#maybe we do that again i do enjoy having the longer nails from time to time | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

luveline · 4 months ago

Note

hey!! I'd love to see one where maybe jack and hotch try speaking to the baby in pregnant!reader's tummy :))

thank you for requesting! fem, 1k

You sniff Aaron’s hair. It’s your right as his wife to enjoy his smells. You’re too tired for subtlety. “You know how many weeks I am today?” you ask.

You’re in a bubble together. Aaron answers with his usual calm tenor. “You are twenty seven weeks today, honey.”

It’s endearing that he knows. It’s nice to have found a good one. To never have to worry about compassion or care. Which isn’t to say he’s perfect, he makes wrong decisions, and he disappoints you sometimes, but still, he’s a good one. You aren’t perfect either and you don’t have to be, all you need to do is love and respect one another as much as is physically possible, and you do.

“Mm,” you hum, drawing a heart into his arm, “and you know what they say around this time?”

“I’m not sure.”

“She can hear you, if you want to talk to her.”

“Really?”

“That’s what I read earlier on. That if you talk to her through my stomach, she can probably hear your voice. By full term she’ll have hearing like me and you.”

“Is that true?” he asks, resting his hand on your bump. Sometimes when the baby is in a bad mood and her foot feels like it’s making a bruise through your skin, all Aaron has to do is touch you, and she stops.

“Well, according to the baby book. They say by twenty nine weeks it’s a sure thing.”

“Can I speak to her?”

You brush through his hair with your pinky nail. “Sure, sweetheart. You can talk to her all night long, I’m sure she’d love to hear your voice.” You push the hair from his forehead. “I like hearing you talk.”

“Lay back,” he says.

Aaron sits up and you lay down, your head in the pillows, your pregnancy cushion a support on your left side. He slides your t-shirt up slowly as though giving you time to say no. He begins to rub slow circles around the bump, before laying his head flat to he bed, his lip less than two inches from your distended tummy.

“Hi, baby,” he says, unabashed. “How are you feeling?”

You laugh. He peeks up at you.

“Sorry, it’s just funny.”

“It’s okay. I’d laugh if you started asking my stomach questions too…” He smiles. “But my baby’s in there, so you’ll have to forgive me.”

“I won’t laugh again, promise.”

“It’s fine if you do. I’m finding it hard to take myself seriously.” He slows his rubbing. “Baby, if you can hear me, please say hi… I love you. I’m so happy you’re getting bigger.”

The longer he talks, the less funny it becomes. His melodic murmuring turns praising, he talks of you and Jack and every amazing thing waiting for the baby in the world when she’s done cooking. He tells her he loves her, loves you, that she’s beautiful even though she’s shaped like a GMO kidney bean. He’s totally relaxed. You fall in love with him all over again.

“And it looks like your big brother wants to say hi too,” he says.

You perk up. Footsteps rush down the hall to the master bedroom, and a knock echoes fast. Jack doesn’t wait for an answer, bursting in with a happy gasp. “I knew you were still awake,” he says. “Please can I come watch TV with you?”

“Sure, buddy, but we aren’t watching anything right now,” Aaron says.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m talking to your sister.”

Jack leans against the bed, fingers screwing in Aaron’s shirt unthinkingly. “You are?”

“I read in my book today that she can maybe hear you when you talk to her,” you tell him. “Would you want to talk to her, bud?”

“Can I?”

“Sure. I don’t mind. I’d love for you to say hello, ‘cos how special is that? For the last few weeks, all she’s been able to hear is me. She doesn’t know she has a whole family waiting for her.”

Aaron straightens and helps Jack climb onto the bed. He settles at the pillows with you, leaning down briefly to kiss you, lips misaligned but no less gentle.

“What do I say?” Jack whispers, putting his hand carefully on your bump.

“You can say anything you want,” you whisper back. “You can say hi, or you can tell her something. The best thing about babies is that we get to teach them about everything.”

“Okay, um… well,” —he braces himself with two hands on your tummy and leans in— “you can’t see, but we have a dad with brown hair and brown eyes, and we have a super pretty mommy who smiles all the time at me…” Jack’s cheek tips toward his shoulder. “On Sunday they take me to the library and we stay there all morning. And for dinner we always have, um, one hand of vegetables and one hand of chicken, or pork, or pasta. But it’s okay if you can’t finish everything.”

He looks at his father. “Is that okay?” he asks.

Aaron offers his hand. “Buddy, that’s perfect. You can tell her anything that you want. She just wants to hear your voice.”

“Can I tell her about teenage mutant ninja turtles?”

You laugh. “Sure,” Aaron says.

Jack starts to talk about Donatello. You try not to laugh as his little hands tickle you, turning your face into Aaron’s side.

“I have so many things to say to you right now, but I’m worried it’s too saccharine,” he says.

“Save them for later,” you say, hugging his waist. “Can I nap here? Would you rub my arm?”

Aaron rubs your arm as you’ve asked. You fall asleep to the sound of your stepsons mumbled rambling and Aaron’s occasional breathy laugh.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotch x reader #hotch #hotch x you #hotch blurb #hotch drabble #criminal minds

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gyuwoncheol · 1 year ago

Text

Sir, Please.

Pair: Wonwoo x f.reader

Genre: Fluff, Smut. 18+ only (MDNI).

Summary: Wonwoo doesn’t mind keeping you at the edge if it means watching you fall apart.

Warnings: Dom!Wonwoo, Sir! kink, edging, cockwarming, unprotected sex (stay safe, children), squirting, clitoral stimulation, lots of making out, creampie, pussy slapping (like once), overstimulation, dacryphilia, breast play, wrist pinning, dirty talk, use of pet names (Sir, good girl, darling, love, baby, sweetie), glorious aftercare (Wonu is the best), fluff. Please let me know if i missed something. Not proofread, might come back to fix up errors.

WC: 3k

Author’s note: First smut piece for Wonwoo my love. This was only supposed to be post-sex cuddles fluff but thought it was the right time to finally write smut for my favorite boy. As is the plot of this piece, good things come to those who wait 😏 Enjoy!

