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andypantsx3 · 3 months ago

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LOADS OF FUN : TODOROKI x READER

SUMMARY: After moving into your first apartment together, Shouto seems more amorous than ever. You're not sure why—but when he comes home to you doing a load of laundry, more than your clothes are about to get tumbled. TAGS/WARNINGS: nsft (18+ only, minors please dni!), pro hero au, gn + afab reader, established relationship, fluff, emotional sex, table sex, cunnilingus, the shouto domesticity kink agenda goes absolutely crazy in this one lol (2.8k) NOTES: This piece is part of my pretty boy summer Shouto x Reader collab! Please go check out the other incredible fics people have written over the course of the summer; you will absolutely die over how good they are. This fic was also made possible through donations to the Fics for Gaza project. I cannot thank everyone who donated to one of the charities enough, as well as those who organized, reblogged, discussed, and got the word out. Lastly, I am so grateful for your immeasurable patience with me as I take time between fics to manage my workload, I hope I'm not too out of practice here lol. In summary: thank you, thank you, a million times thank you.

The sound of the door opening was hidden in the thump and glug of the washing machine starting its spin cycle.

Halfway across the house, you were oblivious—you had the clean laundry spread out on the kitchen table, hunting through the pile trying to match one of Shouto’s socks to another that seemed to have vanished into that mysterious void which opens somewhere between the laundry basket and the dryer. One of his shirts was half-folded over your shoulder, abandoned in favor of the sock search.

The rest of your things were still mostly tangled together on the table, warm and fresh and cottony, the few shirts you’d already folded sagging off the kitchen chairs.

It still gave you a little thrill—even several weeks after you’d moved in together—to see Shouto’s things twined up with yours—his enormous socks dwarfing yours, your sweaters clinging to the occasional piece of his hero suit that hadn’t seen enough action to need his agency’s industrial cleaners.

It all added to your sense of satisfaction with your afternoon—a frosty weekend day you’d spent cozy indoors, moving slowly and leisurely through some chores. A pot of soup simmered on the stove, and your favorite playlist worked itself through in lazy loops. Shouto was due off his rotation soon, and you hummed contentedly to yourself, entertaining pleased little fantasies of curling up with him for the rest of the weekend.

Which of course is when something moved in the corner of your eye. Your hum sawed up into a strangled screech, and you whipped around, flailing. Shouto’s sock launched itself full force at the intruder before you even registered you’d thrown it. In your shock, your leg caught against the table and you went stumbling—

—right into a pair of warm hands that caught you about the waist.

Your hands were on the man’s shoulders to push him off before you realized you recognized the touch—and that you’d caught sight of a distinct mop of scarlet and white hair as you’d whipped around.

“Shouto! Again?” you scolded reflexively, even as your heartbeat stuttered out of its wild kick into high gear. You tipped your head back to stare your boyfriend in the face, shoulders slumping in relief, letting him take some of your weight.

Shouto peered down at you, that tiny scrunch between his brows that indicated concern. “Are you alright, love?”

Your heartbeat pounded thunderously in your chest. “I’m—fine. But my god we need to get you a bell. I almost peed.”

Shouto’s mouth shifted minutely into something that might not have registered in anyone else’s face but was most definitely a regretful downturn on his. He looked even more unfairly beautiful than when he’d left you this morning—a little flushed and windswept from the unseasonable cold, that full mouth pink and pretty.

Your mind flicked momentarily off and back on like a circuit breaker, the way it always did when you had to process Shouto.

You’d understood he was once-in-a-generation levels of beautiful before you’d even met him, his face staring up at you from the glossy pages of various tabloids over the years. But in person, even after years of knowing him and several more dating him, Shouto’s appearance still managed to cross all the wires in a person’s brain. His features were an incomprehensible blend of aloof and elegant, sensual and warm—like a cold masterpiece of a marble sculpture had suddenly found himself with a consciousness and human desires and miles of warm skin.

“I did not mean to startle you,” he said, his voice low and warm. He sounded sincerely regretful.

You knew he hadn’t meant to—you’d long suspected his silent tread was habitually ingrained in him from years of hero work. And, in your most private and ungenerous thoughts, you suspected from years of making himself unobtrusive in his father’s home. The thought sat sour in your mouth, like a slice of pickled lemon.

You resisted making an equally sour face, shoving the thought away to make space for the reflexive flush of pleasure seeing Shouto always brought you.

“Welcome home, Sho,” you said instead, smiling up at him. Shouto’s hands moved on your waist, sliding gently beneath the hem of your tee-shirt to rest on the skin there.

He was still in his hero uniform, and as usual you felt a little goofy in comparison, in nothing but a tee and a well-loved pair of fraying sweatpants, which were this afternoon decorated with little flecks of soup from a brush with the pot.

But Shouto’s eyes were warm where they rested on you, and that perfect mouth crept back into a contented set. His long fingers smoothed over your skin as he watched you, thumb brushing your hip. He did not look like he found you at all goofy.

In fact, as his eyes dropped down to your ankles, slowly dragging back up to your face, you rather thought he looked a little appreciative. He even took a rather ungentlemanly step back, still holding you, to better take in the whole picture. His eyes wandered over the swell of your hip, the lines of the shirt against your chest, before darting to his own shirt, still folded over your shoulder.

His fingers flexed tellingly on your waist, and those heterochromatic eyes were both a little bit darker as they flicked back to yours.

His obvious regard made you feel warm. You shifted on your feet, shuffling.

“I was just—doing laundry,” you said for something to say, your mouth feeling kind of dry. Something about him always made you feel sort of shy and light-headed, even after all this time together. “And I made soup. I was thinking we could eat on the couch and watch one of those horrendous old All Might films?”

Shouto’s eyes darted to the stove, then beside you to the pile of your laundry, lingering for a long minute. His long lashes dipped, almost fluttering as his gaze traced over the tangle of your things together. His eyes flicked back to you. He was still for just a moment, watching you assessingly.

And then all of a sudden the world spun in front of your eyes. The hands at your waist lifted you clean off your feet, and you let out a startled “oof!” as you found yourself laid out in the pile of laundry on the table, sheets and sweaters bunching beneath you.

Shouto moved over you, stepping between your spread thighs, right at the edge of the table.

“You have no idea,” he intoned in a deep, delicious tone that went right down your spine, “what it is to come home to you like this.”

You wondered at that, feeling a strange combination of confusion and flattery, when Shouto’s mouth descended onto yours. His mouth was soft and sweet and insistent and absolutely perfect. The table groaned as he laid some of his weight out over you, pinning you into the laundry as he kissed you.

Your fingers clutched at him immediately, curling in his silky-soft hair, cupping his face to yours. One of Shouto’s own hands shifted to your thigh, holding you against him as he pressed himself harder into you.

You heard yourself making little gasps of appreciation as Shouto’s mouth moved down to your neck, laving hot kisses down your throat. You reveled in the feeling of him over you, broad and strong, his shoulders blocking the glow of the overhead light, casting shadows over you.

He’d been a lot like this lately, ever since you’d moved in together. He’d been adequately amorous before, of course, and blessed with a pro hero’s strength and unflagging stamina. But a few weeks after you’d moved in together you’d actually decided you needed to reactivate your gym membership given the amount of incredibly athletic sex you were suddenly having over almost every surface in the house.

One of the only spots yet to be touched was the table though, which Shouto seemed determined to rectify at this very moment.

He pulled back from you, his mouth flush from your kisses, looking a little entranced as he stepped out from between your thighs. You made a little noise at the loss of weight and heat over you, but Shouto caught the fabric of your sweatpants, gently but determinedly tugging them off of you. Your underwear was tossed right over one broad shoulder as Shouto went to his knees, and then his mouth was right back on you.

A wave of wild heat licked up your stomach at the noise of appreciation he made before sealing his mouth over you, strong fingers clutching your thighs to keep them apart.

“Oh my god!” you said, pleasure zinging right up your spine with the first lave of his tongue over you. “Shouto!”

Shouto let out a deep, pleased hum, two long fingers sinking into you embarrassingly easily as he worked your clit with his mouth. Your back arched and you could feel your clothing shift with you, Shouto’s shirt balling up under your shoulder blade, still half-draped over your shoulder.

“Oh, oh!” you heard yourself saying as your fingers twisted in the clothing, shuddering with every lick and suck of Shouto’s perfect, amazing, talented mouth.

He worked you with the expertise of long, dedicated practice—everything about him calculated to drive you insane. One moment he was excruciatingly soft, mouth slack and the touch of his tongue as fleeting and light as the brush of a butterfly’s wing. Then the next he was sucking relentlessly, teasing firmly with the tip of his tongue as his fingers played with you.

Your first climax hit you mortifyingly quickly, and Shouto seemed to know it before you did. His grip tightened on you, holding you down as you bucked against his mouth. Shouto looked more than a little smug as he got to his feet again, unbelting himself and laying back out over you.

He kissed you some more, the taste of yourself always a sort of shock to your system. But Shouto never seemed to mind, and if anything only seemed hungrier for you, mouth pulling at yours like he meant to devour you.

You felt the touch of his hand between your thighs as he lined himself up, then sank into you easily, groaning appreciatively like he’d just sunk into a hot bath. He bit carefully at your neck, one large hand pressing your stomach down to keep you pinned against the edge of the table where he wanted you.

“I always want to come home to you like this,” he intoned into the skin of your neck, his mouth sucking dizzying patterns into your skin. “Always.”

You could barely think past the slide of him inside you, thick and full and blissfully exquisite. He really was the most perfect man on earth, and he always felt like it too.

You barely managed to blink your eyes open to watch him, trying to catch his meaning in his face. Shouto watched you back, those blue and grey pinned on you like he couldn’t bear to look away from you as he moved inside you.

“You—” you panted out, trying to cling to the thoughts threatening to wiggle out of your grip. “What do you—? Of course you’ll always come home to me.”

Shouto bucked into you harder, the slap of his hip against the bottom of your thigh echoing loudly over the burble of soup on the stove. His eyelashes fluttered, mouth softening, and a realization struck you almost dizzy.

Oh, he really liked that.

You suppressed a wave of giddiness, charmed and helplessly pleased that he seemed to like the idea so much. Was that why he’d been so especially ardent this past month? Was it really because you’d moved in together?

Shouto’s arm hooked under one of your legs, drawing it up firmly over his shoulder so he could press even further inside of you. He looked so good like that that you nearly lost the thread of your thoughts, especially when his next thrust felt like that. Your eyes nearly rolled back in your head.

“Ah!” escaped you. “Fuck, Shouto. Like that, please!”

Shouto’s thumb pressed down on your still-sensitive clit and he had to dig the fingers of his other hand into the flesh of your leg to keep you from bucking him right out of you with the way you squirmed. Sweet fucking gods he was unreal.

Shouto fucked you harder, the sound of your skin slapping together obscene in the quiet of the kitchen.

You tried again, struggling to watch his reaction with the way you wanted to throw your head back and babble nonsense instead.

“You’ll always come home to me,” you repeated, gratified when Shouto’s grip on you tightened, a soft sound escaping him. “You want me right here for you?”

“Ah—yes, love,” Shouto panted, staring down at you again. He looked like he knew what you were doing but didn’t care. “Yes,” he hissed.

“Just like this?” you prompted, trying not to slur the edges of your speech when he gave another particularly mind-bending thrust of his hips. His chest rose and fell heavily and he looked a little wild-eyed, gazing down at you.

“Like this, for me,” he said. “In my home, in our home—”

You could hear the table squeal and groan with the force of his next thrust, and then you had to grip the sides of it to steady yourself as he fucked you, looking blissful. Your nails scrabbled at the edges of the table, caught in between a million sensations—the glorious fullness of Shouto inside you, the gentle grind of his thumb against your clit, the way he looked all flushed and beautiful and panting and wanting—

You squeezed your eyes shut, too overcome with the sight of him to look at him anymore, but it was no use. Your entire body trembled as you came, and Shouto let out a low swear at the way you clenched up around him, hunching over you and pressing himself so impossibly hard against you as he came too.

He slumped down against you, weighing you into the soft-smelling cotton of the laundry you were now definitely going to have to rewash. You could feel his chest rise and fall as he panted, his breath tickling the skin under your ear. He left an unbearably soft, sweet kiss just under the lobe, at odds with the near-wild way he’d just been fucking you.

You warmed, petting through his hair with a helpless affection.

“Well now I know what time I should always do our laundry,” you said.

Shouto huffed into your neck, but you could feel a tiny smile curve his mouth.

“It is not just that,” he said, but did not elaborate for some minutes until you elbowed him gently. He peeled himself off of you just enough to look down into your face. “It is the thought of our life together. Our clothes piled together. You in the home we chose and we made…” he said, trailing off.

But you thought you got the sentiment. It was about how easy it was, how uncomplicated. A safe place to come home to, no expectations, just soup and a pile of sweet-smelling laundry and someone happy to see you. It was something far away from what he'd grown up thinking a home was, possibly something he’d thought he’d never have—something you were determined to make him realize now that he always would.

You let your fingers pull through his hair again, smiling up at him. “I am going to have to do our laundry again, though,” you teased. “In case that interests you.”

And despite what he’d just said, Shouto did in fact look a little too interested. You watched his mismatched gaze trail over to the closet that opened onto the washer and dryer. A contemplative look snuck across his handsome face, carefully curling the corner of that plush mouth.

“There is another place we have not yet broken in,” he said slowly, voice dipping low. He looked down at you with an earnest expression completely in contrast to what he was suggesting.

You couldn’t help but laugh, and that was all the permission he needed to pull you up, gathering you up in his arms and layering a fat handful of laundry on top of you. His belt buckle rattled loosely beneath you where he'd barely done it up in his haste, and you laughed harder when he turned off the stove as you passed it.

Though it turned out to be a needed precaution—as neither of you found yourselves free to sit down to dinner for several hours yet.

#todoroki x reader #todoroki shouto x reader #shoto x reader #shoto x you #todoroki x you #todoroki x y/n #shouto x reader #shouto todoroki x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader

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louwhose · 7 months ago

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Results are in! Minish Cap won, which is... a bit of a surprise, honestly. But I'm looking forward to it!

...except that the Ella Enchanted AU is the real winner because the zelink week prompts just worked so PERFECTLY for it. but because of that it will also be an abbreviated version of what I would have otherwise done. And then after that it is definitely gonna be the arranged marriage au

I'm leaving it to you, the people that definitely follow me for the fics I actually share on here once in a blue moon, to decide.

(all of them are loz)

feel free to ask me about any of them if you'd like the help to determine your vote

#but yeah if I had thought about it I would've waited til after the prompts or even after zelink week to do this poll #is what it is now #uhhhhh but I need to sit down and figure out what I'm doing with the mc one though #because there is a first chapter written and I love it but the second chapter floundered. I definitely need a clearer direction for it #I'll plan it after ZW stuff. for now I'm focusing on that #actually brainrotting about it sooooo hard already halfway through my Ella Enchanted reread for it #lou writes

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thyme-in-a-bubble · 3 months ago

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could you do a pregnant reader x rafe

a/n: okay but that got my brain buzzing, so i simply had to get all the thoughts out in the form of headcannons (written right before i fell asleep, sorry if it shows)

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist

okay, so picture this: he's the asshole frat boy, you're the cute college chick who unlike him is actually there for the education.

also, he's your ex...

you were only together for a few months, but still, that shit was intense, the relationship nearly broke you from all of the high highs and low lows

it was exhausting being in love with an asshole, hence why you're no longer together

he was totally the type of toxic boyfriend to only wanna fuck you without a condom, either by pressuring you or just straight up lying and then rolling the rubber right off either as soon as he got you into doggystyle or like halfway through when you were too cockdrunk to notice the difference.

so that might have been why a month or so after the two of you broke up, you were late...

i'm picturing that you finally took a test at the most chaotic moment: at the beginning of a party in a bathroom, your roommate doing a quick run to a pharmacy while drunk folks try to barge down the door.

when your roomie comes back, you're totally freaking out, full-on melt-down, while she sits on the counter beside the sink and tries to calm you down, thinking up other solutions to your symptoms.

but the damn stick shows you two lines.

you were pregnant.

"so are you gonna tell him?" your roomie asks you, but you're still on a completely different planet, trying to comprehend the result.

"huh?"

"rafe. are you gonna tell him? i mean, i assume that it's him, unless there's somebody else, in which, how dare you not spill."

"what? no, there's no one else. of course it's rafe's..."

"...so? are you gonna tell him?"

but you have no idea if you want to or even should. you don't even have the slightest idea what you might wanna do about it all, if you should keep the baby or not.

but timing really is a funny funny thing, because when you then decide to go home to process everything (because damn, now you can't stay at the party and celebrate the close call), you bump into none other then the man, the myth, the whore himself: rafe fucking cameron.

now, you're straight up crying at this point, just overwhelmed as fuck, so of course he doesn't let you just slip by without figuring out what in the fuck is going on, if there is some douchebag he needs to go beat up.

"there only douchebag you need to beat up is yourself," you spit out before you can stop the phrase.

"oh, come on, baby. you can't still be mad at me? it's been like a month."

"please, rafe... just let me go home..."

"no, not until you tell me what's wrong!"

and when you actually say it out loud, it's like the awful party music fades and the buzzing crowd around you disappears.

"i'm pregnant."

at first, he just stands there stunned, staring straight through you.

if he's holding a glass, then he definitely drops and smashes it on the ground.

but then he grabs your arm and wordlessly drags you with him, all the way up to his room.

that's when, in the dull quiet of his dark dorm room, that it really sinks in.

for a while he just stares at you, letting his eyes scan down your frame, surely imagining what you'd look like in a few months.

and then, out of the blue, he whispers, "marry me..."

"...what?"

"marry me," he utters with more confidence, "i know this isn't exactly how it should go, but babe... i still love you. i never stopped... let me take care of you, let me take care of our baby, let me give you the life we deserve. so what do you say? will you marry me?"

but you just stare back at him as if he's gone mad.

"...no."

your stomach starts to flip as you then see the first signs of rage flare up on his features, "what do you mean no?"

"rafe, i'm supposed to be finishing up my degree, being young and dumb, not getting knocked up by the last man i'd ever want to be forever stuck with."

of course he then totally pops off, pushes you into a corner, yelling, screaming, all the nine yards

saying all this stuff about how you should be grateful that he ever gave you his time of day in the first place, nevertheless get you pregnant with his kid.

sooo, me thinks the next steps in their story gets pretty dark, pretty fast....

we talking him taking you with him home to tannyhill because school is simply too stressful for you and the baby (in his opinion)

mayhaps he straight up locks you in a room and acts all nice, pretends that nothing is wrong with the way he handles it all

forced marriage? yes? no? yes.

him getting fucking FERAL when you start to show?

also him getting feral long before that, taking the chance to make sure you're really, totally, 100% pregnant, if you know what i mean (in other words: all of the creampies ever, just over and over again, fucking load after load deep inside of you + so so much cumplay)

and the ending? i imagine that one day, after your kid is born, you run away, baby in your arms and not much else.

you try and create a quiet little life for you and your child somewhere far away

but eventually (of course, just for the sake of ✨drama✨) he finds you...

#lea’s writing #dark!rafe cameron #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x female reader #drew starkey smut #rafe cameron drabble #rafe cameron brainrot #rafe cameron x pogue!reader #rafe cameron x kook!reader #dark!rafe cameron x reader #pregnant!reader #rafe cameron headcanons #dark fic

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munson-blurbs · 2 months ago

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I don’t know if you do Steve or(I have mostly seen your Eddie work which I love by the way)Eddie

but I’m let you choose but ex reader and (Steve or Eddie) angst to fluffy smut at the end and maybe they saw each other at the bar or something and those feelings turn into sweet ole fluffy smut 🫡 ( PFT I don’t know if that make sense) 😭💀

Eddie exes-to-lovers? I'm in.

Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), unprotected p in v, fingering, angst, hurt/comfort, jealousy, the fluffiest smut I've ever written

WC: 3.2k

Divider credit to @saradika-graphics

You hated Eddie Munson.

You hated the way he sloppily cut the sleeves of his Hellfire shirt in an obvious attempt to show off his tattoos.

You hated the way he couldn’t keep a secret, always forgetting that they were supposed to be secrets in the first place. That’s how he’d spoiled your surprise birthday party.

You hated the way he constantly sabotaged his own success. One would think he’d take you up on your offer to do homework together after his first failed senior year; instead, he’d practiced guitar riffs while you pored over your algebra textbook. Needless to say, he didn’t pass that year, either.

You hated Eddie Munson and everything about him.

And right now, you particularly hated the way he sat across the bar, talking to another girl and occasionally taking a sip of his drink.

That used to be you, your fingers laced with his while he told you stories you’d heard one hundred times before. He’d bring your hand to his lips and kiss it, his lips curving into a smile before they even touched your skin.

“I can’t believe you’re mine. Never gonna let you go, y’know that? You’re stuck with me forever.”

That ‘forever’ ended four years ago, when you went off to college and he needed to stay behind to finish high school. Cracks began showing as early as application season, the fracture complete once you decided to go to Northwestern without even considering Hawkins Community.

“I don’t understand why you’d wanna go to that big, fancy school anyway. It’ll just be a bunch of rich preps and douchey frat guys guzzling beers through their assholes.”

You refrained from reminding him that he and Jeff had almost tried that same feat, and probably would have if you didn’t intervene.

“Babe, it’s an amazing school. And I’ll be home on holidays and you can visit whenever you want.”

Even as you’d said it, you knew it wasn’t enough for him. It was a pulled thread in your tight-knit relationship, one that unraveled it throughout the summer. And just one week into your first semester, Eddie had uttered those dreaded words into the phone.

“I don’t think this long-distance thing is gonna work out.”

That was that. The end of you and Eddie.

Now, in that dimly lit bar, you tore your gaze from him and his date. Your drink shook in your trembling hand as you lifted it to your lips.

Robin clocked your uneasiness, her eyes flicking over to where you’d been looking. “Jesus Christ,” she muttered, shaking her head. She glanced at you with nothing but sympathy. “You wanna get outta here?”

You gave your friend a grateful smile, but ultimately declined. “We just got our drinks.” You gestured to her barely-sipped rum and Coke. “We can go once we’re done.”

The two of you forged ahead with a conversation, but you couldn’t help stealing glances at Eddie and his date. Maybe it was the vodka making you more emotional, but tears pricked at your lash line when you saw him lean in and kiss her.

“A-Actually, maybe we should leave.” You were only halfway done with your drink, but the thought of staying and continuing to watch him had you ready to hurl it all up.

Robin nodded, grabbing her purse and closing out the tab. When she turned back to you, she froze.

“What?”

“He’s looking at you.”

And dammit if your heart didn’t flip-flop. You did your best to ignore it, ignore the spark of hope it gave you.

“He’s…” Your words caught in your throat. “C’mon, let’s just go.”

You couldn’t sleep that night. The image of Eddie holding someone else’s hand flashed through your mind every time you closed your eyes. And the way he’d leaned in to kiss her, like he’d done it one thousand times before—it gnawed at you from the inside out.

Tears slid down your cheeks and seeped into your pillowcase. You would have gone to the ends of the Earth to make that relationship work, while Eddie threw in the towel after just one week. You’d called him up in the dorm’s common room, expecting to talk to him about your day.

Instead, you’d gotten dumped via phone call.

You gave up on falling asleep around 4:30 AM. Padding into the kitchen, you brewed yourself a cup of coffee and poured it into your favorite mug. Steam tickled your nose as you took a sip, savoring the cocoa notes and the bitterness you craved that morning. Last night’s events came rushing back as soon as the caffeine hit your bloodstream. Eddie. The girl. The way he looked at her…did he ever look at you that way? It was bizarre seeing it from a different perspective.

The morning air was already humid, summer’s heat seemingly always unrelenting. You stretched out your legs on the steps of your front stoop, letting your muscles unclench as you breathed in a new day.

It was just you, a smattering of chirping birds, and…a car rumbling down the street?

