fresh out the slammer ❀ s. reid x reader
in which spencer reid comes home from prison, and needs to fulfil everything he has missed about you.
pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader
genre: smut & comfort (18+ mdni)
tags: post prison!reid. soft dom!spencer. teeth might rot i was cringing during some of this. established relationship. the briefest of breast play because what do i hate? the word nipple! fingering. p in v. no protection is mentioned but imagine what you will. casual nudity afterwards. spencer's got bruises from prison. i lowkey forgot about his thigh wound until the very end.
word count: 5.7k
a/n: there's a completely different version of me in a world where i didn't write this. i hope she's doing well. i feel like i've been reborn. this is stupidly long LOL my apologies. pleaseee tell me if you liked this! or if you didn't! i love feedback! here's my monthly smut fic see you all in october!
Three months wasn't a long time, in the grand scheme of things. A quarter of a year usually went by too quickly for anybody's liking, the year sprinting through seasons until all twelve months were complete, and you were repeating it all over again. Usually. Three months without Spencer Reid, however, went by achingly slowly. And you hadn't originally considered just how agonising they could be.
Each day was another painful mirror of the last, waking up and going to bed with the same sense of dread in your stomach, oftentimes swallowing you whole and leaving you unable to do just about anything at all.
Living life without Spencer Reid was hard.
You saw him — of course you did. Despite his original efforts to keep you off the approved visitors list, Penelope Garcia had seen one glimpse of your heart shattered expression upon being told, and marched her way to the prison to slap sense into him. You weren't sure if that was metaphoric or not.
However, seeing him once every other week and living with him were two very different situations. You hadn't realised just how much you had depended on him always being there when you woke up in the morning until you were waking up to cold bed sheets and a pillow clutched petulantly to your chest in hopes of recreating the warmth only Spencer could provide.
And then he was free.
From prison, that is. You hadn't heard it all — information about his time in prison had been kept from you in an attempt to protect your own peace of mind. But you knew from at least the bruises he was always sporting no matter when you went to visit him, that something awful had happened to him in there, and his own brain would keep him imprisoned for as long as it wished.
But he was free.
And he was here, and you were staring up at his face littered with unkempt facial hair and a head of untreated curls, and regardless of everything horrific he had endured brewing behind his eyes, he was staring at you with the same softness he had before any of this happened.
Despite the beginning of a protest when you wrapped your arms around his torso, you hugged him, and he hugged you, and even the faintest smell of grime and blood couldn't stop you from gripping onto him with so much force you thought your knuckles would break.
"You're real," you whispered into his chest, muffled by it, and it shook beneath your face as he laughed, quietly. Beautifully.
"I am," he answered, and you could feel him crushing his own facial features into the top of your head, no doubt inhaling your shampoo. "You're real."
"Yes," you confirmed with a nod.
Maybe hours passed, perhaps only minutes. Whichever it was, you were still reluctant to pull away from him until he did, your face stained with tear streaks you don't remember shedding, his own eyes glassy as your gazes met.
"You don't want to talk about it, do you?" you asked him, walking backwards as you led him out of the doorway you two had been finding solace in, and further into the apartment space you were ecstatic to share together again.
"Not particularly," he answered, strides catching up to you and encasing your waist between his hands, tugging your body closer to his own. "Is that okay?"
"As long as you promise not to keep it in," you replied, teeth chewing into your lower lip in a contemplative habit.
"I have counselling at work," he said, and you nodded, your facial features softening only a little — you knew him well enough to know he wouldn't enjoy said counselling sessions. Breath tickled your lips as he leaned in a little closer, inciting heat onto your cheeks. "Any other questions?"
"No," you replied, your own lips twitching in amusement. "That's it. Why?"
"Because I haven't kissed you in three months," he murmured, "and I want to."
"Maybe," you said with a hum, and he said your name chidingly, eliciting a laugh from you. "Yeah. Okay."
To be honest, you had spent a few too many nights allowing your thoughts to wander and end up dreaming about what it would be like to kiss him again. Whether or not either of you would have the patience to be gentle and kind to one another. In those nights, you had decided you would be. Your heart cracking every time you thought of Spencer alone in a concrete cell that it left you with a gaping hole in your chest. All you really wanted was to hold him and remind him how adored he was.
Right now, you learned you wouldn't be.
There was a tenderness in the way his hands found your cheeks to cup, and there was a softness in his fingertips against your skin. Yet, everything he kissed with was anything but. Feverish and quick, swallowing you whole and inspiring a spark in your chest that resulted in you kissing back just as hungry.
Just when you thought there was nothing left to trigger within him, a squeak left your lips as the result of him tugging you impossibly closer, and he was beginning to walk you backwards, even further into the apartment, his kiss growing all consuming.
"Spencer," you said, breathlessly, jerking your head back, staring at him, waiting for him to realise you weren't returning your lips to his, and his eyes opened.
"What?" he asked, almost irritatedly. When he watched the slight flicker of hurt flash on your face at the tone, his own expression became gentler. "I'm sorry. Is something wrong?"
Immediately, you shook your head. "No. I just wanted to check how far you wanted to go," your hands travelled up to his hair, fingers scratching gently against his scalp. "I know there's a lot going on up here."