Tagging fellow Wonu lovers @multi-kpop-fanfics @playmetheclassics for the chaos.

“What’re you doing?” Your boyfriend quizzed, your bare body still on top of his, a cheek resting against his bare chest.

“Doodling,” you mumbled casually as your finger continued to draw lazy patterns on his side.

“Darling, it tickles.”

“I don’t see you flinching.”

“You’re on top of me. If I flinch, you might fall.” He stated matter-of-factly.

You craned your neck to look up at him, flashing a wide grin momentarily, “then suffer.”

You shook along with Wonwoo as he laughed at your reply, a strong arm secured tightly around your torso, while his free hand cradled the back of your head.

A large smile was permanently etched on Wonwoo’s face as you both laid in comfortable silence. When he had collapsed onto you just minutes ago after reaching his climax, he had asked so nicely if he could stay inside a little longer and who were you to complain? You’ve craved for this kind of intimacy with him for awhile now after being both so busy with work.

“You’re lucky i love you,” Wonwoo declared as he kissed the top of your head.

You hummed in response, trailing your fingers again on his side, nails lightly scratching on his skin, “did you just write ‘i love you too’ on my ribs?” He laughs, and you nod an affirmative.

You took a deep breath, closing your eyes and snuggling more into your boyfriend’s chest. Now would be a good time for time to stand still. The setting sun casted warm hues of light inside your bedroom and while the airconditioning was cold, Wonwoo was radiating just the right amount of heat to keep you from shivering.

“I’ve missed you,” you blurted out.

“I know, sweetheart. I’ve missed you too. I’ve missed this,” another kiss was placed on top of your head, “i’m sorry i’ve been so busy.”

“I’m sorry too,” you sighed, resting your chin on his pecs to face him. “I wish i had more time to visit you in practice, or even just see you for lunch.”

“That’s okay, darling. We’re both just in our busy season. It will be over soon, yeah?” This time, Wonwoo’s palm was rubbing circular motions on the small of your back. “I was thinking we should go on a vacation when this all boils over.”

Your eyes grew wide, excited at your boyfriend’s suggestion, “really?”

“Yeah, maybe the countryside? Or out of the country? Where do you want?”

A blush crept up your cheeks at Wonwoo’s gesture of letting you choose, but honestly, you could’ve just stayed at your home and it would be okay. The last time you had a vacation, he made you choose the place too but this time, you didn’t really have a shortlist of destinations. You craned your neck to kiss his lips shortly, “surprise me?” You smiled shyly, “maybe somewhere peaceful and with fresh air? Anywhere as long as it’s with you is all I want, darling.”

“Okay, i’ll plan it out.” He confirmed before rolling you both over so his body hovered above yours

“Where are you going?” You pouted when he made a move to slip out of you.

“I need to clean you up, sweetie.”

You hooked a leg around his waist in retaliation, not at all ready to feel empty just yet. You attempted the most doe eyes you could muster, looking up at your boyfriend through your lashes and clenching your pussy as you did so, “Don’t you wanna fuck me one more time?”

Wonwoo scoffed at your question, the corner of his lips pulling into a devious smile at your sweet tone, “can’t get enough, darling?” His voice was lower by a few octaves, enough to send a shiver through your spine and a gush of wetness in your cunt.

“N-no, sir.”

Wonwoo smirked at the nickname before doing an experimental thrust. When your eyes rolled to the back of your head, he simply chuckled before dragging his cock out slowly and then swiftly burying himself to the hilt, rendering you even more speechless than you were. He could feel the rhythmic spasming of your walls, causing him to grow harder and harder.

You cupped his face to bring it closer to yours, kissing him and sucking at his lower lip. Wonwoo smiles in the kiss, amused at your neediness especially when he feels you lift your hips and roll them on his.

“Eager are we?”

“Wonuuu,” you whined pathetically, clawing at his back.

“Wonu?” he questioned with a glare, pinning you to the mattress agressively, “that’s not what you called me minutes ago, darlin’”

“Well, I don’t know where he went. Maybe if you give me what I want then I’ll start calling you it again,” you smirked, dragging your nails a little more harshly on his skin making him hiss.

Wonwoo rolls his eyes, only to dive into your right breast and suck harshly at the bud, eliciting a loud moan from you. He snakes his hand in between you both, thumb finding your clit and rubbing it in circles, immediately feeling you clench around his dick again.He mutters something about you being responsive but it flies over your head as he picks up his pace. The slide is much easier given your mixed cum and your new arousal so it takes him record time to hit your sweet spot. Every ridge and vein on his cock drags against your walls in a way that’s more delicious than awhile ago.

“S-sir, pl-pleaasee,” you shake, the pit of your stomach tightening as you arch your back.

“Does my darling want to cum?” The nickname sounds sickly sweet as it rolls off his tongue and it only helps you get closer to the edge.

You nod your head repetitively, chants of ‘yes’s’ and ‘oh’s’ spilling from your lips, but then Wonwoo withdraws his hand from your sensitive bud and stills inside of you, a vice grip around your body as he licks the shell of your ear, “you don’t get to cum until I say so.” The words were loud, clear and firm, in a tone you knew all too well.

“But Won—“ you cry out loud, tears forming in your eyes as you feel your climax painfully float away.

“Nuh uh,” two harsh thrusts are delivered straight to your gspot as your boyfriend hooks one of your legs on his shoulder, “Call me wrong again and I will not let you cum at all.”

“Fuuuuck,” you mewl from the way his cock rams into you with the new angle, following it up with whines at the thought of getting no release, “S-sorry, sir! ‘M sorry!”

“There it is. Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Wonwoo mocks, “now be my good girl and hold it out for me, yeah?”

You’re a incoherent mess as you try to obey him, but it isn’t so easy when his large cock is abusing your sore, sloppy cunt. Words of filth pair each one of his powerful thrusts.

“My dirty little whore”

“So fuckin’ needy for my cock.”

“Can’t get enough of this pussy.”

“Your pussy is mine.”

