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itzpookiepooh · 2 days ago

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Let’s Get Married

Inspired by Let’s Get Married by Jagged Edge

Sylus adored everything about you. The way you brushed your teeth, the way you laughed, even the way you tripped over the same spot in the base that’s been there forever. He couldn’t not love you. You’ve given him every reason to love you. He loves how you love the boys, he loves how you are eventually able to get along with Mephisto.

He loves that you reassure him on his baddest days. He loves that you take care of him the same way he takes care of you. He could make an endless list of reasons he loved you but then he’d be writing even on his deathbed. You were both slow dancing to one of his many records. He was teaching you how to waltz which turned into you guys just feeling the music.

He stared down at you in admiration. You weren’t done up or in your hunters uniform but laid back and yourself. Your hair was tousled from the long day and you were in your loungewear. A soft smile makes its way onto Sylus’ lips. He was a man of extravagance that much was true but he was also for living in the moment. You take your head off his chest to look at him. You giggle at the fact he was already looking at you with those piercing red eyes.

“What?” You giggle softly, “Is there something on my face?” Sylus just chuckles before sighing.

“Marry me.” He mumbles making you both stop swaying. Did he really just ask you that? Right now?

“Are you serious?” You whisper as if the air was knocked out of you. He smiles making you clutch his hand tighter.

“I don’t joke about things like this.” He assures you, “I’ll do a grander gesture another time. This moment was too perfect to pass up.” He reassured you in case you thought he didn’t care enough to make the gesture.

“Yes.” You whimper as tears sprang to your eyes. He held you close letting the tears run down your face. This is what made life worth living.

Caleb has watched you grow into someone so brave it puts him to shame at times. He can’t help but admire everything you do. He’s always seen a future with you away from Linkon. A nice house, a dog or two, maybe even a kid. Whatever you wanted he would give you. He knew he wanted this, forever. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind.

You were both watching Gnomeo and Juliet, a movie you guys hadn’t watched since you were kids. Caleb wanted some nostalgia tonight like he does many other nights. You were curled into his side as you both watched the scene of Gnomeo and Juliet meeting. Caleb couldn’t help himself.

“Marry me.” He blurted out, “please.” He whispers but you just stare at him.

“Does Elton John get you in that mood or something?” You question him. What is he thinking? How does this movie make him think that?

“No I’ve been thinking about it for a while.” He sighs, his nerves setting in. “There’s nothing I want more in this world than to call you my wife.”

You were stunned, not shocked because you’ve seen a future with Caleb. You always have but you never knew when to bring it up to him. Your heart was pounding as you stared at him which didn’t help his nerves at all. What did you have to lose? You both wanted the same thing.

“Yes—yeah, of course.” You ramble making him laugh and pull you into a hug. He kissed your forehead twice and squeezed you tighter. You just made him the happiest man on earth.

You and Xavier were baking, well you were baking and he was passing you ingredients. His cooking got a lot better which was great for you but you didn’t trust him enough to cook alone. You guys were baking some desserts for the hunters association party on tomorrow. You both were having fun and covered in flour and batter. Xavier was making your job a bit harder because he kept ‘tasting’ the mix. You didn’t mind much though because you enjoyed spending time with him. You did tell him to slow down on the eating because you didn’t want him to get a stomachache.

After taking the cake out of the oven, you high five Xavier. He smiles at how happy you were about you guys’ accomplishment. He loved how positive you were about everything. You always found a bright side even if it seemed like there wasn’t one. He knew he loved you when he started staring at you longingly. You put him in a daze just by being you. You occupied his thoughts no matter what was going on.

“We should get married.” He spoke without thinking but he didn’t regret it. You stared at him with wide eyes not fully processing what he just said. Was he proposing? Was he crazy? So many questions and not enough answers.

“Have we been in the kitchen too long?” You ask genuinely. Maybe the fumes were getting to him and he needed to step onto the balcony.

“No.” He laughs before leaning on his elbows on the kitchen counter. His voice became softer as he spoke, “I want to spend the rest of my life with you, if you’ll have me.”

Your jaw was on the floor. You spend the rest of your life with him? This had to be some sort of fever dream. Xavier was straightforward but this was surprising even for him. You couldn’t gather words as he just watched you fumble. You settled with an enthusiastic nod, too tongue tied to give a verbal answer. He smiles at your answer before rounding the counter to kiss you. He was extremely happy that you said yes.

Rafayel can shout from the rooftops about how much he loves you. It would be pointless considering just about everyone in Linkon knows it. He can’t not bring you up whenever he’s having a conversation. He will find anyway to squeeze you in there. He would tattoo it on his chest if he were into it. There is no him without you.

On this particular day he was to unveil an art piece he had been working on for weeks. You knew it was special when he wouldn’t even show you. It intrigued you what was until that veil. Could it be another environmental piece? A new color perhaps? Only time will tell.

Rafayel unveiled the piece for you and immediately your jaw was on the floor. It was of you and him, he dipped you as you held a bouquet of flowers. His nose nuzzled in your neck as you laughed. Anyone would think this was a portrait of a distant memory but no he painted your future together. You felt your heart skip a beat at the sight. He was proving himself to you in the most beautiful way possible.

“I want nothing more than to wake up to you everyday. Go to sleep with you there everyday.” He starts making your lips tremble. He tilts your chin up to look at his watery eyes, “Marry me?” He asks his voice shaky as he spoke.

“Of course.” You smile wiping your eyes, he holds you close as you fall into his arms. This was a moment that would be engraved into his mind for the rest of his life.

Many thought of Zayne as boring, nonchalant and so forth and so on. Not to you, never to you. He was expressive you just had to get to know him first. He’s thoughtful, kind and caring, many of the reasons why you love him. He loved you for some of the same reasons and even smaller ones than that. He loved the way you’d curl into him unconsciously when you guys were in bed. He loved the way you’d make him lunch with a cute note inside. He loved how you loved him unconditionally. Even when his evol first went out of control in front of you, you didn’t run away or cower away from him, rather you helped him through it.

You guys were basking in the night sky as fireworks exploded in the sky. He could’ve been watching the sky and how it lit up beautifully yet he only saw you. The fireworks reflecting off your eyes as you sat in awe at the different colors and designs it spewed. He felt so content in your presence no matter what you did together. You quickly tap his hand and point to the huge explosion filled with orange, pinks and purples. How could he not want to spend the rest of his life with you? Music played in the background as he felt you lean into him.

“Where do you see yourself in the future, Zayne.” You murmured as the fireworks calmed down. He sighs as his lips tugged upwards.

“I see myself…still being a surgeon however, I’ll have something more.” He hints making you furrow your brows. You look at him curiously wondering what he meant.

“A promotion?” You questioned. He was at the top what else could he want? Did he want to own a hospital of his own?

“Yes, you can call it that.” He teased making you narrow your eyes as they dart around. You were thinking to yourself all the possibilities he could mean. He cupped your cheeks bringing you closer to him.

“I want the next stage in my life to be an important milestone…together.” He clasps you and his hands together. Your eyes search his before they widen in shock, “You don’t know how much you mean to me. I will spend the rest of my life showing you how much.” He softly spoke placing his forehead on yours.

You felt your water line fill as you thought about it. You didn’t think he wanted a life with you. You didn’t know why but it never crossed your mind. Living in the moment was all you wanted to do with him. Not push him for change or nag him about anything like that. Being here with him right now was enough for you. Always.

“We’re getting married?” You breathe making his eyes soften as he chuckles.

“Only if you want to.” He murmured kissing your hand. You felt the tears fall as you try and stop them. He stares at you fondly, his heart beating for you.

“Of course I want to. What kind of question is that?” You cry as he chuckles before hugging you and kissing the crown of your head a few times. The fireworks explode above you sealing the moment in your hearts forever.

I love cute/romantic moments they warm my heart 🥹

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tojisteddy · 2 days ago

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Soap who has full conversations with your baby.

The man was so addiment about being there every step of the way of your pregnancy since you were rightfully scared. He read up on childcare books in the middle of missions, signed you up for couple classes, even got you a doula. You two were smooth sailing from then on.

But, my goodness would that man talk his head off to your unborn baby.

Those last 4 months, he would snuggle up right to your adorable, growing stomach and talk about anything that came to mind. The weather, the new bassinet you two argued over for thirty minutes, how uncle Gaz and Uncle Simon were both evil brats and hoe the baby (little chicky) couldn’t be around them for too long.

The baby knew Soaps voice, turning or kicking with excitement whenever they heard his voice. But the turning and kicking got so bad you’d waddle your cute butt away every time Soap would come talking even when it was casual conversation.

He’s right on your heals, easily catching up to you, “But baby, how’s I ‘posed to know chicky would come to love ma voice soooo much?”

“Johnny I don’t know, but it hurts! Back up ten feet from now on!” You giggle in a playful annoyance.

“Poor mama,” he coos, pecking your lips before kneeling down right at your belly, hand touching it and immediately feeling a kick that made you wince. “Johnny!” You keened. “Looky ‘ere chicky, ye can’t go bullying ma wife every time ‘m near. That ain’t fair, is it?” The man looks up at you, eyes glistening with laughter and giving your round stomach a kiss. “Ease up on ‘er, will ya?”

Oh did that baby ease up alright, not giving you a moments rest after that “talking to” if chicky didn’t hear Soaps voice. You’d call, three in the morning, praying to God he wasn’t doing anything.

“What’s wrong? You okay dove?” hes panicked, quick to answer those last two months, always.

You sniffle, “Just say somethin Johnny! The baby’s trying to kill me!” And that man can’t help the grin that forms on his face. Chicky hadnt even been born yet but was giving you hell. Like father like child, Johnny’d done the same thing with his mother. She’d be happy to hear about this.

And then, little chicky was born, a beautiful thing with a head full of hair, two eyes, two ears, ten fingers and toes. both of you two cried with joy. The baby clung to Johnny every chance they could, which started the babbling. Chicky would talk up a storm to the both of you as soon as they were able to hold their head up by themselves. Firsts clenched, drool every where, eyes wandering, always had so much to say.

In came Soap who had to feed them at 7 am (sleep trained to a tea by yours truly), the baby in the high chair, red baby food surrounding its mouth while Soap cleaned up the mess of a kitchen from the night before. Going on and on about the people he had to work with.

“Oh honey, I knoooow. Carol told me tha’ Evan’s been bein a little bitch to everyone on base. Annoyin yer poor Da while he tries to do his work! Cannae ‘ave that, can we?”

And your sweet baby babbles back, squealing and gripping onto the spoon in his hand.

You, who’s been watching the entire scene from the archway of the kitchen, scoffs, “Jesus, don’t curse at my kid!”

“Dove it’s not me!” He threw his arms up in defense, giggling, “the babe just won’t stop tellin me how much a gobshite Evan is.”

Soap bends down, face level to your baby. “Yes he is! Yes he is!” He coo’s, and chicky grins, as if they know what’s going on. Just like always.

a/n: reader x soap and their baby chicky is so cute to me.

most recent masterlist

#soap x you #teddy drabbles #soap fluff #soap x reader #soap x y/n #john soap mactavish #johnny mactavish #johnny x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #johnny soap mactavish #cod x reader #tf 141 x reader #soap call of duty #soap cod #call of duty #johnny mactavish x y/n #cod fluff

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lazysoulwriter · 15 hours ago

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say it again, i dare you. - pedro pascal.

requested! thank you for sending, babe.

---

The engagement party was beautiful—twinkling lights, champagne flowing, Pedro’s hand resting gently on the small of your back the whole night. But the whispers came fast. The age gap. The timeline. The money.

You were laughing with someone from Pedro’s team when you heard it. “She moved in after, what, three months? That screams gold digger.” “Pedro’s always been a little too romantic. Too emotional. He’ll learn the hard way.”

You didn’t hear Pedro respond. You didn’t want to. You just stepped back, blinking hard and slipping quietly out onto the balcony, fingers shaking as you wiped at your eyes. You didn’t want to make a scene. You just wanted to breathe.

Except—he followed you.

"Mi amor."

You turned your head quickly, trying to look like you weren’t crying. "I’m fine."

“You’re not.” His voice was calm, but low. The kind of calm that means he’s furious and trying to hold it together for you. “I heard everything.”

You swallowed, voice tight. “I just—I didn’t want to ruin the night. Everyone thinks I’m with you for the wrong reasons. That it’s too soon. That I’m too young.”

Pedro’s jaw clenched. “No one gets to decide what’s right for us. They don’t know what we’ve been through. They don’t know how you wake me up from nightmares or remind me to eat or calm me down after phone calls with my agent.”

He stepped closer, thumb brushing the tear from your cheek.

“They don’t know how you look at me like I hung the stars even when I forget to take the trash out and fall asleep on the couch in my script pages. You love me. I love you. That’s it. That’s all.”

You started to respond—but he was already walking back inside.

And then he shut it all down.

Pedro raised his glass, voice carrying clear and certain:

“To those of you who’ve made this night about anything other than love—your opinions aren’t welcome here. Not tonight. Not in our home. Not around my future wife. So if you’re here for gossip, the door is open.”

He set the glass down. Didn’t even drink it. Just walked back to you, took your hand, and kissed it gently.

“You don’t have to run when people are cruel,” he whispered. “You’ve got me now. I won’t let them touch you.”

And for the rest of the night, he didn’t leave your side. He made you laugh. He slow danced with you barefoot in the kitchen after everyone left. He kissed your ring and your hand and your forehead like they were sacred.

Because to him, they were.

---

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal fluff #pedro pascal blurb #pedro pascal imagines #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fanfics #x reader #imagines #imagine #fanfic #fic #pedro pascal one shot #pedro pascal oneshot #pp

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pazzispizookies · 1 day ago

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Marks and a head injury~

Hi guys!! This is just a quick little Pazzi one shot based off a scene in Sella’s amazing series! I hope you guys enjoy!! Let me know how you like it :)

“AZZI!” Paige screamed from the bathroom,

Azzi came running at the sound of her voice, worried something had happened to the blonde, “What?! Are you okay?” She said slightly out of breath.

Paige stood near the counter inspecting herself in the mirror, her reflection showed back 4 marks that Azzi had left the night before, “What. Did. You. DO” Paige said turning towards her, pointing at her neck.

Azzi didn’t mean to leave marks, she never has before, but she must’ve been a little careless last night. “I didn’t mean to! I swear!!”