Hawkins was not a busy enough town for people to be driving down your sleepy street at this hour, and it wasn’t garbage day.

From around the corner came a familiar van. Your heart lurched in your chest when it came to a stop in front of your house. No. There was no way. Someone else in town must have the same exact van as him…with the same exact dent in the driver’s side door from when he’d opened it into a tree…

You scrambled to your feet, coffee sloshing over the side of the mug and onto the cement below you.

“Hey, wait!” Eddie called out from his open window. He was dressed in a flannel and jeans, no doubt borrowed from his uncle. Killing the ignition, he hustled over to you before you could get through the door. “I need to talk to you.”

“I don’t have anything to say.”

Eddie shook his head and blew out a breath. “Look, I just…I wanted to tell you this at the bar, but you ran off–”

“So you came to my house?” You rolled your eyes. “Not creepy at all.”

He ran a hand through his curls. It was then that you noticed the missing rings, the skin slightly paler where they normally wrapped around his fingers. He tracked your gaze and looked at you with a bashful smile.

“Can’t wear them at the plant. I gotta tie my hair back, too.” He slid a ponytail holder off of his wrist and pulled back his frizzy mane, scrunching up his nose. “Always gives me a headache, though.”

You felt your guard slipping with each word he spoke. “It’s probably just too tight.” Without thinking, you gently tugged the rubber band farther from his scalp. “Better?”

“Yeah.” His voice was soft. Tender. Everything you remembered it to be back when things were good. “Please…can we talk?”

Despite your lingering heartbreak–or perhaps because of it–you nodded.

Eddie’s shoulders sagged in premature relief; the difficult part still laid ahead of him. “I didn’t sleep last night. I couldn’t sleep last night. Not after seeing you.” When his hand brushed against yours, you instinctively pulled away.

“No.” You held your ground as best as you could. “No, Eddie. You don’t get to touch me anymore. Especially not when you were the one with another woman.”

“Technically, so were you.” The joke fell flat, and he cleared his throat. “All right, fine. It was a second date with someone I met last week at the Hideout. Not someone I’m committed to.”

“Right. Because if you were committed to her, you’d just break up with her on the phone.”

Eddie reeled back, your retort a sucker-punch right to his gut. He took a few seconds to collect his thoughts before speaking again. “You don’t understand how hard it was for me,” he finally said, “to know you were far away, surrounded by a bunch of smart guys, while I was in my sixth year of high school.”

“I didn’t care about that—”

“But I did!” Eddie crossed his arms over his chest. “God, I could just picture the conversations you’d have with your new friends: ‘Eddie? He doesn’t go here; he’s still in high school. No, he’s not younger than me. He’s actually a year older. He’s just an idiot.’”

A huff escaped your lips. “I’d never say that!” Did he actually think you’d even consider it?

“But you could’ve!” He scraped a tooth against his lower lip. “It would’ve been the truth!”

“Except you’re not an idiot,” you protested. “And throwing yourself a pity party isn’t going to make me feel bad for you.”

You downed what remained of your coffee, now only lukewarm.

“No, I know. I know.” Eddie pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger and shut his eyes. “This is coming out all wrong. Please, can we just go inside?”

No. The answer sat right on your tongue. And yet you found yourself opening the door and letting him in.

Eddie sat down on the couch, making sure to leave enough space for you. He sighed when you remained standing, but began speaking again nevertheless.

“I’ve thought about you every goddamn day. And I know that’s not enough,” he rushed to add before you could say it yourself, “but I need you to know that I have. I wanted to call you a million times, but I always talked myself out of it. Figured it would just make you angrier.”

“You could’ve at least apologized.” You didn’t bother hiding the hurt in your voice; that façade had long since passed.

He nodded, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” When he looked at you, his eyes were glassy with unshed tears. “I’m sorry I let my insecurities ruin everything. I’m sorry I broke your heart. I’m sorry that I never got to see your dorm room, or meet your new friends, or watch you walk that stage at graduation. I…”

Eddie was fully sobbing on your sofa, wiping his cheeks with calloused palms. “And I’m sorry that I still love you. I’m sorry that I can’t seem to let you go.”

He’d laid it all on the table for you, not hiding a single card in his hand. His gaze was raw with vulnerability; it seared into the hardened ice encasing your heart.

“When I saw you at the bar last night…when I saw you looking at me…” Eddie let out a huff of air. “Maybe I was just getting my hopes up, but it felt like a part of you might still love me, too.”

And as that realization unraveled, as it unfurled like a flower finally blooming after winter’s frost, you found yourself nodding in agreement.

All at once, Eddie stood in front of you. “Please say it,” he whispered, delicately cupping your face in his hands. “I need to hear you say it. Only if you mean it.”

“I still love you.” Your nose grazed his. “I don’t want to, but I do.”

“You don’t want to because I broke your heart?” When you answered in the affirmative, he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. “What if I promise that I’ll never break your heart again? What if I promise that it’s always been you?”

Your voice was soft, barely audible, when you told him, “Prove it.”

Eddie’s lips found yours, a magnetic pull that hadn’t weakened in the nearly four years you’d spent apart. “Course I’ll prove it,” he mumbled against your mouth. “Spend the rest of my goddamn life proving it.”

His hands slid up underneath your shirt, a ratty old tee reserved strictly for bedtime. There was no time to worry about it being the least sexy article of clothing you had; before you knew it, Eddie tugged it over your head and tossed it aside. He whimpered as he grabbed your breast, circling the nipple with his thumb.

You’d only gotten two of his flannel buttons undone when you stopped. “Eddie, wait—don’t you have to go to work?”

Eddie laughed, his breath tickling your neck over the spot he’d been kissing. “I’ll just have to be late. Got something…more important to attend to.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at that, the two of you peeling off each other’s clothes until they lay in a heap on the floor. And then there was just you and Eddie, touching everywhere you could.

“Baby.” The word was slurred, given the fact that his tongue was currently occupied with your nipples, your skin shining where his saliva remained. “Baby…fuck, I missed you.”

He was painfully hard, the tip of his cock flush against his tummy and leaking pre-cum. You wrapped your hand around the shaft, pumping him in a painfully slow rhythm.

“Oh—ah!” Eddie hissed, steadying himself at your sudden touch. “F-Fuck, I—y-you can’t…too sensitive.”

You looked at him incredulously. “Already?”

Eddie nodded sheepishly. “You know how much I thought about this? Every time I…y’know…I imagined it was you.”

Just the mental picture of Eddie laying back in his bed, tugging on his cock while moaning your name, had you dragging him to the couch. No time to go all the way to the bedroom.

The moment Eddie climbed on top of you as you lay on the cushions, his fingers drifted down to where you needed him most. His middle finger, then his ring finger, slid inside you with practiced precision. Picking up right where you’d left off.

You clenched around him, your body greedy for more as his fingers moved in and out, in and out.

“Eddie…” Just that one word was an effort; every brain cell focused only on the pleasure building between your thighs. “Eddie…Eddie…please…”

He nodded, his tongue darting out and swiping over his lower lip. “I remembered how much you love my fingers.”

It was true; his fingers were nothing less than magic. He swore it was because he played guitar, and maybe that was part of it, but the real reason was because he had you memorized. Knew exactly where to curl his fingers, exactly how to stroke your sweet spot until your legs were shaking.

“You’re…you’re drenched.” He wasn’t cocky; he was awestruck. Absolutely shocked that you were so needy for him, that you’d missed his touch as much as he’d missed yours. “Gonna take care of you, baby, okay?”

You inhaled a staggered breath and melted into the couch. Eddie held total and complete control over you, and it surprisingly didn’t scare you in the least.

The last thread of restraint snapped, your orgasm hitting you in waves. You cried out Eddie’s name. It was him bringing you to a new level of ecstasy. It was him giving you everything you could ever want.

His movements slowed to let you float down from the high. His fingers were slick with your arousal, and he popped them in his mouth with a content sigh.

“Tastes so sweet.”

God, you needed him. Needed him to fill you entirely. Needed him to clear your mind of any thought besides how good he made you feel. Needed him to hold you down and take whatever he desired.

Your gaze dropped down to his erection. Eddie followed your eyes, then looked back at you.

“D-Do you…?” He trailed off before composing himself. “I mean, is it okay if I—”

“Yes.” There was no other possible answer. There was nothing else you could possibly want besides that connection, that intimacy, with the man you could never stop loving. “Please.”

Eddie obliged without hesitation. He angled himself with your entrance, pushing into you so slowly that it teetered on agonizing. You knew it would feel good; it always had, even that first awkward time together. But this was something else entirely.

It was as though a missing puzzle piece clicked into place, unlocking everything you had stowed away over the last four years without him. Tears lazily flowed down your cheeks, but before you had time to be embarrassed, Eddie kissed them away.

“S’okay,” he murmured, continuing to thrust into you with utmost care. “You’re okay, baby.”

You managed a smile as you navigated the influx of emotions. You were okay. You were with Eddie again, safe in his arms, his touch both electrifying and soothing.

All that was left to do was sink into it.

You accepted his love, wrapping yourself in it and savoring every morsel. One of your hands found his cheek, your thumb grazing over the hint of stubble he missed when shaving. His kisses were oxygen itself, breathing life into every cell in your body. Everything was Eddie. Everything was okay again.

And then you started to giggle. It was discreet at first, but then it bubbled over until your smile was too wide to ignore. Eddie couldn’t even kiss you without his lips touching your teeth.

“Babe?” He cocked his head, examining you as laughter floated out of you.

“Sorry.” Another peal of laughter. “I’m…I’m just so happy.”

Eddie grinned, ducking to kiss your neck. “Me, too. Me fucking too, baby.”

There was the ebb and flow, the give and take, the push and pull. You and Eddie, working in tandem to bring the other to their climax.

Your orgasm blossomed deep within you. You dug your fingernails into Eddie’s back and wrapped your legs around his to draw him closer.

“Ed-Eddie, I’m…” Your hips raised to meet his, filling in where your words failed.

Eddie nodded and gently kissed your lips. “I know, sweet girl. Just let go for me.”

And so you did. With a cry of his name, you came. You let yourself unravel right there on the couch, and before long, he was joining you.

“Baby, baby, baby.” He let out a groan as he spilled into you, giving you every last drop. His chest rose and fell as he withdrew and caught his breath, though he kept his hands on you the whole time. Like you might disappear if he let go.

You reached up to smooth back a lock of his hair. You needed to look into his eyes, no obstructions, when you asked him the question weighing heavily on your heart.

“Where do we go from here?”

Eddie flinched, clearly not expecting such a candid remark right after sex. He shook off his shock and replaced it with a smirk.

“I say we shower off first.” His nose brushed yours and he kissed you once again. “And then I’d like to take you to breakfast once the diner opens. I think we have a lot to catch up on.”

You gazed up at him, taking in the chest muscles that had filled out with the addition of manual labor.

A shower and a breakfast date. It was a plan—maybe not like the ones you made, where every moment was perfectly laid out. And it was more than Eddie’s usual fly-by-the-seat-of-his-pants demeanor. It was somewhere in the middle. A new equilibrium.

“That sounds perfect.”

#requests #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson smut #smut

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golden-cherry · 10 months ago

Text

deal - cl16 (24/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: Furniture shopping is more exciting when there's talks about buying new stuff - like a bed.

Warnings: 18+ (mentions of smut), fluff, Kika is the bestest friend on this planet

Word Count: 3.4k

series masterlist

previous part

A/N: hello loves! part twenty-four is here and I hope you enjoy it! feedback is appreciated!!!

The fact that Kika is just lying on your bed instead of snuggling up completely in your fluffy blanket is a miracle.

"I liked the light blue mom jeans best," she says as you stand in front of the large mirror leaning against the wall next to the door to your room and look at yourself. "With the white oversized turtleneck - smash."

You look at her through the mirror. "Haha."

"I'm serious." She leans on her elbows and tilts her head. "If you wear white sneakers with it, it'll even work with the sandwich method. I've seen it on TikTok. And I swear to you - people will turn their heads to look at you."

"I don't want people turning their heads at me," you confess quietly, adjusting the soft fabric of your top. "I just want to look halfway okay."

"Trust me. You look more than okay."

After Kika and Pierre have stormed your apartment with their spare key - which at first annoyed you, but in the next moment made you feel quite relieved - your girlfriend has taken it upon herself to unpack your suitcase and pick out an outfit for you that matches your trip to the furniture store.

Unpacking your suitcase simply consisted of pulling out one item at a time and tossing it aside if it didn't meet her expectations. The pile of clothes next to the bed is the result of her search.

" Let it go," she warns you as you adjust the position of the hem of the sweater on your shoulder. "You look good. When I think about my first outfit as Pierre's girlfriend - it was pure horror."

"But I'm not a girlfriend," you reply as you reach for the jeans Kika is holding out to you. "I'm his friend. His roommate. Nothing more," you exhale, "and nothing less."

The Portugese woman watches you slip into your pants. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Caught off guard, you look at her. Are your feelings for the Monegasque so obvious that she can even see it on your face? Is your affection written all over your forehead? You can't name your emotional state, you can't say a word that could even begin to describe what you feel for Charles - but there's no question that it's definitely something other than pure friendship.

No matter how often and vehemently you try to convince yourself that Charles is your friend, you are an incredibly bad liar.

"I remember being incredibly nervous the first time we went out in public. I think I changed outfits three or four times before I was halfway happy."

Oh.

You sit down on the edge of the bed with her. "I want all of this. I want him." You clear your throat as Kika gives you a meaningful look. "His friendship, that is. And I'm also willing to take the risk of people not liking me and talking badly about me." You clasp your hands in your lap.

Kika sits up straight. "But?"

You curl your lips into a thin line. "I - I don't know." How do you explain to her that you're worried that his fans could dislike you so much that they doubt Charles? You're going public as friends, something that bothers you a little more than it should. But the Monegasque has also said that people will think what they want.

What if they hate you so much - your looks, your mediocrity, your being - that Charles catches on and he realizes they're right in their opinion?

"I just want to make a good impression."

Your friend reaches for your hand. "You will. And after all, you're just friends. The public's opinion isn't all that important." You don't see her look, which says so much more than what she actually says.

"Right."

Kika lets go of your hand and stands up from the bed. "I'll be with you the whole time. We'll work it out. I promise." She tosses her long hair over her shoulder. "So, let's get going. This room is pretty bleak and could use some color," she says before pulling you off the bed and out of the room.

As you slip into your shoes at the front door, the men join you.

"So, Pierre and I are sitting -" Charles begins, but suddenly stops when he sees you. His eyes wander over your body and goose bumps spread along their path. He remains silent until Pierre nudges him. "Uhm, sorry. Yes. We - um - we're both going to sit in the front of the car because -" He scratches the back of his neck nervously, but can't take his eyes off you. "The plan is for Kika and you to go through the furniture store together and Pierre is coming with me. Just so that we are seen together as little as possible, but are still out and about together," he explains.

You understand why this is all going to happen. He wants to protect you and you want to let him, but you can't stop your heart from getting a little bruised.

When Kika notices your offended look, she crosses her arms in front of her chest. "So much planning for simple shopping with friends? Is that really necessary?"

As you look up from your shoes, you look straight into Charles' beautiful green eyes. Something that looks exactly like how you feel flickers across his face. "It is." He stands up straight. "Shall we?"

Kika smiles gently at you. "Let's liven this place up a bit, then." She grabs Pierre's hand and together the two of them walk out of the apartment towards the elevator, while Charles and you stay behind. You both look after them.

"Is everything all right?" asks the Monegasque and stands next to you.

"Everything's fine," you answer him curtly. You don't dare look at him.

"Y/N," he says as he gently grasps your wrist and turns you towards him. "Mon amour, you know why I'm doing this, don't you?" His hand slips a little lower so your fingers can intertwine.

"'Mh-hmm."

"Hey." His other hand rests gently against your cheek, making you look at him. "Hey." His thumb gently strokes your cheekbone. "I'm trying to protect you. That's my priority. Making sure you're okay is my priority. And if that means we can't walk through any stores next to each other for now, just so the public can get used to you, then I'll put up with it." His gaze twitches briefly to your mouth. "Even if it's not what I want."

You nuzzle your face against his warm hand. "And what do you want?" you ask softly.

"You."

His answer makes the blood sizzle in your veins. It feels as if the warmth of his skin is burning through your face, as if the nerve endings under your skin are sending little electric shocks through your muscles and forcing your heart to stop. You take a deep breath.

"I want you near me." He squeezes your hand twice before pulling away. Your skin feels cooler without his touch. "But I'm responsible for what happens in public. And I don't want to risk anything happening to you because of me."

You nod weakly before wordlessly following the befriended couple. You hear Charles behind you, but you don't wait for him as you walk quickly to the others. The atmosphere in the elevator is tense as you are transported towards the underground garage, but no one tries to ease the tension. Kika and Pierre look at each other a little uncertainly, something that doesn't escape your gaze, and you can't blame them. The situation is just awful.

Pierre has thought far ahead, because when he presses a button on his car key, a large SUV opens up in the underground parking garage, sure to fit some decorative items. Charles' Ferrari, or God forbid your old Renault, might have been able to fit a picture frame, or at most a small mirror.

You sit behind Charles, who has taken a seat in the passenger seat. Kika and Pierre are talking through the rear-view mirror while you look out of the window.

The longer you think about what Charles said - or didn't say - the more uncomfortable you feel. The hem of the sweater seems to have slipped, the collar feels too tight and the sleeves are scratching your elbows. You're not sure what you were hoping for, what the right answer would have been. But you're not particularly happy with the one you got.

You also want to be close to him, permanently. And you can also understand why the plan involves you staying away from each other inside the furniture store. But is that really necessary if you're just friends? Has he done something similar with his other female friends, or are you the only one who has to put up with this fuss?

Your thoughts are going round and round in your head, but as if by magic they suddenly come to a standstill. But it's not magic, it's Charles' hand that has squeezed past his seat on the right and is now gripping your leg. You feel his fingers slide under the fabric of your jeans, where they rest against your calf.

You try to regulate your breathing, but you can hear the blood pounding in your ears. Charles touching you is nothing new. You've been touching each other non-stop since last night, which doesn't help your feelings or your friendship, but it still feels indescribably good.

It feels right the way his calloused hand wraps around your soft calf. It felt right the way his thumb stroked your cheek. It felt right to lie half-naked next to him in bed.

It felt right to want him as something more. More than a roommate. More than a friend.

And that's exactly why you slide your foot towards the car door, so that Charles can touch you more easily. You block out the voice that keeps whispering hypocrite to you as best you can. And the warmer his skin feels on yours, the tighter his fingers close around your calf, the better it works.

"I'll let you both out right at the entrance and we'll park in the back of the parking lot," Pierre interrupts your thoughts before they're no longer PG. "You can go inside and we'll follow. That's the easiest way."

"Thank you very much," Charles says. "I'm sorry we're shamelessly taking advantage of you."

Pierre has to grin. "You're welcome to give me a position in Bahrain, then we'd be even."

"You'd have to get close to me on the track first."

The two men argue amicably until the car comes to a halt in front of the deserted entrance. Just as you are about to open the door, Charles's fingers gently squeeze your leg twice and you have to suppress a smile, otherwise Kika would tease you endlessly. As you both get out and the car drives away, she latches on to you.

"Are you ready?" she asks as you walk towards the glass door together.

"Definitely."

Kika has very good taste in decorating and if she hadn't become a model, she could definitely have worked at Ikea putting together those fake rooms. As you push a shopping cart in front of you, she skips through the aisles, grabbing anything that matches in color or style. Picture frames, vases, mirrors and fake plants that would look good on the windowsill in your room.

She's examining which of the candles in front of her would go better with the vases in the shopping cart when your cell phone vibrates in your pocket.

Charles: If one of the candles burns down our apartment, I'll have to charge you rent.

Confused, you read the message before looking up and around. Charles is standing about twenty meters away from you, smiling at you over the shelves. You bite the inside of your cheek.

You: You don't need my money, Mr. Ferrari. After all, you make millions a year.

You raise an eyebrow challengingly as Charles reads your message. You can see his grin clearly, even from this distance.

Charles: If you burn down my expensive apartment, I'll have to find a new one, and they're not exactly cheap in Monaco, as you know.

You: I thought it was our apartment?

Charles: If you let it burn down, you're welcome to keep it.

You: So you'd let me keep it? Our apartment?

Charles: I'd give you anything, mon amour. You just have to ask for it.

You don't have time to think about his answer because Kika throws a stuffed animal dinosaur in your face.

"Are you done flirting?" she asks, playing annoyed. "I'm trying to decorate your room and you'd rather flirt than help me."

You feel the blood rush to your face. "Excuse me?"

Her grin almost reaches your ears. "Gotcha."

"You can't possibly have caught me doing something I wasn't doing," you try to wriggle out of it, but Kika has bitten down like a little terrier.

"And why are you looking like you've eaten the last spoonful of tiramisu without asking if anyone else wants the rest?"

"I haven't eaten any tiramisu," you defend yourself and hug the green stuffed animal tightly to your chest.

"Not yet," she says gently and puts one of the candles in the cart with the rest. "But I'm afraid you could get diabetic if you're not careful with the tiramisu. A small piece is fine, but a double portion could almost be too much."

You narrow your eyes. "I haven't eaten any tiramisu." Without taking your eyes off her, you put the green dino in the shopping cart too. "And I don't intend to."

"You're a bad liar," she says and stands next to you, wrapping her arms tightly around you. "But that's all right. I still love you. And when your room looks really cool soon, I'll take the outfit pictures for my Instagram in front of your mirror."

She gives you a peck on the cheek and you roll your eyes. "Charles was right. We need to change the locks, then you can't disturb us anymore."

"Disturb? Disturbing what? Eating tiramisu?" she grins and you would have loved to suffocate her with the green dino. Apparently Kika can read minds, because she quickly lets go of your arms and continues to skip happily through the corridors while you follow her with the shopping cart.

"How much do you think the things you picked out for me cost?" you ask her as she picks out more plants.

She takes a look at the shopping cart. "Something between two hundred and five hundred euros," she replies with a shrug.

"Kika, that's too much. Way too much," you try to stop her as she walks over to the rugs on display. "I can't pay for it. I'm unemployed, remember?" You're about to turn the shopping cart around and return the selected items to their rightful places, but Kika stands in your way.

"Charles offered to pay for this," she says, confused, resting her perfectly manicured hands on the metal grille of the cart.

"He what?" you ask, looking around in the hope of spotting Charles somewhere. But he's nowhere to be seen.

"Pierre sent me a text message to leave the car at the checkouts when we're done. He said that Charles wanted to pay for it and that we should wait outside for them," she explains, tilting her head. "I thought he would have told you. I know you're unemployed, but because of the text message, I thought that - I assumed we could just pick out nice items without looking at the price."

You run your tongue over your teeth. "Give me a moment, please," you say briefly and leave her standing there with the shopping cart.

You walk through every aisle, looking over every shelf in the hope of seeing Charles standing somewhere. And when, after ten minutes, you spot his brown curls in the furthest corner of the store, you don't care if the two of you are seen together. He's standing in front of a gray, hip-high box spring, with nice, dark bedding and comfortable-looking pillows placed on it. When you stop next to him, he doesn't look at you.

"I want to buy a new bed," he begins the conversation. "The one I have now is too low for me. What do you think of this one? I've tried it out. It's really comfortable and the perfect height for -" He falls silent before he can finish the sentence.

"Kika says you want to pay for my things," you change the subject without answering his question. You don't take your eyes off the bed either.

"That's correct."

"I don't want that," you say tersely. "I don't want you to pay for it."

"But I want to," he replies, looking at you out of the corner of his eye. "Think of it as a gift."

"As a gift?" You raise an eyebrow. "As a gift for what?"

"For your friendship."

"You can have my friendship without buying me new things," you assure him, but you fall on deaf ears.