“All made for me.”

You were letting out moans of pleasure as Wonwoo pounded into you mercilessly, the knot in your stomach making itself felt again.

“Fu– ah! Fuck, s-sir! Please!” You asked, but it only fell on deaf ears. Both your wrists were tightly pinned with just one of your boyfriend’s large hand above your head and his blown out pupils were looking right at you.

“Make me cum, make me cum, make me cum, please!!!” you begged shamelessly, voice shaking and legs closing in as you teetered on the edge of your orgasm.

“Not. Yet.” Wonwoo withdrew fully from your hole and you shrieked at the loss, your hips lifting to chase after his dick only to have it slammed down by his free hand.

“Sir!!!” You scowled, eyebrows scrunching and eyes wide, anger and pain washing away yet another failed orgasm.

A proud, lopsided smirk appeared on your boyfriend’s face. He licked his bottom lip, enjoying the torture he beset on you despite his painfully hard cock.

“What?”

It wasn’t a question. He wasn’t asking, you knew that much.

“Nothing,” you cowered and blinked back your tears, erasing the anger in your face much to your dismay.

“Good girl.”

You swallowed thickly, squirming once more when Wonwoo tapped his heavy length on your pussy, coating himself with your slippery wetness— not that he needed any more of it— before purposely slapping your swollen clit with his angry red tip. The stimulation from that alone already had your toes curling and it took every fibre of your being to not just unravel right there.

You should’ve known calling him ‘sir’ would lead to this, but behind the tearful denials, you knew immense pleasure awaits.

“Siirrr, p-please! I n-need it.”

“Shhh. Patience, darling. We’ve got lots of time.” The demonic chuckle Wonwoo let out had you whimpering pitifully, your hands fighting to break free from his hold.

It seemed your boyfriend was hell bent on prolonging your agony when he simply continues to endlessly tap his shaft on your clit as he pumps himself.

Wonwoo was not usually loud in bed, save for his occasional grunts and broken groans when he falls into bliss. However, he’s decided now would be the perfect time to make matters all the more worse for you. He was being loud about it all, no holds barred. The squelching noises of his dick against your wet lips is now easily drowned out by the guttural moans Wonwoo has let slip past his mouth. You thought his dirty talk is music? Well, this was a symphony.

You had thought you wouldn’t get close this time around since he wasn’t inside you but the relentless knocks on your clit and the obnoxiously loud moans of your boyfriend have proved you wrong. Your hands balled into fists and you squeezed your eyes shut, mentally fighting off the ball of pleasure in your lower abdomen.

“Look at you, fighting so hard,” Wonwoo snickers, pressing down the tip of his cock to your clit in slow circular motions, “show me how good you are yeah?”

“Yes yes yes! ‘M good! Your good girl, promise!” You were so far gone, pliant to each one of your boyfriend’s requests.

“So wet, you’re soiling the bed,” he points out the obvious, “what a fuckin’ mess.” Wonwoo saw another shiver run through you, indicating you were seconds away from release. So for the third time that day, he denies you of the very thing you crave for, letting go of your wrists and then landing a sharp smack to your pussy before completely backing away to watch you spasm and curl up into a ball of needy tears and pathetic whines.

Your head was spinning and your senses were more than heightened. The slippery feeling of your arousal between your thighs were making it harder for you to squeeze them shut and stay still. Wonwoo simply loomed over you, giving you enough time to stabilize your breathing and let your failed orgasm ebb away. He knew that if he’d put so much just as one finger on your skin, you’d cum right away. Contrary to his actions, he wanted you to cum, but that didn’t mean he wanted to see you cry for it first.

“S-sirr,” you sobbed.

A gentle touch carefully landed on your calf and when you didn’t flinch away, Wonwoo let out a sigh of relief, “Yes, baby?”

“Please,” your voice barely above a whisper, “n-need you…”

Whatever other words you had planned were swallowed by Wonwoo in a searing kiss. It was sloppy and messy, his skillful tongue darting to yours, teeth biting at your lips. You both moaned in unison when he impaled you on his cock once more.

“So big,” you groaned, initially amused at the delicious stretch until you realised, he’s had to hold off his own orgasm too.

Wonwoo gives it his all, jackhammering into you like it would be the last time. The sound of moans and skin slapping skin reverberate around the room. And then, there it is again, a coil so tight on your stomach, you fear you’re going delirious to the point of no return.

“Wo— Sir!” You quickly correct yourself, losing the least bit of dignity you had, tears drenching your cheeks, “i’m b-begging, p-please…”

The gentle kiss on your nose set a stark contrast from how his cock abused your sopping cunt, but relief finally took over you at the words whispered in your ear, “so good for me. Let go, baby. I got you.”

A strangled cry ripped out of your throat, your orgasm gloriously hitting you like a tidal wave. Wonwoo continued to talk you through it while holding down your convulsing body and slamming his hips into you, the sight of your pussy creaming his cock eventually producing broken moans from him.

“B-babe, too– ah! Too m-much!” More tears fell on your face as Wonwoo did deep snaps, his pelvic bone grinding on your clit.

“C’mon baby, m’ close. S-so close!”

Incomprehensible noises tumbled out of you when your boyfriend buried himself deep, pushing onto your sweetest spot and stilling there. Between his guttural groans, the perfect ‘O’ shape of his mouth and the thick loads of hot white cum that flooded your velvety walls, another coil snapped within you, a new round of arousal seeping out of your spent hole, except this time, much wetter and hitting you like a ton of bricks.

“Fuuuck, darling,” Wonwoo trembled as the last of his nectar oozed out, “did I just make you squirt?”

“Fuck off,” you scowled, wishing you had more energy to wipe the smug look plastered on your boyfriend’s face.

“So I did?” Wonwoo pursed his lips and scrunched his nose, a look you very much love but absolutely hate right now.

You let your bottom lip jut out in a pout, your brows drawing to the center of your face, “how could I not when you edged me like that!”

