as he continues with unwavering focus. He’s not rushing, though, he’s savoring it, but his slow motion is enough to make you snap.

Your hips jerk against his mouth, and he doesn’t miss a beat, holding you steady as he continues his ministrations. He’s relentless in his gentleness, coaxing every ounce of pleasure from you, even as you’re left gasping for air. When you finally come down from the high, Spencer finally lifts his head and places a final, soft kiss on your inner thigh.

“Do you still feel self-conscious now?”

It takes you a moment before you can answer. You smile lazily at him. “Not after that.”

He grins and pulls you up into a sitting position. “Do you think you can give me another one?”

“Spencer,” you breathe out. “Even if you gave me thousands of orgasms, I’d probably ask for more.”

The laugh he lets out is warm and infectious, the sound vibrating through you in a way that makes you smile even wider. “Well,” he starts, slipping his hand down your thigh. “The human body is capable of experiencing multiple orgasms in a relatively short period of time, especially for women. So technically, you could keep asking for more, and I could keep giving them.”

“Even up to a thousand?”

“Maybe not to that extent.” He pulls you close, and you lean your weight against him. “Hold on to me.”

You do as you’re told and somehow you find yourself in a new position. When he spreads your legs apart, your senses go on high alert again. “Spence?”

He kisses your cheek, your jaw, then the corner of your mouth. “Try to relax.”

A gasp escapes your lips as his fingers dive between your thighs. Try to relax? Try to relax? Men and their audacity to tell you what to do, especially when they're the reason you're so wound up in the first place. Because how are you supposed to relax when his fingertips are brushing ever so gently over your clit? How are you supposed to calm your breathing when he’s spreading your arousal up and down your folds?

And how are you supposed to keep your composure when he suddenly fills you with, not one, but two of his fingers?

You feel yourself slipping and he tightens his other arm around your waist. “Told you to hold on.”

He’s starting to annoy you, but you listen to him and bury your face in the crook of his neck. You take a deep breath as he starts to move his fingers. Soap, you decide. It must be his soap, because he smells clean and crisp, almost like fresh linen and a hint of something peppery. It’s almost distracting if it weren’t for the way his fingers are curling inside of you.

Then you feel that sensation again, the kind that ripples through every nerve of your body. At first, it’s manageable, an intensity you think you can handle. But when he suddenly changes his technique, everything shifts. His entire hand moves in a fast, up-and-down motion that catches you completely off guard, and before you know it, you’re whining, your grip tightening on him as your head falls on his shoulder.

The rapid pace makes your head spin. It feels like he’s pulling the control right out of your hands, leaving you questioning your own limits. You’ve seen yourself getting wet, you’ve felt yourself become drenched before, but you’ve never experienced anything like this. You never realized your body could produce this much liquid. It’s not an overwhelming amount, but more than you’ve ever seen from yourself, and it splatters against his hand, dripping down your thighs.

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t even flinch when your nails claw into his shirt. He keeps going, and going, and going, until the only thing you hear is your rapid breathing against his neck and the slick, wet sounds he’s coaxing out of you. You’re overwhelmed (in the best way, of course) but you can’t stop yourself from cursing as the sensation intensifies, multiplies even.

It's not until your body starts to go limp that he finally takes pity on you. He slows down, his fingers pumping lazily inside you. “Good?”

“How did you—when did you—” you exhale a long breath. “I can’t feel my legs.”

He slowly withdraws his fingers out, only to rub your essence over your puffy clit, and your hips jerk once more before he finally stops. You're a trembling mess once you sink into the mattress.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you do that before.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever done that in my life.” Your eyes suddenly feel incredibly heavy that you can't resist letting them flutter close.

He kisses the tip of your nose. “Still up for another one?”

You peer through one eye, and when you catch him starting to undress himself, your other eye shoots open. The nod you give him is eager. His smile widens as he shrugs off his shirt, and you can’t help but let your gaze drop to the line of hair trailing down his stomach. You wonder what it would feel like under your tongue.

"Wait."

Your eyes snap back up to meet his. "What?"

His face twists into a grimace. “I don’t have a condom.”

Shit. Neither did you.

You roll onto your side, propping yourself up on one elbow and resting your head in your hand. “And you’re realizing this just now?”

“I was too focused with you."

And by that, he means giving you the most intense orgasm of your life. You watch as his fingers hover over his belt. “You really didn’t think of bringing one when you decided to come over?”

“My intention coming here wasn’t exactly for this.”

“Well, it would be great if you at least considered the possibility." You study his face and blurt out the first thing on your mind, “I don’t want to stop.”

He shifts his weight on the bed. “Me neither.”

“I mean… we could have sex without using one. We’ve done it before. Once.”

He recalls what you're referring to and lets out an amused laugh. “Are you sure? Didn’t you freak out when you realized your period was late?”

“That was a coincidence! I was stressed out at that time, but I’m safe now—I think.” You pause, brows furrowing as you start calculating your cycle in your head. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure I’m not ovulating.”

“Pretty sure?”

You give him a look. “No, I’m actually sure. I know my body, and I’ve done the math. See?” You gesture vaguely, as if the numbers and facts are floating in front of you. “No ovulation in sight.”

The corners of his mouth twitches into a smile. “Alright then,” he murmurs, and leans down to plant a soft kiss on your lips. “No ovulation in sight.”

“None,” you confirm before tugging his belt. “Can you please take off your pants now?”

He complies—with incredible speed—and when he’s finally as naked as you, your mouth waters at the sight of him. His cock is painfully hard, thick, with a bead of arousal glistening at the tip. You try to reach for him, but he has other plans. He crawls over your body and slips between your legs. He then grips the back of your thigh with one hand, pulling it up slightly to open you to him, while the other holds himself from the base.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The moan you let out is lewd. “Fuck, Spencer.”

An airy laugh slips out from him as he rubs the head of his cock around your clit. “So needy.”

You wiggle your hips. “Hurry up.”

He only hums in response, before easing his hips back just enough to drag his swollen tip through your slick outer lips. The underside of his cock splits your folds open with each stroke, and your head is spinning. It’s almost sweet how he’s taking this slow, but at this point, you’re so close to just shoving him inside you. You let out a frustrated whine when he pulls back, only to thrust forward just enough for the head of his cock to nudge at your entrance.

Your walls squeeze around him.

“O-Oh…” His mouth falls open slightly as he stares down at where your bodies meet. “I… I don’t remember you being this tight.”

You follow his gaze, watching the way your outer lips swallow him inch by inch. “I-It’s been a while.”

He pushes further, and your nails dig into his shoulders as he stretches you in a way that feels almost too much, and you can't help but tense when he thrusts further. He wraps your leg around his waist before leaning down, propping his weight on his elbows.

“Need you to relax,” he murmurs, his lips ghosting over the pulse fluttering wildly in your neck. You do as he says. Breathe in, breathe out. Clench, unclench. And then you feel him easing inside you, oh-so-deliciously slow, until you squeak out a gasp when he finally fills you completely.

Because fuck, he stretches you—wrenches you open, and you’re consumed by his heat, the pressure, the sheer size of him. It overwhelms your senses, and all you can do is sing out a filthy moan. He follows your tune with a melody of his own, though his voice trembles, sounding more like he’s in pain as if he’s trying to hold himself back.

“You’re so warm,” he groans, his breath hot against your skin. “You okay?”

You nod and wrap an arm around his shoulders. “More than okay.”

“Do you think I can move?”

“Please.”

There’s no hesitation in the way he pulls back, only to sink into you again. His hips roll against yours in a way that feels both achingly slow and unhurried, like he’s savoring every second to memorize the way you feel around him. It’s like he can’t quite believe this is happening, that you’re giving him the chance to be tangled up with you in this position again.

And truthfully, neither can you.

But here you are, two bodies moving in perfect harmony, intertwined in the most primal, human way. Flesh against flesh, breath against breath. Even your heartbeats sync in the same rhythm. The world beyond seems to dissolve, leaving nothing but the pull of desire that draws you deeper into the moment, into him, until the boundaries of where you end and he begins blur into something undefinable.

It’s nonexistent. You’re glued to him, fused in a way that feels as if this is exactly where you belong.

No more running away, you decide.

“Kiss me.”

He’s in no position to decline, and within a heartbeat, he captures your lips in the sweetest kiss—well, as sweet as it can go. Because even though he tastes like honeyed warmth, his hips continue to pound into you, hitting that deep, tender spot inside. You whine against his lips. A needy, breathless sound that has him faltering for just a second, his hips stuttering against yours.

“You feel so—” he chokes on his words. “God, you’re so perfect.”

You’re perfect, you want to say, but you stop yourself, biting down on the words before they escape. It’s not that you don’t believe it. You just can’t bring yourself to admit it out loud. Not yet. Instead, your need wins out, pushing past everything else.

“More,” you gasp between shallow breaths.

He rests his forehead against yours. “Yeah? You want me to go faster?”

You whine in approval.

The instant he pulls back, his tip barely teasing your entrance before slamming into you again, a sharp gasp escapes your lips. He repeats the motion. Once. Twice. By the third time, he doesn’t hold back, driving his hips hard and fast, the wet sound of your bodies slapping together echoing off the walls.

You turn into a putty mess. You can barely think, let alone form words, your mind clouded with nothing but the feeling of him—inside you, around you. Your whole world narrows down to this moment, to the way he fills you so perfectly. His forehead stays pressed against yours the whole time, his lips hovering above yours he murmurs, “Tell me if it’s too much.”

But it’s not. It’s everything. Maybe even not enough. “I…” you gasp when a certain angle from him hits a deep spot inside you. “Oh, Spencer… harder, p-please.”

He’s more than happy to oblige.

He shifts slightly, then snaps his hips forward with a sudden, forceful thrust. He repeats the motion. Over and over again. His pace is relentless now, and he starts to pant, his breath coming in sharp, ragged bursts, every exhale brushing against your lips. There’s a tension in his body, a taut strain in muscles, but he doesn’t stop. He can’t stop. And you can’t help but moan softly into his mouth, swallowing each of his gasps as his control starts to slip away.

“Where do you want—” His voice falters. “Can I—inside—”

You nod frantically. “Yes. Yes.”

It’s enough to push you both over the edge.

The sensation starts as a gentle warmth in your fingertips, slowly winding its way through your body. It weaves through your limbs, spirals up your spine, before gathering intensely at your core. You’re shaking, trembling, and you instinctively reach out for something to ground yourself. One hand threads into his curls, the other clutches his jaw.

Then it happens. His cock moves in a frantic rhythm, sending you spiraling deeper into intense pleasure for the third time tonight. Your inner walls tighten around him as your orgasm crashes through you, gripping him so tightly that it pulls a raw, breathless groan from his lips. He slams into you with uneven thrusts as he presses your body flat onto the bed, until he stops and shudders, spilling hot, white liquid deep inside you.

You don’t think you’ve ever felt something this intense before—not even with him in the past. Every inch of your body is buzzing as his warmth spreads through you, reaching places you didn’t even know existed. You cling to him, your nails softly grazing his back as he finally lets out a satisfied hum, his lips moving to pepper kisses along your face.

He starts with your left cheek. Two gentle kisses. He moves to your right, giving a light peck that lingers just a moment longer, almost as if he’s blowing a warm breath against your skin. You giggle as the air tickles you. Then finally, he settles on your lips with a sigh that merges into a kiss. It’s soft, sweet, and tenderly slow.

You let out another laugh when he finally pulls away.

“What?”

His curls fall messily on his forehead and you reach up, brushing it back. “You’re starting to grow on me.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “I grow on you?” You simply nod. “Like fungus?”

Your fingers pause in his hair. “Like what?”

"You know, fungus. It grows on things. Like mold or mushrooms,” he explains and gives you a smile. "Am I growing on you like that?"

You’ve been apart for so long that you almost forgot how his brain works. His unexpected comparison sparks your amusement, so you decide to humor him. “Depends on what kind of mushroom you are.”

He looks thoughtful for a while. “There's this mushroom called mycorrhiza. It forms a symbiotic relationship with trees and helps them grow by improving water and nutrient absorption."

“And that makes you what, exactly?”

“Essentially indispensable.”

“So you’re claiming you’re good for me?”

A slow, confident grin spreads across his lips. “I’m saying I’m exactly what you need.”

You burst out laughing. Your cheeks might actually ache from smiling this much. “That was pretty smooth.”

He looks incredibly pleased with himself. Then after a quiet moment, he buries his face in the curve of your neck. You close your eyes, feeling the rise and fall of his chest against yours, and a sigh escapes your lips. It’s like all the time you spent apart melts away in that single breath, and something inside you relaxes, as if he’s managed to sneak back into the parts of you you’d forgotten existed.

Maybe he is right. Maybe, after all this time, he’s exactly what you need.

You wake up to the sound of clatter. It’s loud, jarring, and it echoes around the house. You stir in bed, stretching your limbs before tensing when you feel something poking your back. Your hazy mind immediately snaps into alert, and you open your eyes fully, glancing toward the window. Sunlight is already pouring into the room, far too bright for how early you thought it was.

You quickly turn over to the other side.

“Spencer. Spencer!” you hiss, shaking his shoulders urgently. “Wake up! We overslept!”

He groans softly but doesn’t move. Another loud clatter bounces off the walls, and your heart pounds wildly in your chest.

“Spencer,” you whisper sharply, eyes widening. “I think Matt is home.”

That finally gets his attention. He blinks his eyes open. “Wha—?”

You’re already halfway out of bed, rushing to the window to peek through the curtains. Sure enough, you spot your brother’s car parked in the driveway. “Yep, he’s here,” you mutter under your breath, the panic rising as you turn back to Spencer. “And now he’s going to kill us.”

“He’s not going to kill us,” he mumbles, but even by his voice, you can tell he’s not entirely convinced. You watch as he finally slips out of bed, scrambling to pick up his clothes scattered across the floor. “We talked about this last night. It’s not going to be as bad as you think.”

You shoot him a look before quickly pulling on your own clothes.

“There’s a big difference between telling him, and him finding out that his sister is sleeping with his friend while he was away taking care of his wife and baby.” You yank your shirt over your head. “In his freaking house.”

When you put it that way, Spencer’s heart sinks a little. Although Matt isn’t a violent person, he has twice the muscle he does, and it’s not hard to imagine him being a lot less forgiving in a situation like this. He can’t help but picture the worst-case scenario even though Matt’s always been the reasonable type.

Until now, maybe.

“Do you think I should climb out the window?”

You stare at him in disbelief. "Spencer, you’re not sixteen.”

“Actually, I’ve never been in a situation like this,” he admits, pulling up his pants. “My biggest concern when I was sixteen was getting my first PhD.”

You forgot how ridiculously smart he is. Smarter than most people, definitely smarter than you. “Well now you’re getting firsthand experience.” You start pacing around the room. “Let’s just try to stay calm.”

“That’s kind of hard to do when your brother could walk in while I’m half-naked.”

You look at him in horror. “Then put your damn shirt on!"

Before he can reply, there's a noise from outside the room—a quick shuffle of steps, light and rapid, as if someone’s rushing down the hall. You barely have time to react before the door is wrenched open.

But it's not your brother.

It's far worse.

You feel your stomach drop when your eyes lands on the small figure of your nephew, standing there with wide eyes. His gaze shifts back and forth—from you, disheveled and clearly flustered, to Spencer, whose bare back is facing the door, still fumbling with his pants. From little Jake's point of view, it must look like the most confusing sight, because he quickly retreats, bolting down the hallway.

“Dad! Help! There’s a strange man in Auntie’s room!”

You don’t know whether to laugh or panic. The fact that Jake didn’t recognize Spencer without his usual suit is almost comical. You glance at him, noticing how his body has tensed, his back straightening in alarm.

“Who was that?” he whispers, turning to you with wide eyes.

"Jake.” You blow a strand of hair that falls across your face. “Who apparently thinks you're an intruder."

The blood seems to drain from his face. “He didn’t recognize me?”

Your eyes flick over his appearance—his wild, tangled hair sticking out in all directions, bare chest still slightly flushed from sleep, and pants barely zipped. “Not when you look like this, no.”

But before he can respond, you hear the unmistakable sound of footsteps echoing down the hallway, heavier this time.

Your heart leaps into your throat.

“Shit.”

“I should have climbed out the window.”

The idea of him dangling from the window is even more absurd. You glance toward the door. "Okay, wait here. Let me talk to Matt first." Your eyes flicker to his bare chest again, and you let out the most exasperated sigh. "And please, for the love of God, put on your shirt."

You don’t have time to wait for his response as you rush out of the room, quickly closing the door behind you. You take a second to catch your breath, trying to compose yourself, when a noise down the hallway draws your attention. Only then do you notice Matt cautiously advancing towards your way, his back against the wall.

That’s when you spot the gun in his hand.

“Seriously?” you hiss, staring at him in disbelief. “What the hell, Matthew!”

He looks at you, equally surprised. “Jake said there was a strange man in your room!” he replies defensively, tightening his grip on the weapon. “What was I supposed to think?“​

Your eyes shift toward your nephew, who’s peeking around the corner, his little head barely visible as he watches the scene unfold. This is definitely not how you expected your morning to go. A simple, awkward conversation was one thing, but having to disarm your brother while explaining this mess was an entirely different level.

“There’s no intruder, Matt. Put the gun down.”

He looks past you, his eyes zeroing in on the closed bedroom door. “Then who’s in there?”

You bite the inside of your cheek. There’s no easy way to explain this. How do you even start? That Spencer is standing half-naked in the guest room, trying to gather his dignity after being mistaken for an intruder by a six-year-old? You never thought you'd have to introduce Spencer to your brother this way, in his own house, under these chaotic circumstances.

You can feel Matt's eyes boring into you, waiting for an answer. All you can think is how ridiculous this all must look, and how there's no good way to smooth over the fact that, yes, Spencer Reid, his friend slash teammate, is behind the door. And the most absurd part? A part of you is more worried about the look on Matt's face than the fact that he's holding a gun.

“Please don’t be mad.”

You hold your breath as you slowly reach for the doorknob. You push the door open and let out a small, relieved sound when you see Spencer fully dressed, looking almost presentable, except for the wild hair that refuses to settle. He gives you a small nod before stepping out of the room.

“Uncle Spencer?” Jake’s small voice cuts through the tension. Matt’s gaze darts between you two, his jaw tightening as he puts the pieces together. You can see the moment realization hits him full force.

“Reid?” Matt’s voice is incredulous, bordering on betrayed. “What the hell is going on?”

“I can explain,” you say cautiously. “It’s not exactly how it looks.”

