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nereidprinc3ss · 9 months ago

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do you believe me now?

in which fem!reader is insecure around spencer until she finally asks him to take matters into his own hands (literally)

series masterlist

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: inexperienced reader, fingering, softdom!spencer my sweet sweet beloved angel, sub reader, praise, you know he talks you through it, brief mention of drinking wine, i think that's it a/n: i hope u guys like this ! slightly different dynamic than my other stuff maybe but let me know what u think!! i love feedback and i love YOU!!!

“You’re so pretty.”

It’s the first thing Spencer has said since you two landed on his couch, exhausted from one of Rossi’s extravagant soirées. It was your first of many, if Spencer’s entire team is to be believed. More nights featuring Italian food and wine you could never afford don’t sound half bad—but for now you’re drained. You barely had the energy to kick off your heels and topple into Spencer’s lap five minutes ago. The silk dress still pools over his knees and your hair still falls in curls around your face. He brushes one aside as he continues.

“I mean—you always look beautiful. But I’ve never seen you all done up. You’re obscenely gorgeous.”

You groan awkwardly, burying your face in Spencer’s collar as your face heats. Taking compliments has never been your strong suit, especially from someone who you perceive to be so out of your league. The relationship you have with Spencer is relatively new, and sometimes you worry delicate; like one slip-up revealing the real you and he’ll go running. So far, though, he seems hellbent on proving you wrong.

His hand finds the bare skin of your arm, passing up and down gently. “Why don’t you believe me?”

“…I do.”

It’s unconvincing. Spencer scoffs.

“No, you don’t. You never believe me when I compliment you.”

The cadence of his voice is light enough, but it’s evident that there’s some genuine frustration there, lurking just under the surface.

Your head lolls over his shoulder and he angles his neck to look down at you. Hair falls over his eyes, and you’d fix it if he didn’t look so damn perfect. Everything about him looks intentional, like he was designed by someone who took great pride in their work. Not at all like you—a collage of features and spare parts you guess whatever force created you had lying around. Nothing about you feels on purpose. But that’s a hard thing to explain.

“I’m sorry. I know it’s impolite. It just feels disingenuous to accept compliments like that.”

Goosebumps arise on your arm where he touches you.

“You being polite isn’t what I’m concerned about. I just wish I could make you understand that I mean it when I compliment you. You’d know if I didn’t. I’m a terrible liar.”

That earns a giggle from you. Your boyfriend smiles, sparkling eyes darting over your face like he’s trying to bottle the sound, the memory—and you realize he probably is. What a terrifying thought. You look away, abashed once more.

“I’m a woman, Spencer. I’m not allowed to like myself. That’s the whole thing with Eve and the snake and the apple and whatever. Eternal inescapable shame.”

“Are you trying to justify your self-loathing by making it biblical? You know I’m the last person that would work on, right? Both as an agnostic-leaning-athiest and someone who thinks you’re beautiful and wonderful.”

Another groan claws its way from your throat as you slide down in embarrassment.

“You’re killing me here, Spencer.”

“What can I do to do to make you believe me?” he murmurs, carefully brushing tangles from your hair as you now rest practically prone across his lap. The ceiling light stretches behind him, haloing him in a soft glowing crown and making everything a bit more hazy and tolerable.

“It’s not your fight.” It’s meant to be playfully dramatic, but it hangs from your lips with a painful amount of earnestness.

“If it’s yours, it’s mine. That’s kind of the whole point of a relationship, right? Being a team?”

His fingers are nimble and warm between yours as you interlace them, steepling and bumping them together as you speak.

“Well, if you know so much, why are you asking me? It sounds like you know exactly what to do to make me magically love myself.”

A dangerous twitch plays at the corner of his lips as he gazes sleepily down at you.

“Oh, I have a few ideas. But I’m asking what you’d be comfortable with.”

“Whoa!” you blurt, giggling self-consciously, covering your face with your (and inadvertently one of his) hands. “Where did that come from?”

He smiles at your response to his mildly suggestive comment. “I lose my filter when I'm tired. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

You sigh gustily, dragging his hand down to fall over your collarbones. His fingers twitch over the delicate skin, like he’d graze it if your hand wasn’t weighing his down.

“No, no, you didn’t make me uncomfortable, you just… surprised me. I’m really bad at talking about this kind of thing.”

“Sex?”

You yelp, slinging your arm over your face and hiding in the crook of your elbow. “AH! Don’t say it!”

He laughs again, a little less reserved this time.

“What? You can’t even listen to me say the word?”

“No! Too scary!”

Eventually you peek out from under your arm to find Spencer still watching you. The humor has faded from his eyes and been replaced by a kind of serene calm. He brushes a lock of hair from your shoulder.

“Come here,” he says—a request more than a demand. With some wriggling and a bit of help, you manage to reorient yourself into a sitting position across his lap once more. His touch is warm even through the fabric of your dress when he kisses you, hand sliding over your waist before moving to trace your jaw and ending up on the back of your neck, urging you closer ever so slightly. You kiss him back without hesitation or restraint, as you delight in doing when he gives you the opportunity. What you may lack in experience and refinement, you make up for with affection and enthusiasm. He pulls away after a minute, much to your dismay, and brushes his thumb over your lips. For the first time, you think you see a hint of worry in his eyes. Guilt claws at your heart when he quietly asks, “you’re not scared of me, are you?”

“No!” You assure quickly, looping your arms around his neck. “No, it’s not you. You’re perfect and I’m sure you really mean all of the nice things you say. But I just… sometimes I worry I’ll scare you away once you realize I’m not as pretty or… good as you thought.”

“That’s impossible.”

Once more you let your head fall onto his shoulder. “You don’t know that.”

His hand begins running up and down your back, soothing your sympathetic nervous system in a way that all the deep breaths in the world never could.

“I know that I really, really like you. And there’s not one part of you that I don’t find genuinely beautiful. I can’t imagine not feeling that way about you.” Your eyes flutter shut and you hum against him—a non-answer, but he doesn’t push it. Minutes go by quietly, ticking later into the night as he continues mindlessly rubbing your back and watching you breathe. “Do you want me to take you home?” He finally asks after a long while. Again, you don’t respond. He smiles. “I know you’re awake.”

The corner of your lip twitches as you attempt to suppress a grin. Spencer sighs.

“I guess if you’re already asleep you’ll just have to stay here. But it would be convenient if you’d sleepwalk to my bed so that I don’t have to carry you.”

When you begin stirring and sitting up (one eye cracked to navigate) he laughs, hands on your waist. “Would you look at that. Who knew she would be so suggestible in non-REM?” You snort as you push yourself to a standing position using Spencer’s shoulders to support yourself, and ruining the whole act. He smiles up at you like you’re something divine and lets his hands trail over your hips.

“I sleep with my eyes open.”

“Do you often have coherent conversations in your sleep, too?”

You shrug. “I’m full of surprises.”

“I’m sure you are,” he agrees, finally standing himself. “I’m assuming you don’t want to sleep in your dress?”

“I have shorts on underneath I can wear, but a shirt would be helpful.”

“Then we’ll get you a shirt.”

———————————————

Ten minutes later you’re in Spencer’s bathroom, wearing your shorts and one of his sweatshirts (you cannot imagine Spencer in a hoodie), and wiping black sludge from your eyes with makeup remover he claims was left by a friend after a particularly festive Halloween party. Hopefully he’s telling the truth—you can think of more dubious potential origins of the eye-makeup remover in his bathroom. No toothbrush—you use your finger and a generous amount of toothpaste until the red wine stains fade.

Spencer is fixing the pillows when you exit the bathroom. You hold up your hands which are completely obscured and then some by the thick fabric of his sweatshirt.

“Fits like a dream,” you say. A smile tugs at his lips as he finishes his task, before raising his eyes to you. The smile promptly fades and it’s like the sun disappearing behind an oppressive gray cloud. In an instant your stomach curdles and you feel like crawling out of your skin.

“…what?” you mumble, absolutely terrified that the thing he’d said was impossible just minutes ago has already happened. Without makeup, without a fancy dress, you’re just you, and maybe that’s not good enough.

“Uh…” He blinks, as if he’s buffering for a moment, before snapping back into action, and notably looking away from you. “It’s—it’s nothing. Do you, um—here, I tried to make it—“

“Stop. Just tell me what that was. You got all weird.”

Another pause—he looks back up at you reluctantly with a sigh.

“I did not get all weird.”

“Yes, you did. You’re still being weird. It’s freaking me out.”

He’s utterly unreadable, which drives you fucking insane, when he eventually says, “come here.” This time, you think with a chill as you shuffle on your knees across the bed to sit in front of him, it really sounds like a demand. Spencer grabs your face in his hands, studying you intently. “I know you think I’ve finally decided you’re hideously deformed, but it’s actually just the opposite. I’m trying to figure out how to keep things polite for you.”

Realization dawns on you and the swarm of new butterflies in your stomach. The usual molten gold of his irises has been encroached upon, masked by blown pupils. Your face gets hot and your voice caves when you speak.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” he agrees quietly. “Do you believe me now?”

And to his credit, you really do. The hot skin, the vibrating cells in every fiber of your being, the racing heart—your body knows he means it. Part of you, the more confident, more desirous part, drags you closer to him, ghosts your lips over his. He chuckles.

“Now you’re getting brave?”

“Am I not allowed to kiss you?” you whisper, draping your arms over his shoulders.

“You’re allowed to do whatever you want.”

The words make you shiver—the lowered, gravelly tone of his voice you’ve never heard before snaps your resolve and you lean into him, connecting your lips with a deep urgency. Spencer inhales sharply, hands wandering to your waist and bearing down firmly as you press against him. When you lean back, he follows you, insists without saying a word that you don’t stop kissing him. It sends a thrill down your spine and between your legs, which both gives you pause and eggs you on. In the end, after a very brief internal struggle, curiosity and desire win. You drop to the bed and drag him down with you—he, your willing follower, blindly searches for purchase on the plush comforter. Now he’s on top of you, legs slotted together so that his thigh is temptingly close to your core. Too shy to actually do what you want to do, you clamp your thighs around his and tilt your hips, desperate for friction. He exhales heavily, slowly pulling his lips from yours like it’s the last thing he wants to do. Fingers dig into the flesh of your hip, not enough to ache but enough to draw your attention to your movements.

“What are you doing?” he asks, firmly, but not like you’re in trouble—it’s a probing question. He’s trying to figure out if you’re aware of the way you’re nearly riding his leg.

“I don’t know,” you admit breathlessly.

“You just told me you couldn’t even listen to me say the word sex,” Spencer reminds you. “You said it was too scary.”

A frustrated whine seems to catch him by surprise, and he laughs.

“That was a long time ago. I’ve matured since then.”

“Is that what happened?” he teases.

“Honestly, I’m just really turned on right now, please—" you cut yourself off, crashing your lips into his once more. And he almost relents.

Almost.

“Slow down.”

He ceases kissing you for a second time and you’re starting to really get annoyed.

“What?” you groan. “I thought you wanted this.”

His thumbs brush over the apples of your cheeks, demanding your attention.

“I want you. In every sense of the word. If you make a bad choice tonight and it means you don’t like me anymore tomorrow, that is the opposite of what I want. I’m not saying no. I’m just asking you to think about it for a second.”

You take a deep breath, closing your eyes and attempting to steady your mind and see beyond the thick fog of lust. What you find is a (mildly surprising) complete lack of fear. You’re not scared, like you thought you’d be; you feel utterly safe underneath him, with his hands on you and his heartbeat against your chest. This is a kind of intimacy you want to have with him.

Your eyes open to reveal his, close enough you can see the tiny flecks of green. And so much warmth. Everything about him is warm.

“This is what I want,” you assert. “I promise.”

His gaze flits between yours for a moment, pulling the truth from your soul like he might be able to find an imperfection there. But you mean it—and he seems satisfied. He trusts you, like you trust him.

“Okay.”

A sigh of relief never quite finds completion before he’s kissing you again. Immediately the fire is stoked once more, the heat between your legs getting warmer when he experimentally pushes his thigh against you. You breathe into the kiss, pressing down on him and surrendering to the unconscious rhythm of your hips. He lets that go on for a minute or two until you’re so distracted that you can’t kiss him back.

Unexpectedly he pulls away, disentangling himself from your legs. You stammer in frustration until his fingers hook under the soft material of your shorts. “Hips up.”

Wordlessly you comply, succumbing to his gentle words and touch. He bows to kiss you as he slides the fabric down unhurriedly. Once the shorts are gone, he sits up, and carefully lifts one of your legs over his lap, gaze unabashedly glued between them.

“Eyes up here,” you try to joke, but it’s steeped in self-consciousness and your heart is pounding. He manages, stroking the inside of your knee with a thumb as he leans down again.

“But you’re so pretty,” he murmurs, before he’s kissing you again. “Just like I knew you would be.”

You whimper when his hand skates over your stomach, lower, and lower, and—

“Tell me one more time, sweetheart.”

Your plead is just as hungry and yearning. “Please, Spencer?”

It works for him.

When his knuckles brush over your clit, you forget to breathe. When they barely skim your entrance, collecting arousal to drag back upward, your brain malfunctions. It is not enough, maddeningly so, but when he finds a careful, introductory rhythm, it’s immediately bordering on too much, too good.

Your stomach tenses and you are surprised by your own sighs and hesitant gasps as you try to adjust to the feeling of someone else’s hand between your legs.

“Does that feel good?” he murmurs against your lips.

“Mhm,” you chirp. Slow but insistent circles elicit a cry that gets caught in your throat, melting into a hum. Your eyes are closed, but you can hear the smile in Spencer’s voice.

“You’re sensitive, huh?”

“S—sometimes.”

He hums contemplatively.

“Sometimes? Can you tell me about that?”

You can’t hardly think around those gentle movements of his hand, let alone speak. He touches you like you’re something delicate. It’s torturous and perfect. But you try to answer anyway, managing to keep the stammering to a minimum.

“About what?”

“I want to know what you think about when you touch yourself.” The smooth words in tandem with an incremental increase in pressure earn your first real moan. Timid and unpracticed, but very genuine.

The answer comes immediately afterward; thoughtlessly and on a shuddering exhalation.

“You.”

“Yeah?” he smiles. “Good answer.”

Your eyes open fractionally to study his expression. You’d felt so much shame every time you’d imagined him in your bed late at night.

“Really?”

“Really. And now look at you. Letting me do it for you.” As if to remind you, he speeds up the motion of his hand. On instinct you bring your fingers to your lips as you moan through a closed throat, partly to stifle the noise and partly because you don’t know what to do with the hand that’s not gripping the duvet. “Do you only touch here?” His fingers slide down to your slick entrance and your hips buck, mourning the loss of stimulation. “Or do you touch here, too?”

You shake your head, breathing hard as he teases a finger around the soft place you’ve never really bothered to explore. “Never feels good when I try.”

“We’re gonna make it feel good, okay?”

You nod hesitantly, leaning back into the pillows when he kisses you again.

His lips are so distracting, so intoxicating you almost forget what he’s doing until he does it. It’s a foreign sensation—not entirely pleasant or unpleasant. For a moment or two your brows furrow as you focus on the feeling, worried that maybe you’re broken just as you thought—until you feel a slight stretch and you realize he’s pushing a second finger into you now. A kiss lands on your cheek when you grab his arm with a choked gasp, and he mutters, “deep breaths,” into your ear. “I know it’s new, honey, just breathe.”

“Fuck,” you whimper as you look down, and you didn’t realize you were going to say it until it’s already passed between your lips. Pressure begins melding with the promise of pleasure, and something about watching his hand move between your legs—the tendons flexing and wrist bending as he eases into what is clearly a perfected motion—arouses you so much you moan at the sight alone. Flipping pages is all you thought that hand was meant for. It’s like a secret revealed as you watch it do something so salacious, and to you.

A hot spark of pleasure flares deeper in you than you’ve ever felt. It catches and grows faster than you’d of thought—suddenly you can feel everything and it all feels better than you thought possible. Your jaw drops and a surprised huff of air blows a strand of your hair away.

“Oh my god,” comes your breathy little whisper, unprepared for and intimidated by how good he’s making you feel. Filthy noises come from between your legs and you clench around his fingers. You had no idea you could make those noises. You had no idea you could get so wet.

“Yeah, there we go.” His voice sounds a little further away now. You manage to tear your eyes away from all the action to his face. Much like you, he’s transfixed by the sight, brow furrowed and pretty lips parted in what could be concentration, or some sort of empathetic pleasure. His face has more color to it than usual and his breaths come heavier—it’s a very pleasant sight. Suddenly his fingers brush against a spot deep within you and your hips cant upward, a mewl pulled from the depths of your throat that has more control over you than you do it. Spencer’s eyes flash back to you, a grin playing at his lips. He does it again, looking right into your eyes, and you whine so pitifully your face flushes.

“Too much?” he asks. You shake your head firmly, arching your back when he unconsciously slows down. At your response his fingers begin rutting into you again, committing to that spot inside you that makes you see stars. “Of course not. You’re gonna take whatever I give you, huh?”

“Uh-huh,” you nod. You’d do just about anything for him right at this second. Spencer holds an immense amount of power over you in this moment, and potentially in all future moments moving forward. But you trust him with it.

“You don’t have anything to prove to me. I just want you to feel good. You’ll tell me if it’s too much, right?”

But it’s really not too much. It’s exactly right. Your verbal capacity is acutely limited right now, so you can’t exactly say it, but you lock eyes with him and whine shamelessly, hips twisting against his hand. You think he gets the message.

Hair falls over his face and he doesn’t fix it, opting instead to alternate his gaze between your cunt and face, cursing to himself lowly. You wouldn’t want him to stop and fix his hair—what you want is this, for him to keep pushing you toward that elusive edge and to keep looking at you like you put all the stars in the sky.

“Look at you, my pretty girl. I’m so proud of you. I know this isn’t easy. I know you were scared. Thank you for letting me do this, honey.”

It’s the unexpected tenderness of the words, perfectly misplaced in the context of the moment. It’s the devotion, the honesty in his eyes, shining through the haze of lust, which makes your stomach drop and all your muscles tense. A million thoughts jumble in your head, dizzying and thrilling and confusing, but mostly all you can think is Spencer, Spencer, Spencer. Is this how it always is? Your hands tangle in the sheets—and then all the thoughts vanish. Everything is warm and fuzzy and sparkling clean, no worries, no lingering thoughts, no self-awareness at all. It’s nirvana. It’s revelatory. It’s ridiculous that he did this all in under five minutes and you haven’t been able to do it once even with very concerted effort.

Slowly you float back into your body, breathing hard and watching through half-lidded eyes as Spencer gently pulls his hand away. Without him you feel weirdly empty and cold, like he should have been there all along. But his touch isn’t absent for long—he runs his hand over the bridge between your hips, little finger dipping into the crease of your thigh.

“That’s never… I’ve never done that before,” you admit, slurring your words only slightly.

His perfect features contort into a half-frown, half-smile.

“You’ve never had an orgasm?” You nod. His head tilts. “Really? You didn’t tell me that.”

“When would I have told you?” you laugh, finding his waist with your hand and encouraging him to settle his weight on you. He does, burying his face in your neck and exhaling heavily.