“You’re cute,” was his only response, very slowly slipping his softening cock out of you. Your sweet boyfriend peppered kisses all over your face, replacing your frown with a smile. “Did I make you feel good, darling?” He asked genuinely, not wanting to ever subject you to something which you didn’t enjoy doing.

You gave him a shy nod, pulling him closer by his neck to close the gap between your mouths and share a loving kiss, much like how it was way earlier. It didn’t take long for you to part, your lungs still recharging to full capacity after having all the air knocked out of you.

Wonwoo gave you more time to recover, resting his head on the crook of your neck to leave soft kisses on your skin, especially on the blooming bruises he left in his wake.

“Darling, you can’t sleep yet,” he shook you gently when he noticed your prolonged stillness.

A small whine escaped your lips, “but Woo… i’m tired.”

“I know, i know,” he hushed softly, “but we need to get you cleaned up and also, change the sheets. I’ll make it quick.”

You had no time nor energy to protest. You were simply being carried bridal style into the bathroom, your boyfriend making sure you peed before he went on to wash up yours and his sweaty body with warm water. He was so so tender with his touch, especially in all parts between your legs. He’d keep an observant eye to every reaction your face made, careful not to cause any pain.

“Can… can you be mine?” you squeaked, and Wonwoo giggled at the drunken look of love on your face. Every time you think nothing can top sex with your boyfriend in your own little list of World’s Most Wonderful Things, you’re reminded that aftercare by him exists.

“Darling, i’m already yours,” Wonwoo chuckles.

You noded with a grin, brain really starting to drift off into slumber, “I like that.”

He fixes his glasses by the bridge of his nose after giving you a once-over, now dressed in cotton panties and one of his large navy blue shirts which hung mid-thigh on you.

Wonwoo lifts you up to sit on the bathroom counter before cupping your cheeks to meet your eyes, “baby, can you sit here and wait for me for about 10 to 15 minutes, please? I need to change our sheets.”

He had expected you to whine and retaliate, knowing you were always extra clingy after sex, but you simply nodded and smiled. You think you felt his lips on your forehead but you aren’t too sure.

The moment Wonwoo slips out of the bathroom, you’re fighting not to fall asleep, but 15 minutes is long, and maybe you can just lean your head a bit on the cold marble tile—

“Let’s get you to bed, love,” the tall man chuckles as he lifts you in his arms. You swore it hadn’t been fifteen minutes, not even ten! But then he walks past your bed and out of your shared bedroom. The light of the hallway enough to stir your brain awake.

“Where are we going?” You ask, nuzzling your face on the crook of his neck as he cradles you into another room.

Wonwoo laughs at your question, “We have to take the guest bedroom for the night, darling. You’ve soaked through our mattress.”

#svt #seventeen #svthub #svt x reader #svt smut #seventeen smut #svt fic #seventeen fic #svt one shot #seventeen one shot #svt image #seventeen imagine #wonwoo smut #wonwoo fic #wonwoo imagine #wonwoo one shot #wonwoo x reader #paula writes ✨#paula writes smut

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mejaemin · 8 days ago

Text

trained him well - choi seungcheol

wc: 0.8k

summary: chan calls about his relationship problems, surfacing memories of a time where seungcheol used to cause the same trouble

warnings: light cursing, suicide mention (as a joke), fluff, cuddling, pet names

an: i literally just wrote this in like 30 minutes bc i got random inspo for it. i lowk hate doing things like this, including readers from one fic in one with a “different reader” but i felt like it’d be fun to do this pov !!! i hope evb enjoys my coups debut !!!

(this is a second pov to my other work 6 hours !!! i don’t think it’s necessary to read it but things would probably make a little more sense if you did)

───── ⋆⋅ ⊹ ⁺ 𐔌 ᩧ ຼ ͡ ৯ ♡໒⁀ ᩧຼ ꒱ིྀ ⁺ ⊹ ⋅⋆ ─────

you’re laying with seungcheol in bed, his obnoxiously loud snores filling the room as he sleeps on top of you. his cheeks are puffy and smushed, and his lips are parted with the way he rests his head on your chest. every once in a while he’ll subconsciously snuggle into you a little more when he feels your nails scrape his scalp, soothing him even when he’s in his dreamland.

it’s your boyfriend’s day off, the office going on a company wide vacation for some holiday. all of his friends have off too, and after their late night celebration yesterday he’s been sleeping all morning into the afternoon. you couldn’t complain, knowing that with your allergies to working this fits right in with your everyday routine. his body is heavy on top of yours, going fully dead weight in his slumber but it’s just the right amount of pressure to feel comfortable, lulling you back to sleep.

just as your mind slips from its last bit of consciousness, it’s brought right back by the loud, annoying screech of a phone ringing. sifting through the sheets for whoever’s it is, you pull out seungcheol’s phone. it’s chan who’s calling, and you really couldn’t be bothered to let your boyfriend know, especially when his ringtone didn’t even wake him up. declining the call, you set it back down and try going back to sleep before it rings again.

accepting defeat, you gently push the man’s shoulder. “cheollie, get up..” you whine, just as displeased as he is when he picks his head up.

he squints, looking up at you. “hm?” he looks incredibly displeased, and you almost want to pinch his cheeks at his furrowed brows and pout.

“chan is calling.” you hand him his phone, and he sighs heavily at the disturbance.

“so? i’m too tired for this-“ the call ends, having taken to long to pick up. it starts right back up again, his caller id paired with a photo of him while drunk filling the screen.