"But I want to. I have so much money that I can't spend on my own, so I want to buy you nice things." He leans a little towards you so that your hands touch. "How expensive are the things? One thousand, two thousand euros?"

"Kika says five hundred at most."

"Then think of it as a small, early Christmas present," he says gently. Before you can object, he continues. "I want you to feel comfortable and if it costs me some money, then so be it. And it won't hurt my bank account in the slightest. So just say thank you and accept the gift."

"Thank you," you whisper reluctantly, but you know that it wouldn't do any good to go against his wishes. "Did you find something you want to buy?"

He smiles. "This bed, apparently. And bedding. And a mirror."

"Doesn't sound bad. I just hope you have as good a taste as Kika. After all, our things have to match," you joke.

Charles turns his head in your direction. "Then lie down on the bed, mon amour. I'd like to see how you look on it before I spend thousands of euros on it." As he says it and his fingers curl around your wrist, that feeling blossoms in your chest again.

You want to throw him on the bed in front of you, kiss him until you can't breathe and touch him until you can see stars. You want to feel his warm skin under your fingertips, feel his muscles tense as he pulls you on top of him and presses you against his firm body. You want to feel his weight on you as he lays you down on the bed and his lips trail down from your mouth. You want to -

"Do you really think I'm going to try sleeping without you again when we've figured out that we both sleep better when we're together?" he asks, gently stroking the thin skin on your wrist with his thumb. You hope he can't feel your racing pulse underneath. "When we first met, you said that you hadn't had a decent night's sleep in a long time. And if it means I have to hold you in my arms so you can get a good night's sleep, then so be it. And it's not as if I don't enjoy having you close to me."

Before you can answer him, you feel a person standing at your other side and when you look, Kika is standing there. Her gaze flickers briefly to your hands before she turns to the bed as well. "Do any of you fancy a bite to eat?" she asks. "There's a restaurant nearby that serves incredibly good tiramisu. And it's never busy. We can go there if you like." She turns slightly in your direction and nudges you. "What about you? Do you want some tiramisu?"

More like a need than a want.

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mrs-weasley-reid · 4 months ago

Text

MADE HIS MARK

Spencer Reid x bau!reader

Synopsis: a shivery trip to a liquor cellar turned into a steamy secret between friends and a not-so-subtle reveal between a small herd of colleagues. Word Count: 5k+ WARNING: SMUT. please, please, MDNI !!! penetration (piv). unprotected sex (but fr wrap it up!!!). fingering (a lil bit). obsessed!spencer (bc why not?). ex friends with benefits to lovers. a pinch of angst if you squint. cursing. troublemaker spencer reid and reader. not proofread!! A/N: heavily influenced by the song Dress by Taylor Swift. I love me a TS song. I'm obsessed, and I saw the opportunity. Also, this is my first Spencer Reid smut fic. Be nice, and tell me what you think!

The sharp brush of spring and little kisses from the evening air prompt you to savor the shivery feeling on your skin.

You take a deep breath before sliding your heels off, dangling them in your hand as you trail down the maze of a hallway in Rossi’s lavish home. Your dress is now a product of a shoddy decision.

All you knew was how presentable and wedding-appropriate it was, but you never realized why you would wear such a dress barely sewn for the crisp evening weather in May.

“Hiding from everyone?”

A smile instantly layers over your painted lips before you can even raise your gaze ahead. There’s this tickle of warmth that sparks inside of you the moment you hear his voice. Hands shaking in an intense subconscious buzz of excitement. Thrilling.

No other than Dr. Spencer Reid is ten feet away from you, standing lazily against the wall. His hair is messy from all the magic tricks he tore out to Jack and Henry and, funnily enough, Penelope, too.

Bright gleam shines on your face, flashing a saccharine smile you can only muster when the receiver is him. You shake your head.

"Are you?"

One hand in his pocket. Spencer shyly nods, “I ran out of magic tricks, and Jack figured out one of my tricks halfway through my little show.” He explains without persuasion, staring into space with playful horrid written all over his face.

You steal the half-full glass from his other hand, cringing at the taste of sparkling cider. “One sip won’t kill you, you know…” You say, shoving the glass back into his hand.

Spencer laughs, “You’d love to see me drunk, don’t you?” He quips, a sheepish smile growing with each syllable.

“Very much so,” You nod, making a beeline to the kitchen to find some kind of beverage that’ll knock you out ‘til the next day.

He follows you like a tail. Your senses feel his warmth, his breath fanning against your exposed back. The feeling of his tall presence behind leaves your breath hitching between inhales and exhales, and you’d love more than his figure on your trail. You ache for something more than the image of him in your wake. You need him merged with your soul, his body tightly pressed against yours. You crave something harsh.

It’s wishful thinking.

“What took you so long? Did you not notice I was gone?” He wonders.

Or is it?

“It’s cold out here, you know,” Spencer pouts in your peripheral.

You want your lips to wipe them off, then turn them into an O.

“Aww, does pretty boy genius feel lonely?” You tease over your shoulder, tapping his chest with the back of your hand. Your brows jump, twisting on your heels to face him. “I’ll be damned,” You exclaim, pushing your palm against his pec with more pressure.

It's been so long since you touched him with more than an accidental brush of your fingertips. His body stiffens under your light squeeze. And the thirst for more slowly dries the circumference of his throat.

“Reid, when’d you get this fit? No wonder women are all over you.” Genuine curiosity takes over, looking up at him with fluttering lashes.

Spencer scoffs, leaning down eye to eye with you, “I’ve always been hot.” He retorts with a straight face. The confidence radiates, and it does something in the pit of your stomach.

A brief silence whooshes between your bodies, and the next thing you know, both of you are laughing ‘til your cores cramp.

You gasp for air, head against his sternum, hand still placed over his pec. “Don’t ever say that in front of Morgan. He might get a stroke.” You begin walking once more, turning your back to him.

“I am! Don’t you agree?” You do. He banters a few feet away, keeping a safe distance—or so help the impulsive thoughts that are whirling around his mind. A playful grin works his facial muscles out, only hoping that you didn’t notice the way he takes in your scent like a bait set out for him.

Spencer didn’t even need to run to catch up with you. His strides are five times longer than yours.

You feel a soft fabric cover your shoulders, accompanied by a heavy arm that burns your skin in pure reflexive need. “I thought you were cold?” You ask, glancing to your left, where Spencer walks beside you.

Spencer shrugs, “Rather feeling cold than you getting a cold tomorrow morning. The chances of me getting sick from being cold tonight versus you sneezing on me like a troll is 15 to 85 percent.” He replies calmly, earning a light smack from your hand.

You roll your eyes, but your smile never travels far. It only happened once. And you both swore once was enough.

The two of you became friends during your time in the Academy. You’ll never forget the first time you met him. The urge to shove a sock inside his yapping mouth over the repercussions of shaking someone’s hand. Most people say the two of you are best friends. Somehow, his intelligence didn’t set you apart. You tolerated his constant rambles, and he tolerated your random bursts of sass.

It's more than that though. The entanglement was more than two friends. More than innocent study sessions. More than a trip to the nearest shooting range.

As two twenty-one-year-olds who's never felt the most sensual touch before, one minute of forced proximity and all hell broke loose. What seemed so platonic was sexually intimate behind closed doors.

However, in lieu of staying attached to the hip, the two of you went your separate ways after graduation. You went to pursue each respective interest. You both said no hard feelings. And both believed things would never work anyway, because no one was willing to put in the work.

The two of you reconnected when you joined the BAU team almost a year ago. Meeting him once again was nerve-wracking. With unresolved fallout and nonexistent communication, it scared you a bit. But you should’ve known Spencer Reid has always been different—good, different. The bond you had didn’t seem too damaged. If anything, it was merely locked in a vault and became stronger than ever before. You managed to be civil—become friends.

And since then, you never ran out of ways to be in each other’s vicinity. Or he just always succeeded in keeping you interested in his antics. Or you’re just addicted to him more than you’d like to admit.

But friends don't shake from mere self-control. Friends don't choke on breaths when the other touches them. Friends don't—

“What percentage of alcohol will you get from Rossi’s cellar?” He curiously asks, his warmth keeping you from shivering.

The damned dress.

And his damned loose tie.

You chuckle shakily, “You’d love to see me drunk, don’t you?” You mimic, throwing back the same antic he used not a few minutes ago. He rolls his eyes, and you open the door to the cellar. “I was tasked to choose the best whiskey ever made.” You announce, sinking deeper into confinement.

“So you lost a bet.” Spencer laughs, following behind. He shakes his head when you nod yours. “You don’t even drink whiskey.” He smirks.

“Go back out there, then,” You shoo him away, waving your hands. “I didn’t ask you to join me on my quest.” You add in a giggle, tying your hair up in a messy ponytail after setting your shoes on the table in the middle of the room.

You don’t see the way he swallows at the sight of your nape. The same way you hadn't notice his self-restraint for the past year, for the entire evening, dipping his hands in his pockets to hide his clenched fists. Because if he doesn't, they just might crave the feeling of your skin against the texture of his palm.

“And what if you can’t reach the best whiskey?”

“I’m a federal agent, too, Reid. I’m smart enough to figure that out.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that you’re similar to a hobbit.”

The brows on your face lift over your forehead. "Excuse me?" Your mouth fall agape in disbelief, scoffing.

Spencer shrugs, "You're excused."

Amusement twitch the ends of your lips. "You sure you're not drunk?" Your eyes narrow, scanning him from head to toe.

"I'm not." He defends. Scarlet skin glows underneath the soft light. Spencer averts his eyes, stealing a mouthful of a sigh from the chilly air. Okay, maybe he stole one glass of scotch from the unit chief, took a sip, and felt his body on fire, so now he's settled down for ciders the entire evening.

You smirk, "Then, why are you being so clingy?" Arms cross over your chest. You raise a brow in question.

Spencer rolls his eyes, silently clearing his throat. "Why not? There's no harm in hanging out with you." His tongue pushes against the inside of his cheek.

"There is when said friend is acting like a clingy boyfriend." You say, skimming through the shelves of liquor adorning the walls from ceiling to floor.

“Right,” Spencer states blandly, finding himself a seat. “I’m just a friend. I can’t act any other way. I can’t even give you any affection, huh?” He deadpans, tracing the wood patterns on the table.

Your eyebrows crease in the middle of reaching for a bottle. You slowly go up behind him and smack the back of his head without warning.

“Ow!” He hisses. “What was that for?” Spencer complains, face scrunching in temporary pain.

“For being weirder than usual.” You say, hitting his shoulder. “Stop it.” You scold, finger-pointing over his chest.

Spencer is not one to be petty. Never petty over the boys you mingle with for a short period. Never be petty over your tendencies to somehow land on the worst species of men. Since the two of you reconnected as colleagues, he's minded his business. Why now? And why the hell is your heart pounding obnoxiously?

He theatrically rolls his eyes, “Am I wrong? Aren’t I just your friend?” There is something in his tone that you can't distinguish. His face is awkward and reserved, as always, but something is different.

You know. You just love lying to yourself.

“What else are you going to be?!” Even you are surprised at the volume of your voice.

The creak of the small open window fills the room. None of you dares to say a word. No one dares to breathe within each other's personal bubble.

You break eye contact first, stepping away, but Spencer has other plans. His hands land on your waist, gripping the flesh to keep you between his legs.

“That’s a question I’ve been asking myself,” The luminescence of his eyes turns a shade darker. Chocolate hazel eyes gradients to deep earthy irises. Or it may have been the dim lighting in the room and the glass of wine in your system.

You swallow—roughly like a ball of sandpaper rows down your throat. Fingers lace above his textured ones, wrapping over the long digits to get their bruises off your skin.

“It’s a simple question. There’s no reason to dread it.” You almost stumble on your words, taking well-needed pauses to huff a small breath. You try to break his grip on you, but they don’t budge one bit.

The more you attempt to remove his hold, the more they tighten against the little fabric over your skin.

Your brows knit. A sigh of defeat escapes your lips as your gaze travels back to him. “Spencer, stop—” Your spine shivers when he starts to lazily move his thumbs in slow, firm strokes.

Spencer stands in silence, staring at you like you are a doe he preyed on. His eyes start to make your legs melt, and your heart races wildly.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

His gaze flickers over your lips, “Why don’t you answer the question for me? Since you’re so smart, it seems.” A tone of clear mockery spills from his lips. Spencer smirks under his signature smile—smug and utterly amused by the sound of your small, hitched breaths.

“Can you stop kidding around?” You prattle. A peel of awkward laughter shoots straight down your bones. It was all you could do to relieve the growing tension between your thighs. Or else you’d jump on him like a desperate psychopath.

"Who says I'm kidding around?" Spencer narrows his eyes. "I never kid around." He squeezes your sides once more and grins when a soft gasp rattles out of you. He hasn't done that in so long, and the nostalgia and buzz spark something in his chest.

Thick, airy gulp forces itself down your throat. You know why he does it. The same pattern of movements you knew so well in your younger days. The days you spent with him.

"We can't." It is almost inaudible, but he catches it. You lightly shake your head, backing away, "I-it's not— We can't."

Spencer raises his brows. "What are you so afraid of?" He reads your features for a moment. The gentle touch of his gaze along your searing skin is electrifying.

You nibble at the corner of your lip, "Let go of me, Reid." And it seems you love lying to him, too. Because you don't want him to let go. Desperate for his touch. The soft trail of his thumb. The primal clutch of his fingers, like they were claws. It was all too intoxicating to ever want him to let go.

“Answer the question first.” He flashes the smirk he’s been trying to hide like a villain, exposing his true colors. “I dare you.” Spencer challenges.

“You know the answer.” Your chest feels like exploding.

“Say it out loud, then.”

“Why should I?”

“Because we’re not leaving this position until you do.” His voice sparks fire in your core. Spencer doesn’t let his eyes stray from your moving lips. If anything, he makes a point that he is, in fact, staring at them like a starving lion, ready to pounce at any given moment.

Oh.

Well, isn't he such a sweetheart to feed you just what you crave? You don't know where it comes from, nor do you care, but there's at least four liquid cubic centimeters of boldness that flows through your veins.

Your laughter echoes in the cellar. “Please, or what?” You relax in his hold, convinced that he's just the same lanky guy you've always known. “You going to fuck me like a slut? Not exactly your M.O., pretty boy.” You tease, playfully tapping on his shoulders.

A low, hoarse chuckle vibrates across his chest. With lust-filled gaze and a thin, mischievous smile, Spencer shifts his eyes to look straight into yours.

“Exactly.”

Your eyes grow the widest they have ever been your entire life. “What—” Before you can stop him, his lips are already clashing against yours.

Spencer holds onto you as if he is falling off a cliff, and you are a branch about to snap any second. He kisses you aggressively, pulling you so tight, like he needs you glued to him.

You try to push him, but it doesn't take long until you give in. Until you kissed back.

You kissed him back.

You fucking kissed Spencer back.

The hands that recently danced on his shoulders begin to tug on the soft curls over his nape. The weight of his lips is starting to make your legs wobble.

Every scrape of his teeth against your stinging lips feels new. It isn't what you're familiar with. Your mind recalls his gentle touches and gentle words as if you'd break if he held you too tight. But the one kissing you isn't. The slice of his tongue over your lips is primal. He's not the Spencer you once knew. He's the Spencer you've been craving, so much so that the mere thought of bruises caused by his grip has been contaminating your mind since you started in the BAU.

His kisses deepened, warmth enveloping the two of you despite the chilly breeze inside the cellar. With breathless and plump lips, a new strike of desire courses throughout your body the longer you kiss.

Spencer breathes you in like oxygen, starving for more, never satisfied with just one gentle breath. It's new. And you love it.

Heaving, you and Spencer pull away, lips detaching and reattaching like magnets ’til distance is too far to push back. His lips are a darker shade of pink, swollen, and adorned with smeared lipstick. You don’t doubt the effect of making out with him gives you any more leverage, imagining your lipstick thickly outlines all over the rims of your mouth.

Judging by how Spencer stares at you like a satisfied drunken man, you presume he's loving every second more than he's prepared to admit. Most will wonder if his eagerness is merely a product of lost inhibitions. But a simple educated guess tells you that none of his actions are driven by alcohol. He's as sober as an ice cold water splashed over one's face.

Spencer lifts you on the table, standing between your thighs. The fabric of his pants scrapes against your skin, and your aching cunt throbs at the feeling. He cups your face into his large hands, reattaching your lips once more like it’s an unforgivable sin to keep them apart.

He pulls away after air fails him, resting his forehead over yours. “I want to be the only one who gets to fuck you like a slut, or so God help me—” Spencer closes his eyes agonizingly slow, “—No man near you will ever see daylight again.”

Your heart pounds against your chest, and you mentally beg Spencer to do so too—pound against your hips like you’re banned from ever walking again. The pressure of his voice and hot breath fanning against the land of your skin is ecstatically satisfying.

Spencer's hand drives up the slit of your dress, and at that moment, you know exactly why you chose to wear such an article of unfriendly clothing amidst your intolerance to the cold wind.

You wanted him to take it off of you.

You needed Spencer to take the dress off of you and fuck you hard.

The tickle of his lips trailing from your jaw to the spot underneath your earlobe has your back arching almost a hundred and eighty degrees. Ever the opportunist, Spencer takes it as his chance to pull you closer, squeezing your thigh with his palm.

You throw your head back, giving him access to more eager-to-be-touched skin. Legs wrap around his middle in utter pleasure, “Spencer…” You whine breathily, eyes fluttering close at the way he holds your flesh with both hunger and caress.

His mouth falls agape. Your voice. His name. It’s addicting. His world stops in a millisecond, reveling in the joy of your mouth, uttering his name with the intense pleasure he provides.

“We’re barely starting,” Spencer whispers against your clavicle, snaking his hand under your dress to the lining of your underwear. He swipes over your clothed clit.

You twitch under his touch. A total puppet wrapped around his finger while his literal thumb begins to toy with your clit. The pace makes you painfully and deliciously squirm.

Spencer loves the image before him, especially the rise of your chest as he plunges a finger, then two, inside your needy cunt. It’s the first time he’s ever heard your moans so... needy and begging and desperate and sweet and hot and something he knows you’ve never reached the volume before with other men, and he’s hooked—addicted.

“You have no idea what your dress did to me the whole night.” He muffles on your neck. Wet kisses echo at the touch of his lips. Spencer buries himself in your scent, one hand unzipping your dress. “No idea how much I wanted to take it off of you.” He whispers next to your ear.

A hum spills at the ring of his words. His kisses start to sting, and burning hues form on your skin. Spencer marks you with his tongue and teeth.

It's euphoric. His hunger. His need. And you want nothing else but to give him whatever he wants, the same way he gives you everything you need.

The sound of his fly distorting in the air makes your skin tingle, nipples perk, and cunt quiver. You whine when he pulls away, already missing his heat.

Spencer’s eyes soften, “Are you sure you want this to continue? When we were friends with benefits things didn't work—”

“Shut up, take my dress off, and fuck me, Spencer.” You heave, or beg, or whichever fits the way you eagerly undo his tie and unbutton his shirt while kissing the soft spot on his neck, marking him yours.

The vibration of his chuckles sent delicious throbs down to your cunt, drooling to be filled by him.

“Aren't you needy—” Spencer lifts his arms in defense, “—alright, shutting up now.”

The cold is nowhere else but the back of your mind. You feel wetness on the peak of his boxers. Spencer's hard erection suffocates him, and you're eager to relieve him in every possible way.

He immediately sighs when your dress droops down your waist. Spencer takes you in as if you're the most prized art in a museum. He takes every line, scars, birthmarks, or as simple as the crease of your breast into memory.

“So, so beautiful…” Spencer murmurs in sheer adoration and awe. He looks up as if God has listened to his prayers as if he’s a passionate believer. Thankful to have you within his reach.

Warmth coats you with every sweep of his hand on every curve and slope of your body. He’s memorizing each soft plush and perfect flaw. The sentiment alone heightens your arousal like you’ve been touch-starved for years.

A yelp comes out of you when he unexpectedly spreads the wetness on your folds, touching where you need him most. “Spencer, please…” It’s a plea. A begging need.

He circles on your clit with more pressure than the first. “You ready for me?” A vigorous nod responds to him while you bite your moans to keep them at bay.

Spencer pulls you closer by the small of your back. Your ass is almost falling off the edge of the table. The lacey cloth stretched on the side of your entrance. He aligns his slobbering tip with your equally desperate cunt.

Unsatisfied by your response, Spencer grabs your chin with so much force your bitten lips set free. “I need a verbal answer, sweetheart. I need to hear your voice say the words.” He’s begging, too, aching to slam just about all of him in one push.

The anticipation is frustrating. "I wa—" With a mere echo jumping out of your throat, Spencer takes it enough confirmation and thrusts his hips to meet yours.

Temporary pain and electrifying pleasure cause your body to shake, followed by a pornographic moan that Spencer muffles with his hand over half of your face.

Your mind spins around in endless bliss as his cock throbs at the pressure of your hold. Spencer doesn't move an inch, waiting for your signal.

“Please… move. Now.” Your voice is caught in the middle of your throat, dragging into a lovely gasp when he pulls back slowly.

With the tip of his cock the sole filler inside your cunt, Spencer thrusts back so fast, so good. He keeps a steady pace that leaves both of you a moaning mess.

Spencer pins your hips on the table, making sure he satisfies you with every force. He sucks a breath in, dizzy at the sight of your breast bouncing on his beat.

Can he surpass the knowledge that other guys have seen you undone like this? Never. Will he clash heaven and hell for the sake of pleasing you? The almighty and the merciless needn’t make yet another bet because they know Spencer will drag anything, anyone, to kneel before you.

Because Spencer needs you undone like you have never been before. He craves to be the first to fuck you like it's the last thing you’ll ever do.

You're addicting. An influence he freely lets himself get sucked in. Spencer wishes he could brand himself with your name, eager to be yours. He's desperate to be called yours.

Spencer adorns your skin with red and purple hues, beaming at the sight of his marks with every echo of his lips popping yet another possessive tattoo.

The pleasure he gives sends you beyond time and space. Euphoric daze fogs up your brain. Vision locked inside your skull, eyes permanently rolled into sensual darkness.

“Spence…”

Fuck. The nickname drips perfectly off your lips. You and only you can make his cock even harder just by saying his name. He doesn’t try to keep his head from spiraling into desires, desperately imagining all the ways he can own you.

You gasp shakily, feeling the knot in your abdomen begin to tighten. One, two—five more strokes and you enter a void filled with sparkling stars and mind-numbing pleasure.

Spencer doesn't stop, just as you wish, through broken moans and nails digging into the thin layer of his skin. Not a single pace slower or faster. And it is fucking blissful.

Your moans drool off your lips, clenching around his cock. He rides your high like a limited experience that he will never get to try again. Though, you're sure there’ll be more clandestine rendezvous than you both are willing to admit. You both know this isn't the last you’ll ever get a taste of him. And it is not the last time he’ll crave you like oxygen.

A hand reaches out for his nape, carding your nails at the tangles of his hair. You begin to comb between his curly strands, massaging the scalp beneath. Spencer spits out a tasteful curse dedicated to the pleasure the sensation of your touch has given him.

“I keep up with my pill. I’m on a good window.” You assure him, breath hitching. “Fill me up, Spence.” You implore greedily, wanting nothing but all traces of him engraved inside and outside of you.

His mouth slacks open, burying his cock in the deepest part of you. “Fuck, you’re too good to me,” He hisses in utter bliss. Spencer jolts at the ecstasy that vibrates out of him, emptying himself through the depths of your walls.

Spencer rests his forehead against yours, whispering praises like you suddenly became his goddess. His senses tingle. And he doesn’t want time to continue.

Your ragged breaths sync with his and soon turn even. Years of yearning are fulfilled in one evening. The prick of his bites floods your senses.

“What was the question again?” You giggle out, still, a bit out of breath, breaking the silence.

Spencer playfully rolls his eyes, zipping up the back of your dress with a kiss on your shoulder. “I basically asked, ‘What are we’ like a typical chick in a movie.”