Paige huffed out, crossing her arms. “Yeah well, you just turn into a vampire last night for no reason?”

Azzi moved forward to inspect the hickies, they were there for sure, all purple against soft pale skin. There was no denying what they were.

“Az..We’re literally suck in the house with your whole family! This is not how we need them to find out were…well, yknow.” Paige replied, her and Azzi still haven’t had the “Talk” aabout what they were yet, for now they were only just now realizing how in love with each other both of them had been their whole friendship. Paige had been living with the Fudds for almost 3 weeks now, still supposed to stay another 2 months while covid dragged on. So to say the least, she didn’t need them knowing she was making out with their daughter every night.

“Do you think we could cover them?” Azzi said running her fingers over the marks, which she was secretly a little proud of.

We could try?” Paige said with a shrug,

A voice broke though their conversation; Katie calling them down, “Girls! Breakfast!”

Paige dragged her hands over her face, mortified of what was to come.

“It’s gonna be fine!! Just..put your hair down, and um wear a long sleeve.” Azzi suggested,

Paige narrowed her eyes at her, “Your lucky your cute, or else I would leave you right here right now.” She ment it be threatening, but the fondness in her voice was clear,

“Oh yeah?” She said back, holding an eye contact that made Paige blush.

Paige leaned forward and kissed her quickly and softly, “Yeah.”

Azzi smiled against her lips, but then focused back on the task at hand. “Okay cmon, she’s gonna come up here if we aren’t down there in like 10 seconds.”

Paige nodded and moved to her room, heading striaght for the closet.

It was summer, meaning the was a blazing 98 degrees outside, not exactly hoodie weather. To make matters worse, Paige was known for always complaining about the heat, wanting to wear as little clothes as humanly possible on days like this.

So as she stood there, black hoodie pulled up, Long blonde hair brushed and down, sweeping over her shoulders and neck. She looked more than unusual.

“This good?” She said looking at Azzi,

Azzi gave her a half-hearted smile, knowing everyone would know something was off, “well…I can’t see them, so..maybe?”

Paige sighed, awaiting her doom in kitchen.

The girls headed downstairs, Azzi in front of Paige to keep her out of eyesight for as long as possible.

“Goodmorning girls!” Tim greeted, already seated eating bacon next to Katie.

Azzi looked up and smiled, “Morning,”

Paige stared down at the floor, giving just a slight nod to Tim.

At this strange greeting, he raised an eyebrow to Katie, silently wondering what was up.

She didn’t know either, but now intrigued on whatever Paige was doing.

Azzi ad her sat down at their normal seats, the plates of colorful food in front of them.

Azzi started eating quietly while Paige picked at some fruit, not daring to make eye contact with anyone.

All she could do was sit in the uncomfortable heat of her hoodie and hair and pretend there wasn’t 4 places Azzis breath and lips lingered for too long in the heat of the night on her neck.

Katie had her suspicious about Paige and Azzi, it wasnt everyday when your daughter asks if her friend could come live with them during quarantine. Most kids would grow sick of their best friends after a while, but it only seemed like they got closer.

A few times she caught them doing things most friends wouldn’t, not anything crazy, just enough to make her question. Smiles that only seemed to show when the other was around, the stolen glances whenever someone made a joke, the way Paige could always sleep in the guest room, but found herself sleeping with Azzi each night.

she had talked to Tim about it, him agreeing that maybe they were more, doubting they even knew it. Saying that “they’re just friends for now” and to see what the future could hold.

But now as Paige sat scarily quiet at the table, hoodie pulled close and hair that seemed less then naturally flowing, his suspions rose.

“So..how did you guys sleep?” Tim asked, starring right into the downward facing head of Paige,

Katie smirked at his question, knowing he saw what was happening.

Azzi looked between them, quickly answering for both of them, “fine-yeah. We slept fine.”

Tim nodded his head slowly, taking a bite of his bacon, “Paige? You slept good too?”

Paiges face burned at the direct question, she hadn’t slept good, she mainly stayed up the whole night tangled with his daughter, sharing secret whispers and heated kisses. She glanced up for a moment, Just meeting his eyes before adverting her glare back down to her fruit. “Good.”

Silence fell over the table, everyone knowing what was up, but still not having the proof.

after a beatt, Katie spoke. “What did you guys wanna do today? We could go swimming at the lake, Paige I think your new swimsuit came too if you wanna try that on.”

Paiges eyes widened, knowing if she even took of this hoodie, the bruises would be shown. “Um—nah, I’m good.” She choked out, her voice higher then normal.

“are you sure you don’t wanna go swimming?It’s really hot out, might be nice.” Time added, trying to get Paige to break.

“Yup.” Paige replied, keeping her answer short.

“She said she doesn’t wanna go swimming. What’s so wrong with that?” Azzi injected in, knowing her parents were up to something.

Katie shrugged, “Nope, nothings wrong, just figured she might be hot after wearing that hoodie all day, aren’t you sweetie?”

Paige practailly choked on her fruit, coughing for a second before shaking her head.

Tim started chuckling at the poor girl, her lying was laughable, and he couldn’t help it.

“What’s so funny?” Azzi asked, trying to protect Paige from her parnets,

Tim could barley breath before laughing out his words, “Nothing—just don’t think she noticed that her hoodie fell while shaking her head.”

Paige looked down and shit.

One of the bruises was out and barely covered by her hair, making it clear something was behind the blonde strands. This time she actually stated choking on her fruit, which caused herself to shake even more while coughing.

Azzi patted her back worried, “Dad!”

Tim stayed back laughing, raising hands up in defense,

Paige finally stopped her coughing fit, face bright red and now tugging her hood all the way up, pulling the strings as much as she could, before throwing her head down into her arms.

Katie started the laughing too at this, finding it funny abut also shocked to see Paige so flustered.

“Paige? What’s going on there?” Katie added in, her voice dripping with insincere sweetness.

Paige kept her head down, shaking with with a groan,

Azzi knew they got caught, so now flustered herself, because soon it would be clear only one person could’ve done that to her.

“Umm-were gonna, gonna go upstairs.” Azzi spat out, standing up quickly and tugging Paige who was a mess with her.

“We’ll talk about this later young ladies!!” Katie shouted at them speeding off,

Because of Paige’s hoodie pulling pulled up so much, it covered her eyes, leading her straight into the wall with thud,

“oW!”

Tims laughter only grew at the sight of poor Paige just trying to leave the room, now injured.

Azzi could only look at her with sorrow for the girl, knowing she put her in this position.

Paige took Azzis hand again, being up tugged the stairs, not before whispering “Your dead to me” under her breath.

#pazzi fics #uconn wbb #pazzi #paige bueckers uconn #uconn #paige x azzi #uconn women’s basketball #uconn huskies #azzi fudd #azzi35 #Pazzi fic #Paige Bueckers #Tim Fudd

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mattrempeswife · 17 hours ago

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MACK THE KOALA

requested: yes | req: macklin is the softest boy ever like he’s so so clingy you could be talking to someone for like two seconds and he’s hugging you waiting for your attention to be back on him

pair: macklin celebrini x f!reader

genre: romantic comedy, fluff, pure boyfriend chaos.

warnings: unapologetically clingy boyfriend behavior, public affection, mid-convo kiss attack, mild secondhand embarrassment for cousin.

summary: mack is the softest, clingiest boyfriend alive. you’re used to it by now that he turns into a human hoodie the second you talk to someone that isn’t him, especially when that someone is his cousin. you’re in the middle of a normal, grown-up conversation about jobs when macklin starts his signature move.

“So basically,” Eli said, lifting his drink,

“I either go back to school or I start a job I don’t really want and pretend I’m okay with that.”

You nodded.

“Classic ‘two roads diverged in a capitalist nightmare’ situation.”

Eli laughed.

“Exactly.”

You liked talking to Eli. He was smart in that dry, blunt way that made job talk feel like less of a crisis and more like a group project you were both half-assing together.

You were mid-sentence.

“But if you’re gonna hate the job by month three, is the paycheck really worth—”

A hand slid across your lower back.

You didn’t flinch. You just closed your eyes for a second. Took a breath. Counted to three.

“Don’t say it,” you warned Eli.

He smirked.

“Wasn’t gonna.”

“Mmhmm.”

You didn’t have to look to know it was Macklin.

His hand stayed there, casual but heavy, like it had always been there.

A second later, he stepped in behind you. Close. Too close. His chest lightly pressed against your back, his other hand sliding around your waist like it belonged there. It kind of did.

Eli, sipping his drink, glanced at the sky like he was being personally tested.

“I swear, man. You can’t let her have one conversation.”

“I was gone for, like, fifteen minutes,”

Macklin said calmly, ignoring both of you.

You felt his chin rest lightly on your shoulder.

“I’m literally talking about health insurance,”

You said, not turning around.

He hummed. “Sexy.”

“Be serious.”

“I am,” he said.

“What’s hotter than long-term stability and dental?”

Eli choked on his drink.

You shook your head, biting back a smile.

“Do you need something? Or are you just here to leech body heat?”

“I missed you.”

“I was ten feet away.”

“Too far.”

“You’re a grown man.”

He kissed your shoulder. “With grown feelings.”

Eli groaned.

“I’m gonna go walk into traffic. Let me know when Mack stops clinging like a koala.”

“I’m not even doing anything,”

Macklin said, tightening his hold slightly.

“You’re latched,” you replied.

He didn’t argue.

He just buried his face into your neck like this was a completely normal way to behave at a family BBQ.

You tried to keep talking. You really did. You turned back to Eli, pretending Mack wasn’t slowly melting into your spine.

“Anyway, if you’re considering grad school, maybe take a year to figure out if—”

And then Mack kissed you. Soft, quick, just enough to completely disrupt your sentence.

You stopped. Turned your head.

“Seriously?”

He looked at you like he was the offended one.

“What?”

“I was speaking words.”

“And I was listening.”

“You kissed me in the middle of a sentence.”

“You were dragging out your syllables. Felt like a natural break.”

Eli, in the distance now, just yelled,

“I warned you.”

You sighed. Looked at Mack. Really looked at him. His hair still slightly messy from earlier, T-shirt wrinkled, arms around you like he didn’t even think about doing it but it just happened. Like his body had one setting is near you.

He wasn’t trying to be romantic. He wasn’t making a big scene.

He was just… Mack, Macklin Celebrini.

“You’re the worst,” you said quietly.

He nodded.

“But?”

You leaned back into him.

“But you make a decent human scarf.”

He smiled into your skin.

“That’s all I ever wanted.”

Later when you sat on the edge of a lawn chair while he rested his head in your lap pretending to be subtle, you tapped his forehead gently.

“You ever gonna let me have a solo conversation again?”

He looked up at you, eyes half-closed.

“Nope.”

“Cool. Just checking.”

#macklin celebrini #macklin celebrini imagines #macklin celebrini imagine #macklin celebrini fluff #macklin celebrini blurb #macklin celebrini one-shot #macklin celebrini x y/n #macklin celebrini x f!reader #macklin celebrini x fem!reader #macklin celebrini fanfiction #macklin celebrini x you #macklin celebrini x reader #macklin celebrini fanfic #nhl imagines

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no-144444 · 1 day ago

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꩜ summary: 2 years after he's seen you, and you're still both thinking the same thing...

꩜ pairing: oscar piastri x fem! reader

꩜a/n: smut 18+

Oscar had no idea what he was doing there. A concert wasn’t usually his scene anyway, but your concert. Fuck, he was out of place, despite not really looking it. Everyone was his age, some guys even looked like him (though they were clearly dragged by their partners), and honestly, had he a gin and tonic in his hand and maybe Logan and Lando by his side, he would’ve probably enjoyed himself. Well, that, and not having a long and deep history with the woman performing. But here he was, drink-less, and Hattie beside him.

It had been what, 2 years since you’d last seen each other? Not that bad, right? Wrong. He couldn’t stop thinking about you, and the weeks just ticked by so much that texting you would be weird. Oscar was… a kid back then (not really, he was 20), when you two… started, if something even started. It had been one drunk night which had turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to him. He remembered everything from that night, despite the ridiculous amount of alcohol he consumed.

“Have you met Y/n?” Pierre mused, a smirk on his lips. Oscar gulped. The randomest people were always invited to F1 events, and Oscar wasn’t usually interested in attending, but one bad race result meant he wanted a drink, and stuff always tasted better when someone else was paying for it, especially when that someone was the FIA. FIA parties were always interesting. All the celebrities who had come to the race, any driver who wasn’t flying home, and all the F2 drivers who hadn’t left yet. The music was deafening, the lights were low, and bad decisions were inevitable.

“Who’s that?” he asked as Pierre wrapped an arm around his shoulder, pulling him in closer with that ill-intended smirk he always wore before getting Oscar into trouble.

“She’s your age, she’s a singer, and she’s hot,” Pierre pushed Oscar into the crowd, his drink almost spilling all down the back of a girls dress, and knocking her over.

“Shit! Sorry,” he cursed, steadying you with a hand on your shoulder. “You alright?”

You turned around to meet his eyes, and his entire body went stiff. Shit, Pierre wasn’t lying, you were stunning. “All good, thanks though,” you smiled back, flashing him a look of your perfect teeth. Whoever was going to procreate with you was lucky.

“I’m Oscar, by the way,” he held out his hand to be shaken. This was a rare show of confidence from Oscar. The regular him would’ve just walked on and never thought about the interaction again. “I’m with Alpine-”

“I know who you are,” you chuckled, a wonderful, melodic sound over the deafening music. “I’m Y/n,” you shook his hand. “You’re really talented, too bad about the Sprint this weekend though,” you offered him a sympathetic look, but he was focusing pretty hard on not looking at your tits and the way they jumped out of your dress.

“Yeah, a shame but… it’s whatever,” he shrugged. “Do you want to grab a drink?”

“Holy shit,” you whispered against his ear as he continued kissing down your neck. “Never thought I’d be fucked on an F1 car,” you chuckled, digging your nails into his back muscles. He groaned against your neck, but never stopped. Maybe bringing you into the alpine garage to fuck you on an f1 car wasn't the wisest choice, but he did it anyway. The cocky part of his brain told him it was due to the fact he wanted to, but in reality, he just wanted to impress you.

“First time for everything,” he grunted, pulling back. “You’re sure?” he asked.