“that’s the third time, honey. maybe you should answer?”

he sighs, letting his head fall back down against you before putting it on speaker next to his face. their conversation is brief, seungcheol too comfortable and tired to keep it up any longer than necessary. it makes you laugh, chan whining and panicking as he vents to the elder about his relationship issues. apparently he’s been given the silent treatment, and he’s so distressed he could ‘actually throw up’ over it. your boyfriend asks why, and when he learns how stupid the situation is, yet eerily similar to one he’s been in before, the only advice he can give is “you did that to yourself, man.”

truthfully, the situation is a bold parallel to one you and your boyfriend have been in yourselves. chan ate the last of his girlfriend’s food, and is now receiving the silent treatment among other consequences. though, you’re different now, and your cheollie knows better than to mess with you or get you angry. sometimes, you think he’s actually scared of you when you’re mad. regardless, chan’s predicament makes you laugh, feeling relief that you don’t experience stuff like that anymore.

he eventually hangs up the phone, turning to you. “how familiar does that sound, hm?”

you hum, “it sure is similar to how we used to be, isn’t it?” he nods, “you wouldn’t do that to me now though, right?”

your expression turned serious, and he’s almost too quick to nod and kiss the clothed skin between your breasts in confirmation. “of course not, i’d never eat your food, baby. now, should i actually call his girlfriend, or..?” he trails off, now feeling almost as if he’s in trouble too, uncertain as to whether or not he should meddle in their issues.

you nod, shrugging. “go ahead, i don’t see why not.”

he nods, reopening his phone to search for chan’s girlfriend’s contact. once he finds it, he calls her and reluctantly relays the news. he reiterates as many times as possible that he’s on her side, agreeing that chan is wrong and he’s only relaying his ‘dying message’ they share a laugh, and she apologizes for dragging him into their mess. you say hello as well, laughing about the similarity together before the call ends.

he throws his phone to the other end of the bed, sighing as he finally relaxes into your skin again. “i’m so happy that’s over. i was scared as if i was the one who did something..”

you kiss his crown, his face hidden in your body. “you’d never, though. i trained you well, didn’t i?” you giggle, running a hand over his hair like you would to a pet.

he nods. “after that one time where you literally sent death threats, i nearly had a heart attack. and getting silent treatment? don’t even get me started, not talking to you for three days straight over a donut had me almost killing myself. i definitely know better than to fuck with you like that.” he goes on, already in a nervous ramble at the idea of receiving a punishment like that again. you may have been a little harsh, but that’s what happens when your girlfriend’s buttons get pushed. at least he’s better now, and isn’t making mistakes like his friend lee chan.

───── ⋆⋅ ⊹ ⁺ 𐔌 ᩧ ຼ ͡ ৯ ♡໒⁀ ᩧຼ ꒱ིྀ ⁺ ⊹ ⋅⋆ ─────

#mejaemin #seventeen #svt #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #scoups #scoups x reader #s.coups #s.coups x reader #choi seungcheol #choi seungcheol x reader #scoups fluff #s.coups fluff #choi seungcheol fluff

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fernandopiastri28 · 9 months ago

Note

Hello! I loved your last oscar fic so maybe you could do one when oscar repays her and is focused only on her pleasure?

hands in your hair ~ oscar piastri

It’s only a few minutes of this before Oscar begins to get increasingly more irritated. A string of whines and groans leave his mouth as her nails scratch at his scalp and his hips shift against the cushioning under him, desperate for friction and pressure. “Y/N,” He mumbles into the flesh of her thighs, “I’m horny,”

Shocker. “Same,” She cranes her neck and hunching her back awkwardly so she can kiss the back of his head. His hair smells vaguely of sweat and some expensive aftershave, hints of hotel shampoo underneath. It’s distinctively Oscar, her favourite.

His fingers drive into her thighs, leaving white splodges in their wake. “Can I go down on you?”

wc: 2,437 || warnings: pure smut- oral (f), mentions of sex, hair kink??

(self indulgent- just me being obsessed with oscar's longer hair)

Her finger’s card through the soft locks of his brunette hair, relishing in just how long his hair’s gotten. It looks better than it has throughout their whole relationship, and she’s seen her fair share of his interesting haircuts. For a moment, her hands pull away and her touches stop. He wiggles around, his head lolling around in her lap. “Why’d you stop?” His voice comes out as a grumble, a slight pout to his lips.

“Sorry, Oz,” Y/N giggles, her thumbs moving to brush over his cheeks before moving back into his hair. His eyes are shut, trying to get in a last little bit of sleep before he has to get in the car for free practice 3. Oscar Piastri napping minutes before he has to be driving around a track he’s never driven before in his career- fork found in kitchen. He would sleep forever if he could, and likely would if it weren’t for Y/N, Andrea, and Lando all having to try to wake him up.

A knock sounds on the door a few minutes later, proving her point further. “Osc?” Lando’s voice travels underneath the door of Oscar’s room in the motorhome. When he doesn’t get a response, he calls out again. “Y/N, stop sucking his cock, we need to get in the cars soon” She cringes out, turning dark red that that’s what’s presumed they do whenever they’re alone.

It kinda is, but not always. “He’s sleeping, not getting head,” She retorts, enjoying her last few minutes before he gets whisked away.

“Sleeping, sex, quickies- who cares, please just wake him up,” Lando keeps knocking on the door and she frowns slightly, sad that her time with her boyfriend has to be cut short for him to race.

“Yeah, give me a sec,” She weasels her way out from under him, slipping down enough for her feet to hit the floor. “Oscar, time to wake up,” She brushes her hair off his forehead, kissing at the revealed skin. “Cmon, neither of us want you to get in trouble with Zak because you’ve just decided you don’t want to race today,”

He groans, rolling himself over to bury his face into a cushion. “Fine,” His arms click as he pushes himself up, his fireproof top having hitched itself up to show off the majority of his toned abdomen. “Only because I don’t want to end up in a Danny Ric situation,” She sucks in a deep breath at that, her mouth moving into a grimace. “Sorry, too soon,”

Oscar needs to remember that even though she’s his girlfriend, she’s a Ricciardo fan firstly, a true aussie supporting her country. “Good luck, loverboy” She pulls him in for a final kiss just as he’s working on getting his race suit zipped up, forgetting he only has one of his arms in a sleeve.

His hand squeezes at her waist, pushing it slightly into the edge of the bench they were previously perched upon, “Back here at the end of practice?” His adorable bunny teeth scrape along her bottom lip, his lips clasping around it.

“You’ve got it,” She sends him off with a swift smack to the butt, getting a howl out of him and a permanently red face of embarrassment when he sees that Lando saw the whole thing.