“Not exactly how it looks?” Matt echoes, his eyes narrowing at you, then shifting back to Spencer. “You’re in my guest room looking like you just rolled out of bed—”

“Fully clothed now,” Spencer cuts in quickly, which only earns him a frown from Matt.

“Not helping,” you mutter under your breath, shooting Spencer a look before turning back to your brother. “Fine, it’s exactly how it looks like. So… uh, surprise?”

You watch so many emotions flashing in his eyes. Matt’s always been a good brother. Sometimes annoying, but always reliable. He doesn’t usually get angry at you—quite the opposite, actually. He’s calm, level-headed, and more prone to offering advice than raising his voice. But now? The frustration is clear in his eyes.

He’s not mad exactly, but he’s definitely not happy either.

“Surprise?” Matt repeats, his voice flat. His gaze flick back to Spencer, who’s now shifting his weight awkwardly beside you. “This is how you decided to tell me?”

“Okay, it’s not how we planned it, obviously.”

“Clearly,” he deadpans.

You put on the best, innocent-looking face you can muster.

“Maaatttt,” you try again, deciding to use a different approach by being cute this time. “Don’t be so harsh.”

To your relief, it actually works on him, like it usually does whenever you try to charm your way out of trouble. His tough exterior falters because, no matter what, you’re still his baby sister. His face softens for a moment, shoulders dropping as he lets out a sigh.

“I’m not mad, okay? But I am your brother. And you,” he adds, pointing at Spencer. “You’re supposed to be my friend. I feel like I should’ve known about this before… well, before finding you like this.” Your shoulders slumps at his words. “How long has this been going?”

Now that is a tricky question. Explaining that you and Spencer occasionally had sex five years ago definitely isn’t something your brother needs to hear right now—or ever, really. You can almost feel Spencer tense beside you, probably having the same thought.

You clear your throat. “Last night.”

"Last night?" Matt looks at you as if you’re crazy. It might be the most disapproving look he’s ever given to you. "You're telling me this just started last night?"

"But—" you quickly add, holding up a hand to stop his train of thought. "We’ve been talking for a while, it’s not like it happened out of nowhere. Last night was just the first time we decided to actually do something about it."

“Right under my roof?” Matt’s brows pinches upward. “You lied about having a headache, didn’t you?”

“Wait, you had a headache? Why didn’t you tell me?”

You’re not sure you can handle two men pestering you at the same time. You focus on your brother instead.

“Look, we didn’t plan anything yesterday. Things just… happened,” you say, trying to explain without making it sound worse than it already does. “But it’s not only about last night. For what it’s worth, we were planning to tell to you. Just not like this.”

Your brother cocks an eyebrow. “So this isn’t a one-time thing?”

Spencer doesn’t hesitate. “God, no,” he says. You feel an arm snake around your waist. “I care about her. A lot.”

Matt stares at Spencer for a long moment, his face a mixture of frustration, concern, and something else. Acceptance, maybe. He looks back at you. “Is this what you want?”

You feel Spencer’s grip tighten on your waist. He’s also waiting for your answer.

“It’s what I want.”

Spencer’s thumb brushes over you as Matt lets out a long breath, his grip on the gun finally relaxing. “This feels weird.”

“In a good way?”

“In a bizarre kind of way.” Matt’s falls falls on Spencer again. “I’m still trying to process this, but if you hurt her—”

“I won’t,” Spencer promises. “I swear.”

“Good, because you know I can put you back to prison if you do.”

Oh, he knows. Spencer understands exactly what he means, after all, Matt was one of the few people who helped clear his name during one of the most horrific moments of his life. Even if there’s a slight jab in his words, Spencer can tell he’s being dead serious. Especially with that gun still attached to his grip.

You, on the other hand, are hearing this for the first time. “Wait, what?” you blurt out. “Prison? You went to prison?”

Spencer merely shrug. Matt finally lowers his weapon, shaking his head as if he can’t quite believe this is happening. “I need coffee,” he mutters, turning toward the kitchen.

“Wait…” Jake finally peeks out from behind the wall. You blink your eyes, forgetting he’s even there. “Does this mean Uncle Spencer is your boyfriend now?”

You feel three pair of eyes on you. Matt’s gaze is sharp. Spencer’s expression is cautious. And then there’s Jake, looking up at you with the straightforward curiosity only a child can have. To him, things are simple. Either you are, or you aren’t, and in hindsight, it really is a straightforward question. But nothing about this situation has been straightforward.

You look at Spencer for a fraction of a second. You can see the nervous hope reflected in his eyes. Maybe Jake’s question isn’t just his… maybe it’s Spencer’s too.

And sure, maybe it doesn’t have to be so complicated. Maybe it really is as simple as saying—

“Yes.” You can feel your heartbeat in your ears. “I suppose he is.”

If you’ve ever seen Spencer being happy, it pales in comparison to this. His eyes light up, and he looks at you like you’re the only person in the world. A genuine, almost boyish smile spreads across his face as you feel his warmth seep into your skin. There’s so much affection in his gaze it makes your chest tighten. He’s not just happy. He’s beaming.

Matt clears his throat awkwardly. “Come on, kiddo, let’s grab what your mom needs and get back to the hospital.” He glances back at you. “You guys coming?”

You nod absentmindedly. “Sure.”

He throws you both a look. Not hateful, but definitely not warm either. You see him grip his gun from the corner of your eye, more out of habit than necessity, before steering his son away with a firm hand on his shoulders.

“That went better than expected,” Spencer mutters the moment your brother is out of earshot.

“‘It’s not going to be as bad as you think’,” you mock, reciting the words he said to you half an hour ago.

“It wasn’t.”

“Spencer, he held a gun.”

“He thought I was an intruder. I would’ve done the same thing,” he points out, his tone surprisingly calm as he holds you by your waist. “Relax, okay? He’ll come around us. Eventually.”

“You’re awfully optimistic about this.”

“He likes me.”

He does have a point. Matt has always had a soft spot for Spencer, but you’re not sure how far that can go after what just happened. “I think you might have lost a few brownie points today.”

He considers the truth in your words. “Maybe,” he admits with a shrug. “But at least I earned a few with you.”

“Because of the boyfriend thing?” He’s grinning so wide that his eyes practically disappear into crescent moons. You poke the slightest dimple on his cheek. “Don’t act so smug. I’m still trying to process the fact that I’m dating an ex-felon.”

“I was framed,” he explains, and the way he says it so nonchalantly only deepens your confusion. He tries to smooth your frown with a kiss. “I’ll tell you everything on our first date.”

“Who said I’ll go on a date with you?”

“You will,” he simply says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“And what makes you so sure?”

Because he’s always been sure. The man who doubts everything, who overanalyzes every situation, looks at you with a certainty that makes your heart swell. You’ve seen that look before—the one that says he’s considered every possible outcome and decided this is the one that matters most. There’s something magnetic about it, the way he seems to know exactly what he wants, and right now, it’s you.

“Because I’m your mushroom.”

He’s so silly, yet there’s something so perfectly Spencer about it that makes the idea of not going on a date with him feel impossible. You shake your head, unable to suppress your smile.

“You’re ridiculous,” you mutter, but the warmth in your chest tells you he’s already won your heart.

And you don’t mind him keeping it.

[sleepy-fiction]

Gold Ring.

-sebastian solace x reader

2k words

syn: he was a married man, yet he forgets when he's with you.

tgs: fluff, sfw (read a/n), sappy, feel-good, comfort, genderless reader

A/N: guys NO hate to Zerum at all. I just liked the idea of sebastian having a wife but learning true love and self worth from you. This fic is fluff sfw, but there are very mild dirty descriptions used sometimes. MDNI

Predator eyes loom through the darkened abyss. Sweaty, slobbering, hungry for a quench. He can't fight it. He knew you before you met him. He's seen the way you huddle to yourself, the way you persisted in this hell, the way you crawl to him whenever you're scared. How you count down the floors until you can rest-- on him.

He was the first once to make a move.

You bargained to sleep in his little room, yet you laid rest so far away from him. He didn't understand the flithy, possessiveness that growled in his hungry belly. It sent a pissed shiver from the tops of his head that rattled down to his tail.

He remembers the flinch you made at the sight.

He knows that he shouldn't, but fuck he wanted you closer then. No, he wants you closer, all the time.

He never knew romance until he pulled you over to him, the way he wrapped his tail around you like a snake. The way he blew it off with his typical banter, but God help him, the way he remembers your sleeping form carrying a smile throughout your dreams. Content- about him.

Times with his wife were never like this. He didn't know he was capable of feeling such intense desire. He's kissed, held, and he's lpved on and received. It remembers how the saying goes. If you love them, then you'd let him go. He went without a fuss here, content with the idea of his wife enjoying their freedom. But God knows, the idea of you, some inmate who waltzed into his life, leaving? No, it couldn't happen.

It was the pining that eventually sold his fate.

The yearning.

He'd find rocks the colors of your eyes to collect, most likely debris scattered from all the grubby inmates swarming the place just so he could keep something of yours nearby. Whenever he heard the echoing sounds of footsteps, the crawling through his vents, he perfectly memorized your sound yet still found his heart beating in hope even when he knew it couldn't be you.

He had grown overly accustomed to your dynamic. How you acted in playful defiance but respected him and his boundaries so much. He's never met an expendable quite like you, one not pushy- touchy- or downright evil. Even in a group setting, as you sometimes venture into a teams. You're always batting those pretty little eyes at him, saying thank you and apologizing on their behalf.

You're overly aware of him. Scanning his face, always checking for his contentment.

It was cute. You were discreet like a mouse.

For some reason, you had some staring problem. Always gazing with those eyes. So full of admiration for the brutish monster he had become. Those glances certainly didn't help him. You had to be some freak to like someone like him the way he is now. What about him could ever be attractive?

Don't think he doesn't notice the way you fidget in embarrassment whenever he tucks his hair behind his ears.

You get all shy when he gets close. You get shy whenever he escalates your banter- albeit painfully teasing you- but still-- it affects you.

He affects you.

That's a sensation that makes him question his self worth, and your character.

If someone as good as you finds him lovely. Then is he really? Could he really be...

His three blue hands.

Could they ever be loveable again?

It's that question that finally makes all the symptoms that has been building over the months of you being here finally click.

God he's.

He's falling in love with you.

He swallows thick, unable to read the document before his eyes.

Ba-dum, Ba-dum, Ba-dum

His heart races in his chest, his snaggle teeth gnawing against his lip, his eyes shutting impossibly shut. His hands fidget together, and the feeling of cold metal against (what used to be) his ring finger, and guilt swells in his belly.

He's in love with you. When all this time he was working hard to return to her.

He's in love with you. He heart yearns to leave with you and Painter.

He's in love with you. He doesn't feel the same about his wife. His identity is crumbling before his very soul, and it's terrifying.

His only anchor had been his wife the entire time.

His grip goes vice over his wedding ring. A ringing hiss, and a weeping cry flees his meekly throat.

He had a decent life. A woman who loved him.

But if this feeling he's feeling right now for you is love, then...

He shakes his head, his left hand slapping over his mouth, his right still coddling the ring on his smaller hand.

He can't.

He can't think that way.

In no magical universe will he ever get to have you. You'll leave here, he can see it now. It reflects in your eyes, it's this during gleam that no other expendable has.

He'll be left here to rot.

He needs to accept that and not get--

"Sebastian?"

His blood runs cold, his body jolting upright with a fury.

Fuck. He didn't even hear you enter.

A flashlight clicks, shinning at his belly.

He sees you.

You, who always calls his name so softly. So tenderly, full of respect and admiration. You who makes him feel like a person again. You who remembers things about him, you who points lights at his belly because you remember what hurts him.

He can't stop the tear that rolls out.

"Oh no," your voice dips heartbreaking soft as you set the flashlight down, "What's wrong, Sebastian?" You approach him slowly pausing in front of him with your palms up, asking with your body, with your eyes if you could touch him.

He laughs at you. The sound croaks in bittersweetness.

He leans down to your hands, resting his face in your palms. You're so warm, it makes his heart flutter. "It looks you've caught me at a bad time," he says sing-songly.

Your eyes are full of understanding, the way you smile. "Seems so," you say, brimming to see he was okay. You're giving him space, he hates how he begins to yearn.

He can't help it when you're like this.

Sebastian strains.

"Everyone needs to cry sometimes, especially in this place. I cry, too. A lot." You whisper.

But you're still smiling.

God.

He hates you.

He giggles. The sound is so out of character, so school-girlishly giddy. "Fuck," he grimaces as he burries his cheeks into your palm. He knows he cannot physically blush anymore, but he still feels the shame.

He's turning soft.

Soft for such an airhead.

He swallows nervously, looking up to peer into your eyes. You're admiring him again. Your shifty pupils drag up and down his features again and again and again like a broken record. Holding your lips agape, and sucking in swallow breathes, as if the faintest movement from every breathing too intensely would disrupt the view.

He can't take it.

His hands shoot out for you, one on your hip, the other around your waist, the final caressing your back. You squeak as he pulls you completely into him, your feet rising from the floor. You rest your head dazily on his shoulder, as he slithers onto the dark, farther away from your abandoned light.

When you finally stopped moving, you could feel a wall behind Sebastian, as you straddled a leg on each side of his tail, your knees against the floor.

"Sebastian? I can't see you," you whine.

"You don't need to look at me..." He hushes.

Your hands find his cheeks, they're all warmed up from you.

"I need to," you lean in closer, rubbing your nose against his nostril slits. His breath shudders.

"Pull it," He whispers.

You already know as you reach and pull his antenna. A dim warm light illuminates his face, and you smile contently.

Your hands parade through his hair, tucking the strands of his hair back away from his face on both sides; the way you've seen him do many times before.

You've forced him to admit it now.

He's something worth gawking at.

Even like this.

Embarrassment is a surprisingly delicious taste for his belly.

You slide back in his arms, as his hands lean back and fall to his side. All except for his right, which cups a healthy amount of your hip to keep you steady on his tail.

Now it's his turn to admire you.

"Hmm, pretty thing," He mumbles. His smaller hand reaches up your body, his gold ring flashing in the eyes of both of you.

He tenses.

You notice. Your hands rest on his shoulders as you lean in closer to him.

"Sebastian." You blink, empathy driving your veins.

He already knows.

"I used to have a wife. Long before... This happened to me," He whispers it to the air.

Now it's your turn to feel a deep pang in your heart. You know you shouldn't say it, but the words burst out, "Did you love her?"

You watch as a strained smile pulls at him, "N-Not... Not as much as..." He swallows abruptly, "yuh... Y-You."

It all clicks for you.

He's sad over guilt?

You giggle-- and it's almost as painfully giddy as the one he let out before. But it's not enough as thr giggle turns into a laugh. The sound is bright and refreshing to his ears, like rays of forlorn sunshine kissing him. He can't help the way his ears twitch in pure glee.

He'll drink up this sound forever.

"Little cheater," you giggle into his skin as you kiss his cheeks.

He's deeply affected by this! It's not funny!

"Hey." He can't seem to reprimand you, though. "Bastard," He hushes.

You break away finally. And before you could lean in to plant more kisses, his free hands are on you again. Trailing up your body, up your chest (with him seeming to slow down a bit for that part), then to your shoulders, to roll down to your lovely hands. Lovely hands that he moves to place on his meaty chest.

"Come here," he finally commands, and it's like your knees go weak. The two of you meet in the middle, your lips melting into one another like starved animals. The way you nip and howl in between fervent friction-- friction unknown tp you both since entering this hell hole.

His kisses are filled with longing, desire, full of shivers, full of breathy moans. Sensations that send waves of shivers down to the tips of his tail.

You pull apart to suck on his bottom lip, and with a grunt, Sebastian's mouth cracks open obediently. His large tongue rolls out of his mouth and deep into yours. It's stuffiness enough to make you choke if he wasn't so careful- and if the feeling wasn't so erotic.

Your little alien.

You caress his face all over, your fingertips finding his twitching ears. You pull apart with a hearty smack of the lips, a thin trail of saliva rolling out from you from his large tongue. He picks it up before it could fall to your chin, a satisfied hum from him.

You kiss his round jaw, thumbs caressing circles into his under eyes.

"I love you," Sebastian kisses it into your skin.

"I love you too," you sigh wholeheartedly. You lean in and kiss his tiny third eye, and he hums sing-songly.

Your arms slide around his neck, burying your face into the crook of his jaw, relaxing your body deep into him with a sigh.

You two were so peaceful. You barely noticed the sagging lethal drowsiness in your veins. You haven't slept in... Haven't slept in....

Snorrreeeee...

Sebastian laughs at you. You fell right asleep, just like that? His tail wraps around you like a snake, as his kisses make themselves known to your forehead.

"Goodnight, expendable..." He snickers.

And the gold ring slips from his finger.

To have a future with the benefit of you being there, it's more than just a dream come true.

You accepted him.

He can accept himself, too.

[satorusugurugurl]

My Wedding Date is an Escort!

Summary: When invited to your best friend's wedding, you panic. One of the groomsmen, Toji Fushiguro, is your ex-fiancè. Not wanting to deal with probing questions and the embarrassment of being single, your friend Haibara recommends using an Escort! Taking a leap of faith, you book one, the hottest one. Gojo Satoru is hot, sweet, and funny! The package deal! Men and Women pay thousands to go on a date with him (even more, which he doesn't do often). So when your request comes in, the desperation and pleading tone of your voice. Gojo’s heartthrobs, even more so when you tell him you don't want to have sex.

Pairing: Escort!Gojo x FAB Reader

Word Count: 3,682

Warning: Mentions of depression, anxiety, language

A/N: And so part one is complete!! Please let me know what you think! I plan on posting a new part every Saturday! In the mean time I will work on my brain worm fics/requests!!

Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight

Gold calligraphy mocked you as you stared at the wedding invitation on your table. Any normal person would have been elated over their best friend getting married. The dresses, cake, looking at venues! It should have been a happy, wonderful time.

And it would have been amazing if your best friend had met her fiance through anyone other than Toji Zenin. Your ex-fiance, the man who broke your heart, who was also the groomsman at the wedding! The same wedding you were a bridesmaid in.

Life fucking hated you.

Your break up was a year and a half ago. It was tucking painful, watching the life and future you had imagined slip away. You were inconsolable for the first few months, but any other person would feel the same if their fiance broke up with them the way Toji had done to you. Part of you liked to think you were getting better; you knew you weren't healed completely.

The closer the wedding came, the more nervous and sick you got. In a month, you would have to face Toji for the first time in over a year. He was doing much better off than you. He got married! He was now Toji Fushiguro and he and his wife had a son!