“Well?” you ask shyly, skating your fingers over his back. “Did I do it right?”

Spencer snorts, but presses a sickeningly sweet kiss to the curve of your neck.

“Did you like it?”

“Yes,” you admit, voice smaller than you’d have liked. He pushes himself up onto his forearms and kisses you softly.

“Then we both did it right.”

“But…” you stare up into his warm honey eyes, searching for any bits of hidden truth you can find. He brushes a strand of hair away from your face, utterly unconcerned. “You know what I mean.”

“I do,” he agrees, “and I’ll say this because I know otherwise you’re going to worry about it forever.” He studies your face reverently for a moment, before parting his lips to speak. The words are slow to come, like he’s trying to figure the sentence out as he goes along. “You… are going to be, problematic, for me.”

Your whisper is almost as small as you feel under his heavy gaze. “What d’you mean?”

“I mean,” Spencer begins, voice low, “I think I liked that too much. Do you see why that’s troubling?”

The flame you thought had been quenched flickers back to life like a pilot light. Your thighs press together to alleviate a growing ache in a still sensitive area and you answer, “no,” with a small shake of your head. His thumb tenderly traces your jaw, ever-patient despite the fact that you’re obviously playing coy.

“Because I can’t have you all the time.”

“Yes you can,” you say without hesitation, though your eyes are fluttering. “You can have me whenever you want. Right now.”

He hums, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“Not tonight. You’ve had enough. You’re tired.”

“I’m wide awake,” you slur, tangling a hand in his hair even as you lose the battle against your eyelids.

He sighs good-naturedly, gently wrapping his fingers around your wrist and brushing his lips over the delicate skin.

“You’re shockingly precocious.”

You hum.

“You just unleashed the beast. You’re like Doctor Frankenstein.”

He chuckles, sitting up and finding your shorts. You manage to be semi-helpful, lifting your legs at appropriate junctures as he tugs your clothing back on. “And you’re a nerd.”

“I don’t need to take that from you of all people.”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” Spencer says, and the smile in his voice makes you smile, a quarter asleep as he leans over to turn off the lamp on your side of the bed before tugging the covers over both of you.

He pulls you close in the dark, releasing a deep sigh as you curl into him. His heartbeat is steady against your ear, his arms warm around you. You can imagine making a home for yourself here. And you don’t know if he’s thinking it, but you hope he is, as you are silently repeating to yourself with every beat of his heart;

I love you

I love you.

part two

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid smut #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fic #criminal minds #criminal minds smut #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine

6K notes · View notes

goldfades · 2 months ago

Text

𝐈'𝐋𝐋 𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊, 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐈'𝐌 𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇 / 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐒𝐌𝐎𝐊𝐈𝐍' 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐉𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐃𝐀𝐌𝐍 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 ─ PB⁵

TRACK 22 ─── SO HIGH SCHOOL

TTPD CELLY MASTERLIST !

౨ৎ ─ summary | you've been dating paige for a few months, and as your relationship deepens, the playful tension and shared moments of affection—whether it's her teasing touches during late-night gaming or her sweet gestures off the court—make you fall for her even harder, feeling like the luckiest person in the world. paige effortlessly blends her fierce athleticism with her soft, caring side, reminding you every day why you adore her

─ word count | 4.7k

─ warnings | nsfw (mdni) with lots of plot, light descriptions of fingering (reader receiving) while kk and ice r in the room, fluffy nonetheless! absolute cuteness and pretty light and sweet, slight hurt/comfort, ummmm nothing else im pretty sure

─ ev's notes | the long awaited so high school fic !!!!! and im back in the paige buckets era ! i hope everyone enjoys this as a part of my very late continuation of my ttpd masterlist

You’ve been dating Paige for a couple of months now, and somehow, everything still feels brand new. Each time you’re with her, it’s like your heart never quite learned to stop fluttering. She’s become the center of your world, and while things got serious between the two of you quickly, it feels just right—like you’ve found something rare. Something special.

You sit on the bleachers, watching Paige at practice. The squeak of sneakers on hardwood echoes through the gym as her team runs drills, but your focus is all on her—her sharp movements, the way she commands the court with such ease. You catch her looking over at you from time to time, and each time, you can’t help but grin. Paige grins back, shaking her head, as if she knows she’s getting distracted but can’t help it.

As practice winds down, you make your way down to the court. Paige jogs over, her face flushed from exertion, but there’s that familiar spark in her eyes when she sees you. “You’re trouble, you know that?” she says, laughing as she wipes sweat from her forehead.

“Oh yeah? How so?”

“You’re all I could think about today. Coach is probably going to kill me for zoning out so much.”

You smirk, leaning closer. “Glad to know I’m getting in your head, Bueckers.”

Later, in her dorm, the two of you are sprawled out on her bed, just talking. The conversation drifts to your first impressions of each other, and you start reminiscing about how you always dreamed of dating someone like her back in high school.

“You know,” you begin, eyes tracing the ceiling as you talk, “I used to fantasize about dating someone on the basketball team. Like, I wanted to be that person who wore their jersey on game days, made posters, and cheered them on from the front row. But... I never got to do any of that.”

Paige is quiet for a moment, but you can feel her eyes on you. When you glance over, she’s smiling—soft, thoughtful. “Why not?”

“I don’t know, I guess I never had the chance. It was always just a daydream.”

Paige sits up, crossing her legs as she reaches for something. You watch as she pulls out one of her jerseys from a drawer and holds it out to you. “Well,” she says, her voice playful but sincere, “now you can.”

Your heart skips a beat. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously. Wear it to the next game. Make a poster if you want. Go all out.”

You take the jersey from her, the fabric soft and warm in your hands, and your smile grows impossibly wide. “You’re gonna regret this,” you tease, already imagining the scene in your head.

“Not a chance,” she replies, leaning over to kiss your cheek. “I can’t wait to see it.”

───

It’s been a rough day. That exam you’d been stressing over for weeks didn’t go the way you’d hoped, and the weight of it presses down on you as you slump into the chair in Paige’s dorm. You’re quiet, distracted, the disappointment gnawing at you, and Paige notices immediately.

“Hey,” she says softly, her voice cutting through the fog in your mind. “You okay?”

You try to smile, shrugging it off. “Yeah, just... had a bad exam. It’s fine.”

But Paige knows you better than that.

She doesn’t push, just crosses the room with that easy grace she always has, sitting down beside you. Her presence alone feels like a comfort, like a steadying force in the middle of your chaos. She reaches for your hand, her fingers warm as they intertwine with yours.

“Talk to me, baby.” She says gently.

You sigh, running your free hand through your hair. “I just—I don’t know. I thought I had it. I studied, I worked so hard, and still… it wasn’t enough.” Your voice cracks a little at the end, and you hate how vulnerable it sounds, how it feels like everything you’ve been holding together is coming undone in front of her.

Paige shifts closer, her hand giving yours a reassuring squeeze. “I get it,” she murmurs, her tone soft but strong. “But one bad exam doesn’t change anything. You’re still amazing, and you’re still working your ass off. You’re going to be okay.”

Her words settle over you like a blanket, warm and steady, but it’s not just what she’s saying—it’s how she’s saying it. Like she believes in you so fully, even when you don’t believe in yourself. You glance up, meeting her blue eyes, and there’s nothing but sincerity there, nothing but love.

Paige shifts again, her hand moving to your back, tracing gentle circles between your shoulder blades. The touch is tender, unhurried, and it’s enough to ease some of the tightness in your chest. She leans in, pressing her forehead to yours. “I’m proud of you, baby. No matter what.”

The words hit you deep, and you feel a lump forming in your throat. You close your eyes, letting the warmth of her touch and her presence sink into you. For a moment, the disappointment fades, replaced by this quiet moment between the two of you. Paige’s breath is warm against your skin, her fingers steady as they trail up and down your back, grounding you.

“I don’t deserve you,” you murmur, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

Paige pulls back just enough to look at you, her brow furrowing slightly. “Don’t say that.” Her voice is firm, but there’s a softness to it. She leans in, kissing the corner of your mouth. “You deserve everything. You’re strong, and kind, and... I love you. That’s not changing because of some exam.”

The way she says it, the way her voice wraps around those three words, makes your heart swell. You’ve heard her say it before, but right now, in this moment, it feels like an anchor, pulling you out of the spiral of doubt and frustration.

You nod, swallowing hard, and Paige gives you a small, comforting smile before pulling you into her arms. You let yourself melt into her, your head resting on her shoulder as she holds you close. She smells like clean laundry and faintly of the gym, but to you, it’s the most comforting scent in the world.

She rubs your back in slow, soothing motions, her lips brushing against your temple. “I’m here, okay? Always.”

And somehow, with her arms around you and her quiet reassurances in your ear, the weight on your chest feels lighter. Not gone, but manageable. You sigh, feeling the tension leave your body, and you press a soft kiss to her collarbone in silent gratitude.

“Thank you,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

Paige just holds you tighter, her cheek resting against your hair. “Always,” she repeats softly, her fingers tracing slow, calming lines along your arm. And in that moment, wrapped up in her warmth and her love, the world doesn’t feel quite as heavy anymore.

───

"KK, you’re so shit." Ice yells, her voice cutting through the room as she throws her controller down dramatically. “How did you let me get sniped like that?”

KK rolls her eyes, her fingers still flying over the buttons. “Maybe if you weren’t running out in the open like a sitting duck, you’d be alive.”

Laughter erupts from the room, Paige chuckling beside you as her character jumps off a cliff in-game to make a quick escape. You sit close to her, legs tucked up under a blanket the two of you are sharing, your shoulder pressed against hers. The warmth of the blanket is nothing compared to the heat radiating between you, especially with how Paige’s arm occasionally brushes against yours, each touch sparking something that neither of you has addressed yet.

Paige lets out a low groan as her avatar gets eliminated. “Ugh, we’re so cooked.”

“You mean you’re cooked,” Ice teases, grinning as she watches the screen. “You keep getting distracted.”

You catch Paige’s eyes flicker toward you for a split second before she responds. “Whatever.”

Her teammates continue talking trash, but you barely hear them. Your focus has shifted, drawn completely to the way Paige leans just a little closer under the blanket, her thigh brushing against yours. It’s such a small, innocent touch, but it sends a shiver down your spine. The game blares from the screen, but all you can think about is how warm her skin feels against you, how every accidental nudge feels deliberate.

You shift slightly, adjusting the blanket, and in doing so, your fingers graze the side of her leg. Paige freezes for a split second, her hand still hovering over the controller, but then she clears her throat, refocusing on the screen in front of her. You glance at her from the corner of your eye and catch the slightest smirk playing on her lips.

“Okay, okay, I’m going full beast mode now,” Paige says, her voice low but filled with a new kind of energy. She’s leaning forward a little, but not enough to break the connection between you two. Her elbow brushes against your side again, and this time, it feels intentional.

KK, still playing, laughs. “Paige, you’re always full beast mode. You just suck tonight.”

“Shut up,” Paige mutters, her concentration slipping again as her fingers falter over the controls. She shifts back against the couch, her body pressing closer to yours, the tension between you almost tangible now. Her hand, resting on her lap, is so close to yours that you can feel the faintest brush of her knuckles.

You bite your lip, trying to stay focused on the game, or at least pretending to, but all you can feel is her presence, the way her body seems to gravitate toward yours. The noise of the room fades, the sounds of Ice and KK's bickering becoming background chatter as your attention zeroes in on Paige.

She’s pretending like she’s completely immersed in the game, but you know better. Her eyes flicker toward you again, the slightest glance, and her leg presses a little more firmly against yours, a silent acknowledgment of what’s brewing between you. The blanket covering you feels like it’s trapping heat, your heart beating faster, and you wonder if Paige can feel it too.

Without thinking, you shift again, this time allowing your fingers to brush more deliberately against her thigh. Paige’s breath hitches, almost imperceptibly, and she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she leans into the touch, her fingers tightening around the controller for a moment before she exhales slowly, the tension between you both crackling like static.

KK and Ice are still yelling about something on the screen, but you and Paige are in your own little bubble now. The blanket has become a shield, a cover for the way her pinky brushes against yours, so subtle but charged with meaning. You steal a glance at her face and see the way her lips part, her focus entirely split between the game and you now.

Paige shifts again, and this time, her knee nudges yours beneath the blanket. She doesn’t say anything, but her eyes flicker toward you once more, the corner of her mouth quirking up in a barely-there smile. There’s a challenge in her eyes, something playful but undeniably electric.

"Nice shot, P!" KK shouts suddenly, breaking the moment for just a second. Paige barely reacts, just lets out a breathy laugh, and you can tell she’s trying not to get too lost in the moment with you sitting so close.

“Yeah, uh, thanks,” Paige says, still distracted, her eyes darting to yours as her pinky hooks slightly around yours, hidden beneath the blanket.

The tension between you is thick now, unspoken but undeniable. The game continues on the screen, but neither of you is paying attention anymore. All you can think about is the heat radiating from her body, the way her touch lingers on yours like it’s the only thing grounding you both in this moment. The air feels heavy with something unspoken, something waiting to be acknowledged.

Your breath catches, and you wonder if she’s going to make a move or if she’s waiting for you to. The game blares on, Ice and KK oblivious, but for you and Paige, everything else has faded into the background.

As the game continues to play out on the screen, Paige’s hand slowly slips from where it’s resting on her lap, her fingers brushing against your thigh under the blanket. At first, the touch is light, almost casual, but you feel a spark shoot through you the moment her fingertips make contact with your skin. It sends your heart into overdrive, your breath catching in your throat as she presses her hand more firmly against you.

Neither of you speaks, but you can feel the weight of what’s happening between you.

Paige’s fingers begin to trace slow, deliberate patterns along your thigh, her touch warm and teasing. The movement is subtle, careful to avoid drawing attention from KK and Ice, who are still caught up in their game, oblivious to the tension building just inches away from them.

Your body tenses for a moment, a mix of anticipation and excitement making it hard to focus on anything but the sensation of Paige’s hand. She keeps her eyes fixed on the screen, her face perfectly composed, but there’s a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, like she’s fully aware of the effect she’s having on you.

Her hand moves higher, inch by inch, fingers trailing upward with agonizing slowness. You bite your lip, trying to keep your breathing steady, but the closer her hand gets to your warmth, the harder it becomes to maintain your composure. The heat between you grows, thick and undeniable, and you feel your body instinctively shifting closer to hers, wanting more of her touch.

Paige’s hand pauses just above your shorts, her thumb rubbing small circles against your skin, testing the waters. She doesn’t look at you, but the tension between you both is palpable, her fingers creeping higher as the blanket shields you from prying eyes. Your breath hitches, and you can’t help but glance down, watching the way her hand moves slowly, possessively.

“Paige,” you murmur softly, barely above a whisper, your voice shaky with the building tension.

She finally turns her head slightly, her eyes meeting yours for the briefest moment, dark and full of something that makes your stomach flip.

Her lips twitch into a small, teasing smile as her fingers slide just a bit higher, dangerously close to your underwear now. “Shh, can you be quiet for me?” she whispers back, her voice low and laced with amusement, like she’s enjoying this game more than the one on the screen.

Your pulse races as you nod, your skin tingling under her touch, and the blanket feels impossibly heavy now. Paige’s fingers linger at the edge of your thigh, just shy of where you want her to go, her hand warm and steady, teasing you.

The room around you feels like a distant blur, KK and Ice’s laughter barely registering in your ears as all your focus narrows down to the way Paige’s hand feels against your thigh. Every second drags on, the slow burn of anticipation making your heart pound in your chest. You shift slightly, your leg brushing against hers, and the movement draws a soft hum from her, her thumb pressing just a little harder into your skin.

You can’t help it—the tension between you both is too thick, too intoxicating. Paige’s hand moves higher again, her fingers creeping closer and closer, sending a rush of heat through you. You swallow hard, your breath coming quicker now, and she glances at you from the corner of her eye, her smirk deepening.

Her hand stills, fingers resting just shy of where you’re aching for her to touch, and she leans in ever so slightly, her lips close to your ear as she whispers, “You okay?”

The teasing lilt in her voice makes your pulse race even faster, and you nod, barely able to form a coherent thought with the way she’s making you feel. “Yeah,” you breathe out, your voice shaky.

Just as the word left your mouth, Paige slid her hands all the way up to your clothed pussy. Your breath hitched, head falling back on the couch. Paige let out a small laugh, shaking her head as she averts her gaze back to the game.

Then, she slowly moves your underwear out of the way and dips her finger in your wet cunt. You let out a gasp, causing KK to glance toward you and Paige.

“You okay, Y/N?” KK asks.

You quickly clear your throat, trying to regain some semblance of composure as KK’s eyes shift from the screen to the two of you. Paige’s hand immediately stills but she doesn’t move it away, her fingers warm and firm inside of you.

You feel your pulse pounding in your ears, the rush of heat in your cheeks impossible to hide. “Yeah, I’m good,” you manage to say, forcing a smile. “Just… uh, got a little startled by the game.”

KK narrows her eyes for a second, glancing between you and Paige but doesn’t seem to notice anything amiss. She shrugs and turns back to her screen. “You’re not even playing, Y/N. How are you getting scared?”

Ice laughs, chiming in without looking away from the screen. “Right? You’re just over there chilling while Paige’s getting absolutely wrecked.”

You let out a nervous laugh, the tension in your chest winding even tighter as Paige's finger begins moving deeper inside of you, biting your lip to stifle your sounds. You’re trying your hardest to act casual, but Paige is making it impossible to focus on anything else.

Paige leans a little closer to you, her voice low and teasing as she speaks just for you to hear. “See what you do to me?” she whispers, her breath hot against your ear.

Your stomach flips, the sensation of her words paired with the way her finger is still inside you, making it harder to keep your breathing steady. Your heart is hammering, and all you can think about is where her fingers are, how much you want them to keep moving.

As if she was reading your thoughts, she began moving her finger in and out of you slowly, making you let out a sharp gasp before covering it with a cough. You glare at Paige, trying to gauge how much of this is intentional and how much of it is just her toying with you. The playful glint in her eyes tells you everything. She knows exactly what she’s doing, and she’s enjoying every second of it. Paige’s lips quirk into a small, knowing smile, her gaze dipping to your lips for just a fraction of a second before she pulls back slightly, pretending to refocus on the game.

“You good, baby?”

“Shut up,” you mumble back as Paige raises her eyebrows, her finger stopping.

“Oh really?” Paige mumbles before you sigh, looking at her again with pleading eyes.

Ice, oblivious to the simmering tension between you and Paige, shouts as her character takes another hit. “Come on, Paige! You’re supposed to be carrying us right now!”

Paige chuckles, leaning back into the couch, but her finger doesn't leave you. If anything, her finger curl just a bit, and she casts you a quick glance from the corner of her eye. You shift under the blanket, trying not to draw any more attention to yourself, but the way she’s touching you makes your body buzz. She finally begins moving her finger in and out of you again, her movements sharp and increasing in speed.

“You okay over there?” Paige asks again, her voice low and intimate, sending another rush of heat through you. Her question is laced with double meaning, and she knows it.

You bite your lip, glancing toward KK and Ice, who are still fully engrossed in the game, before whispering back, “I’m not so sure.”