He’s never going to hear the end of it.

~~~

Oscar goes crazy on the radio as free practice 3 ends, securing him a first place ‘position’ after getting second in the prior session. For a track that had been cancelled last year, causing him to miss out on racing it before today, he’s doing exceptional. He hurries back to his driver room, excited to get back to spending time with Y/N before qualifying.

“Oz!” She’s already back on the bench, having made her way out of the paddock once the session had ended to avoid crowds of interviewers. “You were so good, baby!” She reaches her arms out, wrapping her legs around his waist once he’s fully in the hug.

His head buries into the crook of her neck, his hair tickling at her nose, “Did it for you,” He murmurs, his lips aimlessly moving against the collar of her shirt, unintentionally wetting it. “Can we cuddle like before? Your hands in my hair?” The question is slightly muffled by the angle he’s at, but she gets it enough. He’s not really one to go all out with celebrating, and FP3 isn’t something huge to party about anyways.

She leans back, her head hitting against the wall and lets her legs dangle over the edge so her thighs squish up, just like how Oscar likes. He palms at them, before just dropping his head down onto them, using them as cushions. His cheeks get all smushed up, just like they do under his helmet. Without much time after that, her hands move to his hair, tugging on it ever so slightly, the floppy strands long enough to nearly cover her fingers completely as they disappear under all the brown hair there. He turns over slightly, enough to be looking up at her and have his head up closer to her face.

After eye fucking eachother for what seems like a decade, his lips press into hers. The kiss is agonisingly slow, strings of spit connecting them and teeth tugging on each other's lips. Their faces seem to merge into one the longer it lasts, each breath being inhaled in tandem. The nose of smacking lips and wet suckling fills the small room, hands going on hips and waists as desperate attempts to hold back whatever incoming lustre they’re both heading towards until they get home tonight.

They just have to wait til after quali, get back to the hotel, then they can fuck it out.

Y/N’s the one who ends up pulling away, knowing she’s not strong enough to hold back if they’re gonna continue making out. Oscar’s an exceptional kisser, and sometimes, just that is enough for her to get off on. So they go back to Oscar’s head in her lap, sitting in silence as she strokes his head.

His fingers drive into her thighs, leaving white splodges in their wake. “Can I go down on you?” That’s just about the last thing she was expecting to come out of his mouth. It’s not completely out of character for him, he’s actually pretty insistent on spending evenings after races in between her legs, whether his result was good or not. He could spend eternity there, his mind all foggy and dreamlike- like he’ll stay there forever. “I won’t make a mess- I promise, we can be quick. I just wanna make you feel good,”

It’s her favourite request, and her dress is hitched up before he can ask again. Towards the beginning of last season, she’d worn a wide variety of jeans and other long pants, until she realised just how many they found themselves desperate for a quickie before or in between races, and she’d permanently switched to flowy dresses and skirts ever since.

He arranges himself onto his front, up on his knees and hands while he keeps his chest the lowest angled part of his body. She’s laying in the same direction as him, her knees towards the ceiling and her back flush to the bench, her fingers occupied by playing with the hem of her dress so as to not cum the second she sees his desperate face in between her parted legs.

It feels like her heart is stopping as his breath gets heavier and hotter on her clothed heat, the fabric basically ruined from how wet she’s gotten. A digit glides across the soaked material, taunting her as he pushes against it. “Fuck, Oscar,” She hits her head down against the pillow under her head, not even realising when she’d gotten this needy.

“You’re dripping,” He notes, his eyes huge and glossy, all mesmerised by the sight. A finger hooks into her waistband, pulling them down tantalisingly slowly. She forces her head up, just enough to study his expression from just above her cunt. He licks his lips, his pupils somehow growing bigger. “Holy shit,” He doesn’t waste a second, his face plunging forward so get his mouth all over her.

Oscar’s talented in many things. Driving, writing hit tweets, taking digs at DRS, being mature in all circumstances, making people laugh with his dry and sarcastic humour, but above all- he’s got a talented mouth. His teeth scrape along her clit, sending shocks of pleasure through her bundle of nerves. Y/N could cum just from that, it feels like floating on cloud nine. She doesn’t even understand how it could possibly get any better until his nose begins nudging her clit, his tongue pushing inside her hole.

His cock was leaky in his tight boxers, his rock hard bulge still concealed by his fireproofs handing awkwardly off his hips. As she stared down at him, she somehow got even wetter each time he paused momentarily to stare at her wrecked cunt then dove back in like a starved creature. Unclips nails dig further into her thighs, pushing them further apart so his face is fully coated in her wetness. “Oh my god Oscar,” Her voice comes out so depraved and debauched.

Only his eyes are visible as he keeps his steel hard gaze on her. A pair of usually big, puppy brown eyes, the type that ooze innocence and angelic beauty are hardened and dark with lust. Her hands slip into his hair, needing something to ground her as he takes her apart from the inside out. She genuinely can’t get over his hair. How silky it is, how good it feels to yank on, how hot he looks.

His fingers move from her thighs up to under her shirt, practised fingers trailing under the wire of her bra. He pulls the tight fabric far enough from her skin that it leaves a pale mark when it snaps back after release. It’s hell being tortured like this, but it also feels so good. His indexes and thumbs on both hands work the clasp of the bra, undoing it with not much work. It’s an improvement from a few months prior when she’d settled for doing each time as he was so clueless on how to do it smoothly.

The crazed look in his eyes speaks a million words. She might be the only one getting a proper physical sexual gratification out of this, but he’s clearly getting off on her being in near excruciating pleasure. It feels better than anything they’ve done in a while. She bites her lip, watching as a lock of hair falls onto his forehead, a perfect little curl above his furrowed eyebrows. It’s cute, it’s hot, it’s everything- all at once.

Now Y/N feels like she could cum just because of his hair, and that’s definitely a new thought.

He moans, watching his eyes soften at the noise, “That’s so good- you’re fucking amazing at this,” He’s relentless- his tongue, noise, lips, and teeth all committed to making her reach her peak. “Look at you,”