“I can’t believe you just said that.” Your sweet laughter follows while Spencer covers you once more with his jacket despite the clear indication of sweat glistening over your forehead that you’re not nearly as cold anymore. "That many?"

Pride surges across his chest, beaming. "Like a canvas drenched with paint." He softly bites his lower lip, satisfied by the work he has done.

You glance down, gasping at the sheath of love bites. "More like a slab of beaten up flesh." Your head lifts up to look at him in disbelief. Spencer painted every inch of your skin, no space left untouched. You don't even recognize your skin anymore.

"Maybe this will help," He reaches on the back of your head, tugging on the band. Your hair drapes over your neck.

"No, Reid. It does not help at all." Blinking, you slap his arm lightly, earning a shrug and a peck on your lips. He simply fastens the buttons of his jacket on you, covering everything the fabric can.

He hunches down to pick up the tie you discarded on the floor. When he stands back up, he says, “We can keep this between us for now while we figure things out if you’d like. But we have to agree on one thing.” He tucks in a wild strand of hair behind your ear. “I’m yours, and you don’t have a choice. Sounds good?”

You giddily smile, nodding as you dangle your weak legs over the table. “What about me? Can’t I be yours?” You coax, fixing his tie.

"Do you want to be? Because I'm content with just pleasing you every chance I get. I'm not in a rush."

"Spencer," You take his face in your hands. "Do you really want to just be friends with benefits?"

He swipes his tongue over his lower lip. "No..." Spencer squeaks under his breath.

You nod, humming. "Good, because I don't want you like a best friend either." You flatten the crease on his shoulders.

"So?" Spencer chases your eyes, hoping he can read your mind.

"So, you're mine, and I'm yours. Sounds better, don't you think?"

"Sounds great." He simpers, helping you get back on your feet.

The two of you come back to the others with the worst whiskey in the cellar. Your hair is neat, and your lipstick is replenished. His tie sits presentably on his chest and hides the smallest purple mark on the base of his neck. Intricate measures for intricate people.

Derek complains. Penelope agrees. Rossi objects. Hotch sips his drink with no care. Emily laughs hysterically. JJ shrugs.

No one knows. Or no one cares. But the secret remain as is.

Perks of being seen as the most platonic friends. More so than the great Derek Morgan and Penelope Garcia. What they know nothing about won’t hurt them, right? And it’s not like it’ll be any worse if they did.

Yet the absence of suspicion brews boredom and discontent. How come the others are suspicious enough, but not you and him? What's so dull in the air between you and Spencer that no one dares to wonder if romance ever crossed your minds?

Spencer drags his fingers on your thigh under the table. And no one suspects why you never take off his jacket despite dancing the night away.

And as the night deepens, like any other gathering, the group disperses into different areas and smaller groups.

“So?” JJ starts, wiggling her eyebrows.

“What?” You chuckle into the wine in your glass.

JJ rolls her eyes, “Did you give the photographer your number?”

Oh, yeah. You’d forgotten about the entire thing, glancing at the photographer who happens to have his lens on you. He smiles shyly, but you swear in your life that your shy boy is a lot more charming.

“Because if not, I think Will’s cousin has his eye on you, too,” JJ adds with a mischievous smile. The most supportive friend you’ll have. How will she react when she finds out?

You smile, looking far ahead at the pair of brown eyes.

Spencer returns the smile, Hotch’s voice muffling in the background.

“Like I said, it’s quite a little paperwork, but if you want to try things out and date, I have no problem with helping you out,” Hotch advises between sips of warm whiskey, talking about that one agent who approached Spencer at the bullpen thrice. What will he think when he finds out two of his agents are participating in fraternization?

They have no idea. Not an inkling of doubt whatsoever.

The naivete. It bores you and Spencer. It’s prosaic. It’s unglamorous.

From one end to another, the same words echo.

“I’ll have another drink.”

The two of you stand from each end, meeting over the table with vast choices of alcohol. You pick up a glass as Spencer stands next to you.

“Take it off?”

“Take it off.”

And you went separate ways.

JJ’s eyes widen at the small hint of marks on your chest, jacket slightly drooping over your shoulder.

Hotch doesn’t say a word when he notices the hickey on Spencer’s neck when the younger agent loosens his tie and undoes one button—and Hotch quotes—because of the heat. His peripheral catches JJ, Emily, and Penelope hovering around you like a group of crows scavenging for some sort of fleshy information he thinks he knows what’s about.

“A simple no would’ve suffice,” Hotch says evenly. “But you’re still filling out paperwork. Am I clear?”

Spencer stifles a smug smirk, looking down on his drink. “Clear.”

reid masterlist | masterlist

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wtfsteveharrington · 6 months ago

Text

c l o s e t o y o u | carmen berzatto x reader

we've got so much history baby

description: set months after your breakup, you and carmen navigate what it means to be separated. you're trying to move on but waves always return to the ocean.

warnings: kinda angsty but also hurt/comfort. mutual pining even tho you're both trying to pretend it isn't there. miscommunication. kinda mentions of cheating if you squint but not really. no one has cheated but what to call this vibe irdk so! also mentions of using the bathroom if that bothers you!! it's quick!

smut warnings: oral/fingering reader receiving, spanking, dirty talk, hints of dom!carmy, unprotected sex but backshots for 'safety', sexting, semi public sex, lots of hickies/bruises talk bc carmy's a lil shit, multiple mentions of masturbation for both, reader has a drunk bar make out phase post breakup. reader is afab but no major descriptors used.

word count: almost 9.2k. the longest thing i've written so far!

a/n: dare i say this might be my favorite thing i've written possibly. aiming to make this a three part series but possibly could go longer.... i hope you enjoy <3

maybe you and i were meant to be / maybe i'm crazy

‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊✮‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

Carmen’s eyes are trained on you from the second your front door opens. His hands stalled halfway through taking off his jacket, only one shoe clattering across your entryway.

“Where’ve you been tonight?”

Which you have no choice but to shoot him a warning glance in response. It was late, you didn’t have the energy for a fight and that’s the complete opposite reason of why you texted him to come over. “I was on a date, Carmen.”

He physically deflated at your answer. “Oh.”

You can’t meet his eye, can’t risk seeing his reaction. Would he be upset? Indifferent? It’s hard to decide which would be worse.

When you had broken up a few months ago the roles were clear - A case of ‘right person, wrong time’. He was busy, so endlessly busy. Working late into the night and heading in randomly during the morning or afternoon if he was needed. Which he could easily decide he was.

For as long as you could remember Carmen always took Tuesdays off to spend with you and get life in order. That way he had Monday to help the restaurant recover from the weekend and could trust them to handle what was, usually, an easier day. It was a tradition you took seriously and the two of you regularly made plans together every single Tuesday. Date nights, day trips, a mixture of adventures. It didn't matter what you were doing together so long as you had Tuesday to look forward to and help get you through the week.

Yet things started picking up. More celebrity dining requests, more magazine and tv interviews, more, more, more.

And it wasn’t that you misunderstood how important the restaurant was. Far from it. There were many nights where Carmen would come home a ball of anxiety because it took an hour longer than he anticipated and he knew it wasn’t fair to you. There would be a mess of apologies as he barreled in the door, bracing himself for a fight or to see your disappointed face. All of which you happily soothed by repeating constant mantras - The restaurant was his baby; you weren’t upset; take a deep breath; we’re okay.

Then eventually you stopped saying you weren’t upset, stopped saying you two were okay. Eventually you stopped waiting up for him at all. At first Carmen would shower and climb into bed, confused if he should attempt to hold you or not. Your sleeping (Fine, sometimes you faked being asleep too) frame with your back turned to him. The blankets pulled tight around your body acting like a shield.

Finally he just started sleeping on the couch.

So yeah, the fall apart came quick. It was an avalanche neither of you could control nor did either of you want. There was still love between the two of you - But again it’s the right person, wrong time.

You avoided each other for the following weeks. Carmen threw himself even more into work and you took a week of PTO to go visit one of your friends. He wondered if you were safe, you wondered why none of the people in the bar tasted the way he did. Your friend encouraged you with every sloppy make out conquest but it always ended there. You wanted to get Carmen out of your mind but weren’t ready for him to not be the last person who fully touched you.

It didn’t work but does it ever?

Carmen watched your Insta far more than he should have. Risking way too many glances down at his phone during his free time to see if there were any updates about how you were doing. As if you’d post photos with long captions that mimicked a therapy session but he didn’t know where else to go. Sydney would report back what your story shows no matter how much Carm insisted he didn’t care.

Because he didn’t, okay? He was fine. He knew it was for the best. Right?

And then you posted a photo of yourself in a low cut top laughing in a bookstore. He zoomed in to see what titles you had in your arms as if they were clues and his eyes definitely didn’t linger on the swell of your cleavage. He didn’t think about how many nights he took for granted watching as your back arched up under him and you begged for more. He didn’t think about the way you’d crawl into bed at night and his mind would instantly rid itself of anything but you. He didn’t jack off to memories of you in the shower every morning because thinking about someone else, watching porn of other people, it didn’t feel wrong. No, that wasn’t the case at all.

You, on the other hand, turned on Google alerts for anything relating to The Bear or Carmen “Carmy” Berzatto. Most of it was just good Yelp! ratings or fluff pieces from the local papers. He wasn’t one for posting on social media, in fact you weren’t sure he used it at all but you still posted like he was, but sometimes you’d find yourself scrolling through Sydney’s feed to see if she was giving you any crumbs. Sometimes, if you were really desperate, you’d find yourself in Richie’s feed even. It was pathetic but you can’t help it.

One late night you came across an Instagram story post Sydney had up. Carmen leaning against a pinball machine at some gaming bar downtown. His hair was pushed back, eyes crinkled up with laughter. He looked at ease, peaceful. You wondered if anyone there felt the same… Was someone whispering to their friends and trying to build the encouragement up to go talk to him? Would he respond?

Right, it wasn’t your place to care anymore. Yet you still cried yourself to sleep and yearned for when things felt so much easier.

Yeah, the breakup wasn’t exactly going well.

A few weeks ago you came across Carmen at the grocery store of all places. Both of you had gotten so used to doing the shopping Tuesday mornings and, logically, you were both comfortable going to the location just like you had been weekly for months. Your breath caught in your throat and God he looked better than you remembered. The first thing out of his mouth was, “Great sale on gouda this week.” And the only thing your brain could conjure up was, “Well that’s gouda.”

You both stayed silent for a moment before bursting out in laughter.

Laughter turned to getting lunch around the corner.

Lunch turned into you straddling Carmen’s waist in the car while parked in the very back corner of the parking lot and riding him until your eyes watered and you couldn’t focus long enough to keep a rhythm. He wrapped his arms, such strong arms, around your waist and fucked up into you for all that he was worth. Trying to prove himself in whatever capacity you allowed.

If he couldn’t love you like he wanted, he could at least fuck you better than anyone else would.

Once you two broke the seal of seeing each other it was hard to stop. There was almost a forbidden aspect to your relationship now that caused a small thrill to run down your spine every time you saw him late at night. You were pretty sure no one knew you started… Seeing each other again and you were both content keeping it a secret.

So that’s how you ended up here. Standing across from him at 11 o’clock at night on a random Wednesday. You try not to wonder if he left ‘early’ the second you reached out, instead convincing yourself that it just so happened to work out he was ready to go within minutes of you sending your ‘My place tonight?’ text during this horrific blind date your co-worker set up.

Jonathan, 6’1, finance major turned CPA for his family’s company. He was… Fine. Just fine. You left on good terms in case you wanted to call on him for back up one lonely night. The problem was no one else was Carmen no matter how hard you tried to look for him in the people that passed by.

And there he stood across from you with hair falling into his face and his eyes looking up at you like you’re crafted from Heaven. A skirt, thin tinted tights, a shirt that exposed just enough skin but not too much. The soft shimmer across your eyelids and glossy lips from the lip balm you’ve been continuously applying since you knew he was on the way. The last time he saw you like this was when you were fighting because Carmen accidentally showed up 15 minutes past when you were supposed to leave for a birthday party at your friend’s house and that night ended with you locking him out of the bedroom while he had to pretend he couldn’t hear you crying in the next room. He really didn’t mean to be late. Sometimes the nights just got taken away from him.

Carmen hated that you were dressed up for someone else but he pretends you just threw this on for him.

Your arms cross your chest, totally not attempting to push up your breasts, and you let out a sigh while you stare at Carmen. “This has to be the last time.” His face is stoic, a perfect poker face. The last time? Break up or not he couldn’t imagine there being a last time he saw you. Half the time he forgets, still referring to you as his partner while brushing it off and refusing to correct himself. Then there’s times where he comes home to his empty apartment and realizes you weren’t there to light the long forgotten candles on the coffee table or open up the windows to air the place out.

He closes the space between the two of you and stares at your face. Searching for answers he’s too scared to ask for. Your resolve is breaking, cracking under the weight of having him so close. Beautiful eyes staring at you, the way he smells like the cologne you bought for your last anniversary and clean laundry. If you weren’t so drunk on the sight of him you would have put it together that Carmen kept clean clothes at the Bear to make sure he could change before he came to see you.

You’re both silent for a moment before there’s two hands wrapping around either side of your neck and Carmen’s dragging you two together for a kiss. God, he couldn’t stand the idea of someone else kissing you. Would they even do it right? Do they know the way you moan when he licks into your mouth or the way you always grab ahold of his wrists when he cups your face? Do they know the way you forget to breathe sometimes when you’re lost in it? He’d have to pull back in order to give you a second to gasp in a rush of air. Does whoever you were with tonight know any of that?

You pull away from Carmen with a broken out moan, silva connecting your mouths and the faint taste of cigarettes on your tongue from him. Clamping your hands on his shoulders you just faintly push the two of you apart, trying desperately to collect your thoughts. Carmen crying during the break up, sobbing in your bed, living on autopilot for weeks, the way he kisses you like he’s scared it’s the last time anymore because it very well just might be. Everything coming back to you in flashes as he stands before you once again.

“I called you here for a reason, Carm.” His eyebrow is cocked, eyes flickering down to the bulge in his jeans that started growing the second he kissed you. “Uh - Yeah? Isn’t that what… I thought that’s what we were doing?” Carmen’s leaning in again, letting his lips connect to your neck. Warm kisses being pressed in a path up to just below your ear. “No uh, oh, remember how you let me keep the cast iron?” He hums in response, teeth nipping at your earlobe while broad hands start grabbing at your waist. “Yeah, uh huh, the cast iron skillet.” Fuck the stupid cast iron. He’s much more concerned with hooking fingers in the waistband of your skirt, attempting to pull it down while you’re fighting to stay focused.

“Well my friends came over the other night and oh Jesus.” He’s licking a strip up your neck now, only half focused on your story. “Carm, please, they were helping me clean up and someone left it soaking in hot water overnight.” That’s finally got him freezing in place, his aroused little sounds quickly turning into a groan of annoyance. “Fuck. That ruined-… I mean, the seasoning has to be ruined. Assuming it rusted?” You nod helpless, fingers dragging along his chest while Carmen stares over your shoulder.

His eye twitches involuntarily.

There’s a deep sigh coming from his body as he steps around you, finally kicking off his long forgotten second shoe before walking further into the apartment to head towards the kitchen.

And listen, it wasn’t that you were necessarily concerned so much with the pan. Sure the two of you had purchased it together during the first few weeks of talking. Carmen cooked breakfast with it every Tuesday morning and showed you how to care for this damn pan. It was the closest you two came to owning a pet just… In the form of a nine inch cast iron skillet. You were more curious if he would care. A simple way of testing the waters to see if he just cared about getting laid or still cared about you. The answer should have been obvious but you still had to know.

You follow behind him and wince at the stream of expletives that easily fall from his tongue at the sight of the pan in the sink. It wasn’t horrible but wasn’t ideal. “Y’know, crazy thing is I’m pretty sure I can guess who did this. They kept trying to convince me cast iron wasn’t any different from a standard pan no matter how many times I tried convincing them that just wasn’t the case.” He’s grumbling to himself while crouching down to fish out supplies from under the sink, easily navigating your apartment from memory. The two of you had bounced between your places and talked about moving in together once his lease was up. Going as far as touring a few locations but the conversation was long forgotten once the tensions started building.

As much as Carmen claims he didn’t see it coming, he resigned his lease almost two weeks before the break up officially happened.

You hop up onto the counter next to the sink and watch as Carmen gets to work restoring your pan. “Think it's gonna make it through? I can't believe this is how it might end for the poor thing. All because I wanted to make your chicken piccata.” A few of his recipes had stuck with you and sometimes you find yourself making them when you’re missing him extra at night.

“Nah, it’ll be fine. Just some surface damage s’all.” You watch as the muscles in Carmen’s arm move with the scrubbing motion, your lips itching to kiss over every exposed tattoo. Snap out of it! This is just sex between two consenting adults trying to let off some steam. That’s all. You’re both just comfortable and it would take way too much effort for someone random like Jonathan to learn what you like.

Carmen catches you staring at him, not that you were being subtle about it, and feels heat blooming in his chest. He grabs one of your kitchen towels and gives the skillet a good pat down before sitting it upside down to dry off. It’s not perfect, not yet at least, but he’s pretty sure he’ll explode if it takes any longer to finally get his hands on you.

“You look pretty tonight.” He’s coming to stand between your knees, reaching up to you with the hem of your skirt as you hum out a small “Thank you.” It seems like every time you see him lately you forget just how blue his eyes are. So easy to get lost in them especially from this close. Your hands come up to gently trace the features of his face. Just the ghost of a touch but Carmen’s soaking up the affection. He tilts his head in order to press a kiss to your palm.

His hands are dragging up your thighs, feeling the material of your tights under his touch. “Know how much you hate wearing these.” Your heartbeat is picking up so much it’s making you jittery, hands wrapping around the edge of the countertop to grip it as hard as you can. Keeping yourself steady. “Help me take ‘em off?” You arch your hips up off the counter as an invitation for Carmen. He’s wasting no time grabbing ahold of the waistband and dragging them down your body, groaning to himself as inch by inch your skin gets exposed to him.

Neither of you miss the way you press your thighs together once they’re freed, hips twitching in anticipation. The tights are getting tossed across your apartment and left to be tomorrow’s problem. Carmen falls to his knees in front of you, letting them dig into the harsh tile of your kitchen while in pursuit of making his mark on you. He’s grabbing ahold of your ankles, bringing one of your legs over his shoulder while the other is brought up to his lips.

Your eyes fall closed as Carmen starts trailing a string of delicate kisses along the length of your calf. His lips ghosting across your knee until he reaches the fleshy part of your thigh. While your hands finally escape the countertop and find their way laced into Carmen’s hair, he wraps his lips down against your thigh to start sucking a small bruise into your skin. “Carmy,” You hiss out, “What if I see Jonathan again? How am I gonna explain these?” But you’re not pulling his head away, instead doing quite the opposite by keeping his head in place.

Carmen practically growls against your skin, a low and guttural sound coming from the man. His grip on you tights while he mumbles against you, “Fuck Jonathan.” You scrub your fingers against his scalp as Carmen finds another patch of skin on the opposite thigh to begin sucking a bruise into. His head ducking lower and lower under your skirt, the material finally getting you to pull your hands away from him.

Against all better judgment your thighs fall more open as he works his way down your thighs. There’s a series of small moans and whimpers coming out of you with no control as he reaches the top of your thigh, his nose dragging along the cloth covering your core. “D’you wear these for him? Or did you put them on knowing you’d end up texting me.” It’s impossible to answer when you feel his tongue drag along you, your hips rocking up towards his mouth. He’s bringing his hands up under your skirt now too and grabbing handfuls of where your thighs meet your hips to hold you down in place.

“They’re purple, aren’t they?” A color Carmen had long ago decided he liked best on you. Something about the way the color compliments your skin… In all honesty, you were pretty sure he had purchased the exact pair you were wearing. You started the night with no intention of your date getting anywhere near your bed but instead being under the frame of the man who was exactly where you wanted him.

He guides you to scoot you closer towards the edge of the counter, making sure you’re comfortable before mouthing over you once again. Hot, open mouth kisses being pressed almost exactly where you need them. One of his hands comes around your frame to grab a handful of the fleshy part of your ass while the other hooks a finger into your underwear, pulling the material to the side to expose you.

There’s cool air being blown against your overheated body and your hands fly back to clutch at his back, his neck, the hair that’s exposed from under your skirt. Whatever inch of him you can find is being clung to like a lifeboat. He’s kissing the skin where your thigh meets your center, lips ghosting along the outer side of your folds. It only takes a few more pathetic whimpers before he finally takes pity on you and you feel his tongue go flat at the base of your hole, dragging up long and slow all the way to your clit.

He groans into your core and the vibrations make you start to lose your mind. “Fuck. Fuck!” Carmen’s got your clit between his lips now, bobbing his head just slightly while he goes right to sucking on the sensitive bundle of nerves. If you didn’t want to be teased then he’d give you everything you wanted. One of his hands comes up under his chin now, a finger pressing into your tight entrance as his tongue works to lap at your clit, your folds, even dipping into you whenever his finger pulls all the way out.

A second finger slides into you while his attention focuses back to making out with your clit. You can’t keep track of the way he alternates between kissing and licking at you while his fingers push in as deep as he can get them. “So good, Baby.” Baby. It comes out of you by force of habit and it makes him twitch in his boxes. If you weren’t so drunk on him you probably would have started overthinking but he’s making sure your focus is on nothing else but his mouth for now. Carmen’s chin is slick with everything you’re giving him as he eats you out as if he’s a dying man and this is his last source of solace in the world.

“C’mon Honey.” He’s cooing against you, fingers crooked just how he knows you like it. There’s sloppy licks being delivered to your clit as his fingers pump in and out. His hand finally leaves it’s grip on your ass to apply a gentle pressure to the top of your mound, pressing down against the flesh to add yet another sensation. “Can feel how tight you’re getting. You wanna come for me so bad, don’t you? Be good for me.”

Your hands fist around Carmen’s hair, hips rocking up against him and it doesn’t take long for an orgasm to wash over your body. You seize up at the feeling, thighs clamping around Carmen’s head as he licks you through it. He’s only giving you a moment to recover when you feel his fingers slide out of your sensitive body and he can’t help but go back to licking out the mess you’ve made.

“Gonna fuckin’ kill me, Carmen.”

He’s smirking against you but taking the hint. Your thighs shaking as he pulls back from under your skirt, taking a moment to appreciate the handiwork that was the bruises covering your thighs while you take a moment to recover. The way your pussy looks so pretty covered in the mixture of your arousal and his spit. Carmen can’t help himself but to swirl his thumb around your clit, your hips jolting up as you reach out to grab ahold of his wrist. “Need a minute please.”

Carmen nods and stands up, wasting no time making work of unbuckling his belt. You collect your thoughts well enough to start unbuttoning his jeans for him, letting your fingers linger on his jean clad hardened length. “You, uh -” You won’t meet his eye, opting instead to start pulling his pants down his toned thighs. “You still okay not using a condom?” A roundabout way of saying ‘I’m clean, are you?’. Carmen nods as if it’s the most insane question in the world. Even if he’s not with you anymore, it’s still only you for him for as long as he can see coming. “No one but you.”

You can’t meet his eye, a wave of guilt washing over you concerning your earlier date with Jonanthan that quickly gets pushed away when Carmy grabs ahold of your jaw and brings you in for a haphazard kiss. Mindless, heavenly kissing. The two of you getting lost in the way your tongues know just how to navigate one another while your hand slides into his boxes and begins lazily

“Gotta fuck you or I’m gonna cum on your hand like a fuckin’ teenager.” You giggle into his mouth but slide yourself off the counter nonetheless. Giving him one more tender kiss before turning around to bend yourself over the counter. It’s not the most gracious process but you’re tugging your shirt over your head on the way down, pitching it somewhere else to deal with later.