Fate was a cruel bitch. He was living his dreams: a house, a pretty wife, a sweet, beautiful son. Toji got everything he wanted while you sunk into the darkness of despair. Toji had ruined you, marked you in ways you weren't sure you'd ever heal from. You never wanted to be hurt like that again. That's why you were single.

Single and traumatized. Perfect intro on your dating profile. So yeah, dating wasn't your thing right now.

Which puts you in a messy fucking predicament. You would be at a wedding with your Ex, who was living the life you had always wanted. Why was he given happily ever after while you were left to pick up the pieces of your broken heart? You could already see the pitiful expressions that your loved ones would be wearing, and that made your skin crawl with anxiety.

You could not show up to the wedding alone.

Which is why you were sitting in your kitchen, drowning in anxiety. You stared at your laptop, bouncing your leg nervously as you scrolled on Escorts4y0u.com. Damn, Yu Haibara, for suggesting this to you. You were shopping for a fuckin’ escort!?

You shot his insane suggestion down as soon as he said it. You had begun ranting about how even more embarrassing it would be if your family found out. First, your fiance leaves you a month before your wedding. Then you go and pay for someone to pretend to be your boyfriend all because you couldn’t bear yourself to start dating again?

Amid your nervous rant, Haibara just put his hand on yours. He assured you that no one would know that they were an escort. If they were good at their job, all your family would see was a happy couple. They would be someone to go to the wedding with, and once you paid them, you would never see them again! No one would be the wiser.

“It's their job to make you feel good and help you have a good time. And you deserve to be happy.” Haibara had said with pity in his eyes. Just thinking about his face, that expression, made you cringe to think of the faces of everyone at the wedding.

“Fuck it.” You cursed, clicking on the escort you liked the most.

Gojo Satoru, twenty-eight years old. His profile listed that he was well-educated and came from a prestigious clan. He was charismatic, confident, and kind. You read dozens of reviews. His previous clients gushed over him. All five stars, every single person he’d helped was grateful for him. Plus, Gojo was very attractive. He had pure white hair, was over six feet tall, and had the most stunning blue eyes you'd ever seen. He was the ideal partner anyone would want to take home to meet the family.

Which would explain why he was the most expensive escort on the website.

“¥120,000 for a day!?” You screeched as you bounced your leg faster, doing the mental math in your head. “That’s ¥900,000.00 for a week.” The mere amount of money you were about to spend almost had you slamming your laptop shut. But Haibara’s face crossed your mind; Toji’s face began to form before you shook your head.

Hiring Gojo was your only option. You had to do this to avoid getting hurt again. Plus, you had to use the deposit from your honeymoon eventually. It would be like burying the past!

“Okay, okay, you got this; just book it Y/N!” Getting up, you jumped up and down to hype yourself up before you hit the green phone icon and dialed the number. The phone rang once and twice.

“This is Gojo!” A gruff but cheery voice answered.

You’re sure your soul left your body as you squealed in shock. He answered!? The man you were going not only to pay but also beg to pretend to be your boyfriend?!

“Hello?” A faint hint of humor and curiosity laced the voice in your ear.

You groaned, rubbing your hand down your face with a whine. “S-Sorry, I was expecting a receptionist for something.” You put the phone on speaker before hitting your head against your table.

“Oh! My bad, sorry!” His chuckle was a deep noise through the receiver. “We put our business numbers on the site. It’s just easier for us to schedule our clients like this.” He hummed. “I assume you’re on the escort website?”

“Yes, I—I was wondering if you might be free next month for a wedding? It’s my best friend.”

“Give me a sec.” Shuffling papers filled your anxiety. “A month from today?”

“Yes.”

Gojo hummed happily, “I am free that whole week! So will it be the wedding and reception?” A pen could be heard writing down notes.

”So it’s uhm, it’s a destination wedding. It’s in Kyoto, and I need you for the whole week. If that’s not an issue or problem.”

”Okay, that shouldn’t be an issue. It’s far enough out that I can block my schedule.” He whistled happily, jotting down more notes. “So the whole week, wedding, reception—“

For some odd reason, it sounded like he was hesitating or weighing his options, questioning if he wanted to even take you on as a client. The growing fear of rejection spreads like wildfire through your stomach. You never used to feel like this; you were so happy and confident before. But after everything Toji did, what he said to you after you had—well, it left some really deep scars that still hadn’t healed. When your mind picked at those still healing wounds, making them bleed, you acted before thinking.

”I have the money!” Gripping the table's edge, you stared at Gojo’s headshot on the website. “Please, I need this!”

“Hey, hey! I’m not worried about the money, sweetheart.” His voice was thick like honey; the pet name sounded so sweet. “I’m just making sure I got everything down.” On the other line, Gojo looked down at his calendar. There was something in your voice, desperation, that was genuine.

He’d had tons of clients, and many of them needed help. But in his two years of working in this field, he had never heard such a raw plea for help. Gojo’s interest peaked. Just who were you? What made you so anxious and desperate for his help?

”Let me confirm the details so I can put you in my books, Ms.?” He waited for your name, hearing you sigh in relief as you calmed yourself down

”Y/N, my name is Y/N Y/L/N.”

”Y/N,” Gojo repeated, “Okay, I have you down for next month, the whole week, for a destination wedding in Kyoto.”

You were sighing happily as you relaxed into your chair. “Thank you. It’s 900,000.00. For the whole week?” Gojo cocked an eyebrow, grinning at your straightforward attitude.

”Depends, will food and hotel be included?”

“Yes, we’ll be staying at my parents' inn; they offered to host my friend's wedding. So food, money, and accommodations will be included. Plus, I’ll take care of your travel expenses.”

Gojo turned in his desk chair, biting his lip as he listened to your stern voice. “Okay, so it’s going to be ¥600,000. A lot of the cost goes to food and hotels. Since you’re taking care of it, you get a lovely discount, sweetheart.” A scoff sounded from his phone, making him smile even wider.

”Great, lucky me.”

Gojo bit his lip, chuckling. “Did you want any other additions?”

“If you’re asking if I want to include your other services, no. I don’t need sex.”

“Don’t need sex?” He perked up as Suguru, his roommate, peeked in, cocking an eyebrow at him. “Seriously?”

You gave the phone a confused look as if you were looking at Gojo yourself. “Yes, I’m dead serious.” The line went utterly silent before rich, stunned laughter filled your kitchen.

”Well shit, that’s a first!”

”Glad I could keep you on your toes, Gojo.”

”Nope.”

You blinked. “No, what?” Gojo snickered as you picked up your phone heading into your room.

”I’m going to be your boyfriend. You have a month, one month, to get used to saying my first name.” The seriousness of his tone made you stop in your tracks. “So it’s Satoru to you, Y/N.”

With a blush dusting your cheeks, you giggled, shaking your head. “Alright, that makes sense. Thank you, Satoru.”

”You’re welcome, Y/N. I’ll see you in a month.”

In one month, you were ¥600,000 poorer, and your nerves were shot as you searched for your fake boyfriend at the train station coffee shop. In the last month, you had spoken to Goj—Satoru twice over the. Once to book his services and yesterday to discuss where you were meeting. His company took care of everything else.

It was still surreal that you hired an escort to be your date, and you were waiting for a stranger at a coffee shop. This wasn't like you; it was so unbelievable. You sipped your coffee, looking around anxiously.

It was like a Greek God walked in. He was tall, like his profile said, over six-three. Dark sunglasses covered his eyes as his white fluffy hair bounced with every step. Straightening, you hesitated before lifting your hand and waving at your fake boyfriend. Seeing your arm raised, Gojo grinned, bounding forward as he pulled his sunglasses off.

“Hi! Are you Y/N?” You stood, swallowing as he still towered over you. God, he was dressed nice, all designer brand clothes. Which wasn't surprising with the amount of money you dropped to spend a week with him.

“Yes, I'm Y/L/N Y/N.” You handed him a cup of coffee that he took before sitting at the table. “Thank you again for doing this.”

Gojo grabbed six sugar packets, ripped them open, and poured all of them into his coffee. “Oh, you're welcome! I love seeing people happy.” Your eyes followed his hands as he poured cream into the coffee. “So, what's our story? That way, we're on the same page.” You couldn't help but smile as he sipped the sugary coffee with a grin.

“You have a sweet tooth?” Gojo hummed, taking another drink. “Maybe I'll make you something at the inn; I'm a pastry chef.” Gojo’s eyes went wide as you ran your fingers over the lid of your cup. “That’s a good story, we met at the bakery I wor—”

“You're a pastry chef?!” Gojo’s eyes sparkled. “Seriously?! What shop?!”

“Uhm, I work at Ichigo Cafe? It's in downtown Tokyo.”

“I love that place! The mochi there is the best!” His words had your cheeks burning your cheeks. “The cakes, the ice cream! Hell, the coffee is good too.”

You twirl your thumbs together. “Thank you, as the head chef, that makes me happy.” Satoru sat back, smiling sweetly. “So I uhm, yeah, that's a good story.”

“Yeah, it does. How long have we been together?”

The two of you settled on five months. That way, it was still pretty new. The whole time, Satoru nodded and added to your cover story. Thank god he was easy to talk to, putting your nerves at ear by the time your coffee was finished. Together, you were optimistic that you and Satoru could get through this week without a hiccup.

You both settled in on the train, getting to know each other more like favorite colors, foods, likes, and dislikes. Satoru didn't drink, had a major sweet tooth, and did his escorting gig full-time. He lived with his roommate and best friend, Geto Suguru, and he had a lot of free time.

You told him everything about yourself: likes, dislikes, favorite color, hell, even your blood type. But as the conversation began to dwindle, Satoru tilted his head. Sure, all that stuff was good now for the coming week, but he wanted to know more. Like why you hired him and why you ‘don’t do sex.’ That question had plagued his mind for the last month.

“Can I ask why you hired me?” His question had your head snapping up. “I mean, don't take this the wrong way, but you've been tense since we got on the train. There's more to this than just wanting a date to a wedding.”

“Uhh, is that obvious? I'm sorry. It's just my ex-fiance is at the wedding party with me.” Satoru paid close attention to how your eyes darkened as you looked out the window. “Our breakup was a shock since it happened a month before our wedding. So, I have all these trust issues, and I don't want to date anyone. Because it's easier not to get hurt if you don't put yourself out there.”

“Why did he break up with you?”

“Why didn't he?” The tone of your voice and words had Satoru peeking up. Not in curiosity but surprisingly in anger. Satoru had seen a lot of women and men in his days as an escort. Many are desperate, lonely, and want to have a good time. But whoever had broken your heart had hurt. You in more ways than one. “There were a lot of things that he uhm—listed off.”

You quickly changed the subject, much too fast for Satoru’s liking. But he wasn’t the type to pry, especially when it came to the feelings and comfort of his clients. So he let you change the subject. And the rest of the train ride to Kyoto, even up to your family's inn, the subject stayed clear of your ex. It was bad enough you’d be seeing him soon; you would much rather not talk about him before you saw his face.

You stood in front of the door to your family's inn. Satoru grabbed your hand, his fingers interlacing with yours as you took a deep breath. “Hey, we got this.” God, you hoped Satoru was right; this had to go perfectly.

Giving his hand a gentle squeeze, you stepped inside. The laughter and distant conversations echoed off the halls as wedding guests conversed and chatted while wandering around. You spotted your mother carrying a tray. She took one glance at you before looking away.

”Oh, Y/N darling, good you’re here. Whenever you get a chance, could you help me make some treats for afternoon tea? Everyone is instant with trying those matcha cookies you made last year.” After years of helping out, in the end, your body began to move on muscle memory, but Satoru stopped you, pulling you into his side with a grin.

“Hey, don’t just up and leave me. At least introduce me to your family first, sweetheart.” The bustling, noisy chatter around you stopped as your family and friends just seemed to notice the giant man standing beside you. His arm wrapped around your waist as he leaned down to kiss your temple. “My poor sweet girl is already in work mode. I thought this was supposed to be a vacation.”

”Right, of course, I’m sorry, Satoru. Everyone, this is my boyfriend, Gojo Satoru.”

”Eh!?”

Those sad, pitful reactions you had been so familiar with over the last year and a half were nowhere to be found on the faces of your loved ones. They were faces of shock, curiosity, and joy. A much better reaction, one that had you letting out a shaky breath you had no idea you were holding in. As you basked in relief, dark eyes watched the two of you, reading you.

The afternoon went off without a hitch. Satoru fit in with any conversation thrown his way. From what he did for a living to how the two of you met, he never stuttered or looked to you for help. He was exactly what you needed. With Gojo by your side, you knew you could get through this wedding without losing yourself in the darkness again.

You owed Haibara big time for this.

After the two of you answered several rounds of twenty questions and an early dinner, you and Satoru stepped into your room. You shut the door, sliding back against it as you shut your eyes. “Oh my gosh, that went much better than anticipated.” Satoru chuckled, setting both of your luggage off in the corner of the room.

“You did great.” His praise had you smiling more. “Seriously, this will be a walk in the park!”

You wanted to agree with him, but your mouth remained shut. That was just your family you met with. Things might be a different story when you face Toji. Because despite you not wanting him to, you knew he could read you like a book. He always could tell when you weren’t feeling the best or something was wrong. But maybe, if you keep playing your card right, you might be able to fool him, too.

”Yeah, a walk in the park.” You looked around the room, relieved to find the futon already laid out for you both. But it was missing the extra pillows you had asked for. The pillows that were going to be used to separate you and Satoru. “Huh, I thought my dad said the pillows would be here when we got to the room. I’ll be right back; the shower is just to the right if you want to wash up first.”

“Awesome, thanks a lot.”

As you reached for the door, the handle turned, startling you. Satoru moved so fast, his arms wrapping around you as the door opened wide. “Have you ever heard of knocking before? My girlfriend and I could have been doing something. If you saw that, I would have had to charge you for the show.” Satoru started as the door opened wide, revealing the person standing in front of it, four pillows in his arms.

”You seriously think I believe that?”

Your body went rigid as you stared into the dark eyes of the man who broke your heart. “T-Toji? What are you doing here?” You learned further back into Satoru’s chest, trying to put distance between the man that had stained your life.

“Bringing you your pillows.” He motioned his chin down at them to emphasize his words. “Look, we need to talk.”

Satoru could feel your breath quicken, your chest moving faster with each inhale you took. From your reaction, he could figure out just who exactly this asshole was. This dark-haired asshole who just barged into your room had to be the ex you didn’t want to talk about in any way, shape, or form. Looking at him, Satoru came to one conclusion without even knowing the guy. He was a fucking prick.

”Look, Toji, I’m exhausted. I don't want to talk right now.” You snatched the pillows away from him. “Satoru and I were going to get ready for bed. I require some TLC tonight.” You went to shut the door, but Toji placed his palm against it, preventing it from moving.

”Please, you and I both know this isn’t your boyfriend. I need to talk to you now. Tell your friend here he can fucking wait until our conversation is over.”

The tone and mere attitude of the prick in the door had Satoru seeing red. He released you, turning you to face him, glaring daggers at the man spewing toxic commands. “I’m not a friend.” Satoru spit out the last word. In a flash, his hand gripped your chin, turning you towards him. His other hand rested on the back of your head, pulling you into a kiss.

It was your first kiss in a year and a half, a kiss that was full of rage and passion like you had never experienced before. Satoru’s kiss was for show, but fuck, it had your knees buckling. You matched his pace, kissing him back urgently. His hands tangled in your hair while you fisted his shirt. You prayed that this mini-makeout session was enough to fool your ex. Satoru pulled away to glare at Toji. His chest rose and fell as he slowly licked his bottom lip with a smirk.

“My girlfriend and I were just getting ready to bed, if you caught the drift. If she wants to talk to you tomorrow, she’ll find you. Later.” Without another word, Satoru slammed the door in Toji’s face before turning to face you.

”Wow.” Was all you could manage to say as you ran your fingers over your lips. Seeing you do that while hearing your breathless voice had Satoru fifty shades of red. In his whole career as an escort, he has never lost his cool like that until he was with you.

Oh, he was fucked.

(TBC)

[obsessedwhyyes]

The Fool

Summary: As you lie, nestled into Astarion’s chest, he considers his feelings - his damned, complicated feelings.

Alternatively, Astarion experiences all 5 stages of grief in 10 minutes.

Rating: T Word Count: 816 Pairing: Astarion x GN!Reader Content: First person Astarion POV, fluff and angst, rather a lot of angst actually, feelings denial, Astarion needs a hug, cuddling, Astarion's simple plan beginning to fall apart.

Want to hear this fic read aloud with absolutely pristine acting by the incredibly talented CurlyChops on AO3? Have a listen here!

A/N: You know when you’re lying in bed, unable to sleep until you write down that idea that’s managed to worm its way into your brain at unspeakable hours of the night? Here we have a slightly angsty drabble that decided to do just that! After the reception to the Gale first person POV, I wanted to try my hand at an Astarion POV. Hopefully you enjoy!

A fool lies in this tent.

Look at you, nestled into my side, sleeping peacefully against my chest as if a vampire’s embrace is the safest place in all the realms. Utterly ridiculous. So trusting, so… pliant. All according to plan, really. I set the trap - a few choice words here, a few lingering touches there - and you walked right into it. Just like I knew you would.

Just like all the others do.

Well, not quite like all the others. You actually believe there's something redeemable in me, don't you? How deliciously naïve.

Do you even realise what you've fallen for? What I am? A monster, a liar, a parasite. Oh, my dear, the fool you are.

Though I suppose your particular brand of foolishness has its… uses. Your blind faith in my redemption is almost charming.

No. Not charming. It’s pathetic. Pathetically predictable. It can’t be charming. Because, if it is, I’m no better than the fool I mock.

You shift slightly in your sleep, and I resist the urge to recoil. This charade - this playing at romance, at desire - it shouldn’t affect me so. I’m above this. I’ve spent centuries perfecting the art of manipulation, of taking what I need. It was supposed to be easy: charm you, bed you, and secure my safety. A means to an end. But as I lay here, with your warmth pressed against me, my chest begins to tighten. Not in fear or hunger, but in something… complicated.

Anger begins to burn at the back of my throat. Good. Anger is familiar. It’s safer, easier to control.

This is your fault, you know. No, worse - it’s mine. My fault that I have been reduced to this - a creature desperate enough to sell the only scraps of autonomy I have left. You think this closeness is love, don’t you? But it’s not. It’s survival. It has always been survival.

But then again… 

You’re not like the others at all, are you? Those who took without asking, without care. Your touch is… gentle. Always so damnably gentle. You’ve never grabbed, never demanded, never treated me like a thing to be used. With you, it hasn’t all been… bad. No, that’s not right - it’s been tolerable. Almost pleasant at times, really. Your touch doesn’t make my skin crawl; your voice doesn’t grate on my nerves. I tell myself it’s because you’re useful. That’s all this is. 