“So sure,” you nodded, fisting the bottom of his stupid alpine shirt. He didn’t need to be told twice. He smirked and turned your back to him, feeling a sense of satisfaction when he heard you were moaning at that alone. “Liked that?’ he teased, and you slapped his arm playfully.

“Just fuck me Oscar,” you rolled your eyes, bending over and leaning on the car. He let out a breath as he pulled your panties down your legs. “I thought racecar drivers were meant to be fast?” you mocked. “You’re taking your time.”

He shrugged and started unzipping his trousers. “I like to enjoy the view when I’m not driving 300 km an hour,” he was feeling increasingly cocky, and he knew no one was taking him down from this high. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered, leaning over you and taking one of your hands in his as he pulled the condom on his cock. He pressed a kiss to your shoulder and felt you shiver under him. He was hard, harder than he’d ever been probably. He was going to enjoy this. “You ready?”

“Fuck me Oscar,” you pushed back against him, and he slipped in with one swift motion. Both of you were just frozen for a moment, you were adjusting to his size, while he was trying not to cum already. You were so fucking tight, he had no idea what he was going to do. Maybe he’d have to start naming world champions in his head to hold off longer, or maybe he’d just cum prematurely and make an ass of himself in front of the most interesting girl he’d ever met. Shockingly, he preferred the first option.

“You can move now,” your voice was low and small, but it didn’t bother him one bit.

He didn’t need to be told twice. He pulled back and thrust into you once, knocking the air out of your lungs. Quickly, you two built a rhythm that had you both moaning out louder than either of you had planned. He genuinely prayed no one would check the security cam footage, or else he was for sure fucked.

“So good Osc,” you whined, grinding back against him. “Feels so good.”

“Feels fucking amazing,” he groaned, throwing his head back as he thrust into you harder. “So fucking beautiful baby.”

It didn’t go unnoticed, the way you tightened around him when he said it. He smirked. Nothing was getting him off this ego boost. Ever.

“Dear god,” you gasped out as he quickened his pace.

“Not God, Oscar,” he smirked, earning him another slap to the arm. Worth it.

The next time it happened, it was after Coachella. You’d flown him out to California, he watched your set, and then spent three hours in your dressing room getting rode like a fucking horse. He didn’t complain once. The visits gradually became more regular, and in hotel rooms, or the odd dressing room, or sometimes his Monaco apartment. It was sometimes just lunch, or dinner, and then it turned into that more than sex, and that’s when you ran, and he got his heart broken.

He shook the memories away and sunk further into the crowd (he hoped), and adjusted the green cap on his head, trying to blend in some more. The last few notes of one of your songs played, and he smiled, watching you perform.

“How are we feeling Melbourne?” you asked and the crowd went wild. He even clapped a bit, but mostly because Hattie slapped his arm. “Well, I have something for you, it’s a new song…” you paused as the crowd went insane. Hattie grabbed onto his shoulder, her mouth hung open with shock. “It’s called ‘Dear God’, and it’s about a Melbourne native,” you winked at the crowd before the opening chords began.

His mouth was hung open and all the blood rushed to his ears. He wore ear plugs to concerts, he always had. He had never been a fan of too much noise, but he immediately ripped them out of his ears, and gawked. You danced around the stage, and his eyes never left your body as he listened to the damned lyrics.

“Dear god, take his kiss right out my brain, take the pleasure outta my pain, take the way he used to say, ‘I love you’, dear god, get his imprint out of my back, take ‘amazing’ out of our sex, take away the way I still might want to,” you sang looking out on the crowd.

And then your eyes found him and time stopped. You continued singing, you kept dancing, but your eyes never left his. Much like you never stopped thinking about him. Much like you never stopped loving him. Every word was meant. Every word was for him.

“I want to meet that guy,” you pointed him out to one of your guards. “We know each other. Offer the girl with him a VIP package, she’s famous too. Just, send him straight to my dressing room and send her to the meet and greet, yeah?”

He nodded, and left to start arranging it.

The show came and went, and someone told you there was ‘a strange man’ in your dressing room. You smirked.

“Amazing sex?” he teased, his hands in his pockets. “I think it was a bit better than that.”

You rolled your eyes and closed the gap between you two, wrapping your arms around his neck. You were hugging him. The world stopped for the second time that night. His arms wrapped around you and squeezed, tight. It felt good. Right. “Missed you,” you admitted, your voice muffled by his (now) broad chest. “Where have you been?”

You knew it wasn’t a fair question when you were the one who walked away, but you knew Oscar well enough to know he’d just smile and say something deeply profound as if it were completely unremarkable.

“Waiting for you, I guess,” he shrugged. Check.

You smiled against his chest. “I love you,” you whispered. “I’m sorry I didn’t say it sooner.”

He pulled back, cupping your cheek with one of his perfect, boyish smiles. “No need to be sorry,” he shook his head. “It all worked out.”

You nodded and pressed forward, catching his lips with yours. All that heat and hurt you caused each other, all those years spent together and cautious, and those spent alone and miserable, it all culminated in that kiss. It was the kind of kiss that made you never want to stop, but alas, humans need air, and Oscar felt fit to faint, but then again, he would for you.

“Also, the sex was way better than amazing,” you agreed, a chuckle on your lips. He laughed out loud, that perfect, Oscar laugh. You leaned in and buried your head in his neck.

so close to what masterlist

pop queens mixtape

navigation for my blog :)

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noirflms · 2 days ago

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BEING A GIRL DAD — hq men

to them their daughter is their world, to them she is everything. or wherein haikyuu men experience being girl dads.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ HINATA SHOYO !

his little girl is his everything. he’d bring the whole wide world to her feet if he could. he would do anything for this little girl of his. the day she was born brought him nothing but immense pleasure, it was one of the best days of his life; the day that made him grow, the day he realised that there would never be nothing as important as the little one in his arms and you — the love of his life and the mother of his child.

to him, being a girl dad came easy. he had looked after a young girl once, who has now become an outstanding woman in the field of his very own expertise — volleyball. being a father to a daughter came easy to him, he loved her like it was breathing, to him she was the very thing that brought him to life.

he loves his little girl to pieces. for he sits at her tea parties, even wears the crown and play the princess in despair. he lets her paint his nails the colour that mummy’s (your) eyes are, he lets her do his hair the way she wants it to look for her daddy should always look handsome. he adores his little one to death; for she brought him strength, she grounded him to where he belongs.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ MIYA ATSUMU !

twins. you birthed twin girls. it was a miracle, yet there was no doubt they were supposed to be twins, it was the very thing that ran in his family. the day they were born, he wasn’t there and he hates that he was not present to see them be welcomed to the world, but you tell him, their love won’t change one bit for him. the girls are his universe, they mean so much to him, that he might go insane if they aren’t in his sight.

they are daddy’s little girls, they love their father too much. the press kisses to his cheeks when wishing him goodnight, they punch him when he hurts their mommy, they giggle when he turns into the kissy monster for them. he does everything for them; he calls it making it up for when he misses their birth.

he tries his best to be at home, to always be a face engraved in their memory, so they don’t forget him when he leaves for matches and tournaments and return after months. he doesn’t want his little girls to forget who he is. he cries in your arms at night thinking he does so less for the three of you, but only if he knew the girls screamed the loudest whenever their papa came on screen, their faces lit up with the brightest smile whenever they get to talk about him.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ KUROO TETSURO !

he always wanted a little girl. and his wish came true. she looked like you, yet had subtle hints of his features, yet she was so much like you. to him, his daughter was the very thing that breathed life in him, she meant the world to him. he remembers when he first held her, she was too small in his big arms, he couldn’t help but tear up at the sight, as you laughed with tears lingering in your eyes at the scene before you. in the moment he realised he would even go to war for this little soul he helped create.

being a girl dad came with consequences of their own. but he knew, that if he wished to give her the world, he would even take the bullet of circumstances and chaos brought to him. from seeing her take her first steps to seeing her blow the candles of her birthdays, from watching her say ‘dada’, to crying in the morning when he left for work — he wished he could take a leave but he knows you’d scold him so.

to kuroo, his daughter is his life. he gives her all, from the dresses she would only wear just once and throw away, to toys she just had to touch and they will all be brought. but she was his heart more when she touched the volleyball and the glint in his eyes grew, but he knows he would only do whatever she wants, for she was the one ruling his heart now.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ IWAIZUMI HAJIME !

his daughter was his exact copy. from loving godzilla to calling oikawa — uncle shittykawa. to giving names to people without a second thought behind her eyes. she was exactly like the man you married, it made you wonder if she even had the littlest of your traits. in hajime’s eyes he is proud for he has the strongest girl, his warrior princess as he calls her.

she has your eyes and that is what iwaizumi loves, for he gets to fall in love with the same eyes again and again. and those are also the eyes, that he would never be able to say no to. it takes all in him to begin with ‘no, sweetheart, not this time,’ that gradually turns into, ‘don’t tell your mom i got you this.’ but he forgets he is too loud at whispering within these thin wood walls and you’ll always know.

your daughter is an absolute hero is what you’ve also known. she was four when she had picked up an bug from the garden brought it to you, you almost fainted but kept your cool at the bug being suddenly brought up to your face. it’s funny how much she looks like you to only share traits with her father, and so it makes you wonder, would another little one have your traits of just the same as their father’s?

back and i am better 😝😝

#౨ৎ ⋆˚｡⋆ 𝒔.tamped #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #x reader #haikyuu hinata #haikyuu atsumu #haikyuu kuroo #haikyuu iwaizumi #haikyuu fluff #girl dad #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu drabbles #hinata x reader #atsumu x reader #kuroo x reader #iwaizumi x reader #hq fluff

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sheriffaxolotl · 2 days ago

Text

Better (Abby Anderson x f!reader)

Warnings: Smut (18+ MDNI), cheating, use of words like cunt/pussy Wordcount: 8.4K A/N: This is my first time writing a smut between two characters. So, might be good, might be bad. Please let me know! Critique would be hugely appreciated !

Summary: She could be a better boyfriend than him.

The bass thumps through the house like a second heartbeat, a dull, relentless pulse that rattles the windows and your skull. You already regret coming. The lights are low and tinted too red, and the air smells like spilled beer and too much cologne. Solo cup in hand, you snake your way toward the kitchen, phone raised like a shield, pretending to text someone—anyone—just to avoid making eye contact with the half-drunk crowd grinding to music that hasn’t been cool since high school.

Your boyfriend is nowhere to be seen. Said he’d just stepped out for a second—over thirty minutes ago. Classic.

You lean back against the edge of the counter, shoulders tense, trying to melt into the cabinetry. You scroll through the same three notifications again, wondering if anyone would even notice if you slipped out the front door. Maybe you’d just Uber home. Maybe—

A hand brushes your wrist. Warm. Intentional. And somehow, electric.

You look up.

Abby Anderson.

She’s standing just a little too close. Leather jacket slung over a tight black tee that hugs her just right, jeans riding low on her hips, and that damn smirk tugging at her mouth like she already knows something you don’t. Her hair’s pulled back loose, a few strands falling forward like she couldn’t be bothered to fix them before walking into the party and still managed to make it look effortless. Movie-scene levels of hot.

You’ve known Abby for a while—same classes, mutual friends, occasional gym hangouts—but she’s never looked at you like this.

Like the whole party’s just noise and you’re the only clear thing in the room.

“I can’t believe we’re finally alone,” she murmurs, her voice low and rough, barely audible over the music.

You blink, caught off guard. “What?”

She chuckles under her breath, the sound low and rich. “You always show up to these things with him. I almost didn’t bother coming tonight.”

Your eyes flick toward the living room, where bodies move in a blur of shadows and bass. Still no sign of him. Of course.

Abby’s eyes don’t follow yours. They stay fixed on you. Watching. Waiting.

“What are the chances?” she says after a beat, taking half a step closer. “Everyone’s dancing, the house is packed, and yet... he’s not with you.”

You feel it then—deep in your stomach. That fluttering, unsettling spark. You’re not sure if it’s the alcohol or her voice or just the way she’s looking at you, like she’s trying to decide whether to kiss you or ruin your life. Maybe both.

You shrug, trying to deflect, suddenly too aware of the heat creeping up your neck. “You know how he is.”

Abby’s jaw tightens just slightly. “Yeah,” she says. “I know exactly how he is.”

Her gaze flicks down to your wrist again, to the spot where her fingers brushed you. She doesn’t touch you this time. Not yet. But her hand hovers, twitching, like she’s debating something.

You swallow hard, suddenly needing air that isn’t thick with perfume and tension. “You’re acting weird,” you say, half-laughing, trying to cut the tension before it chokes you.

“No,” Abby says, head tilting. Her voice drops, goes velvet-smooth. “I’m acting honest.”

You narrow your eyes slightly. “Honest?”

She steps in, just close enough that her breath brushes your cheek. You can smell the faintest trace of mint on her lips.

“I’ve been watching you,” she says, quiet but firm. “Every time you show up with him. Every time he disappears on you. Every time you pretend not to care.”

You don’t move. Can’t.

Her voice softens, almost like she’s afraid you’ll bolt. “I don’t know what he’s doing, walking away from someone like you. But I do know what I’d do if you were mine.”

Your heart skips. Then stumbles. “Abby—”

She cuts you off, not with words, but by gently—finally—sliding her fingers around your wrist again. It’s not forceful. Just there. Steady. Real.

“I could be a better boyfriend than him,” she says. No teasing this time. Just quiet conviction. “I’d show up. I’d stay. I’d make you feel seen.”

You exhale, the sound half a scoff, half an attempt to push down the sudden ache in your chest. “You’re drunk,” you say, but it sounds thin. Weak.

“I’m not,” she says, stepping even closer, crowding into your space, but not unwelcome. “I’m dead sober. And I’ve been thinking about stealing you from him since the moment I saw you tonight.”

Your heart skips.

“I could be such a gentleman,” she adds, her voice like velvet now. “Plus—” she grins— “all my clothes would fit.”

You shake your head, grinning despite yourself. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” Abby shrugs, not letting go of your hand, “but I’m not wrong. You know I’m not.”

You should say something clever, something to shut her down or laugh it off. But instead, you glance down at your phone again—three unread texts from your boyfriend.

Where r u

Be right back, chill

Don’t start drama pls

You lock your phone and slide it into your pocket.

“I don’t need to tell you twice,” Abby says, reading your silence like a damn novel. “You know all the ways he falls short.”