"Actually, right now it's just you," he said, tilting a head to the side to lean into one of your palms. "It's mostly you all the time. But right now you're consuming it."
"I make such an impact on your life," you quipped.
"I know you're teasing, but you do," he replied, fingers tracing up and down either side of your jawline, eyes searching each small detail on your face he had no doubt already memorised. "I survived in there for you."
"Oh."
Probably not the most eloquent response for the things he had just confessed, but truly your brain had scrambled within an instant, and you weren't sure what to say.
"Sorry," he said, hands stilling on your face. "To answer your question, I don't know. I really missed you."
"I know," you said when a gaping silence followed his words. "We don't have to."
"I think I want to."
Your eyebrows furrowed. "You can't think, Spence. You've gotta know."
"I've definitely said that to you before," he chided, thinking for a moment, before, "yes. I did. First time we had sex."
"Sue me for repeating important sexual advice to you, Spencer Reid," you huffed. He laughed.
"No, I mean, I do. Want to," he finally replied. "I'm really scared of hurting you."
"Do you want to hurt me?"
"No."
"Then you won't," you reassured him, despite knowing whatever doubt he had in himself would not be resolved just like that, and it'll probably eat at his mind for a long while. "And even if you do, I won't be upset with you." When his face scrunched and his expression mirrored judgement, you stammered to clarify. "Not in a kinky way. Don't look at me like that, Spencer. Stop it. I just meant I'll understand. And I won't be mad."
"Didn't take you to be into masochism," he mumbled, and you groaned at his selective hearing, dropping your forehead to his shoulder, that shook with his laughter. "Kidding, honey. I know what you mean."
"Not funny."
"It was a little," he countered, a hand reaching up to entangle within your hair to pull your head back, gently, so he could look at you again.
"Hi," you said when your eyes locked once more.
"Hello," he answered, his lips pulling into a smile. "I'd like to kiss you again."
"You've used up your kiss for the day, actually," you replied, sweetly beaming up at him.
"Quiet," he shot back, leaning forwards and allowing his lips to brush hesitantly against yours, eyes searching your own with an added hint of desperation. "Please?"
You pretended to think for a moment too long, because he was already mumbling something that sounded a little like 'brat', and pressed his mouth to yours once more.
You couldn't complain.
It was the same intensity as earlier, and yet there was something in it that differentiated the homesickness of the kiss from then, and the desperation now. Large hands — that you would probably allow to encase you whole — pathetically held your face lightly, hips knocking with yours as he walked you backwards and up against the back of the couch.
"Spence," you whimpered embarrassingly, hands clawing at the sleeves of his suit jacket, trialling and failing at tugging it off his body.
"I got you, sweet girl," he mumbled against your lips, not breaking the kiss for even a second as he helped you, shrugging the jacket off and allowing it to fall to the floor — something he will certainly chastise himself for later.
"Bedroom," you said, in between heavy breaths and feverish kisses. A request he was more than happy to comply to, for he had nodded, and you were instantaneously tugging on one of his hands in the direction of the room, his eyes fixated on your body as he trailed behind.
"Missed you so much," he murmured as he tugged you back towards him the second he had kicked the door shut, lips finding the corner of your mouth, then your jawline, then your neck, as he kissed down you.
"So you've said," you breathed out, tilting your head to the side as he gently nipped at the skin.
"Do you get off on being mean to me?" he chided, lifting his head to look at you again, and your heart stuttered.
"No. Just that dominance act that it brings out," you murmured, attempting to keep the mood light. Successfully so, for air huffed out of his nose as his lips twitched, fingers that had dropped to your waist squeezing it gently. In unresolved doubt, you added, "I missed you too. Don't worry."
"I'm not," he replied, and the weight lifted off your shoulders. "Lie down."
"So demanding," you teased, though his tone was anything but firm.
You were met with an unimpressed look, and you merely grinned back as you climbed onto the bed, sitting cross legged atop it, staring up at him expectingly.
Instead of moving over you like you had expected, he crouched at the foot of the bed, holding his hands out on the mattress in front of you. Needing no more than the simple gesture, you untangled your legs and stretched them out in front of you, and he tugged you down towards the end of the bed, breath hitting the skin of your thighs deliciously.
"I'm supposed to be making you feel good," you argued when his fingers trailed up the sides of your legs, finding the waistband of your pyjama shorts.
"Why?" he questioned, halting his movements as he searched your face.
"Because you're the one who just got out of prison," his face scrunched at the verbal reminder. "Sorry. But... yeah. I have thought about making you come the day you got home like daily."
"Oh have you?" his eyebrows shot up, and it was then that your brain caught up to your running mouth, and your cheeks heated up.
"Nope. Forget I said anything."
"No," he pushed himself up from the floor, moving his body over yours on the bed, successfully forcing you to lie back. "Tell me those thoughts."
"Spencer," you moaned, shaking your head as you buried your face into your hands, that he was a little too quick to catch and pry away.
"I'm not going to judge you," he said, amused. "In fact, I aspire to know every single thought there is up in that pretty head of yours. Especially the ones about me. Please tell me."