Paige’s smirk grows wider, her finger practically slamming into you at this point. “You don’t look okay.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, letting out another quiet sigh. You're glad that KK and Ice are so engrossed or else, you both would've gotten caught so quick. Paige added another finger into your wetness, practically fucking you at this point. You felt that familiar knot in your lower stomach, your thighs squeezing together─however, Paige's hand forces them open.

Just as the knot snaps, Ice’s loud shout suddenly breaks through the moment. “YES! Finally got that dub!”

You were breathing heavily as you came down from the high, your head falling back onto the couch in exhaustion. KK and Ice cheers, the room filled with excited energy, and Paige finally pulls her fingers away, the absence of her touch leaving your skin tingling. She sits back, grinning like nothing had just happened, completely composed while you’re left trying to catch your breath.

“About time,” Paige laughs, tossing her controller onto the table. She stretches, her arm casually draping across the back of the couch behind you as the others celebrate their win. Her fingers brush lightly against your shoulder, and you glance at her, your heart still racing, as she gives you a subtle wink.

───

The day of the game arrives, and the energy around campus feels electric. You've been anticipating this for days, ever since Paige handed you her jersey and encouraged you to go all out. You weren't sure if she was serious at first, but when you saw the glint of excitement in her eyes, you knew she meant it.

So, you spent the night before working on a poster, trying to make it perfect. The bold letters of her name stand out against the glittering background, and you added a few extra touches—hearts, basketball doodles, a playful nickname you call her when no one’s listening that she swears she hated (her blushing pink cheeks beg to differ).

Now, you’re standing in front of the mirror, her jersey slipping over your shoulders, fitting perfectly. It’s loose and comfortable, and the weight of it feels significant—like you’re carrying a part of her with you. You smooth it out, glancing at your reflection. The deep blue of the fabric contrasts against your skin, and the bold “BUECKERS” across the back makes you feel like you’re stepping into a role you were always meant to play. Your heart races, a mix of excitement and nerves bubbling in your chest.

When you finally make your way to the gym, the crowd is already forming, a sea of people moving toward the bleachers. You clutch the poster in your hands, trying to keep it from bending as you navigate through the packed hallways. With each step, your anticipation builds, thinking about how Paige will react when she sees you. You find a spot close to the front, just behind the benches, and settle in, your fingers gripping the edge of the poster as you wait for the game to begin.

The gym fills quickly, the hum of conversations mixing with the squeak of shoes and the sharp dribble of basketballs on hardwood. You scan the court, searching for her, and then—there she is. Paige steps onto the floor with her team for warmups, her long stride purposeful, her gaze focused. She’s all business right now, the way she always is before a game, completely locked in.

You catch her looking up into the stands, scanning the crowd, and then her eyes find yours. Even from a distance, you can see the instant change in her expression. Her lips twitch into a grin, her eyes lighting up like the sun breaking through clouds. You hold up the poster, and the smile that spreads across her face is worth every second you spent making it.

Paige stops in the middle of the court, her teammates laughing and calling her name, but she’s not paying attention to any of them. She’s looking at you. For a second, it’s like the entire gym falls away, and it’s just the two of you in that moment—her in her uniform, her jersey number flashing as she moves, and you in the stands, proudly wearing her name on your back. You lift the poster higher, grinning so wide your cheeks hurt, and she shakes her head, laughing as she mouths something to you.

You think she says, you're crazy, but the look on her face says otherwise. She’s completely smitten, and it shows in every inch of her expression.

Warmups end, and the game is about to start. The lights in the gym dim slightly, and the crowd roars as the players take their positions on the court. Your heart pounds in your chest, excitement thrumming through your veins. You’ve been to her games before, but this time feels different. This time, you’re not just a spectator. You’re part of it—you’re part of her.

As the game progresses, you cheer louder than you ever have, your voice raw from shouting her name, your arms aching from holding up the poster for so long. But none of that matters. You’re so caught up in the game, in every pass, every shot, every steal Paige makes. She’s everywhere, weaving through defenders like it’s second nature, sinking threes with that effortless precision she’s known for. The crowd chants her name, but you swear she’s only hearing yours.

At halftime, the teams gather at the benches, and Paige catches your eye again. She’s breathless, sweat dripping down her face, but she winks at you before grabbing her water bottle. That one little gesture sends a wave of warmth through you, and you know, without a doubt, that she’s been playing this hard, this fiercely, for you.

When the final buzzer sounds and her team wins, the gym erupts into cheers, but your focus is still on her. Paige is swarmed by her teammates, hugs and high-fives flying in every direction, but her eyes are searching for you. When she finally breaks free from the crowd, she jogs over to the stands, and without hesitation, she makes a beeline for you.

You can barely react before she reaches up, grabbing the front of the bleachers and pulling herself up effortlessly to where you are. She’s panting, still glowing from the win, but she’s grinning like she’s just won the lottery.

“You wore it,” she says, her voice breathless but full of joy.

You hold out your arms, letting her take in the sight of you in her jersey, the poster still clutched in one hand. “Of course I did.”

Paige shakes her head, leaning closer until her forehead is pressed against yours. She smells like sweat and adrenaline, and you can feel the heat radiating off of her, but none of that matters. It’s just the two of you again, in this tiny bubble where nothing else exists.

“I can’t believe you did all this,” she murmurs, her hand slipping to the back of your neck, fingers tracing lightly against your skin.

You shrug, trying to play it cool even though your heart is racing. “Well, I had to show up for my girl, didn’t I?”

Paige laughs softly, the sound low and warm. “You’re ridiculous.”

“But you love it.”

She pulls back just enough to look at you, her smile softening, and there’s something tender in the way she looks at you that makes your breath catch. “Yeah,” she whispers, brushing her lips against your cheek. “I really do.”

In that moment, with her jersey clinging to your back, her arms wrapped around you, and the crowd still buzzing with excitement around you, everything feels right. You’re exactly where you’re supposed to be—by her side, both of you wrapped in the kind of love that makes everything else fade into the background.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

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cyberels · 11 months ago

Text

thinking about modern loser!ellie as ur gf :3c

modern!abby version here!!!

requests are open btw please i’ll write for ellie or abby

18+ sfw & nsfw

-> sometimes she’ll send u random ass pictures she finds funny

-> does the thing where she pretends to swerve off the road while she drives cuz it makes you laugh

-> she SPAMS you with tiktoks

-> every time there’s video of an old guy on her fyp that has 2 likes she’ll send it to u and be like “thought this was joel”

-> the guy looks nothing like joel

-> pretends to have a fear of thunder so she can use every thunderstorm as an excuse to cuddle you

-> “babe i’m so scaredddddd please😣😣😣 im shaking”

-> CANNNOT keep secrets from u

-> she’ll plan surprise dates and when you ask where the two of u are going she’s like “…nowhere…”

-> she’ll have to be silent the entire drive because if she speaks she will immediately reveal entire date

-> she HATES cringey pet names

so obviously you call her them all the time

-> she’s in line to buy smth and she’ll ask u for her wallet and u’ll hand it to her and say some shit like “here u go baby snuggle bear🥰”

-> the look she gives you LMFOAODKSLDKDDK

‘😦’

-> literally looks like u just killed her first born

-> does that “i hardly know her!” joke all the time

-> if no one laughs at her jokes she’ll tap on her hand and be like “uh, is this thing on?”

-> she thinks this is peak comedy

-> she’ll find silly things throughout her day that remind her of u

-> she takes pics everytime she sees a heart shaped object and sends it to u

-> absolutely has to get u a little treat or gift when she goes out, candy, flowers, etc. anything u might like she WILL buy

nsfw ‼️ 18+

-> SENDS U STUPID ASS REACTION MEMES AFTER U SEND NUDES

-> omg u and her buy stuff off adam & eve sometimes so she signed up for texts

-> and every time she gets a text she’ll send u a screenshot like “great news babe the butt blaster is 40% off!”

-> when y’all first starting having sex she’d be so awkward 😭😭😭😭 she couldn’t take herself seriously

-> eventually warmed up and started getting more confident

-> ellie williams is a sub i’ll die on this hill

-> but she’ll def try almost anything at least once to see if she likes it

ok that’s all for now love u all

masterlist

#max writes ☆#ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams x you #the last of us #wlw #tlou #wlw smut #ellie williams headcanons #if there is a typo in this no there is not #the text part is accidentally so similar to someone elses post #i swear i did not see it till after i posted im sorry😭

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andcars · 20 days ago

Text

# 𝗠𝗩𝟯𝟯 ─── GAMER MOMENTS MASTERLIST⠀REQUEST ME⠀TAGLIST⠀PATREON GUIDE⠀AO3

YOU'RE A MINECRAFT STREAMER and get in contact with some new guys. one of them won't stop bullying you. it's kinda silly how he acts like he's being subtle that he's trying to flirt with you.

TAGS. . . # fluff, bullying as flirting, pining max verstappen, 'oblivious' reader, minecraft streamers

FIC STYLE. . . # social media au (instagram chats, tweets)

zsync

ty FSMP for having me. that being said, hopefull i didn't give too much of a bad impression to some of ya'll....

liked by albonono, grussell and 7,742 others

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stellaroit i MISSED A ZSYNC STREAM?!?!?

orrifices RIP it was a funny stream

stellaroit what happened the vod isn't out yet

rudemi played minecraft in a new friend group and just decided to cause chaos towards this other streamer the entire time

angeleles who the hell is this lion33 dude and why did he have to hog all the wheat

divissx CHAT THE FURNACE IS NOT FURNACING!! highlight of the stream

lion33 mate i need u to leave the smp

albonono You're just jealous she got all the diamonds in the main island

lion33 completely unrelated

zsync (i'm not) sorry max

ynpng

chat i am not washed at minecraft

liked by alexalbono, georgerussell and 219 others

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georgerussell Disagree

ynpng like i ASKED

alexalbono Slay

alexalbono Btw why're u off priv do u know that

ynpng yessir

alexalbono Suspicious

alexalbono Are you joining the server soon. Max is annoying me

ynpng stop hogging my comments + maybe idk i'm still bitter abt him killing my cows

lion33

appreciate @ albonono for letting me on his stream. i do have his password now btw

liked by albonono, grussell, zsync and 13,611 others

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zsync WAS THAT WHY ALEX WAS JUST MUTED THE ENTIRE TIME?? IT WAS YOU??

lion33 lol

albonono @ zsync he was enjoying receiving flowers from you too much

lion33 your base? exploded.

shouula i love having a pov of max smiling like an idiot when yn was treating him like alex (aka kindly)

vrikrik real. yn is living the y/n life. what i would do to make him smile like that

albonono If u wanted to flirt do it on your own stream I literally went to piss

lion33 ???

massuech dude this is the weirdest softlaunch ever

zsync @ zsyncc · 28 October i'm never playing this game again

141 replies 881 reposts 1.8k likes

Max V @ lion33 · 28 October — Replying to @ zsyncc ur being dramatic lol my house was griefed i needed somewhere to stay 41 replies 331 likes

mia 🕸 @ webberstrr · 28 October — Replying to @ lion33 just say you wanted to put your beds together in minecraft and leave 2 replies 6 likes

EVE @ eeves1 · 28 October so we agree that max and yn were flirting the entire thing right

14 replies 7 reposts 63 likes

EVE @ eeves1 · 28 October — Replying to @ eeves1 i don't like rpf but it is kinda funny how max was goading yn on like a kindergarten with a crush 3 replies 7 likes

zsync

my beautiful house before it was INVADED BY THE DUTCH (also here's the mirmir bath pics ya'll begged for)

liked by albonono, grussell , lion33 and 7,742 others

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pineeapper KITTYYY

lion33 you could've just said no

zsync would u have taken no as an answer?

lion33 no haha this is what u get for stealing my diamonds

littelorrenst chaotic stream as always

piapastry no one else gonna question the weird domesticity of her and max? no? ok

albonono Why're you reposting the mirmir pics from your "priv" account

zsync because i can

lion33 what? u have a priv?

Yn | You are now private messaging @ ynpng 142 followers · 521 posts

lion33 this isn't private lmao

ynpng no i just took it off priv for a bit

lion33 oh. ok btw like do u wanna film something tgt soon

ynpng yea sure why not

lion33 cool cool yea friday?

ynpng sure

lion33 shared a location

ynpng huh

lion33 where we can meet. alex told me you live near me so

ynpng wait omfg i thought u meant like stream

lion33 oh it's ok if u want it to be just a stream like minecraft or smthn

ynpng no no its okay. i need new vid on my main yt anyways

lion33 u sure? lol it's ok if u dont wanna film irl w me

ynpng stop being such a hard ass maxy. i say yes to filming

lion33 cool. thanks btw i really like ur videos 👍

zsync

causing chaos in the toy store in my new video. thank you @ lion33 for featuring and being my slave for the day

liked by albonono, grussell, lion33 and 64,147 others

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wiiredxs never thought id get to see max doing an irl vlog willingly

hamiston who messed with the timeline why am i seeing max and yn tgt

vrikrik RIGHT like max flew a plane just to film this video 😭 they live in diff continents

lion33 sighs

albonono Your flirting technique sucks

lion33 shut the fuck up

orrifices am i delusional is this not the equivalent to teasing ur friend over his crush

grussell Yn, I hope you're seeing this

zsync seeing what

grussell Crikey...

Yn | You are now private messaging @ ynpng

georgerussell I don't wanna be the bearer of news... But Max has a crush on you

ynpng that's crazy dawg

georgerussell Okay I need some more reaction than that Me and the guys' GC have been talking about it ever since the first FSMP stream

ynpng whattttttt he's whatttttttt

georgerussell What in the Have you like known this the entire time

ynpng George. The man is a Monaco based streamer. I do not live in Monaco. He told me that Alex said we live near each other. I can kinda tell when people have a crush...

georgerussell And that's just your reaction!? I still expected something!

ynpng ill give u a reaction if he does something more obvious in the next stream

zsync @ zsyncc · 8 November fsmp birthday stream 2nite y'all. wish me bday luck i need netherite

568 replies 7k reposts 12.9k likes

EVE @ eeves1 · 8 November alright are we ever going to talk about how max (and im entirely sure it's max) put netherites in yn's chest like that was so cute...

27 replies 142 reposts 628 likes

♠ | FIO @ butt3fl1es · 8 November WHY DID I ENTER THE STREAM TO MAX MAXPLAINING ABOUT MONACO BOYS NOT BEING FUCKBOYS!?!?

WHAT IS HE YAPPING ABT

16 replies 7 reposts 88 likes

#33 @ quetoii · 8 November someone needs to tell max his cam is still on everyone can see him giggling after yn thanked him for his gift

23 replies 98 reposts 218 likes

dumb blonde moment @ jaccalps · 8 November — Replying to @ quetoii it's his fault anyways like no one streams minecraft w their cam on for maximum laziness

2 replies 6 likes

ynpng 🔒

@ lion33 thanks for the present! and you, I guess. but seriously, you need like better courting skills. my nephew could do way better than you and he's 3yo

liked by alexalbono, georgerussell and 327 others

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alexalbono I'm sorry, courting!?

ynpng if bullying me counts as courting yeah

georgerussell ... No one won the bet

lion33 this is why you don't start a bet

georgerussell Mate, no one expected you to try and get with her like two weeks when you first met

ynpng ok to clarify, we are not dating. he's funny and he's rich so im letting him try

layladook girl whyre you a red flag 😭

lion33 my fave color has always been red

🗒 𝗣𝗔𝗣𝗘𝗥 𝗧𝗥𝗔𝗜𝗟 . . . ok so i decided to do like my tweets as the text so it was easier for me to make this + less images uploaded. feel free to tell me if it's better or bad from how i used to do it before. anyways this was funny to write. i love minecraft. i love that max loves minecraft. it's just a bunch of tomfoolery around here also, my birthday is actually on the 8th so lil easter egg lmao ˎˊ˗ ᝰ.

──── 📨 @delululeclerc @hiireadstuff @bicchaan @fallingforpvris @rtorresblog @tribbisweetdear @jamie2305 @mv1simp

you support me best on tumblr with reblogs and comments ! ── by andcars ⟡

#🔖 . MV33 #: 🔗social media #max verstappen #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen fic #f1 imagine #f1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 smau #formula 1 imagine #formula one #formula one imagine #formula 1 imagines #formula one scenarios

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cissyenthusiast010155 · 11 months ago

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Killing Eve Fandom Masterlist

This is my Killing Eve Fandom Masterlist ✨ which includes all the Killing Eve characters and ships I’ve written for! Check out my post with all my request details— Requests & Prompt-List! My main navigation post—

Mommy… Master List

Approach at your own risk... smut = * extra smutty=**

Carolyn Martens Masterlist

Eve Polastri Masterlist

Thanks for sticking around 🤍✨🫰🏻 Leave a comment, reblog a post, message me—I want to hear your thoughts!!

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watchmegetobsessed · 11 months ago

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NOW AND FOREVER

A/N: i am a sucker for this trope and i feel like it has the right to be the last one of the year. thank you for sticking with me in 2023, i know it wasn't smooth sailing writing wise and i can't promise anything for next year, but lets all hope for the best. happy new year babes and have a blast tonight!✨

WORD COUNT: 2k

PAIRING: princess!reader x guard!harry

SUMMARY: New Year's Eve is spent with princess duties, but it's even more torturous than usually, because the person you want to be with is in the room as well. And he also happens to be your guard.

MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!

The man in front of you is talking… and talking… and still talking, but you have absolutely no idea what he is saying. Maybe he is talking about his latest ski trip. Or his father’s business? No, it might be his ridiculously ugly watch that cost a fortune.

Whatever it is, you couldn’t care less, yet you mastered your polite but blank smile so well that he doesn’t realize you give zero fucks about him.

Fuck, you’re too good. But it’s no surprise, you had all your life to learn your ways to be the best version of yourself even at times your mind is miles away. Tonight however, it’s not that far away, only on the other side of the room where one particular man resides in his black, perfectly tailored suit and irresistible curls, his piercing green eyes relentlessly examining the room.

Harry has been your personal guard for three years and it’s safe to say that you’d gladly put your life in his hands, he’s been through so much with you, breaking through protesting crowds, hiding from paparazzi after your cousin’s scandal, attempted break-ins and threatening mails, promising to have you dead in no time. Harry has been the person who protected you physically all while being your rock mentally and emotionally as well.

You knew from the beginning that falling for him was inevitable, but you never knew he would ever give in and openly reciprocate your feelings. Well, openly as in between you and him, behind closed doors where it’s just the two of you. You both know no one can know about what’s going on between the two of you, because he would not only be removed from your security team immediately, but your relationship could be an opportunity to those who want to harm you.

You never wished to not be born as the heir to the throne more than the night you heard him confess his love for you after a man tried to attack you at a public appearance. You were convinced Harry would blame himself for it, because the man somehow got through a security check with an airgun in his backpack and even though he couldn’t have killed you with that, he could have easily caused some serious injuries. You were expecting Harry to be beating himself up for all of it even though he wasn’t in charge of checking the audience, but to your biggest surprise, he confessed his love for you in your bedroom that evening and you knew there was no going back from there.