She tilts her head, studying you with that steady, unreadable gaze that makes your stomach twist. “If I could give you some advice…” Her voice is soft now, like it’s meant only for you, cut off from the noise and heat around you.

You meet her eyes, hesitant. “Yeah?”

Her mouth quirks into a subtle smirk, but there’s something deeper behind it—something that feels like truth. “I’d leave with me. Tonight.”

Your heart lurches. Your lips part, some weak protest fumbling to the surface, but she cuts you off before it can form.

“Ladies first, baby,” she murmurs, her voice rough velvet. “I insist.”

You freeze—not because you’re unsure, but because everything in you is sure, and that’s the terrifying part. The confidence in her words, the closeness of her body, the way she’s just there, so solid and real—every inch of her feels like something you’ve been aching for without even realizing.

You look at her. Really look.

And all you can think is: Why the hell am I still waiting on someone who never looks at me like this?

Abby watches your face shift. Watches the storm behind your eyes and says nothing. Just steps closer, slow and patient, until there’s barely a breath between you.

“I never would’ve left you alone,” she says quietly, her words deliberate and low. “Not glued to your phone. Not standing in a corner like you’re invisible.”

It hits something deep in your chest.

The sounds of the party start to melt away—like someone’s slowly turning down the volume on everything except her voice, her presence. Abby’s hand finds yours again. Warm. Steady. She squeezes once, gentle. A question.

“Let me take you home,” she says.

You don’t respond. Not yet.

Instead, you stare at her lips. And she sees it—sees you falter forward an inch before stopping yourself. The air between you turns thick, charged with something neither of you says out loud.

Her eyes flick to your mouth, then back to your eyes. “Say it,” she whispers. “Or do it. But don’t run back to someone who keeps forgetting how lucky he is.”

You hesitate, just a breath longer.

Then you step in, heart hammering so loud you’re sure she can hear it. You reach up, fingers brushing the edge of her jacket—but you don’t kiss her. Not yet. You stop there, close enough to feel her breath against your skin.

She doesn’t move either. She waits. Eyes locked to yours. Letting you choose.

And you do.

You slide your hand up, curling your fingers into her lapel like a lifeline, and when you finally pull her in, it’s slow. Careful. Like the seconds are stretched out and folded in on themselves.

Your lips meet—tentative, testing—and the first touch is barely more than a breath, a question neither of you wants to ask too loudly. But then she leans in, and so do you, and suddenly you’re kissing her for real—deep, slow, and undeniable.

It’s not frantic. It’s not rushed.

It’s full of everything you haven’t let yourself feel. All the longing, all the frustration, all the what-ifs you’ve swallowed down night after night.

Abby’s hand comes up to your cheek, thumb brushing along your jaw with a kind of reverence, like she’s afraid to wake you from a dream. You let out a shaky breath into her mouth, your whole body leaning into her without even meaning to.

And then she’s moving.

Her other arm slips around your waist, anchoring you to her like she’s afraid you might still vanish—and maybe a part of you is afraid too. But her grip is real, grounding, and suddenly there’s no room left for doubt.

Abby reacts instantly, her hand gliding from your cheek to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair as she pulls you deeper into her. The kiss changes, sharpens. From a question to an answer. From want to need.

You feel the heat of her body press flush against yours, her chest against your own, the contact dizzying in its intensity. She tastes like mint and something more—something wild and reckless, like the edge of something dangerous, something you didn’t know you needed until right now.

The kiss turns urgent. Desperate. Like you’re both trying to make up for every second wasted pretending this wasn’t inevitable.

Abby backs you up until your spine meets the edge of the counter, the cold granite biting into your skin, a jarring contrast to the fire catching between your bodies. You moan softly into her mouth, the sound swallowed by her lips, and she groans in response—a low, rough sound that vibrates through your chest and straight down your spine.

Her hands slip lower, slow and deliberate, testing the edges of your waistband before settling on your hips. She pulls you against her with intent, with heat, grinding you into the shape of her body like she’s carving you there.

And in that moment, it doesn’t matter that you’re still in someone’s kitchen at a party you didn’t want to come to. It doesn’t matter who’s in the next room or what excuses are waiting on your phone.

All that matters is her.

“You’ve been wanting this, haven’t you?” Abby breathes against your lips, voice rough, thick with something primal.

You don’t deny it. You don’t want to.

You don’t answer, can’t answer, because she’s already slipping her hand underneath your shirt, her fingertips grazing the soft skin of your stomach, sending shivers through you. You arch into her touch, your mind clouded, your body responding to her in ways you hadn’t anticipated.

Her lips trail down your neck, kissing a path toward your collarbone, and you can’t help but moan softly, threading your fingers into her hair to guide her closer. Abby’s hands are everywhere—on your hips, your waist, your back—and you feel like you might just crumble under her touch, the intensity of it stealing your breath away.

But before you can get too lost in the moment, Abby pulls back slightly, her forehead resting against yours, her breath heavy.

“Are you sure?” she asks, her voice low, almost a growl, like a predator checking if its prey is willing.

You blink, struggling to clear the haze in your mind. The answer is there, pulsing in the back of your throat, but the question feels so out of place, considering how badly you want this.

“I’m done waiting,” you whisper, voice shaky but resolute.

Abby’s lips curve into a wicked grin, and she nods, her eyes dark and focused on you. She leans in to kiss you again, but this time, it’s more deliberate, more controlled. She wants to take her time with you, savoring every second.

As her lips crash against yours once more, you know there’s no turning back now. Whatever boundaries you had left, whatever morals or hesitation, have already melted away in the heat of this moment.

And just as you feel yourself sinking deeper into the world Abby is pulling you into, her hand slides to the hem of your shirt, tugging it up slowly, her fingertips leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

"Upstairs," she murmurs against your lips, voice thick with need. "Right now."

You don’t hesitate. Grabbing your jacket from the back of the counter, you take her hand.

Abby’s hand tightens around yours as she leads you through the sea of bodies, her grip steady and possessive, pulling you away from the kitchen and deeper into the maze of the house. The music pulses louder as you pass through rooms, the air thick with the mingling scents of alcohol, sweat, and cheap cologne, but none of it matters.

Not when she’s so close, her body brushing against yours with every step, every shared glance that makes your stomach flip.

You can feel her warmth, the steady rhythm of her breathing, and you’re so close now, your senses overwhelmed by her presence. As you reach a quieter hallway at the back of the house, Abby doesn’t slow down. She pulls you into a room at the end, one that’s been abandoned by the partygoers, a cozy little study filled with mismatched furniture and the dim glow of a single lamp in the corner.

The door shuts behind you with a soft thud, and the moment the latch clicks, Abby doesn’t waste any time. She spins you toward her, her lips capturing yours in a kiss so intense that it leaves you breathless. The quiet of the room is a stark contrast to the chaos outside, and every kiss, every touch between you both feels amplified in the stillness.

Abby’s hands roam freely now, sliding down your sides and over your hips as if she can’t get enough. She pulls you closer, her chest pressing against yours, and you feel the heat of her body in the way she holds you—firm, urgent, like she’s afraid you might slip away.

You respond with equal hunger, your hands finding their way to the back of her neck, fingers threading through her hair. She lets out a soft groan when you tug her closer, and you revel in the sound. The tension between you two is palpable, thick in the air like static before a storm, and you can’t think about anything else but her.

“You’ve got me all to yourself now,” Abby murmurs against your lips, her voice a low, husky whisper that sends a shiver down your spine.

You nod, your own words stuck in your throat. All that’s left is the pull of her, the heat that rises between you both like wildfire.

Without another word, Abby’s hands move to the hem of your shirt, tugging it upward with a slow, deliberate motion that has your heart racing. The cool air brushes against your skin, and you shiver in anticipation, watching her eyes darken with something raw and intense as she takes in every inch of you.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” she mutters, her voice thick with desire, and you can’t help the rush of heat that floods your cheeks at her words. You’ve never heard her sound like this before—this unguarded, this raw. It makes something inside you ache in a way you didn’t expect.

You step forward, closing the distance between you as you slide your hands under the edge of her jacket, lifting it off her shoulders and tossing it aside. The fabric of her shirt is soft under your fingertips, and you feel the heat of her skin as you press against her, feeling the outline of her muscles as your hands move lower, exploring.

Abby’s breath hitches when your hands graze over her waist, her lips finding yours again, hungry and frantic now. The kiss is full of promises you both don’t need to say out loud, the weight of everything unsaid hanging between you like a thread pulling tighter and tighter.

The urgency in the air heightens, and every touch, every movement feels like it’s pushing you both closer to the edge. She guides you toward the couch in the corner of the room, but you don’t quite make it before your hands are on her again, pushing her against the nearest wall.

“Abby,” you gasp, voice breaking with a mix of desire and need.

She smirks, her lips curling into something wicked as she presses herself against you again, this time with more force. “I’ve got you now,” she murmurs, her breath hot against your ear, “and I’m not letting you go.”

Before you can respond, Abby’s hands slide firmly around your thighs, and with a sudden, dizzying movement, she lifts you. Your legs instinctively wrap around her waist as she carries you with ease, like your weight is nothing—like she’s meant to hold you. Her grip is strong, steady, and the muscles in her arms flex with every step as she strides toward the couch across the room.

You cling to her, breath caught somewhere between a gasp and a laugh, your fingers tangling in the collar of her shirt. “Abby—”

She cuts you off with a kiss—slow at first, savoring it, like she wants to memorize the shape of your mouth, the taste of your skin, the sound you make when her lips graze yours just so. But it doesn’t stay slow for long.

By the time she lowers you to the couch, her body follows, pressing you down with a heat that makes your skin burn in the best way. Her mouth stays on yours, hungry now, claiming. Her tongue slips past your lips with a confident tilt of her head, and you moan into her before you even realize you’re doing it.

She swallows the sound like it’s a reward—grinning against your kiss as her hands trail down your sides, fingers mapping the curve of your waist with purpose. She presses her hips into yours, grinding slow and deep, and your back arches off the cushions in response, your breath catching in your throat.

Her hands roam lower, gripping your hips with firm purpose, then sliding up beneath your shirt again, this time with no hesitation. She breaks the kiss just long enough to tug it over your head and toss it somewhere over her shoulder. Her own comes off just as quick—revealing toned muscle and the kind of sculpted softness that makes your breath catch.

You stare for a beat, eyes raking over her, lips parted.

“Eyes up here,” she teases, breathless but grinning, and leans down to kiss along your jaw, down your neck, her hands anchoring your hips like she’s claiming them. “Or don’t. I kind of like the way you look at me.”

You barely manage to bite back a whimper as her teeth graze the sensitive spot beneath your ear, and your hands find the curve of her back, nails digging in when she grinds her hips down into yours.

“Abs…” you whisper, but there’s no question in your voice—just need.

Her voice is a low growl at your ear. “Tell me what you want.”

“You.”

She hums in approval, kissing down the slope of your collarbone. “Then lie back, baby,” she says, one hand already guiding you down again with firm, gentle pressure. “And let me take care of everything.”

And you do—because her weight between your thighs, her hands on your body, her mouth claiming yours over and over—it’s the first time you’ve felt wanted in so long.

And Abby doesn’t just want you.

She knows exactly what to do with you.

The push of her thigh between your legs has a moan coming from your mouth that is nothing but desperate. Clearly enough that it causes that wicked smirk to come back to her lips as she leans over you more, gently grinding the muscle against your core as you mutter a low ‘fuck’ as your brain short circuits from the small action.

Her smirk deepens as she watches the way your breath stutters, how your hips instinctively roll against her thigh. Abby leans in, her lips brushing your temple before trailing a slow, deliberate path back down to your neck. She presses a kiss just beneath your jaw, then another, softer one at the hollow of your throat. “You’re so responsive,” she murmurs, voice low and full of pride. “I barely touch you and you’re already trembling.”

You are, and there’s no point in denying it. Your body feels like it’s caught fire—heat blooming at every point where her skin touches yours.

The steady grind of her thigh is both grounding and electrifying, like a steady beat beneath the chaos. And Abby? She’s completely in control. Patient, confident, like she’s been waiting to have you like this and she’s going to take her time now that you’re here. One of her hands slips under you, sliding along the small of your back, the warmth of her palm sending a fresh ripple of sensation up your spine.

The other brushes up your side, fingers tracing the curve of your ribcage before splaying out across your chest, over your racing heart. She looks down at you like she’s taking a mental snapshot, something she wants to burn into her memory. “You’re beautiful like this,” she says softly, the heat in her eyes belying the gentleness of her voice.

Your fingers clutch at her shoulders, dragging her down for another kiss—messier now, fueled by everything swirling between you. Abby leans into it, one hand slipping down, finding the waistband of your jeans with practiced ease. She works the button open, her touch confident but unrushed, like she wants to savor every second.

The zipper gives with a soft sound, and she eases the denim down your hips, eyes never leaving yours as she does. Her gaze lingers, hungry and reverent all at once, like unwrapping a gift she’s waited too long to hold.

Abby doesn’t pause—doesn’t need to. The way your body reacts, the way your breath catches under her touch, is all the answer she needs. Her mouth finds yours again, deeper this time, less like a kiss and more like a claim. You melt into it, fingers threading through her hair as she presses closer, one hand keeping your bodies flush while the other explores every inch of skin she can reach.

“You drive me crazy,” she growls against your lips, her voice rough and low like it’s been dragged over gravel. “Been thinking about this—about you—way too long.”

You can feel it in the way her fingers grip your side, in how her lips move along your jaw, down your throat, like she’s trying to map every inch of you by memory. Every breath is heavier now, laced with tension that’s been building for far too long. The couch creaks beneath you as she shifts, her knee nudging yours apart just slightly, just enough to steal your breath.

Her mouth trails lower, leaving a trail of heat behind, and her hands never stop moving—firm, sure, and undeniably hers. You arch into her instinctively, your head tipping back with a quiet gasp as your hands tug her closer, needing more.

“Just like that,” Abby murmurs, a crooked grin tugging at her lips as she watches you fall apart beneath her touch. “Look at you.”

Your eyes flutter open just enough to catch the way she’s looking at you—like you’re something rare and burning, something she's wanted for longer than she’d ever admit. That look alone sends another shiver down your spine.

She leans down, lips brushing your ear, breath warm and wild. “I’m gonna ruin you for anyone else.”