“Look at me? Look at you,” God, he’s so whipped. His index finger glides along her open hole, slipping it inside her and curling it instantaneously. A pain bubbles in her stomach- she’s going to cum. “Fuck, look at that, so perfect around my fingers, just as perfect in my mouth.” She’s leaking around his fingers, her body reacting to his ministrations and praises.

He can read her like a book, he knows that her twisted up expression can only mean one thing. “You don’t need to ask me, baby, you can come when you need to,” A sharp breath leaves her lungs and her head falls backwards, her orgasm crashing into her like a freight train.

He kisses up from her aching cunt to her the lower part of her stomach, then her abdomen. He takes his time on her exposed breasts, his tongue swirling around her nipples, before marking her with a love bite in between them. “Looks good on you,“ He looks down at her from where he kneels between her legs, basically drooling at how wrecked she looks post orgasm underneath him.

Y/N struggles to prop herself up on her elbows, her core aching as she tries to sit up. She angles for a kiss, luckily met halfway by Oscar. “Your turn.. I wanna suck you off,” She pants, her hand moving to push down his race suit. He swats her hand away, laughing at her eagerness.

“Nah, that was plenty for me to get you off,” He declines, slowly getting off of her so he can clean up the mess he did make in the end, despite his promise. She opens her mouth to argue with him but she’s swiftly shut up with his mouth back on hers. “Plus, I have qualifying in… fuck, like 10 minutes,” He frowns, helping to redress her.

“Oscar?” Lando’s voice joins the conversation, once again right outside their door. “Now are you getting your dick sucked?” He taunts, like it’s a joke this time around. “Or can we head for quali together?”

He’s wrong, it was the other way around. “Nah, I’ll be out in a moment. Thanks for waiting for me,” He zips his suit up, giving Y/N a final grin.

“Oscar,” She groans. She hates leaving him hard, it feels unfair that she’s just had the best orgasm of her life and he has to go get in a car and drive around at crazy stupid speeds with an aching mass between his legs.

“Y/N,” He mocks teasingly, peppering her face in chaste kisses, “I’m okay, If I have a killer qualifying session tonight, we’ll continue this later. She gives a final comb through his hair with her fingers, enjoying every bit of it just incase he decides to cut it.

P2 sure is killer, and the sex after it is amazing. Even better when he finds out about the penalty, because angry Oscar is so hot. Her hands stay planted in his hair the whole time, and by the end of it, in their post coital comfort, he promises he won't cut it for as long as she wants.

#oscar piastri #oscar piastri smut #oscar piastri x reader #mclaren racing #f1 #f1 rpf #formula1 #formula one #lando norris #mclaren #imola gp 2024 #hair kink

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helloalycia · 3 months ago

Text

𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 [𝐎𝐍𝐄] — 𝐒𝐊𝐘𝐄 𝐑𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐘

two / three / masterlist / wattpad

summary: when you become friends with Skye Riley and watch her grow into the pop star she is, that unfortunately means you get a front row seat into her demise.

warning/s: mentions of substance abuse, injury and death.

author's note: okay so this took forever and i’m very sorry for the wait! i started writing it but it just kept getting longer so now it's 3 parts 😂

a few things to note - the smile demon thing doesn't exist, it's just a story about her bc why not. Also her friend Gemma (?) also doesn't exist bc i couldn't think of a way to include her in the story lol

okay that's it, enjoy!!

The thing with Skye Riley was she was always so full of hope and passion and optimism for her craft. From the very first day we met, I knew she would become something special to so many people out there. I just never intended for her to become something special to me.

She was just starting out, some rising star doing a performance for a local TV station in the city. I didn't even know who she was, never having heard of nor seen her before. The reason I was at the station was because it was another one of my odd behind-the-scenes photography jobs I'd landed, fresh out of university at twenty-two years old.

I was messing with my camera near the snacks table when I felt a presence and looked up to see her grabbing some grapes from the fruit bowl. She didn't notice me at first, but I definitely did a double take, not knowing she was the talent at first, but thinking how pretty this girl was. She must have felt my gaze as she looked up and flashed me a picture-perfect smile, almost making me melt there and then.

"Hey," she greeted.

I blinked before smiling. "Hi! Sorry, I was just daydreaming."

She chuckled before nodding to my camera. "You work here?"

I glanced down at my camera. "Yeah. Well, kind of. It's only temporary. I'm doing some stills for their website. You?"

She hummed, intrigued. "Nice. I'm performing, so it might be me you're shooting. Do get my good side, please."

It was then that I realised she was Skye Riley, the talent booked for the day. "Shit, you're the guest."

She began to laugh, in a sweet, reserved kind of way. "I am, yeah. I'm Skye."

"My apologies, Skye," I said sheepishly. "It's nice to meet you. I'm Y/N."

"Y/N," she repeated, before smiling softly. "It's all good." She picked at another grape before continuing, "Between you and me, this is my first ever TV appearance and I'm scared shitless."

I realised she wasn't kidding when she didn't smile. Clearing my throat, I tried to reassure her. "I'm sure you'll be great. Clearly you're here for a reason. Just... try not to overthink it. Be yourself."

She glanced out at the stage. "I suppose you're right." Her gaze returned to mine with a half smile. "Thanks."

"At least if the interview goes south, you know you'll get some good photos from it," I joked, lifting my camera in the air playfully.

She laughed wholeheartedly, thankfully not offended. "Gee, thanks. Can't wait to see 'em."

I couldn't help but smile as I said, "I'm kidding. I'm sure you'll be great, Skye."

Before she could respond, someone called her name and she looked out to them before giving me a nervous smile. "I guess that's me. Was nice meeting you, Y/N. Maybe I'll see you around."

"You too," I responded. "And yeah, maybe. Break a leg out there."

She gave me a final smile before leaving to join her manager – who I eventually discovered was her mum – by the stage. I wasn't expecting to see her again, though I was definitely blown away by her talent when she performed that night. And as far as TV appearances went, she nailed it.

I suppose that being the same age in a world of adults and both starting out in our careers at the same time made it easy to talk to her. Especially when I was covering another last-minute paying photography gig at some flashy charity event that she just happened to be at.