Now it has been five months since then and you’ve kept it hidden so well, no one is suspecting a thing. But there are times when you wish you could just openly walk up to him and kiss him, have him lock you in his strong arms and never let you go.

Like tonight, at the palace’s New Year’s Eve party that’s definitely not a party to you, rather than another night of princess duties.

“Princess? What do you think?” The man in front of you snaps you out of your thoughts and you tear your eyes off of Harry and back to him.

“Sorry?”

“Would you like to have another drink and then maybe dance?”

The smile on his face tells you he is trying to chat you up and possibly marry into the royal family, but even if your heart wasn’t in Harry’s hands, he would stand no chance.

“Thank you, but I think I’ll go and refresh myself. Enjoy the evening!”

You nod your head at him respectfully before walking away, straight to Harry. His eyes spot you in the crowd fast, as if there was a magnet pulling him towards you. His face remains still, at least to everyone in the room, but not to you, you immediately notice how the right corner of his mouth turns the slightest bit upwards.

“Princess?” he nods as you finally reach him.

“I want to refresh myself. Can we go back to my suite?”

“Of course.” Reaching up he gives a quick order through his earpiece to the rest of the security team before escorting you out of the room.

You walk side by side silently, the clicking of your heels echoing in the never ending hallways until you finally reach your suite. You walk in and Harry follows, closing the door behind him and planting himself in front of it as always. With a grunt you kick your heels off and let your feet rest a bit and turning around your gaze finds his.

“How is the party?” he asks.

“Boring,” you shrug, slowly sulking closer to him. “Lots of people I don’t want to talk to but I have to.”

“I’m sorry,” he replies, his eyes glued to your face as you finally stop only an inch away from him. You don’t kiss him just yet, just tease him by running your hands up his chest to the base of his neck. Without your heels you need to push up to your tiptoes to lessen the distance between the two of you, your nose already brushing against his, but before your lips could meet, you stop and look into his eyes. You want him to make the final move.

It doesn’t take him long. His hands grab onto your waist and he pulls you against him right before taking your lips in a hungry frenzy.

If there’s one good thing about hiding your relationship it’s the build up between each stolen little moment. Sometimes you have to go days without even touching each other so when you finally have a moment of privacy you practically devour each other.

You’ve always known Harry to keep his cool in every situation and not let his feelings and thoughts show, but when it’s just the two of you, he bares his soul to you and you can’t get enough of this side of him that’s only known to you.

The way his fingers dig into your flesh, how his body wraps around you and his lips become one with yours, the little grunts he lets out and the burning warmth you feel radiating from him, it’s so addicting, you have no idea how you could go for so long without experiencing this.

He turns the two of you around and he pushes you against the wall, the impact makes you moan into his mouth and you pull a leg up, the slit of your dress baring your naked thigh as you hook your leg behind him, his hand immediately sliding beneath the fabric. Your hands are tangled in his hair, pulling and tugging as he kisses down your neck, gently biting the soft skin on your exposed collarbone, making sure he leaves no mark.

You get lost in the moment, ready to take it further and to your bed, but then Harry slows down and comes to a halt, regulating his breathing before reaching to his ear and you know someone called for him through the earpiece.

“Will be back in five,” he answers to whoever is on the other end and you swallow back a whine that you were interrupted so quickly. “Your father is looking for you,” he whispers, pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

“Couldn’t you have said at least ten minutes?”

“It takes three to walk back and we need to get you look like nothing happened,” he smiles as he slowly lets go of your leg, taking a small step away from you.

“Yeah. If you said ten we would have had seven minutes for ourselves, two minutes to freshen up, three minutes to walk back.”

“That’s twelve minutes,” he smirks at you in a way that makes you clench your legs.

“I know, but they would have only sent someone after us if we didn’t arrive in thirteen,” you answer cockily, knowing the security rules as thoroughly as a guard on the team.

“You have one minute now,” he chuckles, nodding towards the bathroom and you flash him a pout but obey.

In exactly five minutes you’re back to the ballroom and no one suspects a thing. Harry returns to his spot and you find your father.

You count down the last ten seconds on the balcony watching over the hills behind the palace, there’s fireworks and you’re drinking champagne, kissing your father’s cheek to greet the new year, but in the midst of all the celebration your eyes find the only person you’d want to be with right now.

Harry’s eyes are already glued to you and even without words you know you’re thinking about the same thing. You give him a bitter smile and he nods his head before someone taps your shoulder to wish you a happy new year, breaking your silent moment with your lover.

It’s past three am when you’re in your suite, getting ready to go to bed. The dress you wore is now discarded on the floor of your bathroom, your makeup is gone and your heels are put away. You’re just about to get into bed when there’s a knock on the door.

“Come in!” you call out and somehow you already know who it is.

Harry walks in and closes the door behind him, stopping there for a second before slowly walking further inside.

“Everything alright?” he asks and you know it has two sides. As your guard he wants to know there’s nothing out of ordinary and on the other hand, he is checking in on you as the man who loves you.

“I’m good,” you smile as you watch him walk up to you, his hands moving to your hips in a familiar movement. You curl your arms around his neck and close your eyes as he rests his forehead against yours. “I wish we could be alone at midnight,” you whisper. “I never had a kiss at midnight before.”

“Never?” he asks, pulling his head back, making you open your eyes as you shake your head.

He runs his tongue over his lips, looking around as if he is looking for something and then his gaze stills on something. His arms fall from around you and he steps to your night stand, grabbing the old school alarm clock. You don’t see what he is doing with it so you walk closer and when he sets it down you realize he just set it back so it reads one minute to midnight.

“Come here then,” he softly says as he pulls you back into his arms and you melt into his embrace as you look at him.

A tear rolls down your cheek and reaching up he catches it with his thumb. He doesn’t question why you’re crying, because he knows. Because he can feel the bittersweetness of the moment as well. Finding the person you want to spend your life with, but having to sneak around and hide from the rest of the world, it’s such a torturous feeling.

And just as the clock hits midnight, again, your lips meet his and that kiss means everything and beyond to you both. His arms tighten around you and for a moment it feels like time has stopped and you can finally be who you want to be, with Harry.

But time never stops and you both know he can’t be in here for too long. So slowly, he pulls back, but not before saying the words you love to hear the most from him.

“I love you, now and forever.”

This is what he said that night he confessed his love for you and it’s just as magical as the first time.

“I love you too,” you smile at him tiredly and he presses one last short kiss to your lips before walking over to the door. He looks back once more and you notice his eyes are teary as well before he steps out and the door closes behind him.

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

#harry #styles #harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles one shot #harry styles fluff #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles blurb

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housetargaryenloyalist · 4 months ago

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Summer loving

Pairing: Benjicot Blackwood x Tully!reader

Synopsis: It seems that the boy you knew ten summers ago has turned into a man

Wordcount: 2.9k

Warnings: Fluff, fluff, pure fluff.

Author's note: A little Benji fic sparked by the summer heat. Little disclaimer that this is my first time writing for Benjicot so he will not be perfect, I tried my best and I hope you can sense that. If you have any remarks, don't hesitatie to share them, but please remember to be kind. I'm a sensitive little soul ❤️

English is not my first language, apologies for any mistakes.

Happy reading <3

‎⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ ♡Masterlist♡ ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

*:･ﾟ✧Let me know what you think✧*:･ﾟ

The summer of your ten and eight nameday was a sweltering one, sun beaming relentlessly in the sky, nary a cloud in sight allowing the sun to have free reign. It was simply torturous.

Your dress spun of summer wool clung to your skin, your body covered in a thin layer of glossy sweat, making you seem aglow. No matter how many times you fanned yourself with your makeshift fan of paper it had no lasting effect, for as soon as you stopped to regain strength, the heat came back with vengeance.

This summer the Gods were surely intent on killing you muttered as you sat in your family’s carriage, windows open yet they offered little reprieve.

Unlike the Targaryens who were blessed with the dragon bonds, and the ability to traverse through the air, you were earthbound to a hobbling, suffocating carriage.

Landscapes passed you by in a soft blur, the colour green dominating your vision. Your brothers sat in front of you in the vehicle, their tunic partly undone.and although they were better in the heat than you were, they were not invincible.

Their cheeks had turned rosy from heat and their curls were dark and stuck to their forehead. They were most excited for this journey, as it was a visit to Raventree Hall, ancestral home of their close friend Benjicot Blackwood.

You, on the other hand, did not share in their excitement, for you there would not be a merry reunion of old friendship. You were sent there with the sole purpose of securing a marriage alliance.

For as a Tully, it was your duty to marry well and it was equally your duty to strengthen your family’s ties. Your father and grandsire desired you to wed the young Blackwood heir to ensure you would do both. In their eyes there was much to be gained from such an alliance, for one the Blackwoods possessed a large army, with many skilled warriors. Additionally, they ruled over extensive domains with fertile ground.

If all went well, the Blackwoods would be tied to the Tully’s for a few generations and peace would prevail in the Riverlands. It was heavy burden to bare, yet you bore it well. The only upside was that you had known the Blackwood boy in your youth and he had not seemed too terrible of a husband then. You could only pray he had grown up just as well as people rumoured.

Ten summers ago you had been here once before, a young girl unburdened by duty, you remember playing in the mud with the boys. You remember climbing trees and ripping your dress, much to the anger and frustration of your mother.

It had been a summer spent watching your brothers try to beat their new friend in combat and failing miserably.

They had gotten close quite a few times, yet Benjicot Blackwood remained superior, however at age eight the clanging of swords had frightened you. No matter how often you heard it. The sharp sound hurting your still young ears. During one particular duel between your other brother, Oscar and Benjicot, you had even cried.

Hot, heavy tears of fear and anxiety had rolled down your cheeks and into your sleeves as you tried to keep them abay. The pair had quickly stopped their little match, and Oscar rushed to comfort you, turning from knight into dutiful older brother.

The Blackwood heir had looked perplexed at the scene, not expecting your brother to forfeit by prioritising you. In that moment he had seemed odd to you, even mean, for how he stood there. Not even the slightest inquiry into your wellbeing, but he was soon forgotten as Oscar guided you to a small flower patch.

His young hands were rough from sword fighting, calluses forming where there used to be soft baby skin, despite the hardness, he still managed to pluck the flowers and weave them gently into a flower crown. He told you a story of valiant knights as he did so, distracting you from tears.

At dinner later that evening you had worn the crown proudly, a bright grin on your face as you were seated. Your mother was partly frustrated by the lack of decorum but could not resist the loveliness, you were only young for so long she had whispered to your lord father.

Your father had less of a stringent nature to him, had a temper like that of a river, a true Tully. He was in possession of a calm disposition yet had a force within him that could destroy much. Your brothers were much like him you observed, same Tully hair, same Tully manners.

You, on the other hand, were much more like your mother. An uncanny resemblance your Septa had once said, yet she had also remarked you to be much wilder than her, “a rumbustious little girl,” she often called you.

Seated in a chair too tall for your feet to reach the ground, you were shocked when the young Blackwood boy entered the great hall with his hair a mess and a bouquet of wildflowers in his hand.

Some flowers had lost the majority of their petals, others had been bent and lost their uprightness, others were simply wilted yet you remembered it as the most beautiful bouquet you had ever seen. He had walked towards you, the flower arrangement held tightly in his young hands.

Once he reached where you were seated he held out the bouquet and practically shoved them into your face. “For you my lady,” he said, smiling a proud smile and you noticed he was missing one of front teeth.

You were admittedly a bit stupefied to receive such a gift so suddenly but accepted it with glee, you had always had a particular fondness for flowers. You laid the flowers in front of you and reached for your flower crown.

Gently you placed it on the black curls of Benjicot Blackwood, whose smile widened at your action, “thank you,” you said and brought the flowers back into your lap.

That night was the first night rumours of an engagement swept through the Riverlands.

Now you were here once again, sitting in that very same Great Hall, once again waiting for dinner. This time, however, you had no flower crown perched upon your head.

The Tully travelling party had arrived later in the day than expected, leaving little time for you all to wander around the castle before you were rushed into your seats.

“A guest must never go without food,” your interim host, Alysanne Blackwood had declared. Your brothers had been slightly disappointed not to be received by their childhood compatriot, yet their disappointment was soon subdued when they learned he had simply gone out to hunt. Alysanne assured them that he would be there to greet them at the welcoming feast.

It was not long after that Benjicot Blackwood made his entrance. You remembered him as a shy boy, with a gap in his front teeth from where a baby tooth had fallen out, and soft black curls.

Even though he was good with a sword, he had never been good with words.

In the short weeks you had spent at Raventree Hall, he rarely spoke directly to you and those rare times he did, he found it hard to look you in the eyes.

Now, at age twenty, it seemed his boyish shyness had gone and in its place stood a strong, confident man, lord of Raventree Hall. Your breathing increased as you continued to observe him, he had grown large, perhaps larger than Kermit, which you knew would irk him greatly considering he was older than the young Blackwood lord.

Benjicot Blackwood was surely to draw the attention of many ladies high- and lowborn, the notion of which sparked a small bout of jealousy to cross over your mind. The seeds of jealousy could not blossom however for as he entered further into the Great Hall you noticed what he held in his hands.

A bouquet of wildflowers.

You bit your lip to try in vain to stop a smile from spreading. Perhaps it was a tad conceited to imagine that bouquet to be meant for you, there had been nary any contact between the two of you.

Your respective duties busying you and decorum frowned on correspondence between a man and woman who shared neither blood or marital bond. You knew that your brothers had exchanged ravens with him throughout the years, yet knew not much of what they contained.

You assumed that it contained mention of new fighting techniques they learned, and perhaps complaints of their lessons from the Maester.

Whatever the contents might have been, you weren’t too sure if you wanted to know. You stopped your musing as you watched Benjicot walk towards you, getting closer and closer.

Before long you had hurried out from your chair, in order to curtsy before him as propriety demanded. Your Speta would have been proud, and your mother even proude,r.

Benjicot laughed as he saw you, “There is no need for such a thing amongst old friends my lady,” came his warm voice, you nodded and smiled as you met his gaze. “How good it is to see you Lady Tully,” he extended the bouquet towards you, much gentler than when he did it at age ten, “a small gift to welcome you to Raventree Hall.”

You smiled even brighter as you took the flowers into your hands, bringing them close to your face and inhaling the flowers' sweet scent. The bouquet was large, yet had seemed quite small in his hands, now that it was in your possession it could not fit in one hand alone.

You looked back up, feeling the heat of a blush creep up your cheeks. “Thank you my lord,” you said in a tone so soft, you heard your brothers giggle behind you.

He looked slightly abashed as he took in your adult form, gone were the scraped up knees and torn up dresses, your hair so messy it took your maids a great deal of effort to detangle it.

Now before him, however, stood a woman grown. A woman with a soft smile, perfectly done up hair and who was wearing a dress that perfectly complimented her eyes.

He could feel his heartbeat speed up as he committed her to his memory, she would not leave his mind any day soon, perhaps not ever.

He cleared his throat, “ I recalled that you had a fondness for flowers when you were younger,” he scratched the back of his head, causing his hair to tangle even more, “I’m pleased to see that you are still as fond.” You smiled at him, noticing a blush much like yours dusting his cheeks, “Indeed I am my lord."

A week passed by swiftly, the bouquet Benjicot had given you had been placed into a beautiful pot on your nightstand, they were there when you closed your eyes and when you opened them. You cared not that they had begun to wilt, you could not bear to part from them.

They were a daily reminder of Benji, as he so sheepishly asked you to call him that night of the feast. He had started to consume your every waking moment, and even in sleep he managed to haunt you.

During the day he would accompany you on walks through Raventree Hall and its surrounding terrain, he would sit next to you at dinner, converse with you through bites of lamb and sips of wine.

Your brothers had complained nearly the whole week of how often Benjicot’s attention had been on you, and how they have seemingly been abandoned by their old friend. You paid them no heed, content to spend every moment of your time with the raven haired boy.

It was a cooler summer day when you once again ventured into the gardens accompanied by Benji, his hands softly grazing against yours with every step you took. It took a great deal of strength for you not to grasp his hand and intertwine it with yours, to end this torture.

Yet it was not you who took the first step, his hand tentatively reached over to yours and held it in a weak grasp. You looked at him with wide eyes, and you were met with a bashful smile, “I hope this is alright,” he said as he tightened his grasp, “your hand seemed lonely.”

At that you giggled, for it had to be one of the silliest things you had ever heard, “it is quite alright Benji,” you looked to the side as you continued, “my hand was indeed feeling lonely.”

Now it was his turn to let out a soft laugh. The two of you ventured deeper, down a soft brown gravel path, surrounded by colourful flowers of various heights. It was like walking through an oasis of colours, a vision only the best painters could bring to life.

“Do you like them?” the man next to you asked, and you cocked your head in slight confusion, “the flowers, I mean. Do you like them?” You looked at him and nodded, “I like them a great deal.” An immense smile covered his face, he looked radiant like this. “I am glad, I had them planted for you.”

At that you stopped, your face the very definition of shocked. “You did what?” you asked, thinking him ridiculous for saying that. His unoccupied hand, went to scratch the back of his head, something you had noticed him doing often whenever he felt nervous or shy.

“Are you serious Benji?” You stepped closer to him, as you whispered, not wishing to draw attention from the others. He smiled at you in a way that would be the death of you, “Yes I am, I asked the gardeners to plant them after you were here ten summers ago”

You took a deep breath and looked around at the sea of colour. All this wonder and beauty for you? You could have never imagined, not even in your boldest of dreams.

“Are you not happy?” He asked, a slight furrow forming in his eyebrows, worry clouding in his eyes and his smile disappearing. “No, no,” you shook your head, “I'm incredibly happy”

You looked to him with a fond smile as an idea sprung forward in your mind. You brought his hand intertwined with yours close to you and gave the back of his a soft kiss. An action that would be considered incredibly forward, the very definition of improper, yet you pressed all those thoughts away to the back of your mind.

“Thank you Benji,” you let his hand fall back to the space between you, “I love them.” His eyes were wide, pupils blown and eyebrows raised, even his mouth stood open slightly, shock evident to all who would behold him.

You thanked The Seven that it seemed that only you were able to do so. Soon however, the shock faded, a mischievous smile crossing his face instead. He released your hand, which made you furrow your brows, yet your brows did not remain that way for long.

Large hands encircled your waist, and with one strong tug you were chest to chest with him.He looked at you, foreheads almost touching, smiling the softest smile you had ever seen.

You could see the freckles dusting his skin, and you could even press your lips into his. Your chests rose and fell in tandem, the purest sense of tranquillity falling over you.

He looked into your eyes with unbridled affection, it almost overwhelmed you too much to continue looking into them.

“Will you marry me?” he whispered, the words floating between you both. You knew, you knew before he even asked.

“Yes,” you whispered back, not hesitating for a moment. He smiled, and let his forehead touch against yours, eyes closed and posture at east. The scent of wildflowers filled your nose as he did.

That night, for the second time, rumours of an engagement swept through the Riverlands.