And just like that, she’s slipping from your grasp—her hands sliding down, thumbs catching the edge of your underwear as she eases it away. Every movement is unhurried and deliberate. Her mouth doesn’t stop for a second—leaving soft, lingering kisses along your neck, across the curve of your chest, down your stomach. Each one lights a spark under your skin, and by the time she settles between your thighs, you’re already breathless.

Her eyes meet yours—dark, intense, unwavering. “Just like that, baby,” she murmurs, her voice all velvet and fire, “keep your eyes on me.”

The way she’s looking at you… it’s too much and not enough all at once. Like she’s reading every unspoken word etched into your bones, every need you’ve barely admitted to yourself. Her grip tightens on the backs of your thighs, anchoring you, steadying you, and when her breath fans across your weeping cunt, a shiver rocks through you. The sound that escapes your lips is a tangled mess of a gasp and a curse, and her fingers only press deeper, holding you in place.

Then she leans in, and the first press of her mouth to your pussy pulls a ragged cry from your throat. “F–fuck, Abs—” But she doesn’t relent. She doesn't even pause.

Her tongue moves with intention, slow and devastating, tasting every inch of you. Every glide, every flick, every swirl against your clit builds you higher, and there’s no room left in your chest for anything but the sounds she draws from you.

The low sound that rumbles from her throat when she sinks deeper sends another tremor through you. She presses closer, one strong arm sliding beneath you to keep you right where she wants you. You’re gasping now, hips jerking, chasing the rhythm she’s setting—your body flushed with heat, your legs starting to tremble.

And then she hums—just a little—and it sends a jolt through your cunt, right to the base of your spine. Your hands find her hair, fingers twisting tight, a plea caught in your breath as your eyes squeeze shut.

It’s happening so fast—and you feel it building, barreling toward something you can’t stop. And maybe you don’t want to.

Because it’s not just her mouth.

It’s what she sees.

It’s the way she shows up.

It’s the way she touches you like you matter, like your pleasure isn’t an obligation, but something she craves—something she’s been waiting to give you from the second you started settling for less.

Your boyfriend hasn’t looked at you like this in months. Hasn’t listened. Hasn’t asked what you need. And when he does touch you, it’s half-there, distracted, like he’s checking off a box, not trying to feel you. Not like this.

Not like Abby.

Abby, who’s on her knees for you like she worships at the altar of your body. Abby, who doesn’t need to be asked twice. Abby, who touches you like she’s making up for every lonely night, every unanswered message, every time you told yourself, “This is just what relationships are sometimes.”

Her lips seal tighter, tongue circling with a purpose that makes your toes curl. You gasp, broken and breathless. And then she slides a finger into you—slow and full and just right—and your back arches off the couch like a current’s shot through your spine.

“Abby, please,” you manage, voice barely a whisper, frayed and desperate. “I’m so close.”

She doesn’t stop. If anything, she doubles down. She knows your body like she’s memorized it in dreams, and now she’s playing every part like a symphony rising to its crescendo.

Your thighs tighten around her shoulders, your hands gripping her as you fall apart with her name on your lips, everything crashing through you in waves.

“I’m gonna cum—oh fuck, Abby—”

The first crest hits you and then everything else after that is lost in the chaos. You lose track of everything—where you are, what you are, who you are—you only exist as a bundle of nerve endings, every single one firing all at once and your entire world turns white.

Somewhere in the distance you hear Abby moan, a sound so filthy it might have pushed you over the edge all over again if your body wasn't already wrung out, your chest heaving, your lungs burning.

Your legs fall open, sliding off her shoulders, limp.

Abby wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and then crawls up next to you, wrapping you in her arms, a kiss pressed to your forehead. Your head falls back against the arm of the couch, your hands slipping from her hair as you try to remember how to breathe.

"Fuck," you sigh, your eyes still closed.

Her hand settles on your knee, thumb brushing along the line of your thigh. "I think that's the most I've heard you swear," she murmurs, the sound of her voice and the warmth of her palm against your skin making it impossible not to open your eyes.

"That's because it's the best I've ever had," you reply, a smirk tugging at your lips.

Abby doesn't even bother trying to hide her grin, preening at the sentence. But she also doesn't just let the energy between you settle. "Told you, I’m gonna ruin you for anyone else." She said, before one hand was wondering up your chest and the other one was lowering down your thigh again.

You can't help but shudder, the promise in her voice alone enough to get you riled up all over again. "You're really not wasting any time," you laugh, but when her fingertips slip between your folds again, you're the one who shudders.

"Not when I've been thinking about this for far too long," she replies, her fingers sliding deep, and you have no choice but to give yourself over to her.

Abby doesn't hold anything back. And you're more than willing to meet her head-on.

By the time she eases back, the room is thick with the sounds of you falling apart, the air hot and heavy. There's a faint sheen of sweat across her shoulders, and her lips are swollen, cheeks flushed.

"Fuck, you're gorgeous," the words fall from your lips without thought, and her answering grin is the most beautiful thing you've ever seen.

She leans in, and when her mouth covers yours, the taste of you lingering on her tongue, a shiver runs down your spine. "Not as gorgeous as you are," she whispers, before her mouth is moving down your neck, fingers tugging the cup of your bra down before latching around your left nipple.

"Oh fuck!" You hiss, her teeth sinking into the tender flesh, the sharp pain melting into pleasure.

She takes her time, alternating between rough bites and soothing licks, her hand sliding up and down your side, her thumb grazing the swell of your breast. Then her mouth is gone, her hand is also gone from you, wrapping around the back of your thigh, spreading you open.

"Look at you, so ready for me," Abby murmurs, her eyes drinking you in. "Really should have taken you out of here, bet you would look even better takin' my strap."

The mere thought of it is enough to make your thighs tremble, and her responding grin is sinful. "Oh, you like that idea, huh?"

"Yes," the word rushes out of you in a breathless rush, and her hand squeezes your thigh.

"Next time, baby," she promises, and then she's lowering herself back down, and her mouth is everywhere.

The slide of her tongue, the nip of her teeth, the warmth of her breath—it's intoxicating, and it's only a matter of moments before you're falling apart again, a hoarse cry slipping from your lips.

You don't even notice she's stopped until her hands slide down your thighs, soothing you. It takes a moment for you to regain the ability to speak, and by the time you've got your eyes open, she's leaning over you, her hair falling around her shoulders.

"Hey," her voice is gentle, a crooked smile curling her lips. "You with me?"

"Yeah," the word falls from you in a slow exhale, and her smile grows.

"Good," She mumbled, her eyes looking over your features. The sound of the party can be heard faintly through the door, but all you can do is look at her. Practically fully clothed besides that black sports bra clinging to her chest, Abby towers over you like a storm still crackling with lightning. Her jeans ride low on her hips, the muscles in her stomach flexing with each slow, controlled breath, and there’s something in her eyes that makes your pulse spike all over again—hunger, satisfaction, and just a hint of smugness.

Her braid’s messy now, strands of gold clinging to her flushed skin, and her chest glistens faintly with sweat. She’s never looked more raw, more dangerous, more real. Every inch of her is tense with heat and control, like she could devour you all over again if she wanted to—and God, you want her to.

Abby braces herself on either side of your head, arms trembling slightly from restraint. Her eyes flick over your face like she’s memorizing every expression you’ve made—every breathless whimper, every broken plea. She dips her head, brushing her lips along your jaw, the ghost of a smile curving into something darker.

“You’re a fucking dream like this,” she mutters, low and rough, voice rasping like it’s been dragged through fire. “Can’t believe I get to be the one to wreck you like that.”

You shift beneath her, hands gliding up her sides, mapping out the lean definition of her torso. Every breath she takes is steady, but you can feel the tension still thrumming in her body—like she’s barely holding herself together.

Then you move, catching her off-guard. With a quick twist and a shove, Abby lets out a low grunt as you flip her onto her back against the couch cushions, her braid falling across the armrest, her legs bent awkwardly before she relaxes into the plush seat with a laugh—surprised, breathless, and completely at your mercy.

You straddle her thighs, palms pressed to her chest, and lean in close, your lips brushing the shell of her ear.

“It’s my turn now.” You whisper, voice low and rough with want.

Abby’s smirk falters, just barely. Her eyes search yours, pupils blown wide, and she licks her lips, her chest rising faster beneath the cling of her sports bra. One of her hands grips your thigh, tight, anchoring herself as if she’s trying to brace for what’s next.

There’s still heat in her gaze—always—but now it’s tinged with anticipation, curiosity, a rare flicker of surrender.

You roll your hips forward slowly, deliberately, and her breath catches in her throat.

“I want to ruin you back,” you murmur, eyes locked on hers. “Want you to feel what I did. Every second.”

Her hand slides up your back, nails scraping lightly through the sweat-slicked skin. “Then take it,” she growls, low and eager. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She lifts her hips, pushing up to meet you, and you grind down into her with a low groan, pressing your body against hers. You bury your face against her throat, mouthing at the damp skin, and she tilts her head back, exposing her neck for you. You bite down, sucking at the soft spot beneath her ear, and she hisses through her teeth, hips rolling into yours, her breath growing ragged.

Your hands move up, tangling in her hair, and she gasps, fingers digging into your hip as you drag your mouth along the curve of her throat, biting, licking, marking her. Abby arches up into you, panting, and the feel of her chest heaving beneath yours is enough to make your toes curl, heat racing along your spine.

Your hands fall to her chest, and you drag the tip of one finger slowly across the edge of her bra. Abby bites her lip, groaning, her eyes fluttering shut.

You drag your palm over the curve of her breast, and she lets out a muffled curse, her other hand clamping down on your waist. Her nipples pebble under your touch, and she arches her back, straining against the fabric.

You smile against her throat.

Your fingers loop into the elastic of her bra, and without needing words she lifts her arms up as you pull it over her head. You toss her bra aside, barely catching the way Abby’s eyes darken as they rake over your face. Her chest rises and falls with each breath, bare now beneath your touch, her skin warm, flushed.

You lean in, kissing just above her heart, then lower still, your lips tracing the line between strength and softness. Her skin is flushed, damp, and hot beneath your mouth, every shift of your touch dragging another breathless sound from her lips.

Your hands move down, slipping past her ribs to the waistband of her jeans. The denim is stiff, rough against your fingers, but you pop the button with a slow flick, dragging the zipper down until it parts with a soft rasp. Abby lifts her hips without hesitation, wordless and eager, her eyes never leaving yours.

You ease the jeans down, the tight fabric clinging to her thighs, then her calves, and finally off her ankles. You toss them aside, and it’s then, as you settle back between her legs, that you see it.

Her underwear are soaked — a dark stain blooming at the center of the thin cotton, clear in the low light. A slick line gleams along the edge where the fabric meets her skin, proof of her arousal along the curve of her inner thigh.

Your thumb drags along the edge of the fabric, tracing the damp line, smearing the evidence of her desire. She smells like heat and sweat and something sweeter, and your mouth waters as your gaze drags up to meet hers.

“Fuck,” you murmur, rough and low.

Abby’s mouth curls into a smirk, flushed cheeks and bright eyes betraying the heat roiling just beneath. “Yeah,” she breathes, voice rough. “That’s for you.”

You kiss the edge of her hip, then move lower with intent. Her thighs tremble under your touch, fingers twisting in a couch pillow, breath catching as you lean close enough to drag your tongue over the front of her underwear, teasing and unhurried.

When your teeth graze her gently through the soaked fabric, she gasps—sharp and broken—and her hips rise into your mouth with instinctual urgency. You slide your hands up her muscular thighs, thumbs hooking into the elastic at her hips.

She lifts herself again, silent but begging, and you don’t keep her waiting. You pull her underwear down slowly, watching the wet fabric stretch before slipping free. The scent of her hits you — heady, sweet, and utterly intoxicating.

You press another kiss to her bare hip, then glance up. Abby’s eyes are half-lidded, chest heaving, lips parted with anticipation.

She swallows hard. “Come on, baby.”

Your breath fans hot against the inside of her thigh, and she shivers beneath you, the muscles there taut and twitching. You drag your mouth lower, tasting salt and skin and the slick heat she’s drenched in. Your thumbs press gently into the creases of her hips, holding her open, steady, as your tongue finally slips through the soft hair and glides over and dips into her waiting pussy.

Abby chokes on a breath—sharp and desperate—her hips jolting, one hand flying to your shoulder, the other still gripping the pillow in a white-knuckled clutch. You hum against her, slow and deep, the vibration making her gasp again, and you feel the flex of her abs under your hands as her body tries to curl toward your mouth.

“F-fuck,” she stammers, voice cracking, head tipping back into the cushion behind her. “Don’t stop.”

You don’t plan to. You flatten your tongue, licking a slow, deliberate stripe up through her slickness, then in steady, relentless circles, building her up with every flick, every press, every slow drag through the slick heat of her cunt. Abby’s legs tremble around your head, thighs twitching with every pulse of pleasure, and you hold her open, anchored by the grip of your hands at her hips, the flex of muscle under your fingers.

She’s soaked—utterly dripping—and you can feel it coating your mouth, your chin, the skin by her thighs now slick with it as she writhes beneath you. You moan into her, the sound low and full, and she lets out a cry that cuts off sharp as her back bows off the couch.

“God—” she gasps, breath hitched, eyes squeezed shut. “Your mouth—fuck, your mouth feels so good—”

You hum again, lapping at her with rougher strokes now, your pace no longer teasing but hungry. Abby’s hands are in your hair, gripping hard, hips grinding against your face, chasing every movement you make. When you suck her clit between your lips and flick it with your tongue, she lets out a strangled whimper, thighs clamping down for half a second before you press her open again.

You glance up, just to watch her fall apart. Her lips are parted, glistening with spit, her chest heaving, sweat gleaming along her collarbone and between her breasts. She looks wrecked—utterly undone—and you’ve never seen anything more beautiful.

“Please,” she pants, voice barely a whisper now. “Please don’t stop—don’t you fucking stop—”

You don’t.

You slide one hand from her hip, dragging your fingers down the trail of soft hair under her belly button, guiding over the hair between her thighs, circling lower until you find her entrance. She’s soaked, your fingers sliding in with ease, and she jerks with a sharp inhale, her whole body tightening. You curl your fingers just right, tongue and hand working in perfect rhythm, and the sound she makes is almost guttural.

“Jesus—fuck—!” Abby’s voice breaks, breathless and high, her hand slapping against the couch cushions as her other grips your arm like a lifeline. Her thighs are trembling violently now, her hips stuttering, bucking.