"I just thought about making you come. There's nothing more exciting to it."
"Yes, but how?"
"My mouth, I guess," you mumbled, voice going impossibly quiet. "I don't know."
"You're acting like you have never given me oral," he said, catching your gaze within milliseconds of you averting it, thumb and forefinger straightening your head again.
"Nobody says oral, Spencer. Say head," your own face now scrunched up.
"Lots of people say oral," he defended.
"Yeah, old people. We are not old people."
"Fine, you're acting like you have never given me head."
Despite it being a jab at him to take the heat off of you, the phrase coming out from his lips sounded exceptionally vulgar for what it was, and it only resulted in your stomach flipping.
Finally, you regained some control over your own thoughts, and you found it in you to reply. "That's what I want to do. Because I want to make you feel good."
"You underestimate how much I gain from making you feel good," he countered, fingers lazily caressing the skin of your jaw as his eyes studied your face with an intensity that had your stomach flipping.
"It cannot be as good as an orgasm," you huffed, stubbornly so.
He nipped at your nose. "It is."
"Can we compromise?"
"So you don't want me to give you oral?" his eyebrows rose.
In every other situation, you would not be fighting him on this. In fact, he would probably have already gotten his foreplay of teasing and teetering you on the edge out of the way by now, and you'd be well and truly content. However, the forefront of your mind was still plagued by how little time Spencer had to take care of himself, and the last thing you needed him to be was at your service. Despite his protests.
"Head," you corrected. "And no."
He searched for remnants of a lie for a few beats longer, before he nodded his head, giving in. "What's your compromise, honey?"
"I don't think there's a sexy way to say to just put it in me," you said, and his lips curled up into an amused smile, followed by a huff of laughter.
"No, I don't think there is," he agreed. "I do think anything you say can be sexy, though."
You pulled a face, and you shook your head. "No. Don't say that ever again either."
"I can't compliment you, I can't give you ora—head," he rattled off. "Is there anything good I get out of this?"
"You get to fuck me?" you batted your eyelashes up at him.
"Such vulgar language," he chastised, ducking his head when a hand of yours rose to swat him.
Despite himself, his head had dropped to the crook of your neck, and he had begun placing feather like kisses along the skin that distracted you just enough to drop your hand back to the mattress beneath you.
Any other day, and you'd probably still be bickering with him until the minute he made you come. However, three months without even the faintest of touches from him left you overwhelmed with everything he did to you, and so the gentle kisses trailing down to the collar of your shirt were enough to destroy any coherent thoughts you could have.
Cautiously, and with a touch so delicate, Spencer lifted your — his — shirt up your abdomen, fingertips leaving behind the warmest of trails as they skimmed along your skin. One quiet whine from you was all it took for him to hurry his teasing along, and soon enough your shirt was discarded.
A quiet, sharp inhale of air was the other sound aside from your quickened breathing, and you felt tears sting your vision as another kiss was placed just below your now exposed collarbone.
The time without you seemed to weigh nothing in his mind as he took every inch of you in separately, lips mapping out your body like it was the first time all over again, though still knowing exactly when to pause and pay attention to for the sweetest of sounds to be ripped from your throat.
He liked to hear you.
Fingers found your waist as his lips kissed down your sternum, then back up and over until they reached your nipple. He spent time on each breast, ignoring your impatient whining as he neglected the rest of you for a few minutes too long (in your opinion).
"Spencer," you scolded, and it was all it took for him to accept you were not in the mood to wait, and for him to decide he wasn't either.
"Sorry, honey," he replied, voice impossibly soft as he returned his lips to your face, a kiss pressed to the corner of your mouth as his fingers found your shorts again. "Can I take these off?"
"I think we're incredibly out of balance," you replied. And though there wasn't really anything wrong with the sentence — you had certainly said it before — he still pulled back, an unrecognisable grey clouding his eyes. "What?"
"I want to keep my shirt on," was his response, the words inciting confusion to your face.
"What? Why?"
"Do I need a reason?"
You wanted to scream that yes, he did. But did he? Wordlessly, you shook your head, but it didn't help the pang of worry in your chest.
"Unless there's something like an embarrassing tattoo, I'm not going to judge you," you decided to say instead. "Did you get an embarrassing tattoo in prison?"
"No," he shook his head, and you were comforted by the amusement in his tone. "I didn't have the best time in prison."
"I know," you replied.
"And I wasn't very liked. By the men in there."
You knew that too, to an extent. You knew the bruises on his face weren't self inflicted. "You're liked by me."
"I know, sweet girl," a heart shatteringly sad smile stretched across his face as a hand lifted to your cheek. "It just isn't very pretty. And I don't want you to worry."
Well, now you were. Regardless, you nodded your head, turning your head to the side so you could kiss the palm of the hand on your face. "I won't worry, then."
"I want to keep my shirt on. Can that please be okay with you?"
Silently, and after a debate inside your brain, you nodded your head. Gratefully, he pecked your lips once more, before his focus shifted back to you and your body.
"Shorts. Can I take them off?" he asked, again.
"Yes."
"Thank you."