He’s looking at every inch of you. Underwear still pulled to the side, the way the lace of your bra looks against your back. Memorizing every detail he possibly can just in case you wise up and stop letting him come over to defile you like this at night.

Carmen is dragging the head of his cock through your folds, tapping it against your clit while you whine and rut back against him. The weight of his jeans and belt resting heavy against his ankles and keeping him grounded enough to not spill his load before he even makes it inside of you. You weren’t used to taking him all the time anymore, a thought Carmen can’t dwell on, so he goes inch by inch and gives you time to adjust to the girth of him. He was thicker than anyone you’d been with before and every random hookup together lately reminds you of the first time you felt him stretch you out.

It burns in the best way possible and he’s so tender while you get adjusted. Waiting until you start fucking yourself against his length to take that as his sign you were finally ready for him. Carmen still starts slow, a teasing pace of pulling himself nearly all the way out before sinking right back in. “Pussy’s like heaven.” It makes you oddly proud to hear him call that out. To know you still have an affect on him after all this time.

“Think about fuckin’ you all the time.” He’s picking up speed now, “Think about how good you feel stretched around me. Such a good slut for me, aren’t you? Bending over and practically begging for it.” His words, once again, make your head spin. It was a common theme with Carmen. Your fingers lace in your own hair, desperate to grab ahold of something. “Always wanting you to fuck me, Carm. Dream about how good you make me feel.” Like you two were meant to fit together perfectly.

There’s a lewd clapping noise coming from the way your ass smacks against his frame with each deep thrust. Eventually your arms give out, torso falling flat against the shockingly still cool countertop while Carmen fucks into you for all he’s worth. A firm slap is being delivered to your ass that causes you to yelp out, rolling your hips back against him at the same time as an act of encouragement.

His mind is taken up with how good you feel. You’re perfectly stretched around him and leaking out around his base. So wet, so beautiful, so perfect. There’s a hand sliding up your back until it’s fisting around your hair, gently tugging at it and the new sensation has these pornstar worthy moans escaping you. Your loud and needy brain is completely empty as Carmen destroys you the way he knows how.

“D’you think about me fucking you while you were sitting across from some asshole all night? Poor little pussy almost got fucked by someone who doesn’t know how to treat it.” His words are so casually spoken with just the right amount of bite that it’s causing your brain to melt. Jonathan didn’t stand a chance of getting within two feet of your panties, just another mindless date in your series of attempted ways to ‘get over Carmen’ which clearly wasn’t going well. He bottoms out in you, every inch of his length pressed as firmly as he can into your core. It’s so much, so full and he’s got you pinned in place. Unable to do anything but be used by him, just how you both know you love to be. “Or did you go just to make me jealous? Put on your slutty little panties and went to dinner knowing you’d text me to come fuck you tonight.”

He’s grinding his hips into you on the impossible quest to get even deeper. It’s possessive, claiming, and you’d probably even be a little annoyed by his behavior if you were in a better state of mind. For now you’re bent over the counter with bruises blooming all over your thighs and enjoying an odd jealous streak coming from someone who, technically, has no right to be jealous. It’s making you feel dizzy and your heart throb and your pussy clenching around him. “You gonna keep talking or you gonna fuck me, Carm? ‘Cause if not I’ll call him to finish the job.”

You liked riling him up.

Another sharp smack is being dealt to your ass when Carmen starts to pick the pace back up. His hands are tight on your hips and his pace is brutal. There’s grunts coming from behind you that are making your head spin and if you were more coherent you’d be a bit more embarrassed about the drool sliding from the corner of your mouth as your boyfrie-….. Well, as Carmen takes care of you. He’s admiring the bloom of his handprint on your skin, brushing his hand along it before pressing firmly down to help soothe the buzzing sting of pain.

He wasn’t fucking you as often, didn’t have you nearly as well trained anymore. These bi-weekly meetings are not doing nearly enough for your body. He used to be able to fuck you right through an orgasm and you’d keep going. So used to him working your oversensitive clit to his liking. Now you whine while grabbing his wrist and whimper out pleas for him to give you a few minutes. He hates not knowing your body as well as he used to even if he still knows you pretty damn well.

So when he feels you getting closer, he’s taking note. Keeping his pace exactly the same and letting his hand crash down against the tender flesh of your ass again. “You gonna give me another? C’mon, Honey. Can feel how bad you need it.” And you do. God you need every orgasm you’re lucky enough to get from him.

Your hips buck and twitch and you let out a series of uncontrolled moans as your orgasm starts to wash over your body. If Carmen wasn’t between your legs then your thighs would have snapped shut while your toes curled and your heart started beating faster. You could practically hear it beating in your own ears. “S’good, so good. Thank you, thank you. Shit, thank you.” A mess but you couldn’t judge yourself.

Carmen’s pulling out when he’s close after just a few more strokes, frantically jerking off his length to keep the sensation going. You’re rolling your hips back and riding out the waves of your own orgasm, glancing back over your shoulder to catch a glimpse of Carmen with his head tossed back and brows knitted together in concentration. “Come on me, Baby. Wanna feel every drip on my skin. Maybe I’ll let you take a picture of it dripping down all the pretty bruises you gave me.”

That’s all it takes for him to come undone. Warm spurts of cum landing along your back, your thighs, some of it dripping down your folds. The feeling is pulling wanton moans from your mouth that send Carmen into orbit. God, he doesn’t want to come back down to Earth. Collecting his breath and trying to keep himself upright while the aftershocks of his orgasm wrack through his body. How was he supposed to stay away from you when it felt like this? Especially when you just kept calling him baby.

He stopped cumming inside of you since the breakup. It made sense, kinda. But you hated it. Felt like a waste even though you wouldn’t overstep and ask for him to go back to finishing inside of you. He would, by the way. Without a second thought he’d bury himself in until he couldn’t go any further and fuck his cum into you as deep as possible.

You feel a finger swiping up some of his cum off your backside and soon enough it’s pressed to your lips. Without a second thought you take the digit into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it while licking him clean. He wants some of it inside of you one way or another. A subtle way of still putting his claim on you.

The two of you take a moment to recover after Carmen pops his finger out of your mouth. His hands are running a circuit up and down the side of your thighs and torso, still enjoying the view of your body relaxed against the counter in front of him. The tile was starting to become painful as your stomach bent over it but you couldn’t bring yourself to move just yet. You didn’t fully trust your legs to support your weight without the counter for support.

Carmen’s rustling around behind you now. Reaching down to pull up just his boxes but kick his jeans the rest of the way off finally. He’s not ready for the stimulation of such a heavy material against his sensitive skin yet. There’s a clattering from the sink area as he retrieves another towel to get wet for you and a cup to fill with water. Your eyes feel heavy. Mind’s at ease having Carmen around again, not that you’ll admit it, and your body feeling languid after being fucked so well.

There’s a glass of water being sat in front of you. “Drink.” So you prop yourself up on your elbows and nurse small sips of the water while the cool rag gets to work wiping down your backside from the mess he made. His fingers ghost along the tender flesh of your ass where he was spanking, “Feeling alright?” You hum into the cup, giving him a small waggle of your behind to reassure any concerns he had.

He gets you cleaned up in silence, letting the both of you enjoy the simple moment. Carmen always prided himself on taking care of you. There’s warm hands, still damp from cleaning you up, rubbing up the sides of your torso before wrapping around the tops of your shoulders. His hips rub along your backside and you just feel so warm, so safe like this. “We gotta get you to bed.”

You just sigh and scrub your hands over your face. A beat of silence passes while you collect your thoughts. “Carm, I don’t think I can stand up.” Your legs are still slightly shaking and your mind has yet to catch up with your body.

Laughter’s coming from behind you as he delivers a playful swat to your ass. “C’mon I’ll get you there.” This feels so simple. You find yourself questioning why the two of you even broke up to begin with when the good moments were this good. Easy, content, safe. Would you ever be able to find this again? Would he?

He’s grabbing ahold of your waist while pulling you back into his chest. Your head falls back against his shoulder and Carmen allows his lips to once again find your exposed neck. A series of gentle kisses being placed as his arms snake tighter around your body. “Still feeling okay?” You let out a content hum and allow yourself to be held by him. “Feel better than I have all week. Thank you, Carm.” You feel him smile against your skin as he places another delicate kiss. “Always.”

The two of you stay intertwined until Carmen starts to encourage the shuffle towards your bedroom. He makes sure you get cleaned up and ready for bed. Brings you one of your sleep shirts while you brush your teeth and tries to not overthink when you offer him a toothbrush of his own because you just so happened to have an extra. Gives you privacy when you complain about needing to pee and you find it odd there’s a tug at your chest when he ducked out of the room. Part of you hated being that couple who left the door open or used the restroom while the other showered, yadda yadda. It was a sign of comfort and the door being pulled shut behind Carmen was a sign that comfort was long gone.

Not that you cared. Totally didn’t care at all.

He’s going to just tuck you in at first until you’re clutching at his frame and pulling him into bed next to you. Carmen never could say no when it came to you, especially when he feels his back sinking into your soft bed and your warm body curling up along his side. He should go. Get home before it’s too late and try to get some sleep. He’s already planning on getting to work early to avoid having too much free time to think about tonight in detail.

But his clothes feel so far away and the long day is starting to finally hit him. You can practically hear him thinking over his options and your breathing starts skipping as you feel him begin to pull away.

“Carmen.” Your grip on his chest tightens and it pulls directly at his heart. Since this whole… Situation started he never stayed the night when your meetings would run this late. Always picking his clothes up out of piles on the floor and mumbling something about needing to get home to get stuff together from work. You never asked him to stay anyway. Neither of you knew if that would make an already weird and complicated situation even worse.

But tonight was different.

There were hints of a storm in the distance you start telling yourself. If you focused you could hear thunder, somewhere, out there and you just wanted Carmen safe for his sake. That’s all. So you pathetically cling to him and hope you don’t kick yourself out of embarrassment in the morning. It takes just a moment of him looking down at you to understand what you can’t say and he’s giving you a little nod in response. His arms wrap around your shoulders, leaning in to press a kiss to the top of your head. Kissing every inch of you had to be one of his greatest pleasures in life.

“Remind me to season that skillet in the morning.”

‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊✮‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

Carmen, shockingly, sleeps through the night. The warmth of your body next to him coupled with your excellent sleeping experience. A comfortable bed with good pillows, a white noise machine in the corner of your room (the ice maker in the fridge at Carmy’s would constantly go off so you got used to sleeping with background noise to cover it up), it was the best night of rest he’s had in months.

Your sheets smell like home.

He’s slowly waking up now and his first thought is how much he misses the weight of your breast in his hand. Second thought is how much he needs to pee but damn your bed is comfortable.

Carmen allows his body to wake up slowly. Stretching his arms out above his head and letting out a satisfied grunt at the feeling of his well rested muscles. Blinking his eyes awake just enough to take in the sight of all the trinkets and items that covered your space. There’s some things he notices that he knows for a fact he purchased you. Bottles of perfume, books you keep telling yourself you need to read, cups you constantly forget to bring back into the kitchen until you’re fully out of them.

Did you keep any of the pictures? Photo strips from Navy Pier and the holiday market at Wrigley Field. Everything from the disposable camera you brought along on road trips and vacations. The polaroids that once littered a cork board in your living room that the two of you added pictures to so often. If he looked around enough would he find them tucked away safely in a box or did you pitch them when you knew the two of you were through.

Carmen still has one. You took most of them while you packed up your things from his place and refused to let him carry any of the boxes downstairs. So stubborn, so full of hurt pride. He just spent most of the day trying to stand out of your way but always available in case you finally admitted that you needed help. Maybe a small part of him hoped that as you packed up so many memories it would trigger a ‘What are we doing?’ reaction and you’d go running into his arms.

You never did.

But you did take one trip down to your car with an overstuffed Ikea bag over your shoulder and balancing a box on your hip. Carmen knew he didn’t have long, and it kind of felt like stealing, but he rushed over to the box you just started packing up and rifles through the photos as fast as he possibly could. It took a moment of digging before there it was. A polaroid photo someone took of the two of you on New Year’s Eve. You’re wearing some cheesy headband and he has those tacky sunglasses on that show off the incoming year on them. His arms are wrapped low around your waist as he stands behind you, one of your hands resting on top of his while the other is reaching up and back to cup his jaw. You’re both grinning and laughing in the photos and nothing bad has happened yet.

He hears you shuffling back up the stairs so he’s quickly throwing the box back together after sliding the photo into his pocket and rushing back to stand in the kitchen. Acting like nothing was happening. You didn’t even look over at him so it wasn’t like he had to put up much of a show anway.

It’s still safely tucked into his wallet.

The sound of the front door opening and hushed whispers are finally pulling him from his half asleep, reflective state. It looks like this day is getting started if he wants it to or not. He’s tilting his head to press it into the pillow underneath him, allowing one last deep inhale to remind himself exactly what your scent smells like before forcing his body to be pushed out of your bed.

Carmen turns the corner in just his boxer briefs and you’re not convinced you aren’t still dreaming because fuck he looks good. His hair’s a mess from the combination of you playing with it all night and him sleeping so well. One of his hands is scratching low on his hips while he takes in the sight of you in the kitchen.

Maybe he shouldn’t be so comfortable walking around your apartment half dressed still but God is this relationship situation getting messier since the day since the two of you reconnected.

“Ordered some breakfast from Yolk. Figured you were hungry and I’m sure you have to run off this morning but I uh-…. I just wanted to make sure you were fed.” You nod to yourself. Giving him an out as you start popping open food boxes. There was just over an hour until you had to get to work too so there were multiple excuses possible for this morning to end as early as it needed to.

In an odd, roundabout, time to head back to therapy kind of way it almost feels like you’re dating your ex.

“Yeah.” He nods to himself and desperately wishes he had deodorant, cologne, fuck even Axe body spray. Something to make himself smell better or feel more presentable for you. “Richie actually tried installing fuckin’ bidets to the toilets last night. Kept on running his mouth about how prestigious they are and he, obviously, doesn’t know how to install bidets. So the bathrooms are a little-“ He waves his hands through the air.

“Shitty?”

Second questionable pun you’ve made lately. Pull it together.

There’s a breathy little laugh coming out, “Yeah, shitty.” Carmen’s peeking over your shoulder as you plate up breakfast, sneaking a piece of bacon from under your arm before pressing a kiss to the top of your ear. “Thank you for ordering this.”

You nod and try to pretend you didn’t stop breathing having him so close to you under the soft morning light.

He leaves $60 tucked under a vase on your dining table to cover breakfast.

————

11:52 am

[DO NOT ANSWER]: Richie put his foot down and we’re stuck getting the bidets

[DO NOT ANSWER]: If you’re wondering how my day is going

12:17 pm

Shockingly my day is much less toilet related. I hope it’s going well.

4:39 pm

[DO NOT ANSWER]: I know so much about bathrooms now

————

You laugh a little too loud as the alert illuminates your phone. There’s a fond tugging at your heart as the ‘normal’ conversations fills your chat history instead of the short “My place tn” or “I still can’t find my jacket. You have to have it”. Maybe saving him as do not answer seemed too harsh but having his contact show up as a photo of you two cuddled up with the Chicago skyline in the background, an innocent and horrifically cheesy “Baby Boy 💙” contact name modeled after Richie saying you baby him too much one night. Every time it flashed across your screen and Richie saw he gave you guys an endless amount of shit. It became a constant bit that none of you got tired of at the time.

You were trying to separate yourself from your past with him as much as possible at first but now those lines just keep getting more and more blurred.

One of your coworkers grabs your attention away from your phone thus leaving Carmen’s message on read. He tries to pretend it doesn’t bother him as he gets to work prepping for tonight’s service. Who wants to talk about bathrooms with their… Fuck buddy? Ex? God that’s still so weird to say.

‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊✮‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

Your mind was haunted by thoughts of Carmen Berzatto all day.

No matter how many busy tasks you assigned yourself he always seemed to creep back in. You’d look around for him when a joke landed well at work and the group you were with erupted into laughter. Could easily picture his head thrown back as he scrubs over his face in an attempt to muffle the sound. When you were standing alone your mind wandered off to the way he treated you last night. So claiming. Expertly working your body the way only he could after so much time of getting to know it.

The bed feels so much

You throw the blanket away from your frame and watch as it bundles up beside you. Is this crazy? It feels crazy. You shake out the nerves, fluffing up your shorts and primping yourself for the photo. It takes one, two, seven pictures to get just the right angle. An image of your thighs against the bedding and your oversized sleep shorts bunched up all the way down your legs. Taking a deep breath you steel your spine and pull up Carmen’s contact.

————

11:28 pm

Headed to bed

ONE IMAGE ATTACHED

11:29 pm

[DO NOT ANSWER]: Fuck.

11:31 pm

Goodnight Carmen <3

2:12 am

[DO NOT ANSWER]: Can’t stop thinking about you

ONE VIDEO ATTACHED

————

The sun is warm against your skin as it slowly wakes you up. There’s an air purifier rattling in the corner that acts half as white noise while you sleep, half to soak up the smells of Chicago. Sometimes when Carmen’s especially exhausted you have to bring out the big boy and ask your Google home to play sleep sounds to mask him snoring all night. You typically didn’t mind the sound, knowing it’s a sign of just how badly he needed a good night’s rest.

You’re fishing your phone out of the comforter in a haste to click off the horrific sound of the alarm and your eyes are barely open when you see the alert. A preview image popping up and you can just barely a blurry image of - “Holy fuck!”

Your free hand flies up to clamp over your mouth as a mix of gasps and ‘no fucking way’ come out of you with zero control. With shaking hands you open up the video, half tempted to pinch yourself with a video of Carmen fills your screen. His hand rubbing over the bulge in his boxers and there’s a mess of shaky breathing coming from behind the phone. You can’t get the volume turned all the way up fast enough and you’re terrified to miss a single sound.

And there he is.

Fishing his cock out of his boxers and stroking himself for you. Illuminated by the lamp on his bedside table and his hand over lubricated to mimic how wet you get for him. He’s a mess of filthy moans, bucking hips, are you dreaming?

The combination of the sun beating in and the way this video is making your body go hot is too much. You’re overheating, kicking the blankets away from you while your hand goes into your shorts on instinct. Toying with your clit even though you don’t have much time to spare as you watch Carmen get off for you.

————

8:04 am

HEART REACTED TO A VIDEO

Mine tonight?

Fuck you sound so good

Wish I would have been there to clean you up

Say my name more next time please

How am I supposed to go to work now

————

No response. You aren’t surprised, he’s typically busy in the morning.

So you go along your day and let yourself enjoy the thought of Carmen coming back over tonight to take care of you. You had thought letting him back in was a risky move but things seemed fine so far. Settling into the new version of what normal was going to look like. Maybe things would end up being some version of alright after all.

A chirp from your phone catches your attention and you’re instantly uninvested in whatever task was at hand. It might be a little pathetic how excited you were but that is besides the point.

————

10:32 am

[CARMEN]: Busy tonight

————

Busy tonight? Go fuck yourself Carmen!

You waited all morning and THAT’S the response you get? Were the multiple texts too much? Did you come off too clingy? Sure he just stayed the night, was two times in one week where he drew the line?

So you leave him on read and take away the heart from his video. Change his name back to DO NOT ANSWER and instantly feel the urge to get off tonight leaving your body. Replaced by a subtle anger that only he can bring out of you.

The workday seems to go by so much quicker as you have this internal argument with yourself and mentally pick a battle with Carmen. Maybe you were silly to think things would… What? Go back to the way they were? No, of course not.

Ugh!

Carmen who, by the way, truly was slammed. Got stuck hosting an event for an old family friend that he barely knew but was convinced it’d be good for business. He’s overwhelmed by work and anxious with his relationship with you. The breakup was horrific. One of the worst things he’s had to experience so far which certainly says a lot. At the very least - It made sense. This though? Sleeping together, fucking when you have shitty dates and he’s your second choice for the night, taking pictures of dumb things he sees during the day because it made him think of you but never actually sending them, it made zero sense.

If only there was something the two of you could do to figure this whole mess out.

But alas.

You bring home a salad that’s far healthier than anything you’ve eaten all week accompanied by some fresh pressed green juice nonsense you lie to yourself and mentally say is delicious. The boy detox starts now.

The shower you take that night must last an hour. Every inch of your body gets scrubbed, your face and hair both get a mixture of treatments and masks. You primp and polish yourself up and convince yourself that this is all for you and not so you look better than ever and Carmen will have to regret his stupid and shitty ‘Busy tonight’ text because you were also just like so, so busy and -

Fuck Carmen Berzatto.

You decide you could go the rest of your life without hearing from him and be just fine. It was his loss. You’re funny, beautiful, and excellent in the bedroom. There’s thousands of people out there dreaming about finding someone like you!

This internal argument keeps going. And you know what’s annoying? The second you fling yourself into bed you realize he left his scent all over your sheets still. It hasn’t gone away - Cologne mixed with Carmen. And you 100% aren’t hunting out the scent nor are you hunting out a reason to stay annoyed with him. Not at all. So you get back out of bed and grab the fabric freshener to spray your sheets back down with, giving it a minute to dry before falling face first into the mattress with an annoyed huff.

So yeah, fuck him. You hope you never hear from him again and toss your phone on the other side of the bed. Forcing your eyes shut and making your mind go blank because otherwise you’ll stew all night thus continuing this Carmen induced spiral.

————

1:47 am

[DO NOT ANSWER]: Hey

————

Fuck.

#♡: c.b.#carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen x reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto smut #carmy berzatto smut #the bear #the bear fic #the bear smut #carmy x reader #carmy smut #carmy the bear #carmy bearzatto x you

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roosterforme · 4 months ago

Text

Aim for the Sky Part 14 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: The guys and Nat pull through with something big for your baby shower. Bradley can't get enough of your body, and then he gets the biggest surprise of all.

Warnings: Fluff, smut, oral sex, adult language, lactation kink, pregnancy topics

Length: 6000 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Aim for the Sky masterlist. This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order.

"I told you this would be a shitstorm," Bradley muttered quietly before taking a sip of his mimosa. Nat did her best to decorate the Hard Deck for the baby shower, and she even wore a dress for the occasion. But most of the attendees were the guys who decided to show up in essentially their gym clothes. In fact, the only one who looked halfway decent was Jake, probably because Cat told him what to wear.

"I don't mind this shitstorm," you told him, kissing his cheek as you picked up your orange juice. Jimmy was bartending since Penny was technically a shower guest, and he kept filling up your juice and making sure you were eating the snacks. Next time Bradley saw him on a regular night, he'd make sure to leave a big tip.

"What the hell?" Bradley groaned as Javy arrived and dropped another case of beer off on the gift table. "Even I know that pregnant women can't have alcohol. What in the actual hell is wrong with these people?"

You shot a glare in his direction before you stepped away to hug Javy. You had on another one of those bodycon dresses, and Bradley knew for a fact you weren't wearing any underwear. Not a single thread of it. Just that sexy, stretchy pink dress squeezing your curves like he wanted to be doing. Javy's hand slid a little low on your back for his liking, and he raised one unamused eyebrow before you stepped away.

God, he was so fucking cranky today. He still maintained that Valentine's Day was stupid, because he loved you every day, all the time. Last year he took you to that weird hotel with the hot sauce vending machine, which was fun, but he didn't need a special occasion to do anything. Having Rose's shower on the holiday should have given it more meaning, but he was irritable.

He knew this day would come toward the end of your pregnancy, but last night, you fell asleep while he was going down on you. And this morning when you woke up, you didn't say a word about it. Like you'd completely forgotten. Then you put on that pink dress and made yourself look all cute for the baby shower, but he could tell you were tired. The exhaustion hit you like a ton of bricks after the trip to Mexico, just when Bradley became accustomed to having sex multiple times per day. Just when you were more glowing than ever.

"Bradshaw," Jake drawled, the sound alone grating on Bradley's nerves. "Did someone piss in your mimosa?"