#house of the dragon #benjicot x reader #benjicot blackwood #benjicot blackwood x reader #benjicot blackwood fanfic #benji x reader #benji blackwood #benji blackwood x reader #benjicot blackwood x you #benji x you #benjicot x you #benji blackwood x you #house of the dragon fanfic #hotd #hotd fanfic #hotd x reader #hotd x you

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theorist-fox · 2 months ago

Text

Hesitate

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Crossposted on AO3.

Part 1 >> Part 2 >> Part 3

It can also be read as a standalone!

The description you'll read of Simon is heavily based on this fanart by @tiggerriot (give the creator some love!!!) because it has been occupying my mind 24/7. I'm in a chokehold.

Word count: 6k

Summary: Simon loses sight of you for far too long. In that time, he realizes he can't go a day without having you within reach. When you return, he tells you in the only way he knows.

18+

CW: smut (fingering, PinV), but with plot. Tiny angst, fluff. Protective and possessive Simon Riley. Mentions of stabbing and blood. Minor injuries.

Masterlist 🦊

𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬

“Quiet.”

He barges in. Because of course he does. There isn’t a piece of flooring in this godforsaken base that hasn’t been violently reclaimed by Ghost’s boots.

Not even in your goddamn room.

Thankfully, you have the reflexes of a trained operative and have moved out of the way in time, otherwise you'd be sporting a wonderful, purple knob in the middle of your forehead. And while there is a certain distaste surging in your chest – the kind that makes your lips pucker and your stomach knot –, you know there is very little you can do to move the mountain that is Ghost.

So, you close the door behind you with an exhausted sigh, as he ventures further into your room.

“Good eve-“

He swivels on his heel as soon as your mouth parts to speak. “Where the fuck ‘ave you been, uh?”

The balaclava on his face does absolutely nothing to hide the hatred sizzling in his eyes. Funny, because you’ve always thought that it was the whole point of the thing – to hide his face. You wonder, sometimes, if he knows just how expressive his eyes are.

Does he know he tells so much more with those than he ever does with words?

Nevertheless, yours are as telling as his own, as they bulge out of your sockets. The odd look you give him is comical, compared to the ire that's practically singeing his clothes.

“Uh,” you stutter. “Deployment?”

He narrows his eyes at you into tiny slits. So tiny you have to squint your eyes yourself to catch a glimpse of his irises.

“Alone?” He asks, clearly skeptical.

To match the distrust in his tone, you tilt your head toward his, brows furrowing in confusion.

“…Yeah?” You reply, and the more you go on the more sarcastic you sound. “We do that, sometimes. Lone ops, recon. Y’know, we’re in the UKSF, in case you, uh – forgot.”

He hums gravelly. A sound that causes his body to straighten up as if the cogs have finally started whirring and working seamlessly once again.

“Don’t get smart, now.” He warns, freezing you with a look.

You pucker your lips and instinctively show him your palms, cheekily replying with an “I would never.”

Wrong move, unfortunately.

You are your worst enemy.

If this conversation goes downhill, you are the one to blame. Schedule a punishing whipping for yourself, later – you better fetch the goddamn cat o’ nine tails.

The movement causes the long sleeve of your loungewear to slip further down your forearm, pooling at your elbow, and exposing a large bruise. A galaxy of greens and mauves in the shape of five fingers and a large palm.

Ghost’s eyes zero on your arm with the rapidity of a hawk. Price has always said it, after all: he only knows one sniper who’s better than Ghost, and she’s a thousand klicks away now. You miss her – Farah would’ve been a lot nicer about this than him.

When his focus returns to you, he doesn’t even have to ask. As you’ve already stated time and time again, he conveys a lot more with his eyes.

And they are absolutely fuming.

You suck in a sharp breath, nodding your head slowly while returning your sleeve where it’s supposed to be. Fucking traitorous piece of cotton that should stick around your wrist.

“Y’know,” you start, your chest all puffed because – well, you ain’t breathing right. Not with Ghost staring you down like you’ve gone and killed the King of England. “I had to sneak in, grab the USB key our contact set up for us, and then – bang, vanish. And I did it, yeah? I was brilliant at it.”

The smile on your face is as fake as the cheerful tone you’re using to dispense this information. It cracks as soon as you see the fabric of the balaclava shift on his jaw.

He’s grinding his molars into dust.

“And?”

You gesture vaguely. Shift your eyes to the ceiling. Tongue your cheek. Try to downplay it. “Well, ‘s nothing really.”

��Sergeant.” He barks. If he had hackles, they’d be dusting the ceiling.

You sigh.

God, how long have you been holding onto that breath? You’re positive it was the air you’ve inhaled, like, ten thousand years ago.

“Someone thought I was acting a bit dodgy and had me pinned to the floor.” You made grabby hands with a cheeky smile, “I have meaty forearms. Plenty to grip.”

Humor is usually the key to lessen the tension that would strangle your and his lungs. Normally, he’d let it go. He’d listlessly smack the back of your head or pinch the flesh of your biceps and call it a day.

Now, sarcasm seems like the last thing you should’ve resorted to. His posture is stiff and straight. The night lamp on your bedside table sheds light against his back, making him look like he's the wolf ready to pounce what it's going to be his dinner.

It makes your blood curdle.

“Yeah, okay.” You huff, digging your fingertips in the back of your neck to release some tension. “Nothing happened. I jabbed him in the throat before he could shout for help and shoved him under a desk. Got myself a proper blood shower.”

Ghost’s eye twitches.

And then he goes silent.

Not the news of the year, of course. He’s always silent. You know he doesn’t get his callsign from that, but you can’t help but find his personality incredibly fitting with the military nickname.

However, this isn’t the usual Simon shut-up-and-sod-off Riley. He’s so still you wonder if he’s breathing. You have half a mind to wave your hand in front of his eyes to check if he’s gone catatonic.

You don’t, of course. Dogs bite.

You sneer, more in concern than anything, and gingerly take a step forward. Initially, your question comes out simply as a sideway tilt of your head paired with a puzzled look – a question mark would be floating above you, if physically possible.

But when that doesn’t seem enough to coax an answer out of him, you blurt out an “Oi.”

His eyes are jaded as they swivel to your face. Always with the heavy-lidded gaze that makes him look like he’d love to be anywhere but where he currently is.

He seems… calmer. You're not sure whether it's a good or a bad thing. You prefer it when he's fuming because, as the saying goes, better the devil you know.

“Off.” He states.

Of course, he prefers syllables to full, clear sentences. Expressions you (or anyone else, really) don’t seem to catch, unfortunately. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve told him that if he wants to have a conversation, he should start stringing words one after the other instead of settling for just one.

“What?” You deadpan. “Off with the bullshit? Off with my head? Words, L.T.”

You don’t seem to have learned from your past mistake of using humor to sneak out of a predicament when Ghost appears to have all hell ready to unleash.

He roughly points at your chest, “The shirt,” and then aims his finger to the floor. “Off.”

Look at you: dumbfounded.

Sure, you two have fucked, occasionally – ever since he’d come to terms with the idea that he could do it without getting into trouble. It’s not like he gives two shits about someone finding out, he just doesn’t want to deal with commanding officers explaining to him why he shouldn’t stick it anywhere he finds fitting. God forbid someone puts him through one of those seminars about relationship policies and how they can disrupt the chain of command.

You splutter, “Wha – Excuse me?”

“Ya heard.” He reiterates. “The shirt. Off.”

You scoff. “You wanna fuck now?”

“Didn’t say tha’, did I?” He says flatly.

“Oh, sorry!” You snark. “Didn’t think there were other reasons why you’d want me to flash my tits.”

“Didn’t say tha’ either.” He deadpans and swipes his index finger in the air again. “Off with the shirt.”

You huff, pinching the bridge of your nose while, stubbornly, still wearing the t-shirt.

“Not in the mood to have sex, honestly,” you explain, trying to stay calm in the face of the implications of the request. “I came back this morning, I’m beat. I need a cuppa and some sleep –“

He switches, then. “Take off that fucking shirt, sergeant.”

You bristle. Anyone would, at that tone.

Suddenly, you’re back to basic training in Pirbright with your wench of a drill instructor calling you a fucking idiot.

Needless to say, you follow through with his order and rip the shirt off with more spite than cooperation. With a big frown on your face, you turn on your heel and start stomping angrily towards the bed.

“Make it quick.” You snap, getting on your knees on the edge of the mattress, ready to get pounded into oblivion.

You’ll like it, eventually, even if you’re not really in the mood.

Ghost fucks you good. It’s undeniable.

You’ve soaked his sheets, his clothes, his mask – he’s that type of good. You won’t tell him though; his ego is already too big. If it grows more, HQ won’t be able to contain it and the whole base will blow up into smithereens.

You’re saving lives, here, by keeping your mouth shut about it.

But he has other plans, it seems.

“The fuck are you doin’.”

It is not, in fact, a question.

You look over your shoulder and find him still standing where you left him, a few paces back.

You quirk a brow, and shoot it back at him, “The fuck are you doing.”

“Why are you bendin’ over.” He states.

"To fuck?" You say, an unsaid obviously lingering in the air.

Something shifts under his mask, as if he’s scowling. “Who said I wanted to fuck?”

You splutter, yet again caught by surprise. “You made me get naked.”

He sighs, sounding exasperated, and approaches you, who is – by the way – still shamefully on all fours on the tiny bed of your quarters.

Suddenly, all that spite sublimates under the heavy, hot weight of embarrassment.

What are you doing, on your knees on the bed, half naked, if he doesn’t want to fuck?

In your defense, while the two of you often spent time chatting about everything and nothing, that happened in public places. Not once has he knocked on your door for a spot of tea and decent conversation.

Regardless, as soon as you manage to stand on your knees, you can feel him right behind you. Scorching fingers of shame crawl up to your neck. You feel your chest warm up, all the way to the apples of your cheeks. Awkwardly, you bring your arms up to cover your breasts.

“Off,” he orders, again.

You swallow dryly, offering an insecure smile. “…With the pants?”

He gives you a glacial look. Your blood freezes in your vessels. You think you might have turned cyanotic.

“Fuckin’ hell – Off the bed.”

Obviously, your feet touch the ground with impeccable speed, because after that display, the least you can do is follow through with his orders before you make a fool of yourself twice in under a minute.

You feel his fingers curl around the top of your head, only allowing the pads to tangle through your hair and touch your scalp. It’s as if he doesn’t really want to touch you, but feels compelled to do so.

He flicks his wrist to give you a sense of the direction he wants you to turn to, and you do, waddling a little on your feet as you slowly twirl.

Your hands are tucked under your biceps, which are currently strangling your ribcage in an attempt to cover as much of your chest as you can with your forearms.

When you’re finally facing him again, you look up at him through your lashes. His eyes, however, are not on your tits as you expect. He’s not even ogling, to be honest – which would be a blow to your ego, if the situation weren’t so… odd.

Your brows are pinched. Your mouth parts only so you can suck in some air and then worry your lip between your teeth.

This is much too intimate than what you’re used to.

You realize, as he studies your body, with that weirdly placed hand on your head, that Ghost has never… seen it.

Or – well, he’s seen it all right, but he’s never looked at it. Your encounters are usually very quick and to the point.

He fucks you.

You come – once or twice. Thrice, if he’s feeling particularly generous.

He comes.

Get yourself a glass o’ water and jog on. ‘M knackered.

Yeah, okay. G’night, prick.

Right back at ya.

That’s it.

Sometimes, you don’t even take off each other’s clothes. Sometimes, he doesn’t even turn on the lights.

Now, his gaze is heavy as he looks at the dip of your waist, then at the fuzz below your belly button and where it leads, until the hem of your slouchy sweatpants that have seen better days. It’s like having lasers pointed at every nook and cranny of you, leaving scorching lines along your profile.

He taps his finger on your forearm, the one without the bruise – a silent request to take your arms off your chest. Your hands are shaking as you comply, but you’re too preoccupied with him to notice.

Ghost seems utterly uninterested at the sight of your tits bouncing down in response to gravity, instead setting his focus on the edges of your ribcage.

He flicks his wrist again, and you slowly turn the other way, giving him your back.

You feel his fingers twitch against your scalp, before a cold fingertip brushes against your right side.

"Here." He states, barely tracing the lines of your ribs.

It's been so long since he's last spoken that you feel goosebumps rise along your neck. God, his voice will never not make your insides churn.

Regardless, you spread your elbows out, lifting your right arm so you can look at where he's pointing. You can't see much, but you definitely feel how the slight movement of your shoulder causes your right side to ache as if the skin were ready to burst at the seams.

“Ow.”

You frown and curiously try again to take a peek at the cause of the pain. After some squirming, you spot the darkening patch of flesh, speckled with purples and yellows.

“Mh,” you muse. “Didn’t know that was there.”

The hand on your head finally abandons it, allowing the muscles on your neck to relax.

You continue, somewhat feeling the need to explain why there is yet another bruise. “When that man saw me, he knocked me onto the floor. Must’ve hit it harder than I thought.”

He hums noncommittally. You could’ve told him the most absurd tale, and he wouldn’t have batted an eye, much too focused on the expanse of your back.

You shrug, then. “’S alright. It’ll pass. It’s just a bruise.”

It’s then that he meets your eyes.

There’s always a sort of veil over his, whenever the air around you both thickens. You wish you had scissors to rip it, sometimes. Or walk to the curtain and take a peek inside.

“What is this?” You gesture at the two of you, looking back at him over your shoulder. “What are you doing?”

He deflects your questions with the same reflexes he uses to dodge bullets, answering instead with a question of his own. “You went to medical?”

Your lips twitch and you have to school your face into more muted frustration.

Your response is a little petty, but you can’t help but give it to him. “No, just a couple of bumps, nothing that needs a trip to the doctor."

He is a looming shadow behind you, encompassing you with dark tendrils that threaten to swallow you whole. He sucks the warmth of the room with the ice embedded in his eyes – it forces you to look away, finding comfort in your own hands cupping your biceps.

You don’t even manage to reach for your t-shirt again, feeling the need to cover yourself up, that he curls an uncharacteristically gentle hand around your jaw.

You stiffen.

He seizes that moment to turn your head, his other fingers already hooked at the hem of his balaclava around the neck. He slides it up and off naturally.

There’s always some sort of solemnity when his face comes into view.

Each groove and bump tell a story of their own, not a single one coming from the same tale, nor the same blade.

He has crow's feet, but he rarely smiles – if ever. There are lines originating from the sides of his nose tipping at each corner of his mouth. They should symbolize happiness carved, but you fear it’s the opposite.

Thick, convoluted scars paint him like rough brush strokes given by an angry hand – bristles of steel, paint of blood.

Teeth peek out from a particularly gruesome injury that has torn the flesh off his upper lip. He constantly looks like he’s scowling at you, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d probably think he was. Would fit the character, and all.

Truth is, Simon rarely cares enough to scowl at anyone. You can either get a cold side glance or a disinterested one – if it’s the former, then you might be in his good graces.

Right now, though, you don’t think he’s giving you either. His eyes are murky; a mud of anger, annoyance, and disappointment. He looks like he hates you with all his might, staring at you as if he could, by sheer force of thought, scoop out the eyes from your sockets.

“You wanna kill me?” You mumble, finding it hard to speak as he holds your jaw between his fingers. “Get in line, mate. There are at least a bunch a’ Russian men and their mothers before you, ever since I shanked their colleague.”

Then, his eyes leave yours to glance at your lips. He must think you haven’t noticed, because he doesn’t bother to hide it. However – and you’ve always found this incredibly interesting – Ghost tends to forget when he’s wearing the mask and when he isn’t.

Each time, it’s like watching a child learning how to rein it in. Or, you know, like that sibling you have to surreptitiously elbow under the table at Christmas dinner when your pissed uncle is going off a tangent regarding the most idiotic, misplaced subject ever known to man.

That’s Ghost right now.

The sibling elbowing him? Simon.

He blinks out of his headspace and then frowns, returning his eyes to yours.

“Don’t need to.” He grunts. “You’re doin’ a fine job by yourself.”

You scoff. “It’s just a bruise.”

His jaw ticks.

“Yeah, but it’s on you.”

It’s said low and bitter, as if he’s had to fight tooth and nail to yank it out of his chest.

You, on the other hand, are stock still in place – not only because of his hand holding you firmly by the jaw, forcing you to look over your shoulder to where he stands, but also because what was that?

You swallow but it's futile because your tongue is stuck to your palate. The air surrounding you crackles. The oxygen is lacking, and your lungs are suffering from it.

You blink. That’s all it takes, and he lands his mouth on you.

Ghost’s kisses are always rough, determined to take your breath away and leave you wondering if you’ll ever say any other name but his own. This one is not much different, but you have to recognize that it is somewhat angrier.

His lips part as if he could swallow you whole, working his tongue against yours and hindering your movements with his fingers holding your face, and a hand over your belly.

You can work with this. This, you know how to behave around. This is charted territory – the hunger, the stress, the need to decompress and find solace in the oasis you offer so generously between your legs.

You know the dance, and so you press your bum against his groin. You weren’t in the mood, like – ten minutes ago. You were a different person back then.

If Ghost now wants to split you in half, you’d hand him the butcher knife.

You’re already turning feverish, lifting your right arm to tangle with his hair, ready to grab and pull and bite and –

He stops you. Palm to your knuckles, guiding it down once more. He doesn’t hold your hand, instead removing his own as though your skin were burning coal.

Not as carefully, though, he snakes under your sweatpants and unceremoniously dips his middle finger inside your cunt.

“Fuck,” you hiss.

You weren’t that wet, and while you're not one to say no to a bit of pain, this has caught you so off guard that you decide to chastise him by nipping at his lower lip.

It’s not much of a punishment, you guess, because his hips jerk to rub himself against you.

You wish to move and take this to the bed, where you can lie down and be his pillow princess. Let him fuck you until his heart's content, because you're tired and you'd love to get used for his pleasure and yours.

But he’s an unmoving statue, boots glued to the floor and hand shackled to your pussy, dipping in relentlessly until your knees buckle under the sheer pressure of his finger buried to the knuckle.

When your hips start undulating to increase the friction – specifically of his palm against your neglected bundle of nerves where your pussy tips – he inserts a second finger, and you positively melt against his chest. It’s then that he releases your lips, allowing you to moan under your breath.

He starts sucking blindly at whatever piece of skin he can find, leaving love bites on the length of your shoulders all the way to your neck. Teeth and tongue and words that escape his lips, while he curls his fingers inside you, drowning your thoughts in frayed growls from his mouth, and raunchy squelches from between your legs. His offhand gets busy and starts toying and pulling at your nipples.

You're being absolutely ravaged; his nails are talons and he wants to rip you apart and eat you inside out after he's prepped you alright. It's juxtaposing - the pleasure, and the crudeness. It's new, but not unwelcome.

“You should’ve told me.” He grunts. You don’t pay it much mind, he usually murmurs a lot during sex, and less than half of the time you catch what he says – the other times, you’re already too stupid to use your senses.

“Should’ve.”

He snaps his finger upward, burying them to the knuckle.

“Told me."

Then rolls his palm against your clit.

"You were being posted."

Finally, he curls his fingers inside, making your legs quiver.

You whimper and your eyes roll back. Is this your punishment? Hell fucking yes, then. You’ll keep your secrets more often.

But alas, you do feel compelled to at least explain and apologize.