His fingers collected the fabric of your shorts' waistband, and gently pulled them down your legs, cool air washing over you despite the final leftover article of clothing on your body. You shivered, and you could hear him mumbling nearly incoherent apologies as he kissed your stomach.
"These too?" he then asked, eyes flickering between your face for confirmation, and the pair of underwear you still had residing on your body. You nodded your head, and he pulled them down too.
You do not remember a time ever fearing being naked beneath Spencer Reid's gaze, and that did not change even now, as an arguably different man drank in your entire body, the love he had for you not having wavered despite the passing of time.
And you certainly did not fear the way one of his hands slid up your leg, seemingly soothingly, until it teetered on the edge of too far up the limb to be innocent, and he was intensely watching your face for every reaction you could possibly make.
Achingly gently, his middle finger ran up the centre, collecting arousal you hadn't realised was there and knuckle gently bumping your clit, eliciting a quiet mewl from you. You watched him smile at the sound, dragging his finger back down, gathering more of your arousal until he was pushing the finger in.
Your eyes fluttered shut, the feeling oh so familiar, and yet seemingly foreign all at once. Too long, you decided then. Three months is too long.
Leaning back down, his lips brushed your jawline, the otherwise odd sensation of there being something — someone — inside of you balancing out with the pleasure that came from the comfort of it being him. And of course the delicate circles his thumb had begun to draw on your clit.
"Did you do this while I was in prison?" he asked you, lips moving against your skin.
"Touch myself?"
"Mhm."
"Yeah," you said, voice breathless. "Was never good, though."
"No?" he asked, curling his finger inside of you and tugging a louder moan from your throat. "Why not?"
"Just never felt as nice. Not like you."
"Oh. I'm sorry, angel," he murmured, pulling his lips away so he could look at you again. Though, your eyes were still planted shut. "I'll make up for it then, yeah?"
You feverishly nodded your head, and he laughed. Fulfilling his promise, he sped up the motions of his finger and thumb, your hands grabbing ahold of fistfuls of the sheets, in hopes that it will provide some comfort from the overwhelming feeling of Spencer touching you again.
"Can I add another finger?" he asked, and though slightly hesitant, you nodded your head.
He waited a beat longer before fulfilling your request, and there was something obscene about how easily another finger entered you. Though, Spencer thought it was pretty, and your back arching was pretty, and yes, he had missed this and he had missed you and he was biting his tongue from telling you that all over again.
"Spencer," a delicately breathy whine left your lips when the heel of his palm collided with your clit — thumb long forgotten once he had gotten distracted with thrusting fingers in and out of you.
"Hm?"
Your eyes fluttered open to meet his, the kindest smile on his face reminding you just how much he adored you, and your heart sporadically beat in your chest. When you didn't say anything else, he quickened his ministrations, eliciting more whines and moans.
"Is two orgasms too much for tonight?" he asked you, the question seemingly innocent regardless of both it's undertones, and what he was currently doing to you.
In hindsight you should've probably said yes. It most certainly would've hurried things along to something he would enjoy as much as you. However, if Spencer Reid fingering you was a religion, you were an eternally loyal follower, and you would do anything to keep him there for as long as you could.
So you shook your head, murmuring a quiet, "No. I can do two," and allowing him to fasten his fingers once more.
Fingers found and massaged that spot inside of you he had probably engrained into his brain, and he was leaning down to swallow the loud moan that followed from the feeling. Practiced motions tore the same sounds from your throat as he repeatedly brushed up against it, until your eyes were forced to squeeze shut once more, and hands that were once seeking solace in the sheets, found his wrist and wrapped around it.
"I can't move if you're going to keep my arm locked up, angel," he said when your nails dug into his wrist, lips smiling against your skin.
A few short jerks of his hand convinced you to let go of the death grip you had on him, instead returning them to the mattress.
Then he was doing that motion again, and again, and you were silently praying he would never stop. Although, if your moans were any indication to where you were at — and they were — Spencer wouldn't.
Your hips bucking told him more than he needed to know, and the absence of his body above you when he lay down on the bed next to you was long forgotten when a splayed hand on your abdomen pushed you back down into the mattress, your heart stuttering at the feeling.
Gentle whines of his name, and a repeated mantra of 'please, please, please' was the only thing your otherwise dismantled brain could come up with, and Spencer was relishing in the knowledge that he was doing this to you. And though it is something he knows he's done before, it had been far too long since and the reminder was always welcome.
"I know, sweet girl," he said against you when your eyes came open and searched his desperately, walls fluttering around his fingers indicating just how close you were.
"Please don't stop."
"I won't," he confirmed, punctuating the promise with his thumb returning to your clit. He had your best interest in mind — you knew that. He now wouldn't stop even if you begged him to.
Overwhelming seemed too insignificant of a word to describe what you felt like when you came, nerve endings all over your body sparking, instead of just the ones he was stimulating.
His thumb rubbing circles and his fingers thrusting in and out of you didn't falter until your shaking body had stilled and your strings of moans had diminished, slowly coming to a stop and leaving your body — seemingly — as fast as they had entered.
The content smile on your face was interrupted with Spencer's hand lifting to your lips, and instinctively you parted them, already knowing exactly what he was after.