The stupid smirk on his face made Bradley roll his eyes. "There are two dozen people here, and I'm your best option for someone to annoy?"

Jake laughed merrily in response. "Oh, Rooster. You're always going to be my top pick. Your reactions alone are priceless. Don't tell me you've got cold feet about the baby? You can't unfuck Angel. You know that, right?"

"Jesus, you're annoying," he muttered under his breath. "It has nothing to do with that." But he kind of wanted to pout. Or get a blowjob from you. That would probably make it better. "I'm excited for the baby. Obviously."

Jake shook his head. "Then may I suggest you put a smile on your face before you upset your wife? Let her have a good day. Also, she looks hot pregnant."

"Why are you even looking at her?" he mumbled before he walked over to you. It wasn't your fault that you were exhausted and achy with delectable tits. It wasn't your fault that you fell asleep last night, even though you could have definitely held on for five more minutes so he wasn't second guessing himself now.

"Hey," he whispered, wrapping his arms around you from behind and letting his chin rest on your shoulder. "Having fun?" he asked as the final few guests arrived. Another case of beer and a bottle of champagne ended up with the rest of the gifts when Reuben walked in. "What is wrong with these men?"

Your laughter was light as you said, "I think it's kind of charming how clueless they are. I'm not sure why we even bothered to make a gift registry. Also, can you just tell me why you're pouting, Roo?"

He shrugged against your back as he ran his palm slowly up and down your belly, hoping to feel the Nugget kick. She seemed to be running out of room in there at this point, and the kicks were harder to feel. And maybe that was part of it, too. He was used to not only your horny ass on him 24/7, but he was used to his daughter greeting him when he talked to her.

"Does this have anything to do with me falling asleep while you were giving me head?"

Bradley's eyes went wide. "Sweetheart, do you really have to announce it to the whole place? If it wasn't any good, then it wasn't any good, but you know I'll try to make it up to you later."

"Stop it," you said with another laugh as you turned to face him. You were too beautiful. All he wanted to do was make you happy. "I've been trying to think of a way to make it up to you."

"I wasn't even sure you remembered falling asleep like that," he whispered.

You ran our hand down along his cheek as your belly bumped against his abs. "I'm sorry, Bradley. I couldn't stay awake for another second last night. Rose is requiring a lot more sleep now. I think we need to mess around earlier in the day. Oh! Maybe we can mess around in one of the Broncos this afternoon! You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"Yeah," he replied, unable to keep a smile from his lips. "I'd like that."

You kissed his lips softly and ran your thumb along his mustache, leaving him wanting more. "As soon as this shitshow is over, I'm all yours."

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

"Thanks," you told Reuben as you patted the case of beer he bought for you. "So thoughtful."

"Oh, there's a gift card taped on the side, too," he told you with a smile. And sure enough, when you turned it around to look, you found it. A gift card to the liquor mart in Coronado.

"Thank you so much," you told him with a smile as you tried to figure out why everyone brought so much alcohol. "Just out of curiosity, why do you think I need this much beer and fifty dollars worth of booze?"

The guys all burst out laughing. "Because you have to live with Rooster!" Javy shouted, earning a swift middle finger from your husband. Then you started laughing, and even Nat, who looked fed up with all of them, had to hide her smile.

"We were wondering when you were going to ask," Jake said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out another gift card. "This is from us. For real this time. Congratulations."

He placed it in your hand, and tears filled your vision. Javy, Mickey, Reuben and Jake had all scribbled their names on the paper envelope, and someone had written Bob's on there even though he was still deployed. "It's for Amazon, for a thousand dollars," you whispered, afraid you were going to start actively crying.

"We heard diapers are expensive," Reuben said as he shoved chips and spinach dip into his mouth.

"We heard babies are expensive," Javy added.

"Babies are definitely expensive," Cat called out from the other side of the bar.

Bradley wrapped his arm around your shoulders, and you buried your face in his chest as he said, "I'm not going to apologize for flipping you off, because I'm sure you deserved it for something, but thank you."

After a few deep breaths, inhaling the comforting scent of your husband, you looked up at everyone and said a very watery, "Thank you."

There was another card from Maria and Cam attached to a high chair, and Cat picked out a onesie that said Future Aviator. Maverick and Penny bought every bath accessory a baby could ever need, and then you were left with an enormous gift bag that Mickey was handing off with a bright smile on his face.

"You got us something else?" you asked, bewildered since he already contributed to the hefty gift card. But when you looked inside, everything was blue. Blue bibs and outfits and crib sheets. Blue everything.

"We're having a girl," Bradley told him with a furrowed brow.

"What?" Mickey asked as he turned to look at Nat. "You said they were having a boy!"

She scoffed. "I never said that."

"You said the baby's name is Ambrose!"

Nat was rubbing her temples as she looked up at the ceiling. "I said the baby's name is Rose. It's a girl."

"Ohhhh. That's why we got Rooster a box of pink cigars," Mickey said, nodding as if that made sense as he handed you a gift receipt.

"You just ruined the last surprise," Javy complained, hitting Mickey on the back of the head with a cigar box before giving it to Bradley. "Save some of those for next time we go golfing."

You watched your husband hug everyone in turn as he held onto the cigars and the gift card. And you didn't even mind that you'd probably need to exchange most of the stuff Mickey picked out. Everything was actually pretty perfect. It was chaotic, for sure. The guys ate all of the elaborate hors d'oeuvres that Nat picked out like it was a bag of Doritos, and you started crying again when Cam and Maria kissed your cheeks at the same time. But nothing prepared you for what Natasha said when you and Bradley insisted on helping her clean up at the end.

"I didn't really get anything for Rose, because I don't know what she likes yet. But I wanted to make everything easier for you both, so expect a ton of diapers and wipes to be delivered to your house this week." She pulled two wrapped boxes out from behind the bar as she said, "And these are for you."

"Nat," Bradley said, trying to push the boxes away. "You weren't supposed to get us anything at all. You threw us a fucking baby shower! It's too much!"

You watched her press her lips together for a few seconds before she whispered, "You're my best friend, Soul Sister. I never imagined I would ever see you as happy as you are now. Just take the fucking gifts. They're personalized, so I can't return them."

Bradley gave your hip a little squeeze before handing you the boxes, and then he pulled Nat in for a hug which lasted all of three seconds before she shook her head. "God, you're the worst. Just open them," she muttered, trying to pretend like she wasn't crying.

Your emotions were all over the place. You were happy and excited and horny and everything all at once. And you loved Natasha, but you weren't expecting her to pick out something so simple yet so perfectly beautiful. You unwrapped your box while Bradley opened his, and then you were both holding up luxuriously fluffy white cotton robes. Across the back of yours was stitched Rose's Mom in beautiful rose colored thread, and there was a rose embroidered on the front in the same color. Bradley's was the same but larger with Rose's Dad on the back. You slipped it on over your pink dress and did a little spin.

"This is beautiful," you whispered while Bradley put his on as well.

When you hugged her, she said, "I don't want either of you looking frumpy while you're taking care of my goddaughter."

While you hadn't given extensive thought to the honorary titles, you knew she would fit the role perfectly. You smiled and nodded. "You're absolutely right."

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

"Nat would be disgusted," Bradley said with a smile as he led you out to your quiet driveway later in the afternoon. The sky was a little dark from the storm clouds moving in, but it was still light enough out that he knew he needed to be cautious. He opened the back door of the blue Bronco and helped you in, and he was careful to help you keep yourself covered as you climbed in wearing nothing but your new robe. He tightened the sash on his, holding the front closed with one hand, and he followed you in.

"Roo," you whispered with a giggle. "I can see your cock."

He closed the door behind him and let the robe fall completely open, and soon you were yanking the sash so you could see all of him. Of course he was already hard and bobbing in excitement. "I'm pretty sure she intended for these to be worn over pajamas or underwear or something."

You just shrugged and straddled his lap, and told him, "I like it this way." You kissed his cheek while he cock was nestled up against your pussy, and he groaned in pleasure. "I'm sorry I fell asleep last night. I've been thinking about this moment all day. Wanting to make it up to you."

He felt a little bad for being so frustrated earlier, and he intended to say so, but then you pulled at the sash of your own robe, and he was treated to the sight of your swollen tits. When you shifted on his lap, they swayed ever so slightly, and he made a feral sound before leaning in to taste them. "Jesus," he moaned as he ran his nose around your breast. "So fucking warm."

He sucked gently on your nipple while you played with his hair, hoping that the neighbors couldn't see through the line of trees into the Bronco. You tasted as good as you smelled, and he was salivating just knowing your milk would be coming in soon. Soft whimpers escaped you as he nibbled gently before sucking on you again, and you wiggled your hips until his tip was inside you. He slid his hands along the sides of your belly, and you gave him a little clench.

"Just a few more weeks, Daddy," you whispered, taking him deeper as he ran his tongue all over your chest. "Oh, you're such a good Daddy."

"Fuck," he growled, easing you back along the seat and hovering above you. "I thought this was gonna be sweet," he muttered, pistoning his cock into you, making your tits bounce. "But you're too hot."

You were whining his name, hands scrambling around for something to hold on to as he fucked you. "You don't have to be sweet, Roo. I like it rough."

"I know you do," he grunted kissing along your neck and palming your breast as he let you have it a little harder. "You're everything."

Eventually, like clockwork, his steady movements and whispered sentiments had you close. He let his hand cup your clit, his thumb stroking softly as he fucked you with sharp, strong strokes, and his other hand settled on your neck. You came instantly, your back arching, belly rising up to bump him.

"Bradley!" you screamed, and he glanced up to see if anyone was nearby.

"Shh, Sweetheart," he coaxed, sinking his cock into your spasming pussy over and over until he couldn't take another second. "Oh, God." He pushed himself deep and dipped his thumb between your lips to keep you quieter, and he came and came. His balls were tight as he filled you, letting your body suck everything out of him that he had to give until he was a little dizzy. "Holy hell."

Your lips and tongue worked at his thumb as you lay there beneath him placidly. He kissed your nose and the perfect curve of your cheek before sitting up with his cock still inside you. You looked beautiful with your dainty rooster tattoo and your hard nipples, and when he withdrew slowly, he ran his fingers along your most intimate parts, collecting his cum.

"I hope the robes are machine washable," you whispered as you sat up, letting his cum dribble onto the fabric as you licked at his messy fingers.

You had his cum on your lips, and your gaze was glued to his as he whispered, "Happy Valentine's Day, Baby Girl."

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

Later that week, you were climbing into bed while Bradley was adding to the Nugget Notebook. He was reading softly out loud as he wrote, and you were trying to enjoy yourself, but you didn't feel great.

"Hey, Rosie," he muttered with a smile. "Mommy's belly is looking enormous these days, and that means you'll be here soon. I don't think I've ever been this excited before. Nine months is a long time to build up this anticipation, and I'm ready to meet you. Your nursery is finished. We even had your baby shower the other day. All we're missing now is our little girl."

"That's sweet," you whispered, trying to get your stomach ache under control, but a second later, you jumped out of bed and ran for the bathroom. "Oh no," you groaned before emptying the contents of your stomach into the toilet.

Bradley was pounding across the floor right behind you, and you felt his hands on your back as you threw up even more. "What's wrong?" he asked, rubbing small circles. "What do you need me to do?"

"I don't know," you wailed, wiping sweat from your brow. "I feel awful. It started a few hours ago."

"Shit," he muttered, helping you lay down on the cold, tile floor. "Why didn't you say anything before?" He got to his feet and immediately had the blood pressure cuff on you while you closed your eyes and tried to get your heart rate to calm down. "Your blood pressure is low," he whispered. "This is inconsistent. It's been on the higher side."

Your mind was swirling with information as you tried to sit up, but Bradley was already on his phone. "What are you doing?"

"Calling Dr. Morris. Just lay still, Sweetheart." He rolled a towel up and tucked it under your head while Rose squirmed.

You did as you were told, because you were suddenly so tired, you couldn't think. You started to doze on the floor as Bradley spoke with someone. You only had four more weeks to go, but you felt like this was the beginning of the end. You just wanted to get the rest of this pregnancy over with as soon as possible. As you pulled the towel over your eyes to block out the light, your head started pounding. And when Bradley checked your blood pressure a second time, you heard him sigh.

"It's a lot higher now," he told whomever was on the phone. "Yes... yes... no... okay." A few seconds later, he was laying down next to you with one strong arm wrapped around your body. He kissed your ear and whispered, "They said it could be normal for this late in your pregnancy. The last month can get rough again, but we'll keep an eye on everything. If you don't feel a little bit better by the morning, I'll take you to get checked out."

You swallowed hard. "But you're supposed to be teaching tomorrow. Remember?"

He wanted to try his hand at flight instruction. He'd been talking about it for months. There would be fewer deployments if he thought it was a good fit for him, and Maverick was giving him the opportunity fill in on occasion now for an opening in the future.

"I don't care about that," he replied easily. "Let me get you girls back in bed."

Eventually you fell asleep while he rubbed your back. You could make it a few more weeks. Probably.

You felt a tiny bit better as the days wore on, but you were exhausted and achy. Your feet started to get puffy and swollen, and you could barely make it through a day at work.

"Are you almost ready to come out?" you asked your own belly in early March.

But Bradley shook his head and got down in his knees in the middle of cooking dinner. "Absolutely not," he whispered. "You stay in there as long as you can, Rosie." He looked up at you with wide, brown eyes. "We're all doing great. Preeclampsia is under control again. You look incredible. I'm holding down the fort. That Nugget needs to stay put."

"I'm so tired," you whined. "My mom keeps saying I need to rest now before she's born, but I can't. I can barely sleep, and I always feel like I'm on the verge of throwing up again. And I'm just so fucking tired, Bradley."

"I know," he whispered, letting his cheek rest on your enormous belly. You were handily the largest pregnant woman you'd ever seen in your life, and you swore you got bigger by the day. "I'm taking care of as much as I can so you don't have to."

You started crying. "I feel disgusting. Everything hurts. My tits feel like they're on fire. My back feels like that time I woke up hanging halfway off the bed when I was drunk after my bachelorette party. My face is broken out, and I'm hungry."

Bradley sent you to the table with a bowl of homemade soup and spent thirty minutes trying to coax you to start your maternity leave early. But what were you supposed to do with your time if you were at home? Worry about the baby? Eat until you gained another ten pounds? Get frustrated that you can't sleep?

"No," you said, shaking your head. "I like going to work. I want to go to work."

He ran his hand along his face and asked, "Are we still doing maternity pictures on Sunday?"

"Yeah," you whispered, annoyed that you had scheduled it so late in your pregnancy, but you wanted to have some photos taken while you were still pregnant for his birthday calendar. He told you ages ago that was something he'd enjoy, and at least your breasts looked pretty nice at the moment. "I need you to meet me at the beach after you're done playing golf."

"There's no way I'm going golfing, Sweetheart."

"You have to. You promised the guys you'd smoke those pink cigars with them. And you'll look adorable in the photos with your cheeks all flushed from your outing."

He rolled his eyes and grouched as he walked away. "We'll see," he mumbled. "We'll just see."

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

Bradley was sipping pink champagne from the bottle and smoking a cigar in the golf cart, and he had to admit you were right for making him come today. You were miserable now. Sometimes when he touched you, he saw you wince. The last time you and he had sex was in the backseat of the blue Bronco a month ago. He kept telling you it was okay, but you cornered him this morning when he was trying to shave around his mustache, and you gave him a blowjob.

He was still thinking about his cock sliding expertly along between your lips when Jake lit up a cigar next to him. "You're almost there old man. More responsibility than you've ever had before."

Bradley grunted in response. "I'm ready. Can't wait to meet her." He couldn't stop thinking about passing along his last name and his mom's name to a new generation. If he never met you, he was sure he'd never be at this point now, but you made everything so exciting for him. "My Nugget."

Jake smirked in response. "Feel free to call me crying a few weeks after she's born when you need a break."

"Okay. Like you're some sort of baby professional," he muttered before taking another sip of champagne. "You weren't around when Jeremiah was a newborn."

"Well, I'm around now," Jake replied with a hard edge to his voice. "And I intend to keep it that way. Been thinking about proposing."

Bradley looked him in the eye and asked, "You think she'll say yes?"

While he looked just as cocky as ever, there was something unsure in his eyes. "How could anyone say no?"

Bradley shrugged in response. "I could say no to you all day long."

"You're not a woman."

"My wife told you no as well."

Jake glared at him before laughing. "Aren't you supposed to be getting photos taken or something? We've got two more holes to finish up."

"Yeah," Bradley grunted in response, ready to get out of here and get back to you. "Javy! Let's go!"

Javy was practicing his swing while smoking his own pink cigar, and that fact that Reuben was filling in with his thirty-four handicap and chugging champagne made Bradley really miss Bob. They all wound along the pathway toward the seventeenth green. Bradley got par on both holes and handily beat the other three, and then he ended up getting changed in his Bronco to head to the beach.

He was supposed to meet you and the photographer who had made both of his dirty Baby Girl calendars at a very specific spot on a very specific beach up near Oceanside, and when he arrived, you were topless.

"Jesus," he moaned, watching you cover your tits with your hands as you spun to face him.

"You're early!" you complained as he glanced along the deserted stretch of sand.

"I don't see the issue," he told you, closing the distance until he could kiss you. His eyes drifted down to your chest as he asked, "What are you doing, Sweetheart? Dirty maternity pictures?"

The photographer snorted as you shook your head. "Don't worry about it, Roo. It's for a special project," you said, leaning up to kiss his cheek. He desperately wanted to grab at you, but the two of you weren't alone, and he didn't want to make you wince again.

"I love special projects," he whispered, a little concerned that he might get hard as you dropped your hands and took your top back from the photographer with a thank you.

Then he was subjected to two hours of photos. Two hours of being posed and prodded while sand blew in his face. Two hours of being told he was only allowed to touch you in a specific way.

"Wouldn't it be better to take photos after Rose is here?" he mused when he was finally allowed to just watch you pose alone with your hands on your belly.

"Oh, don't worry about that. We'll have another round of pictures with her, too," you informed him.

"Great."

It was one thing to enjoy pictures of you, but Bradley wasn't a very good photography subject. He got tired of smiling after about three minutes. Honestly, he'd probably smile a lot more with his tiny daughter in his arms at home instead of on the beach where the wind was kicking up.

"We're just about done," the photographer informed him, but he knew what he wanted.

"Can we get a few with the sun setting where we aren't posed at all?" he asked.

You were standing with the waves rolling up around your toes as you asked, "What did you have in mind?"

He reached for you and pulled you close, one big hand coming up to your cheek as he said, "Maybe something like this." Then he kissed you just like he always would, and his other hand found your belly. "I love you," he murmured, and you kissed him harder. Your arms were around his neck like it was your very first kiss, and he couldn't stop smiling.

He honestly forgot there was anyone else there at all until she said, "These look perfect."

He was still smiling as his forehead came to rest against yours. "Of course they do. I'm with my girls."

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

As the month of March wore on and the days grew hotter again, you were getting more uncomfortable by the hour. Your due date was fast approaching, and you felt like you lived at Dr. Morris's office now. They were constantly taking urine samples and blood samples, and when they finally sent you home on March twentieth with a cotton ball and a bandaid on your arm, you pouted at Bradley as he drove.

"Can we stop and get some ice cream?" you asked. "I was really good during my appointment."

"You were so good, Baby Girl," he crooned playfully, giving your thigh a squeeze. "I'll get you some ice cream."

He stopped at the super secret little ice cream spot near base, and you sat on a bench together with double scoop cones. Bradley's tongue was a major distraction as he licked along his strawberry and raspberry scoops, and you had to try to keep up before your treat melted everywhere.

When he kissed your cheek, his lips were cold as he said, "You're too slow," before stealing a huge lick from your scoops. "You're dripping onto your shirt."

"No, I'm not," you insisted. You hadn't felt anything dribble onto your outfit, but when you glanced down, there was a damp spot on your shirt. Your brow furrowed, wondering how that could be, and then you gasped. "Oh. Ohhh. Are my nipples leaking?" you asked softly, handing him your cone and trying to discreetly look down your shirt.

"Oh my god," he groaned loudly, ice creams forgotten as he tried to get a peek, too. "Please tell me the answer is yes."

You bit your lip as you pulled your tank top and snug sports bra away from your tender breasts, ready to moan from the pain and pleasurable sensations. "They are," you gasped. When you looked up into his brown eyes, there was ice cream dripping onto both of his hands, and his lips were parted in awe. "Do you want to go home?"

He grunted something unintelligible, and you watched him inhale the rest of his ice cream. The fact that he let you eat something so messy in his Bronco was almost unfathomable, but he buckled you in and sprinted around to the driver's side while you held your cone. His cheeks were bright red in the setting sunlight, and he drove a bit faster than he usually ever did, his knee bobbing in anticipation.

As you licked at your cone and rubbed a hand on your tender belly, you sweetly asked, "What exactly do you want to do when we get home, Roo?"

He glanced over at you several times, pupils blown wide, before he rasped, "I need to taste you."

"Bradley," you moaned, squeezing your thighs together as he pulled into the driveway. "Please. I want you to."

"Fuck," he grunted, shifting into park and running back around to get you. He tossed your cone over his shoulder onto the grass, and he didn't complain when you wrapped your sticky fingers around his neck. He hauled you inside and took a seat on the couch with his legs spread wide and his erection bobbing in his gym shorts. "Show me, please," he begged, and you started to strip off your shirt. When you peeled off your bra as well, his eyes went even wider, and he took you gently by the hips until you were straddling his waist.

"Jesus Christ," he whispered, eyes darting from your face to your breasts as a small bead of your breast milk dripped from your nipple. His fingers flexed on your hips and he whimpered.

"Go ahead," you coaxed, running your fingers through his hair. You were completely mesmerized by how badly he wanted this, and when he ran his tongue along your nipple before sucking gently, you whined.

He released you with a pop as your aching belly rested against him, and the possessive look in his eyes left you breathless. You guided him closer again with your hand at the back of his head, and this time, he didn't stop. He sucked and laved, lapping up your milk and buried his face in your breasts. You were leaking from both sides now, and he didn't let a single drop go to waste. He ran his nose and his fingers through it, tasting you on his skin as well as your own.

"You're so fucking warm," he whispered reverently. "And sweet. Oh my god, Baby Girl. Oh my god." Then his flat tongue swiped out for another taste. You let him keep going, loving the feel of his mouth and mustache, almost soothing you. By the time you pulled his cock free from his shorts, his tip was bright and angry looking, and after two pumps in your hand, he came all over both of you. Your leggings and his clothing were covered, but he was still lapping at your nipples, cheeks rosy and pupils wide.

"Daddy," you whispered, pulling away as you started to feel a little overstimulated and dizzy. "That was so hot."

He sank back against the couch, looking around like he was surprised to find the mess he just made. "Oh. Fuck. I'm sorry," he whispered, chest rising and falling with each deep breath. "I'll clean you up."

But you were laughing softly. "You got so carried away."

"I know," he groaned. "Your magic tits are killing me."

You whimpered and let him help you stand, and then you took him with you to get a shower. He didn't lick them again, but his hands were right there and his eyes were hazy as he looked you up and down.

"You're obsessed. What are you going to do when I'm no longer pregnant?"

His eyes lit up. "Well, I'll be delighted. Both of my girls will be here. And it's not like I wasn't obsessed with you before you were pregnant."

"Hmm, I suppose you're right." But as you climbed into bed, completely exhausted, you smirked as Bradley wrote a few paragraphs in the Nugget Notebook. You were wearing nursing pads now, but you came up with a little plan for the following day.

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

Bradley left base a little late. He was honestly so thankful that Maverick was giving him an opportunity to help teach the newest batch of aviators to arrive at Top Gun, but it was a lot of extra work that he wasn't used to. He drove home with a folder of things he needed to take a look at, but all he could really think about was your tits. Big, round, warm, perfect.