“M’sorry,” you breathe, “It was a last-minute thing. Got called the day before.”

Surely, he’ll understand. That’s how deployments work: they give you a timeframe, and you might or might not get the dreaded call. If you do, then you’re off – one day you’re lounging at the beach, the next you’re buried in gore.

No in-between.

You don't want to distract him though. You're so close. If he just – moved a little, maybe? Or allowed you to rest your legs somewhere.

You shift imperceptibly so that you can rub your clit at your preferred pace against his palm. The callouses on the heel of his hand make it somehow even better.

He allows you, meaning that even if you’ve kept the deployment from him, he’s feeling magnanimous.

You roll your head against his shoulder to nuzzle his neck, the tip of your nose tucked behind his lobe. You pant as he fucks you with his fingers, and murmur sweet things about how good he is to you, because he’s being kind and for that he deserves a generous stroke to his ego. You leave open kisses on his neck, his jaw, lapping the sweat off his skin with your tongue – to try and give back some of the pleasure he’s offering you.

When you come, it is with a loud groan muffled in his neck, and he holds you by the waist before you keel over. The orgasm almost stings, since he’s ripped it out of you so quickly and forcefully. It tingles from the tips of your toes, curling against the linoleum, all the way to the knot that finally snaps in your gut.

Only then, when your vision clears and your skin still prickles in goosebumps, do you hear him through the ringing of your ears.

“You don’t understand.” He’s saying, like a prayer repeated gruffly to the skin of your neck.

He doesn’t say it once, he doesn’t say it twice. He repeats it with fervor, and the more it escapes his mouth, the angrier it gets.

You feel the back of your knee being pushed by his own, and you stumble forward on the mattress. You’re confused, still descending from the high of your orgasm, feeling your limbs move under his command and notyours. Trying to find sense in his words.

You don’t understand.

Your ears are cottoned – the orgasm has been that blissful – but you still catch the sound of a zipper being pulled down. Your front is plastered against the mattress, cheek buried in linen of freshly washed sheets.

You don’t have the strength to stand, nor to look behind, so you can solely rely on your hearing, on your touch.

Shallow breaths.

Shuffle of fabric – he’s taking off his shirt.

His hand skims over your back, purposefully avoiding the bruise on your side.

A finger pulls down the sweatpants to your ankles – the air feels cold against your skin, flushed and burning.

Wet fingertips trail down your legs with uncommon reverence, until they reach down and yank the pants off your feet.

The denim of his jeans shifts. A thud – he’s on his knees.

He forces your leg to bend and kisses your ankle. Then the arch of your foot. Your toes, and it makes your cunt flutter around nothing. The actions are paired with a wet, rhythmic sound – he’s touching himself the way you’d touch him.

He has fingered you with such voracity you thought you’d rip in half on his hand, and now he’s on his knees, kissing your feet. He’s switching rapidly – angry, then devoted.

The former you know, but the latter is different. It’s new.

You feel the mattress dip and protest under the additional weight, each of his thighs on either side of yours, keeping your legs flush together.

A hand appears in your vision, gripping the sheets.

You kiss the knuckle on his thumb, and he flicks it gently over your nose.

His chest exudes warmth even if he isn’t properly touching your back. He simply hovers above it, putting his weight on his palm, while his other hand is busy stroking his cock.

You're wet and prepped just how he likes, in fact he slides in easily.

You already came, which means you're hypersensitive – it feels like he's inserting something long and scorching hot inside. Your breath hitches in your throat at the intrusion, and he dips his forehead to your shoulder, leaving an apologetic kiss.

He fucks you slow and deep, dragging backward without ever pulling out. He wants to stay sheathed inside. He wants to bury himself in there, with your velvet walls squeezing him dry. You won’t complain. You’ll keep him snug until he’s sated. Until you are, too.

This dance you know as well, and so you fold your arms behind you, bending your elbows so that he can grip both your forearms with one hand and use them as leverage to rail you until you’re only babbling nonsense.

But he… doesn’t?

He still fucks you, sure, but his hand doesn’t reach for your arms, preferring the sheets instead, and it makes you feel a little neglected, wondering if you're doing something wrong. Sure – you just came, he’s treated you to your nice little post-operation orgasm, and then proceeded to fuck you. So, he must still be into this – into you.

Right?

You thought this could’ve been a nice way to reciprocate, since you know how much he likes to get you to bend as he pleases.

A thank you of sorts.

You reach up with your fingers, tickling his abdomen to make him notice that you’ve prepared yourself for him, arms knotted behind your back like a bow on a present – just in case he’s missed it, you know?

But he reaches down only to guide your arms back to the bed, distending them ahead. He goes to hold one hand but stops, instead digging his palm back into the mattress.

Just when you’re about to protest, lifting your head from the bed, he drags his tongue around the shell of your ear.

You shudder.

"I- I'm not good at this." He grunts as he fucks you slowly, dragging breathy moans out of your lips. "So jus’ listen for once in your goddamn life.”

It’s then that his pace picks up, punching a ragged groan out of your lips at the first abrupt thrust.

He’s either doing it to shut you up, or to make you focus on something else while he speaks. So, maybe, if you’re busy molding your pussy around his cock and rolling your eyes to the back of your head, you won’t hear what he’s saying.

“Lieut –“

“Simon.” He chides loudly. “Fuck – Told you it’s Simon, ‘ere.”

You grip the sheets as your head bobs to the pace he takes. Your breathing is more akin to a wheeze, and your belly flutters each time he hits you just right.

“Simon,” you whimper.

“Yeah,” he croons. “Simon. Good.”

Simon is as breathless as you are, but much more contained.

“Need to know where you are,” he murmurs under his breath. “You got no idea wha’ I –“

He releases a shuddering breath that tickles your ear.

You’re keening and shivering, trying to focus on his words but it seems like he’s trying his best to prevent you from listening, even if he’s the one who’s asked you to.

There’s something rabid in his motions. He bullies his cock as deep as it can reach, his hips brutally slap against your ass. You can feel the fat recoiling, the vibration tipping at the base of your skull. He’s feral and yet it’s so different.

He groans, but it's frustrated more than satisfied.

“You got no fuckin’ idea, do ya?” He mutters the sentence like a curse. “No fuckin’ idea. You – “

You reach for his hand with your own, but he swats it away.

You try again and he nibbles at your ear.

“Don’t." He warns lowly, stilling his motions until he’s hilted all the way inside.

You suck in a breath as he shoves himself until there’s not an inch of space for him to move.

He’s ramrod stiff above you, struggling to keep his chest off your back – denying you of his skin. Of intimacy. Of contact.

You twist your head that much to look at his face and find him staring blankly ahead.

To say it worries you would be an understatement, especially if paired with the puzzling behavior he’s had all evening.

You follow the trajectory of his gaze with your eyes and heartbreakingly discover that he's burning holes in your bruised flesh – the hand of that now-dead man still darkly imprinted on your skin.

Is that why he doesn't touch you? Is that why he's taking pains to not press his weight on your body when he'd usually have you flattened under the whole of him?

You feel yourself falter. “Si-“

“You’re hurt.” he croaks. “I’ll hurt you more.”

You don’t know what staggers you the most: his cock up your cervix making you dizzy, or the hesitance in his voice.

Hesitance.

Simon doesn’t hesitate. He’s not tentative.

He takes.

If he can’t take, he delegates, and whatever he needs eventually will fall into his hand.

You fell into his hand without too much of a fuss. He gave you the impression that you were the one demanding and obtaining, but the truth obviously lies elsewhere.

Simon wanted you, too. He wants you, too.

He gave you the chance to sneak into his office and request an immediate closure to the cat-and-mouse chase. He delegated it to you.

And then he took.

Hesitance, clearly, isn’t in his daily vocabulary.

This dance, you don’t know. You’re out of your zone. You don’t know which steps to take without tripping over his toes and disrupting the music.

He’s unmoving inside of you, catching his breath with his lips on your ear.

“Can’t hurt you.” He breathes, and you have to focus to even catch it.

“You won’t,” you whisper, trying a first step. “I’ll tell you if – “

And it’s the wrong one.

He starts again, pulling out and fiercely slamming back in. Your breathing snaps, palm coming down to slap against the mattress, “Fuck!”

It would feel oh, so good, if you were in the right headspace.

He won’t allow you to talk. He’s begging you, in his contorted ways, to let him speak without judgment. Without the fear of knowing he has dropped the mask too low.

This is his time.

You should’ve shut your mouth, for once, and allowed him to speak. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

He asked for one thing.

Jus’ listen for once in your goddamn life.

You purse your lips in a line and nudge your head against his own, a silent way to prompt him to go on.

I’m sorry. I’m listening.

“You got no idea.” He repeats again, but this time his voice cracks – overwhelmed.

He starts his voracious pace that always steals your breath and fucks your brain into a mush.

“I’ve looked for ya, asked ‘round – no one fucking knew. Got told you were off on deployment, and that’s it.”

Each word is as accusatory and irate as the cock he’s drilling inside of you.

“You weren’t comin’ back. One. Two. Three weeks. No fuckin’ sign of ya.” He thrusts in for each week you’ve gone missing, “I was – “

He stops. Inhales sharply. Hesitates, once again.

“Don’t wanna feel tha’ again – don’t put me through that again.”

Suddenly, you can feel everything at once.

Your body perks up.

Vision, hearing, touch, taste, smell – all filled of him.

And it’s not about sex anymore.

It never has been, but how obvious it is now.

You want to hold his hand, but you decide to leave him space.

The hand-shaped bruise on your arm glares at him like a promise he silently made with himself and failed to keep. You won’t make him feel like he broke a thing, because he hasn’t.

If anything, you’ve never felt more whole in your life.

You and Simon have never gone further than physical. You don't know how to soothe a heart so afraid if it belongs to him. So, you do the only thing you’ve learned that manages to get through to him.

You keen and moan and breathe, allowing tiny praises and sinful curses to leave your lips.

Like that – yeah. Shit.

Yes, yes, yes.

Deeper. Please.

His name – not his callsign, not his rank.

Simon, you croon. Simon, Simon, Simon.

You feel the pressure of his come spurting out, flooding your walls like a dam has broken and crushed. His mouth on your ear won’t allow a single sound to pass, but he’s clearly overly affected – you know, by the way his breath comes. As if he’s clinging to life and has found purchase for survival right on your skin.

You want to kiss him, but you leave the choice up to him. You won’t squirm under the press of his forehead against your temple, but your lips are there for him to taste – moist and plump and ready.

Simon’s lashes flutter against your cheekbone as he regains his bearings. Looks at you. His eyes hint at regret – it’s a fraction of a second that has your stomach knot. But then he squashes it down, when he realizes that you saw nothing wrong in his words.

He kisses your cheek, and then your lips. Thankfulness seeps through.

"Don't hide from me again," he murmurs and gingerly hooks his thumb around your pinky. Not touching you yet, not so close to where you’re already aching.

You curl your finger around his own. “I won’t.”

#simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #call of duty modern warfare #cod #cod mw2 #fanfic #archive of our own #ao3 #ghost x reader #smut #cod smut #x reader

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literaryavenger · 11 months ago

Text

New Year's Eve

Summary: A game of two truths and a lie reveals to the team a fact about the you that Bucky can’t seem to stop thinking about.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Female Reader

Warnings: Minimal use of Y/N. Language 'cause why not. A lot of fluff. My poor attempts at being funny. Mutual pining, idiots in love. Self-deprecating thoughts.

Word Count: 3.2K

A/N: Happy New Year's Eve! Thanks for all the messages when I was sick, I'm finally feeling better and I'm negative for Covid! I really wanted to post something for New Year's Eve and this came from a fever dream I had when I was sick, lol. I hope it's any good and someone enjoys it! A particular thank you to @ordelixx for helping me with this story!💘I've only started posting here about a month and a half but I'm really enjoying it and feeling more and more comfortable in my writing. I hope I'm also getting better at it. Anyway, I have big plans for the New Year that I hope you'll enjoy! This year hasn't been great for me, but I'm planning on working harder than ever to make sure the next one is a year I can be proud of. I hope you guys have a nice last day of 2023 and an amazing start of 2024! Love you all.💘

Masterlist

“Ok, your turn, Kill Bill. Two truths and a lie, go.” Tony says, referring to the fact that you fight with swords, making you roll your eyes before you join in on the laughter.

“Ok, uhm...” you try not to look at anyone so you don’t give away the answer “I have a teddy bear that I sleep with, I have bungee jumped from the top of the tower and I’ve never had a New Year’s kiss.”

You look back up to the room and wait for their guesses.

It’s a Friday night and the people that remained in the Tower for the holidays decided to have a little game night.

Every year the same people stay around, having nowhere in particular to go, and spend Christmas together.

Clint and Scott usually spend this time with their families, this year Thor decided to go to New Asgard with Bruce and Loki to visit Val and Korg, and Peter decided to spend it with aunt May and Happy.

You usually alternate between going to visit your family and staying in the tower each year, and this one was your turn to go to your first home.

You came back the day after Christmas, never being one to miss Tony’s New Year’s Eve party that’s gonna happen in two days now.

“Well, we know she has a teddy bear.” Wanda says.

“Do we know that?” Tony turns to you, narrowing his eyes. “Do you have one?”

“Yes, she does, we’ve seen it” Natasha answers for you while you glance at Bucky, praying he doesn’t put together that they’re talking about the teddy bear he gifted you for Valentine’s Day this year along with flowers.

Natasha and Wanda were more happy than you when you told them, sustaining that he did it because he liked you until you pointed out that he gave flowers to them too, because he’s sweet and a gentleman and that’s just who he is.

They wouldn’t let up on the fact that neither of them got a teddy bear though, and you would have agreed with them but Bucky never really did anything else about it so you decided to let it go and not read too much into it.

You're brought back to the present by Tony.

“Ok, so she has one. Then it’s gotta be the New Year’s kiss, everyone has had one at least once in their life,” he was looking at your reaction very closely while talking, but you did your best to keep an easy smile and not give anything away.

“Even Captain Virgin over there had one last year.” he adds vaguely waving towards Steve’s general direction.

You crack at the nickname and at the undignified sound Steve made while blushing and glancing at Nat that shared that kiss with him.

“Tony, there’s no way that she bungee jumped from the roof without us knowing, that’s gotta be the lie.” Sam interjects, also watching you closely for any signs of a reaction that you manage not to give.

“Alright, just take your guesses, people.” You say to the group.

“New Year’s Kiss.” Tony all but yelled, Natasha and Wanda agreeing with him.

“Bungee jump.” Sam says and Steve and Bucky agree, then they all seem to hold their breath as they wait for your answer.

It’s not a surprise that even these stupid little games cause a lot of competition amongst the team.

“Neither.”-you finally said and let out a laugh when they all groan in annoyance while taking their shots for guessing wrong.

“WAIT- you bungee jumped off the ROOF? When?!” Steve seems more concerned than anything.

“Well, you know a few months ago when we happened to all be on different missions at the same time?” They nod, not knowing where you're going with this “Clint and I came back first from ours, we were bored and there was no one around to stop us from doing anything stupid so…” you trail off, shrugging while laughing.

Steve looks shocked, Sam is laughing his ass off while Tony immediately goes to look for the security footage.

They all cheered while watching you throw yourself off the roof, Clint's yells and laughter could be heard, and then Steve shakes his head while joining you in the laughter when you see Clint take his turn and scream like a little girl while you fall to the ground laughing on the video.

Once you all composed yourselves, Tony pokes Wanda’s arm “I thought you said she had a teddy bear.” he's looking at her like she brought him on a treasure hunt and then betrayed him and left him for dead on a deserted island.

“She does! She got it from-” you interrupt her before she can finish the sentence, blushing a little and avoiding Bucky’s eyes.

“I do have a teddy bear, I just don’t sleep with it.” you say, shrugging.

“Oh, come on, that’s cheating!” Natasha whines.

“It’s really not, just because I do have one it doesn’t mean I didn’t tell a lie about it” you laugh at her pout.

“Wait a minute, so you’ve never had a New Year’s kiss?” Tony looks at you like you suddenly grew two heads.

“It’s not a big deal. Funny thing is, I have had boyfriends during New Year’s Eve, I just never happen to spend the day with them.” you say absentmindedly while thinking back at all the parties you’ve been to over the years to celebrate the new year.

“Really?” it's so quiet you almost missed it, your eyes snapping up to meet Bucky’s that were already looking at you.

“Is that so hard to believe?” The room seems to go quiet as everybody looks at you two, but you're too focused on each other to notice.

“I didn’t- I mean…” his cheeks started to turn a little pink as he seemed to have trouble finishing his sentence “It’s just you’re very pretty, who wouldn’t want to kiss you?”

You didn’t know what to say to that, you start blushing too while opening and closing your mouth a couple of times, looking like a damn fish.

You settle for a quiet ‘thank you’ with a smile that he shyly returns, neither of you noticing the glances passed by everyone else.

The whole team is convinced that there’s something between you and Bucky, but both of you always deny it and don’t seem to read too much into each other’s actions, always dismissing the glances and lingering touches as friendly affection even though you’re not really that close.

But really what else could it be?

The team lets the moment end and the game goes on, everyone keeps drinking and having fun until it gets really late and you all decide to call it a night.

Bucky goes to his bedroom and gets ready for sleep but he can’t seem to focus on anything else but you.

He really doesn’t understand how can anybody see your pretty self when you’ve just woken up, no makeup and your eyes full of sleep and not want to kiss you, let alone when you are all dolled up in a pretty golden dresses like you do every New Year’s.

Every year it gets harder for him not to just grab you and kiss you, hell every day is pretty much torture to see you around the Compound and not get to be with you the way he wants to.

But he has to keep his hands to himself because there’s no way you could actually like him like that.

He’s even tried to drop hints here and there like giving you the teddy bear for Valentine’s Day but, except for the cute shade of pink that your face turned, you still didn’t seem all that interested.

Still, that didn’t stop him from thinking what it would be like if you did like him and fantasize about being your first New Year’s kiss and maybe even your last first kiss.

At the same time you were in your own room getting ready for bed while your own thoughts kept going back to the moment you shared with Bucky in the living room.

You didn’t know if you were more embarrassed because you actually told the team you’ve never had a kiss on New Year’s Eve or happy because Bucky called you pretty.

If it was anyone else you wouldn’t even think twice about it, but coming from him it just felt like you were being complimented for the first time ever.

Everytime you thought about it you felt all warm and fuzzy inside, and at this point the moment was pretty much on loop in your mind.

The more you think about it the more you feel your face heat up, sleep not coming easily as you slip into Bucky filled dreams.

The next day everybody’s hanging out in the living room, most of them nursing a hangover from last night. You get ready for a last minute shopping trip to try and find a new dress for New Year’s Eve.

When you get to the living room you see Steve grinning at a disgruntled Tony, Wanda, Sam and Natasha who are obviously very hangover and nowhere near as amused as the blonde supersoldier.

Bucky’s attention is on you as soon as you're in his field of vision and no one fails to notice it, except you of course, your own attention on Wanda and Natasha sprawled on the couch.

“Well, I was gonna ask you if you wanted to come shopping with me,” you start watching from one to the other, as amused as Steve at everyone’s inability to contain themselves when drinking. “but I don’t think that’s happening.”