His middle and ring fingers entered your mouth, and your face scrunched up despite yourself as you tasted yourself on them. He laughed at that — of course he did — and pulled them out soon after.
"You do that every time," he murmured, hair tickling your skin as he placed open mouthed kisses over your shoulder, up towards your neck.
"It tastes weird," you argued, and his teeth nipping your skin told you he disagreed. Though, he wasn't in the mood to argue, for he didn't say anything else on the matter.
"Still got it in you for one more?" he asked you, pulling his head back so he could see you once again.
"Yes."
"Good."
Your eyes watched him even as he rolled back to take his pants off, and the awkward smile he gave you provided the inkling of comfort that there was still the man from three months prior in there.
"I really missed you, you know?" This time it was you saying it, piercing the air as his hand came down between your thighs to part them. The head of his cock nudged against you, brushing delicately through your folds and eliciting a quiet whimper from your lips.
"I know," he answered, pressing kisses on your shoulder once more. "Are you okay?"
"Me? Yeah. I'm fine," you confirmed with a nod, confusion crossing your features all up until you learned why he was asking.
A broken moan, choked and caught in your throat, left you when he painstakingly slowly pushed inside of you. There's not a lot going on inside your mind when he stops, your entire body aflame and equally desperate for more, as you were for him to take a moment here.
"I love you," he breathed out, the words hurried and encouraging your heart to speed up, and your mind to melt even more.
"I love you too," you said back, voice just as quiet, gently nudging hips ushering for him to move.
"Impatient girl," he muttered, but you smiled nonetheless because he did (move).
His thrusts were slow, and gentle, but you never truly minded how much time he took with you once you two were here. Even more so now, for you were on the same page as him, and you wanted to savour every single moment of this down to the second.
A whimper left your lips, followed closely by the desperate whisper of his name, and lips that were still resting against your shoulder smiled.
"I thought about this a lot," he said to you, his hand that was holding your thighs slightly open sliding up to find your clit. "I definitely shouldn't have."
"Why?" You knew why, but the thought of hearing him answer it aloud excited you a little.
Unfortunately, he knew you better than that. "Don't play coy. You know why, honey."
"You're cruel," you huffed, and he laughed, rolling his hips to meet yours, earning another moan. "Maybe I don't."
"Use that wonderful imagination of yours, then," he answered, rubbing your clit at the same time as he moved his hips once more, effortlessly rendering you unable to respond to him again.
A teenage boy probably could've lasted longer than the both of you, but you decided to blame it all on your already sensitive nerves from a prior orgasm, and the fact that Spencer Reid had not had you like this for over 2190 hours (not that he was counting).
Whimpers escaped your throat as he kept his hips thrusting into you at an achingly slow pace, while his fingers working on your clit did anything but. It was an aching juxtaposition that left you reeling for more, and Spencer was now the one shutting his eyes so he could hold onto some semblance of composure.
"Spencer," you pleaded, and it was a quiet moan from behind you that told you he was exactly where you were.
"I know, honey," he replied, the desperation in his voice jumpstarting your heart. "Need to come, yeah?"
"Mmhm," you nodded your head quickly, breathlessly moaning. "Please."
"You're going to. Don't worry. Don't need to beg, sweet girl."
Commingled moans and obscenely wet noises filled the air, and your hips stuttered as your stomach twisted into knots.
Chanting his name like a prayer, you meet him wherever your two souls go in that moment, and it's a shuddering feeling as you come at the same time as him. For the first time in forever.
His hand drops back to your thigh and he massages the muscles there gently, willing himself to stop before he crossed the line of overstimulation — not that you think you'd complain about that.
There was an emptiness when he pulled out, but then he was kissing you again to make up for it, and you were smiling against his lips as you kissed him back. This time, without the fever.
"How're you feeling?" he asked you, quietly.
"Happy," you answered, forcing your heavy eyelids open when he pulled back. "How are you feeling?"
"Also happy," he agreed, and your heart soared.
"Good."
"You need to go pee," he said, placing another kiss on your cheek, before he leaned his body away entirely.
"Help?"
Arguably, you could do it yourself. Your limbs were tired, yes, and your mind was melting, but you were coherent enough to brave it alone.
Thankfully, you didn't have to.
He carried you to the bathroom, running the bath water after you had silently begged him for it with your eyes (looking between him and the empty bath with wide eyes and a jutted lip worked wonders), and leaving you to pee.
"Are you getting in with me?" you asked him as wobbly legs akin to a fawn carried you over to the now full and steaming bathtub.
"Do you want me to?"
Hesitantly, you nodded your head, fidgeting with your fingers in front of you. "But you'd have to take your shirt off. So you don't have to."
He studied your face for a moment longer, before he nodded, and fingers expertly worked at unbuttoning down the shirt.
"I'm okay now. That's the important thing you have to remember, okay?" his words provided little comfort, but you nodded your head regardless.
You had a suspicion already of what sight you were going to be met with, but it didn't stop the guilt settling into your chest when the shirt fell to the floor anyways.
"Spence," you murmured, taking a hesitant step forwards, heart falling to your stomach.