She’s so close.

You feel it in the way she clenches around your fingers, the way her moans lose all rhythm, the way her nails dig in as though she’s holding herself together by sheer force of will.

And when her whole body locks beneath you, when her moan turns strangled and her back arches off the couch—you want every second of it.

You press your fingers deeper, curling them just right, and suck harder, flicking your tongue in tight, ruthless circles. Abby lets out a sob of a sound, hips jerking up into your face, and you feel the pulse of her around your fingers—a deep, clenching rhythm that starts low in her belly and ripples outward like a wave crashing through her.

She’s coming. Hard.

Her thighs clamp around your head, trembling with every pulse. Her nails rake down your back, not gentle, not careful, but desperate—anchoring herself to something as her body breaks open around the pleasure. She gasps for breath, her voice caught somewhere between a moan and a curse, chest heaving like she can’t quite get enough air.

“F-fuck—oh my God—don’t stop, don’t fucking stop—”

You don’t. You keep going, pushing her through it, over and over, licking her like she’s everything you’ve ever wanted on your tongue. Her legs are shaking now, uncontrollably, her whole body trembling with aftershocks that just won’t quit, her hips twitching with every stroke of your tongue, every curl of your fingers still buried inside her.

And then—finally—she collapses.

Her body goes slack all at once, like the tension’s been wrung out of her completely. She sinks back into the cushions, chest rising and falling in shallow, stuttering breaths, one hand falling from your shoulder to rest limply on her stomach. Her skin glows, flushed and glistening with sweat, and there’s a dazed, bliss-drunk look in her eyes as she blinks down at you.

You slowly withdraw your fingers, licking them clean as she watches with parted lips, too wrecked to do anything but breathe.

You press soft kisses to her inner thighs, then climb up her body, your mouth tracing the path of her sweat-slick skin until you're hovering just above her. Her arms slide around your shoulders instinctively, pulling you close, and when your lips meet hers, she moans against your mouth.

“Jesus,” she breathes, still trembling, her voice barely a whisper, yet so full of raw honesty. You can feel the slight shudder that runs through her as she pulls you closer, her fingers threading into your hair, as though she never wants to let go.

You settle next to her, propped up on an elbow, and gently cradle her against your chest. She’s warm and pliant in your arms, skin still buzzing with the aftershocks of pleasure, her breathing gradually slowing as the moments stretch out in peaceful silence.

You press a kiss to her forehead, letting your lips linger there for a moment, then to the tip of her nose, and finally down to her lips, tasting the softness of her, savoring the sweetness of her kiss.

“Are you okay?” you murmur, brushing a strand of damp hair off her face. Your hand rests on her cheek, tender, as if afraid to disrupt the fragile quiet that’s settled between you.

She nods slowly, her eyes still half-closed, a soft smile playing at the corners of her lips. “Better than okay,” she whispers, her voice thick with satisfaction. “That was better than any dream I’ve had of you,” she says, eyes glowing with a mixture of exhaustion and satisfaction.

The words settle in your chest like a gentle weight, making your heart thump just a little harder than before. You press your lips to her forehead again, feeling the warmth of her skin under yours, the pulse of her heart still racing, but slowing.

“Glad I could make it better than anything you’ve imagined,” you murmur, your voice hushed with the quiet intimacy of the moment. You tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear, the gesture gentle, almost reverent, as though you don’t want to disturb the peace between you.

Abby lets out a small, contented sigh, curling into you just a little more, her fingers still stroking over your skin in a way that sends a pleasant shiver down your spine. “I didn’t know anything could be this... perfect.”

You chuckle softly, your chest vibrating with the sound. “We’ve got time to see if we can top it.” Your words are light, teasing, but there’s something in your voice that promises more — more time, more closeness, more moments like this.

Her lips curl into a soft grin, a small, playful spark returning to her eyes despite the exhaustion hanging on her. “I’ll hold you to that,” she whispers, her hand drifting back to your side, tracing the curve of your ribs, the feeling of her touch so familiar now, like a rhythm you’ve always known.

As the quiet settles between you, Abby’s fingers continue their slow exploration of your skin, the touch soothing, grounding. But then, after a beat, she pulls back just slightly, tilting her head to meet your gaze. There’s a shift in her eyes, something that’s been building in the subtle movements, in the way she watches you like you’re both caught in a secret, shared between the two of you.

She clears her throat, her voice now low but filled with a quiet, vulnerable intensity. “I’ve been thinking…” she starts, her words softer, but heavier, like she’s working her way up to something important.

You lift an eyebrow, your heart picking up a beat at the change in her tone. You sit up slightly, giving her your full attention. “Yeah?” you mumble gently, a part of you already knowing where this is going.

Abby takes a breath, her gaze flicking from your eyes to your lips, then back again. “I don’t think you should stay with him,” she says, her words deliberate but filled with raw honesty. “Not when you could be with me.”

Her words hang in the air for a moment, thick and charged with an unspoken promise. You stare at her, the weight of the moment slowly sinking in. She doesn’t say it in an angry or demanding way — there’s no rush, no pressure in her voice. She just sounds... sure. So sure, like she’s been thinking about this for a while, and she wants you to hear her, really hear her.

“Abby…” you start, but she holds up a hand, stopping you before you can say more.

“Don’t,” she whispers, her voice tender but full of longing. “I’m not asking you to drop everything overnight. But I think you deserve better than what you have right now. I think you deserve someone who’s gonna make you feel like you’re the only one in the world. And... I want that to be me.”

You feel your breath catch, her words slowly winding through your chest, tightening with every beat. You can see it in her eyes — the vulnerability, the hope, the desire — and you realize, in this moment, she’s asking for something more than just this night. She’s asking for you, all of you, not as an option, but as someone who could choose her, choose this.

“I think I could be happy with you, Abby,” you finally say, your voice steady but full of emotion. Your heart is pounding, the reality of it all settling in as you look at her, knowing she’s speaking the truth. There’s no denying the chemistry, the pull between you — it’s been there from the start, only now, it’s deeper, more real.

Abby smiles softly, her eyes lighting up with a mix of relief and hope, like she’s been holding her breath, waiting for you to finally say it. “So…” she trails off, her fingers brushing over your cheek, a playful glint in her eyes. “Will you break up with your boyfriend? And be mine, officially?”

The question lingers in the air, sweet and simple, but it feels like the start of something new. The kind of thing you can’t take back — and for the first time, you realize you don’t want to.

You smile back at her, heart full, the weight of the world suddenly feeling lighter. “I think I already am,” you whisper, your hand reaching out to cup her face, drawing her closer.

And as your lips meet again, slow and tender this time, you know without a doubt — this is just the beginning. Notes:

A/N: This is my first time writing a smut between two characters. Critique would be hugely appreciated ! Literally based off the song 'Boyfriend' by Dove Cameron

#abby anderson x female reader #abby anderson x reader #Abby Anderson x reader smut #abby anderson smut

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msunitedstatesjames · 1 day ago

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Little things I love about the Hansry romance scene:

Something about the way Hans says, "When Galehaut found out. . ." Absolutely no idea why, but something about the way he says that line in particular always hits me. I guess good job to Luke Dale.

The way Hans IMMEDIATELY perks up as soon as Henry touches his hand.

The wild eyed look Henry gets right after turning away from Hans, when he's frantically trying to process wanting to kiss Hans, chickening out, then Hans kissing him instead and how good that felt, then the Catholic guilt and shame.

The horrible grimly determined look on Henry's face when he's walking to the door.

THE BREATHING. First, how heavily Henry is breathing when he's trying to pretend he didn't love Hans desperately kissing him. Then, how it's the sound of Hans' shaky, totally-not-crying breathing that causes Henry to pause when he's about to leave.

The tiny little sounds of pleasure they make every time they resume kissing.

Henry's hand on the back of Hans' neck. 10/10. No notes.

#Kingdom come deliverance 2 #kingdom come deliverance #Hansry #hans capon #henry of skalitz #kcd2 #Kcd #video games #rpgs

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luvfae · 3 days ago

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DEVOURED

summary: your big brother’s best friend offers you a helping hand… and tongue.

parings: brother’s best friend!thanos x f!reader

warnings: swearing, smut, oral (fem receiving), fingering

You've known Choi Su-bong since you were fourteen.

Back then, he was just your brother's loud, cocky best friend — all muscle and buzzcut, always stealing beers out of your fridge and playing fight videos too loud in the living room.

He used to ruffle your hair. Call you kid.

Never looked at you. Not really. Not like a girl. Not like anything he wanted.

That was years ago.

Now you're grown. Quiet. Still live at home, sure — but you're not that girl anymore.

And Su-bong?

He's still around. Still close with your brother. Still sleeping on your couch after late-night parties and showing up for dinner uninvited.

But the way he looks at you now — when your brother's not watching —

It's different.

You don't act like you notice.

But you do.

It's late when it happens.

You think the apartment's empty — your brother gone, Su-bong out with him, probably drinking or gaming or being loud somewhere else.

You lock your door. You think you lock it.

The lights are low. Your phone is face-down.

You're on your bed, curled in soft sheets and nothing but a tank top and panties, legs parted just enough.

You're not even thinking about anyone.

Just needy. Quiet.

Fingers brushing slow between your thighs, breath catching with every press.

You roll your hips, toes curling, your free hand fisting the sheets.

You're just getting there—

Click. Creak.

The door opens.

Your head snaps up. You freeze.

And there he is.

Su-bong.

Framed in the doorway, hoodie half-zipped, his dark eyes catching the full scene — your knees bent, panties pulled to the side, fingers wet and glistening under the soft light.

You gasp. Scramble.

"What the fuck—!"

You yank the covers over yourself like it's going to undo what he saw. Heart hammering. Face on fire.

His eyes are still on you. Heavy. Unmoving.

And he doesn't shut the door.

"Are you kidding me?" you snap, breathless with humiliation. "Do you know how to knock?"

He doesn't answer. Just steps inside, slow.

"Su-bong, I swear to god—"

"Relax." His voice is low. Careful. Smug. "Didn't mean to catch you like that."

You clutch the blanket harder. "Get out."

But he's already leaning against the wall. Arms crossed. Smiling like the devil.

"Didn't know you got that needy when no one was home," he murmurs. "Pretty little thing like you, moaning into your own hand."

You flinch. "Don't say shit like that—"

"Why not?" he cuts you off, voice soft and dangerous. "'Cause I caught you?" His eyes flick down. "You weren't thinking about me, were you?"

You glare. "No."

He smirks. "Shame."

You sit up straighter, the blanket clutched to your chest. Your skin is still buzzing — from the near-orgasm, from the shock, from him standing there with that look in his eyes.

Then, casually, he nods toward the bed.

"Well. You look like you could use some help."

Silence.

You blink. "You're disgusting."

"And you're still wet," he says, already stepping closer. "So I'm guessing you didn't mean stop. You just didn't wanna get caught."

You should scream at him. Tell him to fuck off.

But your thighs are still warm.

Your pulse is still thudding.

And when he gets close enough to touch — his voice low in your ear — you don't pull away.

"C'mon," he murmurs again, voice hot against your cheek. "Let me help you finish."

You should say no.

You do say no. Almost.

But then he leans in, mouth brushing the curve of your neck, and breathes—

"Bet you taste better than you sound."

Your breath catches. Your pulse stutters.

His lips touch your throat—soft at first, then rougher, open-mouthed, hungry—and he kisses down, slow and deliberate, like he's savoring it.

And you panic. A whisper of clarity through the heat.

You tilt your head away, whisper:

"My brother would kill you."

Su-bong laughs against your skin.

Not like it's funny.

Like it's nothing.

"Don't give a fuck." His teeth scrape your collarbone. "Should've knocked, huh?" Another kiss, just below your ear. "Should've kept your legs closed."

Your whole body jolts.

"Stop," you whisper, but it's breathless. Weak. "Su-bong, I—"

He cuts you off with a quiet hum, hands moving.

One drags the blanket down, slow and mean.

You clutch at it instinctively, but he's stronger. He peels it away like it was never yours to hold.

You're bare under it—barely clothed, panties damp, tank top rumpled, skin flushed with shame and want.

He looks down at you like he's already won.

"Look at you," he murmurs, voice like velvet and smoke. "All that attitude, and you're still lying here with your legs open."

"I'm not—"

But you don't finish the sentence.

Because his hand slides down. Between your thighs. Fingers brushing over the soaked cotton of your panties.

You moan. Sharp and soft. Eyes fluttering shut.

He grins. "There she is."

Two fingers press against the wet heat, slow and teasing, rubbing lazy circles over your clit through the fabric.

"Thought you didn't want me," he murmurs. "Thought I was disgusting." He dips his head lower, mouth at your neck again. "But you're soaking through for me, baby. You really expect me to stop now?"

Your hand fists the sheets. You're not looking at him. You can't.

But your legs shift. Part wider.

And he sees it.

He hums again—low, satisfied.

"That's it." His fingers push harder. Just enough to make you gasp. "You want it slow, don't you?" His lips are at your shoulder now, warm and trailing. "You want me to make you feel good. Like you were trying to do all by yourself."

You nod.

Barely.

And his voice drops lower, almost reverent.

"Then look at me."

You open your eyes.

And his mouth crashes down on yours.

Hot, rough, claiming — his hand still pressed between your thighs, your body trembling under his touch. You kiss him back without thinking, whimpering into the way he sucks your bottom lip, teeth scraping, tongue deep and searching like he needs to know everything.

Then he pulls away. Just enough to speak.

His breath is warm against your mouth.

"Take these off," he says, fingers tugging at the hem of your panties. "Let me see what you were hiding under the covers like a good girl."

You hesitate. But not because you want him to stop.

Because this—

This is real now.

And he's looking at you like he's starving.

You lift your hips, shaky, and he slides them down slow. Leisurely. Like he's unwrapping something precious. Or dangerous.

The fabric sticks a little — slick from earlier — and he huffs a dark little laugh when he sees it.

"Look at that," he mutters, voice low, reverent. "You were making a fuckin' mess without me."

You bite your lip, embarrassed. Your thighs twitch, instinct trying to close.

He grabs your knees. Firm.

"Don't even think about it." He pushes your legs apart. Wide. Until you're bare and open in front of him, laid out like an offering. "You're gonna let me look. Gonna let me taste."