“Bite me, YLN.” Is all Nat says.

Wanda, on the other hand, is a little gentler. “I can come with you, if you want.” she says sweetly.

“That’s okay, Wands.” you smile at her “just rest and drink lots of water.”

You turn around, saying bye to everyone and making your way out. As soon as the doors of the elevator close, everyone turns to Bucky that's not even pretending not to be staring anymore.

Not that anyone could ignore the longing look on Bucky’s face as he watches you walk away.

“Buck,” Steve starts talking, glancing at everyone before setting his gaze back on his best friend. “we need to talk.”

“Okay…” he slowly drags out, unsure if he even wants Steve to keep going.

“Well, we’ve been noticing some things lately…” He’s unsure of how to say this. “Between you and Y/N.”

Bucky’s cheeks start to turn a slight shade of pink, but he’s still not sure where Steve’s going with this so he says nothing.

“So we thought” he gestures around at everybody. “that maybe we should-”

“We know you like her, and we want to help you get with her.” Tony interrupts Steve, quickly getting to the point.

At Steve’s glare, Tony merely raises his hands in surrender saying, “Listen, Capsicle, I’m way too hungover to take the panoramic route. Let’s just get this over with.”

“Yeah, Stark’s right.” Sam says, turning Bucky whose face is fully red now. “You have a weak ass game, man. Let us help you.”

They all look at the brunette supersoldier while waiting for his answer. He chews on his lip while looking at the expectant faces of his friends, before letting out a deep sigh.

“How would you even help me?” He says quietly, neither accepting nor denying their help just yet.

“Well, we know Y/N,” Wanda says.

“Yeah, we can tell you what turns her on.” Natasha smirked, before Wanda flicks her ear making her let out an ‘ow’ with a slight pout.

“What she means is,” she glares at Natasha “we can tell you what she likes, you know. Maybe help you get closer to her.”

Bucky shakes his head lightly “This is not a good idea. And it doesn’t even matter if she doesn’t like me.”

Wanda and Natasha seem to have a silent conversation, ending with Natasha raising her eyebrow at Wanda and Wanda just sighing with a soft ‘fine’.

“She does like you.” Wanda turns back to Bucky.

“She’s just convinced that you don’t like her like that.” Natasha says with a roll of her eyes.

Bucky still wasn’t completely convinced, but he agreed nonetheless. Maybe it was the glimmer of hope the girls gave him, but if there was even the slightest chance you could actually like him, he owed it to himself to try.

So he let the team make a plan to get you guys together, hoping to god he wouldn’t come to regret it.

You come home a few hours later, super excited to have found the perfect dress for the party the next night.

Bucky thought you were just so cute, all smiles and giggles.

Wanda and Nat talked you into having the last girls night of the year, although it didn’t really take much convincing.

And so the plan begins.

You’re relaxing on your bed, Wanda lying next to you, your head on her lap, and Nat sprawled on the love seat near the window close to your bed.

You’re wearing bathrobes, sheet masks on your faces as you watch a cheesy romcom that you’re so embarrassingly into you don’t even notice the girls exchange a look and nod at each other.

Wanda clears her throat and then begins talking, as casually as she can. “So, how come you never told us you never had a New Year’s kiss?”

They had to approach the subject somehow, right?

“I don’t know,” you say absentmindedly and then shrug, your attention still on the Tv. “didn’t think it was important.”

“Sure it isn’t.” Nat said, and her tone took your attention away from the movie for the first time since it started.

“What’s that supposed to mean, Tasha?” she simply shrugs, an innocent look in the face.

“It doesn’t mean anything” she says, her attention seemingly on the movie “I mean, if it doesn’t bother you, it doesn’t bother me.”

“Why would it bother me?” you frown, you don't understand what's so weird about this.

“Well, some people might find it a little…” Wanda trails off.

“Sad?” Natasha ends for her.

“It’s not like I’ve never kissed anyone.” you're starting to get a little defensive.

“We know that, sweetie.” Wanda coos, stroking your hair while you look up at her.

“We really didn’t mean anything by it.” Natasha ends, giving you an apologetic look.

“Yeah, whatever.” is all you say, and you turn your eyes back to the tv, your attention nowhere near it.

Natasha and Wanda can basically hear the gears turn in your head and give each other one last glance.

Part one of the plan is complete.

The next day goes through like usual, the team spending basically the whole morning together.

It’s a tradition, having the last breakfast of the year together, watching the last movie, having the last lunch and so on. Doing all the lasts together.

It’s silly, but it’s a tradition you've all come to be very fond of.

The afternoon comes and you and the girls spend it getting ready for the party, last night’s conversation almost forgotten.

Almost.

As you got to the party the music was deafening before you even stepped out of the elevator and, once you did, you were immediately immersed in a sea of perfume and cologne and, like every other Stark party extravaganza, you didn’t know about 98% of the people there.

You quickly find the team, as outgoing as most of them are, you usually spend most of the night together because it’s the last night of the year, last party and, again, it's your tradition.

You talk, you joke, you laugh but the more you drink the more you keep thinking about your conversation with the girls last night.

Was it really that sad that you’ve never started a new year with a kiss?

Midnight came sooner than you would’ve liked and your teammates decide to ask you a sobering question.

“So, who are you kissing?” Tony asks very casually.

You turn around confused, the team’s eyes all on you. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, nobody told you?” Sam says, looking around him “We’re all kissing someone tonight.”

“I- You- What?” you glance towards Bucky so quickly he almost thought he imagined it.

“Well, Romanoff is kissing Rogers, I’m obviously kissing Pepper and Wanda is kissing Wilson.” Tony said, before specifying while pointing at the last two “As friends, obviously.”

“So, you’re all kissing someone?” You look at everyone except the one person you actually want to look at.

Something inside of you just believes that he would nod too and a beautiful woman that you could never compare to would appear at his side.

“Well,” Steve starts. “not all of us…”

He trails off and, following his gaze, you land on the very pair of blue eyes you were trying to avoid.

Suddenly everyone else scatters and it was just you and Bucky. You don't know what to say, but you feel like you can't look away from him now.

What the hell is happening to you?

You’re talking before you can even stop yourself “You know, we could also kiss. As friends.” you add, realizing what you just said, your eyes wide with your own surprise.

He’s about to say something, but you don’t give him a chance to get a sound out before you’re backtracking so fast you might actually fall out the window.

“You don’t have to. Obviously. It’s not like I’d make you.” you chuckled awkwardly, but you can’t stop yourself from rambling “Unless you wanted to. But why would you want to? It’s not like you’re missing anything. I’m not anything special.”

You can hear the countdown starting, but it sounds distant to your ears as your heart pounds faster. “I mean, I’m sure you’re a good kisser. Why wouldn’t you be? Not that you’re like a lady’s man.”

Bucky glances around him, the team giving him encouraging looks as they near zero and you just keep going “But like you were, you know. Not that it’s a bad thi-”

You're thankfully interrupted abruptly by Bucky’s lips on yours just as everyone yells ‘Happy New Year’ and gold and black confetti starts falling down on you.

You can't even begin to comprehend what's happening but your body does, kissing him back almost immediately.

It feels like forever and also too soon when he pulls away, you can't even hearing the chaos around you anymore.

All that exists is you and Bucky and his eyes and his arms around your waist and yours around his neck and his lips that you wanted to kiss again and kiss forever and never stop.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do that” he says after a few seconds. Or maybe days. Weeks? Hours? It doesn’t matter.

All that matters is the bright smile he gives you when you say “Me too.”

He kisses you again, but this time the spell is broken by the team’s whistles and cheers.

When you pull away you’re both blushing a little, you glance around you and see all the smug faces of the idiots you love to death, Bucky’s attention never leaving you.

“And by the way,” Bucky says, gaining your attention once more. “you have more qualities than you think,” he then pointed at your chest “You have this.”

You looked down to where he was pointing before saying “I do have great tits, yes.”

When you looked back at him he was blushing even harder and looked like he was having a hard time maintaining eye contact, while you were more relaxed now that the kiss took away all the awkwardness, but trying hard not to laugh.

“... I meant heart” he said after a few moments of silence.

“Either or.” you answered, shrugging and when you heard the snickers of the team around you, you couldn’t help but join them, followed by a still blushing Bucky.

Yep, this year is definitely gonna be an interesting one.

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cinnamoodles · 8 months ago

Note

what are ur favorite anthony bridgerton five

hi! i'm assuming this says fics, and i am SO HONOURED that you trust me to recommend my favourite fics to you!

first up… the amazing and fantastic @fayes-fics, one of THE MOST skilled writers alive. she never misses!

some of my personal favs from her are:

➥ a beneficial arrangement [ ⭐️ ]

a marriage pact with a viscount. what could possibly go wrong?

➥ rescue and ruin

anthony rescues something for you… and it will likely lead to your ruin.

➥ the friends+ series

modern AU. series of fics that feature anthony & journalist!reader’s burgeoning relationship.

those are just a few of my favorites, but READ HER ENTIRE MASTERLIST! you will not regret it, promise.

secondly, a series of fics by the wonderfully talented @rubysunnday, and once again, be sure to read all of her masterlist!

➥ take my hand

as much as y/n appreciates anthony’s matchmaking efforts, it’s hard to accept them when he’s the only man she wants. luckily for her, a fall in the lake allows her to voice her feelings in more ways than one

➥ a long, long time

y/n has waited a long, long time for anthony bridgerton to finally decide to get married. but by the time he finally decides to find a wife, y/n has run out of time and anthony is suddenly faced with losing her to someone else.

➥ it’s a bad idea, me and you [ ⭐️ ]

y/n was ready to give her entire heart to anthony bridgerton. only for him to shove her aside in favour for sienna rosso. but, now, sienna is gone and despite what y/n keeps telling herself - anthony truly does own her heart.

now, for the queen of the modern!anthony au, @eleanor-bradstreet! some of my favorites from her are…

➥ gala

you attend a charity gala with your boss who really is too much trouble in a tux.

➥ locked out

when you find yourselves locked out of your house in the middle of the night, anthony has some ideas for how you can kill time.

➥ take me instead [ ⭐️ ]

you and anthony find yourselves in the middle of a bank robbery on an ill-fated day.

next we have @colettebronte, BRIDGERTON SMUT AUNTIE HERSELF WOOO!

(warning, these fics are VERY mature, and include BDSM and other possibly triggering material).

➥ rise and breathe

newly arrived back in london after a long journey across the mediterranean sea, you encounter a pathetically drunk viscount bridgerton the night he is rejected by sienna rosso. after a sobering morning on all counts, you sense that he is indeed lost and in need of a new purpose and direction. through submission and service, he may just find it.

➥ what (who) are you doing on new year’s eve?

a mysterious benefactor invites you to ring in the New Year with them.

➥ kinktober day ten: blindfolded

your tenth evening with your client. day ten for kinktober. I’m going with two prompts tonight, blindfolded and massage.

finally, we have some individual fics that stole my heart.

➥ diamonds and pearls by @multiharlot

diamonds and pearls do not make up for the lack of love in your marriage.

➥ enamoured by @dreamwritesimagines

everything you heard about matters of heart and desire told you the same thing; love could lead to heartbreak at best and disastrous results at worst. yet, you were convinced that everyone was wrong. they had to be, because love was supposed to make everyone happier, no confusion or pain in sight. regardless of how naive it sounded, you were sure that you were ready to fall in love and lose yourself in the infamous bliss. that assumption right there was a terrible mistake, though. you were nowhere near ready.

➥ right person, all the wrong times by @wwinterwitch

you and anthony have been in love with one another from the moment you met, but it seems as though nothing will ever happen between you. after you catch the attention of another gentleman, he realizes perhaps it's time to finally do something about his feelings.

➥ right in front of me by @idontgiveaflyinggrayson69

the only way he could rationally find a suitable wife was by removing love from the equation all together. courtship was game of jumping through hoops he really did not want to play, and he was a viscount. surely there would be a father with a more than suitable daughter he could simply ask for your hand and get it. or the one where your arranged marriage with anthony bridgerton isn’t a loving marriage… until it is.

➥ melt away by @healmydesires

the night you give your love and body to your husband.

➥ sham, pride, and illicit affairs by @peeterparkr

or, the story of how you rejected his proposal because you once loved him.

➥ enchanted by @imthebadguyyy

you and anthony don’t need words to converse.

➥ better man by @midnightfictionlibrary

anthony must rectify his rakish ways and wed, but he has a lot to think over if he doesn’t want to lose his dearest friend forever.

➥ no longer in denial by @iwritefandomimagines

anthony has made no secret of not wanting to marry, despite it being more than clear that he is head over heels in love with you, his “best friend”. benedict decides he is fed up of anthony’s denial, and takes matters into his own hands — by inciting jealousy from his older brother.

➥ the language of flowers by @cinnamoodles (shameless self plug)

you and anthony have been friends for as long as you can remember, but what happens when his world turns upside down? will he open his heart and let the woman silently pining for him in?

AHH ok that was it, and these are the bridgerton fics i love with all of my soul. thank you so much for your ask, it was so nice to see all these wonderful fics again.

xo, lottie !

#🐋 . . . charlotte speaks !#anthony bridgerton x reader #bridgerton #bridgerton netflix #anthony bridgerton x you #bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton fic rec #bridgerton fics

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wesstars · 1 year ago

Text

sorry, baby x (i)

wednesday addams x fem!reader (no pronouns)

summary: you’re friends-with-benefits with wednesday (maybe a bit more on your part,) and you can’t help but push her buttons a little. wc: 5.2k tags: explicit, MINORS DNI. nevermore ‘university,’ all characters are 18+. kinda ooc wednesday, top!reader and bottom!wednesday, light D/s dynamics, praise, boots, strap-on referred to as both ‘cock’ and ‘strap,’ crying, biting, denial, light choking, begging, reader shushing during sex, all that good stuff. a/n: i’m very rusty. please forgive me haha. title from killing eve. this iiissss inspired by/for someone, you know who you are ;) say hi if you find me!

read part two here!!

masterlist

The last class of the day was always the worst.

Even as the afternoon sun streamed in through the windows, casting the quiet classroom in a white gold glow, you could barely focus enough to remember what subject you were in. The instructor droned on about something or other—you were never the best at paying attention, relying on your subconscious and review session to get good grades. How could you listen when the lesson was just so boring, and you could steal the review from a certain Addams later on, anyway? You blinked slowly, trying to yawn discreetly. Calm was the atmosphere, as everyone was nearly falling asleep as the hour stretched on.

A note fluttered through the air to land gracefully in your lap.

Meet me after class.

Wednesday’s neat script, immediately recognized, made you grin, and you looked up. You spotted her, sitting next to Enid. Almost as if she could sense you looking, she spared a precious second from her notetaking to cut you a glare that could fell an army. You only laughed, covering your mouth to hopelessly hide your snicker.

The note had given you a bout of deja vu—it all started with a note, really. By virtue of you being Enid’s friend, you started in Wednesday’s peripheral circle, but you were always unafraid to confront her and eagerly prodded her to bicker with you. Enid would roll her eyes once the two of you would start again, but the way Wednesday’s neutral expression seemed to relax just a bit, made you think she didn’t mind as much.

The first time you gave her a friendly shove during a mock argument nearly had you apologizing, as she’d frozen as soon as your hand touched her shoulder. You didn’t want to actually cross her boundaries, but when she shoved you back, nearly pushing you into a bush, the ice was broken. Your friends now often had to give the two of you the wide berth as the arguments would escalate into shoving and chasing, and one time, almost a full out siege where you were to defend Jericho and Wednesday was to defend Nevermore.

All of the back and forth you two had was nearly as intense as you and Wednesday each were—she liked that about you. At least, that’s what you told yourself. She liked it enough to drop a note in your lap during class, some three months ago, asking you to meet her in an empty class “for warfare.” You had come with a knife hidden in your sleeve, but it ended up clattering to the floor as Wednesday pulled you in by your tie and bluntly asked you if she could kiss you. Before she could change her mind, you had kissed her hard enough for her own hidden knife to fall to the floor next to yours.

Wednesday Addams didn’t have friends. You, certainly, were not her friend, not in the way you touched her and not in the way she let you. Enid called you friends all the time, but she didn’t know about how Wednesday would pull you into a broom closet and push you down to your knees. You were sure that Wednesday would rather die than have a proper conversation about the… hooking up? late night meet ups? booty calls?? that the two of you were having. But you thought of her as your friend, and decidedly not anything more. You gave a lazy smile as you spotted Wednesday looking at you again. You knew why she had slipped you the note—the last time you’d been at her dorm room, rushing to give her an orgasm before Enid returned, you had stolen her favorite pair of Louboutin boots. You figured that the gods had given the two of you the same shoe size for a reason. No harm, no foul, right? Kicking your feet, you scuffed her shoes against the ground, knowing she could see them, knowing she could recognize them.

The sudden shuffling of books and scraping of chairs broke you out of your reverie. Class was dismissed, and you put away your supplies neatly, watching Wednesday leave first. She didn’t even look at you when she brushed past, but you knew she’d be waiting in the hallway outside. Sure enough, as you hitched your bag higher up on your shoulder, slipping your tie off, you spotted a head of raven dark hair amongst your classmates.

Wednesday looked at you evenly, ignoring all of the students filing out of the room. “You have what is mine.”

“Well, hello to you too,” you smiled brightly. Hearing her monotone voice always made your heart beat in technicolor, something chronic that you probably had to go to the infirmary for.

She only stared, eyebrows raising a centimeter. Turning to start towards the dorms, she waited for you to catch up to her before saying, “do not play dumber than you already are.”

You shrugged, wide eyed and used to her empty insults. “What do you mean? I’m innocent.”

“No one would ever accuse you of being innocent,” she shot back. “You are a thief, at best.”

“A thief?” You asked, in mock surprise. “What do you mean?”

She pointed down between the two of you, at the red-soled boots on your feet. “Give them back.”

You cackled, unable to keep up your façade any longer. “No.” You made a heart with your hands, winking at Wednesday through it.

Her hand collided, hard, with your wrist. Her grip was nearly painful, but you just smirked down at her. “I will only ask you once.” Her voice, still flat as usual, had a dangerous edge to it.

“Make me.” You rolled your eyes. You couldn’t help yourself. You were selfish, always forcing Wednesday’s attention to you. Even though you knew you probably annoyed her to no end, you didn’t know how to stop. Of course, if she ever told you to stop—seriously, not by way of her customary glare—you would.

You only just had time to finish your thought before Wednesday nearly tore your arm out of its socket, dragging you across the grounds towards your dorm room. How such a small girl was so fast, you had no idea. Before you knew it, you were in front of your room, with Wednesday reaching into your pants pocket to take out your keys and push you inside.

As soon as the door shut, you could visibly see Wednesday relax, which was saying something. You drew her smaller frame closer, wrapping your arms around her waist. She turned her head to tuck it into your neck, letting out the smallest sigh. Feeling her hand come up to grab the hem of your shirt, you leaned back a little.

“Wednesday.” At your beckon, she unfolded herself from your neck to look up, eyes as dark as wood immediately on your lips.

