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musingsofheaven · 6 days ago

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TEN SECONDS TO RUN

summary: The trend said run from your cop boyfriend. You sent him a video as a joke, but you didn’t think he’d make you run. So you run with a ten-second head start.

pairings: cop!rafe cameron x afab!reader

warnings: 13.9k words. mature themes. consensual non-consent (cnc). dubious consent. primal play. unprotected p-in-v. uniform kink. breathplay (light choking). spanking. clit stimulation. nipple play. mock resistance. degradation / praise kink. overstimulation. cockwarming. outdoor sex. light exhibitionism. impact play. power imbalance. d/s dynamics. read & consume responsibly.

note: hi!!! this has been sitting in my drafts for weeks now :// it took me forever to finish. it’s based on that trend from tiktok. please read the warnings carefully and only continue if you’re in the right headspace bcs your comfort comes first always :) ♡

If five years ago someone told you that you would live with your boyfriend of four years, you would laugh at them because you love having your own place and don’t like the idea of living together unless you are married already. And here you are, living with him. It’s been three years since you started living in this town, and it has been longer than you planned. It’s already long enough for you to get comfortable in the place. The air and environment are fresh and smell like grass and woodsmoke. You and Rafe have a house close to the forest. It’s nothing fancy, but it has a cute porch and a backyard that faces the woods. Close enough to hear the birds at dawn or when you wake up. The house is far enough from the other houses so no one really sees what’s happening in or outside of the house.

It’s domestic, soft, and steady in a way you’re still not used to, especially since you came from a city, which is loud and where time moves fast compared to being here. Rafe told you before that he used to live on some island or near the water; he doesn’t really talk about his past. Not that you press much about it since you respect his boundaries. He managed to pick up work with the sheriff’s department in a sleepy county where no one really runs and no one really fights, so it’s like they’re just protecting the peace and quiet here.

He has the badge and the uniform and gets free coffee at the diner. Everyone says he’s cleaned the town up, which is something to be proud of considering he’s kind of new to the town. It’s not like he found enemies already, but some men from the sheriff’s department envy him, and women from this town love him. But you know what he really is. He is restless, wired for something, a man who needs a target, and someone who wants to protect others. Especially you, since you are his top priority, and you’ve always been good at making yourself the center of his attention.

Before you know it, he has already left for his morning shift before 8 AM. He’s quiet about it and didn’t wake you up, just gave you soft kisses on your temple and boots low on the hardwood. You’re stirring awake when he closes the door shut and the sun touches your sheets. It doesn’t take you long enough before you walk barefoot towards the kitchen in a tank top and shorts, too lazy to get out of your night clothes. It feels too sleepy when you boil hot water and you scroll while waiting. Watch some clips that keep showing the same trend the whole time she’s waiting for water.

FYP plays it like a loop. You see girls running in spandex. They’re breathless, laughing, and glancing back as they run. Some of them don’t even show they got caught, but there’s the implication of it. Even now you pour the boiled water on your coffee, and you still see the same five videos again. Just click the heart button and scroll away, but you didn’t just heart it. You know you shouldn’t, but you are stubborn, and the trend reminds you of Rafe. So you tap share, scroll, tap his name in your contacts, and send it.

It doesn’t have any additional text or emoji, just the video. Then you put your phone face down like it’ll make you innocent again. Just try to ignore your phone for hours because you feel like you just sent something embarrassing and you’ll regret it. So you let it sit there while hours stretch. You cleaned, you read, and you did everything that needed to be done in the house. But it didn’t really last; curiosity is eating you, and your itching hands check your phone once only to see the seen under your message, nothing else, and your stomach tightens.

You shower, do your skincare routine, and do all the beauty things that you always do to stay pretty for him. You distracted yourself because there’s no knock, no call, and no message. Just wearing your favorite faded shirt- no bra underneath- and black cotton short shorts that cling around your thighs and ass and ride up. You tell yourself that you wear them because they’re comfortable, not because Rafe finds them sexy, even though they’re not the lingerie-level sexy. Maybe it’s because of all the clothes you wear; he still finds you sexy and beautiful.

After some time, you set the table and cook food for dinner, and it’s almost dark when you hear tires and sounds from the car outside. The door clicked open, boots across the kitchen. You don’t turn, but you know it’s him. “Smells good,” he says, voice rough and deep. Still in his uniform, and the scrape of Velcro rings in your ear as he pulls off his vest from his body. Walking towards you, his hand slides around your waist to hold you close, and his mouth is on your neck. “Missed you,” he whispers as he grazes his lips on your skin and gives it small kisses. “Missed you too,” you say back to him before you pull out of his hold and sit on the chair across from his seat. This night feels off, but not at the same time. It’s normal. Too normal. He doesn’t even mention the video and doesn’t tease you like he usually does. He just eats quietly while you try to read to him.

The whole dinner, he never mentioned it. He just talked about his day and how annoying the other officer at work is. How lunch tastes like shit since you’re not the one who made it. Even when you cleaned the table and dishes, nothing. Then, ten minutes later, when you’ve convinced yourself he forgot, he leans against the counter with arms crossed. His eyes flicked down your legs. Then up. “What was that video about?” he asks. Tone low, flat, not angry, and not playful. It’s just quiet in a way that you will feel something is off. Your body straightens before you realize, and fingers tighten around the plate. You blink, trying to play dumb. That will work. Yeah, it will. “What video?” His head tilts. Oh, so you will go that route. You’re not getting out of this. He saw it at 9:41 a.m., boots on the dash, sun on his thighs, and the notification ping: Baby ❤️ sent a video. He opened it without thinking; anything from you will always get his attention.

As it played, something in him stirred because of the caption in the video saying, “Just conditioning to outrun my cop boyfriend.” The woman is giggling, carelessly running ahead without glancing back. His mouth dried as he watched it, fingers locking on the wheel. You weren’t a TikTok girl. He knows you don’t do videos that are on the trend. And he knows you didn’t send shit like this unless it meant something. He stared at it for a full minute. Then tapped the sound and scrolled just to see more girls running and getting caught. The comments nearly made him lose it. People commenting things like “My bf tackled me into the grass” or “He chased me barefoot in the woods.” He should be guilty, but his cock twitched behind the belt, and he has no shame. Jerking himself raw in the cruiser while picturing your breath catching, thighs flashing as you disappear into the tree line. He’d actually thought about it before while his teeth were on your shoulder: ‘You ever think about running from me, baby?’ But he bit it back and didn’t say it out loud because he didn’t know if you were ready. Now, after that video, it’s like an opening for him.

He steps forward in your direction. “That video,” he says again. Slower and heavier. “That cop boyfriend one. Where the girlfriend runs.” His tone is serious, and it makes your stomach pull tight knots. You say nothing, feel your mouth getting dry, your skin too warm and flushing, and your thighs pressing together. He doesn’t touch you, doesn’t raise his voice, but his presence presses in the whole house. It eats you in and almost suffocates you. “You sent it to me.” Your fingers twitch before you put the last plate inside the rack, and your knuckles tighten. “Oh, that?” you say, voice too airy. “I dunno. It’s just a trend.” Your laugh is shallow, hoping it sounds like nothing, but his silence answers first. You glance at him, and his jaw is tight.

You try again, hoping he will buy it. Your voice is much softer and sweeter. “I thought it was cute,” you offer. “Made me think of you.” Like that’s the reason, like it’s the only reason. Brow lifting at your words, a twitch that says he knows you’re lying but will not call it out directly. “Cute,” he repeats, like he’s baiting you. Throat bobbing, and eyes want to look away from him, but didn’t. “I wasn’t- I didn’t mean anything by it.” His hum isn’t agreement, just a low sound, like a dog deciding not to bite yet. “Have you been seeing it a lot?” You nod too fast. “Yeah, it kept popping up,” praying to anyone above you to make your boyfriend believe your words, but that seems impossible at the moment. “Hm.” His eyes dip to your oversized shirt riding high, bare thigh under the table.

“And what do they do? Just run?” Your breath wavers. You nod more slowly. “They run, the boyfriend chases, sometimes tackles. It’s dumb,” because it is, and you don’t even know why the trend exists! But… It’s hot at the same time, even if it’s dumb. “It looked serious to me.” The voice is sharper, but not louder, just cutting. “Comments were fucked up.” Your heart kicks. You hadn’t thought he’d read those. “Dragged me back by the ankle,” he quoted and also used both of his hands to show what he read, eyes on yours. “Didn’t even wait to get home.” You let out a brittle laugh. “TikTok people are dramatic.” Take the bait, goddamn it. Why can’t he just believe you? You are not some sort of criminal, hello? There’s no smile on his mouth when you tell him that; you can’t read what mood he is in or what he’s thinking. It’s just the sick silence wrapping around the both of you.

Thumb hooking on his belt, not to remove it but just out of habit, and the shift in the air is so evident. “Did you want to try it?” The breath stutters in your chest. Why would he even ask that? It’s not like you want to be chased like that. You know he will easily catch you, unless you are high on adrenaline. “What?” you manage to say. “I said,” he repeats before asking you again, “did you want to try it?” Your mouth opens again. “I didn’t mean it like that,” quiet words let out from your mouth before you bite your bottom lip between your teeth and take a deep breath. “No?” Your cheeks are warm while you shake your head, embarrassed like you’ve been clocked out. Thighs tensing, pupils wide, and he can see it. His eyes focused on you like he’s watching you like a fucking hawk. Eyes notice the way you move even just a little, how you press your thighs shut, your chest rising more and catching, your lips parting like you want him to kiss you, and how your pretty fingers twitch like something is scaring you. He's known you for four years now; he already knows how to read you like he knows you more than you know yourself. He knows what makes your nerves anxious and shake from excitement. Or when you are just being you, he knows it even when you don’t say things out loud.

Working as a cop is nothing if he can't observe people in a way he needs to; it means he’s not good enough if he can’t be able to read you. Luckily for him, it’s just you. He leans close to you before speaking, voice warm and comforting, “Hey.” His hand brushes from your hips down to the side of your thigh and squeezes it. “You can trust me, yeah?” The words wrap around you, thick with promises you should fear. But it’s only a disguise for something else, you know it. You look up, glassy-eyed, lips parting like you might say yes, maybe, or I don’t know, but nothing comes. God, he’s using his pretty smile against you, again. The smile that always fools other people in this town without knowing what he hid behind those teeth. “I know it looked intense,” he says like he’s trying to reassure you but it comes more like he’s just convincing you. You feel his warm palm that he managed to sneak on the side of your thigh, his touch is not like he’s trying to do something because it looks like he’s just holding you. “I know the way he grabbed her is harsh, but that’s not what I’m asking for.” His thumb rubs slowly. “We wouldn’t do something like that.”

“I wouldn’t hurt you,” he assured you, his voice sounding so sweet and quieter now. “You say stop, I stop. You get too far ahead, and I let you win.” Letting you win tastes like bait. He knows how to catch people, and he’s using it to help you. It’s like cat and mouse; besides, you are the mouse who’s going to get caught. “I promise.” You look down, feeling his fingers tightening on your knees. “I just thought it could be fun,” he says, smoothing it over, “get outside, get some air. “You don’t even have to go far.” That made your eyebrow raise, and you blinked like you knew he was hiding something behind those words. He notices, eyes flickering before he leans in and levels himself down to your height before tucking hair behind your ear. His thumb drags at the edge of your mouth. “I was thinking,” he murmurs softly, “you could run down to that old fence at the tree line.”

“You hit the fence, you win. Game over.” His eyes gleam. “I’ll even wait. Give you a ten-second head start.” Your lashes lower, a small nod following, not a real yes, but enough because you want to believe it’s a game. But it sounds fair at the same time. His offers sound sweet; they’re promising even. He kisses your forehead with the same gentleness and softness he always shows to you. You are his girl after all, you need the best treatment, especially from him. “You trust me, don’t you?” Eyes looking up at him, lashes batting while you’re thinking if you don’t want to try it or you are too shy to admit that you want to do the trend with him. You nod, and that’s all he needs. He rises, fingers brushing his belt, pausing at the door to look back once- soft eyes, familiar mouth- before leaning down, voice nearly kind. “Go ahead, baby,” he whispers. “Tie your shoes.”

When he steps out, back door swinging shut, boots heavy on the porch, you don’t see the way his mouth twists. You feel the coldness of the knob under your fingers when you go upstairs just to change clothes or maybe just to put shoes on. It didn’t take you too long before you got out of the house, and he’s already there waiting for you. The breeze catches his uniform, sleeves rolled, badge glinting- and tugs it against his frame. He hasn’t changed, says he likes the weight of the day on him, and says it reminds him of who he comes home to. His eyes find you instantly. You haven’t changed either, just tied your shoes, and he notices, gaze dragging from your socks to your legs, to your shorts clinging to your hips, to your favorite shirt hanging loose. Your perfume hits him, faint, floral, and curling off your skin.

His head tilts. “…Perfume?” You glance away. “I don’t know, I just… felt like it,” the voice sounded so shy and flushed. Your words actually made him smile- the one that can make your stomach turn upside down. “You wore it for me?” he asks, stepping closer, voice warm, too tender to question. “Even just for a game?” You shrug, helpless. “You were already dressed up.” Heatness found your cheeks as he looked at you with adoration as if he was complimenting you through his eyes. “Hmm.” His smile grows. “Guess I have to make it worth it then.” You shift, nervous but not enough to pull away. He gestures toward the trees, the fence leaning in the dusk. “You see that post? That’s the finish line. No tricks. That’s the end of it. You reach it, it’s over.” He brushes his knuckles to your cheek before making you look up at him, and you do glance up at him with hesitation in your eyes. “Hey,” he says softly. “You can trust me.” You want to. You always do.

“I’m not gonna scare you,” he murmurs. “Just a run. Just you and me.” He presses a kiss to your forehead. It’s soft, and grounding. “I’ll give you ten seconds’ head start, alright?” That’s good, right? Means you will be far from him when you run. “Okay,” you whisper. He backs away, giving you space, like this is still yours. He lifts a finger, smirking. “Ten…” You turn. And run. You don’t use your full speed, not that you try it and you are not much of a running person. Your pace is enough to move away quickly from the house and away from Rafe. The wind touching your skin makes you shiver, but it also feels good because of the good weather. The fence runs closer to your sight as you continue to move your feet, and you can remember how many times you passed by it but you never ran toward it like this.

Your heart pounds. You feel your limbs running like you are in a marathon, him behind you but he’s not running yet. Your feet just continue ahead, not looking back at him. The voices in your head tell you to focus and just run because you are going to win. But in all honesty, you don’t think you do. And behind you, Rafe continues counting with his being loud and you can still hear him. It was so cheerful even. “That’s it, baby! You look good out here!” That actually made you laugh breathlessly. You feel high, nervous, and maybe you’re already twenty yards out as your hair is whipping your face, and your muscles are burning. You’re not sure if it’s effort or anticipation. “Look at you go,” he calls out, It’s like he’s admiring you. “Didn’t think you’d be this fast!” His words make your stomach turn upside down and you giggle. Smile creeping to your face and maybe for one stupid and sweet second, you believe what he’s saying. You pass the garden, lavender brushing your calves, the ground dipping, grass uneven, the fence like a promise.

“Keep going, baby!” Rafe calls, warm on the breeze. “You’re doing so good!” he adds, low, like a hand on your back. You run harder, earth shifting under your feet, packed dirt turning soft, grass thickening, roots tugging at your rhythm. Feet don’t slow. Can’t. You told yourself it was fun, but something’s curling in your gut now, tight, low. “You’re so fast,” he calls, louder. “I’m proud of you, baby.” It sounds like praise. It’s not. You glance back once- just once- and the stretch behind you is empty, but that doesn’t comfort you. Because you know Rafe, how quiet he can be, how patient, and how kind he sounds when he’s about to do something.

The fence is there, old wood that looks fucked up. “Five!” he calls. Your chest tightens; you almost trip. “Four!” he shouts, voice sounds playful. Something in you knows he’s already moving even though you can’t hear the footsteps. “Three!” He continues counting. “You’re almost there!” Your lungs burn. “Two!” A sound breaks out of you, looks like a halfway between a gasp and a sob. You keep working harder, and your arms are pumping. “One!” Silence. Your legs falter, already weakening. The fence is closer but not close enough, and then, from behind, too near now- “There she is,” Rafe stated, voice thick with a grin. “My fast fucking girl.” It sounds proud and tender, like he’s cheering. But something deep in you pulses, that part that doesn’t believe him. Maybe because he sounds like a liar right now.

“You look so pretty when you run,” he calls, expression amused, and feeling aroused. “All flushed and breathless.” Just keep going. Just run. Don't look back. Don’t speak. Continue. There’s a thick air in your throat while trees blur from your eyesight. The path was turning faint. The branches brush your arms when you get too close to them. You keep going, past the garden, past the clearing, past the point you promised you’d stop. Rafe’s voice followed from behind, “God, I love watching you like this,” You don’t know what that was supposed to mean. Watching you run is fun? Watching you squirm and get sweaty and breathless? “You’re making me work for it, huh?” Oh yes, you do. Maybe it’s the adrenaline making you keep running. Maybe it’s your instinct. Maybe it’s fun. Legs are starting to feel tighter as you reach the fence after three more steps. But you didn’t stop. Legs keep moving even though you almost fall because of that stupid rock you didn’t notice, but you are not a quitter so you continue.

You also take that chance to slow down… to bend forward with your hands on your knees to get air that you know is not enough. Chest feels tighter, your legs are starting to shake when you try to catch your breath, and you feel the world is spinning around you. You reached the finish line. Or is that really the finish line? Because it doesn’t feel over. Your lungs burn, your calves ache, your throat is dry, the woods are blurring, feet are slamming harder. Something in you says: Run. So you do. You passed the garden, the tree line, the fence, but you run because your chest knows what your brain won’t say: He’s still coming. He never said what he’d do when he caught you. “Baby,” his voice calls, honey-slick, teasing, echoing off branches.