That’s all it can ever be.

If I were to tell you the truth, what would you do? If I were to push you away, would you stay? If I were to let you in, would you hurt me? These questions gnaw at me, demanding answers I don't have. 

Answers I don't want.

Even now, as you sleep, your fingers rest light as feathers on my chest. It’s maddening. Infuriating. How dare you? How dare you make this difficult? This was supposed to be simple. You were supposed to be simple. 

I could kill you right now, you know. One quick movement, and all these feelings would disappear with you. Never again would you look at me like I'm something precious, something worth saving, like I’m–

“... Astarion,” you mumble drearily in your sleep.

Hells.

I should leave. I should push you away, remind you that I am not something to hold on to.

But I don’t move. 

Instead, I stay. Because the truth, the awful, unbearable truth, is that I don’t want to lose this. The selfish man I am.

A sigh escapes me. 

It’s exhausting. I’m exhausted. 

Gods, what an absolute mess you’ve made of my carefully laid plans. I find myself watching you sleep, counting your breaths, fighting the urge to brush that strand of hair from your face.

When did this happen? When did I start to care whether you lived or died beyond your usefulness to me?

I hate this. I hate that you’ve made me feel anything at all, but more than that, I hate myself for not hating it more. The way you defend me, the way you’ve never once looked at me with disgust or fear… it’s terrifying.

You’re terrifying.

Yet I can't bear to give it away.

Your fingers curl into my shirt in your sleep, and I find myself pulling you closer despite every screaming instinct to push you away. Protecting you, as if I have any right to do so. As if I deserve the way you lean into my touch, trust in my words, believe in my capacity for - dare I say it - goodness. As if I deserve any of this.

The moonlight filtering through the tent catches on your sleeping face, and something inside me breaks. Or perhaps it's finally mending. I'm not sure I know the difference anymore.

A bitter laugh escapes my lips, so soft I’m certain it won’t wake you. How poetic. How utterly absurd.

You, the fool, who dared to fall for me. 

And I, the greater fool for letting you.

Masterlist can be found here!

No Pressure Tags: @roguishcat, @davenswitcher, @silverfangmarks, @sparrowbard, @chonkercatto, @stokzr , @trafalgarussy , @asterordinary , @bite-me-tonight , @transparentkittenheart , @bg3-fanfic-reblogs

[tojipie]

Omg please please please write another fic about needy cry baby gf and Toji 😫🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽

thinking abt him not realizing when he’s being mean because he grew up in a house full of boys where insults were a form of affection :( we’ve all got a little bit of crybaby reader in us me finks

content: hurt/comfort, angst, fluff

────────────────────────

a sea of limbs dance and weave around the court with intricacies you won’t even pretend to understand, leaving you more confused with each passing minute.

you remind yourself that you’re here for toji, wanting to spend more time with him regardless of whether you were into the activity.

toji liked it, so you liked it. at least before the game got confusing.

“that was two points, right?” you ask him, trying to make sense of the shot a player had just made.

toji pauses, holding the chilled end of his beer can to the back of his neck.

“three, baby.” he corrects, kicking his work boots off. the older man relaxes into the soft embrace of the couch with a groan, propping his feet up on the ottoman.

“right… right.” you realize, listening as the announcer gives a rundown of what just happened. you look over and gauge his expression, searching for any acknowledgment of what you’d just said.

“sorry, not really a basketball fan.” you joke, hoping to alleviate the awkward air.

“not that smart either, huh?” toji chuckles, taking a sip of his beer.

your stomach drops at the comment. blood rushes to your ears as humiliation takes over, eyes welling up with hot tears.

you knew he was 100% joking. that’s just how toji was around the people he loved.

you were being too sensitive, right?

the two of you had discussed instances like this before, the older man explaining that that was truly just how he spoke to people.

he never meant to upset you, in fact he’d rather hang than ever hurt you on purpose. his words, not yours.

toji has promised you he was working on it, trying to choose his words more carefully around you.

that’s all it was, you tell yourself. a simple slip of the tongue.

or was he truly mad at you this time?

nope. just a joke. you tell yourself, fiddling with a loose thread in your sleeve to distract from the lump in your throat. you try to inhale around the blockage, accidentally releasing a sob that alerts toji right away.

“hey.” he mumbles, setting his drink down to look at you. calloused hands cradle your face as the older man takes a close look at you.

you pull away, trying to compose yourself. just a joke! you remind yourself.

a joke, not serious. just. a. joke.

“nonono, hey it’s okay.” he whispers, eyes blowing wide as he realizes the gravity of the situation.

“i’m sorry sweetheart, i’m sorry.” he pleads, muting the tv to focus on you.

“m’ not stupid.” you whimper, wiping each eye with the back of your hand.

“course not pretty girl.” he whispers, rubbing your back in soft circles. “i’m sorry, you know that’s j—“

“just how you talk.” you mumble, not sure if his explanation actually made it ok.

“but.” he starts, pulling you into his lap with a grunt.

“that’s not an excuse, right?” he asks you, clearly remorseful.

“need to watch my mouth around my girl, huh?” he chuckles, still rubbing small circles up and down your back.

“it’s ok.” you conclude, resting your head on his shoulder as he presses soft kisses to your cheeks and forehead.

“hate making you upset.” he tells you firmly, nuzzling into the crown of your head.

“you wanna watch something else?” he asks, placing the remote in your hand. “movie, youtube?”

you crawl out of the older man’s lap and onto the couch, pulling up prime to scan the comedy section.

“i fucking hate basketball.” you giggle, the man beside you breaking out in full blown laughter as you press play on the remote.

[skyrigel]

Tell me again [ AB ]

Pairing ~ Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

Plot ~ after a long day at work, Anthony tells you how much he missed his wife <3

Warning: pregnant!reader, little teasing, shy!reader

Words : 0.8k

My other fic

Anthony bridgerton angst

" I thought you would be asleep..." Anthony murmured, words soft as melody spelled in the dark, hands crossed around his chest, his cuffs rolled up like usual after every tired night in his office, he smiled at you, a glint in his eyes.

" Why would I ? " I would wait for you at the worlds end, You turned to look at your husband, after a hard day, his eyes looked so tired and yet, they were sparkling, always when it was you.

" Oh my dearest wife." He moaned as he crossed the distance in two long strides, wrapping his hands around your waist all the while dropping to his knees,

"I missed you so much baby." He said, kissing your baby bump gently as he looked up with stars in his eyes.

" You didn't miss me Anthony ?! " You fake gasped, watching the slow chuckle make its way through the rings of his cartilage as he plucked the book you were holding.

" Oh you have no idea ! " He growled, taking both your hands in his and guiding them to his face, his eyes shutting as your fingers traced the face you adored so much, he hummed in response, kissing the soft skin of your wrist as watched you, one knuckle at a time, eyes never leaving yours.

" you think I haven't missed you ? " His asked, almost blazing, " you? " He said again, " There wasn't a moment when my soul didn't want to crawl and come to you, not a moment when i wanted to be anywhere but in your arms love." He squeezed your hand gently as you smiled, because you knew, knew how much he loved you.

" Have i told you how much I love your hands ? " He traced the lightening like green nerves that made it ways across your skin, he loved every bit of you, body, soul, mind and heart.

" You haven't," you replied, feeling your breath knocked out, heart punching against your ribs.

Anthony's lip quirked at your dazed eyes, he loved every and each version of you but he so much adored when you made your needs known, how much Anthony loved giving you what you wanted, you just have to say it for me, my sweet love, he had told you.

" This," Anthony said, his lips grazing at the slight raise of vein of your wrist, following it upto the crook of your arm, smiling in triumph as a strangled noise made it's way out of your throat.

" You like it ? " He tilted his head, brows raised in question, " mmm" you hummed softly but being the Viscount and smug bastard lord bridgerton was, he smirked.

" Say it in words my lady." He gazed up, you gave him one eye roll but opened your mouth anyway, " I do." You said ans Anthony resumed his venturing.

" And I have told you how much I love your collarbones ? " He hummed, planting open mouthed kisses all way to to dip of your neck, his breath lingered like a tattooed kiss, you dropped your head back on the couch as Anthony nipped at the raw skin of your neck.

You felt his smile the way his teeth tore into your flesh, his hand soothing your belly in circular patterns, the other cupping your breast and kneading it with all the time in the world, " You aren't telling me." He complaint, mouth fixed several inches away from yours as he looked deeply into yours eyes, your breath were uneven as you whined at the lack of lips on you, he understood and caressed your cheeks, leaning until a thread of wind was between you, you waited for touch to burn you, waited for his lips to crash into yours but alas!

" An..thony " you whimpered and he shaked his head, mouthing a small, No.

" You haven't " you whispered, closing the inches as his mouth pressed against yours in warm fuzzy music, like everything the poets talked about, Anthony smiled as pulled for a second away, his eyes peicring yours, mischief dangling through the corners and oh, how much you loved this man.

" I think I have..." He trailed, nose nuzzling at the dark reds and blues of your neck, he loved his little vicious games, loved to tease you, loved to drive you crazy.

" You have." You told him, " Tell me again."

That was all Anthony needed to you tell you again, and again and again, how much he loved you.

Rigel's note🪩: This has been in my drafts for so long<3

[pedgito]

𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐁𝐔𝐒 | General Acacius x reader x Emperor Geta

↝ masterlist | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi

summary | living under emperor geta's rule was never supposed to be easy, but he aims to make it nearly impossible, even if he has become fond of you.

author's note | i never really intended for this to get another part, but since seeing the movie and wanting to expand on these characters and possibly writing for geta on his own, i thought i would turn this into a little passion project. i know there's a niche group of you that have asked for a second part to this, and as much as i crave chaos, i hope you enjoy where i took this and know that i am all for the crazed man that is emperor geta. (can be read as a standalone, but the first part can be read here)

content warning | 18+ mdni, DDDNE - heavy dubcon (due to sex work, ect), heavy themes of abuse under the rule of a vile emperor (mention of injury, slapping, ect), normalized degredation, exhibitionism and exchange of bodily fluids, smut galore (oral, unprotected piv, ect), choking tw, death tw, use of opium poppy, drugging tw (not against reader), named side character, marcus acacius being the real knight in shining armor. this is unbeta'd so i apologize for any spelling mishaps.

word count — 8k

You live within him, it feels. 

Geta never let you stray farther than a touch, within arms distance. 

You were no longer yourself, rather an extension of him.

He prefers you naked. But, he often dresses you up in gowns; modest sometimes, occasionally leaning toward more revealing fabric—sheer lace, high slits, deep-cut necklines that accentuate your breasts and hips, the soft but tight curve of your ass. Sometimes you wondered if he liked the clothes more accessible to his wandering hands, his fingers fluttering under your gown during public meetings, even.

The men never said a word, they wouldn’t dare.

If you were given the opportunity to be away from him, it was always under the watchful gaze of his guards, and only to complete tasks he has ordered to you—fetching food when he was too lazy to leave his bed and when you were feigning the grimace in your face, itching to wander.

Your relationship is complicated in the beginning but easier to manage as you become accustomed to his personality and outbursts, learning what makes him tick. He’s easier to manipulate with sex, something you have no issue taking full advantage of.

And he fancies an audience, usually. Other servants, less privileged women that trembled in his presence, fearful that his next move would be their last, somehow comforted by your confident and guiding touch. It made no sense to not enjoy what you could while you were imprisoned here, even if Geta and his brother did nothing to soothe the discomfort they left in their wake, making your skin crawl as his fingers drifted along your skin.

Caracalla could not touch either, his brother forbade it. An eager boy, riddled with a brain-eating sickness, he was dutiful to his brother but harmful in his own ways, fickle with thoughtful choices and often making important decisions on impulse. 

They were destroying Rome, that much you knew to be true.

-

Geta’s hand guided up your stomach, his palm curling around your breasts as he squeezed, your own hand flat against his chest as you rode him with fervor in the early morning hours, dawn peeking over the warm, lilac sky. 

In this light, he seemed almost normal. Eyes drifting shut in the silence of his quarters, just you—just him, he often made the mistake of weakening his defenses like this. He growled, low and quiet as his hands traded your breasts for your hips, spinning you in an instant and pinning you beneath him, soon his hand like a vice grip on your neck as he thrusts into you with little care or regard, a string of spit connecting his parted lips as he laughed, an eerie cackle as he came inside of you, admiring the tremble in your lip as he released his grip on your throat, subtly intaking the breath you had been deprived of as he pulls away from you, falling against the mattress and pulling the silk bed sheet over himself.

You move to do the same, but he grips the sheet.

“Make yourself come,” He demands, a sneer across his face as he yanks the sheet away completely. 

It was routine, now. You part your thighs without hesitation, leaning back on your elbow to allow him an unobstructed view, a tired but amused expression on his face as you play with your clit, fingers sliding through your folds, eyes drifting shut as they often did. 

It was easier to picture him this way, brown curls buried between your thighs and the tanned-skin of his backside as he stretched out below you, rutting his cock into the sheets as he ate you like his final meal, eyes like warm honey as they peered up at you.

Acacius, sweet Acacius. 

You were thankful you could remember his face, a memory you would pray to the gods to stick with you forever, a blissful crest of pleasure as your middle finger circles over your clit in a hurried manner, heels digging into the sheets as you feel it—fuck, it’s there, right there—

“Look at me,” He leers, his hand twisting into your hair at the crown of your head, a searing pain that makes you gasp, but your eyes fly open, mouth parted in a mix of pain and pleasure, “tell me how generous of an emperor I am to be so kind to a little whore like you.”

You nod shakily, swallowing as your mouth dries, “You have given me everything, your highness. Everything. I may never be able to repay you such a debt,” It was a script, one you’ve memorized and dare not forget, “May I—” You’ve learned to ramp up the dramatics when he’s lips part in anticipation, fingers itching as his thigh as they curled, his dick twitching beneath the fabric, “may I come?”

So fucking full of himself.

Whether you did or not didn’t matter anymore, but he allowed it. Insists. Your eyes never leave him.

–

Even as you dress, again, he hovers. 

You’ve learned the proper customs and rules, always making sure you look perfect. Pristine. Scrubbing your body down so harsh and deep that it makes your skin feel raw, because if Geta noticed anything—anything at all, it would mean punishment. 

He liked lashings, but that was too exertive for him.

His handmaidens aided the swelling and cuts as well as they could, ice and creams, clever ways to cover the wounds to your face. You were starting to feel a numbness when the anger would rise and explode, only praying that he would remove his rings before doing so.

“He’s visiting,” Geta speaks as though it was a secret, squeezing your chin between his fingers before they predictably fall to your neck, squeezing in the perfect spot to make you feel light, airy, and not in a good way, “I best not get a whiff of contempt, understood?”

“I am yours, Geta,” You knew he liked the more relaxed approach, his grip easing up, “he is nothing, nothing compares to you.”

His nostrils flare, a half-hearted smirk crossing his face as he shrugs.

“I have a task for you,” Geta teases, before his finger trails toward your nose, thumb rubbing against the soft, bulbous curve and down your lips, pushing his fingertip inside, prying your lips apart, thumb tucking against the inside of your cheek as you mouth falls open, “but, not in this moment. The timing must be…perfect.”

Your eyes squint slightly—he was up to no good, that much you could decipher. 

–

He gave the other servants a look, shooing them away as you stayed on his heels, your dress flowing at your ankles, feet bare against the marble floor. He pulled faintly at your wrist as he took a seat, maneuvering you into his lap, his own legs outstretched, fingers traveling up the center of your chest before his hands curving around the back of your head, his thumb rubbing at your jawline.

“Try anything, I will kill him first. Then you.”

You smile, syrupy sweet, playing with a thin strand of his fiery locks underneath the lip of his crown.

“You worry so much, Emperor,” Your own hand covers his, a bold touch as you stare him down, “It does not suit you.”

He’s emotionless for a moment too long, fearing you may have finally overstepped, before he breaks out into a laugh, one final squeeze before he relinquishes his hold.

The General and his entourage arrive soon after your conversation, Caracalla having joined shortly before the approach of many guests—most thanking their Emperors for no apparent reason other than because they enjoyed watching people kneel before them, confessing their undying loyalty.

It was pathetic, but what you were doing—forced or not, was no better. It was much like being stripped bare, the way the others' eyes prowled, watchful of Geta’s wandering touch.

“Quite the whore you’ve acquired,” One embolden man comments, his slimy smirk coming moments later, before calling over his shoulder, “General Acacius, you must tell me where you acquire such…toys. Such a generous gift you gave.”

You smiled with faked confidence, sat in his lap, one leg draped over his own, the other dragging along the floor where it rested through his split thighs, a kneading hand dragging along your inner thigh. Your fingers drag along his own, his tongue shoving into his bottom lip and over his teeth, a tick you’ve learned meant no good, his eyes turning quickly to rage.

You could hear the deep timber of the general over your shoulder as he is called forward, your eyes never leaving Geta, even as he straightens in his throne, his palm flattening against the arm of the chair digging into your back. You slide a hand inside his robe, fingertips dragging along his collarbone, “He knows I am yours now, Geta.”

“General Acacius,” Geta greets with a poorly faked kindness, one that Acacius returns with a curt nod and the usual bow that one of higher ranking would offer, the traditions were different for townspeople, but it was still ridiculous in any manner, “I take you have good news to share.”

Otherwise, he would not be here.

“Austria will be conquered within the next fortnight, Emperor Geta,” He explains with a rigidness that oozed discomfort, ignoring the smarmy look of another nearby general, one of much lower important, but nonetheless—

“Ah, it must feel strange,” The man suddenly interjects, a finger circling the steel goblet in his hand, filled to the brim with wine, “trading whores, doing business—rather messy…”

Geta’s jaw tenses, his anger suddenly directed elsewhere.

But, as usual, Acacius knows how to defuse a tense situation.

“She was a gift to the Emperor,” The general clarifies, “for what he does with her is none of my business, I only knew her as a loyal servant,” not a whore, never had those words left his mouth.

Geta’s chest rumbles softly, his hand squeezing painfully tight at your thigh.

Your teeth clench to silence the pain, dreading his next words as they leave his mouth.

“Call her what she is, Acacius,” He goaded, “a whore—and she excels.” 

His other hand slides through the open back of your dress, slipping one fold of fabric down your shoulder as he grins, all of the lower society bystanders having filtered out of the palace by now, leaving a large group of generals waiting for Geta's official dismissal.