He hadn't seen you all day, but he blushed every time he thought about how he blew his load everywhere last night. He was also a little afraid he might do it again if you let him loose on your lactating nipples. Jesus, how was he supposed to function now that he knew what you tasted like?

Anxiously, he ran his fingers through his hair. Okay, so he knew he needed it. If you were home already, he'd just ask you nicely if he could get in there before he cooked dinner. And to his delight, he saw your Bronco in the driveway when he drove down the street.

"Excellent," he muttered, trying to waddle up the walkway with a semi erect cock in his khakis. Ah, but you knew him so well. You knew he was going to be a mess all the time now. When he walked inside, you were standing there in the living room topless. He could barely see your lace panties for the size of your belly, but you were smiling as a droplet of your milk formed on your left nipple.

"Hi, Daddy," you greeted playfully, and he took two steps into the room before the look on your face changed from smiley to shocked. "Oh!" you gasped, looking down at your feet and taking a step backwards. "I think... oh my god. I think I just wet myself!"

Bradley's eyes went wide as he dropped everything he was holding. "Sweetheart. I think your water broke."

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

She's coming!!! Rosie!! I'm so damn excited! Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 15

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mingi-s-dimples · 1 month ago

Text

Movie Night - Hongjoong

KINKTOBER DAY 12, REQ. BY anon

~"gentle sex+ praise w Hongjoong"

pairing: hongjoong x fem!reader

genre: 18+, filth, sweet

summary: watching movies with your lovely boyfriend takes a 180 turn... as he gets a little bit too excited mid-watching.

wc: 2k

warnings: first time sex, all lovey dovey, getting bricked up while watching a movie, consent is hot omfg, protected (yay!), fingering, foreplay, aftercare, completely consensual, praising, pet names, established relationship, for sure forgot something, completely unedited might edit later.

Author's Note: I believe this is the seeetest smut fic I've ever written? Nothing too intense, lovely chemistry and so on... I actually like it tbh. Anon, I hope it's up to your expectations and if not, I'm always going to receive feedback! Be it positive or negative ^^ my requests are open 🤗. Enjoy ,lovie !

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and does not represent the reality of the members in any way.

The night was quiet, save for the soft hum of the television and the occasional pop from the bowl of freshly made popcorn. You and Hongjoong were curled up on the couch, legs tangled comfortably beneath a shared blanket. The room was dimly lit, casting a warm glow over the both of you as the movie played. It was supposed to be a relaxing evening—a movie marathon, your favorite snacks, and the comfort of his arm draped casually over your shoulder.

As the latest movie flickered across the screen, you glanced up at Hongjoong. His usual focus on the screen seemed slightly off tonight, his eyes darting to you more frequently. He was silent, but you could feel the shift in his energy. Your stomach fluttered, not entirely sure what had changed, but knowing something had.

At one point, you shifted to get more comfortable, your body brushing against his. You didn’t think much of it at first, but then you noticed the slight tension in his body. When you glanced down, you saw it—his reaction. Your face heated instantly, and you bit your lip, trying to suppress the sudden wave of embarrassment.

Hongjoong noticed your expression and followed your gaze. He tensed for a moment before giving a soft chuckle, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck awkwardly.

"I—uh...sorry, I didn’t mean for that to happen," he muttered, the faintest hint of a blush creeping onto his cheeks.

You cleared your throat, trying to laugh it off. "Well...I guess that’s one way to make movie night more interesting."

He smirked, leaning a little closer. "Maybe we could take a break from the movie, then? You know...if you're up for it."

The playful suggestion in his voice made your heart race even more, and despite your flustered state, you couldn’t help but feel a pull of excitement. You met his gaze, feeling a mix of shyness and anticipation.

"Maybe..." you whispered, giving him a teasing smile.

Hongjoong's gaze lingered on you, and the tension between you grew palpable, the air thick with unspoken words. He leaned in slowly, his hand finding yours beneath the blanket, fingers brushing softly against your skin. His touch sent a shiver through you, your breath catching as he closed the distance between your faces.

You felt his warm breath on your lips, your heart pounding in your chest as you searched his eyes for a sign of hesitation. But there was none—just quiet intent and a tenderness that made your chest tighten. You tilted your head slightly, eyes fluttering closed as you met him halfway. His lips touched yours gently at first, as if testing the waters, before deepening the kiss.

The movie played on in the background, forgotten, as you melted into the kiss. His hand slipped up to cradle the side of your face, thumb brushing softly against your cheek as his lips moved in perfect rhythm with yours. The kiss was slow, unhurried, but it carried a depth that sent warmth rushing through you.

You pulled away for a brief moment, catching your breath, only to have Hongjoong's forehead rest against yours. His voice was barely above a whisper, filled with an intimacy that made your skin tingle. "You okay?"

You nodded, smiling softly. "More than okay."

His free hand began to move, tracing along your arm and then down to your waist, pulling you just a little closer, the weight of his body grounding you in the moment. You responded in kind, your hands sliding up to tangle in his hair, pulling him in for another kiss, this one deeper and more urgent. The world around you seemed to blur as you both gave in to the building tension, the space between you dissolving as you held each other tight.

Hongjoong pulled back slightly, his breath uneven as he looked at you, his gaze filled with a mixture of desire and tenderness. He ran his thumb gently over your cheek, studying your expression, making sure you were still comfortable. "Can I...?" he started, his voice soft, almost hesitant. His eyes flicked down briefly before meeting yours again, the unspoken question hanging between you.

You felt your heart skip a beat, understanding what he was asking without him having to finish the sentence. You could see the care in his eyes, the way he was waiting for your response, giving you control of the moment. Your chest tightened with emotion, and after a deep breath, you gave him a slight nod, your voice barely above a whisper. "Yes."

His lips curved into a soft smile, filled with both relief and affection. He leaned in to kiss you again, slow and deliberate, his hands moving to the hem of your shirt. His fingers brushed your skin lightly as he began to lift the fabric, pausing for a moment, giving you a chance to stop him if you changed your mind. When you didn’t, he continued, pulling it over your head gently.

For a moment, Hongjoong just stared, his eyes wide and filled with awe as they roamed over you. His breath hitched slightly, and you could see the way his face softened, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. "You’re... beautiful," he whispered, his voice full of sincerity. His hand moved slowly, tracing the curve of your shoulder, his touch light as if he were afraid of breaking the moment.

You blushed under his gaze, feeling exposed but not uncomfortable. There was something in the way he looked at you—like you were the most precious thing he had ever seen—that made your heart swell. "I've never seen anything like this," he admitted quietly, almost to himself. His eyes met yours again, filled with admiration. "You're perfect."

You felt your cheeks grow warmer, but you couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. His praise felt genuine, heartfelt, and it only deepened the connection between you. Hongjoong leaned in to press another soft kiss to your lips before moving to kiss your collarbone, his touch reverent, as if every inch of you deserved the utmost care and attention.

His hands moved gently, exploring your skin with a mix of curiosity and adoration, but always with a quiet, unspoken question in his eyes, making sure you were comfortable with each step.

As soon as he got to the hem of your sweatpants, he looked up again and even before he got to ask you, you nodded and let him know that he can undress you. So with that he took your sweatpants off, leaving you in only your panties, no bra.

"Everything good..?" he shyly asked, gaze shifting onto your hard nipples, gulping at the sight.

"Y-yes.. please, Joong.." you pleaded, whining at him.

"Are you.. sure? It's kinda.. both of our first times..." he said, slightly panicking, but you reassured him that everything is okay by shutting him off with a longed kiss.

While still kissing you, he also took your panties off, then broke the kiss for a moment.

"You're perfect.. my love.." he told you, showering you with love. He took off his clothes and looked at you, eyes full of lust combined with affection.

As you were laying on your back on the laid-down couch, an extendible bed, he positioned himself to your entrance and stood like that for a moment. His hands went traveling, from your thighs to your waist and to your breasts, resting them around where he could, flustered. He went in for a kiss, tongues interlocking and deeply tasting you as his right hand went to your dripping folds, softly, almost scared-like touching you, to not make you uncomfortable. You squirmed under him, trying to get more friction from his fingers and as soon as you felt him insert two of them, you soflty moaned, the sound revrebrating through as you kissed him.

He deepened the kiss as his fingers began to move, slowly at first, teasingly. You could feel the heat of his body against yours, the tension in the air growing as his pace picked up, each stroke more deliberate, more eager. Your hips instinctively rocked against his hand, silently urging him on as your breaths became shallow, each touch sending jolts of pleasure through you.

His lips trailed away from your mouth, planting soft kisses along your jawline, down to your neck. The sensation of his hot breath and the delicate pressure of his lips made you shiver. He could sense your need, your desire for more, and his hand responded in kind, fingers curling inside you, finding that sweet spot that made your back arch and a sharp gasp escape your lips.

For a brief moment, he paused to look at you, his eyes dark with desire, silently asking for permission to continue, to go further. You could feel the connection between you, the understanding that this was a shared moment of passion, of trust. With a soft, breathless nod, you gave him that silent affirmation, ready to lose yourself in the sensations he was stirring within you.

"I-mmh, I'm close, Joong-" you breathed out, legs trembling and your walls clenching on his fingers. The knot that formed in your belly was damn close to bursting, his fingers became steadier and faster, one of his hands traveling to your breasts and fondling with them. He leaned in for another kiss and as soon as he curled his fingers inside you a couple of times, you came down from your high, broken moans and whines escaping your throat.

"Good girl.. my love" he praised you, while the hand that was inside you just a moment ago went to his hard and aching cock, looking contently at you. He slowly got up and opened a drawer, taking a condom out of a small box. Your eyes widened at his care as he put it on and lined himself up to your entrance, his hands resting on your waist.

"Are you ready?" he shyly muffled.

"Y-yes" voice breathless and broken.

He slowly thrusted himself in you, giving you time to adjust to his size. He stood still for a moment, waiting for a sign from you, to which you softly moved under him, trying to get some friction. He took that as a sign and started fucking you more rapidly, but with all the care in the world. He lifted you up in his lap, as he embraced you. Your hands gathered around his shoulders, holding onto him dearly.

"I love you so much... y/n" Hongjoong stated.

"Me too, Joong.."

You were now in charge of the movements, being of top of him. And as you moved up and down, with a steady rythm, both your breaths got shallower and in a gasped manner. Hongjoong's hands were holding onto your waist and ass, trying so hard not to move you more than you wanted. But he was patient, never rushing you.

He muffled something you couldn’t quite figure out, but he soon found his words, "You feel so good... my love. You're so beautiful.. Goddamn, I'm so close-" and as you let yourself be fully filled by his lenghty cock, he finished and let out a string of muffled words, forehead now resting on your shoulder.

He decided to fuck you through his high which put you in the spot to be close to cumming again, which happened as soon as he bottomed out a few more times, hitting all your good spots, accompanied by his hands roaming your body.

You felt slightly overwhelmed, tears forming in your eyes from all the pleasure and pain of having sex for the first time with your lovely boyfriend.

He helped you off and lifted you up, carrying you to the bathtub. He slowly put you down and turned on the shower, getting in, too.

"Let's get you washed up.. my darling " he softly said and moved the shower head towards your body, hands soflty cleansing you.

"Thank you for all of this.. truly" you said, smiling.

"Thank.. you for trusting me, I should be saying" Hongjoong stated and leaned in for a forehead kiss, embracing you thightly while he let the water run and slowly fill the bathtub.

NETWORKS:

@blossomnet

@illusionnet

PERMANENT TAGLIST:

@mingleshine @musiclovingfairy @crazylittlebisexual @sanhwalvr @gong-fourz @arki-sha @artistic-rendition @hongjoongtime117 @cypher-03 @woolysium

#illusionnet #blossomnet #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #ateez fic #ateez x y/n #fanfic #smut fic #ateez #ateez smut #smut #mingi s dimples masterlist #hongjoong x y/n #ateez hongjoong #hongjoong x reader #hongjoong

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o-sachi · 1 month ago

Text

Blue Lock Filo! AU Headcanons

𖤓 feat. isagi, bachira, chigiri, kunigami, barou, nagi, reo, sae, rin, karasu, otoya, hiori, shidou, oliver, yukimiya 𖤓 tags: college au, filo au, crack (kinda), sfw, written in Taglish because ???, not proofread lel

note: I'm sorry if your uni isn't here. My knowledge of universities in the country is limited to the big 4 and some others that participate in uaap sobbb

note 2: Send me your own hcs too plspls

note 3: filo moots sana magkaron haha what if

Isagi

He goes to UST and will correct you (nicely) about how to pronounce "Thomasian"

Goes to church with his family every Sunday without failure

He's close with his extended family too, especially the grandparents.

Golden child. Siya yung bata na example ng nanay mo na dapat gayahin mo raw.

A fan of indie Pinoy bands and watches indie Pinoy films.

Cup of Joe fan lol

Too shy to ask anyone out for the Christmas event sa UST (sorry limot ko na ano tawag).

Is in UST, but probably not taking up medicine. Parents were supportive of it though.

Mabilis mag-reply. He uses the 👍 and 😊 unironically

Friends with a lot of questionable/cancelable guys, but he's still genuinely the nice one among them

When he visits a friend's house, he's always chatting up their parents and helping around the house without being asked

Generic sinigang enjoyer :shrug:

Pretty much an average guy. Though he is definitely nicer than most. It shocks you.

(Sorry wala na ko maisip pero basta green flag siya).

Bachira

Goes to UP Diliman for fine arts

A manic pixie dream boy that girls gush about when they see him hanging out at the sunken gardens

Knows all the brainrot and even the Pinoy brainrot

Does the "Ha? Halaman" and says "Sinong nagtanong?"

Loves Jollibee because it's cheap and it tastes good

Spaghetti and Jollihotdog enjoyer

Social anxiety fears him. He'll do mostly everything you ask him for 20 pesos (sometimes for free)

Celebrated his 4th birthday at Jollibee and has a picture with the mascot lol

Bardagulan enjoyer

Has been casted in plays before and is genuinely good at acting

See him running in campus because he's always late to class

Puts too many songs in the karaoke but never finishes the songs because he gets bored halfway through

Runs a FB meme page...

Actually dresses nicely. Hindi mukhang pakboi

Not afraid sumabit sa jeep. Either sa tabi siya ni manong or sabit

Chigiri

Went to some fancy all boys like Brent, then is now in Ateneo

Could be studying business ??

Not conyo. Just straight up English with a really good accent

imessage lang daw mode of communication niya

Always wearing a button up, khaki pants, and loafers na Sperry or sandals from Birkenstock

Was featured in a commercial when he was younger

His mom was very active in the PTA. Their family was often the topic of chismis because yk maraming inggit sa paligid.

Does not listen to OPM or watch Filipino movies because 'corny' daw 'yun

Mabagal mag-reply since he's always busy doing something

Calls people 'baduy' or 'jologs' or 'jejemon' because he can

MATARAY SI ATE KO

Will never catch him on a dating app because, again, it's so baduy daw

Kunigami

I dunno but... UP Baguio vibes siya lol

Will always always always post on his story of him running along the campus

May post palagi ng gym progress at Strava stats niya

People think he's thirst trapping, but really, he's not

Also very close with family and they celebrate all holidays together no matter what

Karinderya food enjoyer (same)

Loves anything na lutong bahay tbh. He's not picky with food.

Mabagal din mag-reply pero that's because he's not chronically online

Does not get internet memes or references. Lolo po siya.

A really good kuya! The type to intimidate his sisters' boyfriends if they ever come to visit their house.

Probably also plays basketball too. They used to live near a gym/ring. He played a lot with the neighborhood kids.

Watches NBA and Manny's boxing matches

Shot puno. Red Horse. San Mig.

Pag nalasing nag-dadrama tapos kakanta ng malungkot na song sa karaoke

Laging naka sando LOL

Barou

UP DILIMAN TOO AND STUDYING ARCHITECTURE

Makes insanely good plates

Laging napapagalitan ni lola kasi nakasimangot palagi

Lola's boy by the way

Gets insane road rage because of the god awful traffic

"Putangina traffic na naman." / "Parang gago 'to mag-drive." / "Sige. Singit pa, hayop ka." (sa naka-motor)

Fan siya ng F1

Malutong magmura lmfaooo

Also a gym bro but doesn't care about sharing it on social media

Barely any social media presence

Tutors his younger siblings

Isn't ashamed of taking food from parties, stuffing it in a tupperware, and heading his merry way home

Argues with people on FB because he can

"Anong sinasabi mo. Bobo ka ba?"

Term of endearment niya ay "Tanga"

Nagi

Parents always get mad at him kasi nga tamad.

Also because he was a picky eater as a child. Would rather starve than eat that one ampalaya dish (was always served at his household which pissed him off)

Wanted to go to the same university as Reo but Ateneo is too serious for him. So he went with sports science in NU

They make sure to meet up still

Always misses his stops because he falls asleep or zones out

He's the guy in class who always has his airpods on no matter what

Hoodie, baggy pants, dunks

Mahilig umutang, pa-unti unti, pero madalas nalilimutan

"Ah. May utang ako? Sorry, nalimutan ko siguro."

COD player na palaging may battle pass no matter what. Nainis siya isang beses kasi sinabihan siya ng PC MASTER RACE. Eh cellphone gamer lang siya

Obviously, he had his ML phase

Trashtalker siguro. "Tulog ka na. Bata," type shi

Teachers always forced him to join the events in the sports fest

Reo

Siyempre, Ateneo 'yan. Management Engineering pa. 'Di niyo kinayaaaa

CONYO 'YAN FOR SURE

He's in a bunch of orgs and stuff because he's a social butterfly like that

May nanay na judgmental sa ibang pamilya lmfao

Was in one of those interviews on campus asking students about their daily baon

"Ah. Isn't 1k a day normal? It's kulang pa nga eh since I live sa condo."

Ayun. Nakatira sa condo pala.

Goes golfing with his dad and posts his swing on IG stories

Crypto bro. Shares his crypto stats(?) sa IG stories

Humble bragger kahit saan. Personal or on social media

Same porma with Chigiri pero mas madalas naka-polo shirt siya

Ralph Lauren and Lacoste boy

Laging VIP seats sa concerts. May napila sa SM tickets para sa kanya

Lowkey a D-list or C-list celebrity

Friends with Filo actors and actresses

Sae

Also Ateneo (Sorry ang daming Ateneo. Alam ko. Pero those are the vibes eh.)

Definitely went for medicine and is planning to study even more sa foreign country

The golden boy of their clan. Always receives the most praise and pasalubong from relatives

He hates hearing the "Ang laki mo na!" greeting

Never engaged in the pagmamano and saying of "po" and "opo"

SURPRISINGLY, he enjoys the dirty ice cream they sell on a cone (it's not actually dirty btw, it's what we call ice cream sold by carts on the street. it's edible dw)

Possibly a frat boy

Gets so many message requests on messenger and insta but he ignores them all

Strava enthusiast din

You'll see him running in all of the best gear

Not conyo. He actually speaks mostly Tagalog but there's that slight 'maarte' accent there

Hates being called 'rich kid' kesyo baduy din daw LMAO

They have a driver, so many yayas, a gardener... ay basta kumpleto staff nila

Ayaw nung staff sa kanya kasi suplado

Drives a BMW

Rin

Went to La Salle and got into LeapMed just to spite his older brother and prove to them that he is better

Relatives always compare them

Even though they're rich, he probably got a lot of hand-me-downs from kuya, which pissed him off SO MUCH

Not a fan of Filipino movies, but he likes the horror movies. He says some of them are really well-crafted and gives a good scare sometimes

Unlike Sae, Rin likes homemade food. I see him liking Menudo lol (I mean, who doesn't?)

Refuses to commute. He's driving or he's being driven. No buts.

Mas gusto siya ng staff sa bahay nila lol

He grew up with a specific yaya. They're actually still close now. He's closer to her than his parents.

The conyo one. Mahilig mag-mura pero exclusively English 'yan.

Takes the longest to reply kaya 'yan walang ka-talking stage lol

100% has beef with the younger members of his extended family. He has that annoying cousin that he tripped once because why not

He hates family reunions, of course

Karasu

UPLB. Fo sho.

Chemical engineering definitely.

Halimaw yarnnn (heart eyes heart eyes)

Bro pulls up to class in a shirt, basketball shorts, and flip flops

Not a fan of the nightlife there, but is a certified manginginom LMAO

Can outdrink his dad and titos. Kahit lambanog pa 'yan

Extra respectful to the ladies in his family. Gets ultra pissed off when someone jokes about getting with his mom or older sister

Malutong din magmura

His personal favorite is "gago" HAHAHA

Medyo dry mag-chat, walang emojis (pero 'yun ang gusto ng mga babae apparently)

Not a fan of Manila (smells weird daw there)

Secretly makes fun of conyo people lol

Street food enjoyer. His favorite is probably isaw or squid balls. Matamis and maasim sauce please !

He can cook, but his mom cooks better, so taga-saing na lang siya ng bigas lol

Mahilig siya sa tapsilog siguro.

Lives off of energy drinks to survive the semester

Crush ko siya. Hala headcanon ba yan HAHAHAHA

Otoya (Oh boy oh boy)

Engineering as well, but at Mapua. Probably electrical engineering or industrial

Gwapo na mabango HAHAHA

VAPES. Onti na lang naka-lanyard na vape niya

Listens to Zild and Hev abi...

Araw-araw may IG story ng car niya, ng music na pinapakinggan niya, or panibagong soft launch

Fan siya ng American Psycho at Blade Runner kasi he is him daw (akala niya siya si Ryan Gosling na may pinagdadaanan...)

Nasa Tinder at Bumble. Bio reads: "Let's see where it takes us."

Na-cancel na sa Twitter before pero wala siyang pakialam (unbothered king?!)

Favorite song ang FE!N

Rap fan 'yan eh

Nako... may Telegram 'yan

Valorant e-boy. Kailangan may duo palagi.

Says he's into cute chinitas probably

Laging may note sa IG or sa messenger lol

"Kumain ka na ba?" texts (hala siya)

Of course, good morning at good night texts din

Frat boy siguro (may frat ba sa Mapua? sorry hindi ko knows)

Drinks a lot, but he can't handle his liquor. Gigising na lang siya the next day may video siya sa boy's GC na kung anu-ano ginagawa.

Hiori

Computer Science probably. Also in UPLB. (Ang probinsyano?? HAHAHAHA)

Studying? Why study when he can be at the computer shop? He lives there, pretty much

Dorms because he wants to get away from his family

Can't be bothered with org/frat culture

Tambay sa forums like freedom walls/reddit/etc

Sumasali siya sa e-sports tournaments

LoL and DOTA player, of course

Also plays a bunch of stuff on Steam as well though. Pero babalik at babalik pa rin sa LoL

Also plays Valorant. Smurfs for fun because he likes crushing the hopes and dreams of people. "Sala ka pa. Haha, tanga," type shi.

Always down for the early morning runs to 7-11 or whatever's open at that hour

Puro pancit canton kinakain. Puro Mountain Dew iniinom.

He and his friends always talk about PC specs...

"Hindi, pre. Mas maayos pa rin 'yung ano..."

Shidou

Also from La Salle maybe? Not the Taft branch though. Hindi kasing yaman nung iba siguro.

Fine arts student! May art account siya sa IG

Napalabas siya sa McDo dati kasi masyadong maingay

Would probably vlog a day of his life at La Salle

Posts all the unhinged shit on their freedom wall and fucks with the people from the Taft branch lol

The reason why their group chat cannot be leaked under any circumstance AT ALL

Always has the weirdest nickname in their messenger group chat

Somehow I get the vibe that he enjoys inihaw lol (same)

Napunta rin minsan sa computer shop. But very rarely because he gets too heated and starts making a ruckus there (mapapalabas na naman)

Expert commuter. Baha has nothing on him. Waterproof siya.

Would probably engage in frat culture, but only for fun

A party animal. 10 seconds niya yung Cuervo ez

Oliver

Umm UP Manila Political Science? Maybe?