“You passed it. You got past the fence.” Voice echoing behind you and you can’t figure out what’s his tone he’s using, if he’s sincere or fucking around so you don’t stop. Your body doesn’t believe that voice. Not when your legs are still flying forward, or lungs clawing for air, or heart slamming your ribs like it’s trying to escape. The woods thickened, the last light almost gone. You are deep inside of it now, you just know it. Can’t even the road or the house or the surroundings beside the woods, the fence is gone from your eyesight if you turned around. Each step is just dragging and pulling them at this point, but it doesn’t matter because you are stubborn as fuck. Still proud to stop even when you feel him, maybe it’s your competitive streak that you have in your system. The shirt starts to get damp, and it feels cold and burning in your chest at the same time. Steps get uneven and you walk and run like a person who just got out of a hook up and is doing the hookup shame. Clue: limping. You run like you just get fucked, but God you didn’t… You still run. There's a messed up part of you that wants to keep running not because you want to win, but because you want to get chased by Rafe.

Behind you, Rafe slows, silent, watching you weave through tree trunks like a trembling deer. It’s beautiful to him. You don’t notice how far you’ve gone, how far he’s let you go. That’s the game. He doesn’t want to catch you yet. He wants to watch you run yourself ragged. Want your knees weak before he touches you, want you panting and brainless so when he closes in your body won’t know if it’s fear or relief that makes you fall. The ground dips, your ankle twisting on a root, and you curse under your breath, slower now. Shadows thicken, your body wanting to stop, lungs aching, your mind whispering: just one second. Then- “Still going?” His voice, smooth, amused, curls around a tree ahead.

You flinch, stumble. He’s in front of you now. You don’t know when that happened. But there’s a safe distance and he’s not catching you in his arms. “And you said to me before you are not a runner baby,” he said. You feel his presence looming over you. “This is surprising, actually. Didn’t think you’d make it this far.” You bite your lips, eyes looking up at him with your face sweaty and your hairs close to your forehead is soaked. “But you’re slowing down,” he adds. “Tired already?” You swallow, don’t answer, cold licking up your legs, wanting to move but frozen, and quivering. “You can stop anytime, baby,” Rafe says gently. “All you gotta do is fall.” You want to believe that means safety, that if you stumbled, he’d carry you back home.

But your body doesn’t believe him. Not your lungs, not your legs, and not that deep animal part that remembers how he looked earlier. That part screams: Run. So you do. Get past him and you feel the grass touching your shins. The branch almost makes you stumble and it strikes your thigh, but you don’t feel any pain. At this point you don’t give a fuck anymore. It’s all about adrenaline in your system that is giving you an energy like a redbull drink. Don’t forget how the woods feel unfriendly, it’s thick and dark: you don’t know where you're going to run. You don’t care. All you know is he’s behind you, somewhere, patient, letting you burn yourself out.

Breath starting to hiccup while tears are pooling under your eyes. Pace is unstable like you are some criminal running away from crimes you didn’t commit. Throat tasting like metal and burning. Arms feel heavy as if you carried the world on your shoulders. Behind you, his voice comes- closer than it should. “There she goes,” he teases. “I knew you’d run if I asked nicely.” You don’t dare look back. He sounds far, but Rafe’s a liar, patient, the kind of man who would walk through fire just to feel you melt. “You’re so fucking pretty when you panic,” he calls. It’s not even winding, it’s more like he’s like he’s strolling and has all night. “Keep going, sweetheart. You’re doing so good for me.” You trip over a root, barely recover, and still- you run. Because you know once he’s done watching, he’ll start running too.

And when that happens? You won’t make it far. You know it. It’s only a matter of time before he catches you. Then you hear a branch snap behind you loudly. It’s not just some step that feels powerful but it’s fast and thicker. It’s like the woods feel him and you know you can’t look back because it will slow you down. Mostly because you know you’ll see him. “Alright,” Rafe calls, voice loose and at ease. “You wanna keep going?” He exhales. Sounding sharp, and excited. “Then I’ll run too.” And then- you hear it. The steps. His boots. It’s heavy. It’s fast and trained. You know you’ll lose it because it’s different now. Should’ve just stopped when you reached the fence, what a regret, right? “Oh, baby,” he calls, closer now. “You should’ve fallen when I gave you the chance.”

It’s like your body is screaming already to stop but instead you try to run harder with uneven steps, legs burning, chest aching. Don’t give a shit about drenched in sweat and how your shirt is clinging as your every breath cracks on your ribs. He laughs- like it’s his favorite part. Maybe it is. “Told you to trust me,” he pants, “but you wanted to run.” Another branch snaps, closer, and you sob once, soft, confused, something between panic and something wetter. “You look so fucking scared,” Rafe growls. “You know that?” You trip again, just a little, and enough. He doesn’t pounce. Not yet. He’s close now, your panic bleeding into the dirt. Then he says it with want: “Don’t fall yet, baby.” A pause. “Let me decide when.”

So you didn’t fall because if he catches you, you’re not walking back. You don’t even know how long you’ve been running. It could be thirty minutes or an hour. Maybe less but it feels like it. The woods are getting darker and more dirt is showing, you don’t even notice the branches that make you stumble, but thankfully you don't fall on each branch you fail to notice. And don’t talk about your heart because it’s beating so fast it might punch your ribs to get out or you might be in cardiac arrest. Let’s not forget that the sound of his boots as he goes towards you is on the top list of your most hated things in the world. He talks again just to remind you he’s still here, “You getting tired, baby?” You gasp, throat raw, unable to answer, but your body does- legs buckling, stride faltering, trying to push but too late. You don’t fall because he takes you down. Heat and weight slam into your back, leaves crunching, and your breath is stolen in a ragged cry.

“Fuck,” Rafe snarls into your neck, voice wrecked. “You made me run, sweetheart.” Your cheek grinds into dirt, his hand fisting your shirt, yanking you back. His body shakes- not from effort, but restraint. You feel it in his chest caging your spine, also the hard press of his cock grinding slowly against your ass like it’s claiming. One hand fists in your hair, yanking your head back without asking. His other hand splayed across your belly underneath you. His palm dirty, breath hot in your ear, his forearm brushing under your tits. “You looked so pretty when you ran,” he whispers, all praise, all heat. “So fucking pretty when you get scared.”

The filthiness of his words makes you squirm and it’s shameful to feel it. He tightens. “Ah, ah,” he scolds, before he sits down and drags you with him to sit on his lap like something disobedient. “Where are you gonna go now, baby?” You can’t answer. Your breath’s gone, body loose, raw from running, fear, want. His chest is like a wall at your back, thighs spreading yours, your thin shirt is damp with sweat, and there’s nothing underneath. You don’t fight it. “You wanted this,” he growls, hand clamping your jaw, the other sliding under your shirt, feeling your heat in his palm. His fingers splay wide over your stomach, claiming, then lower, dipping between your legs, finding you wet, open, waiting.

“No panties?” he murmurs, voice like gravel. “No fucking bra either?” You flinch, thighs trying to close, but it’s too late. He knows. “Christ, you really wanted it,” he says, “was gonna be sweet, let you catch your breath, maybe kiss you.” His hand tightens under your chin, the other dragging through your slit like a promise. “But now?” He laughs. It’s low, and mean. “You’re dripping all over my jeans, and you’re still pretending this wasn’t planned?” No it wasn’t planned but you also know it will be just running from the house to the fence and quickly going back probably laughing because he catches you too quickly, but that’s not the narrative right now, isn’t it? “I didn’t mean- Rafe-” He yanks your head back, mouth at your ear. “You shouldn’t’ve sent me that fucking link.”

That link should have stayed there on TikTok, that will save you both a lot of trouble. It will make you just take him softly and pretty in the bed you share, especially at this hour instead of doing this. Your legs twitch, his thigh flexes under you. His hands grinding your hips down so your clothed cunt will rub against denim. The friction is brutal, perfect, and everything you weren’t ready to admit you needed. “You wanna be chased?” he growls. “Wanna be dragged down, split open in the woods like prey?” He ruts slowly, the bulge in his pants obscene, one hand yanking your neckline until your breasts spill free, his palm rough, rolling your nipple. “Fucking tight,” he mutters against your neck. “Still hot from running. This pussy’s starving.” Your voice breaks: “Please-” Lower lip caged between your teeth, thinking about what are you even asking about- the thing is, you don’t know if you want him to fuck you hard or go back inside the house. But the first choice is winning and making you excited by the idea of being here with him and trying this after a long time just being vanilla in bed. “Please what, baby?” he sneers. “Didn’t want me to catch you? Or didn’t want me to stop?”

You whimper. “You ran like you wanted to be taken.” His hand returns between your legs, pushing inside your shorts, two fingers plunging deep, making you jolt, his groan at your heat. “You did this,” he pants. “Sent that video. Wore this little shirt. No panties.” That video is cute, you don’t know it will work him up like this, but maybe he just likes the idea of chasing you in the woods like his prey. “I- I didn’t-” Okay, you might hope something will happen, maybe you got bold that’s why you wore nothing underneath- maybe it’s the sense of something to have him control you like this. You trust him to have you like this. Maybe you are just hiding this side of you underneath many layers of softness. Ever since you started dating him, you know that he’s the kinda of man you like to have control, and have that urge to take. “Don’t lie to me.” You cry out when he curls his fingers, the other hand fisting your shirt to your collarbones.

“You wanted me to fuck you like I caught you. Like I own you.” When he undoes his belt, unzips with one hand still working your cunt- you don’t beg him to stop. Back just arch. Cries found from your mouth, thighs jerking, heels digging into dirt as he stretches you open, uncaring, relentless. The other hand yanks your shirt higher, baring your tits to cold air. It bites. His breath burns. He doesn’t wait. Doesn’t slow. “You wanted me to fuck you like I caught you,” Rafe growls in your ear, “like I fucking own you.” He owns you, in a way. Not in the way he’ll lock you up to hide from others. It’s more like you learn to depend on your pleasure on him, just let him do the work for you. “No,” you breathe, too thin, too soft, a lie. His hand covers your mouth, silencing you, cutting the sound off like he’s sealing it in your throat. Then- “No?” he mimics, cruel, pitching it up in a parody of your voice.

“No, Rafe- don’t- please-” When Rafe heard it, he literally pouted but you know he’s taunting and messing with you. “Please,” he repeats like some broken vinyl. His tone is nasty, like it’s a joke, like he knows you don’t mean it. “You’re fucking soaked,” he snarls, fingers pressing harder. “Don’t fucking lie to me.” He shifts, spreading your legs over his lap, boots braced in the dirt, adjusting you like you’re his. Your back arches, and you hear the pop of his button, the hiss of the zipper, feel the heat of bare skin against your ass. His cock drags along your folds outside your shorts. He’s thick, flushed, slick with your mess.

He strokes once, and it glides easily, the sound filthy. The tip nudges your clothed entrance, and you shake your head- slow, shallow, like you know what’s coming. “Don’t,” you whisper, meant to stop him, but it sounds like begging for more. Inside, you’re screaming, ‘Please. Please don’t stop.’ He groans in your ear as he hears it. “Shouldn’t’ve sent me that link,” he hisses, hand dragging across your chest, groping like you’re something he earned. “Should’ve kept your pretty fucking mouth shut.” You whimper, try again, weaker: “Stop-” But he’s licking into the corner of your mouth, hand fisting your shirt tighter.

“Stop, Rafe- don’t- please,” he mimics nastier, rocking his hips until his cock is flush against your dripping slit. “You sound so cute begging for shit you don’t want me to stop.” You’re soaking him, denim dark, mess everywhere, and he hasn’t even pushed in. “You wanted to be chased,” he growls. “You wanted this.” He shifts, your breath stuttering, his hand yanking your shorts aside, not removing them, just enough to push his cock through, not inside yet, just rubbing, slow, heavy, and deliberate. The blunt head drags along your soaked folds, smearing your slick fabric, folding back, and sticking to your skin.

He keeps going, grinding through your folds, your wet soaking everything, the ache making your eyes roll back. “Feel that?” he murmurs. “That’s me. Right there. Not even inside.” He groans, thrusts again, slow, mean, cockhead nudging your clit before sliding back. “Hear that?” he grits. “That wet sound? That’s you, baby.” Your breath punches out. You want to grind down and tilt your hips, but he holds you still, hands firm. “Uh-uh,” he warns. “You’re not in charge.” He rocks again, cock dragging through your slickness, never entering, never giving you enough.

Just rutting between your folds, the head nudging your entrance, slipping lower each time. “I could fuck you like this,” he growls. “Through these fucking shorts. Not even needing to take ’em off. Just keep going until I mess you up from the outside.” Your legs shake, you pant, and he grins against your neck. “Not even inside you yet,” he murmurs, “and you’re already going to cum, huh?” And you are. Your hips twitch, chasing his cock, desperate. He chuckles. “Greedy,” he says, “fucking greedy little baby.” You feel him tense, like he’s about to give it to you, exactly how your soaked cunt’s been begging for.

Your body leans in, thighs flexing, breath stuttering. But then he stops, letting the thick head rest, hot at your entrance, twitching where your slick is messiest. “You want it?” he breathes against your ear, soft like a lover, sharp like a blade. You don’t answer. You can’t. You blink hard, try to nod, and whimper something like ‘please’ but you’re too far gone, strung out, every part of you vibrating with him so close yet not inside. He waits, letting you drown. His hand brushes your hip like he’s calming a spooked animal, mean in its gentleness. He leans in, breath hot. “Cat got your tongue?” You shiver.

He clicks his tongue, low, mocking. “I asked you a question, sweetheart.” Still no answer. His thighs tighten, hand sliding to your throat- not choking, not yet, just claiming space, holding you still. “That’s what I thought.” He laughs, soft and bitter. “You sent me that link like it was a joke. Like it didn’t mean anything. Like you weren’t imagining this exact thing while you watched it in bed.” You shake your head, barely, instinct, denial. “Oh, no?” he murmurs, his hand tightening at your throat, just enough for you to feel how easily he could take the air from you.

“You didn’t want me to chase you? To catch you? To knock you into the dirt and take what’s mine?” You’re shaking now. Not from fear, not really. From how badly you want it. But he keeps going, feeding it to you slowly, heavy, and cruel. “You didn’t want to be dragged back, crying and slippery and too fucking far gone to stop it?” You make a tiny noise, somewhere between ‘don’t’ and ‘yes.’ His cock drags lazily through your folds, slow against your clit, your slick streaking down his shaft. Still, he doesn’t give it to you. “You’re dripping,” he growls. “Soaking these fucking shorts.”

He tugs the waistband aside, gaping you wider, exposing more skin, but doesn’t strip you. “Fuckin’ greedy. Can’t even look me in the eye, can’t even ask- but your cunt’s screaming for it.” He presses forward just enough to make you gasp, then stops, watching you fall apart from the promise alone. “Tell me again how you didn’t mean it,” he croons. “Tell me again how that video was just a joke.” Lips sealed close, not saying yes or no through it but you’re shaking your head with your eyes wide, chest that is heaving, and your hips that won’t stop moving. Rafe sees it. Knows. “Poor baby,” he sighs, dragging the head of his cock down until it bumps your entrance, soaked, twitching, but still not inside.

Your hips tilt toward the pressure, desperate, trembling. His cock slides wetly against your folds, the sound obscene in the dark. Instead of giving in, he shifts his grip and flips you. His hand clutches your thigh, bruising it, wrenching you sideways in one pull. You gasp, head snapping back, knees buckling, and then you’re on your back, spine in the cold dirt, shirt bunched, tits exposed, and nipples stiff. The surrounding smells like wet wood, pine, body sweat from you and him. Rafe is kneeling behind you. One knee is the side of your hips while the other is touching the side of your left thigh. You could feel his cock touching your ass- thick, flushed, soaked in your mess. His eyes were dark and satisfied.

Hands warm in your hips and using the same hands to yank you down until your ass is closer to him. “Lay the fuck down,” he growls, palm pressing to your sternum. “Let me look at you.” You whimper, shaky, but your thighs stay spread, fingers twitching. He stares, like a wolf over a kill. “Is this how you wanted it?” he murmurs. “Pinned in the dirt? Little shirt up, tiny shorts hiding nothing?” He pushes your thighs wider, spits into your cunt, and watches it mix with your slick, his thumb pressing your clit sharply enough to make you jolt. “Shit,” he hisses. “You don’t even know how easy you made it.”

Words can’t even come out from your mouth properly when you try to speak. He’s rubbing the head of his cock against your slit, letting the fabric stretch with each drag. “I could fuck you like this,” he murmurs. “Don’t even need to take ’em off.” He drags himself along your slit again and again until your legs tremble. “But you don’t want that, right?” he teases. “You said no. You said stop.” His cock presses hard enough to hurt but never pushes in. Your thighs shake, your cunt pulses, and your mouth falls open, a broken whimper. His hands slide down, fingers curling beneath your waistband.

“You wore these knowing they’d be easy to take off,” he mutters. “Didn’t even wear panties.” His knuckles dig in, then one rough tug and your shorts are at your thighs, and then it’s gone. Nothing between you but the heat of him and your slickness. His eyes drop, devouring you, then look up, hungry. “You said no,” he says quietly. “You said don’t.” He strokes his cock, dragging the head over your bare, glistening cunt, watching your breath hitch, chest rise, and fingers twitch, remembering you can’t cover yourself with him pinning you down.

“But your pussy,” he murmurs, “your pussy says something different.” He pushes forward, but just barely and you can feel the head nudging into stretching you then he stops again. “You want it?” he asks like a dare. You blink up, lips parted, hips twitching, cunt clenching around nothing. “I-I don’t know,” you whisper. His eyes darken. “No?” he echoes, shifting forward a fraction, pressing deeper. “You don’t know?” Your breath catches. “I just- I thought…” It’s like you are getting mushy already even though he’s not yet fucking you completely. “You thought what, baby?” he murmurs, soft, sharp. “You thought I’d laugh? Say maybe next time?”