“Give them a show,” He boasts, shoving you off of him rather abruptly, but you quickly plant your bare feet into the flooring, steadying yourself as you kneel before the Emperor, spreading out the spare fabric of your dress to act as a temporary comfort to your knees as you work at Geta’s robe, hesitant as you peer up at him briefly, he nods slightly, but taunting, “go on.”

It wasn’t the first time you’ve performed for an audience, feeling eerily normal now—but in a room full of generals? Acacius? You could hear your heart pounding in your ears, deafening everything else around you as you split his robe apart and dragged your fingers up the inside of his thigh, his tongue peeling slightly through his lips as you wrapped your delicate fingers around his cock, watching as he hardened under your skilled touch, despite how incredibly awkward the air felt, some of the men murmuring around you quietly.

His fingers dig into your hair at the start of your scalp, unhappy with your pace as he grips, pulling you forward until you get the idea, your tongue licking slowly along the head of his cock, the reddened tip glistening with a small drop of precome. You circle around it, slow and tantalizing before you run down the length of his shaft, having memorized every ridge and vein by this point that it has become second nature to instinctively know what pulls him toward the edge faster, easier. But, he wasn’t even looking at you. He was staring through you, behind you.

He was staring Acacius down, guiding you down his cock without much relief as your eyes flutter shut when his cock head nears the back of your throat, using practiced breathing as you focus. He didn’t like it when you gagged, eventually allowing you up for air as you claw gently at his thigh, but the process is repeated over and over again until you’re tearing up, drool collecting down your neck and chest, hand still secured tightly at the root of your hair as he pulls you off suddenly, demanding a tense, “Open, tongue out,” as he comes in short, but forceful spurts against your tongue, swallowing the heady taste of him without another thought. 

He pats at your cheek lightly when you open your mouth, showing it empty.

“Stand,” He ordered, adjusting your dress back up slightly to cover your breast, chuckling underneath his breath at how disheveled you looked otherwise, hair an absolute mess and your chest slick with spit, “oh—why don’t you give him a kiss? As a thank you for his generosity.”

Geta covers himself lazily, uncaring as if a dozen or so men hadn’t just watched him come down your throat. You turn on your heels, approaching Acacius who was simmering with rage, it was subtle, but you could sense it as you came closer.

You smile softly, a silent apology as you touch him first, fingers curling around the side of his neck as you press your lips against his in a chaste kiss, knowing Geta would allow nothing more. And it doesn’t surprise you how easy it feels to fall back into his touch, the polite press of Acacius hand at your hip catching you by surprise, feeling the faint adjustment of fabric, invisible to the naked eye, but you feel it.

Geta doesn’t appreciate Acacius reciprocity, cutting the moment short.

But, Geta is more relaxed that night after Acacius departure than he’s ever been.

He’d won. 

At least, he thought so.

–

“An entire limb seems harsh,” Geta thinks, twisting the rings on his finger as you dry from the bath he had ordered you take before lying in bed with him, always wanting you perfect and clean, “maybe a few fingers would suffice as punishment.”

You keep your silence, letting him think aloud as you squeezed the water from your hair with the cloth, but eventually Geta’s hand wanders, pulling at the cloth covering your body, forcing it to drop to the ground, “What do you think?”

Your eyebrows raise in faint shock, that he was legitimately addressing you about a concern, a choice he would happily make himself—so, why? Why was he asking?

Whatever, you’ll bite.

“What did they do?”

“The general—from the other day, who had such choice words for your dear Acacius—”

“Geta, I have told you—”

“Do not interrupt me,” He seethes, pulling at your wrist, forcing you to be done with your hair and climb over him in bed, “He assaulted a maid of ours—or Caracalla’s specifically, we had caught him up in his room, trespassing, touching things that did not belong to him—”

People, he means. But, he would never be so generous.

“And, you think a few fingers? An arm? That taking away a limb would keep him from doing it again?” You clarify, rolling to your stomach as you crawl toward him, your face level with his own as you rest your head into your open palm.

“Unless, say, you suggest something different.”

“Kill him,” You offer lightly, “If you think one less appendage would teach him a lesson, your highness, I hate to speak out of term, but—”

Geta considers the thought, head tilting to the side before he slowly opens his mouth to speak, “No…I do understand. But, he is a general. It would be something to discuss with a council.”

Your fingers slide across his chest, fingertips rubbing against the small patch of auburn hair at the center of his sternum, slowly crawling up his neck, idle movement that you didn’t think about at all anymore.

“You are an emperor. The people of Rome listen to you,” He and his brother were burning it to the ground, but that wasn’t something you could stop alone, “you are powerful—and, forgive me, but watching you command a room,” It amazes you sometimes how easily it was to play into his weaknesses, a smile spreading across his face as you boosted his ego, “—it does things to a woman.”

His hand, like a magnet, attaches to your thigh to spread you out on top of him, straddling his groin, your bare pussy pressed tight against the cloth of his robe, your hands pressing into his naked chest.

“You are smart,” Geta notices, “educated—a keen eye unlike I have seen on someone of your social status, I do not know much about you.”

“You have never asked,” You reply honestly, “though, it does not matter. I am here for one reason, to serve you.” His grip shifts your waist slightly, aiding the slow, but gentle rock of your hips against his hardening cock and if you closed your eyes long enough, you could enjoy it.

“Yet, you may be of more use to me than I suspected,” Geta teases, his hands rising to massage at your breasts, casually nodding to the maid who had peeked her head inside after a quiet knock, nodding as he answered, “—yes, bring them in.”

A line of varying women filter into the room with somber faces.

And just like that, the moment was lost.

–

Geta was such a heavy sleeper, fortunately. Gently prying yourself away as he rolls onto his side, mumbling something unintelligible in his sleep as you quietly step toward the the attached room where you bathed, pulling at a loose tile in the floor where you had stowed away what Acacius had slipped into the fold of your dress, withholding for the right moment to peek.

It was a tiny scroll, rolled up with a thin string and no bigger than your thumb, your nails pulling at the slab until it pops free, quietly unfurling the curled up paper as you read what was carved onto the thin paper, an overuse of ink smudged in spots.

It listed a place, a monument he knew you’d remember and a promise that he would visit every night after the sun set for a small window in time, hoping to catch you. 

He was still trying to reach you, to provide himself as a comfort in such a time.

You had to plan accordingly, find someone you trusted enough, and convince Geta of your undying loyalty—though, it seemed that you were breaking him down. 

And luckily, you did have a maid you trusted, to a degree—a young woman of similar age, meek but unsuspecting, she often sensed your displeasement and unease, didn’t fit in like the rest of the women that bowed so loyal to the emperors. But, she was a gossip, a troublemaker like Caracalla who she served loyally. She tended to him more regularly, often dealing with his breakdowns and tantrums caused by Geta or, lately, anything. There was never a way to know when he would blow a fuse and cause more bloodshed, he was unruly. 

There was only one hour of the day when you see her—morning proceedings, food served to their royal highness, the two brothers chatting amongst themselves as everyone moved fluidly around them. Caracalla had requested fresh squeezed juice, a rather tedious task, but you sneak away with her as the opportunity arose, digging through the oranges without prying eyes.

“I must ask you a favor,” You begin in a hushed tone, rubbing your thumb over the skin of the orange, “and I will owe you immensely.”

She looks at you curious, but expectant.

“The stuff…that helps Caracalla sleep,” You hint at out of habit, paranoia getting the best of you, “I would…I require it, for Geta. He sleeps heavily, but I need…to be sure.”

“He is insatiable as of late, that act in front of the generals—”

“Irene, I am at my end, please—do you have any remaining?”

It was opium poppy, it had many forms but the one you knew most of was powder. Easy to slip into a drink, often undetectable. It was worth a shot, even if it meant your life.

“At dusk, by dinner. Is that enough time?” She answers easily, a sigh of relief breathing past your lips as you nod, cradling a few oranges in the crook of your elbow.

You had only prayed Acacius hadn’t given up hope, that he might still be lingering in the shadows in wait, hoping for a glimpse of you again.

-

As promised Irene delivers, dousing both of the boys inconspicuously as you kept watch, tainting their wine with the sleeping drug, watch as his eyes began to tire before you as you slipped a grape between his teeth, a sated and happy smile on his face. 

You hate it, but he almost looks normal. Like he wasn’t slaughtering people for entertainment and ruling like a madman—he was still young, just beyond his teenage years and into adulthood, like yourself. You wonder where things went wrong and why, that someone could be filled with such unrestrained rage and hate.

Caracalla beckons for Irene eventually, Dundus hopping from her shoulder to his as she trails alongside him to his quarters, suddenly feeling the nudging of a sharp nose into your neck, a faint sniff and a hum as Geta appreciates the flowery smell, a faint lavender on your skin.

“I need you,” He speaks against your skin, nearly sliding your dress down then, your hands grabbing at him quickly and his reaction is delayed, almost confused, “did you not hear me?”

“Let us retire to your bed,” You suggest, dragging your thumb along his bottom lip, watching as his wine-stained tongue licks at the digit, “and you will have all night to ravish me as you please.”

Thankfully, it doesn’t take much convincing. Though, he’s less coordinated than you’re anticipating, draping himself over you lazily as he kneads at your breasts, cupping your cunt over the fabric of your dress, the silk halfway down your body as you step beyond the threshold and Geta is on you without a moment to breath, peeling his clothes of layer by layer before he’s bare before you, a surprising gentleness to his movements.

He takes a seat on the side of his bed, at the edge as he pulls you into his lap, hands spread out against your spine, fingers digging into the skin and begging to make it ache, hurt, but he doesn’t have the strength, his kisses become increasingly more lazy as the opium takes hold.

Eventually, his eyes flutter as you pull back, your lips barely brushing against his as he fights the exhaustion, but eventually succumbs, falling slack on the bed as you climb off of him, leaving him sprawled out in his bare state to your valiant amusement, given the amount of times he’s taken to shame you rather than show sympathy, it seemed fair.

Sneaking out of the palace is easier than you expect, having spent endless weeks being mindful, watchful of even the smallest of things. Paths, open windows, learning the schedules of staff and guards, it was almost too easy as your feet fell against the broken pavement, the quiet footfalls following in your quick departure, praying to whatever deity above that General Acacius believed in you enough that you would fight to see him.

–

When you show, it is quiet. Dark, not a soul in sight, tugging the cloak hastily over your shoulders, sending a chill up your spine against the bare skin underneath, a small inkling of doubt seeping into your thoughts as you stare around aimlessly, wondering if you were too late.

Your frame slumps against a nearby pillar, secluded in the shadows, the cold night biting at your feet, the faint sound of hooves off in the distance, realizing just how noisy the streets could be outside of the palace—it was comforting, in a way.

“You came,” The words come from your left, behind you as your head whips over your shoulder and he’s touching you before you have time to take him in, a gentle but firm press against your clothed arms, holding you still, “you are here, dove.”

It was a tone of disbelief, like he had lost hope.

He wouldn’t tell you that he almost didn’t come tonight. It didn’t matter, because you were here.

The visceral reaction you have at his endearing name for you is like a vice grip on your heart, mouth opening to speak but words falling short.

Eventually, the tears fell.

“I am sorry, General,” You speak with a shaky timber, “I am—that act, his performance the other day—“

The general soothes your worry, dragging his thumb along your cheekbone to catch a stray tear, “That has no meaning to me, if anything, it was his mistake for allowing us so close. Otherwise, you would not be here with me now.”

You peer at him through tear-soaked lashes, feeling as if you would be snatched away at any moment, your fingers curling into his similar clothing, a cloak covering what you could assume to be a more relaxed attire, a toga that he would often where around his home, strolling barefoot through his atrium. 

“Why am I here, Acacius?”

“You must trust me,” He urges, “that when the time is right, I will come for you.”

“We could go now,” You plead, “he would never know, he does not care enough to go after me, I swear—“

“Little dove, he cares for you much more than you know,” The general counters, “you are valuable to him.”

“He asked something of me the other night,” You speak absently, rubbing a fingertip along the frayed thread of his cloak at your eye line, “what a fitting punishment I thought would be of a man who assaulted a servant—I believe he was testing me.”

Acacius furrows his brow, “You loyalty, it seems. You are getting under his skin, I see it. He knows of your value to me and that as much as he tries, you will not be tamed. But, he is trying.”

You chew at your bottom lip quietly, a nervous tick that Acacius picked up on long ago, both of his thumbs pulling your lip away from further mutilation.

“Little one, what is on your mind?”

“I have to go back soon,” You say with an obvious bitterness to your tone, “though, I do not wish to.”

His large hand curls around the side of your face, cradling your head as you lean into the touch, warmth spreading like fire over your skin, “You will be with me again.”

He barely registers as your lips touch his, a blink and you were there, lips pressed so tightly against his own that they might bruise, leaning into him like he was the only thing keeping you upright, pulling at the fabric of his toga as his hand wanders beyond your cloak, in search of a touch.

“Dove,” He breathes at the realization of skin, “you are bare, your clothes—“ 

“I rushed,” You stare at him impishly, “I did not think, I know, but,” the general smiles, cheeks dimpling with the show of emotion as he shakes his head.

“You have me wanting what I cannot have,” He sounds somber, his hand still lingering against your hip, “I know he does not cherish you the way he should.”

You laugh softly, your stomach fluttering at his wandering hand, drifting along your public bone before the full expanse of his hand was cupping your cunt, welcomed by warmth and the sticky wet sensation of arousal that he’s been longing for, like an addict.

“General, would you like to know something?”

“What is it?” He inquires to your obvious amusement, his and cradling your head back, neck exposed slightly, thankful that the streets around you were empty.

“He likes to watch me pleasure myself,” You admit, “mostly because he cannot achieve the feat himself, but as I close my eyes I picture those mornings when you snuck under the sheets and spread my legs open,” Acacius leans forward greedily, hot breath fanning over your face as he yearns for another kiss, moving away from him tauntingly as you finish your speech, “that sweet look on your face as you taste me, thankful that you expertise was not contained to only battle—“

“Careful,” He warns, “I am not against a reminder if you continue.”

You peer over the broken set of stairs behind him, attached to an abandoned structure, eyebrows raising expectantly, “A parting gift, General?”

—

The discomfort was nothing compared to a general kneeling into the dirt and stone without a hesitation to please you, a whore, a servant—your title no longer mattered, having carried so many. 

He’s still hooded, your legs hanging over his shoulders as he kneeled against the steps, forcing you down flat against the concrete as he licked a slow line through the seam of your cunt, again, again. A teasing trace over your clit as he pressed two thick fingers inside of you, lapping at you loudly.

“Did he bed you tonight?” Acacius inquires curiously.

“Nearly,” You sigh, a high-pitched breathy noise as his pace quickens, knowing that you both were on a time limit, “he—huh—was far too tuckered to be fulfilled.”

His brows raise subtly at your choice of words.

“I drugged him,” You admit, an unexpected moan ripping from your throat as his tongue flicks over you sensitive clit, fingers digging into his cloak-covered shoulder, “seems the Emperor is not as untouchable as he thinks, and tricked by a whore—he would have a fit.”

His fingers dip into your thighs as you squeeze them together around his head, his tongue working quickly over your clit until you’re breathless and whining, feeling the rushing wave of your climax as it crashes into you, Acacius licking up the mess like a starved man.

It takes you a few moments to come back to earth, feeling a gentle tug at your hand as Acacius helps you up, readjusting your cloak over your naked body without much of a word, knowing your time with him was up.

“Wait for the bells,” He tells you, “light, delicate—look for me, I will be near.” 

You begin to speak, but are silenced with a kiss. 

A final goodbye. 

“Remember what I told you?”

Live.

You nod.

“At whatever cost, little dove.”

—

You go to great lengths to make it back to the palace before dawn, hiding behind every pillar, sneaking around corners, somehow managing to slip back into Geta’s bed without so much as a sound, his body still mostly laid out as you had left him, aside from a little rousing around.

When morning breaks, Geta wakes with an obvious grogginess to his tone, forcing his eyes to stay open.

“You stuffed me full of wine,” Geta jokes, “I cannot remember anything from our night prior.”

You’d tried to look particularly exhausted, hair slightly disheveled and the satin bed sheet askew, “It was quite a night, your highness. Such a shame,” You reply mockingly, though there’s a sweetness to your tone, almost teasing.

And if Geta suspects anything, he doesn’t say it.

It takes a day, two, silently mulling over the events.

He wasn’t a half-wit like his brother, his brain like mush beyond repair, useless by result of the infection in his loins. He was helpless, spiraling deeper into madness.

Geta had his wits about him—his eyes drag along your body, the deep swooping fabric showing off your exposed back, the soft skin and gentle slope of your spine, a look shared between you and Caracalla’s most trusted maiden.

Along with the lightness in your tone, a revered outlook, a bounce in your step that most people wouldn’t catch, but Geta—he’s just as much an observer as yourself.

He suspects, no—senses, feels, the deceit in your challenging gazes, the additional touches with an air of confidence, too cocky for someone who has been nothing more than a whore and housemaiden.

He’d always known you were particularly special; smart by means of General Acacius, knowing how to read and write and many other things that others of your station did not have the luxury to learn. And you were hard to break, though Geta had worked at it for weeks, he’d gotten you there.

Obedient, compliant, merciful. 

At least, he’d thought so.

He knows he won’t get a word out of you.

So, he goes for Irene.

-

The guards corral you at dinner, sitting silently with Caracalla as Dundus perched on his shoulder, eating quietly. They aren’t kind either, grabbing hard at your bicep as they drag you from your spot on the floor, Geta’s throne eerily empty.

Your stomach turns at the slow realization as you’re dragged down the hall, tossed beyond the threshold of Geta’s room as you stumble to the floor, groaning at the impact, head hitting the ground first as you roll over in pain, opening your eyes to an even more horrific sight.

Geta, hovered over Irene, lifeless eyes staring back as he dropped the thick cord from his hands, something he must have ripped from the curtain as one drooped down from its normal placeholder. 

There was no blood, no mess, but the light in her eyes was gone, and Geta stumbled over, crawling—hunching down to intersect your bleary eyesight as you slowly came to the realization of what was happening.

“You have betrayed me,” He announces calmly, despite the eyes of a crazed man staring straight through you, face void of any emotion, “after all I have given you.”

“Geta—“ You plead, pushing up on your palms to sit up, his foot coming in contact with your shoulder as you roll into your back forcefully.

“I AM YOUR EMPEROR,” He seethes, spitting as the words left his mouth, “YOU—BETRAYED—ME!”

And left a mess in the process, unfortunately.