You moan. "Su-bong—please—"

"Please what, baby?" His voice goes soft, like mock concern. "Please don't stop? Please don't tease? Or please put my fuckin' mouth where it belongs?"

You whimper, hips lifting.

His breath ghosts over your inner thigh as he leans in.

"You ever been eaten right?" he murmurs. "Or you just fuck yourself with your fingers and hope for the best?"

You shake your head, overwhelmed, back arching.

And he grins against your skin.

"Good," he breathes. "Means I get to teach your pussy how it's supposed to be treated."

Then he kisses your thigh. Slowly.

Once.

Then again.

Higher. Higher.

But not where you need him.

Not yet.

His lips keep missing.

Kissing just beside where you need him. Featherlight brushes. A drag of tongue over your hipbone. A slow bite to the sensitive skin near your crease that makes you gasp, jolt, tremble.

You're soaked.

Thighs twitching. Stomach fluttering. Every inch of your skin begging for contact.

But he's patient.

A predator with his prey laid bare beneath him. Calm. Controlled.

His fingers stroke slow along your inner thigh as he presses another kiss to the curve just shy of your heat.

"Relax, baby," he murmurs, breath fanning over your slick cunt. "We're gonna take our time."

You squirm. Moan.

"Please, Su-bong—"

"Shhh." His hands spread you wider. Thumb brushing where you're wettest, not touching your clit. Not yet. "You've waited this long. Don't fall apart on me now."

Your head falls back. You want to scream.

But then—

He licks.

One slow, warm stripe from your entrance to your clit.

And your breath shatters.

"Oh—fuck—"

You barely register the way your thighs jump, the way your hips buck against his mouth. His hands slam back down on your waist, anchoring you.

"You stay still," he growls against you. "Let me eat."

And eat he does.

It starts soft. Methodical.

Little kitten licks, teasing the edges, circling your clit but never quite landing on it.

He's building you up. Watching you writhe. Listening to the breathless, broken sounds you try to swallow.

"You're fuckin' dripping," he says, voice raw and wrecked. "Did I do that? Just from talkin' to you?"

You nod, desperate.

"Words, sweetheart."

"Y-Yes. Yes. Please—just—don't stop—"

He hums. Licks again, a little firmer now. "That's better." A pause. A smile against your skin. "You taste like everything I've ever wanted."

And then?

He devours.

Tongue flat, lips parted, sucking your clit into his mouth with filthy, focused greed. He licks in patterns — circles, flicks, long strokes that make your back arch. Every movement sends you higher. Every second his mouth stays on you, the more your brain unravels.

"Fuck—fuck—Su-bong—"

You cover your mouth with both hands as the moans rip out of you. You're shaking. Eyes wide. Vision blurring.

He slides a finger inside. Then two.

Curling. Pumping.

Tongue still working your clit, flicking it mercilessly as his fingers fuck you deep and rough.

You choke on a sob.

"Gonna cum—oh my god—please—"

"Do it," he growls. "Right on my tongue. Don't fuckin' hold back."

You don't.

You can't.

You come with a cry so loud you nearly scream.

Legs shaking. Thighs clamping around his head.

And he doesn't stop.

He moans into you, keeps licking, keeps fucking you with his tongue like he wants to feel every twitch, every squeeze, every goddamn drop.

You sob into your palms, gasping for air. “C-Can't—Su-bong, I can't—"

He growls again. Drags his mouth lower. Licks up your release like he's starving.

His voice is low and vicious when he says, "yes you can. Give me another."

You try to protest, but he's already there again.

Tongue right back on your clit, mouth tighter now, sucking with obscene pressure while his fingers thrust harder, deeper.

"You wanna tell me to stop?" he pants. "Tell me. Say it. I fucking dare you."

You shake your head wildly, hips chasing every flick of his tongue.

"That's what I thought."

He licks you through another orgasm.

And another.

Your voice is gone. Your hands have gone limp. You can't even speak — just moan and twitch and cry out every few seconds as he breaks you open again.

You come four times before he finally slows. Mouth dragging soft now. Gentle.

But then—

A single kiss to your clit.

You sob. Nearly beg.

"One more," he whispers, kissing your thigh. "That's all I need. Then I'll stop. One more, baby."

You nod, barely.

And he makes it count.

Takes his time. Licks you slow and soft until you're begging him to finish it, until you're grinding into his mouth with everything you have left.

"Gonna make you forget your own name," he murmurs, licking slow and lazy.

You arch your hips with a soft, gasping sound, desperate for more.

And that's when it happens.

The door creaks open.

"Yo, have you seen—“ Your brother's voice cuts off like a blade. The silence that follows is immediate. Heavy.

Su-bong doesn't move. His mouth is still pressed against you. His fingers flex against your hips.

You turn your head just enough to see your brother — frozen in the doorway, bag of chips half-raised, expression curdling into horror.

"What the fuck?"

Your heart lurches.

You shove at Su-bong's shoulders, panicked and red-faced, trying to sit up and cover yourself, but his hands tighten around your waist.

He doesn't let you go.

Instead, he looks up at your brother — while still between your legs — and smirks.

"Close the door unless you wanna watch."

Your brother's voice explodes into the room. "What the actual fuck, man?! That's my sister!"

You're covering your face with your hands, mortified, the shame crashing over you in hot waves.

But Su-bong?

He laughs.

A low, dirty sound that vibrates through your skin.

"Why are you so mad?" he says, cool as anything. "I'm helping her out."

"Helping— you're—!" your brother stammers, rage crawling up his throat.

But Su-bong turns back to you like he's already forgotten the interruption. One hand slides under your ass, the other pins your thigh open again, and then—

He dives back in.

Mouth to your cunt. No hesitation. No shame. Just wet, filthy need.

You gasp. Arch. Try to muffle your moans as your brother groans somewhere near the door and mutters something like "fuck this," before backing out and slamming it shut behind him.

Gone.

But you can't even process the horror.

Because Su-bong is devouring you.

No teasing now. No gentle licks. He's tongue-deep, moaning into you, licking like it's his last meal. Long strokes from base to clit, messy and loud. His nose nudges your mound, his mouth locked around you.

"Su—fuck—Su-bong, we should stop—" you gasp, voice trembling.

He doesn't lift his head.

"We should," he growls against your pussy, the vibration making your hips jerk. "But you don't want me to."

You whimper. He's right.

Every word makes your thighs tremble harder.

"You're gonna get me killed—"

"Let me finish and I'll stop," he says, voice dark and cruel. "One more. One more and I'll leave you alone."

He licks you again. Sloppier. Deeper. Fingers now curling into your thighs as you melt back into the mattress.

You don't fight it.

You can't.

You give in, head tipped back, arms splayed out, moaning so loud your throat burns. He fucks you with his tongue until your legs shake, until you're crying out every few seconds, until you grab his hair and grind against his face like your body doesn't care who just walked in — it just needs.

And when you finally break, again—

It's like falling.

You come hard, shivering and wet, his mouth sucking every drop from you as you twitch against the sheets. His grip never loosens. He licks you through it, moaning into your cunt, tongue slow and greedy even as your body begs for mercy.

You're gasping.

Whining.

He finally pulls back — face soaked, lips swollen, smirk carved into his mouth like sin.

He drags two fingers up your slit, collects what's left of you, and sucks them clean.

Then leans over you, cocky and unbothered.

"See?" he whispers. "Helped you out."

You blink up at him, barely able to think.

And he grins wider. "Tell your brother I accept thank-you cards."

#thanos #choi su bong #squid game #thanos x reader #choi su bong x reader #thanos smut #choi subong smut

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multistan-247 · 1 day ago

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dilf!sukuna thinks it’s annoying how much you ogle him over the dumbest shit—but the smug tilt of his mouth says he eats it up. he was well-maintained for a man who ate the food for three people and went to the gym whenever time allowed him. infact, his trainer was surprised at his muscle definition, and asked tips from sukuna instead. his sharp words and scowls had mellowed, along with the addition of a few lines on his face, countable strands of grey in pink.

he's bent over the bonnet of his car, white tank soaked through and through, painted to his back. he was a sight for sore eyes, your husband, as he grumbled something about "fuckin' mechanics overcharging for shit—"

every muscle is on display, thick biceps flexing as he props the hood open with one arm, veins trailing down to thick, grease-smudged fingers. his wedding band flashes when he lifts his hand to rub at his lightly stubbled jaw, staring at the dozen hundred engine parts, deep in thought, that did something to you that you could never explain. one of the reasons why some of your fights never lasted for more than 2-3 days.

you hated summer, always whining about the heat and the stickiness that comes with it, but suddenly had a new-found liking for it.

"been calling your name like five times, woman. the fuck you starin' at?" he grunts, huffing as he lifts his top to wipe at the sweat collecting at his forehead. dilf!sukuna, whose abs peek out when he shifts, glistening like a damn oil painting, that stupid tank top riding up just enough to flash his happy trail and that sinful v-line you ached to trace with your tongue.

“if you’re gonna keep eye-fuckin’ me, at least be useful and grab me a cold beer.”

you roll your eyes, already halfway there to the fridge because—how do you say no, especially to a man like him when he's standing there, looking like that?

shirt clinging to his frame, grease staining his fingers and cheek like it belonged there, sweat trailing down his neck like it knew where it was going. you hand him the beer, and he pops the cap on the edge of the car hood like it's nothing. he takes a long swig, jaw flexing, throat working, and the scene before you seems to roll in slow motion. you shake your head to clear yourself of the haze that seems to consume you from head to toe, settling into a quiet ache between your legs.

he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, red eyes catching yours over the bottle like he knows what he's done. he always does.

and sure, this image of him reminds you of your apartment from before, the one you guys had before the bungalow. annoyed yells over the trail of socks he'd strewn around the place, or the way he'd let the dishes dry in the sink for more than two days, which would ultimately lead you to snipe at him, do the dishes yourself, or when you were at your limit, you’d shove at his chest, wild with irritation and sweat-slick fury, only for him to grab your wrist, drag you close, and say “do that again, I dare you."

the last time that happened, the AC had given up mid-argument. the place was already small to begin with, landlord couldn't care less about maintenance, the mess didn't help either. july was a damn furnace and you both were pissed, breathing in each other's heat, too hot and too stubborn to back down. and then, you had yielded when his calloused hands sought purchase on your waist, pressed you up against the counter, kissed you like he was picking a fight with your mouth, pawing at the silly excuses for clothes like he couldn't get it off you fast enough.

his name spat out in anger turned into unwilling moans he pushed out of you—thrust after brutal thrust. he bent you over the kitchen counter like he owned it, like he owned you. one hand palming at the fat of your hip, the other in your hair, yanking you back so he could hear the way your voice broke each time he drove into you.

the sharp slap of his hand across your ass had you jolting forward, only to arch back with a desperate whimper. the sting bloomed, made your hips snap back to meet him harder, clenching around his cock, your body was begging for more. it earned you low, mocking words and a harsh tug to your nipples.

“where did all the fight go, hmm?"

he'd murmured into your damp neck, the vibrations of his words the last thing you remembered, your cunt clenching around him helplessly till the moment he found release in you, breathing heavily.

now? you’re here again. sweat trailing down your back. his hold, bruising the skin around your waist, pulling you flush as fingers tangled in his spiky, short pink hair while you chase at his lips like he’s your last meal. his hold, tying you to him, to this moment.

you're barely catching your breath when he mutters,

“when did you say nanami’s bringing the lil’ brat back?”

you blink, brain fried. “not ‘til evening."

he grins, his eyes flaring. “good. now get on the hood. haven't even started on you yet.”

maybe you do hate summer. but if this is what it looks like on him, you’ll happily burn for it.

A/N: had to get this out of my system. my ovaries are sobbing. currently summer here, it's soooo hot. and I'm prepping for exams. haven't written or posted in years. hoping this fed you as much as it fed me. might make this a series, based on requests. feedback is welcome!!

#dilf!sukuna #dilf!sukuna x reader #sukuna #ryomen sukuna #sukuna ryomen #sukuna smut #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen sukuna #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna ryomen smut

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i-get-obsessed-fast · 2 days ago

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Party4U

I wish you’d get here, kiss my face

Summary: It’s your birthday, and you throw a party in hopes Spencer Reid shows up because truth is, you only threw this party for him…

A/N: ngl writing this gave me bad flashbacks and now I never want to drink again…(I’m still going to)

BYR(b4 u Reid): Alcohol, mentions of drunk people, drunk kissing (yes lawd), awkward Spencer, season 1 Spencer, reader is over 20, no use of y/n, and sexual content. Lmk if I'm missing anything.

It was getting later into the night, people were stumbling around, dancing, taking shots, and playing beer pong. It had now become a full-blown party, and everyone seemed to be having the time of their lives.

You were a little buzzed, not too much. You were pacing yourself, holding off. You were waiting for someone. He promised he'd come. And Spencer Reid never broke a promise.

Especially not today. Not on your birthday.

“Birthday girl isn’t even drunk yet! This is not good.” Your roomate Sarah shouted, clearly several drinks in. “I’m waiting for someone.” You replied, sipping from your cup.

She rolled her eyes and snorted. “Don’t tell me you’re waiting on that nervous little FBI chihuahua.” Your mouth fell open slightly. “Don’t be rude. He’s sweet. And yes, I am waiting.”

She sighed dramatically. “Well, good luck with that. This is definitely not the kind of place he’d show up to. You’re going to get stood up.”

You shook your head. Spencer wouldn’t do that. If he wasn’t coming, he’d at least call. He’d explain.

Still, as the party kept going and the minutes ticked by, you couldn’t help but feel the little twist in your stomach. Maybe he changed his mind. Maybe he got too nervous. This really wasn’t his scene.

Maybe the party was a bad idea.

You sighed, slipping into your room. Thankfully, it was empty. No couples, no drunken chaos. Just your stuff, your bed, and the hum of bass through the walls.

You sat at your vanity, looking at yourself in the mirror. You’d put effort into tonight. Found the perfect dress, something cute but not over the top, just enough to feel confident.

You knew Spencer didn’t care about appearances like most people. That’s part of why you liked him so much. But still, you wanted him to see you at your best.

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath in. It was silly to get this upset over a guy. You told yourself you’d take a few more drinks and forget about it in the morning.

Then your door creaked open.

“Sarah, I’ll be out in a bit.” You said without looking. But then-

“Hey.”

You turned quickly, and there he was.