You don’t speak. He pushes again, slowly, sliding another inch in, enough to make you feel the stretch. Your head tips back, thighs trembling, and spine arches- except you’re not trying to escape. “Feels like your pussy knows,” he says quieter. “Feels like you’ve been thinking about this a lot.” Muscle pulls tight around the slow stretch, a soft, wet sound catching under the hum of cicadas. Heat gathers low, a pulse throbbing where slick meets skin. “I didn’t mean-” Leaves move above, and the night feels heavy and warm. Wet sounds mix with quiet breaths; each slow push is felt deep inside. The cool ground stays firm under shaking legs. “You didn’t mean to send it?” he interrupts softly. “Didn’t mean to get dressed up? Didn’t mean to run?” His hand comes to your throat, warm, a collar without pressure. “Didn’t mean to get wet?” You shake your head but it’s weak, unconvincing.

“Say it again,” he tells you, voice like gravel. “Say you don’t know.” And you do, whispering it with trembling body, “I don’t know.” His mouth breaks into a sharp grin. “Yeah,” he growls. “That’s what I thought.” You whimper when he pulls back, the absence cutting deeper. Your body clenches around nothing, twitching. Rafe sees your hips chase him, the tremble in your thighs, and the shine at your cunt. He smiles, predatory. “Look at you,” he murmurs. “Didn’t even take it yet and you’re already desperate.”

You shake your head, but it’s not a real no. He feels it, the yes buried under every shiver. “You want to pretend you didn’t ask for this,” he says at your jaw. Grasp let out from your mouth when his cock presses back against your folds. “But your pussy’s soaked,” he hisses. “So wet you’re drooling down your thighs.” You try to turn away. He grabs your chin, holding it steady. “Don’t look away,” he growls. “You said you don’t know? Let me make it simple.”

His hips jerk forward, shoving the tip inside again, deeper, a stretch you feel high and sharp, still slow, still manageable. “You want me to stop?” he asks. You don’t answer. Can’t. He pushes further, another cruel, slow inch. “You want me to stop?” he repeats, taunting. “Fuh-fuck I-I don’t know.” His hand lands hard on your thigh. “Wrong answer,” he snarls. Then he thrusts, all the way in one rough and punishing stroke that knocks the air from your lungs and pins you to the dirt. You scream. It’s a half-moan, half-shock, and maybe full surrender. He growls into your neck. “Now you fucking know.”

You’re split open on his cock. Too full, too deep, too sudden, and your cunt grips him anyway, tight, needy, like you were made for it. He doesn’t move right away, buried to the hilt, feeling your walls flutter, your breath quake. Then, slowly, cruelly, he pulls back. “All that attitude,” he whispers. “All those little rules you pretend to set.” His hips slammed forward again, harder. “And now look at you.” Another thrust. Your fingers scrabble in the dirt, your back arches, and your tits bounce with every snap of his hips. Tears catch in your lashes- not from pain, but from how your body loves this.

“You don’t say yes,” Rafe growls in your ear. “You don’t say no.” He fucks you again, brutal, possessive. “You just take it.” And God- you do. You take it so well. He doesn’t slow down. Doesn’t soften. Every thrust lands like punishment, like you broke a rule you didn’t know existed. The sound is obscene and wet, the slap of his hips echoing in the trees. “Say it again,” he pants. “Tell me you don’t know. C’mon, baby.” You whimper, caught in the snap of his hips, eyes squeezed shut. “I don’t-” Wrong. He pulls out so suddenly your cunt flutters around nothing.

You sob, back arching, and then- yank. His hand fists in your hair, dragging your head back, throat stretching, jaw slack, a broken gasp spilling out. “Eyes on me,” he snarls. “Fucking look at me when I fuck you.” You open your eyes, barely, and he’s right there- mouth twisted, eyes blown, sweat dripping. He looks unhinged. Beautiful. God, it’s so awful that he’s mesmerizing. Most importantly he looks yours. “Good girl,” he growls, cruelly tender. Then he spits on your chest, warm, slick, and messy, rubbing it in with his palm over your nipples. “Mine now,” he hisses. “Fucking mine.”

A cry rips from your throat when he thrusts back in, harder, faster. One thick arm wraps around your waist, dragging you down while he drives up, the other tangled in your hair, controlling every angle. “Nngh- Rafe-” you whimper and eyes rolling back. “You don’t get to hide,” he pants. “Not from this. Not from me.” His hand shifts going over your mouth, down tight around your throat. He’s not choking you, it’s just there. His thumb finds your pulse point but he doesn’t press and just rests it to feel it stutter. “You like this, don’t you?” he whispers. “Chased you down like a bitch in heat. Caught you. Now I’m breaking you open.”

“Gnh- fuck-” claws out. It’s raw and needy. The sound catches before you can swallow it, and he hears it as a win for him. “You’re soaking me,” he growls. “Came out here in little shorts like you dressed up to be chased.” His hand grabs your hip, spreading you open where there’s nothing left to hide, nothing between you. “You’re going to remember this,” he hisses. “Every step tomorrow. Every time you sit. You’ll feel me.” A soft, broken “mmf- p-please,” slips when you start crying, everything too much, shame and need flooding you, and he sees it and lives for it.

“That’s my good girl, begging when it’s too late.” You try to rise, maybe protest, but his hand comes to your shoulder, pressing you back down. “Stay.” And you do. Open. Shaking. Ruined. Exactly where he wants you. The ground is cold behind you, dirt and uncomfortable. It’s not the best feeling in the world and it’s soaking into your body. It sticks some dried and fresh leaves into your thighs, twigs that scratch your skin, but none of it really matters. All you can feel is him. Rafe doesn’t wait. He drags the head of his cock through your slickness, lets it catch on your entrance, then pushes in slow and steady, stretching and brutal. Your cunt clamps around him, trying to keep him out, or hold him in, or both. It doesn’t matter.

He’s bigger than you can take, deeper than you can hide from. He groans low. “Fuck, baby. Still tight? After all that running?” His palm plants on your shoulder, pinning you down, while the other slides under, groping your tits and your waist, cataloging you from the inside out. “You feel that?” he pants, rocking forward slowly but heavily. “This pussy’s hugging me,” you whimper, half-choked, half from the way his fingers find your clit, rubbing slow circles that make your thighs twitch. “Fuckin’ soaked,” he mutters. “Ran from me just to end up begging in the dirt.” His pace stays slow. Deep. Intentional. Like he’s not trying to get off- he’s trying to ruin you for anything else.

The movements of his hand never stop teasing your clit. It’s unbearable, especially the rhythm; it’s not yet enough to make you cum, but it’s enough to make your leg shake. He groans with his teeth gritted. “You’re squeezing me, baby.” Your lips are starting to feel like metal now from how you stop yourself from moaning so loudly. You can’t even speak to say what’s on your mind because you are getting cockdrunk more than you can admit to yourself. All that comes out is a gasping sob, and you both know he likes it.

“Yeah,” he breathes in your ear as he leans in, “just like that, baby.” Your back arches like a cat because the pleasure gets more into you while his hands are tightening on yours. Suddenly he just shifts above you and pulls out his cock from your pussy that is enough to make you whimper. You barely even process the pull before he flips your body to change position. He dragged your hips and rolled you onto your stomach. The position made your cheek touch the dirt and leaves sticking to your arms, and breath roared out a shocked gasp when your hips got yanked up, ass in the air with your thighs trembling.

“Stay just like that,” he rasps, one hand pressing between your shoulder blades, forcing you to arch, while the other drags down, spreading your folds open. You can feel the thick, soaked head of his cock teasing your entrance again, lining up, not giving you a second to think before his hips slam forward, cock sliding in deep from behind- so deep you see stars- and his fingers splay across your clit, pressing down while he pounds into you.

“You don’t even know how pretty you look like this,” he rasps. “Bent over, split wide, taking my cock like you were meant to.” Your thighs twitch, breath stuttering, but he doesn’t speed up. Not yet. He just rubs- deep and slow, one hand groping your tits, the other teasing your clit until your legs tremble. “You’re going to come so fucking easy,” he growls. “A little pressure and you’ll break.” But he doesn’t let you. This isn’t about you coming. It’s about him fucking you exactly how he imagined- wet, open, helpless, face-down in the dirt, your cunt swallowing every inch slowly and desperately.

Soft body bucks beneath him, getting more stubborn just to piss him off. “Get the fuck off me,” you hiss, voice ragged. Not that you really want him to get off, but in your mind, it’s thrilling to fight him off just for him to show you the control you let him have over you. Knees dig in the dirt while your hands scrabble at it; you try to crawl forward, and hips grind back against him like you are also moving every time you welcome each of his thrusts despite you pretending to fight him to get off. It just didn’t work because every time you crawl forward, you just end up getting dragged back, or it’s your own body betraying you, so you grind back. Rafe just laughs, low, like you’re adorable when you fight. “Oh, baby,” he groans, dragging his cock deeper, filling you until your back bows.

“You’re so fucking cute when you pretend you don’t want it.” Head shaking, just for the thrill of it- to push him more off the edge. “N-ngh- I… I-I don’t,” you snap, but your voice breaks, cunt clenching like it didn’t get the memo. His thumb flicks over your nipple until you gasp again. “Yeah?” he pants, mouth dragging hot over your shoulder. “Then why the fuck are you sucking me in like this?” He rolls his hips, grinding slowly. The stretch makes you sob. The angle is sharp, and unforgiving. “F-fuck you,” you breathe. “You’re trying,” he murmurs, teeth scraping your neck. “God, you’re really trying. That’s so brave, baby.” He licks the back of your neck, wet and slow, like a claim. “Think you’re gonna fight me with a dirty mouth?” His hips slam forward, one hard thrust with no warning. It made you yelp, loud, broken. “Aw,” he coos. “Was that too much?”

You growl. “I hate you.” He laughs harder. “Yeah? Hate me so bad your pussy’s crying for me?” His hand dips lower, finds your clit, and flicks fast and cruel. You squeal and kick. He pins you harder. “You say no,” he mutters, lips brushing your jaw, “but this greedy little cunt says yes, sir, every time I push in.” Your mind scrambles, hating how good it feels, hating how your hips keep lifting. You think you should push him away, but your body begs for more. You can’t even hide it, every nerve waiting for him to do it again. “Shut up,” you pant. “You shut up,” he snaps, grabbing your face, palm over your mouth, turning your head so he can see you. “Before I make you fucking mean it.” Your eyes flutter, a moan caught behind his hand. “That’s better,” he whispers. “Be good.”

He watches you, ragged and wet and silenced, grinding again, cock sliding so deep it punches the air from your lungs. “You want to curse me out?” he growls, breath hot in your ear. “Want to tell me to stop? You better fucking say it like you mean it.” You don’t because you just can’t. You tremble, whining into his palm, arching back, cunt squeezing, thighs shaking. “Oh,” he breathes, softer now like it’s devastating. “You’re so fucked.” He releases your mouth just enough for you to speak- but not enough to escape, thumb at your pulse. “Say you don’t want it,” he dares. “Go on. Tell me again.”

You do… Well, you did try, but not really because you didn't form a word besides moaning a broken ‘a-ah’ from your mouth. It looks like you’ve already surrendered your body to him. Maybe you have. The earth is cold beneath your knees, damp with every grind of his hips. Leaves bite your shoulders, moss clings to your calves. Your body is open, bent, used, and breathless, and Rafe doesn’t give you a second to breathe right, not when you’re clenching like this. He’s got one arm looped around your waist, palm pressing between your shoulder blades, holding you down and pulling you back at once.

His other hand moves under you, dragging across your chest to cup your tits like it’s his lifeline. “Fuck, baby,” he groans against your shoulder. “You feel that? Feel how tight you are around me?” You feel everything. The stretch. The burn. You know he fucking loves the feeling you wrapped around him because he barely pulls back before sinking back again. It’s like he’s savoring the feeling of your pussy and if that’s even possible but it gets deeper each time he slams his hips. He wants to shape his cock inside of you, to make a mark inside of you. It’s like he’s reminding you that your cunt feels better and fit with him than any man will try to get you. He’s choosing to keep you here, face down, ass up, your knees scraping the dirt as your body twitches with every thrust. Your breath catches as he shifts his grip, hand sliding down to grab your hip, hauling you back onto him, making you cry out, the angle hitting something unbearable. “Yeah,” he pants, sweat dripping onto your spine. “Right there. That’s where I want you.” Your shorts are twisted high, your shirt bunched around your shoulders. He hasn’t stripped you; he’s just fucking you through it, under it, around it, because he can.

The earth is cold beneath you, damp with every grind of his hips. Maybe each leaf under you is angry at you because of the way it bites your knees. Or maybe the moss prefers you more because it’s so clingy with your calves. Maybe it’s just how you bent forward with your chest, feel breathless and face warm from the way his cock and hips move behind you. The goddamn woods knows you try to keep your trembling thighs to keep steady and how you try to balance yourself with the way your fingers dig in the dirt to have something to hold. Rafe doesn’t give you a second to breathe right, not when you’re clenching around him like this, taking him so deep you feel split open. “Shit, baby,” he groans, one hand fisted in your hair, the other gripping your hip, dragging you back onto him with every thrust. “You feel that? Feel how tight you are around me?”

You feel everything. The stretch. The burn. The slick mess running down your thighs. The way he barely pulls back before slamming in again, deep, like he’s trying to leave himself inside you. A ragged, high sound spills out of your mouth, helpless. “Nnh- mff- g-gah- Rafe-” You sound like some girl from a porn video especially from the way you can’t control it. “What, baby?” he grits, rutting into you harder, your back arching under the force, another dark grunt tearing from his chest. “What do you need, huh?”

“Ah- please-” you gasp, voice breaking around a soft hiccup as your hips rock back. “I- oh- wanna- nngh- wanna see you- p-please-” He stills, cock twitching inside you, a low growl rumbling in his throat. “Fuckin’ hell…” Slowly, his hands slide to your waist, guiding you down, pulling out just enough to make you whimper- “mmf- s-shit-” before he flips you over, pressing your back into the cold earth. Your legs spread instinctively, hips tilting up, your cunt clenching around nothing.

“There,” he mutters, eyes dark, chest heaving, lips parted. “You wanna watch me while I fuck you, pretty girl?” Of course you do. You don’t give a fuck if you are going back and forth from being all fours and laying down. Both feel good, but you want to see him, or you are going to bawl your eyes out if you don’t. “Uh- y-yeah- please-” you whine, lashes wet, body shivering as he lines himself up and pushes back in, thick and slow, forcing a strangled sound from your throat. “Ahh- mmh- fuck-”

The air is cold, but Rafe is molten, leaning over you, chest brushing yours, hands sliding everywhere- one gripping your thigh, the other palming your breast, thumb flicking over your nipple until you let out a small, shocked squeal. “Mmn- n-no- s-sensitive- oh-!” His mouth drags along your jaw, your neck, biting down when your moans rise too loud. “Quiet, baby,” he pants, hips rolling in deep, deliberate thrusts, controlled, heavy, making your body jolt with every push. “Stay still for me.”

You try, but every thrust drags another helpless sound out of you, fingers clutching at his shoulders, head tipping back, mouth falling open around incoherent, needy noises. “Hah- nngh- mmf- Rafe- s’deep- oh- c-can’t-” Each moan coming from your lips is showing how far gone you are. You can feel his eyes locked into you, he’s watching you like he’s a director for the show you are giving out to him and he has to direct it with his cock that is plunged deep inside you. One of his favorite sounds in the world is the way your voice cracks whenever he hits your g-spot. And right now he’s hearing it and it makes him let out a low grunt from his chest with his jaw flexing. “Fuck- look at you, baby.”

Your moans spill out like you can’t control them, wet, slurred, pretty in their desperation. “Mmm- ah- unnh- fuck- R-Rafe-” The last word slips, soft, high, your eyes going wide even as your cunt squeezes around him. And he loves it. The way you look up at him, tear-glossed, dumb with it, your mouth dropping open around every choked whimper while he fucks you like he’s trying to ruin you for anyone else, each thrust pulling a gasp, a sob, a broken syllable out of your throat until it’s all you can give him.

He thrusts forward and stays there. He’s buried, and grinding tight circles that make you claw at his back. Can’t even stop the way his cock pulses and twitches. He’s trying his best not to nut faster than he likes. He wants you to come first before him. “You’re so warm,” he breathes out. The feeling of your pussy is making him lose track in his mind and making him crazy. “So wet I don’t even have to move and you still squeeze me.” You whimper, your body shuddering under his weight as his hand drags down your stomach, sliding between your legs, two fingers finding your clit, barely touching, just pinning it there like it’s his.

Your body locks up, a gasp tearing out of you as your hips jerk, his grin pressing against your cheek as he shoves you closer, deeper, until you swear you’re not breathing air anymore, just him, denim scraping your thighs, the heavy push of him inside, and the cruel press of his fingers holding you exactly where he wants you. “You like this?” he breathes. “You like being touched like this? Fucked like this?” You don’t answer. You can’t do that because you feel too stuffed from his cock, it’s stretching out, you also feel so hot despite the wood feels windy, and you are definitely too fucked even he haven’t even let you come around him yet.

Hips pressing deeper, making his cock kiss your cervix and it’s enough to earn a gasp from your throat while you clenches and walls flutters around him like they want to keep him jailed inside of you. Rafe hisses, breathing hard against your jaw, dragging it out like he wants to break you inch by inch, muttering, “God, baby, you’re holding onto me so fucking tight.” Your hips twitch, cunt clenching around every slow, brutal grind, still not the way your body begs for it- he’s not fast, not rough, just deep and steady, like he’s fucking into the shape of you, molding you around him, claiming you.

“You’re so fuckin’ good like this,” he breathes, forehead pressing to yours, “just letting me use it. Letting me keep you.” He hands sneak into your cheek and strokes it with his thumb grazing your skin like it’s some instinct every time he touches it. “I’m not going to pull out,” he says, voice so soft and not even fitting to the scene the both of you are in. “You know that, right? God if you just know how I feel around you baby- f-fuck. I’m gonna fuck it in deep and leave it there.” His words makes your clit pulse, or maybe just your cunt in general. You even try to reply to his words, but he just hushes you with his thumb brushing your lips. He can feel your hot breath when he settles it there as he speaks, “You don’t have to say anything.” He adds, “Just lie back. Let me finish what I started.” When he moves again, it’s slower, still deep, still designed to have you, but there’s no rush.