Always nominated for council positions or other important roles in university organizations lol

Major kuya vibes kasi

ANONG VAPE VAPE? DIRETSO MARLBORO RED NA

Which is giving out first? His liver or his lungs? Abangan.

Unlike Otoya, he doesn't really date girls at the same time, but more so, he moves faster than what you'd expect (may rebound palagi kumbaga)

Posts on his IG story always with the intention of capturing the attention of someone lol (lagi siya humahakot haha)

"It's not you. It's me."

Bro thinks he's the male lead of a Filipino indie romance film

Cannot shut up about I'm Drunk I Love You

Frequents BGC clubs as well. Aspired to be a DJ once

Lahat ng messaging apps meron 'yan. Replies very fast too.

Search up BGC Boy playlists on Spotify. That's what he does, at least.

Yukimiya

Maybe goes to Normal U. because he wants to be a teacher/professor

The typical softboi you see at a cafe reading a book or typing away on his MacBook

So many girls like him, but he's the type to be in a long-term relationship with a high school sweetheart or something

Most of his stories are of him studying (his notes, his coffee with his notes, his laptop screen)

Ben&Ben listener LMAOOO

Possibly also a lifestyle vlogger or podcaster

Keeps getting offers to model for local brands

Possibly religious (his whole family is)

He looks like he would like adobo. 'Yung may toyo, hindi ung tuyo (ANG RANDOM BAHAHAH)

Munimuni listener (he was sad when the vocalist left)

Wants to win a Carlos Palanca award eventually

Looks like the type to advocate for the local culture and is against colonial mentality

My brain ran out of ideas that's why some are shorter than the others lol

248 notes · View notes

endearng · 2 months ago

Text

Dearest friend

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader Summary: Spencer feels overwhelmed after you confess something when you're tired. His solution is to, well, obviously, pretend it never happened and suffer in silence. That is, until the problem knocks on his door. Well, you, knock on his door. WC: 4.6k Warnings: Idiots in love, mentions of jemily (I love them), reader is bicurious, they don't know how to talk to each other, Spencer is obsessed with reader to the point of watching her (in a healthy way, I promise), he gets jealous, Garcia is a sweetheart but that's canon, I love the team, no use of 'y/n' A/N: I'm so frustrated! I was about to post this fic and then I lost the draft. Tumblr sometimes I hate you Masterlist

Spencer Reid often felt proud of being able to focus on his tasks. After all, that was also what had helped him through the years he spent dedicated to his education. He was quick on his feet to put his mind to whatever he had to do and today was not different; some reports needed to be done and he did it effortlessly. You, one of his coworkers, on the other hand, had a hard time focusing at some times. You felt like you always had to be moving, doing two or more things at a time. Sometimes, to him, even looking at you was overwhelming with the amount of things you tried to do at once — there was one time he saw you talking on the phone with your friend, while sketching something on your notebook and skimming through some details of the case you were working on then. Simultaneously.

One of your favorite objects to fidget with, though, was your necklace. It was a beautiful yet simple accessory: a silver necklace with a small pendant. Spencer noticed that you often had it between your fingers, rolling it, pulling a little to the side, simply holding it or adjusting to keep it out of the shirts you wore. You always had it on, no matter where you were, even if it didn't match your outfit — as he had heard you once tell Penelope. He figured that someone you love must have given it to you. And he felt so jealous.

He felt jealous because he could never give you such an amazing gift, because he felt like he could never be important enough for you to use something he had gifted you at all times. It ached. He was now being tortured for 7 months, 3 days and two hours with a small crush he had developed (or noticed he had) on his cute coworker and hadn't a single clue on how to act on it. Or how to get rid of it.

7 months, 3 days and two hours since you had given him the most beautiful smile he had ever seen in his life. And the most sincere, romantic (but, sadly, fleeting) moment of his life:

The team had been working relentlessly on a case. You were nothing but a puddle of exhaustion, tiredness almost seeping out of you, having read and translated all the journals written by the unsub. Spencer was reading your translations at breakneck speed, as he always did, because at that point you didn't trust your tired mind to come up with any more interpretations. So, after helping the best you could, you busied yourself with staring at him. It was obvious that you'd get caught, of course, sooner or later, but you didn't have the courage nor the will to pull your gaze away from him. You also didn't feel like depriving yourself from the absolute view you had. The way his hair framed his face and the way his eyes (and his hands, oh, those hands were crafted by God himself, you were sure) ran through the pages was suffocating, to say the least. He also had his glasses on, so you'd hit the jackpot that day — had you weak in your knees and didn't even know it. Silly, ignorant, wonderful boy.

You only realized that you had gotten caught when you heard the soft thud of the book being closed. "Is everything okay?" He asked, a little nervous, eyes curiously meeting yours. "I'm halfway through, don't worry,” he said, noticing how tired you looked. “I can talk to Hotch and see if you can go home to get some rest.”

You shook your head, and, then, unable to stop the words from coming out of your mouth, you answered him in a heartbeat. "You're around." Then, you gave him the sincerest and sweetest smile of all times, which got his heartbeat going ballistic. He wasn't aware of what was going on within his ribcage, but decided it would be better to cover it by reading, even if he wasn't absorbing anything, really. Not the way he was paying attention to how he was feeling towards you at that moment, anyway.

He felt curious when you reached for his hand, but he didn't dare to look away from the notebooks. With your marker, you scribbled on his palm: You've become my dearest friend.

And that feeling never really got away in the first place, which made him feel uneasy around you. He got so lost whenever you were around that he never got so close to you again, scared that you might do something to him, scared that you might try to show him whatever that was again, that he failed to notice that he had grown a little distant from you. In the middle of his daydream, he didn't notice you approaching him. What he did notice, instead, was your face closer to his than it ever was. "Reid, um, Hotchner said he wanted to talk to you." You announced, voice almost a whisper. To make sure you would be heard by him, you leaned down after placing your hands on his desk. Strangely, he looked right at the pendant of your necklace.

You didn't mean to make him uncomfortable; you purely wanted to make sure he heard you, not disturbing anyone else in the process — there weren't many people in the bullpen, but it made sense in your head nevertheless. It wasn't in your nature to want people's attention solely on you, but something about his gaze made you think twice about it for a moment.

Not having other's attention, of course. Having his attention.

Sometimes, you would have long conversations with yourself to convince yourself to enjoy his company without letting your thoughts about him go a little further. Thoughts of being something else with him, to mean something else for him. You berated yourself over and over for the lack of self-control when you had that answer ready to roll out of your lips some time ago, but you were also blessed by his gentleness of not addressing the situation. Either that, or he was a really dense man whose self-esteem needed a little raising. You still tried to talk to him, of course, but he never seemed to let your conversations go far after that moment — you tried your best to ignore it, but sometimes it made you feel like your presence was unwanted by him.

"Okay. I, um... thank you for letting me know." He answered, glancing up at your pretty face. He almost felt embarrassed for being caught in the act of staring at your necklace (or bosom, if he overthinked it), but, mostly, people were too focused on their own tasks to notice your interaction. Despite trying with all his might not to care about what others thought, he strongly wanted, seeked, even, your opinions and approval. He didn't feel embarrassed because he knew you well enough to tell you wouldn't tease him like the others would.

"Anytime." You gave him a tight-lipped smile, going back to your desk, leaving him hopeful and flustered.

He desperately wished you wouldn't.

After an unusual quiet Friday mainly spent on boring reports, the BAU team decided to go out for drinks to let off some steam. You weren't the biggest enthusiast of drinking, but you enjoyed the company of your coworkers. Plus, it was fun to see them come out of their shell, you included. It was one of the few times you accepted the invitation, coming from Penelope. You had a sweet spot for her, because she was really kind to you and exceptionally welcoming towards having conversations with you. You appreciated her and made that clear whenever you could. And, deep down, you knew you had accepted the invitation because you had hopes of interacting with Spencer by having more time by his side.

Currently, what you didn't appreciate was your lack of filter. A couple drinks in, surrounded by your coworkers who thoroughly enjoyed that more honest version of you, and there goes your sense of embarrassment through the window. The current topic was... well...

"I mean, don't you ever think about it, Pen? Some women are just crazy attractive. Like, look at Emily." You gushed, looking at her. Right beside her, you saw Spencer, apparently gulping. "She is soooo hot. I'm gonna tell ya a secret,” you declared. “I spend some fair share of my time wondering if I want to be her or if I want to be under her." You revealed, sounding so candid that made everyone laugh. JJ glanced at Emily.

"Aw, thanks, baby. But I don't like them young." She chuckled, not meeting JJ's gaze. Huh.

"Your loss. We have very much to offer." You declared in a playful tone — it told everyone that it was all just friendly banter.

"We? You and boy-genius are the younglings of the team, princess." Derek took advantage of the topic to, of course, tease Spencer, who was now blushing. You looked at him, humored by Derek and waited to see his reaction.

Unlike most people, you didn't care about lack of experience in the dating field, let alone if it was Spencer. You thought it was almost sweet, how a grown-up man hadn't had the time to get used to all the sex talk between other grown-ups that happened casually. Maybe it had to do with the fact that he was always far more concerned about his family and education and didn't have much time to go on many practices of said subject. You both were alike in that aspect, even if you've had your share of encounters.

Spencer didn't know how to react, so he chose to do what he does best: ramble. "Actually, younger individuals often report higher levels of sexual desire, influenced by higher testosterone levels and fewer health-related problems." He said, earning your attention. Looking at him, you giggled, because he was proving your point with scientifically accurate data. Adorable. "Older adults, though, may experience a decline in libido due to hormonal changes, medical conditions, or medication side effects. However, many older adults still have active and fulfilling sex lives, and some studies suggest that sexual satisfaction can remain stable or even improve with age, depending on emotional and relational factors. But, generally, sex drive can change with age due to various factors, including hormonal changes, health status, and psychological factors."

Even if his rambling often annoyed people, he was now glad for his ability to spill facts like an encyclopedia. If they knew about the thoughts running through his head after your playful banter with Emily, he would be dead. The thought of you having very much to offer was making him feel a little funny, to say the least.

"Thank you, Spencer," you breathed out, unable to speak anything, because your head was filled with thoughts of someone that wasn't Emily. Oh, definitely not Emily. Looking away from him, you gulped the rest of your drink, trying to disguise the obvious something by making another joke. "And, yeah, that's it. When you're done being prejudiced, Ems, you know where to find me," you gave her an exaggerated, ridiculous wink and she rolled her eyes playfully. "I'll be at the bar." And then, left, almost if someone was chasing you.

Maybe it was true.

"Wow. I didn't imagine princess over there to be so unrestrained," Derek said, laughing.

"She appeared to be shy when we first met." Spencer added, not wanting to be out of a conversation that involved you. "She still is, actually. Maybe it's the alcohol. It can make someone feel more relaxed and sociable due to its effects on the brain. It lowers inhibitions by impacting neurotransmitters, which promotes relaxation, and reduces the activity of the prefrontal cortex, the area responsible for self-control and decision-making." He said, unable to turn off his computer brain, still desperately trying to hide how he was actually feeling.

Garcia shook her head, laughing. "Yeah, boy-genius. She basically turns into someone else when she's a little tipsy."

"Okay, but we all know to whom she wants to offer something." JJ breathed out a laugh, looking right at Spencer. Derek promptly joined her banter, clinking their glasses in agreement.

Spencer quickly dismissed them, worried about you instead of being upset that he was, once again, the butt of the joke. Well, one of the parts. "Hey! You can't say things like that about her." He stuttered, tone a little high-pitched, but willing to get his point across. He could tolerate the jokes and the suggestive looks he got from his coworkers, but not disrespect, especially towards you.

"Come on, kid, take it easy. It's just a joke." Emily replied, looking at him once again.

"And, to be fair, it's pretty clear that she has another target." Emily said, grinning. She leaned towards JJ, who only watched the interaction and laughed every now and then.

Spencer tried not to let his thoughts wander too far. From where he was sitting, he could see you waiting for your drink, leaning a bit into the bar counter. Seemingly out of nowhere, a man approached you and you turned to him with a big and surprised smile, quickly engulfed by his arms. Oh. His mind started to go on a spiral of negative, self-conscious thoughts.

Did you know him? How? What if he was your boyfriend that no one knew about? Was he good to you? What did you see in him? If you were in a relationship, he now had a reason to avoid thinking of you altogether, because even if you were out of his league, it never stopped him from thinking about you in a different way, but if you actually had someone, it changed a lot. If it wasn't the case, he was still as hopeless as ever, a million scenarios playing in his head: you talking to that man, liking him enough to keep in touch, going on dates, eventually becoming something more. Not one of the scenarios involved him.

Well, if watching from the sidelines as you kept your life going as he longed for you involved him, then, yes, sure.

Deciding that torture was not getting him anywhere, he quickly drew his eyes away from that direction, not even realizing you had left the bar. When he came back to his senses, you were back. A gleeful glint in your eyes. "Who was that, sugar?" Penelope asked. Thank goodness for her. Or curse her. Spencer didn't know which one to think yet.

"Just a friend from college. We were both TAs during the same time, so, you know... Office hours were also bonding hours." You said, sitting back down, next to Spencer, fiddling with the straw on your drink.

"Just friends?" Emily teased you. Spencer was looking at his glass like it was something much more interesting than finding out about you.

It most certainly wasn't, but he was afraid of the way he would feel, or react, to the answers you'd provide.

Maybe that was the whole reason why he's been avoiding talking to you after his sudden realization. What if he actually let you in and this crush (that already felt a little too overwhelming at times) developed into something much more?

"Yes," you answered. She sent you a questioning look. You laughed. "Yeah, okay. I kinda... liked him," you chuckled. Spencer's stomach dropped and he looked right at you. You looked back at him, but quickly looked down, bashful. "But I had no idea of how to talk to him, so I mostly talked about school in general. We'd also walk home together when it got too late, sometimes. Oh, and he was also in a relationship with another girl, so there was that." You finished. You were trying to look at everyone while you spoke, but you found it incredibly hard from how intensely Spencer was looking at you. You had your fidget toy of a pendant in your hands. He sighed quietly.

"His loss, princess." Derek chimed in, looking at a girl that was checking him out earlier. You chuckled.

Spencer didn't mean to eavesdrop, but, oh, well. It happens to the best of us. "Yeah, he gave me his number. I'm really glad because I remember that I genuinely enjoyed spending time with him," you said, sounding sincere. He instantly thought of the guy from the bar.

"Ooh, that's nice, princess!" Penelope answered. "Are you planning on calling him?"

You looked down at your coffee, thinking. "I might, yes." And that was enough to fill his brain with images of you having a good time with someone that wasn't him. And he didn't like it one bit, but it wasn't a option to tell you how he felt. He felt delusional for reading so much into that single moment that you shared a few weeks ago.

He couldn't focus on anything else that day. Hotch had to check on him.

After working the courage needed to call your friend, you ended up being invited over to his apartment to catch up with him and what he was up to lately. You didn't have hard feelings (or any, by the way) over what had happened in the past, but you were scared that he might still see you as a lovesick college girl, so that's why you took a little longer than necessary to reach out for him. He didn't, though. And you were so grateful for that.

"Good morning, princess! You seem happy today," Garcia commented after seeing you enter the bullpen with a bright ‘good morning, guys’ rolling off your tongue. You smiled at her. She was leaning on Spencer's desk, right next to the genius, while they shared a conversation with Derek.

Spencer was getting ready to say something when you appeared, so he shut his mouth. You looked exceptionally good that morning. Shit. "Oh, yes! I had good company yesterday," you answered genuinely, but your face fell after their expressions changed, suggesting you were doing something else.

"Oh, did our lovergirl finally get some action?" Derek laughed as you finally reached them.

Your cheeks reddened, embarrassed. "No, Derek," you pushed him playfully with a shy chuckle, "I called my friend, the one from that night at that bar. I went to his apartment to catch up. I was really happy to see an old friend."

"I like seeing old friends," Spencer blurted out, catching everyone's attention, including yours. To be honest, he didn't even think through what he was going to say, but he couldn't deal with the nagging feeling of you talking about spending your night with somebody else. "I, uh, it's great to see old friends who truly know you, that must have made you feel really comfortable. It's nice to see them."

You gave him another sincere smile and his heart nearly stopped beating. He was so thrilled by your reaction that he didn't even have the time to feel embarrassed for butting in your conversation. "Yeah, it is, Spencer," you agreed. "To be honest, I mostly spoke about you guys, since we basically live together now," you chuckled, "and he said that he was happy to know that I found another family." You finished, rolling the pendant of your necklace between your fingers.

"Aw, you're a cutie." Garcia gushed.

"Don't go all soft on me, lovergirl." Derek teased.

"Well, it's true." You simply answered, now standing next to Garcia, basically sitting on Spencer's desk. He desperately wished you'd stay there all day long for him to watch you. In a totally healthy way, of course.

The next week came to an end sooner than you expected, plently of work to do and you were exhausted. You were tidying up your desk when you heard Morgan. "Hey, princess, you're leavin'?” He asked you. Sometimes he gave you a ride to your apartment, but you were going over to your friend's apartment again to watch some movies.

"Sorry, Derek, I already have plans." You declined, politely as ever.

"Alright. Have a fun time with your college boyfriend!" Before you could answer, he dashed out to the elevator, where Garcia was probably waiting for him. You rolled your eyes at his antics, but smiled to yourself either way.

What you failed to notice was that Spencer was there with you. "Oh, hi, Spencer. Didn't know you were still here," you gave him a small smile.

"Hi! I was just leaving," he answered, quietly.

Truth was, he felt undeniably defeated by the thoughts of you and said 'boyfriend' plaguing his head; Morgan's comment only rubbed salt in the wound. Sensing that something might be wrong judging by his tone, you stretched your hand out to him. "Come on. It was one of those weeks." He took your hand in his like it was second nature.

Neither of you seemed to remember — or care — about his germophobia. Holding his hand, you both walked to the elevator. His mind got a little quieter with your touch, like nothing else mattered. "So, um, how's your relationship going?" He asked, out of the blue. He instantly regretted it; knowing about it would make his skin crawl, but he asked in hopes that it wasn't like that and that you actually meant what you told them about the guy being just a friend.

You shoulders shook with laughter. His heart felt warm. "So you heard and believed in Morgan," you mocked him a little. "It's not a relationship. We're just friends finding comfort in each other because we knew ourselves in times when things were a lot simpler. It's kinda nostalgic." You stated. The last thing you wanted was for him to think you were in a relationship.

Even if you felt like he was out of your league, you'd still leave all your doors open.

Spencer felt like he was taking a gulp of fresh air for the first time in forever. To hear you, the person who unknowingly (and probably unwillingly) held his heart in her hands, was not dedicating her own to someone else, was exhilarating. He tried to bite back a smile, ultimately failing. "Oh, I see." He answered, voice nearly cracking. "I'm glad you have that." He couldn't say anything else because the comfort he felt wasn't enough to pour his heart out to you.

As you entered the elevator, it felt like it was the first time your profiling skills worked on him, your judgment no longer clouded by your feelings for him. The moments you shared lately, the comfort of holding his hand (he had not let go of yours yet), the satisfied expression never leaving his face once you revealed the nature of your relationship with your friend... It all clicked. But you were terrified of rejection, so you swallowed down your feelings for him, like you've been doing for what it seemed like forever.

If only eyes could speak.

"Did you know that I had feelings for you back then?" You saw the color leave your friend's face, so you laughed a little. "No, I don't see you like that anymore! I just, well... Do you think you could help me? I'd, uh, I'd like some advice." You saw him relax and take a sip of his tea.

"About Spencer?"

"How did you know?"

"When you talk about him, you're always a little too passionate," he revealed.

"So...?"

"You didn't change much, you know? You're still the same nerd from all those years ago — not that is a bad thing, don't get me wrong," he grinned when you scoffed, "but you need to be a little more obvious. More explicit. To the point.”

"We're friends. I'd hate to lose him," you confessed. "But it all got so weird after I said something little, but stupid,” you sighed. A pause. A sip of wine. “It was the kind of thing that's meaningful if you dig into it, you know? He didn't talk about it, but it feels like he shut me out for a moment. I keep thinking about it and I miss him so much, even as a friend.”

"Have you actually talked about it with him? You know, to him?" He asked. You froze. “People can't read each other's minds. You are friends, of course, but the environment you usually share suggests otherwise,” he argued, “So, is it better to speak or to die?”

Then, it clicked. Again. The moments you two shared, despite not being blatantly explicit, told you that he had, that he must have, a spot on his heart for you. When you held his hand and he not only allowed you to, he didn't let go of you either. Those longing, stolen glances that you pretended not to notice when you were doing the most ordinary things. The willingness to listen to your rambles about mundane topics — you were sure the genius wasn't even interested in pop culture or whatever happened to a random celebrity that week.

"Sorry, I… I have somewhere to be."

Out of breath, disheveled form, messy hair and feeling like all the oxygen on Earth couldn't possibly be enough for you from running the five blocks to your friend's apartment, to Spencer's, you knocked on his door — soft thuds, a rhythm that you often performed as you tapped your fingers on your desk, for example. He knew immediately that it was you.

Spencer opened the door, surprised, confused and, most of all, happy to see you. “Hi. Are you okay?” He inquired.

That question was all it took to make the barrel holding your tongue go to hell. “I'm in love with you. Oh, God. I-I didn't mean to be so unrestrained and I know that I look insane right now, but... Um. You have no idea, Spence,” you breathed out. “You have no idea what it's like to wake up and immediately think of you. What it's like to leave work and be sad over it because it means that I no longer get to see you on that day. Do you know how insane it is to feel sad because you're leaving work?” You laughed, sounding like a maniac. “There's so much I want to say to you and I feel that I'm always running out of time when it comes to you, because you're always a step ahead of me, hell, you're always a step ahead of everyone,” you joked, trying to make the situation lighter. He looked dumbfounded, only looking at your face, incapable of saying anything else. You took it as your opportunity to get everything off your chest. “And it makes me crazy because I want to know all about you and what you're thinking about because that's how love works, I guess. At least I think it's like that because I think about you all the time and I worry about you and I want you to like me as much as I do you. You have no idea, Spencer.”

He stood there, speechless. The elevator door opened and a couple walked out of it. His apartment complex only had two apartments per floor, door to door. You totally forgot how to function after rambling about your love for the doctor (with, perhaps, an audience), but you had a mind of not occupying the space they needed to get to their door. So you scooted over to the nearest wall, adjacent to Spencer's door — it was so awkward. The couple greeted you both with small smiles and then entered their own apartment. Looking back at Spencer, he was glancing straight ahead, at the couples’ apartment door. You sighed, defeated, beggining to feel uncomfortable with his silence.

“I came here because I took some stupid advice on telling you how I feel,” you said, voice quiet as an effort to make yourself so small that you'd disappear and never remember this situation ever again. Holding tight to the pendant. “I wanted you to know because you deserve it, Spencer. To have someone... who does know you and loves you the same.” You added, softly, having enough courage to look him in the eye, now that you had his attention back. “I know you, right here and right now. And if there's more, that's even better.”

He blinked. Once. Twice. Almost owlishly. You stood there, not knowing where this was going. You opened your mouth and looked away from him, ready to apologize, to tell him to forget all about it and dash from the building. When you did so, he pulled you in for a kiss: it was messy, teeth clashing, because you weren't expecting it and he almost missed your lips. When you realized what you were both doing, you placed your hands tentatively on the back of his head while he found his on your waist.

“I have so much to tell you.” He said. Relief flooding his body, love crashing into him like a tidal wave, warmth spreading on his chest. Pulling away from you just to look you in the eye with the most serene and loving and sincere expression. Holding your pendant between your fingers, he finished, "I'd like to start by telling you that you are and always have been my dearest friend. And that I have given you a free hand to my heart from the day we met. I was already doomed then.”

His eyes held truth enough for you to know that he also loved you.

Aaaand... that's it! I hope you enjoy it, my darlings! Let me know if there are any mistakes, please.

Feedbacks are highly appreciated <3

Part 2

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