Bruises littered the skin, some fresh and still purple, others nearly healed and yellowing. But there were so many, and it was then that you were swallowing the rest of him in with your eyes, catching the bandage on his thigh.
"What is that?" you nodded towards the covered wound, and when your eyes returned to his face again, he was staring at you with an unreadable expression.
"A lot happened," he answered, quietly, before repeating, "I'm okay now."
You nodded your head, tears stinging your vision for nothing more than your ridiculous amount of empathy. "Can you tell me about it?"
"I will," he promised. "Eventually. Just not now, okay? I haven't processed it all yet."
"Okay," you replied, and his heart shattered at the sight of a tear slipping down your face.
"Hey," he took ahold of your hand and tugged you closer to him, fingers running through your hair and resting at the base of your scalp. "I promise, honey. I'm not going to disintegrate from a few bruises."
"It isn't just a few," you answered, voice wavering. "There's so many."
"You have a heart too big for your chest," he decided to say instead, leaning down to rest his forehead against yours. "Most of them don't even hurt now. Please believe me when I say I'm okay."
"I'm trying," your voice is thick with a sob caught in your throat. "I think I'm just really tired."
"Yeah," he crooned, agreeing. "Your body's released a lot of prolactin, which encourages sleep. Alongside the endorphins and dopamine that you're crashing from upon seeing this."
Wordlessly, you nodded your head, and he kissed the tip of your nose in an attempt to comfort.
"Bath, then we can sleep, and we can talk more in the morning," he listed off, and you merely nodded your head once more, sniffling and wiping your eyes.
"Okay."
your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡
793 notes
·
View notes
Ceilings.
pairing; hueningkai/reader, taehyun/reader
tags; angst, mild fluff, mild smut [mdni!!!], poetic smut lol, barista!reader, barista!taehyun, jealousy, sorta maladaptive daydreaming, unhealthy coping mechanisms. lmk if i missed anything???
warnings!!!! vomiting, self-hatred, self-deprecating remarks and thoughts.
this is my first txt fanfic, and my first tumblr fic as well!! feedback is encouraged and appreciated. happy reading! title and general idea for the fic is based on the song ceilings by lizzie mcalpine.
Hyuka ending. Tyun ending. Masterlist.
summary;
"but its not real, and you dont exist. and i cant recall the last time i was kissed."
Life was easy, you were happy.. until you werent. come to think of it, had you ever truly been? now you cant even manage to get through your day without daydreaming of him. the perfect man. the one who would brighten your day, love you, save you. everything about him was perfect.
except for the fact he didnt exist.
You were cuddled up to him, thoughts swimming and keeping you perfectly dizzy as he played with your fingers. He was talking about something, rambling on about his day and what he was going to get up to in the next few weeks, but all you could focus on was the rumbling timbre of his voice, soothing your nerves like a balm. His breathing, his heartbeat, his scent, everything that made him so.. Him.
The rain battered softly against the window, but you didn’t mind. You sighed, content, head resting against his chest as you watched a race between two raindrops. You always loved dreary weather like this, as it gave you the perfect excuse to cuddle close to him and absorb his warmth. He was still mumbling into your hair, pressing kisses to the crown of your head every once in a while as if silently reminding you how much he adored you. You craved this more than air. He was sweeter than you could ever imagine, ever deserve. Nothing could take the fluttery feeling from your chest as your heart swooped and stuttered. You lifted your head to look up at him, stars in your ey-
The ringing of your phone snapped you out of your daydream. Your vision cleared as the sound jarred you back into reality, finally settling on the pillow you were cuddled against. You sighed, running your fingers through your hair in a way that tugged painfully at the knots there. You hissed but sat up, picking up your phone and holding it to your ear with a bored look on your face.
“What do you want?”
You busied yourself behind the counter of your job, moving through the motions of making coffee after coffee with practiced ease. This job was good for you, your friends decided. It allowed you to fall into an efficient routine, gave you something to stay busy with. Always moving, always working. You washed counters, mopped floors, stocked the fridges for your coworkers– anything to keep yourself busy and push the daydreams from your head.
It had been months of this. Day in, day out, dreaming of some handsome prince that with otherworldly beauty that would come save you from your mundane life. Maybe he would breathe life back into you, provide you with the spark you lost over the years.
..or did you even have it to begin with?
It started innocently enough, imagining what would like in a partner so you could finally begin opening yourself up to the idea. Being with another person had always been a terrifying idea. Letting someone so close? Allowing them to see you in all your drab, boring glory? You had counted yourself out, but your closest friend and coworker had slowly worn you down.
“Just make a list,” he had said, shrugging as if it was that easy. As if this wasnt world-crushing. “youve gotta start somewhere, right?”
And so you did. You listed every ideal thing your perfect partner could have or be. ..And then you started imagining what this perfect man would look like.. what he would sound like.. feel like-
Even now, when you were supposed to be hard at work as always, you found yourself getting distracted again, vision blurring around the edges as you made the 15th iced americano of the day.