Movement is steady. There’s this rhythm that is certain that translates to he’s fucking you until this fuck is going to be craves into your brain and your bones. He can feel and see how your thighs shake, the way your lips can’t close because of your little noises, how your body is caged by him. He knows you are far gone to speak to him, you don’t even speak much during sex because you are a whiner, you are loud, and he likes hearing you. God, don’t also forget how your cunt pulse around him. It’s tight and choking his cock like it’s begging without any words. This time, Rafe doesn’t tease. Doesn’t pull away or smirk. From your face, he slides it down to your hip to hold you down while the other settle between your thighs and touches your clit. “You’re right there, huh? You feel it?”

“Mhm- mmf- yeah- so good-” You cry out with a nod. “Feels s’good-” Eyes fluttering, cunt clenching around him with your mind only thinking about him, and your head tipping back more to the ground. You can’t even pretend you don’t love this from the way your pussy is sucking him more deep and how your hips lifting from the ground just to welcome his cock. His hand from your hip lifts up to swat your sweaty hair away from your face and his gaze is just on you like you’re his world. “You don’t have to hold it back,” he murmurs, thumb rubbing slow, wet circles. “I want you to come. Wanna feel you cum on me.” His hips don’t slam now; they roll- deep, controlled, heavy- like he’s fucking the orgasm into you instead of ripping it out. His body braces around yours, chest pressing to yours like he needs to feel your heart stutter when you go over. “You’re being so good,” he whispers, thumb grazing your jaw, eyes hungry and dazed, “so fucking perfect for me.” Your legs shake, eyes flutter, then he says it, quiet, rough, almost sweet: “Come for me, baby. Let go.” And you do.

Your body locks, arches, and goes tense; the sound you make- high and broken- has his eyes rolling back. You come hard around him, hips bucking into his hand, legs trembling, your body jerking like it doesn’t know how to contain it. Rafe moans, deep and guttural, kissing you like he needs your breath to survive while staying buried inside, fingers working you through it, praising you with every wave. “That’s it. That’s it, baby,” he groans, forehead touching your shoulder. “God, you’re so tight. So fuckin’ sweet.” Mouth can’t form any words for him and you are just twitching beneath him with your eyes wide and cunt still cleaning around him and it triggers the gates for him. His rhythm starts to stutter. His hips jerk deeper. It’s heavier, and he’s chasing it now.

Groans get more ragged while he’s folding your legs tighter as he fucks into you slow and hungry motion. “Shit- baby- ” his voice breaks as he buries his head to your neck. “You’re still fucking squeezing me- ” He moans as he listens to your whimper, and feel your cunt still fluttering with every drag of him. “I can’t- I can’t hold it-” and then he’s coming with his body locked above you. But he doesn’t stop moving, he can’t just find the will to stop. Movement is soft and grinding his hips as his cum settles inside your pussy and touches your cervix with a hot feeling. That doesn’t stop him from grinding deeper inside you, forcing more of his cum in and stuffing you full to the last drop while your cunt flutters at the feeling.

His hands also didn't stop touching you, it’s like it can’t calm down and continues to feel the curve of your body while his other hand is stroking your cheek and whispering low and warm into your hair. “You did so good, baby,” he murmurs, kissing your temple. “Took it so well,” he adds before pressing kisses and peppering you with it. Lips touching your cheek, neck, and shoulder, and he drops his head down to kiss the cleavage of your chest. “So good,” he whispers, hoarse, trembling, “so fuckin’ good, baby- made me feel so good-” You can barely respond, breath caught, body spent, aching, still wrapped around him, but he doesn’t need you to say anything. He can’t stay still because his lips are on your body again like he’s worshipping you and his hands are doing the same too. Words are softer now with his ruined voice like he’s trying to sink inside you. He moves gently and calms you both down without letting you go as his hands caress your thighs up to your stomach and ribs and to your nipples. “You took all of me,” he whispers, “all of it. So fuckin’ perfect, baby.” You’re still trembling, twitching in the afterglow, and he feels every flutter of your cunt gripping him through the last throbs of his orgasm.

Lips press more kisses to your mouth- slow, open, grateful- and then he just stays there. Cock still buried, weight folded over yours, like leaving isn’t an option. He doesn’t pull out even as he softens a little, even as you pulse around him, overstimulated and sore, pressing deeper, hips flush, cock snug inside your aching cunt like he’s trying to plug the mess in. His fingers trace your hips, coaxing you back to earth while you can’t speak, just panting, lashes fluttering, and chest heaving. Your back sticks to the dirt. You feel filthy, beautiful, and exposed. His hand moves your hair out of your face with gentleness and palms your jaw after with his thumb grazing the softness of your cheek before his hips give you one more thrust that makes you clench and flinch.

He kisses your temple before he shushes you when he hears you whimper. “I know. I know, baby. You did so good.” Your voice finally comes, small and hoarse. “Still inside,” you whisper. His breath catches, but he doesn’t pull out. “I know.” Your heavy-lidded eyes take him in: the uniform, the smudged jaw, the weight of him braced over you while you lie there beneath him. “I’m all messy,” you breathe. “You made a mess of me, Rafe.” His jaw ticks, eyes darkening, one hand sliding between your thighs, and fingers brushing the mix leaking down your legs. “I know, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “You’re fucking dripping for me.” You gasp, body tensing. His hands just continue holding you there. You feel full, stuffed, warm, and trembling in his arms while the woods are quiet around you. The air smells more like sex more than the environment. Or maybe you are just close to each other. And you lie there, messy and stretched open, caught under him, both of you breathing slowly. Just like that. Exactly where he wants you.

“Too much?” he asks when he starts moving his hips a little, just so gently, not slamming fully. Moving only just to ease more pleasure for you, and not to get another orgasm out of you. Hum found your lips, but you shook your head. “No. Just… a little. Please.” His smile deepens; it’s soft, and his eyes are full of adoration. “Yeah?” Rafe pulls his cock just to push it halfway in slow motion. You can feel it even if the whole of it is not inside. His hand holds your jaw while the other is resting on your stomach just to stroke your skin like he’s soothing the pain from the sex he caused you. “Feels nice…” You whisper. He kisses your shoulder.

“Is that good for you, angel?” His cock stays deep while your cunt keeps tightening around him, the air thick as you catch your breath. “Mhm…” Pressure eases in your chest while you listen to how he breathes. You like how his body stays heavy and warm against yours as your legs soften and shift around him, and you like letting him hold you close while you are getting out from the intensity of what you both did. “You’re still fluttering around me,” he murmurs. “Still squeezing me like you don’t want to let me go.” Lashes blink slowly while you feel how your body clings to him without thinking and how each slow push reminds you of what you took, how you let him stay inside while you let your head rest back against his arm. “I don’t want to,” you confess, too softly. His hips stutter, a groan slipping out. “I know,” he mutters, licking his lips and eyes while watching you. “That’s why I’m still here. You’re safe, and I know the sex… was intense. I’m sorry,” he apologizes before he kisses you everywhere. It’s slow and hungry, tasting your throat, your shoulder, and your tits, like he can’t stop.

“That was new to me, but I like it,” you say before you whimper beneath him, skin hot and open, your body full and aching. His cock softens but stays inside, his body covering yours, kissing words into your skin instead of growling them in your ear. “We should talk about it next time, Rafey… The, uhm… like the limits, safe word, and the other things, y’know,” you add, and it’s not like you are completely clueless about this, the rough sex. No. But you are just too shy to bring it to him, but you are aware that he might like it. The air cools, dirt sticking to the sweat behind your shoulders while his uniform is still buttoned, all tight authority while you’re naked and trembling under him. He does those little thrusts- it’s barely there. The movements of his hips are not even about fucking anymore, just staying.

“Rafe…” Breath hitches while fingers curl in the fabric at his chest, pulling him closer without thinking. Thighs tighten around his hips, holding on while air slips out shakily. “I know, baby. We will talk about it, pretty girl.” His words slide near your ear, warm and low, while his hand drags up your side and your lashes flicker with the quiet pulse that keeps pulling him deeper. “Did I go too hard on you?” A shake of your head comes slowly while your lips part, chest lifting as you try to catch a breath, the tight clench inside begging him to stay, needing every inch he gives. “No. It’s not that, I just-” You swallow, breath catching. “Maybe a little… But I don’t want you to stop.” He exhales, hand cupping your cheek as he tilts your face up, eyes soft, full of you. “You’re so fucking sweet like this,” he whispers, thumb dragging over your mouth. “Letting me fuck you in the woods like a filthy girl, now clinging to me like I’m all you got.”

You blink, dazed. “You are all I got.” His breath catches, cock still buried in your soaked cunt. That melts his heart, so he leans down to kiss you slowly and warmly. His lips are gentle, and there’s not even a tongue when he kisses you. It’s like he’s just savoring you and feeding you pieces of himself with every breath before he pulls away to kiss your forehead. “I fucking love you like this.” Something in him feels scared to admit how easy it is to call this love when your body holds him so sweet, how much he wants to keep you like this because letting go feels like losing air. This softness feels dangerous, a need curling in his chest that wants to claim, protect, and never leave. “Like what?” you breathe. “Just there. Messy. Full of me.” Another slow thrust. “Like you were made for me.”

Your eyes flutter shut. “Don’t say that,” you whisper. “I’ll believe you.” Can’t help wanting it to be true, wishing it’s real, wishing it could stay this warm and close forever. Every slow pull makes you melt in a way that feels safe. It’s like maybe you’re allowed to need him, allowed to let him have you. “You should.” Then he pulls out. It’s slow and gentle. You can feel your body clenching on nothing, both of your cum spilling out, which breaks out a desperate sound breaking from your throat. He groans, watching the mess leak from you. “Jesus, look at that.” You squirm, thighs twitching, but he lays you back gently, shushing you, one hand gathering the spill, the other cupping your jaw. “Still warm,” he murmurs, “still mine.”

Then he kisses your jaw down to your neck and collarbone and shoulder. His kisses are soft and wet. It is gentle. Maybe he’s saying sorry to you through it. Maybe he’s trying to make up for being rough with how he chased and fucked you. “You’re so beautiful,” he breathes. “Don’t want to let you go.” His breath is warm while he presses closer, grounding you in the dark. Kisses sink into your skin, gentle after everything he’s done. You feel safe right here, not caring about anything else. “Then don’t,” you whisper. “I won’t.” You settle with him and his uniform rumpled with his cock wet with you. His head leans down before his forehead rests against your chest, and his lips give the same area multiple pecks, and his arms are warm and wrapped around your waist. “Are you going to carry me back to the house?” you ask him gently, but you are more like teasing him because you know that your legs are too wobbly to walk properly back there. He laughs softly but doesn’t answer. He just leans in and presses one last kiss to your temple before shifting back, sliding his hands beneath your thighs and back, lifting you like you might break. He sits there first while holding you and his back leaning against a tree. He settles you into his lap while you melt into him, folding your knees in, tucking your face to his chest.

Neither of you speaks. Both of you are just breathing slowly and coming down. The woods are humming around you. His lips in your hair, nose against your temple while fingers rub circles into your thigh. “Are you okay?” You nod against his chest. “Mhm.” His hand brushes your jaw. “Are you hurt, baby?” You shake your head. He leans back to see your face, cupping it. “Sure?” You meet his eyes and nod. “Good girl,” he whispers, eyes soft. “You took me so well.”

Your eyes flutter shut as he kisses your nose. “Didn’t even cry,” he teases. “Kinda wanted to see that pretty lip wobble.” You huff a laugh. “I almost did.” He grins, kissing you slowly, warmly, unhurriedly, and full of something softer. You pull back with a shaky breath. “That was…” Should feel embarrassed, but there’s nothing left to hide. Muscles still shaking, cunt still dripping, your skin carries every mark he left. It should feel like shame, but it only settles warm and quiet inside you. “I know,” he says softly. His fingers trail down your side, tracing where he left bruises, like he’s sorry and memorizing it all at once.

“Can we stay here?” you murmur. “Just for a minute?” No rush to move when the world feels so heavy and quiet. Warmth pools low while your limbs go light and your breath catches as your body remembers what he did. The air smells like sweat and dirt, like him, and it feels safe. Chest loosens with every slow inhale while the trees sway above as it hides you both from everything else. Everything feels clear, like the world outside doesn’t matter for now. “Yeah,” he says instantly. “We’re not going anywhere yet.” He holds you tighter, letting your head drop to his shoulder and your legs fold across his lap. His breath slows with yours until you’re both sinking into something warm and quiet. Something that has nothing to do with roughness anymore. Just you. Just him. Just the soft, fucked-out silence of the woods.

⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀twenty-twenty-five © addie / musingsofheaven.

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writingsbytee · 5 months ago

Text

THE HOTLINE

SEX OPERATOR TERRY RICHMOND x BLACK FEM READER

*Remember, you are in charge of your own consumption. 18+ up audiences only; minors, please don’t interact!* THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION AND HAS NOT BEEN PROOFREAD

*Please do not plagiarize, repost, or steal my work. This doesn’t count for re-blogs!*

SUMMARY: Set in the early 2000s. Taking your best friend’s tipsy advice, you decide to call a sex hotline for help with dirty talk and your overall insecurities surrounding sex. When you call your local sex hotline, you get more than what you bargained for when Terry pics up the other line.

PAIRING: Terry Richmond x Blaire (reader)

WARNINGS: 18+; explicit dirty talk, mutual masturbation

AUTHOR’S NOTE: My brain is being CONSUMED by Aaron right now, so enjoy this piece that's been sitting in my drafts for months because I was too scared to finish it!

WORD COUNT: 3.7k

PART 2

TAGLIST

@blackgurlnhermoods @theereina @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @uzumaki-rebellion @keehendrixx @keyaho @megamindsecretlair @dxddykenn @pinkkycherrishh @pinkkycherrish @episodes-ff @kimuzostar @urfavblackbimbo @kianaleani @shallipii @pocketsizedpanther @mymindisneverhere @onherereading @nayaesworld @earthchica @simplyzeeka @skyesthebomb @gg-trini @blyffe @melalsworld @mogul93 @ms-mosley-ifunastyyy @sweettea-and-honeybutter @notapradagurl7 @miyuhpapayuh @playgurlxoxo @yassbishimvintage @dbaileyblog @jimmybutlrr @versaceslutz @ruewritesoccasionally @kaylalb @rose-bliss

Divider: @anitalenia

“I’m sorry Blaire, I just don’t think we’re sexually compatible,”Devin, your now ex, says. Popping the top off a bottle of Don Julio, you start to make yourself a drink.

“Okay, you can see yourself out” you say, not even bothering to look at him.

“So that’s it? We’re just done?!” Devin shouts.

“Well according to all the bitches you’ve been talking to, this is long overdue. So Devin, like I said, please get the fuck out of my house,” I look up at him, flashing a sickeningly sweet smile.

“Good luck finding a man who’ll fuck a frigid bitch like you,” Devin snarled, grabbing his coat.

You rolled your eyes and scoff, trying to act like his words don’t phase you. The rapid beat of your heart says otherwise. “Just get the fuck out,” you say, now bored with this interaction. Devin huffs more insults at you as he grabs the rest of his shit, leaving for good. When you hear the click of my front door, you lock it, grab your drink and settle into the sofa, cutting on the TV.

You’re on your third drink and feeling a little tipsy, when your home phone rings from it place on the coffee table. A small smile graces your face when I see your best friend Nina’s name on the caller ID.

Blaire: “Hello?”

Nina: “So, how’d it go?”

Blaire: sighs “We never even made it that far. He broke up with me.”

Nina: “He’s a fucking asshole! All because you and sex don’t have a good relationship?”

Blaire: “Apparently, we weren’t sexually compatible. I mean, he never made me feel comfortable. Never tried to get me in the mood, I’m not just a ‘get up and go’ kind of girl. I need romance, sexual tension, and desire. Devin never tried to help me overcome my insecurities around sex, as long as he got off it was fine.”

Nina: “I’m so sorry boo, you deserve so much better than that!”

Blaire: *voice breaking* “I don’t know what’s wrong with me! I don’t want to be like this forever, broken”

Nina: “You are not broken. You just haven’t found anyone who you’ve felt vulnerable enough with to let that side of you come out. Wait, have you tried calling a sex hotline?”

You nearly spit out your drink.

Blaire: “You’re kidding right? No I haven’t tried one, I wouldn’t even know what to say”

Nina: “That’s the thing they’ll do all the prompting for you. It’s helped me just overcome the underlying embarrassment that I’ve had with dirty talk. You should definitely give it a go Blaire. What do you have to lose?”

You contemplated the idea, it never occurred to you to try a sex hotline for your chronic bedroom shyness. What the hell, it couldn’t hurt and, if it turns out to be a complete failure you won’t call ever again.

Blaire: “Okay, give me the number.”

It’s 11:30 and you’re settled in bed in an oversized tee and fuzzy socks. Twisting up your light pink hair into a claw clip, you flop onto your stomach, turning on the TV. Your twinkling lights reflect off your tumbler, bathing your room in an ethereal glow. The crumbled piece of paper sits on your nightstand, taunting you. Worrying your lip between your teeth, you try to weigh the pros and cons.

“Fuck it,” you mumble, reaching for your phone and the number. With shaky fingers you dial the number, your heart rate skyrocketing when you hear the tell tale dial tone.

“Thanks for calling ‘the hotline’, how can we help you come today?”, a sultry woman’s voice answers the phone.

“I- I don’t really know what I need,” you say, a slight tremble in your voice.

“Well that’s okay sweetie, what do you want to get accomplished tonight?” the mysterious woman asks.

“I just want to feel more comfortable talking dirty, and taking initiatives when being intimate. I’m tired of feeling sub-par when it comes to sex. I want to be desired like every other woman” you said, twirling the phone cord around your finger.

“Okay, I think I have someone for you. Are you interested in men or women?” She asks.

“Men please,” you say, timidly.

“Perfect! Terry’s going to knock the shyness right out of you. Hold a minute while I connect you. Just remember sweetie, relax and have fun.” With that, she disconnects our call and I hear the beeps of her transferring me.