“If you would…let me explain,” He stalks closer, watching as you rise slowly before his hand is striking across your face, the sting almost immediate, “I—think…that you—“

“You do not think,” He spats through clenched teeth, shaking with rage as he kneels to your level again, like a rabid dog, “whores do not think, they are fucked until there’s nothing left and then they are tossed out. Like trash.”

In desperation, the words slip out.

“I love you,” You say softly—it was a careful bundle of words that you’ve never spoken before, not even to General Acacius, “whatever she has told you, it is lies.”

His silence isn’t an answer, but you took the opportunity, unsure if he was stunned or gearing to explode.

Convince him, at whatever cost.

“She knows—of my past with the general. She was jealous of me, you. She drugs your brother, you must know. And she tried it with you too, it is why I did not leave your side, why I insisted we come back to your room.”

“But, you knew—“

You reach for him, a hand circling his wrist.

“No, no,” You speak softly, “It was small things. Your speech, it was slurring. You were drifting away, almost as if you were floating. I could see it. I have seen it before, with your brother. The nights when he is unruly, she…calms him.”

“Her story is entirely different,” He challenges, “you see my issue, yes?”

“Geta,” You challenge him, reaching forward to cradle his face, surprised by his willingness to allow it, watching you carefully, “I am loyal to you—no one else. I do not know another way to show you, but I will. I will, you must—“

“Strip,” He orders, “—on the bed,”

It makes your stomach twist, but you follow his orders.

His demeanor is unreadable as he watches, mirroring your movements before he’s climbing over you in bed.

He settles on his calves between your open legs, a blanket of silence falling over as he reaches for your hand, a surprisingly gentle touch as he brings your fingertips to his cock, slowly hardening at the sight of you.

Your fingers circle his shaft as you lean up on your elbows, ignoring his intense eye contact as you drag your palm along the velvety soft skin, feeling him grow to a stiff hardness within a few minutes—it should disgust you.

It does, to a degree. It wasn’t that Geta was unattractive in a physical sense, but the mental picture was hard for you to overlook. But, for the moment, you could pretend like he wasn’t the worst human being to walk the earth.

His fingertips brush against your cunt slightly, fortunately your body has adjusted to the pleasure of such a complicated predicament. You’re sure if you tried hard enough, you could truly enjoy it. But, you’re thankful that your body connects with the severity of the situation, quivering slightly at his touch, mouth opening in a small gasp.

“Are you nervous?” Geta inquires.

You shake your head, “No—it is only, we have never…”

“Let us try something new, hm?” He offers with a grin and you nod instinctively, feeling two thick digits dip inside of you with no warning, not so much grace as Acacius would have, but it isn’t uncomfortable.

It seems Geta has his wits about him, fortunately, diminishing you to nothing but a whimpering mess after a while, some of it a little bolstered for his benefit, but the pleasure was real. 

And god, did you crave that release.

Soon, his hand is gripping his shaft, sliding between the folds of your pussy as he coats himself, mouth twitching at the sight as he speaks, “I want you to watch.”

And you do, his cock pressing into you slowly, “It is such a generous act, you see, feeding you my cock like this,” another slow push, “you should feel special, little dove.”

The words are jarring, but you try not to react. 

“It is not everyday you are fucked by an emperor,” The dichotomy to his words almost makes you chuckle, as if he wasn’t fucking you every day, sometimes even two or three times, “you should be thankful.”

“I am.” You quickly appease.

“Then thank me,” His voice was tense again, his neck flexing with the tightness to his words.

“T—thank you, Emperor Geta.”

“For?”

One last forceful push and he’s seated fully inside of you, your brow pulling together at the pressure, lips parting open, “For your cock, for making me feel so—oh,” His thrusts are careful, calculated, your head falling back at the divine angle he’s found, “for—oh, gods—so good.”

You fist the sheets in desperation, back arching up slightly, watching his jaw tense at the way your breasts bounce, his eyes darkening over time, only a shell of himself as he thrusts into you, two firms hands on your hips slowly making their way upwards, wondering if he was following the path toward your breasts before they are bypassing and going straight for your neck, his hands encircling your throat.

It is merely a second too late before your brain catches up, too overloaded by pleasure that you don’t see the definite switch, quickly going from gentle pressure to the type of force that makes your vision white out.

You choke, gasping for air as you try to speak his name, plead, anything—his eyes are locked on your face, a sick determination as your stronger, forceful blows to his chest quick become weaker, weaker, feeling yourself teetering on that edge before he’s releasing his hold, forcing you to gasp for air.

“Do you still love me?” Geta asks.

And despite yourself, you lie.

“Yes, I love you, Geta.”

He was a sad boy, you’ve come to realize, wanting love but also craving unyielding power. He did not want equals, he wanted subordinates, fans, people that would sacrifice everything in his name. But, underneath it all, Geta was just as broken as you suspected.

—

A parade of the gladiators wasn’t a normal occasion, but it was quite the event—a way of wealthy men showing off their new toys, dangerous murderous machines out for blood.

It was the entertainment before the big show, sitting in the expansive throne room underneath the colosseum as the rich drowned in wine and food, you and several other servants surrounding the two brothers, eagerly awaiting your next order.

At least, for you, it was being obedient.

It felt like a collar around your neck, his fingers tracing along the back of your spine and up, fingertips resting against your shoulder, his thumb rubbing against the column of your throat.

Geta spots him from a mile away, that trademark white against gold, gaudy armor fit so perfectly for a man like Acacius, you bow your head at Geta’s push, the footsteps approaching steadily.

Your throat ached still, eyes slightly bloodshot. He hid your face, the evidence, speaking to the line of approaching generals as they greeted the two men with high regard.

“I commend you, your highness,” A general speaks, faceless but you sneer at his tone, fists balling into the fabric of your dress, “she is so well behaved, you must teach me your tricks.”

You bite down at the inside of your lip as Geta pets your head, tilting your head to the side slightly as you close your eyes, his thumb pressing against your cheekbone.

“There is no trick,” He retorts, “my little dove is loyal, a hard thing to find in a world full of deceit.”

It was laughable, coming from the emperor. 

The moniker is an even lower blow, knowing that General Acacius was a few feet away, the white fabric of his traditional armor dragging along the ground.

“Ah, Acacius,” Geta boasts, “I hope you have come to bring me good news.”

It best only be good news.

As he approaches, Geta’s grip tightens, curling around the side of your neck as a show of dominance as his finger digs into your skin, daring you to defy him. 

The soreness is pertinent, causing you to grimace in pain at his actions, something that Acacius spots but does not acknowledge.

“Yes, our army is nearly ready, Emperor Geta,” He nods before acknowledging his brother, “Emperor Caracalla,” but Geta is not amiss to the way his eyes drag toward you for a brief moment.

“Careful,” He warns, “doves are…so sacred, yes?”

Your sideways gaze peeks through as his eyes bore into Acacius, the subtle glimpse of broken capillaries and a plea for help as you lock eyes with Acacius is all he needs.

It would be tonight—it had to be tonight.

—

He’s a horrid mess, drunk off his ass as he drags you back toward the room. His brother and he were always more rowdy after gladiator games, riding the high of an entertaining act of violence, slaughter for mere amusement. Geta nearly topples over you as he opens the door, pointing hastily toward the bed with a slurred speech, “Naked, on the bed.”

He’s heading for more alcohol, a table tucked away in the corner of the room with a plethora of choices, pouring lazily as he stumbles, the utensils from an earlier meal falling to the floor as he bumps into it, looking displeased at your state of dress. He grimaces, nose scrunching as he reaches for the knife that had clattered to the floor, twisting it in his hand to point it at you.

“You dare—you dare to defy me?” 

Your eyes squint, narrow as he jabs at you sloppily, dodging the action with ease.

“You cannot even see straight, your grace,” You jeer, watching as he gulped down the crimson liquid, remnants trailing down the side of his mouth as he threw the glass away carelessly, the glass shattering against the floor as he charged at you, pressing the tip of the knife under your chin as he backed you into the wall, his eyes capturing the similar essence of rage when you knew there was no saving him, determined to cause bloodshed no matter the consequence.

You can hear the soft lilt of bells in the distance, the sky as black as the darkened state of Geta’s eyes—if he had any humanity in him, it was gone.

“You are…broken,” You speak to him, accepting the consequence, even if Acacius failed to save you, “A poor, poor boy with no one to love him—your confidence, it will be your demise.”

The knife knicks your skin, a subtle sting.

“Are you unaware of Caracalla’s plans?” You inquire, privy to Caracalla’s incoherent babbling, often feeling like Geta’s scapegoat, the constant source of blame. It was true, Geta had never accepted responsibility for anything in his life, “You should be careful, Geta. He has a slippery hand and a temper. If given the opportunity, I am sure he would do away with you. I cannot say I blame him—you are a disgrace of an emperor, ruling Rome like it is a playground—”

His eye twitches, the slight hesitation. It gives you enough time to react, twisting his arm away from your neck and on himself, “Unfortunate that you cannot do that as a dead man,” You bite, pushing against the force of the knife, knowing that Geta had no instinct of survival, a feeble man raised in a glass house for the entirety of his life.

The blood quickly pooled in his mouth, pouring out as his body slumped. 

You had prayed it would be slow and painful, that the misery would last.

The rustling near the window pulls your attention, the city quiet and unsuspecting of the violence having just taken place, Acacius' frame obscuring the view of the stars as he climbs through the window.

“Oh, dove,” Acacius sighs, taking in the sight of the slowly dying emperor, his fingers weakly grabbing for you as he choked on his own blood, “you have made a mess.”

“I could not survive him any longer,” You admit, feeling his arm encircling your waist as he tugged you away, “—what—what is to happen now?”

“It is a fate he would have met eventually, if not at the end of my own blade,” Acacius admits, “–—come, we must go. We only have a few moments, my lady.”

Your breath catches at the words, nodding in agreement as you allow him to tug you along, met with a few men on the other side of the wall, catching you as you dropped, draping you in a thick cloak.

“General,” You breathe, sensing his overpowering frame behind you as he grabs the reins of the horse in front of you, assisting you in climbing on the creature, “where are we going?”

“Away,” He promises, “somewhere we can both be free.”

“But, your status—does it mean nothing?”

It never did, not since the minute Geta had stolen you away.

You peer over your shoulder, his eyes soft.

“I love you,” He utters, answering your question without direct confirmation.

And for the first time, you say it as you mean it, feeling the tug at your heart, “I love you, too.”

[rafeandonlyrafe]

experimentation

words: 6.9k

warnings: 18+ only!!!, aged up!sarah (takes place in season 1 but shes 18/19 and rafe is like 22/23 for the fic) smut, lesbian sex, tit play, girl on girl action, scissoring, dildo/sex toys, p in v sex, unprotected sex, blowjob, losing virginity, cheating(ish), reader sleeps with sarah and rafe (not at the same time omg there is NO incest!!), 69ing, female receiving oral, experimenting/unserious?? sex, hooking up to relationship, they say i love you at the end awwww, soft!rafe, i think thats everything jesus christ

it all started with one simple question. sarah sat on the edge of her bed, finishing the top coat of her toenail polish while you braided your mostly dry hair to have loose curls tomorrow.

“have you ever kissed a girl?”

that's all it took. for you to say no, that'd like to,, just to see what it's like, and then to press your lips against sarahs.

you laid in bed together, just kissing. it felt different than any of the guys you've kissed in the past. sarahs lips are softer, sweeter, her tongue gentler when it licks into your mouth.

“do you…” sarah gasps out against your lips. “do you think we could do more?

you blink at her, processing her words and the sudden kiss when you've been just friends for years. 

“just to experiment.” sarah shrugs, looking down to your chest, your nipples hard against your shirt. “i wanna…”

“yeah.” you nod. “lets keep going. just… two friends experimenting.” you smile at her. “having fun.”

you've seen each other naked before, so it's not too much of a shock as you strip down. usually it'd be to pull a swimsuit on or change into a dress, you've never sat and really looked at sarah.

“your… your boobs are so nice.” you giggle softly, her tits sit perfectly, even and plump.

“you wanna touch them?” she asks, looking down at her own body.

“yeah.” you nod quickly, crawling the short distance separating you as you reach out with a gentle hand, gently ghosting around the outside of her breasts before moving closer, cupping her tits and feeling how heavy they are in your hands.

“is it okay if i um… lick them?” you question, staring at her perfect nipples, hard and peaked up, practically begging for you to suck them.

“yeah, as long as i get to do it to you too.” sarah giggles gently.

you bend down, cautiously swiping your tongue over her nipple. sarah gently moans, encouraging you on as you wrap your lips around the bud, sucking gently as your palms massage her tits.

sarah presses a hand against the back of your head, gentle and just slightly pushing you down, keeping you against your chest. you don't fight against it, testing what feels best against your tongue, switching between lapping, sucking and even gently pressing your teeth against her chest.

you leave her nipple with a wet kiss before switching to the other side, repeating the movements.

“god, that… that feels good.” sarah moans out as you pull away with a little giggle.

“that was fun. i wish i had your boobs, seriously.”

“oh, shut up.” sarah laughs. “your's are way better than mine.” she glances down at your body. your chest is smaller than hers, but her gaze doesn't stay there for long as her eyes flick down to where your thighs are pressed together.

“it's not really having sex, right?” sarah glances up to you. “we'll still be virgins just… this doesn’t count since we’re just.. experimenting” .”

“yeah.” you nod. “we're friends, there's nothing wrong with just having some fun.”

“okay.” sarah takes a deep breath before pushing the thought out of her mind, done trying to rationalize the want she feels swelling in her lower stomach.

“lay down.” sarah gestures for you to rest your head on the pillow, which you do slowly, keeping your legs together to not reveal too much too early.

sarah climbs over you as your eyes drift to the ceiling before closing when you feel her mouth on you. she keeps to kisses, pressing them all over your front, from your clavicle down to right above your belly button. 

“i… i wanna eat you out.” sarah says as your eyes blink open, realizing she's hovering over you.

“okay.” you nod, raising your head to give her a kiss, quickly getting lost in the way your lips move against each others.

sarahs hand plays gently with your chest, rubbing over your nipples with her palm, pressing against them with delightful pressure.

you let out a little whine, hips shifting from side to side as you feel your wetness growing. sarah laughs as she looks down at you. “it's okay, im really horny too.”

she gives you another quick peck, verging on friendly, reminding you that all you're doing is testing things out, trying what it's like to be like with a girl, and there's no one better to experiment with than your closest friend.

sarah moves lower, tapping your thigh as you spread them. she makes herself comfortable between them on her stomach.

she pauses, looking between your spread legs at your bare pussy. she hesitates for barely longer than a second before diving in, mouth pressing against your cunt, tongue sneaking out to lick up your wetness.

“oh fuck!” you squeal, hands fisting into the sheets. “fuck, sarah!”

“does that feel good?” she asks, tilting her head to the side, licking her lips to continue to taste you.

“yeah!” you nod rapidly. “really good. keep going, please.”

“okay.” sarah laughs gently again, moving a little slower this time, licking over your folds before swirling her tongue around your clit. she knows what she likes when touching herself, and tries to replicate it with her tongue on you.

you let yourself get lost in the feeling, knowing you should probably dull your moans to not wake up all of tanneyhill, but as you look down between your legs to see sarahs delicate tongue licking against your cunt, your can't control your sounds.

“im gonna finger you.” sarah says, wanting to make sure you know what she's going to do as you rapidly nod. 

she pushes your legs further apart, looking at your entrance as her fingertip slides in, continuing to push into your wet heat until it's buried to the hilt.

“does that feel nice?” she asks.

“really nice. try moving it.” you swallow harshly, your clit needing her mouth back on it.

sarah nods, slowly thrusting her finger in and out, getting used to it as the tempo increases gradually.

“im-im gonna cum once you start eating me out again.” you warn. “i don't know if you want that to happen.”

“of course.” sarah presses her mouth against your leg, kissing your thighs. “isn’t that the whole point of this? well most of it at least” .”

“need you on my clit again then.” you let out a deep breath.

“I got you .” sarah listens quickly, mouth back on your clit as her finger continues, tilting it upward to press right against your sweet spot, making you cry out as her mouth sucks and sucks.

“i-oh my god sarah!” you squeal as your high breaks over the walls, hips pressing up as your entire body shakes, cunt clenching around her finger. sarah licks up your slick before taking a deep breath.

“you actually taste good.” she hums, pulling her finger out and pressing it between her cheeks, sucking the digit like it's a lollipop, swirling her tongue to get the taste off.

“that felt really good too.” you blush, cheeks heating up. “what do you want me to do to you?”

“we should try scissoring.” sarah says. “ive seen it in porn.”

“is that where you got all these ideas from?” you ask, eyebrows raising up.

“yeah.” she nods. “it's hot without guys.”

for the first time, you realize sarah may be looking for more than just a night of fun, and might genuinely see you as someone she's attracted to. you don't have much time to delve deeper as she spreads your thighs, placing her own wet pussy against yours.

“im just gonna-” sarah let's out a gasp as her face twists in pleasure, your bare cunts bumping against each other's as her hips move.

“oh, fuck! sarah!” you squeal. you push yourself up to sit, beginning to move as well, rubbing against her thigh and occasionally her pussy as sarah does the same thing to you, her mouth slackened and tits jigging with every movement.

you long to reach forward and have your mouth around them again, but you're determined to have sarah reach that high that she brought you too.

you tip her back so you can do all the work, grinding and grinding until her whole body tenses up as she cums with a low moan of your name.

you flop back against the bed, sarah crawling in a moment to also place her head on the pillow.

“that was fun.” she says, chest still rising and falling rapidly.

you nod. “we should do that again.”

--

“well look who it is.” rafe smirks at you, placing a hand on your lower back. “none other than y/n l/n.”

“hey rafey.” you giggle. you have a bit of a love hate relationship with rafe. you bickered a lot when you were younger, but when a guy was messing with you in high school, you went right to rafe who quickly sorted it out.

“you look so pretty in this dress.” he says, tugging you towards the dance floor, a mess of bodies twisting and grinding.

you see rafe often when you're hanging out with sarah, but she stayed home from the party due to a headache, so it's a rare time alone without his sibling.

“dance with me?” he asks, pressing his lips against your ear.

you nod. just because you're fooling around with sarah shouldn't stop you from exploring other options, after all, she's half-dating topper despite diving between your legs during sleepovers.

rafe moves in tempo to the music. you dance back against him, grabbing his hands which are respectfully by his side to place on your hips.

“im not a kid anymore, rafe.” you close the distance between your bodies so rafe is grinding right into your bum. you can feel what's growing in his pants, a slight smile on your face.