What kind of coffee would he like? Would he like sweet things like you did? Would he like bitterness instead? It would make a nice contrast, you supposed.. you always had a sweet tooth when it came to drinks. What would his order b–
You were startled out of your thoughts as your name was sharply called. You jumped at the sound, looking down at your hands. Shit, the coffee you were making was ruined. You sighed, tossing the bitter liquid down the drain beside you before you began making a new one, completing it quickly and placing it on the counter for the customer to take.
You looked over your shoulder, frowning as you made eye-contact with your aforementioned coworker, who was watching you with sharp, judging eyes. Taehyun always knew when you fell into your fantasies, and it was beginning to get on his nerves. He grabbed your arm, tugging you back to the break room to fix you with a stern look, hands on his hips. You shrunk under his gaze.
“You're dreaming about him again, aren't you?” His words were cold as ice and straight to the point, something that you had once appreciated about him. But times like this, his straight-forwardness left much to be desired. You weren’t exactly soft either, a fellow tsundere, like your other coworkers used to call you. Taehyun always could see through you, though. Through the tough and cold exterior into the pool of softness that festered underneath.
You still flinched at his words, looking away as you adjusted your glasses on the bridge of your nose. They were dirty and smudged again, something Taehyun took notice of with a sigh. He plucked them from your face without a word and began cleaning them, glancing up at you as he did so to prompt your answer.
“It’s not like that.” You argued, slightly indignant. You couldn’t bear the thought of Taehyun seeing through you like glass. You couldn't bear the thought of anyone seeing through you.
Taehyun sighed, because he knew. He always knew, and it pissed you off to no end. “If it's ‘not like that’ then what the hell is it, huh?” He stepped closer, face steeled and calm as he placed the glasses back onto your face where they belonged.
And with that, you froze. Your pulse fluttered under your skin, and dread creeped up your throat. He couldn’t know. No one could know. You couldn't possibly tell him that not only had you indeed been fantasizing about your dream man, but you were beginning to have.. more involved daydreams. No, that was something he could never find out.
Taehyun watched the way you stiffened, eye twitching in irritation as he pushed past you to go back to work. All you could hear other than the shrill ringing in your ears were Taehyun's parting words;
“Just get back to work.”
The feeling of smooth silk and warm skin was the only thing you could think of. Plush lips and equally plush words, sweet nothings being whispered into your ear. You keened, brows furrowing as you arched into the feeling of fingertips brushing over your torso, making their intentions known as they slid lower, lower, lower still.
It drew a gasp from your lips, the fever rising under your clammy skin was slowly turning your mind to mush. He was so careful, so attentive to every little minute detail. He was perfect. Every detail about him from the fluffiness of his messy hair to the way his face would scrunch when he laughed, the sound ringing in your head like bells and just as clear. Even now, with his mouth pressing slow, saliva-slicked kisses to your skin, making you writhe under his touch, he was still perfect. He took your breath away with every movement. You found yourself becoming so lost in him that you couldn't find the line between you two– where one soul ended and the other began. Falling into pleasure with him was just as easy as breathing. Even the simple act of being near him set your soul alight, even with mundane tasks like laughing over a shitty movie, cooking easy meals together, dancing in the kitchen to your shared harmonies.
“Please–” Your voice was shaky and pleading, foreign to your own ears as your fingers clutched desperately at his arms. Your eyes watered, pretty tears clumping your lashes together in a way that made him coo down at you. You had the distinct feeling that you would surely explode if he wasn't the one holding you together with such an iron grip. The thought made a thrill pleasantly buzz under your heated skin, and you could feel his grin against your neck. What you were begging for, you hadn't a clue. All you knew was him. All you wanted was him. And gods above, you felt greedy. You needed more, more, more. Craved it, even.
You whined as he pulled away from your neck, looking down at you with the kindest eyes you'd ever have the pleasure of seeing. His mouth moved, words pillowy and full of promise, but you couldn't hear him. You never really could.
When you came down from your high with a long whine of his name, reality hit you like a bucket of ice water.
Huening Kai.
His name. You said his name. It rolled off your tongue like you were made to say it. Like the syllables were always meant to fall from your lips like a desperate prayer. A prayer to a god that didn't exist.
Saying his name suddenly made it feel real. Too real. Your stomach churned, making you lurch out of bed and scramble for the bathroom so you could empty your stomach into the porcelain. You hoped that with every obscene gag and whimper, that your dreams would be expelled, too. That you'd be free of this beautiful hell. Maybe then you could be normal.. perhaps even be loved for real.
It was later in the workday when you found yourself swaying on your feet. You hadn't gotten a wink of sleep, the gravity of your daydreams finally settling on you like a lead weight around your neck. You could only hope it would take you under the angry waves of your turbulent mental state.
It was sick, right? You were sick for this. Feeling so desperate and lonely that you would make up a whole boyfriend. A perfect, loving boyfriend. But none of it was real. He didn't exist, only in your twisted little brain. Had you really been so pathetically alone that you had to dream about being loved? Being wanted?
Taehyun caught your eye with a sideways glance, and you knew instantly that he knew. How was he so perceptive? How did he always know? Your shoulders sagged as you could assume how this would end. Sure enough, a few hours later when your lunch break rolled around, you found yourself being pulled along by Taehyun once again.