There’s a pause on the other end before you hear a throat clear, “Hello?”, a voice that sounds like melted velvet bleeds its way through your phone speakers almost causing you to drop it.

“H- Hi”, you say, the nerves clear as day in your voice.

“Hey now, don’t be nervous, we're friends, aren’t we baby?”immediately your pussy quivers at the tone of his voice.Who knew a man could sound so sexy? Just the sound of his voice alone was enough to melt the panties of every woman in a five mile radius.

“Sorry, I’ve just never done anything like this before”you said, nervously.

“Well, let’s start slow. I’m Terry, and you are?” Terry asked.

“I’m Blaire. It’s nice to meet you Terry” you say shyly. You hear a raspy chuckle on the other end of the line before Terry says, “Pretty name, and I know the face matches.” Terry stopped tossing the stress ball between his fingers. Something in her voice caused him to lean forward, wanting to hear more, know more about the stranger with the voice like silk.

“What brings you to my little corner of the world, beautiful?”Terry asks, a curious frown on his face. This didn’t sound like one of the usual women he’d talk to. She sounded softer, sweeter, like she had no business calling a sex hotline. Normally, he’s not supposed to ask for names. Keeping the anonymity was a part of the thrill for most people, but he also wanted to know your name for his own personal stalker-ish reasons.

You groan, an embarrassed laugh leaving your lips, “My boyfriend broke up with me today because we aren’t ‘sexually compatible’”

Terry feels his frown deepen in sympathy, “I’m sorry to hear that love. Break-ups are never easy, and let’s face it if you guys aren't ‘sexually compatible’, he probably couldn’t make you come anyway.”

A satisfied smirk makes its way onto Terry’s face when he hears your laugh on the other end of the phone.

“C’mon sweetheart, tell me I’m wrong,” Terry coaxed, wanting to hear more of your voice. A dramatic sigh leaves your lips as you flip over.

“You’re right. He never made me feel anything south of the equator, which is probably why the sex was horrible. Like not even a twinge,” you finished with a giggle, the liquor getting to you.

“Well I hope I’m more successful,” Terry says, his voice dropping an octave. You’d only been on the phone with him for a few minutes, but his voice was already working its magic on you. The flush of heat, leading to the gentle flip of your belly. A welcome feeling that you thought might never return.

“You’re already doing more than he ever did,” you mumble, getting up.

“Oh am I?” Terry asked, the smirk on his face beginning to darken. He was going to have fun with you.

The silence on your end of the phone was beginning to stretch. Your mind begins to wander, wondering if you made the right decision.

“I’m sorry! This is my first time doing something like this and I don’t know how I should act.”

“Just be yourself baby. I’ll take the lead if that’s okay with you?” Terry asks. He can already feel his balls tightening. Her voice, her innocence, it was beginning to affect him.

“I’d like that, thank you, Terry” you say, settling deep into the comfort of your bed. Your plush pillows surround you while your silk sheets rub against your freshly shaved body.

“What are you doing now?” Terry asked. Another giggle left your lips as you replied, “Laying in bed watching jeopardy, and talking to you of course.”

“I see we have something in common, I’m a Jeopardy fan myself. Now, tell me beautiful, what are you wearing?” Terry asks, his voice dropping an octave. You feel yourself dampen between your legs at the question.

“Just an oversized t-shirt and fuzzy socks,” you say your voice taking on a breathy tone.

“I want you to do something for me,” Terry asks. He wanted to make sure you were comfortable.

“That depends, what do you need me to do Terry?” you ask, a smirk slowly spreading across your face.

“You’ll let me know if anything I say makes you uncomfortable, yeah?” Terry asks.

A small hum leaves your lips, your horniness hits you all at once. Blanketing your brain in a haze, “Yes, Terry. I can do that,” your voice already taking on a breathy tone. A low groan leaves Terry’s lips on the other side of the phone. He flexes his hand, itching to wrap it around your throat.

“Good, I want you to relax for me baby, can you do that?” Terry said, palming his hardening dick.

“Can you help me relax Terry? I’m sound wound up,”you say, not knowing where this burst of confidence came from. It must be the liquor, you thought.

“Easy love, just breathe for me yeah? Do you want me there with you? So I can rub you down, feel your muscles relax and loosen under my touch. Imagine us lying together, skin pressed close, hearts beating in tandem. I can make you feel so good baby.”Terry coaxed, his own breathing slowing to match yours. His words painted a comforting picture in your mind. You could feel your nipples beginning to harden under the thin sleep shirt.

Your breathing picked up, his words, his voice igniting something in you that you thought had long been extinguished. Desire. Your body started to warm as horniness hazed your vision.

“Mm, I wish I could see your face, Terry. I would love to see who’s behind the voice that has my panties so wet,”you purred. Terry’s eyes widened on his side. Your increasing confidence was turning him on, making him hot under the collar.

“Damn, baby I wish I could see you too. I’m loving this confidence, now tell me sweetheart are you relaxed?” Terry asks. He raises up from his lounge chair in his studio, yanking down his sweats, boxers, and grabbing his baby-oil.

“What can I say? You bring it out of me. I’d be more relaxed if you were here with me, but this will have to do for now,” you tease.

“ I love how you’re opening up for me baby.”Terry said. His balls aching with a need to release. You were doing a number on him and you didn’t even know it. Sure he got off with a client every one in a while, but there was something about you that drew him in. Making him want to know more about you, and not just sexually.

“Are you wet right now pretty girl?” Terry asks, his hand coming up slowly to stroke his dick.

“If I wasn’t I am now,” you say with a slight giggle.

‘That’s my girl,” Terry chuckles. “Put two fingers in your mouth and swirl them around. Let me hear it,”

A nervous laugh leaves your lips, “You want to hear it, Terry?” Terry groans at the way your name leaves his lips. “Yes baygirl, I want to hear every noise you make. I want to know what I do to you, how I make you feel. Every moan you release is all mine, so you better make sure I fucking hear it.”

A whimper leaves your lips at the dominant tone that Terry’s switched to. As if on autopilot, you bring your hand up to your lips and slide two fingers in. The slick wet noises of your fingers being wet by your tongue travel from your ears to Terry’s. A small moan releases from you at the pure nastiness of it all. Your drool practically leaking down to your wrist.

“Listen to you, moaning already. You haven’t even touched that pussy for me yet. Blaire, is she wet for me?” Terry groans. His dick bobbed with attention, begging him to wrap his fist around it and tug.

“I’m so fucking wet, Terry. My thighs are sticking together, when can I touch myself baby? I need to touch myself,” you moaned around your fingers.

“Soon baby, take that shirt off for me, I need you naked for what I have planned,” Terry rips his own shirt off. His chocolate nipples tighten as they meet the cool air.

“Rub your nipples for me Blaire. Tease them, tug at them, coat them in your drool until they look like shiny hershey kisses” Terry’s voice had taken on a hard edge, he was getting close and he barely touched himself. As he heard the sweet mewls you released he knew he needed you, and not just for phone sex.

“You’re doing things to me baby. I usually don’t get like this but I need this, I need you. Can I have you Blaire? Will you be mine?” Terry sounded like a desperate man, begging for pussy but he didn’t care.

“Yess baby I’m yours, I’m yours!,” a high pitched moan leaves your lips as you tweak your right nipple a little too hard. The pain sent a jolt of pleasure right down to your clit. You couldn’t believe yourself, you were opening like a flower to a man you’d never met.

“Your fingers are now mine baby girl, visualize me tracing my hands along your inner thighs, tracing patterns. Grabbing onto your luscious thigh kneading and tugging, slowly making my way upward, but not close enough to where you want me.”Terry voice lowers, the huskiness of it sounds like a growl.

“Can I touch myself please Terry? I’m so wet” your moans spurring him on.

“Can’t say I’m surprised baby. You’ve been wet since you heard my voice haven’t you?” Terry purred, his voice a seductive rumble. “Take a minute and focus on how wet you are. Feel it pooling between your legs, dripping down your ass, and wetting up your sheets. Feel how your body responds just at the thought of me, of what I plan to do to you when I finally get you alone.” Terry’s breath hitched as he listened to your needy whines and whimpers.

“You want to touch yourself, don’t you baby?” Terry asks. Your reply is almost instant, “Yes please Terry! Can I?”

“Go ahead baby, give yourself some relief. But just know it won’t compare to how my fingers will feel, my lips, and my dick in that wet ass pussy,” his voice thick with need. “Make sure I hear everything, every moan, every gasp, the slick sound of your fingers as they play with my pussy.”

Your fingers glide down your body to come in contact with your wet pussy. A mess of whimpers and moans can be heard through the phone. “Tell me what you want to do to me Terry, are you going to make me feel good?” you ask, a panting mess.

“I’m going to make you feel better than good baby. Fuck, my dick is rock hard for you Blaire,”Terry moaned, you could hear the slick sounds through the phone as he stroked himself. “I can’t wait to sink this dick deep inside of you, to feel that tight pussy wrap my dick in a warm, wet hug.” Terry’s hand moved faster, pumping his shaft with an increasing urgency as he continued to describe his fantasies out loud.

His voice dropping to a husky purr, his voice dripping with raw, unbridled lust. “Oh baby, I can’t wait to have you spread open so I can claim you as mine. Eat that sweet pussy until you’re crying, begging me to stop,” his free hand cupping his heavy balls as he stroked his aching dick.

You’re a moaning mess on the phone. Practically hypnotized by Terry’s words, “I need you, Terry!’ the needy whine left your lips without a second thought. When you dialed your local sex hotline you never thought the man on the other line would excite you, let alone hurl you toward one of the best orgasms you’ve had in months.

“Fuck baby, you have no idea how much I need you. How bad I want to feel that pussy come for me,” he rasped, his breathing ragged.

“Tell me how bad you need me baby,” You moan, your fingers form a mind of their own as they find their way inside your warm cunt. Breathless pants and whimpers bleed through the phone spurring on Terry’s need to get you as close as he is.

“I’d drag you onto the nearest flat surface and fuck you however you want me to. Do you like it rough? I’ll give it to you rough. What about loving and soft, because I can do that too, baby. Your pleasure is my only concern..fuck. I’m hard as fuck for you baby,” he palmed his aching dick harder, the friction sending jolts of pleasure down his spine.

Your fingers found your g-spot during Terry’s rant, eliciting high pitched squeals from you. “Terry, you have no idea how bad I wish you could be here with me. Nobody’s ever made me feel..unh. Feel like this before”

Terry’s chest heaved with a shuddering sigh at your confession. His heart ached at the longing in your voice, he had to meet you. “Babygirl, I’ve never felt like this before either. I want to meet you baby, can I do that? Can I meet my pretty girl?” This call reduces you both to babbling messes, too consumed in each other to pay attention to the outside world. “If I could only be there in person, baby, feeling your soft lips against mine, tasting how sweet you are,” he murmured, his thumb rubbing over the sensitive head of his dick.

“I’d fuck you right here on this call, if technology allowed. I’d push into that tight pussy so deep, so hard, that you’d for- forget your own name,” Terry’s voice dropped to a sensual purr, his imagination running wild at the thought of finally getting you alone.

“Come to me, Terry! Fuck! I need you here, I want you baby please! Can’t you hear how wet I am for you? How bad I want you, don’t leave me hanging, please,” more needy cries leave your lips and meet Terry’s ears. He was going to lose his mind if he didn’t have you.

Terry’s breath caught in his throat as he listened to your sultry whispers, his mind reeling with the intensity of his arousal. “Blaire, baby, you’re killing me with these sexy ass words of yours. I can almost feel your breath on my ear, begging me to take you harder, deeper,” he groaned, hips rocking instinctively as he continued to stroke his engorged member.

With a deep breath, Terry opened his mouth to say something that would absolutely get him fired, “Give me your address sweet girl, and I’ll be there. I’ll fuck you all night, every way you want me to, don’t you want me there with you baby. I’ll take care of you, I’ll hold you, please you in ways you’ve never felt. Just a few numbers and a street name and I’ll be there.” The horny declaration leaves his heaving chest, but Terry doesn’t regret anything. He just hopes you’ll say yes and give him that address.

You contemplate the idea. Should you really give your address to a phone sex operator, no matter how sexy the voice. Your buzz had mostly worn off, in its place a crippling horniness. Terry made you feel things you thought were once dead inside you, how could you deny yourself the opportunity that is this man. Being a single black female in a semi-big city, you weren’t an idiot. You had protective measures in place. So with a sigh and a shy giggle to read off your address to Terry.

“Can you do something for me Blaire?” Terry asks, yanking his sweats up over his aching dick. It’s taking everything in him to stop, but he has to get to you. He has to meet the vixen that's taken hold of him almost instantly.

“Anything,”you say, so delirious right on the edge of cumming.

“Don’t come until I can get my hands on you,” Terry hangs up the phone, promptly ending your session. Your chest heaving in frustration and desire at Terry’s command, you had something for his ass when he got there.

OH MY GOD!! OBVIOUSLY THERE’S A PART 2 COMING!!

I could never leave y’all hanging like that, but be warned it might be a while. Getting back into the groove of things and starting a second job has taken up a lot of my time. I’m finding my footing though so more consistent work will be coming. As always I always accept criticism, but please be gentle, I’m a tad but sensitive about my writing. Send me asks and requests, I love reading what you guys come up with! I love y’all to the moon and back thank you so much for consuming my work.

UNTIL NEXT TIME

TEE <3

#tee writes #aaron pierre #rebel ridge fanfiction #terry richmond fanfiction #terry richmond #terry richmond smut #terry richmond x reader #terry richmond x black reader #black fem writer #black fem reader #terry richmond x black oc #terry richmond x black! fem plus size reader #terry richmond x fem reader #terry richmond fic

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happy74827 · 4 months ago

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White Lies

[Spencer Reid x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: You have constantly lied to your mother about your private life, as she was one to disapprove of everything, but those "harmless lies" become a lot more serious when you forget to cancel plans with your closest friend.

WC: 3036

Category: Fluff, Fake Dating, Sassy!Reid {TW: Reader’s mom is Authoritarian}

Another drafted idea that I finally wrote up because Spencer is the definition of pookie, and you cannot change my mind. This is also a dedication to my girl, @yoursacredqueenmother, for matching my crazy delulu fantasies 🫶💖

『••✎••』

Your mom has always been a force of nature—a whirlwind of opinions, expectations, and unsolicited advice that sweeps through your life like a hurricane. She’s the kind of woman who believes she knows what’s best for you, even when you’re pretty sure she doesn’t. Ever since you turned 30 last year, her visits have become more frequent, and her nagging has reached a fever pitch.

"You’re getting old, sweetheart," she’d say, her voice dripping with concern that felt more like judgment. "You need to settle down, find a nice man, start a family. I’m not going to be around forever, you know."

The words were always delivered with a smile, but they stung like a slap. You love her, you really do, but her constant pressure makes you feel like you’re failing at some unspoken test of womanhood.

So, to get her off your back, you’d started lying. Little white lies at first—"I’m seeing someone, Mom, it’s just early stages"—but they quickly snowballed into more and more elaborate fibs. Soon, you were telling her that you were dating a doctor who wanted nothing more than to start a family with you but was waiting for the right time.

It was easier to make up a fictitious doctor than to explain the real reason you were still single.

Because the truth is that the man of your dreams is already in your life, he's been here for years, and he's always been the perfect friend. The problem is that he's a little hard to read. You have no idea how he feels about you or if he sees you as more than a friend.

You'd tried to tell him how you felt about him before, but the words had stuck in your throat. He’d seemed so confused, so shocked by the mere suggestion of romance. Maybe he just didn't see you that way. Maybe you’d ruin your friendship by even mentioning the idea.

This led to where you are now: alone, frustrated, and trying to figure out how to keep your mother from butting into your personal life. You’d thought maybe she’d drop the issue after your birthday, but she’d come by to "surprise you" last night and is now currently sitting at the kitchen table, looking around your apartment with an expression of vague disappointment.

"Honey, you’re an adult now," she says, not looking up from her coffee cup. "You can’t keep living like this."

She gestures at the living room, which is scattered with discarded letters and half-read books. The mess is a symptom of the chaos in your head as you’ve been too preoccupied with thoughts of him to worry about cleaning up after yourself.

"It’s not that bad," you mumble, though you know it is. Even he’d commented on the state of your apartment when he’d last stopped by, and his place is usually worse than yours. Messy, not dirty. He’s a bit of an organized hoarder.

"Well, maybe not for a single girl," she sighs. "But what if Doctor Whoever comes over? Don’t you want to impress him?"

You bite your lip, trying to keep your temper in check. This is the problem with your mother—she has a habit of steamrolling over your feelings, and you've never been able to stand up to her. You’d thought you were done having this argument when you turned 30. Apparently, you’d thought wrong.

"Mom," you begin, your voice firm. "I told you, he doesn't care about stuff like that. He's more concerned with things like—"

The doorbell rings, interrupting you mid-sentence. Thank God. You’re not sure what you would have said, but any excuse is better than none. You figured it was the mailman, late with that package you’d been expecting, but when you just so happen to glance at the calendar (the one your father bought you last Christmas, with pictures of cats wearing hats), your stomach drops.

March 21st, which may not seem important, and it really isn’t, unless you look closer and realize that the cat in the picture is wearing a lab coat and is holding a beaker. Because that, my friends, is not just a picture. It is a reminder.

The one thing you had not wanted to forget.

The one thing, apparently, you had forgotten.

You’d been so busy trying to avoid your mother’s questions about your non-existent boyfriend that you’d completely lost track of time. The calendar sits there, taunting you, and all you can think is:

Oh, no.

Because the person who had rang the doorbell? It was him. He and his adorable grin, hazel-like eyes, and messy brown hair. He probably even brought a bag of those terribly expensive chocolates you love.

You want to cry. Of course, it had to be that day, the day of all days, the day you'd been secretly anticipating for all month.

Chess day. It was a monthly ritual you'd started with him when he'd discovered that you, too, were a fan of the game. You were absolutely terrible at it, and he won every time, but honestly, you didn't care. Chess day was just an excuse for you to spend time with him.