“This is not forgiveness,” she told you.

You reached for her bag, dropping it and yours to the ground. “Mmm,” you hummed as you tilted your head down to kiss her, slowly, enjoying the burn in your stomach as she kissed you back. “Maybe you’ll forgive me later, after I’m done with you.” She pulled away, giving you an unimpressed look.

“Arrogance does not become you.”

You just laughed, taking off your jacket, leaving you in your shirt, slacks, and last but not least, Wednesday’s very important boots. Leaning into her space, you nosed along her neck, nipping playfully with sharp teeth. You felt her arms drop back to her sides. “We’ll see about that, Weds.”

This time, she pushed into you first, all soft lips and razor teeth on yours. You sunk down, somewhere in the lowest deep as you kissed her, but your bliss was short lived, broken by your hiss of pain as she bit down on your tongue. Her hands were cold on the back of your neck, trapping you close, and you had no complaints. “Boots. Now.”

“If you want them back so bad,” you muttered, ducking your head to leave a dark bruise on her collarbone, “take them yourself.”

Wednesday put both hands on your shoulders, a glint in her eye the only warning you get. She pushed you, hard, so the backs of your knees hit the bed and you landed on your ass.

“Oooh, what’re you gonna do, Weds,” you goaded, even as she grabbed you by your shirt collar.

“I’ll take your ankles off with those shoes,” she snapped lowly, but she let you kiss down her neck again, that pale column of skin too hard for you to resist. You took your time, leaving murky violet constellations, and with each mark that you sucked into her jawline, you heard her breathing grow shakier.

“Alright,” you said amusedly. “Take them off, then.” You bit down on that spot on her neck while pushing her shoulders down, and she gave surprisingly easily, landing with a thud on her knees.

“Do not go too far,” she hissed, trying to push you off, but you kept her there, her narrow shoulders bracketed by your legs. Her gesture was empty; you were confident that she would simply throw you off if she wanted. The many times you’d ended up tossed across the room showed as testament.

“Sure,” you agreed easily. Leaning in, you whispered, “can I take this off?” You thumbed the lapel of her jacket.

She nodded her assent, even though you could tell she was plotting a way to get you back. You went slow, leaning over her as you slid her jacket off, kissing the crown of her head.

“Very good,” you whispered into her hair, loosening her tie. Wednesday attempted to suppress her shiver at your words, but you felt it anyway. It gave you the courage to go to her shirt, sliding the buttons open hesitantly. She straightened her back, showing you her simple but elegant black bra, which was probably from some niche French designer and worth more than the boots you stole.

But the look on her face as you slid your hands slowly into that expensive bra was priceless: her eyes shut, eyebrows furrowing the slightest bit as her lips parted. You squeezed gently, letting out a small moan of your own. She was so soft, and—

“You’re so perfect, Wednesday,” you growled unevenly in her ear, your composure slipping just a fraction. You sealed your lips with hers and thumbed her nipples, licking up against her teeth as soon as she let you. Breaking apart from her for one unbearable second, you stuck your fingers in her mouth, coating them in saliva. The affronted look on her face disappeared quickly as you pinched her nipples again with sticky fingers, the whine she let out going straight through you like whiskey.

She shuffled closer, seemingly content on her knees despite her earlier protest. Her grip was tight on your thighs, bordering on blissfully painful. Wednesday was nearly pulling you off the bed with how hard she was yanking you in to kiss her, teeth clacking with yours. She sat back on her heels and grabbed your ankle.

“What’re you doing?” You rolled her nipple between your fingers. “Finally getting your—”

You cut yourself off with a sharp inhale as she spread her legs, stocking covered knees sliding. She lifted your leg and planted your foot between her thighs, the heavy boot slamming into the ground. You raised an eyebrow, head swimming with the direction she was going.

Wednesday was a pretty picture in front of you, shirt open, chest flushed, skirt bunched up around her hips. Uncharacteristically demure, she leaned her cheek against your knee, palm sliding up your clothed calf.

“What?” She asked, her turn for faux innocence. “You said to do it yourself, did you not?” Wednesday shimmied forward, her chest up on your shin.

You felt her start to press up on the laces, something hot and slow, and your mouth went dry. Her knees spread more as she adjusted, her hand grabbing yours to place it on her cheek. She grabbed your belt loops, the pressure on your boot heavy. Just the mere idea of Wednesday’s pussy grinding against your—her—boots was something you could never imagine, but her shiver as she got settled made you nearly combust.

“You’re so needy, my girl…” the words slurred their way out of your mouth, likely more loving and adoring than you’d intended them to be.

“Looks like you’re the one fucking yourself,” she huffed out, a rare twisted grin gracing her face. Wednesday’s head tipped back again, a pleased little exhale falling from her lips as she pressed harder.

You cupped her jaw, pushing her shirt from her shoulder to bite, something possessive, with no inhibition, in you rising to the surface. “You do that to me, darling.”

You shift your boot closer to her, meeting her grinding circles, making her gasp and cry out your name. You were content to watch her like this, chasing her own high on you like some sinful temptation. With just the sound she was making, and her lip, bitten red, you knew she was getting her slick everywhere. Her breaths came harder with each time she pressed herself into the laces, her gentle rocking becoming more and more erratic. You almost wanted to see if she could cum like this, but as her eyes got hazier and her movements more erratic, you couldn’t help yourself.

“That's enough, Wednesday.” She barely has your clipped tone as a warning before you pull her off your boot, rough as you hoisted her up, but keeping your grip gentle.

“Come here.” Surprisingly, she did as you asked, throwing her clothes off with the air of a girl who knew what she wanted. You watched her, every inch she uncovered sending prickles of heat up your collar. Her panties, thin and damp, landed in your hand, and you knew she saw your jaw clenching when the corner of her mouth quirked up in the smallest of smiles.

You tucked the thin fabric into your pocket and reached for her, her cool skin soothing the burn in your chest. You turned her around to tuck her into you, sitting on your lap. Manhandling her easily, you could feel her muscles, taut from fencing, under your palms. You hooked her knees over yours, and spread your legs. Unable to resist a smirk at her sharp inhale, you kissed up her neck, scraping your teeth against the shell of her ear.

“You look like magic,” you murmured. “So good for me, Wednesday, letting me spread you open like this,” you continued, tilting her head to lean it back on your shoulder.

“Consider yourself lucky,” she rasped out as you mapped your hands along her ribs, sliding them down her tense stomach to grip her thighs, thumbs rubbing circles.

With each circle, you pulled your hands higher, close enough to her pussy that your fingers were sticky from her inner thighs. “Oh, I am.”

You cupped her pussy, already feeling her wetness coating your fingers. Forcing her legs wider, you rubbed up and down, purposefully avoiding her warmest spots as your other hand skimmed up to her chest. But you never were able to keep yourself from Wednesday for very long, testing your own patience as much as hers.

“Fuck,” you whispered, and as you pushed a finger in, her hand shot up to grab the back of your neck with a quiet oh. You crooked your finger, her slick making it easy on you. Letting your palm graze her clit with every motion, you smiled as her hips lifted, searching for more friction.

You take your time, knowing that Wednesday’s pussy was the softest thing you’d ever touched, and it was likely to remain that way. Pushing another finger in, you made sure to grind your palm against her clit every time you curled your fingers. Her soft noises were enough to have you on your knees, and you would’ve, if she didn't sigh out your name, getting your attention. She squeezed your fingers, jaw tight enough to creak.

“What is it, Weds?”

“I…” Wednesday cut herself off with a whine as your fingers twisted, the high sound shooting straight through your stomach. You beckoned with your fingers, hard, and she keened in your ear.

“I need you to fill me up.”

Her words snapped something already delicate inside of you. You took your fingers out, smearing her slick all on her hips as you flip her over. If you had it your way, you would be able to see her face, but you knew this was her favorite position. You saw her swallow in anticipation as you stepped briefly away from the bed, kicking off those catalytic boots and rummaging under your bed for you and Wednesday’s box.

Everything in the box you kept meticulously clean, knowing Wednesday’s routine of cleanliness. It would only be Wednesday Addams, a contradiction in her black heart, that loved to be as messy in your bed as she was clean in hers. You picked a black strap, one that you two used frequently. Pulling it on and adjusting it, you get on your knees behind her. For a moment, you watched her, captivated by the sight in front of you, grasping her hips. She arched her back, getting comfortable, as if you weren’t already trying not to fold and just take her like a ship to water.

You pushed yourself up against Wednesday, hips flush to her ass, letting the silicone glide against her clit. To her credit, Wednesday’s breath only came out the slightest bit shaky, even as you guided her thighs apart with a knee. You hummed as she pushed herself up onto her forearms to rock back, head turned to look at you. Wednesday had to grind down past your strap for her pussy to touch your thigh, and you laughed lowly as she flushed with the action. She froze.

“What’s wrong?” You rubbed a hand over her lower back, ready to pull away if she gave even the slightest signal.

“Do you…” she swallows, eyes flicking from you to some distant spot in the corner of the room. “Do you not want me to do that?”

For a second, you couldn’t believe your ears. There was a rush of indignation on Wednesday’s behalf, that she could ever think you wouldn’t love her desperation. Then, the wave of understanding broke over you—Wednesday wanted your approval, over an action that was decidedly un-Wednesday-like, and the final flick of her nervous gaze towards you told you that this was important.

You grabbed her hips, hard enough to leave shadows that you hoped you’d see tomorrow. Anything physical, Wednesday would undoubtedly best you, but this was something you could hold your own on. You pushed her pussy down onto the strap, onto the rough fabric of your slacks.

“Why would I ever not want you to show me how much you want it, mmm?” Your question was a growl wrought with satisfaction and a winner’s unapologetic glee, and the effort you put into your tone was worth the way the tension vanished from Wednesday’s eyes. She rolled her hips again, her Addams confidence returning, letting you guide her into a smooth rhythm.

“Besides,” you leaned forward, one hand letting go to come down a hair's breadth from Wednesday's nose. You folded yourself over her body, your tight grip still controlling her hips. “I know you can’t cum like this.”

The whine came unbidden from Wednesday’s throat, high and breathy and perfect. Nevertheless, her hips and keening gasps followed your even rhythm, and you saw her grip on the pillow go white-knuckled.

“I’m pleased with you, my dear. I do love to watch you suffer.” At your words, sunk roughly into her ears like cannonballs on kindling, Wednesday moaned, loud, into the space between the two of you. You ignored the burning torch that her sounds dropped into your lower stomach, choosing to murmur: “you can take it, right?”

“I can take it,” Wednesday whispered back, almost mindlessly. “I can take you,” she continued. “I want it.”

You settle back on your heels, satisfied. The sudden quickening of your heartbeat was only to do with your physical exertion, and nothing with how you felt for the girl under you. I can take you, not I can take it, I want it, not I want you.

You pull your thigh from under her roughly, making her yelp. Reaching around her narrow hips, you trailed your fingers down from her belly button to her clit, rubbing small circles. “Ready?”

Wednesday nodded, another whimper escaping at your touch.

“I need you to tell me yes, Weds.”

“Yes,” she breathed.

You push in, slowly, giving her body plenty of time to adjust. She was still prepped from your fingers earlier, but you didn’t miss the chance to gather her wetness and smear it against her clit. Wednesday was taking deep breaths beneath you, just like how you taught her the first time you two had used a strap. The rush of endearment you felt for her at that memory was distracting, you decided, and you pushed it away.

You slowed yourself down as your hips were once again up against her ass, hands moving to squeeze her shoulders. You saw her eyes shut tightly, the corners growing shiny. Wednesday always needed a moment once you put the strap in, something you were happy to give her.

She was still inhaling deeply, thighs trembling. “It…”

“It what?”

Wednesday opened her eyes; they were brimming with tears, dark lashes sticky. “It hurts…”

Your body tensed, already about to pull away, but with a surprisingly strong twist, she forced herself back onto you. A whimper rose high from her throat, and you had to take a breath to keep yourself from flipping her around to kiss her right then.

“Hurts good,” she whispered. You close your eyes, near involuntarily. Fuck, this perfect, perfect, girl would ruin you, just as much as you wanted to ruin her. You lean forward, pressing your chest into her back, forearm across her shoulder blades to ground her.

“How does it hurt, love?”

“It’s—I’m full,” Wednesday gasped out, glossy eyes sliding shut as you shifted on your knees, cock shifting inside.

“It fills you up, huh?” You breathed into Wednesday’s ear.

She nodded.

“I asked you a question.”

“Yes,” she said, almost immediately. Experimentally, she swiveled her own hips around, and it made her hiss and bite her lip. “You fill me up.”

You exhaled through your nose, resisting the urge to just grab Wednesday and slam your cock impossibly deeper. “And?”

“And it’s good,” Wednesday whined out. “Hurts good.”

The knot in your chest loosened, the tension in your body broken like a wave. Surely, it wasn’t healthy to hang onto Wednesday’s every word the way that you did. You pulled out almost all the way, and snapped your hips forward, hard, burying yourself into her.

“Good girl.”

Wednesday let out a breath that bordered on a moan, and you smirked to yourself. Maybe she was right, and the arrogance was getting to your head, but you couldn’t help it. You set on a steady pace, gently brushing one of her braids aside to grasp the back of her neck. You felt yourself slipping into it, drunk on the way she let you touch her, your world tunneling down to just Wednesday—everything was Wednesday.

Every time you pushed in, it was punctuated by her gasps, and you could feel her breathing start to grow uneven. It stirred up something innately protective in you, for Wednesday. Her shoulders were shaking, tension pulling her taut.

“Wednesday, baby,” a pet name she would only tolerate in her hazy, lust filled state, “I need you to breathe for me, alright?” You slowed down, following your intuition on what she needed.

Still flush to her back, you listened to her stuttering inhales, deeper but not enough for her to catch her breath. “Shhh,” you cooed low into her ear, covering her eyes, and taking her hand, still tight on the pillow. “Breathe, my love.” Inexplicably, Wednesday let go of the pillowcase and intertwined your fingers, squeezing your hand and your heart tightly. She listened to you, for once, slowing down and softening her breaths. You could feel her tears on your palm, and you shushed her again, pressing kisses on her temple where her hair stuck to her forehead.

“Alright?” You slid your hand away, watching her eyes carefully.

She nodded. Skimming your fingers along her cheekbone, you let the warmth in your heart for the smaller girl seep into your words.

“Just say the word, Wednesday, and we’re done.”

“No,” she murmured back. “If you stop now, I’ll throw you out the balcony.” Though she was out of breath, a sticky, flushed mess under you, you had no doubt she’d follow through on her threat. You smiled.

You pick up your rhythm again, this time covering her smaller body with yours again to suck hickies into the back of her neck. Your other hand brushed down between her thighs to rub her clit in circles—she was so wet that it was hard to keep up with your thrusts, but it was worth the choked cry that escaped from her throat as you hit that spot, her fingers tightening around yours.

Wednesday arched her back into you, burgundy lips bitten blood red right before your eyes. “Keep going,” she told you. You had no intention of stopping, watching a flush bloom on her neck as you kept up your ruthless pace.

But despite that, you wanted to take your time with her. Every time she would tense up, you would slow down, making it impossible for her to reach that peak you knew she wanted. You forced yourself to slow down on both her pussy and her clit, just as she was starting to shake, and in spite of herself, she cried out in frustration, a tear slipping free.

“Sorry, baby.” Your tone edged on cruel, desperately needing to see how much she could handle. “I know you can handle it, just for me, okay?” Strap still fully inside, you bent to kiss the juncture of her neck, lips and teeth leaving a bruise. Her skin was hot to your touch, even though your shirt. You bit down again, matching all of your other marks that graced her skin.

Wednesday whined again, inhibition cracking faster by the second. “Don’t stop…”

“Don’t stop what?” You asked, voice turned mocking. “Use your words.” You reached up to clasp the back of her neck, rubbing the tension out. “And be good.”

Her breath quickened, and she squeezed her eyes shut as another tear rolled through her mascara. “Don’t stop…”

“C’mon,” you cajoled, hand coming around her neck to squeeze her throat. “C’mon, my love.”

“Please… don’t stop fucking me.” The words tumbled out in a rush, and she mewled as you nuzzled your lips against her shoulder, your fingers starting up on her clit again.

A shiver shot up your spine, making you curl protectively around Wednesday, the hot burn of possessiveness, to mark her again, near unbearable.. “Anything you want, darling.” You slammed back into her, hard enough to push the both of you up the bed. One of her hands grasped at your forearm, pulling your grip from her neck. She wrapped your arm across her shoulders. Your breathing came hard, but you didn’t stop, each whine in your ear making your head spin. You had no idea how much time was passing, or if it was even night or day; your entire world was hazy and fuzzed with raven black.

“I’m—” Wednesday cut herself off, biting down on your arm for a moment, leaving a smear of lipstick.

You let out a noise that was more of a growl than anything. “Let me hear you, baby.”

She gasped when you pressed a hand to her lower stomach, briefly feeling the bulge there from your cock, before going back to her clit. You didn’t pause, each thrust pushing Wednesday closer to the edge. “Use your teeth,” she choked out, her cheeks flushing. “Now, please.”

You complied, eager. Scraping your canines down her ear, you stopped at a tender spot behind her pulse point, the skin already marred with purple and red. A sailor’s delight, you thought, a bit hysterically. You sank your teeth in, not holding back, knowing she wanted it. The effect was near immediate; her eyes slid shut, and her body tensed against yours, an unrestrained sob tumbling out from her lips. She reached for you, nails digging into your arm. Your hands shook, all of her tightening the coil in your stomach. Wednesday’s orgasm crashed down, and it shattered something in you, deep and addictive.

Far down in you, below what you were willing to admit, Wednesday’s unknowing grip on your heart tightened even more. You felt like you’d just jumped off your own edge, inevitable as the eternal separation of sun and moon.

“I came,” Wednesday’s voice was a ragged whisper, a ghost of her earlier whimpers ringing in your ears.

“You did, my love,” you shushed, gently sliding your cock out, catching Wednesday as she seemed to melt into the bedsheets with no support. You guided her into her back, relishing in the way she trustingly let you. Tucking the strap away to clean later, you massaged her thighs, thinking they’d be sore later. She seemed to be in a daze, dark eyes fogged with the afterglow. Her cheeks were streaked with mascara from her tears, and the rims of her eyes were a fuschia pink. You’d never seen anything more beautiful.

If you didn’t know any better, you would’ve said that her gaze behind her slow blinks as she watched you was just as possessive as you were. You did know better, you swore, but it didn’t stop you from nuzzling your face into her stomach, intoxicated on the smell of her arousal, delaying the clean-up for just a moment longer.

“Have you forgiven me yet?” You teased, unsure if she could even hear you. You smoothed her fringe off her forehead, already moving to sit up and get her a bottle of water. But before you could move, Wednesday’s hand grabbed your wrist with lighting speed, a shadow of the earlier afternoon.

She cracked an eye open, and though her eyes were shot red, there was a challenging shine, blade in moonlight, there. “Who says you’re done?”

reader: i fuck her good but i don’t think she likes me back :(

wednesday: if you don’t hold me right now i Will murder

please do not repost, reproduce, copy, or take from my work in any way without express permission. thank you!

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