Your whole face lit up. “Spencer!” You squealed, rushing to him and wrapping your arms around his neck. He froze just for a second before placing his hands nervously and gently on your waist.

“You came! I was worried, I thought maybe…” you pulled back just enough to look at him. “I thought maybe you weren’t going to show up.”

“You were worried about me not showing up?” He asked, eyebrows raised.

“Of course I was! You are my main guest.” You beamed at him. He blinked like he couldn’t quite process your words. You were always open about how you felt, always flirting, always dropping not-so-subtle hints. But somehow, Spencer Reid, certified genius, 187 IQ, turned into a socially anxious mess whenever you did.

It wasn’t that he didn’t notice. He just wasn’t sure how to reciprocate it back in a way that wasn’t so awkward. You made flirting seem so effortless, so easy. He on the other hand would just make a total fool of himself.

You tugged his hand. “Come on, we’re taking a shot.”

But he didn’t budge. You looked back and saw the nerves written all over his face. “Everything okay?”

“I,um, I don’t know anyone here. And I’ve never… drank before.” He admitted.

You tilted your head, smiling at him softly. “Aw, I get to pop your cherry?” You teased, then quickly added. “I’m kidding Spence. You don’t have to drink. We can just hang out and laugh at the ones who had too much.”

His eyes softened. “I don't want you to be bored. It's your birthday.”

“Well you're here so I won't be bored.” you said sincerely. “No, it's okay… I want us to have fun. I’ll get over it.”

“Spencer we don't have to, I promise you,” you assured him, looking deep into his eyes so he knew how serious you were. “I want to.” He replied.

You gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “We’ll take baby sips first.”

And then, to his surprise, you kissed his cheek. He blushed instantly.

You led him out into the crowd, fingers still laced with his, grabbing two bottles. “We can sip on these until you get a bit more comfortable.” You said into his ear, he nodded.

You then introduced him to a few friends, watching his posture shift slowly, the tension starting to ease once he realized no one was judging him. If anything, your friends seemed impressed with how highly you spoke of him. He noticed the way you held onto his arm, how you made him feel like he belonged.

“How’re you feeling?” You asked as the two of you stepped outside for some air.

“I feel… good. You know a lot of people.”

“Yeah, I tried to keep it small but, well, word got around.”

“I think it’s fascinating. That you’re so comfortable with people.” You looked up at him, smiling. “Some people think I talk too much.”

“I like it. I like listening to you talk.” He said it like it surprised even him. You blushed. “Really?”

He nodded, then straightened up. “Actually… I think I’m ready for something stronger.”

You grinned. “Alright, big guy. Let’s go.”

Inside, you let him pick the drink. You poured two shots and handed him his cup.

“You ready?”

He gave a tiny nod, and you clinked cups. The moment he drank it, he coughed, making the worst face. You handed him a chaser immediately.

“Thanks.” He said hoarsely, lips pink and eyes wide.

Soon, he loosened up even more. You could tell, he held your hand more confidently, his hand occasionally finding your waist. You liked it. He seemed…freer.

“Beer pong?” You suggested. He gave you a look. “I don’t know. I’m not great at throwing things.”

“You’re good at math. I’m sure there’s some equation you can solve to get it right.” He smiled. “I’m pretty sure the game requires physical coordination, too.”

You looked him up and down. “Well, physically, you look good.” You teased giving him a thumbs up. He blushed and you led him to the table.

Shockingly, you two were winning. Granted, your opponents were very, very drunk, but still.

When Spencer made the second-to-last cup, you cheered, high-fiving him. Your fingers interlaced and lingered, until he pulled away.

You turned toward the table, ready to shoot your shot until your felt Spencer’s hand find your waist, then slid down your back to the hem of your dress slightly adjusting it because it had ridden up a bit.

Your breath caught.

So did his.

He couldn’t believe he just did that, neither could you.

You won the game. Of course.

You guys took celebratory shots, Spencer was getting better and better each time.

Spencer sat on the couch and gestured to his lap. “What?” You asked, heart skipping. He didn’t answer, just gently pulled you down to sit on him.

One of his arm wrapped around your waist, resting on your thigh, while the other interlaced with your hand.

“Are you comfortable?” He whispered into your ear. “I always am when I’m with you.”

He looked up at you smiling. Butterflies. Everywhere.

You both sat, just watching people, content in the buzz of the room, the safety of his presence.

His fingers were now smoothing over your skin, rubbing gently, innocently, on your thigh.

You knew he probably didn’t even realize what he was doing, but it made your thoughts spiral. Your heart beat faster.

You both sat together for a little longer, having conversation about everything, your guys cheeks were flush but starting to slowly cool down. You could feel Spencer’s gaze on you, soft but nervous, like he was building up the courage to say something.

“I, um… I have a present for you.” He said quietly, fingers now fidgeting with the hem of your dress. Your heart skipped a beat. “Spence, you didn’t need to-”

“I wanted to.” He cut in, his voice firm but still shy. His eyes searched yours. “Can I give it to you? In your room?”

Your stomach fluttered. You nodded, lips tugging into a smile as you stood and offered your hand. He took it, his fingers trembling slightly against yours as you led the way to your room.

You shut the door behind him, and took a seat at the edge of your bed, and he joined you. Close enough for your thighs to brush. You watched, your chest tightening, as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box. He opened it carefully, revealing a delicate gold necklace with a tiny diamond that shimmered under the soft light.

“Spencer…” your voice came out barely above a whisper. “This is beautiful.”

“You like it?” He asked, eyes hopeful, and nervous. “I love it.” You said genuinely, looking at him. “It’s perfect. I’m wearing this everyday.”

His mouth twitched into a small, relieved smile. “Can I put it on you?”

You turned without hesitation, he brushed your hair out the way, his fingers lightly touching your skin, featherlight and cautions, and that little contact sent a warm ripple down your spine.

He clasped it at the nape of your neck with slow, precise movements. His fingers lightly ran down your spine, and you turned to him, throwing your arms around his neck in a hug. “Thank you. I love it so much, Spence.”

“I’m really glad.” He said, his voice soft, eyes a little stunned by your closeness. His hand smoothed up and down your back, you pull back a little.

Your guys faces only inches apart, eyes low, and dazed. Spencer couldn’t handle it anymore, he was tired of depriving himself of you.

His hand came up, gently cradling your jaw, his touch careful. Then, slowly, he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours. The kiss was soft, hesitant, he was scared you were going to pull away.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you kissed him back like your life depended on it, you had been waiting so long for this moment and you were even willing to wait longer. Your desperation flattered him. He never imagined he could make someone feel this way.

“I’ve wanted this so bad.” You murmured against his lips, brushing your thumb along his cheeks. “Really?” He asked, you just nodded and deepened the kiss more.

His hands found your waist, bolder now, pulling you onto him, your words had given him confidence. You settled there easily, legs on both sides, hands cradling his face as your kisses turned more insistent.

You pushed him down onto your bed, hovering over him, your lips moving from his lips down to his jaw. When his hands dropped from your waist, unsure again, you gently grabbed them and brought them right back to where they belonged.

You continued leaving a trail down his neck, teeth grazing his skin, listening to the tiny breathy sounds he couldn’t hold in. You barely heard it but, it was there. Your name, a whisper that lit something wild inside of you.

You reached for his tie, loosening it, and discarding it somewhere on the floor in your room. Your fingers hovered over the buttons of his shirt, you glanced up at him, silently asking for permission.

He nodded slowly, jaw tight with want, and you undid them, one by one, revealing more of him. He propped himself on his elbows, and pulled you into him for another kiss.

You slowly slid the shirt off of him, moving the fabric off of his arms. His fingers slipped beneath the hem of your dress, dragging it up slowly, cautiously, until the edge of your underwear peeked.

You broke the kiss to take in this sight of him, your fingers exploring the planes of his chest, the softness of his skin. You planted kisses on him, over his heart, and when he tilted your chin up with his finger, his lips found yours again, hungrier.

You felt him, hard beneath you, pressing up against you, and instinctively, your hips rolled down against him, pulling a surprised moan from his mouth.

“Spencer…” you breathed out, your voice barely hanging on. His hands gripped your waist again, then slid lower to your ass, guiding your hips as he moved you over him with more intention. His breath was shaky, his voice low and warm and desperate.

He said your name, like a confession.

You grind your hips down again, his hands gripped you tighter, encouraging you to keep going, to keep moving against him. His eyes fluttered closed for a moment, mouth parted in disbelief at the pleasure that rolled through him.

He looked completely undone, and it was just from you sitting on him, fully clothed.

You leaned down, kissing along the column of his throat, letting your lips linger just beneath his ear. “You okay?” You whispered, breath warm against his skin.

He nodded quickly, then stammered out. “Y-yeah. Definitely. More than okay.”

You smiled, biting back a laugh, because the way he looked, completely wrecked already, was maybe the hottest thing you’d ever seen. You sat up slightly, hands trailing down his chest, appreciating every inch of him.

“You’re really something else.” You said, brushing your thumb across his lower lip. He caught your hand, kissed your palm. So gentle and slow it made your breath hitch.

“You’re the one that’s something else.” He murmured, voice hoarse. “You’re perfect, everything you do.”

That made your chest ache, you leaned down, kissed him again, slow, deep, and meaningful. You needed him to feel what words can't say.

Spencer grabbed your waist, gently guided you onto your back, moving over you cautiously.

His mouth moved to the side of your neck, your dress slipped higher as you spread your legs slightly, letting him fit between them.

Your fingers found the back of his neck, pulling him to your lips. Spencer’s hand slid slowly up your body, tentative but curious, his fingers tracing the edges of your dress as it rose. When he finally pulled back to look at you, really look, his eyes landed on your black lace underwear, and he just admired.

He couldn’t believe this was real, you felt like a dream.

His fingers brushed over the fabric, hesitant. Gentle. You watched the awe on his face, the way he took you in like you were something sacred.

“Do you… want to take them off?” You softly ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes darted up to meet yours, wide and startled. His chest rose and fell faster now, the weight of the moment clearly settling over him.

“We don’t have to.” You said quickly. “We can take things slow, Spencer.”

He swallowed hard, and gave you a nod. “I-I want this. I really do. I just… don’t want this to be…” he paused, searching for the right words. “I don’t want it to feel like a one-time thing. You’re not that for me.”

You nodded, smiling at him, your chest warm. “I know. Me neither.”

With a soft exhale, he gently reached for the hem of your dress, pulling it back down to cover you up.

He moved off of you, grabbed your hand pulling you up on your feet. His hands were careful, reverent, as he adjusted the strap of your dress onto your shoulder.

You reached for his shirt, draping it back over his shoulders and slowly buttoning it up, watching his cheeks flush a soft red under your gaze.

He cleared his throat. “What?”

“Nothing.” You said, smiling.

He hesitated, then asked. “Did you… want to keep going?”

You but your lip, nodding. “Of course I did. But I agree. When we do decide to… take that next step… it should be special. Not with a bunch of drunk people stumbling around downstairs.”

He laughed quietly, relieved. “Yeah..”

You kissed him again, softly.

“Should we go back to the party?” You asked, fingers laced with his. He nodded. “You go for now, I’ll be out there in a bit.” He tells you, you smirked at him knowing why he was going to stay back.

“Alright, if you need any help or anything just give me a call.” You teased, he looked at you shaking his head at your teasing. “Very funny.” He sarcastically said, but you caught the small smile tugging at his lips.

You opened your bedroom door and stepped out, flashing him one more smile before closing it behind you.

“Where have you been?” Sarah asked the second you turned around. “I was with Spencer.” You replied casually.

Her eyes widen. “Did you guys just-”

“No, we didn’t.” You cut her off quickly. “Let’s step away, come on.”

You led her away from your room, and thankfully she had gotten distracted by someone else and wandered off.

You glanced around the house, realizing how tired you were of the party. Your home felt overcrowded, loud, and no longer fun. You were close to calling the cops on your own party, but luckily the neighbors beat you to it.

You stood outside as an officer explained the noise complaint and curfew.

“Alright, sir. I’ll shut it down.” You said with a polite smile. He nodded, and you waved him off.

Back inside, you cut the music and made the announcement. “Alright guys, party’s over.” You watched everyone slowly trickle out. “Sorry.” You said to a few as they passed.

Spencer found you shortly after. He looked concerned. “What happened?”

“Police got called.” You told him with a shrug.

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” You smiled. “Honestly, I was about to call them myself if people didn’t start leaving soon.” He laughed, and you joined him.

Once it was just the two of you, and your very drunk roommates who had knocked out in their rooms, you both started cleaning up a little.

“It’s a mess.” You said, tossing red solo cups into the trash bag. “Yeah. People are gross.” He muttered as he poured out a half-full beer. “Thank you for helping me.” You said sincerely. “No problem.” He replied, flashing you a sweet smile.

After most of the mess was cleaned, you both settled on the couch. You leaned into his side, his arm wrapping comfortably around you.

“Can you spend the night?” You hesitantly asked, titling your head up to look at him. He nodded almost instantly. “Of course.”

You smiled, but he suddenly stood up.

“Where are you going?”

“Left something in the kitchen. I’ll be back.” He assured you. You nodded, watching him walk off. When he returned, your eyes lit up. He was holding a small cake with lit candles. It was your birthday cake, the one you had completely forgotten about.

He started singing softly, and your cheeks hurt from how hard you were smiling.

“Make a wish.” He said once he finished, and you did. You closed your eyes and blew out the flames.

He held the cake out toward you. “Take a bite.”

You eyes him suspiciously but leaned in anyway, and sure enough, he gently pushed the cake into your face. Just a little frosting dotted your nose and chin.

“Spencer!” You gasped, laughing as you lightly hit his arm. He laughed too, setting the cake down, and then leaned in to wipe the frosting from your skin with his finger. You watched him as he brought it to his lips, sucking it clean.

He moved closer, pressing his lips to yours.

“Happy birthday.” He whispered as he pulled back just slightly. You smiled at him. “Thank you.” And then you kissed him again, slower, softer…

Dividers from @hyuneskkami !!

Writing this was fun!! I love bold Spencer! 🤭 also listen to the song, I just rediscovered it and became obsessed again. Live, Love, Laugh Charli xcx <3

Thank you to all who reblog & comment!! I really appreciate it sm!

~ Tag List ~

@samslovebug @alastorssimp @sleepysongbirdsings @khxna

#Spotify #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid criminal minds

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