Except today, you have company, and it’s not exactly the kind you want him to meet.

You were supposed to call him, but in your haste to please your mom, you completely forgot.

Your mother’s gaze shifts to the door, and her eyebrows rise as if she can sense his presence on the other side. "Well, aren’t you going to answer that?"

No.

That's what you wanted to say. Instead, you hear yourself saying:

"Yeah, just a sec."

And, like a complete idiot, you open the door.

You open the door, and he’s there, all bright-eyed, smiling, holding a box of chocolates and his perfectly polished travel chess set. You feel like the biggest jerk in the world.

"Uh, hey!" he chirps, his voice making your stomach flip. He doesn’t seem to notice the tension in the air or the fact that your mother is standing right behind you, peering curiously over your shoulder. "I know I’m a little early, but I needed to pick up some things and..."

He trails off as his gaze settles on your mother. She’s eyeing him like a hawk and doing what she does when meeting a new person: leaning forward slightly, squinting her eyes, and tilting her head. You can see the wheels turning in her mind.

"Is this him?" she asks, her eyes wide with excitement.

Before you can stop her, she grabs your wrist and pulls you aside. You stumble into the kitchen, and she takes your place, smiling warmly at him.

"So, you’re the doctor," she says, her voice full of approval. "My daughter has told me so much about you!"

Oh, this is bad. So, so bad.

"Uh," he begins, clearly caught off-guard. His eyes dart to yours, and you were expecting his classic confused puppy look, but this time, it’s different. He looks... honored? No, that can't be right.

"She… talked about me?" he stammers, looking back at your mother.

She nods. "All the time! In fact, I was starting to think she’d made you up. It’s good to know my daughter has such a handsome young man in her life."

You want to die. Right there, on the spot. But, somehow, you manage to force a smile, even as your heart pounds with anxiety.

And your mother? She beams.

"It’s lovely to meet you finally," she gushes. She reaches out and shakes his hand, and he stares at her with a dazed expression. "My daughter has always been a bit shy, and she tends to keep things close to the vest if you know what I mean."

"Mom, please," you cut in, mortified. "Stop."

He still hasn't said a word, and the silence is killing you.

"Well, come on in, then," your mother continues, ignoring your protests. "I insist. After all, I can't wait to learn more about my future son-in-law!"

And this is when the situation goes from bad to worse.

This is when he freezes, and the box of chocolates threatens to slip from his fingers. You watched as he struggled to form a coherent sentence.

"I... Uh, that's not... we’re not..."

"Yes! Yes, we are!" you shout, desperate to cover up his stammering. He looks at you, his expression shifting from confused to shocked, and it’s like a punch in the gut. "That’s right, Mom. This is him. My boyfriend. Doctor Whoever."

"Oh, sweetie, this is so wonderful!" Your mother is so busy clapping her hands with delight that she doesn't notice his reaction.

"Doctor… Whoever?" He looks offended and a bit hurt. "What’s that supposed to mean—?"

"Shush!" You hiss, silently pleading with him to keep quiet. He must have caught your desperation because he shuts his mouth.

It allowed you a moment to process everything. Your mother is smiling widely, her face filled with delight. She doesn't even seem bothered by the fact that he’s currently dressed like a college professor with an evident love for scarves.

Meanwhile, he’s standing there, blinking stupidly, looking as if his entire world has been flipped upside-down. He seems torn between anger and elation, and honestly, it’s confusing as hell. You want to grab him and apologize and explain that this was all a mistake, but you can’t. Not with your mother right there.

So, you knew what you had to do.

"Mom! Say, would you mind doing me a huge favor and just give us like a few minutes? We have some important totally-not-boyfriend stuff to discuss."

"Sure, honey." She grins. "I'll do some unpacking. How about that?"

"Perfect!"

She practically skips into the other room, leaving the two of you alone. There’s a long, uncomfortable silence, broken only by the sound of the bedroom door clicking shut.

The sigh you let out is one of relief, tinged with the faintest hint of dread.

Though, he was the first to break the silence with words.

"I didn’t realize we were dating," he says, his voice low. He's not quite glaring at you, but it's a close thing. "Last time I checked, statistically, dating requires at least two people. Which leads me to the logical conclusion that you are, in fact, a liar. Unless this is some strange, newfangled term for friendship, in which case, I think it would be more appropriate for me to refer to you as the "teller of lies" rather than a—"

"I know, I'm sorry." You blurt out, your cheeks flushing with shame. "I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. She was asking all these questions, and I couldn't tell her the truth, and then she just kept talking, and I couldn't get a word in edgewise, and... I panicked. Okay? That’s all."

"What do you mean, couldn’t tell her the truth?" He narrows his eyes. "Is something wrong? Did you get yourself into trouble?"

"No! No, nothing like that."

"Then, what is it that you can't tell her?"

He steps closer, and the concern in his eyes makes you feel even guiltier.

"Look, don't worry about it, alright? It’s not important." You turn away, refusing to meet his gaze.

"If it isn’t important, then why are you so embarrassed?"

"I’m not embarrassed."

"Your cheeks are flushed," he points out. "And you tend to rub your thumb against your forefinger when you’re feeling nervous or stressed. Which, coincidentally, is also something you do when you’re lying."

Damn it. You should’ve known better than to lie to a profiler.

"You don’t know what it’s like to be interrogated by my mother," you snap, harsher than intended. You soften your voice before continuing. "It’s like she’s constantly see-sawing between disapproval and pity. She means well, but when she’s around, I feel like I'm being crushed under the weight of her expectations."

He opens his mouth, but you cut him off.

"And I know, I know, that’s not an excuse for lying. I just... I’m sorry, okay? It was wrong and selfish and... I didn’t mean to drag you into it."

You brace yourself for the inevitable rejection, the anger, the disappointment. Instead, you hear him let out a sigh, followed by the familiar look of resolve that comes over him when he's faced with a challenging puzzle.

"You know, when we first met, you used to lie all the time." He glances at you, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "You would say things like, 'I don't watch rom-coms,' and, 'I have a real job,' and, most infamously, 'there's no such thing as aliens.'"

"Hold on a minute—"

He ignored your protests, his smile growing wider.

"You’re not that bad of a liar. Actually, you’re pretty decent, considering your lack of social skills. So the fact that you’ve managed to fool your mother is pretty impressive."

"Hey—"

"And, honestly, it’s a little flattering."

"I— Wait… what?" You gape at him, trying to figure out what's going on. "Flattering?"

He shrugs, but you can tell he's trying not to blush.

"Liars tend to use people they know well or trust implicitly when they need a cover story because they have more information about them and are therefore more believable. So, by lying about your fake boyfriend, that being me, it suggests that you trust me enough to make a convincing cover story, and the fact that you are embarrassed about the deception implies a certain amount of fondness."

"You can't know all that from a simple lie."

"Can’t I?"

There's something in his tone, the slightest hint of a tease, that makes your heart flutter. He's always been like this, so damn perceptive. You never knew what to make of it.

"It’s actually a well-established behavioral theory," he continues. "Deceivers typically show affection toward the person they are attempting to deceive. In fact, a study in the 1970s—"

"Spencer, please." You hold up a hand. "I get it."

"I'm not so sure that you do."

There's an intensity in his gaze that makes your stomach do backflips.

"Because," he murmurs, moving a little closer, "if you did, I wouldn’t have had to spend the past three years of my life wondering why my best friend keeps avoiding my gaze."

"You noticed that?" You squeak, suddenly finding the floor very interesting.

"I notice everything."

He takes a step toward you, and it’s so quick, so unexpected, that you can't help but glance up. He's actually extremely close, his face mere inches from yours, and you find yourself frozen, unable to speak, unable to think, as his eyes lock with yours.

"I notice that the color of your eyes changes depending on the lighting." He pauses, and his voice grows softer. "And I notice that your pupils dilate when I'm near. I notice the way you breathe, the way you laugh, the way you chew your bottom lip when you’re deep in thought. And I can’t help but notice that the closer I get, the faster your heart rate becomes. That could be a number of things, of course, and not just an indication of arousal, but considering the context, the likelihood that it’s due to anything other than sexual excitement is simply—"

"Spence," you breathe, your pulse pounding in your ears. You’re not sure what to do, so you blurt out the first thing that pops into your mind. "Do you want to be my fake boyfriend?"

There’s a moment of silence, followed by a quiet snort.

"I thought I already was."

You can feel the heat rising in your cheeks, but the tension between you has lessened. Now, he’s simply staring at you with a smug smile, and it's like a dam has burst. The words tumble out of your mouth, spilling out like water from a leaky faucet.

"Well, then, you should know that my boyfriend is absolutely infuriating and has a tendency to ramble about obscure facts at inappropriate moments. And he’s really, really bad at taking a hint."

His smile widens, and his voice takes on a teasing tone.

"Oh, he is, is he? Tell me, is he good at chess?"

"No, he’s terrible at it."

"Then, he sounds like a total loser."

"Yeah," you admit, biting back a smile. "He’s the biggest loser I know."

"In that case, you should know that my girlfriend is incredibly frustrating and a compulsive liar who uses her boyfriend for cover stories. She also tends to cheat her way to victory despite still losing most of the time."

"I do not cheat!" You protest, playfully punching him on the shoulder.

"No, you just make up rules on the spot in order to justify why you lose so badly."

"You’re one to talk. You’re the one who’s been letting me win all this time."

"Perhaps," he grins. "Or maybe I’ve been letting you believe that."

You narrow your eyes.

"Are you admitting to me what I think you're admitting?"

"What is it that you think I’m admitting to?"

"I think you’re admitting to me that you’ve been throwing our chess games all this time."

"That sounds like the ramblings of someone who cheats and is trying to project their own faults onto others."

"Oh, you know what—"

And that's when the bedroom door swings open, and your mother's voice cuts through the air like a knife.

"Ahem."

She's standing there, smiling, and holding a box filled with old pictures and baby toys. Your father had sent it to you last year, hoping that you’d have children soon and use it, but you’d put it in storage, intending to deal with it later. Apparently, your mother had decided now was the perfect time.

The both of you share a look, and it's clear that he’s thinking the same thing as you.

"Not interrupting, am I?" She asks, glancing from him to you and then back again. Her smile was practically glowing, and she had a strange look in her eyes as if she were a cat watching a bird. "I was just looking for a place to put these old things and thought maybe my daughter's boyfriend might be interested in seeing them."

The shared look between the two of you solidified what was going through both of your minds. This was indeed going to be a long, long afternoon.

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vixensbrainrotts · 2 years ago

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TR men reacting to little kids wooing you

Content: reactions

Tropes: established relationship

Warnings: none (lmk if im wrong)

Summary: A little boy, perhaps four or five of age comes waddling over to you two whilst you're out on a date together and offers you a flower, confessing his spontaneous love for you. How does your man react to that?

Vixen’s two cents: hi! This has been sitting in my drafts forever so i need to get it out cause it’s collecting cobwebs. It’s sort of a random idea but whatever, i found it entertaining. Also im editing this in the car and its giving me a stroke why is the road so fucking uneven? If you have any ideas for me to write please please please my requests ans messages are open! Yeah, let me know if there are any other characters that fit those types and enjoy!

(Takemichi, Chifuyu, Souya, Hakkai, Shinichiro, Sanzu (I don’t care what anyone says. Shy Sanzu is forever on my agenda), Inui)

Nearly deceased type, it took him so long to get you. How HOW is this little ass kid wooing you better than he could ever dream of? What the actual fuck was happening? He couldn’t believe his eyes when that actual toddler came up to you with a flower, the stem freshly plucked, and a glimmer in the kid‘s hopeful eyes. The boy had almost serenaded you the way he sang praises to you: „excuse me miss, you’re really pretty! Would you accept my flower please?“. And what was even more unbelievable, was when you giggled and accepted the flower giddily. Then the little boy crossed the line: „can I have a kiss in return Miss?“. And you did. You pecked the cheek of the boy meek two minutes after meeting him! Unbelievable! It took him 3 dates to even hold your hand. Outrizzed by a five year old.

(Nahoya, Mikey, Baji)

Ready to fight the kid. He's deadass about it too, rolling up his sleeves and cracking his knuckels and snapping the kinks in his neck, looking menacingly at that poor little boy. He doesn't care that this may be the kid's first crush, he'll crush him in return. You were his damnit and he was gonna prove it to anyone who tried him. Kids included. When you pull at his arm though, prompting him to calm down, he stops a little. What do you mean you dont want him to establish his dominance? He's genuinely stumped and just kinda stares at you for a second, watching you intensely as you lean down to the boy, whispering something in his little ear and taking the flower from him. The boy giggles at you, his former horror dissipated, instead replaced with a furious blush that spread all the way down his neck and up his ears. He blew you a kiss before skipping away, giddily going back to whatever he was doing beforehand. Your boyfriend turns you around by the shoulders immediately and gives you a harmless glare. “What the fuck was that about?” But he doesn’t get a response, as you just wrap your arms around him and laugh. “You’re so cute when you’re jealous!” Well… that wasnt the answer he was looking for but he’ll take it.

(Ran, Shion, Draken, Benkei, Wakasa)

Sitting back and watching the show. He finds the little kids advances hilarious and will gladly watch the little shrimp try to win you over whilst you’re trying your hardest not to burst out laughing. “So sweets, how old are you anyway?” The boy asks you with a smirk on his face. “Too old for you.” You answer incredulously, just about ready to cry from laughter. “No no no baby, no one has to know! It can just be between the two of us and that’s fineeee!” He draws out the syllables and leans one elbow on table you and your boyfriend are sitting at. Your boyfriend all the while has probably pulled out a phone, discreetly filming the whole thing whilst leaning back and hiding his tears. You shoot both boys an amused look and then answer the awaiting kid. “Come back to me in a few years and maybe we can arrange something, yeah?” The little kids eyes widen as he looks at you with a determined smile. “Yes! You won’t regret it! And I’ll beat up your wannabe boyfie over here once I’m strong enough too!” He exclaims and runs off leaving you howling in laughter and your boyfriend, who is suddenly enraged by a child, fumes silently, sending daggers across the room. “Relax baby.” You reach a hand over the table to hold his, wiping the tears from your eyes. “Don’t touch me.” He hisses and puts the phone down, crossing his arms in fake offense.

(Hanma, Kokonoi, Izana, Rindou)

The false hope typa guy. In this case, the boy made the mistake of coming up to HIM and innocently asking for your name. “Why, you like what you see?” Your boyfriend uses language much too mature for the little kid, but he gets a timid response of “yeah, she’s real pretty..” nevertheless. Your boyfriend chuckles and pats him on the shoulder. “I say go for it, I’m sure you’ve got a chance with her!” The little boy has wide eyes and an open mouth “Really? You sure she doesn’t have some super big ‘n scary boyfriend?” He has to suppress laughter when he answers. “I’m sure she doesn’t, go talk to her, ask her for her name and tell her that I said hi too.” And with that, he’s sent the kid on his way. Your boyfriend watches him shyly go up to you and pat your leg slightly to get your attention. He watches you smile down at the little boy and talk to him, your eyes widening and laughing when you exchange a few words with the kid. When he sees fit, he comes stalking over to the two of you and wraps his arm around your waist and smirks at the kid. “Hey there.” You greet your boyfriend and turn to look at him. “Have you met—“ he guesses that you’re about to introduce him to the little boy but he doesn’t care to listen, and leans down to shush your lips with a long, over-the-top kiss, even going as far as to cracking one eye open to look at the little boys horrified face before finally pulling away. You’re a little dazed and very confused when you look down and find your little admirer gone. You throw your boyfriend an accusing look but he only raises his hands in surrender, claiming innocent with a smug smile on his face.

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yourmidnightlover · 1 year ago

Text

control

(forever? pt 2)

pairing: mob!bucky barnes x fem!reader (arranged marriage)

summary: after a rough night with bucky, you wake up alone and get some frustrating news from your beloved husband

warnings: reader is insecure/doubts, not eating for 24 hours (out of protest), kind of controlling bucky, violence, if i missed anything, please let me know!

w/c: 2.7k+

a/n: hiii! this is the second part that was in high demand after i posted forever? i hope y'all like it! this has been sitting in my drafts for what feels like forever and i finally have had a chance to share it with you all! i hope it's worth the wait :)

part 3 -> the story

you woke up alone, just like every morning in the past two months with the exception of the smell of his cologne only a whisper on your bedsheets.

maybe you shouldnt have expected anything else from him. he had just felt bad about what happened, about making you cry, that’s all. he couldn’t have you running out on the deal that was made. he just had to save face. it was all business…

there was another knock on the door. two days in a row, which was rather surprising.

opening the door, you come face to face with bucky’s right hand man, steve. his kind blue eyes shone with a hint of remorse, likely knowing at least a bit of what happened last night from his boss.

“hi,” you smiled, your hand remaining on the doorknob.

“hey,” his eyes examined your face, probably to report back to bucky on how you were doing. as if he couldn’t check on you himself. “are you hungry?”

you turn around to look at the clock that reads 12:30.

“i didn’t realize how late it was,” you shook your head as he chuckled.

“you probably needed the rest after…” he inhaled a sharp breath. “anyway, bucky wants you to head up to the office. told me to make sure you ate too.”

why couldn’t he show you how caring he was?

maybe that’s why he left so early… because he had stuff in the office to take care of. that was what your mind would assume to save your own ego, at least.

he took you by a mom and pop diner around the corner from their office, let you eat as many waffles and pieces of bacon as your heart desired until he discreetly paid the bill and then you made your way to the office to meet with your husband.

stopping outside his door, you heard his voice ringing angry and raging.

“i said to find him. i don’t care if you have to work all day and night to do it. i’m gonna find out where he is. nobody touches what’s mine and gets away with it.”

was he talking about you? or was he talking about another one of his many possessions or assets. either way, with the tone he was talking about everything, even if he was talking about you, he made it seem as though you were merely an object that was in his trophy case. if he was looking for john in order to reprimand him, it was likely to send a message to everyone else that dared look at him. to ensure they didn’t see him as weak.

he would never do anything for you out of the kindness of his heart, surely.