“What happened this time? These dreams are making you worse.” Taehyun frowned, eyebrows pinching together almost imperceptibly. You could see it. Just as he could see you, you could see him in turn. His concern was palpable, with the way his touch lingered on your shoulder before you shrugged it off. If it bothered Taehyun that you did this, he didn't show it.
“Look,” He leveled with you, sharp eyes meeting your own. You desperately wanted to run, something screamed in the back of your mind that this was too close. That everything was too close to you.. to the ugly truth you tried to shove down with all your might.
You were in love with a dream. Devastatingly, sickeningly, irrefutably in love.
“Something is seriously going on with you. Have you called any of those therapists I've sent? You've been looking like a shell of yourself for months now, but today you look like death fucking warmed.” His words always had a way of slicing right through you. ‘No use in sheltering you from the truth,’ as Taehyun would say. You pressed your lips into a thin line, tearing your gaze away from his.
“Gee, thanks. You really know how to make a person feel pretty, don't you?” You were deflecting. You knew it, Taehyun knew it. He groaned, grabbing your chin and tilting it so he could look into your eyes again. He wouldn't let you hide, you knew that. Still, you recoiled back out of his grip like it scalded you, but remained meeting his eyes as he wanted.
“I mean it. Tell me what's going on, now. You can't keep fantasizing about some made-up life with a made-up man-” But you cut him off hastily, so desperate to defend what little pride you had left that you couldn't even process what you were saying.
“Kai is just a dream, youre right. but I’m trying to get be-” You slapped a hand over your mouth, but the damage was done. The words had already been spoken.
Taehyun blanched, eyes widening a fraction in shock. His hands clenched into fists where they lay at his sides.
“...You named him?” Taehyun speaks carefully, words measured and precise, but you didn't miss the edge that skirted around the syllables. He was seething, and you knew it. You gnawed on your lip until metal filled your mouth, looking pointedly away from him. The floor was suddenly much more interesting than Taehyun's eerily silent rage.
Something dangerous swirled in his eyes, and the heat that rose to your face was dizzying. You felt so ashamed, rage rising in you over the sheer embarrassment you just threw yourself into.
“Just forget it, okay? I didn't mean it, it’s nothing-” But Taehyun was having none of it. His shocked expression was now schooled into something darker. Something angrier.
“Forget it? You expect me to forget that you've been spending every conscious and unconscious moment dreaming about someone who doesn't exist? It's nothing!?” He was seeing red. You thought, distantly, that this was the most you had gotten out of him before. You were stunned into your spot, cemented to the floor under Taehyun's anger.
“I'm sorry, I-” Again, you were being cut off by Taehyun retreating, irritation rolling off of him in waves as he pushed past you again, shoulder bumping harshly against your own.
“Get it together. Maybe someday you'll wake up and see what you've been missing out on, but I can't promise I'll still fuckin’ be here when you do.”
It was a few months later, and you were barely any better than you were in the wake of your argument with Taehyun. If you could even call it that. Your connection had almost entirely been severed, only feeling the weight of his stare whenever he thought you weren't paying attention. It made you shiver.
You tried so hard to listen to his warnings, that this would only make you more sick. You needed to wake up from your delusions and face reality. You were lonely, yes, but you could fix that if you took control of your own mind again. If you controlled your own life again. Taehyun was right, he was always right. This wasn't healthy in the slightest.
Now you were back to working regularly without fucking up. You were efficient as they were before this hell began, albeit a bit more hollow than normal. Your mind still tortured you, but you were strong enough to begin to push it away. These fantasies, these delusions were only a poison. You had to stop drinking it by the mouthful if you ever expected to be happy.
The bell above the front door of the cafe rang, signaling you had more work to do. You pulled yourself together, hearing the customer approach the counter. You didn't look up, opening up the order screen on the register before you.
“Hello, what can I get for you today?” You asked, a practiced and saccharine sweetness staining your voice.
“Ah.. could I just get a few egg tarts?” You blinked. That voice.. it itched something in the back of your mind, but you pushed it away. He was probably a regular customer. Nothing to get excited about.
“Sure thing,” You selected the requested items, head moving up to look at the customer with a pleasant customer-service brand smile on your lips. “What's the name for the order?” You hadn't quite looked at his face yet, just a quick glance to not seem rude. You weren't the best with eye-contact, anyway.
“Oh- Kai. Huening Kai.”
The pen fell from your hand, eyes snapping up to finally, finally meet the eyes of this stranger and any words you could have had in your mind died on your tongue. It was him. It was really him. Holy fuck.
“Everything okay?” He was so sweet. So perfect. He was everything you dreamed and then some. You swallowed thickly, nodding like a fucking idiot as you punched in his total in the machine.
“Yeah- yeah, your total is $10.25” You managed to squeak out, voice stunted and shaken. You felt like a flame in a hurricane, on the blink of blinking out of existence. You moved in a daze, grabbing his items and handing them to him after he paid. Your hands were shaking, and you swore your knees almost gave out when his fingers ghosted over your own, flashing you a warm smile that nearly ended you then and there.
You were blissfully unaware of the weight of Taehyun's gaze this time, and the anger behind it.
He knew. He always knew.
33 notes
·
View notes