“yeah, but you're my little sisters friend. just because i wanna fuck you doesn't mean-”

you turn around suddenly, not waiting to hear the rest of what he has to say. “you wanna fuck me?”

“of course.” rafe smirks, hand trailing down from your lower back to squeeze your ass.

“fuck me then.” you place your hands on his neck, pulling him down into a harsh kiss. the party is at toppers house, so you assume rafe knows how to get you alone as you follow him through the house until you're in a guest bedroom.

“promise you won't tell sarah?” he says, not wanting to deal with her shit for sleeping with you.

“i won't as long as you don't.” you say, knowing rafe doesn't realize how sarah would be just as upset with you too, for sleeping with her brother while you're fooling around with her on the side.

rafe nods, satisfied that this will be a secret as he pulls you against him. his hand grips your ass as his mouth devours yours, so much stronger than sarahs felt against yours. he's harsh, demanding and unforgiving.

your hands fist in his shirt, partially to hold yourself up as his lips attack yours. he slowly steps further into the room until the back of your knees hit the bed.

“take that dress off.” rafe grunts out. “let me see that perfect body.”

you pull your dress off, revealing the small matching set of lingerie you have on underneath. rafe let's out a growl, like a predator who finally got it's prey as he turns you around to face the bed before pushing you down so you flop onto your stomach.

“such a nice ass, kid.” rafe swats your barely covered bum. “anyone ever told you that before?”

“nnnnn.” you hum out as an answer, mouth half pressed into the mattress.

rafe suddenly pauses. “you're not a virgin are you?”

he waits, and when you don't answer, he knows the truth. 

“shit.” he groans. “listen, i want you but im not gonna have you lose your virginity at a random party, okay?”

“no, i want it rafe.” you flip over so you're on your back, pouting your lower lip out as you look up at him. “really, i do.”

“and ill take your virginity, but not here, not tonight. when you're not drunk and when i can lay you out and not worry about people barging in on us.”

“okay.” you pout with a slow nod. you're not drunk, but you have had a couple sips of beer, and you understand why rafe is hesitant. “but can we still do something tonight?”

“yeah? you wanna suck my dick or something?” rafe smirks down at you, not expecting you to nod enthusiastically and slink off the bed onto your knees.

“you sure?” he questions. “you don't have to. we could just make out or i could finger you-”

“come here.” you reach out to rafe, tugging him closer by the loops on his pants. you waste no time undoing the button and zipper and pulling the fabric down.

you would feel a lot less confident if you haven't been experimenting with sarah, getting to learn how to use your mouth for pleasure, even though it's a bit different now that it's her brothers dick.

“damn, baby.” rafe groans when you press kisses along his length, wetting his underwear until you get sick of the barrier and tug them down.

rafes cock is already hardened and pops up to hit you on the tip of your nose.

“ouch.” you frown, brows furrowing together when rafe let's out a laugh.

you don't allow him to continue laughing at you as you wrap your lips around the head of his cock, sinking down until you feel yourself gag. you pull up only to push your head back down, determined to make this good for rafe.

“shit- fuck!” rafe shouts out, placing a hand on the back of your head, tangling his fingers into your hair, ruining the curls you spent so long perfecting.

you hollow out your cheeks as you suck, tongue swirling around the underside of his cock. you cant go all the way down without his cock going too deep in your throat, so you wrap a hand around the base, gently stroking as your mouth works.

“shit!” rafe hisses out again. “you've done this before, haven't you?”

“nope.” you pull away with a pop. “just like your dick.”

you press a kiss against the head of his cock. it's wet and sloppy with precum and spit, but you don't care. 

“come over this weekend so i can fuck you, yeah?” rafe says. you nod before sinking your lips back down over his cock, not thinking in the moment that you'd already made plans with sarah.

--

“i got something.” sarah whispers, giving you a wink.

“what?” you lean in, waiting for her to whisper in your ear, but she just shakes her head, a mischievous look on her face.

“you'll see later.” she takes a bite of her pizza, rolling her eyes as rafe walks in.

“hey.” he grins at you, his smile stretching wide as he grabs a piece of pizza from the open box. “how you doing y/n?”

“leave my friend alone, rafe!” sarah says, making you giggle.

“im doing well rafe, how are you?”

he just nods and smiles, knowing that you're going to sneak out of sarahs room just like you'd planned after sucking him off at the party, where he came deep down your throat.

rafe manages to ghost his fingers along your back as he leaves, but not before taking another piece of pizza.

“god, he's such a dick.” sarah rolls her eyes.

you just nod. arguing about it would certainly give yourself away, and you're not willing to risk ruining sleeping with either of them. even though you're just fooling around with sarah, and it will surely stop when she gets a boyfriend, you're having a lot of fun for now. it makes you feel closer to her, like this is a secret you'll carry together for a long time. you even imagine drunkenly spilling it to your husbands twenty years from now when you're both happily married off.

you go through the motions like normal, finishing eating, saying goodnight to ward before disappearing into sarahs room. it's not until the door closes and locks behind you that there's a shift.

sarah immediately begins to strip, clearly eager and waiting for this moment. you follow her actions until you're both nude. if you thought you were comfortable being naked around her before, it's only increased since fooling around together.

“okay, look under the blanket.” sarah says. you didn't even realize a fluffy blanket had been obviously draped over something. you pull the fabric away to reveal a pink dildo. your eyes widen as you look to sarah.

“you bought a dildo?” you hiss out, a smile coming to her face as she eagerly nods.

“you gotta use it on me, oh my god. please, y/n?” she pouts. “there's this guy i like and… and i think i might give it up to him.”

“topper?” you question, surprised because it seems like she's been distancing herself from him.

sarah just smiles shyly. “oh my god, who?” you squeal.

“i really can't tell.” sarah says. she doesn't know your opinion on john b, and doesn't want to risk upsetting you.

“fine, then you don't know who i might be giving it up to.” you shrug, flopping down onto the bed as you pick up the dildo, inspecting it.

“you what?” sarah asks, her eyes wide.

“if you wanna keep secrets, i can to.” you shrug. in truth, you'd never tell her that it's her brother. you're not even sure you'd admit it to sarah if you were ten years down the line and married to rafe. your friendship is too precious, and you know she'd be extremely upset.

“ugh, fine.” sarah crosses her arms, lifting her boobs up in a way that has you licking your lips. 

“get over here.” it's all you have to say for sarah to climb onto the bed, your mouth attaching to her chest the second she's close enough.

you suck and play with her tits while you fool around with the dildo, putting it between her legs but just running it through her folds.

you're nowhere near done with her tits when sarah gently pushes your head lower. you let out a whine but ultimately concede.

“im just nervous to have it inside me.” sarah admits. “anxious.”

“it's okay.” you coo out as she lays back, spreading her legs. “ill help you out and go slow, that's what friends are for afterall.” you shrug.

you decide it'll be best to start with your finger as you press your digit into her. she's so wet you can easily thrust it in and out, but you still use your other hand to rub at her clit, just to relax sarah even more.

“you ready?” you question after rubbing for a while.

“mhm.” she whines out, chest moving up and down, partly from nerves and partly from pleasure.

you pull your finger out and grab the dildo again. you take a moment to rub the entire length against her, getting it thoroughly wet before pressing the head of the fake cock against her entrance. you move slowly as you push it in, watching her pussy bloom around it.

“fuck, sarah.” you moan out. “this is hot.”

“come sit on my face.” sarah says, her eyebrows scrunched together in concentration, needing the distraction of eating out your pussy.

“mmkay.” you hold the dildo pushed inside of her as you swing your hips over, briefly hovering your pussy over her face. you begin to lower slowly, only for sarah to grab your hips and slam your cunt down onto her awaiting tongue.

you let out a soft moan, eyes sliding shut as her mouth works against your folds. you finally remember that you need to move when her tongue thrusts into your cunt.

you blink out the haze of pleasure as you start to move the dildo gently in and out, moaning slightly at the slick noises, wet and sloppy as you thrust it inside of her.

“harder.” sarah says against your skin, voice vibrating over your pussy.

you speed up the movements of your hand, pushing in harder and faster. you drop your mouth to her pussy as well, needing to taste her against your tongue as you lick around her entrance before moving up to her clit.

“shit.” sarah moans out, hands squeezing harder at your thighs. you hope they don't bruise as you'll have to explain it to rafe later.

you move as fast as your arm will allow, bicep cramping up as you focus in on her clit, sucking as intensely as you can until you feel a rush of wetness gushing out of sarahs cunt. you pull the dildo out as she squirts, wetting the sheets.

“fuck!” sarah shouts. you're glad that the walls in tanneyhill are mostly soundproof.

“holy shit that was hot.” you giggle. you go to move from hovering over her body, but sarahs hands are rough on your hips as her mouth delves back in, wasting no time teasing as she flicks her tongue over your clit until your own high bursts, your cunt pressing into her mouth, wetting her face.

you flop to the side with a loud sigh, both equally satiated. 

sarah moves to press a sweet kiss to your lips. “thanks for trying that with me.”

“of course.” you smile, kissing her again, mouth devouring hers.

“im so tired now though.” she giggles before letting out a yawn.

“sleep, it's okay.” you coo out. you both roll away slightly from each other, adjusting to get comfortable on the bed and pillows as sarah is quickly snoring. you keep yourself awake, occasionally glancing over until you're sure she's been asleep long enough to not easily wake.

you slide out of the bed, keeping your movements as quietly as you possibly can as you sneak into the bathroom, wetting a washcloth and quickly cleaning yourself off so you don't already smell like sex.

you slip nothing but a robe on before tiptoeing out of sarahs room. you'd be absolutely fucked if ward or rose found you, but you rely on the hope that it's late enough for them not to be roaming the hallways.

you don't knock as you arrive at rafes room, opening the door and slipping in before locking it behind you.

“jesus, i thought you'd never come.” rafe stands quickly, cupping your cheeks as he kisses you, hot and wet as your hands press against his abs, running up and down against his muscles.

“sorry, sarah took forever to fall asleep.” you whisper against his lips. your eyebrows rise when he reaches down, lifting you easily to move you towards the bed.

you're glad rafe is just in his underwear, not wanting to wait before you get his cock inside of you, especially after seeing how much sarah liked the dildo.

you feel dirty sleeping with your best friends brother right after fooling around with her, but the thoughts quickly dissipate as rafe tugs on the belt of the robe, parting the two sides to reveal your completely nude body.

“fuck, baby. you're trying to kill me with those perfect tits.” rafe bends to drop his mouth around your nipple, toying with them in a way that's so different to sarah. she focuses on your pleasure, what feels good to you, while rafes movements are purely for him, doing what he wishes to without too much consideration for you, especially as his teeth sink into the plumpness of your breast.

you loop your legs around his hips, pulling him in until your crotches bump together. you grind your hips up and down, wetting his underwear as your clit brushes over the soft fabric.

“shit.” rafe groans, reaching down to push his underwear down his thighs.

you keep grinding, his bare cock now slipping through your folds, getting it significantly lubricated. rafes cock catches on your entrance just as his tongue flicks over your nipple. your back arches off the bed with a loud moan as he pushes in halfway, taking your virginity in one smooth motion.

“w-wait!” you squeal out.

rafe looks up, a worried look on his face as he pulls his cock out of you. “what's wrong?”

“condom!” you say. “im not on anything.”

rafe frowns. “we gotta get you on birth control so i can cum inside of you.”

“you wanna keep fucking me?” you ask with a smile as he moves to his nightstand, grabbing out a condom and tearing open the foil.

“of course.” rafe looks at you like it's obvious as he rolls the rubber down over his cock. “i swear im gonna take you out on dates and shit too.”

“rafey you've gone soft.” you giggle as he leans over the bed again, cock lined up with your pussy again. you clench around nothing, waiting to have him back inside.

“had a crush on you forever.” he says, pressing a kiss against your lips. “just couldn't do anything with sarah always around.”

you hum, shifting your hips from side to side. you don't want to talk about your best friend, you want rafe to fuck you, even if your pussy is already sensitive from your earlier orgasm with sarah.

“tell me if it hurts or im going too fast.” rafe gives you one last sweet kiss before his entire demeanor changes. he pushes his cock into you with a grunt, giving you only the smallest moment to adjust before he begins to move.

his cock pushes in and out, in and out, his balls slapping against you with every movement. you're forced to do nothing but lay back and moan, trying to keep yourself quiet as he pummels you.

rafe straightens up, pulling your hips to the edge of the bed as he stands, using as much force as he can to fuck into you, knowing he probably should go gentler for your first time, but he can't help himself.

“oh my god, rafe!” you squirm, hands seeking to grip onto something until you settle for one hand over his, the one securely holding your waist, while your other hand fists in his sheets.

rafe pushes his thumb against your clit, determined to make you cum quickly for the first time you're together, not knowing that you're already sensitive from cumming earlier in the day.

“p-please.” you whine out. you're not even sure what you're pleading for as tears well in your eyes from the pure pleasure of how hard and good rafe is fucking you.

“you close baby?” he coos out, a smirk gracing his features, seeing just how fucked out and lost in his cock you are.

“yeah.” you nod rapidly. “real close.”

rafe somehow manages to move faster, cock pushing into you at a rapid pace while his thumb flicks aggressively over your clit until your high breaks, back arching off the bed as your cunt pulses around rafes cock, triggering his own orgasm as he buries himself to the hilt, cumming deep inside of you, wishing there wasn't the barrier of the condom so he could truly flood you.

rafe collapses forward against you, both breathing heavily. he pulls out carefully but doesn't move enough to discard his condom yet, letting his cock soften against your lower stomach.

“that was really good.” you admit shyly.

rafe smiles gently then kisses you, hands gently petting your sides, before moving down to your thighs, rubbing and making sure you're relaxed.

“i have to get back to sarah.” you say with a pout.

“shit, you're right.” rafe frowns, standing straight and pulling the condom off, tossing it in the trash before readjusting his underwear to cover himself.

“come here.” you reach your arms out, giving rafe another kiss before you do up your robe and stand with slightly wobbly legs.

“y/n.” rafe says, cupping your cheek before you head towards the door. “im serious about taking you out on a date.”

“i know.” you giggle softly, getting on your tiptoes to give him a final goodnight kiss before slipping away, thankful sarah is still fast asleep when you make it back inside her room.

--

“i lost it.” sarah whispers to you, a genuine smile on her face.

“oh my god!” you whisper-scream, noting the way several of the older people scattered around turn to look at you.

“with topper?” you question, tugging sarah away from the crowd.

“no.” she admits shyly. “with uh… with someone else.”

“girl, who?” you ask, finding a random empty room in the country club and stepping inside.

“i can't say-” 

“holy shit, is it john b?” your eyes widen and judging by sarahs reaction, you figured out the right person.

you knew about john b staying at tanneyhill, it's why you've been avoiding it lately and not seeing sarah as much. you didn't mind john b, but prefered to keep your distance, especially since ward was only looking after him because he had charges brought against him that ward was able to help out with.

“isn't he dangerous?”

“no.” she shakes her head quickly, a blush ghosting over her face as she smiles. “he's… the sweetest guy. and so funny.”

“but didn't he…” you trail off.

“oh, no.” she shakes her head rapidly again. “he's innocent. he was falsely accused, that's why dad took him in.”

“okay…” you shrug. “as long as you're happy girl, ill support you.”

“this is why you're my best friend.” sarah says, wrapping her arms around your shoulders, pulling you in for a tight hug. “thanks for helping me with everything. i felt so confident when we finally did it.”

“yeah, im gonna need details.” you giggle. you should tell sarah that you lost it to, but the excitement sparking in her eye makes you hesitate.

--

you frown as you walk into tanneyhill, looking around for sarah before you bump into rafe, literally, as you round a corner not hearing is footsteps and crash straight into him.

“shit.” rafe curses, hands coming to your shoulders, looking you up and down. “you okay?”

“mhm.” you nod. “i just don't know where sarah is. i texted her and she didn't respond and she's not here.”

“she's probably with that pogue.” rafe frowns, shaking his head slightly from side to side. “but now that you're here…” 

you can't help the smile that spreads over your cheeks. “what about that date you promised me on?” you question. you've slept with rafe several times since that first night, but whenever you made plans to go out, things got interrupted, either by ward or sarah.

“ill take you wherever you want to go, princess.” rafe slings his arm around your shoulder, leading you out towards the door. you didn't prepare for a date, but it's not like rafe hasn't seen practically every dress in your closet.

“how about just to dinner?” you loop your arm around his back, resting your hand on his waist. “i want you.”

rafe throws his head back in a laugh. “someone is needy.”

ever since you stopped also getting off with sarah since she got serious with john b, you've relied solely on rafe to fulfill your urges. 

it feels more natural than being with sarah, but at the same time more serious. you're thinking something could genuinely come out of your time with rafe, whereas you know sarah was only there for experimenting, for fun.

dinner goes by smoother than you could have imagined, rafe on his best behavior to impress you, taking extra care in doing every gentlemanly thing possible, whether it's opening doors for you or pulling out your chair, even going as far as to tell the waiter your order, already knowing your preferences and that you don't like talking to strangers.

by the time you get back to tanneyhill, you're giggly and anxious to get alone with rafe. what you don't expect is to see sarah standing there in the hallway, eyes wide as she sees the way rafe has you tucked against him.

“sarah, let me explain.” you say, but she turns away and runs to her room before you can get another word out.

“baby, just let her go-” rafe says, but you're already chasing after her.

“ill be back, promise!” you call as you dash up the stairs, managing to make it into sarahs room before she locks the door.

“seriously?” she shouts. “of all people, you sleep with my brother?”

“sarah…” you say cautiously, seeing how upset she is, how fast her chest is heaving up and down. “we just had our first date. it just… came out of nowhere. i really like him though. its not that different than you and john b.”

“dont bring him up right now.” she hisses out. “this is different! you were messing around with me and my brother?”

“no!” you lie. you know its wrong, but theres no way sarah would ever find out you were sleeping with both of them, and you want to preserve her feelings as much as you can. “this was our first date tonight. we haven’t done anything, but sarah-” you make sure shes looking at you, making eye contact. “we will. and you have to be okay with that, just like i was okay with you getting with john b.”

sarah lets out a deep sighs before nodding. “im sorry. you’re right. i just… i just liked having both of you. i know we were just experimenting, but it felt so good to be close to you like that.”

you move forward, wrapping your arms around her shoulders in a tight hug. “you’re always gonna have me, sarah. that’s what best friends are for.”

“i love you.” she says honestly. “youre a great friend, i was just… shocked.”

“its okay.” you say honestly. “hes your brother, we fooled around, youre allowed to be weirded out.”