“do whatever needs to be done. end of discussion.” you heard a dial tone end, followed by steve knocking on the door.

“glad you made it safely,” bucky nodded towards steve before glancing at your form tucked behind him. “how’re you feelin’?” you shrugged.

“fine, i guess.”

“thank you, steve,” seemingly dismissing steve, he left the room promptly. “i wanted to talk with you about something.” you remained quiet; he sighed before continuing. “i’ve made some arrangements to get you your own personal bodyguard, for when i’m not around to ensure your safety. they would be ‘round the clock unless approved otherwise or when i’m available to be around you.”

“so i would be watched 24/7?” you finally piped up. “like a child?” you voice was still meek as you mentioned your objection.

“it’s for your safety.” he stepped closer to you, not missing the way your body tensed at the movement. “so that something like what happened last night doesn’t happen again,” his jaw tensed, seemingly at the mention of what happened.

so someone doesn’t touch his precious trophy again, you thought to yourself.

“i’m a grown woman. i barely even leave the house, and you think i need more surveillance?” your brows furrowed together as you shrunk into yourself, your shoulders deflating at the thought of losing even more of yourself to this marriage.

“it happened at our house,” bucky reminded you.

“it happened with you right around the corner, too. y’might as well have a drone following me around at that point,” you scoffed quietly. “what? next i won’t be able to shower by myself.”

“if that’s what it takes to ensure your safety, then that’s what’ll happen.” there was no playfulness or sarcasm in his tone.

“i was joking, you can’t be serious,” you looked at him, feeling stubborn tears beginning to well in your eyes.

“deadly,” he assured you, his brows raised and his serious tone piercing your heart. “whatever it takes.”

you shook your head as you turned to the door. “no.”

your hand reached the doorknob before he added, “i was running this by you as a courtesy. not to get your permission.”

you froze in your steps, turning to him with a questioning look. a couple tears finally broke free from the dam before you responded, “then what was the point?” with that, you walked out of his office, turning to steve. “is it you?” after seeing the tears streaking your face, the choked sobs leaving your throat, he looked to the ground in defeat. you had your answer. and bucky had your freedom in his hand.

you really were just a device for him at this point. you play the part of a loving, devoted wife while he probably does whatever he pleases to maintain his image to the public.

you understood that their businesses were in the public eye and that the news of a finance business being absorbed how it was would draw a lot of attention, but nothing made sense right now. he was being so serious about it all. 24/7 surveillance, a fucking bodyguard… for a finance business merge. it was disheartening, to say the least.

it’s not like you had a say in the matter, anyway. so, steve escorted you safely from the premises back to your gated house, where you locked yourself in your room for the rest of the night.

you didn’t open the door when he tried to ask what you wanted for dinner, or when he tried to give you a sandwich.

you didn’t even open the door when bucky tried to knock himself once he got home at 11p.m.

or in the morning when they tried to give you breakfast.

or at noon when steve insisted on lunch.

“it’s been almost 24 hours since you’ve eaten,” steve sighed from the other side of the door as you sat at your desk, pen doodling meaningless lines in your notebook as you stared at the blank word document. “bucky’s not gonna be happy if he finds out you haven’t been eating or talking or… anything. you know i have to tell him.”

and you stayed quiet.

if he wanted a polite little trophy wife, he would get one. but last time trophy wives were a thing was in the 40s, and they weren’t really allowed to say much, so you figured you’d follow suit.

kind of like your own version of a peaceful protest.

apparently bucky wasn’t very happy about that.

he showed up knocking on your door not 20 minutes after steve tried to insist on lunch again. at least he wasn’t busting the door down, much to your surprise.

“it’s bucky, but i’m sure you’ve figured that out,” his voice rang with a certain softness he had with you only two nights ago. “i told steve to go for a little walk so i could talk with you. i was hoping you’d maybe respond?” he tried to open the door, finding it remained locked. “sweetheart, please just eat something. you haven’t even had water since yesterday. you know you have to drink something.”

you suppose it would look pretty bad for him if his dear wife went to the hospital for dehydration, or starvation for that matter. has the bucky barnes been treating his wife as less than? or has he simply forgotten about his wife? perhaps she’s a weak point for him?

although he probably wouldn’t admit you to the hospital, he’d probably hire someone to come to the house themselves, sworn to secrecy of some sort.

you heard rustling on the other side of the door, not footsteps, more like clothing being rustled followed by a thump. his voice rang out lower on the door when he spoke, “i know you’re not happy about having a bodyguard. i understand, i do. you think your freedom is being tarnished and threatened and this is you trying to control what little you can because of that.”

how can he act like he knows you so well? the man who made it seem as though the marriage would be at least a partnership before the words ‘i do’ were uttered. after the honeymoon a flip must’ve been switched in his brain, telling him you were a little toy for him rather than the partner you had agreed to be.

but, after plenty of time to think, you’ve come to realize that you were being rather selfish. as much as you wanted your freedom. you wanted to stick it to the man and tell him that you deserved respect, because you did.

you also had a duty to your family, to keep them safe. being in this marriage was the only way to do that. and if any questions arose, like bucky’s care for you, then your family would be in danger.

with a click, you unlocked the door. he must’ve heard it because he slowly opened the door and took a step inside your room, a few feet from you.

“i’m sorry,” you looked at the collar of his suit rather than his eyes. “i’ve been acting rash and immature. i apologize for that.”

“i didn’t-”

“i won’t question your authority again,” you were picking at your nails. “i understand that you need steve to make sure nobody harms me to maintain your image. i respect that. i respect your decision.”

you couldn’t bare to look at his face. your gaze shifted to the floor as he began to nod.

“does that mean you’ll eat something?” you nodded, chewing on your lower lip before responding.

“i’m sorry for taking time away from your business,” you moved the hair from your face, tucking it behind your ears, doing anything you could to distract yourself. “i now how valuable your time is.”

“you’re more valuable than all the time i have,” he took a step closer to you before you felt his index finger and thumb gently holding your chin, nudging your head up to look him in the face. “do you understand?” his blue eyes were full of emotion, a mix of them, at that. if you squinted it was almost like there were tears building at the corners of his eyes. but you weren’t squinting anymore. you saw the full picture quite clearly with your eyes wide open.

“i understand,” you nodded curtly.

you did understand.

you understood that he had an image to maintain. that image, for you and your family, was for him to be a devoted, loving husband to his equally loving and devoted wife.

his image is his reputation, and no money in the world could buy the reputation he has.

he let go of your chin, cupping the sides of your face before he leaned in to press a kiss to your forehead, “i brought your favorite with me. steve’s warmed it up in the microwave for when you’re ready for it. just… eat whatever you can. if you’re still hungry i’d gladly go and grab some more for you.”

“aren’t you going back to the office?” you, voluntarily this time, looked into his eyes with furrowed brows.

“no, my love,” he shook his head before dropping his hands from your face. “i told them i needed to spend the rest of the day with my wife.”

of course. if steve knew about last night, people at the office probably did too. it would look pretty lousy if he didn’t look after his wife after an incident like that.

“oh,” you nodded as you broke eye contact once more. “that sounds nice.”

you followed him downstairs, where steve had already set your food aside for you to start on. not eating for so long truly did affect you more than you thought. you didn’t even realize how hungry you were, finishing the entire meal in less than 15 minutes.

bucky was sitting beside you, eating his own food as he made sure you ate and drank, and noticed when you made a happy plate, and cup, might he happily add.

“wanna go get some more now?” he let his hand float to your hair, raking through your messy locks with a smile growing at the corner of his lips.

“no, that’s okay,” you shook your head, not wawnting to bother him more than necessary.

“if you’re still hungry, then that’s not okay,” you looked to see him shaking his head, his eyes fixed on the dining room table. “c’mon,” he stood from the table, holding his hand out for you to take. “we’re going to get s’more food.”

“will we be going alone?” you let your eyes gravitate to where steve stood in the corner of the room, having not been dismissed by bucky yet.

“steve,” bucky called him over. “you can go home now. i’ve got her. thank you.” he released him from his duties. “now will you come with me?”

you took a second to think. maybe he was a controlling asshole, but what he was doing was for your safety, whether you agreed with it or not. “okay,” you nodded, figuring it was also best you went along with whatever he said. he seemed to get whatever he wanted anyways. “can we just go through a drive through somewhere?”

“if that’s what you want…” he nodded, surprisingly agreeing to your proposal. “where to?”

“... mcdonalds?” you suggested once more.

“of course, my love,” he pressed a kiss to the crown of your head, oddly affectionate since nobody was around. “when we get back i’ll arrange hiring a chef for you, as well. i won’t have you going hungry if i can help it.”

“you don’t have to-”

“i will.”

you knew better than to argue. you wouldn’t poke the bear if you could help it. sure, he’s told you he wouldn’t hurt you. you were his wife and if news came out that he had hurt his wife in any way, his reputation would be threatened.

you couldn’t help but remember every warning your friends told you about going into a relationship with this man. warnings about being on your toes, watching your back, never letting your guard down.

in your mind, this was just one more reason you wouldn’t have to leave the house. another little piece of freedom taken from you in a roundabout sense.

“okay,” you nodded, accepting your fate as someone who would eventually be trapped in their house forever.

he took you through the drive through at mcdonald’s, getting you whatever you wanted and an oreo mcflurry. on the way home, eating the mcflurry before it melted, it was a silent ride. and not a very comfortable one, probably due to your suspicions about him wanting to control you.

maybe him controlling you wouldn’t be so bad… he was kind to you, provided for you, made sure you didn’t want for anything. but with that, went a lot of your heart, freedom, and control.

TAGS:

@nefri-black

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes angst #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fluff #james bucky barnes #marvel #bucky barnes smut #sargeant barnes #bucky barnes au #bucky au #sargeant bucky barnes #mob!bucky barnes #mob bucky barnes #mob!bucky #mafia au #mafia bucky barnes #mafia bucky x reader #mafia bucky x you

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tokkiwrites · 7 months ago

Note

Hi 💗 first of all, I just discovered your tumblr and I already love your work <3 I’m not sure if this is the way to request, but I’d like to request a kraven one shot, where he is absolutely in love with reader but because of a misunderstanding he breaks up with her in a mean but hot way, then he finds out about the truth and tries to get her pardon, ofc I’d love me some angst, smut and dom kraven 🥺🥺 thank you

▪︎summary: You’re a film producer with a busy schedule, and your boyfriend Sergei’s insecurities lead to a heated fight. After realizing his mistake, he goes all out to win you back, proving just how much you mean to him.

▪︎tags: established relationship, kind of toxic sergei imo, a bit of angst, afab reader, p in v, creampie, belly bulge (??), size kink if you squint, fingering reader receiving, makeup sex, a few pet names, mean (slightly) dom sergei.

▪︎first fic of the year!!! thank you for this request!!! it's been sitting in my drafts for a long while, so sorry for making you wait. it has 2.45k words & and it's not proofread, so if you see any errors, no, u didn't !! i hope you enjoy <3

The air in your apartment was thick with tension. You sat on the leather couch, scrolling aimlessly on your phone, waiting for him to return from yet another one of his late-night escapades. It wasn’t unusual for Sergei to disappear without much explanation; his life as a hunter—of men, animals, and vengeance—demanded it. But lately, he’d been colder, distant in a way that left you feeling like a stranger in your own relationship.

When the door finally opened, his broad frame filled the entryway. His face, shadowed by the dim light of the city outside, was unreadable. "You’re home late." you said softly, setting your phone down. He closed the door behind him with deliberate slowness, his piercing blue eyes locking onto yours. "We need to talk."

Your stomach tightened. "What’s going on?"

"I found something," he said, pulling a small, crumpled note from his pocket and tossing it onto the coffee table. You glanced at it, confused. It was one of your old grocery lists. "What about it?"

He leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "I saw the address written on the back. A warehouse in the docks. Care to explain why you were there?" You blinked, trying to recall. "That was weeks ago. I picked up some things for work— props for the shoot. I told you about it."

"No, what you told me was that you were with your team. But I asked around. Your team never uses that place." His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it that made your skin prickle.

"Sergei, what are you getting at?"

"I think you’ve been hiding something," he said, stepping closer. "I’ve seen this before. People lying, playing both sides, thinking they can outsmart me." Your chest tightened with frustration. "Are you serious right now? You think I’m involved in…what? Some conspiracy? Smuggling?"

"Don’t." His voice dropped, dangerously low. "Don’t play innocent. I saw you meeting someone there— a man."

You stared at him, disbelief washing over you. Then it clicked. "Oh my God. You’re talking about Steve, aren’t you? He’s my set designer! He was helping me load props for the commercial."

"Steve," he repeated, skeptical.

"Yes, Steve! Sergei, do you think I have some secret life I’m keeping from you? Do you really think I’d risk everything for…for what, exactly?"

He didn’t answer, his jaw tightening.

"Unbelievable," you muttered, standing. "You’ve been pulling away for weeks, acting like I’m the problem, and now I find out it’s because you think I’m some kind of criminal?"

"You’ve lied before," he said, his voice softer but still firm.

You froze. "That’s what this is about, isn’t it? The one time I didn’t tell you I was scared on one of your hunts, and now you think I’m some kind of liar."

Sergei ran a hand through his hair, his frustration palpable. "Trust is not something I give lightly. And once it’s broken—"

"Once it’s broken, what? You punish me forever?" Your voice cracked. "I’ve been trying so hard to be there for you, to understand your life, and this is how you repay me?"

His silence was answer enough.

You grabbed your coat, the tears burning in your eyes now impossible to hold back. "You know what, Sergei? If you can’t trust me by now, maybe you don’t deserve me," you said, your voice trembling with anger and heartbreak. You shoved past him, grabbing your bag from the counter. "I’m done trying to prove myself to someone who’s determined to see the worst in me."

He didn’t stop you. He just stood there, the weight of your words settling into the room like a physical presence.

When the door slammed behind you, Sergei was left alone with his thoughts, the silence deafening. His instincts, honed through years of hunting and survival, were screaming at him that he had made a mistake. But pride held him back from chasing after you.

Days passed, and Sergei couldn’t get you out of his head. Every corner of his apartment reminded him of you—the mug you always used, the blanket you insisted on leaving draped over the couch, your perfume faintly lingering in the air.

But what haunted him most was the look in your eyes when you left. Hurt. Betrayed.

It wasn’t until he found himself back at the docks that everything began to unravel. He wasn’t there to check on you or verify his suspicions— he was there to work, tracking a lead on a smuggling operation tied to his latest hunt.

And that’s when he saw the warehouse you’d mentioned. Inside, he spotted Steve, the “man” he had been so suspicious of, overseeing a crew as they dismantled what appeared to be a film set. Lights, props, and equipment were being packed into cases.

“Perfect timing!” Steve called out when he spotted Sergei lingering by the entrance. “We just wrapped. Your girl's idea for the shoot went off without a hitch.”

Sergei’s stomach twisted. “What are you talking about?”

“She didn’t tell you?” Steve said, grinning. “She practically ran this whole project. She even came out here herself to supervise when we couldn’t get everything transported in time. Total lifesaver.”

Sergei’s heart sank. The anger he’d held onto for days evaporated, replaced by a crushing guilt. He had been so consumed by his doubts and paranoia that he’d completely misjudged you.

“Where is she now?” Sergei asked, his voice rough.

Steve shrugged. “Last I heard, she was taking some time off. Said she needed a break.”

It took Sergei two more days to track you down. You had retreated to a quiet café on the other side of town, tucked into a corner booth with a notebook and a cup of tea. When you saw him approach, your expression hardened. “What are you doing here?”

"Love, Iㅡ” he said, his voice low and uncharacteristically soft. “I made a mistake.”

“You think?” you shot back, closing your notebook with a sharp snap. “I was wrong,” he continued, sitting across from you despite your obvious reluctance. “I let my fears and suspicions cloud my judgment. I accused you of something you didn’t do, and I pushed you away because of it.”

You crossed your arms, glaring at him. “Why are you really here, Sergei? To ease your guilt? Or to make yourself feel better about what you said to me?”

“No,” he said firmly. “I’m here because I love you. And because I can’t stand the thought of losing you over my own stupidity.”

Your breath hitched, but you refused to let yourself melt just yet. “Do you have any idea how much you hurt me? How little you must think of me to believe I’d do something like that?”

He reached across the table, his hand hovering over yours. “I don’t think little of you. I think too much of you. I’ve lost so much in my life. People I trusted. People I loved. And when I thought I might lose you too…” He swallowed hard. “I panicked. I lashed out. I was wrong.”

For a moment, you just stared at him, the raw sincerity in his eyes breaking through your defenses. “Do you know how exhausting it is, Sergei, to always feel like I’m on trial with you?”

“I know,” he said, his voice heavy with regret. “And I promise you, I will do better. I will earn back your trust—if you’ll let me.” You hesitated, the walls around your heart crumbling piece by piece. “One more chance,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “But if you screw this up again, Sergei…”

“I won’t,” he said quickly, his hand finally closing over yours. “I won’t.”

As he held your gaze, the faintest flicker of hope warmed your chest. You weren’t ready to forgive him completely, but for now, you were willing to try.

And for Sergei, that was enough. "Let's go home?" he finally asks. You look up at him, and you can't contain a smile. "Sure. Let's go home..."

As Sergei unlocked the door to his loft, you stepped inside and froze. The space, usually dark and utilitarian, was transformed. Soft warm light bathed the room, illuminating dozens of vases filled with vibrant flowers. Roses, lilies, tulips, every kind you could imagine. A faint, delicate fragrance hung in the air, calming and intoxicating all at once.

Your hand flew to your mouth, your eyes

wide. "Sergei.. what is this?" He shut the door behind him, watching you with a soft smile. "A gesture," he said simply. You turned to him, a mix of awe and confusion on your face. "How did you know I'd forgive you?"

His smile grew faintly sad, his sharp features softened by vulnerability. "I didn't." He took a step closer, his hands resting lightly on your arms. "But I wanted you to know what you mean to me. Even if you walked away for good."

Your heart ached at the sincerity in his voice. You looked back at the flowers, the effort he had put into creating this moment, and you felt the last of your anger dissolve.

Reaching out, you picked up a bouquet of white roses from the coffee table and cradled them against your chest. "You're ridiculous, you know that?"

He chuckled, his hands sliding down to take yours, the flowers between you. "Maybe." You laughed softly, stepping closer until you could feel the warmth of his body against yours. Looking up into his piercing blue eyes, you saw the Sergei you had fallen in love with: the fierce, unyielding hunter who was willing to bare his heart for you.

Unable to hold back any longer, you leaned up and kissed him. His lips met yours hungrily, his hands pulling you closer as if to make sure you wouldn't slip away again. The kiss deepened, his tongue brushing against yours, igniting a fire in your core that burned away every lingering doubt

When you finally pulled back, both of you breathless, his hands slid down to your waist. "Come," he said softly, his voice thick with desire.

Without hesitation, you let him lead you to the bedroom. The space was just as carefully prepared as the rest of the loft. The bed was freshly made with crisp sheets, more flowers arranged on the nightstands, and soft candlelight flickered around the room.

You turned to him with a playful smile. "You really went all out, didn't you?" He stepped closer, his hands sliding up your sides, his lips brushing against your ear. "I don't take chances when it comes to you."

Before you could respond, his lips found yours again, his touch more insistent now, his hands trailing down your back. He lifted you effortlessly, carrying you to the bed and laying you down with a gentleness that belied the hunger in his eyes.

"I'll let you make it up to me." You giggle, arms wrapped around his shoulders. "Thank you, baby." In no time, he gets both of you naked, and as if it's the first time, you can't help but shy away a bit. Pulling you closer, his calloused palms travel across your torso, tracing the curves so perfectly. Your already messy hair and burning body invited him to climb over you completely. One of his fingers presses over your lips. "Open."

You do as you're told, parting your puffy lips and letting Sergei’s finger slip in. "Wider." he demands, pushing in another digit, traveling well past your tongue and into the back of your throat. It makes you gag slightly, but you moan around his fingers. He smiles proudly, thrusting his fingers into your mouth and slicking them up before removing them. You're left gasping for air. "Good girl." you shudder.

he motions you further on your back before lining his fingers with your exposed core. "m gonna work you out a little, baby, yeah? then make you take my cock." he doesn't hesitate for long. the slick and wet noises fill the room as Sergei pushes his fingers inside, causing you to buck your hips agains his hand. Your head turns to the side as you try to hide that growing warmth in your cheeks. those two fingers worked into you, turning you into a incoherent mess. A familiar feeling was building up inside your lower belly. "gotta come, baby?" he coos, mocking you. "can't have you do that. Need to feel my cock buried deep inside of that pretty pussy first."

his tainted words make your brain all fuzzy, soft whimpers and pleads parting from your agape mouth. "p-please" his fingers slip out of you, the feeling of emptiness being short-lived as Sergei pushes inside of you full force. This is the first time Sergei has made you take his cock all at once. His hips snap against your, eyes digging into you as if eating you alive. He's merciless, grabbing you by the cheeks harshly and making you look down at your belly, where a familiar bump was visible. "See that, baby?" He laughs. He was so deep inside of you. You can't help but squeeze around him.

"there's my good g-girlㅡ" he groans in utmost pleasure, roughly hitting just the right spot over and over. he pulls out almost completely before snapping his hips forward again, causing you to moan louder, breath hitching as his cock brushed, and probably bruised, your velvety walls.

"I'm gonna fill you up so good, love." he leans down and rasps into your ear "make you leak all overㅡ fuck!"

"p-lease, Sergei" you cry out, gripping him by his broad shoulders, the thrust quickening. he frowns, closing his eyes as he tightly grips you by your thighs. "gonna come all over my cock, baby, huh?"

with one last harsh snap of his hips, he sends you both into heaven and back. You each finish, and you can feel his come pooling inside of you. Your mind and vision blurry, you manage to whisper out a soft "I forgive you." Sergei falls next to you, pulling you closer to his chest as he kisses the crown of your head.

"I love you so much, baby " you smile before you reply with those three words that still make butterflies fly in his stomach."I love you."

#aaron taylor johnson x reader #aaron taylor johnson x you #aaron taylor johnson characters #aaron taylor johnson smut #aaron taylor johnson #sergei kravinoff #kraven the hunter #kraven smut #kraven the hunter x reader #kraven x you #kraven x reader #sergei kravinoff x reader

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luxcuriousao3 · 1 month ago

Text

Bumblebees

Summary: Simon doesn’t want kids. Then he sees you with one. Suddenly, he's not so sure anymore. Word Count: 2759 Warnings: sfw for the most part but some dirty talk (no smut, Simon's just got a filthy mouth) near the end, fluff and feels, emotional hurt/comfort, mentions of canonical child death (Simon's nephew) Notes: This was supposed to be fluff and smut... then it turned into fluff and hurt/comfort lol. Oh well. I would've posted this for mother's day, but I completely forgot about it. So it's been sitting in my drafts for months. Just finished and polished it up today. No beta as usual. Hope y'all enjoy, remember that feedback is love, feedback is life. Also, would anyone be interested in a fic featuring single dad!Kyle and his daughter (who you'll meet if you read this)? Lmk. (Masterlist) (AO3)

Simon doesn’t want kids.

Simon doesn't want kids, and he’s made that more than clear to you. No amount of pouting, reassuring him he’ll make a great father, or cute baby videos changes his mind. For a while, you think about breaking up with him because of it. You want kids, and he doesn't—how can it ever work?

But after spending six long months talking about it with your therapist and asking Reddit for advice (big mistake, that last one) you come to the conclusion that you want Simon more than you want children.

It’s by no means an easy choice, but for you, it’s the right one. You can’t imagine your life without him. You don't want to imagine your life without him. It hurts you just to think about it. So quietly, and without telling Simon—who doesn’t know just how badly you want little ones of your own, because you haven’t told him—you let your dream of being a mother go.

If you expend all that unused maternal energy on any child you come across—well, Simon never has to know exactly why.

One of Simon’s teammates—Kyle, a nice bloke, handsome in a pretty boy way—has a five year old daughter. You've met them a few times before, and every time, you offer your services for babysitting. Kyle and his wife finally take you up on it one night, and little Amira is dropped off bright and early at the flat you share with Simon.

Your hulking boyfriend isn't exactly thrilled about it, you know, but he doesn’t complain, just makes breakfast—chocolate chip pancakes with whipped cream smiles, Amira’s request—while you play “fairy princess” with the young girl, who had apparently insisted on wearing her ballet costume that morning.

After breakfast—which, according to Amira, is not nearly as good as her daddy’s pancakes—the three of you head to the nearby park. Amira walks between the two of you, one tiny hand in yours, and one Simon’s. He’s stiff the entire journey, uncomfortable as ever around kids, but he doesn’t pull away. As much as he seems to dislike children, he’s never, ever mean to them. Just… avoidant.

Sometimes, you wonder if there’s a story there. But Simon is an incredibly private man, and asking him questions about his past puts him on edge like nothing else. You try not to push, to simply make yourself available as a listening ear, ready to hear him out and comfort him whenever he’s finally ready to tell you. You’ve learned very few things so far, most gleaned more from his reactions and habits than confessions, but you’re patient. For Simon, you’d wait forever.

Once you arrive at the park, Amira promptly recognizes a friend from school, and takes off to go play with her. You and Simon settle on a bench, keeping her in your sights at all times. Simon is tense as a live wire, and you take his hand in both of yours, rubbing your thumb soothingly across his knuckles.

“It’s just for a few hours,” you murmur, leaning into his side. Slowly, slowly, the tension melts from his massive frame, letting you in. You sigh, beginning to feel bad for roping him into this. You can hear your therapist’s voice in your head, prompting you to examine why you were so eager for Simon to come along today. Do you think that deep down, you’re still trying to change his mind? You bite your lip, unsure what the answer is to that question, but still feeling guilty. What if it’s true? What if you’re forcing Simon to play an unwitting role in your fantasy of being a happy family—a fantasy he has no interest in being a part of? “You can go home if it’s too much. I won’t be upset.”

“Not leaving ya an’ the tyke here alone,” Simon grumbled, not looking at you, but squeezing your hand to let you know he’s not mad, just grumpy. “Ain’t safe.”

“It’s a public park, Si,” you reassure him, feeling bad enough to try and convince him to leave like he so clearly wants to, even though you’re desperate for him to stay. To indulge in your selfishness just a little bit longer. “Nothing’s going to happen.”

As if the universe itself is intent on proving you wrong, you hear an earth shattering scream.

You’re on your feet in a blink of an eye, but Simon is halfway across the park before you’re even fully standing. By the time you take two steps, he’s got a crying Amira in his thick arms, shushing her in a voice softer than you’ve ever heard him use. You rush over, and Simon deposits Amira in your arms immediately, despite doing an admirable job at calming her himself.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” You coo, settling the little girl on your hip and starting to sway back and forth. Amira has one chubby fist twisted in her halo of dark curls, as if clutching it for comfort, and the other is rubbing one wet eye, scrubbing away her tears.

“Th-there was a b-bee!” She yells, and you do your best not to wince at her volume. “It almost stinged me!”

“A bee?” You echo, rubbing Amira’s back as she lays her little head on your shoulder, sniffling. “You know, bees are our friends. I’m sure it didn’t want to sting you.”

“It did!” Amira argues, yelling right into your ear this time. It starts ringing faintly. You ignore it.

“If it tried to sting you, it must have been scared,” you say calmly. “Sometimes, we lash out when we get scared, don’t we? Bees are the same.”

Amira sniffles again, but she doesn’t protest this time. You smile slightly, knowing you’ve got her attention.

“The best thing to do when a bee buzzes by is stay very, very still,” you continue. Your eyes land on the bee that had terrified the baby in your arms, a few metres away. You carefully set Amira down next to Simon, and she immediately hugs one of his long legs. She barely reaches his mid thigh. You mentally apologize to your boyfriend, but important lessons need to be learned right now, so you hope he’ll forgive you for leaving him stuck like that. You smile encouragingly at Amira. “I’ll show you.”

Confidently, you walk towards the bee, watching as it flies over to you curiously. You’re not surprised—you’re wearing a pink sundress, and you know bees are attracted to bright colors.

“Be careful!” Amira’s little voice rings out as the bee gets closer. She looks incredibly nervous, like she’s sure she’s about to see you die. You valiantly hold in your laugh.

“Bees like flowers,” you tell Amira as the insect in question flies around you in circles. “So they’ll investigate anything colorful to see if it is one. Isn’t that nice? They think we’re flowers.”

Amira is clearly skeptical, but she’s still listening. At least until the bee lands on your glasses, crawling along the frame—which is pink on the inside. You aren’t phased, but her eyes go wide as saucers, and she whimpers in fear.

“Bloody hell!” She gasps, and you just know she learned that from Kyle. Simon coughs to cover his shocked laugh, and that only makes you grin wider, eyes crinkling up at the corners.

“Language,” he scolds her, voice gruff as always but uncharacteristically gentle. Amira sticks her tongue out at him briefly before looking back at you. As she does, the bee flutters its wings, tickling your eyelid, and launches off your glasses. You think it’s going to fly away, but it hooks a U-turn and bumps up against your lips before finally buzzing off towards the other side of the playground. You laugh, delighted.

“It gave me a kiss!” You say, turning your grin on Amira, whose wide eyes have turned from fearful to awed. “Did you see that? She was telling me that we’re friends.”

“Friends?” She asks tentatively, and you nod, walking back over to her and kneeling down to her height.

“Best friends,” you wink. “Just like you and me.”

Slowly, a smile spreads across her face again, and she throws her stubby arms around you in a hug before running off to join her schoolmates again. You watch her go longingly, heart aching at the knowledge that being best friends with a five year old is the closest you’ll get to having a child.

“You’re good wit’ tha li’l one,” Simon’s gravelly voice states, low enough that only you can hear it. You look up at him, still crouched on the ground, and shrug, trying not to show how his words affect you. You accept his outstretched hand, letting him haul you back to your feet. “I mean it. Always knew ya liked kids, tha’ they liked ya too, but…”

He trails off, and you give him a strained smile, eyes drawn back to Amira. The bee has found its way back to her and her little group, and while the other children start yelling and running around, Amira stands still as she repeats your words—”Bees are friends! It just thinks we’re flowers!”—and you suddenly cannot breathe from the pain in your chest, knowing you’ll never impart the same lesson onto a child of your own. Never get to feel the pride you feel for Amira right now directed at your own flesh and blood.

“You want ‘em.”

It’s not a question, and your broken heart skips a beat. You don’t look at Simon, you can’t look at him. You’ve managed to hide this from him for the entirety of the time you’ve been together, knowing he’ll leave you if he finds out. But that time has come, and you feel sick with fear.

“Yes,” you whisper, because there’s no lying to him, not anymore. He can read you like a book, and the only reason he hasn’t before is because you’ve danced around the topic your whole relationship. “I always have.”

Simon is quiet, the both of you staring at Amira as she plays with her friends, adorable and innocent in the way only children can be. The silence between you stretches on for so long, that you start to think he’s so pissed he won’t even speak. But then he does.

“You’d make a great mum.”

The words feel like a punch to the gut, and you gasp like you’ve been hit, turning away and covering your mouth to stifle the sob that escapes. Your eyes are watery, tears threatening to spill over, and you hunch your shoulders, trying to hide yourself from Simon, from what you know is coming.

But Simon doesn’t walk away, doesn’t utter the dreaded breakup speech. Phrase, really. He’s never been one for words.

Instead, he pulls you into his arms, resting his chin on the crown of your head, and lets you cry. He holds you together while you fall apart, the strength of his embrace keeping all your shattered pieces in place, no matter how jagged the edges.

“I had a family, once,” he says once your sobs have finally died down. Your eyes snap open in shock, though you can’t see anything, face buried in Simon’s chest. “A nephew. His name was Joseph. Loved ‘im like he was my own.”

You shudder at the grief in his voice, your arms tightening around his waist, trying to be the same steadying presence that he is for you. You don’t talk, not wanting to interrupt. Not when it feels like Simon is finally draining a wound that’s been left festering for far too long.

“I still see ‘is body whenever I look at a li’l one. Eyes blank an’ empty. Hole in the middle of ‘is fore’ead. He was scared when he died. Could tell from the look on ‘is face when I found him.”

You bite your lip to stifle the noise of horror threatening to escape. You’ve known for a while now that Simon’s parents were dead, but you didn’t know how, and you didn’t know that he’d had sibling, let alone a nephew. But now that you do, his wariness around children makes a painful amount of sense.

“An’ I’m— I’m scared, birdie,” he whispers, more vulnerable then you’ve ever seen him. “Joey died because o’ me. It’d destroy me all over again if we had a kid an’ somethin’ happened to ‘em. I wouldn’t survive it. Didn’t survive it last time, either. Was a dead man walkin’ til I met ya. You brought me back ta life… I can’t lose you.”

“You won’t,” you reassure Simon, pulling back just enough to look up at him. “I’m not leaving you, Si, I— I can’t. I love you far too much to walk away.”

“You deserve to be a mum,” Simon said, voice low and pained. “Deserve more than I can give you.”

“You deserve to be a father,” you echo, staring into his glassy eyes, your own just as wet. He flinches at the words, but you take his face in your hand and make him look at you. “You do, baby. You would be such a wonderful Papa… I know you’re afraid. But since when have you let fear rule you, Simon Riley?”

The corner of Simon’s scarred lips quirk, a hint of a smile, and you lean forward to gently press your own to them.

“They’d want you to be happy,” you whisper, watching his eyes close in pained acceptance. “Just as much as I do. Don’t miss out on the future because you’re too busy running from the past.”

Simon doesn’t say anything to that, but he pulls you impossibly closer, holding you so tight it almost hurts. You don't dare to try and make him let go, though, not when that’s the last thing you want.

“Olright,” he rumbles, eyes still closed. When they open a long moment later, your breath catches in your throat. They’ve never been so unguarded before, and you realize that this has been weighing as heavily on him as it has been on you. “If ya want ta be a mum, I’ll make ya a mum, lovie. Christ knows I'd be robbing the world of the best one there ever was if I didn't.”

You laugh wetly, delighted and relieved beyond words, surging forward to capture Simon’s lips in a bruising kiss. His hands settle on your hips as he returns it, squeezing lightly.

“Can’t say m’not lookin’ forward ta seein’ these grow,” he murmurs when you pull apart. A smirk tugs at the edge of his scarred mouth, and his gaze drops down to your breasts. “Those, too. Think you’ll make enough milk f’me ta try some?”

“Simon!” You scold, smacking his chest, your face growing hot. But you can’t keep the big grin off your face, just like you can’t stop your core from tingling at his words. Like a bloodhound, he scents it, smirk growing as his eyes darken.

“Thinkin’ we should start tryin’ tonight,” he whispered in your ear before giving it a little nip. Your body trembles under his hands in anticipation, breaths coming fast. “Ya have no idea how many times I’ve dreamed about comin’ inside that sweet l’il cunt o’ yours…”

You hide your face in his chest to muffle the breathy moan his words pull from you, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. You try to collect yourself, but the deep chuckle he lets out sets your nerves alight all over again.

“Hug!”

The little voice startles you, and you pull back just in time to feel a chunky baby arm wrap around your legs. You look down to see Amira, hugging both you and Simon tightly. You coo, successfully distracted from your menace of a boyfriend's filthy mouth, and bend down to scoop her up, holding her between the two of you.

“Are you ready to go home, Miri?” You ask, and she nods, swinging her little legs. Her feet repeatedly hit Simon’s belly, but he’s unaffected, too busy staring at you and imagining what you’d look like with his child on your hip.

“Ice cream first,” Amira negotiates, the little businesswoman. You laugh, but give in quickly, too elated to try and be strict.

“I could go for some ice cream,” you say, then look at Simon with soft, happy eyes. “What about you, Si? In the mood for something sweet?”

“Whatever ya want, birdie,” he answers easily, and you know he’s not just talking about the ice cream. “Anything' f’my best girl.”

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