“why don’t you take a few days? ill leave you be and you can just… adjust.” you know this won’t be the end of your friendship, youre too close, gone through too much.

“thank you.” sarah squeezes you back. “ill talk to you soon.”

“take your time.” you say, hesitating slightly before pressing a kiss against her lips. she may be with a guy now, and you may be with rafe, but that’ll never change what you’ve done. 

you turn to leave, to allow sarah to process her emotions in peace when she calls out to you. “y/n?” 

you turn back around to look, a soft smile on your face that quickly turns into a laugh as she says “can you and rafe just not be too loud? i dont need to hear you banging.”

--

“rafe?” you whisper, stepping into his room to see him sitting on the edge of the bed, head hung low. “hey, rafe.”

“please, just go.” rafe sighs, looking up at you. thats when you see the tears in his eyes, not yet running down his cheeks, but gathering there like dew drops on grass.

“its okay.” he waves his hand. “you’re leaving me, i get it. leaving for her just like everyone else does.”

“what?” you question, shutting the door behind you and locking it.

“im not leaving you. i came back because sarah is fine. im not gonna give up what we have.” you cross quickly to him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and pulling him forward, allowing his face to press into your stomach.

rafe wraps his arms around your thighs, letting out a sigh of relief as he presses a kiss against your tummy, over the sweatshirt that you’re wearing that's actually his, given to you after the sun and temperature dropped.

“come here, please.” rafe tugs at your hand as you move to straddle him, sitting on his lap as rafes mouth finds yours, lips moving over yours softly, allowing you to relax into the sweet kiss and into his body, slumping against his chest.

“i want you.” you whisper against his lips. “i want you bare. no condom.”

“baby, your birth control doesn’t start yet-”

“i dont care. ill take a plan b in the morning. i want you inside me, please rafey.” 

rafe nods quickly, he’s certainly not going to argue when he’s been waiting so long to fill you up.

“whatever you want, baby.” he’s determined in that moment to give you absolutely everything you ask for, from this point on.

rafe moves, easily picking you up to lay you on your back on the bed. his mouth captures yours and doesn’t leave it as his hands move over your body, cupping your breasts, pressing against your waist, and then disappearing under your clothes.

he only breaks the kiss to allow your sweatshirt and shirt to be removed, pulling it over your head and tossing it away. as much as rafe longs to wrap his lips around your nipple, he keeps his mouth on yours and settles for his fingers and hands to toy with your chest.

rafe works his pants off and then yours, pressing his body down as your thighs spread, wrapping your legs around his waist as he grinds into you.

“i-i need you so bad baby.” rafe hates to admit that his cock is painfully hard, straining out to have you.

“you have me.” you whisper against his lips, tugging your underwear to the side as you pull his cock out. you don’t even care to undress any further, rubbing his cock through your folds before letting go when you line him up with your entrance. 

rafe pushes in slowly, carefully, like hes giving you a chance to change your mind. when you just let out a moan, he begins to speed up. despite his thrusts being fast and hard, theres a gentleness to it, an air of romance as he takes you.

his hands travel all over your body, like hes trying to memorize every inch of you with his palms. 

you’re thankful for rafes lips against yours, swallowing your moans as you think of sarah sitting in her room, processing her best friend sleeping with her brother. the best friend that she had her first sexual experience with, now on the verge of cumming thanks to rafes cock.

“close. are you sure you want me inside?” rafe asks. you nod quickly. “please, want you to fill me up.”

“you got it baby.” rafe grunts as he moves. you feel his cock swell inside of you and your eyes widen, not used to the feeling as his cum begins to pump into you, filling you to the brim as rafe moans above you.

“you okay?” rafe asks, his chest heaving, high still working through his body, but wanting to reassure you.

“yeah.” you lean up to kiss him. “so good.”

--

“what did you tell him?” sarah asks. 

rafe walks in with a smile on his face, but it quickly drops when john b steps through the other entrance.

“that we were going on a double date, i didn’t say with who.” you giggle. “what did you tell john b?”

“just to meet me here for dinner.” sarah shrugs. your boyfriend's don't have to get along, but they at least need to be decent enough to each other to not care when you and sarah hang out.

“oh shit.” you both stand quickly from your booths, making your way over to your respected partners.

“baby-” you warn him.

“fuck no.” he crosses his arms. “im not doing on a double date with my sister and that prick.”

“yes you are. because im asking you very nicely and ill give you head in the car on the way home.” you place your hands on his chest, a pleading look in your eye as your bottom lip sticks out.

“fine.” rafe grunts out. “but im not gonna pretend to be nice to him.”

the restaurant thankfully doesn't explode into a fight, but rafe and john b barely mutter a single word, which is fine by you and sarah as you spend the entire time gossiping before parting ways. you leave with rafe while she gets into the twinkie.

“thanks for being such a good boyfriend.” you say, bending over the center console to give rafe a kiss on the cheek. “now do you want me to suck you off in the parking lot, or while you drive us home?”

“while i drive so i can fuck you as soon as we're back.” rafe grunts out.

rafe cums twice down your throat in the drive back home, but he's still not satisfied as he drags you up to his room, not even allowing you to do anything other than give rose a quick wave in form of a greeting before rushing up the stairs.

“you're lucky i love you, i wanted to punch that fucking pogue in the face.” rafe grunts out as he starts tearing away your clothing. he notices you standing completely still and stops, wondering if he pushed things too far.

“you just said you love me.” 

rafe blinks, realizing that the words did slip. “of course i love you.”

you let out a loud whine before wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “you love me! my rafey baby has gone so soft, omg!”

“okay, you're being ridiculous and im trying to fuck you.” rafe rolls his eyes dramatically as you coo and pinch at his cheeks until he swats your hands away.

you allow rafe to push you back onto the bed as you stare up at him with a smile on your face. “hey.” you tap his cheek, slightly blushed red from embarrassment of letting the words slip. “i love you too.”

taglist: @drewstarkeyslut @forstarkey @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @sourkittie @rafeyslove @rafeinterlude @bellbottombaby @deeaardiary @rubixgsworld @wearemadeofstardust0 @leighbronk @starkeysheart @pradabambie @tobesolovelysstuff @akirkland @rafestar @brioffthegrid @juniebugg @magicalyoura @cokepewpsii @mysticallystilinski @luvdella @aerangi @vogueprincess @auryyz @raysmayhem-72 @thestarlithideout @marvelfanfics1recs @rafesgiirl @ditzyzombiesblog @chiaraanatra @tobiaslut @drewsephrry @1aarii1 @edszn @theoraekenslover

[thewickedjazzy]

Bonus Level: Blood lust and Terror for Kinktober.

vampire!chuuya & ghost face!nikolai x afab!reader. -two drabbles-

ᡣ𐭩warnings: nsfw mdni, smut, blood kink, biting, marking up, possessive! chuuya, unhinged vamp! chuuya, bloody sex, slight knife play, shower sex, ghost face! nikolai, teasing, cum mentioned, unprotected sex, the list goes on and on ofc.

ᡣ𐭩word count:2.5k

ᡣ𐭩a/n: i know i'm late, sorry pookies, proofreading took longer than expected and I still think that I didn’t do it thoroughly, anyways! this bonus fic is for @chuuminn —chuuya's drabble & @violetfruity —nikolai's.

ᡣ𐭩-check Kink Coin to unlock bonus fics´-

1. [vampire! chuuya: bloodlust]:-

“you sure about this?”

chuuya stands at the edge of the bed, his chest heaving as he looks down at you, sprawled out so perfectly in the lavender lingerie that he adores. the soft fabric clings to your skin, drawing his eyes to every curve, every inch of you that’s his. he has never marked you with his fangs before, always so gentle and carefull not to press hard enough to draw blood but dazai’s words from earlier still echo in his mind, making his nerves boil with possessiveness.

you nod slowly, biting your lower lip as he throws his head back and takes a deep breath. he slips off his gloves, unbuttons his dress shirt and disregards the rest of his clothes, then crawls onto the bed, his knees sinking into the mattress as he leans over you, his hot breath grazing your neck so perfectly, anticipation pooling in your stomach. “i’ll show that asshole who ya belong to... i’ll mark every inch of you.”

your breath catches in your throat as his lips meet your skin, soft at first, teasing even, as he drags them from your neck down to your collarbone. his hand trails slowly over your side, fingers tracing the delicate lace that barely covers you, and you shudder beneath him, sweet whimpers slipping from your glossy lips.

“more..chuu-” you breathe, voice trembling as your fingers tangle in his fiery curls, tugging gently. he sucks gently at your skin, not biting—not yet. his mouth is warm, tongue flicking out to taste you as he moves lower, leaving a trail of wet heat across your chest. your body arches instinctively into his touch.

a low growl rumbles in his chest, vibrating against you as he pulls back just enough to admire the bruise forming on your skin. “I want him to see this,” he murmurs, “i want that bastard to know that yer' mine.”

his hands slide lower, tracing the lines of your body, you let out a breathless moan as his thumb brushes over the sensitive skin of your inner thighs.

chuuya's red eyes glow— jealousy simmering just beneath the surface—as they lock onto yours for a moment longer before his fingers slip beneath the lace of your panties, pulling it aside with a sharp tug. the cool air hits your bare skin for a split second before he pushes his deliciously girthy cock into you with a breathless moan, lips trembles slightly as his head lolls back.

the stretch has you gasping, your nails digging into his shoulders as you struggle to catch your breath. he doesn’t ease into it, doesn’t give you the slow build you’re used to—no, this time it’s different. his hips snap forward with a force that makes your body shake beneath him, a soft cry falling from your lips.

for a vampire, you’re aware that he can go fast, but not this fast. it’s as if something has taken over him— obviously drunk by dazai’s taunt, and the need to prove something, to leave no doubt that you’re his. his fingers dig into your waist, holding you in place as he pounds into you. the sound of skin meeting skin fills the room, each thrust stealing the breath from your lungs.

“chuu—mngh.. slow down” you gasp, your voice breaking as your head falls back, exposing your neck to him. his gaze flickers to it, and for a moment, pace slowing down for a bit as his thrusts become more controlled, more intentional. he leans over you, breath brushing against your throat as he brushes his pretty lips across your skin.

“ready, doll?” his voice is almost raspy, and you can feel the sharp points of his fangs just barely grazing your neck.

“yes—please mmph” you whimper

he responds with a groan, his grip on your waist tightening, and with one final snap of his hips, he sinks his fangs into your flesh. the sharp sting makes your body jolt beneath him, a gasp caught in your throat as the heat from the bite spreads through you like wildfire. It's overwhelming—the sensation of him buried deep inside you while his fangs pierce your skin, claiming you in every way possible.

your nails rake down his back, your body arching into his as a rush of euphoria crashes over you. he growls against your neck, his fangs sinking deeper as he drinks from you, the pain and pleasure blur together, your senses completely consumed by him—his scent, his taste, the feel of him everywhere.

his pace slows, hips rolling languidly against you as he draws back, his lips brushing over the fresh bite mark now blooming on your neck, licking over it, to sooth the sting with his hot tongue, he pulls back to meet your gaze.

“mmph—there...” he murmurs, his voice rough, breathless. “only i get to see you like this... only I get to make you feel like this.”

chuuya lifts his fingers to your neck. and you feel the slick warmth of blood from the bite as he carefully smears it across your skin. he watches you intently, a smirk tugging at his lips, as he drags his fingers downwards, leaving a vivid crimson trail that leads to your stomach. and with slow precision, he begins to inscribe his name on your skin, branding you in a way no one could deny.

you catch a satisfied gleam in his eyes as he admires his handiwork, the sight of his name etched onto your skin, his gaze zeroes in on the bulge forming beneath the very letters he just traced on your stomach, a visceral reminder of how completely he’s claimed you. "f-fuck.. ahh, look at that," he pants, "every part of you belongs to me."

he leans over you again, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, the metallic taste of your blood mingles with his, creating a tantalising flavour that sends your senses into overdrive, making your brain momentarily short-circuit.

pulling back just enough to catch his breath while still pounding into you, “i fuckin’ love how you taste, doll~” he murmurs before grabbing your hips to bounce into you harder, “ffuck..ngh~ you’re worse than nicotine—s’pretty.”

2.[ghost face! nikolai: terror]:-

“ready or not, here I come, dove.” his voice echoes from the hallway.

you can hear the rustling outside, the faint sound of leaves brushing against each other, and your heart races inside your ribcage. 'it’s just a game, its just a game' you remind yourself, a thrilling night of hide and seek with nikolai. but tonight, the stakes are higher than ever.

you can hear him moving around the house, the light clatter of a knife against the wooden table as he pretends to search for you. the thrill of it all makes your pulse quicken.

you dart into the nearest room, quickly slipping into the bathroom and locking the door behind you. breathing heavily, you slide into the bathtub, pulling the shower curtain closed to shield yourself from view. you close your eyes, straining to hear any sign of him.

footsteps thud against the floor, echoing through the house. you can hear him getting closer, the way he purposefully scrapes the knife against objects, creating a haunting soundtrack to your little game. a giggle escapes your lips—this was all so exhilarating.

just as you think you might win, a chilling sound reaches your ears: the window creaking open. your breath catches in your throat. no, he wouldn’t dare. you peek through the thin fabric of the curtain, your heart pounding as you watch him slide effortlessly through the window, his ghost face mask obscuring his features but doing nothing to hide the playful glint in his eyes.

he lands silently on the porcelain floor, the knife held loosely in one hand as he scans the room. “oh sweet dove...where could you be?” he taunts, pulling back the curtains with a dramatic flair, revealing the empty bathtub. “hhmm, not here...”

but you can’t hold back a gasp of surprise, your heart racing as he turns, eyes narrowing in on you. “ah, there you are, my pretty dove,” he grins, a wicked smile spreading across his face as he strides towards the bathtub. “found you just in time.”

panic and excitement surge through you as he grips the edge of the bathtub, leaning in closer. “you know what that means, hmm?” he purrs, the knife now resting against your thigh, its cold steel sending tingles across your skin. “you’re mine now.”

in a swift motion, he puts the knife down on the counter. then, with a playful smirk, he removes his mask, revealing his handsome face—chiseled features framed by white tousled hair and piercing eyes that promises nothing but a good time.

he strips off his clothes first before his slender hands work deftly to undress you completely, trailing soft caresses along your skin as he strips away your clothes piece by piece, revealing your bare body to his hungry gaze.

he turns the shower on, the water spilling forth in a cascade of warmth, creating a sultry mist that envelops you both. he adjusts the temperature, ensuring it’s just right, then steps back to appreciate the sight of you standing there, water trickling down your body like liquid silk.

nikolai always takes his time to admire you, captivated by the way the water makes your bare skin glow under the soft moonlight streaming through the window. each droplet glistens like a jewel, accentuating your curves and casting a radiant sheen across your body. he can’t help but notice how your hair falls delicately over your shoulders, a few wet strands framing your pretty face, enhancing your beauty in a way that leaves him utterly breathless—you’re so beautiful, so undeniably exquisite.

“you look absolutely divine, my dove,” with that, he captures your lips in a heated kiss. the kind that makes your head spin. the thrill of the game shifts gears into something much hotter as he leans in closer, whispering, “time for your punishment—if you can handle it.”

you smirk, breathless against his lips. “punishment? is that what we’re calling this now?” you tease, raising an eyebrow.

“only for the prettiest ones,” he replies with a cocky grin, his hands roaming your sides, tracing circles into the soft surface of your skin as the water cascades over the two of you.

with a sudden surge of strength, he lifts you effortlessly, and you gasp as he hoists you up, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. the world around you blurs, everything feels incredible—the warm water, the scent filling the air, your body fitting perfectly in his grasp as he squeezes your plushy ass. he presses you against the cool tiles of the shower wall, the contrasting sensations send a delicious tingle that dances across your skin.

he peaks over shoulder, staring down to your breasts. he licks his lips before leaning in to kiss along the swell of your breast. a pleased whimper echoes between your pink lips, and you shudder when he sucks hard at the sensitive skin.

he pulls back, resting his hard cock against your front, dragging it slowly down between your slick folds, teasing you until your breath breaks into shaky gasps.

his voice hums with pleasure, each whimper like a melody, as your skin feels so warm and impossibly smooth beneath him. the wetness coating your folds, making his precum glisten at the tip before the water washes it away.

“kyola—mmph please,” you whine.

but he doesn't listen only teases you further, brushing against your entrance but never quite pushing in, the need almost unbearable as he keeps you right on the brink. his lips curve into a sly grin against your skin as you plead.

“goddammit! kyola..fuck me please,” you plead, your voice breaking as you try to grind against him.

“so eager?” he murmurs, his breath like hot feathers brushing against your skin as he finally presses the tip of his cock against your entrance, but he still holds back, making you wait just a little longer for a bit.

he finally pushes in, keeping a slow, agonizing pace. the sensation rips through you, and a broken gasp escapes your throat. your walls clench around him, immediately welcoming him deeper as your head falls back, mouth open in a silent plea. the stretch is overwhelming, every inch of him filling you completely until you can't hold it back anymore.

"kyo—aagh~" his name tears from your lips, louder than you meant. he buries himself inside you and his grip tightens on your hips, steadying you as his cock sinks deep, he leans in to murmur filthy praises in your ear.

"there it is," he breathes,"that’s what i wanted to hear—ah yes keep clenching around me like this..hmm" he doesn't wait, pulling back only to thrust in again, harder this time, making your body arch against him.

each push driving you closer to the edge, your voice breaking as you scream his name again, this time louder—you can feel him everywhere, the slick heat between your legs driving him over the edge as he grunts against your neck, his control slipping. "ffuck—nnghh..you're perfect," he growls, picking up the pace as your moans grow louder, each sound only spurring him on.

you clung to him desperately, each upward thrust of his hips sending you bouncing on his thick cock. your nails dig down his back, leaving deep marks that he knew would form jagged red lines across his pale skin by morning.

you cry out as he keeps his relentless, punishing rhythm, your body shaking as you finally reach your release, tears rolling down your cheeks. he presses tender kisses against your damp skin, whimpering your name as he follows right after, his cock continues sliding in and out slowly, riding out the sweet waves of his own release.

he gently sets you down, wrapping his arms around you as your legs tremble beneath you. his cum mixed with yours slowly drips down between your thighs.

“we should definitely play these kinds of games again.” you chuckle.

TAGS: @a-smol-bean @amanoava @falloutjuli @embersweapons @warriordemigosworld @cathias @alyszuha @v15aexe @vasarii @pe4rl-diver @sukidenks @dazaifavbandage @fyodorsprettynun @ace-0fspades69 @irasamu @trippyserval @alyszuha @bittysuguro @writingandmusing