It was her who spotted me this time, as I got some shots of the guests dancing around on the dance floor. I felt a tap on my shoulder and straightened up, wondering who it could be.

"Y/N?" her voice called as I turned around, certainly surprised to see her. When she saw me, her smile widened. "Yes, I knew I recognised you. It's me, Skye! Not sure if you remember me from the TV thing last month."

I was surprised to see her, but equally thrilled, returning her smile. "Skye, yes, of course I remember you. I didn't expect to see you again if I'm being honest, let alone so soon."

She chuckled. "At least you're honest. I'm glad though. I really enjoyed our chat last time." Her eyes looked me up and down. "You look good."

I felt my cheeks grow warm, knowing she didn't mean it like that but still unable to accept compliments from pretty girls. "Thanks, so do you."

And I wasn't lying. She looked amazing in her glitzy purple dress, long, curled dark hair and smokey eye makeup. In just the month since we'd last seen each other, her music was already blowing up more and more, and she was really starting to come into herself as a star.

"Thanks," she said with a grin. "So, are you working this event too? That's so cool for you!"

"Yeah, it's definitely a great opportunity," I replied, glancing around. "Just trying to get the best gigs I can, y'know? Get my name out there."

"Well, I personally loved the stills you took of me," she complimented sincerely, dark eyes glittering under the lights. "I think you're really talented."

"I think you might be biased," I said, unable to take the compliment, "but thank you."

She rolled her eyes playfully before nodding behind her. "Do you wanna get a drink and chat or are you not allowed? You're actually the only person I know here."

I was surprised she wanted to talk more, but also felt the same way. "Erm...," I paused, checking my watch and glancing around. "I should really work or I might get told off. But I finish in an hour, before the event ends. I don't know if you're still around then?"

"Oh, yeah, definitely," she said with a bright smile. "I'll be hanging around if you wanna find me? I'd love to know more about these photography gigs of yours."

I exhaled softly, nodding. "Sounds good. Only fair you tell me all about this becoming-a-celebrity gig of yours then." She laughed at this and it brought a smile to my lips. "I'll catch you later, Skye."

She nodded, satisfied. "See you in a bit."

And from there, it was safe to say we became friends. After getting to know each other better and exchanging numbers, it was easy enough to make a friend in the same boat as me, even if her boat was slightly different to mine. Of course, it was my mistake to be even mildly attracted to my new friend because that was not a good starting point for our friendship.

Because of how close we got, close enough for us to consider each other a best friend, she invited me to join her on tour as a documentary-style photographer. I was still building my experience and portfolio whilst she claimed she just really didn't want to be alone on her first ever international tour, so it was a win-win.

It was during the tour that I realised how much I actually liked her, in a dangerously non-platonic kind of way. And any little thing she did that was slightly touchy had me stumbling over my words – which was almost all the time because she was the touchiest friend I'd ever had.

It could be something as simple as braiding my hair for me and I'd forget how to breathe, or one time I was sat in her dressing room, listening to her mum talk about the show when she decided she wanted sit on my lap. Such casual friend things and yet I was malfunctioning every time.

Naturally, I forced myself to get over it.

—

Spending our 20s together meant I got a front row seat to her eventual decline into substance abuse. She was already an anxious person, though did well to disguise it, but her quick rise to fame and the constant pressures of her team did her no favours.

The first time I truly witnessed just how much she dealt with was about a year later, when she lost her voice in the midst of preparing for another tour. I was hanging around the side of the stage as they did a rehearsal a few nights prior to her first show, simply showing my support, when everybody noticed the croak in her throat as she attempted to sing a verse. After realising she couldn't, she was taken to a doctor.

"She's been under too much stress and her vocal cords are worn," the doctor explained to her mum in her dressing room, Skye sat opposite her. "She needs vocal rest."

Her mum seemed uncertain. "How long will that take?"

The doctor began to pack her things away as she spoke, "I'd advise a minimum of a few days, but she probably needs a week."

"She doesn't have a week," her mum snapped. "Her first show is in a couple of days. Thousands of fans are expecting to hear her sing."

I glanced at Skye, noticing the guilty expression she wore as she looked down to her hands. Her mum was always putting pressure on her like this and it was never nice to see her. I settled for resting my hand on hers, earning her attention, and squeezing it gently to let her know I was there for her.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Riley, but your daughter is in a lot of pain and if she keeps going like this, she won't even have a tour," the doctor said impatiently. "Give her the rest she needs and she'll be okay."

Her mum sighed. "Fine. Thank you, doctor."

The doctor nodded before giving Skye a reassuring smile and leaving the four of us alone – including Skye's mum's assistant.

"Sorry, mum," Skye muttered, and I nudged her gently in warning.

"You just heard the doctor," I reminded her. "No talking."

Her mum merely massaged the bridge of her nose with frustration, as if working out what to do next. It was harsh, insensitive even, but it wasn't my place to intervene.

"Okay, it's okay," she decided, before looking to her daughter. "You can still rehearse everything else. No vocals until the first show."

Skye nodded, standing up, but I quirked a brow as I looked to her mum.

"Shouldn't she rest?" I said, holding back my critique as much as I could. "If anything, it'll help her recover quicker. The doctor said she's already under stress."

"Dancing won't kill her," her mum said dismissively, before nodding to Skye. "I'll see you back out there, okay?"

Skye nodded as I raised my brows with disbelief, watching her mum and mum's assistant leave. Only when they were gone did I scoff and look to Skye.

"Are you serious? You need to rest, Skye," I told her. "You don't have to listen to her, you know."

Skye closed her eyes, frowning as she shook her head. I then realised my complaining wasn't helping and relaxed slightly.

"Sorry," I said quietly. "But it's not right. And if you were hurting, you should've said."

She swallowed thickly before opening her eyes and forcing a smile that didn't reach them.

"Skye...," I started, but didn't want to upset her anymore than she clearly already was. Instead, I gave her a hug, hoping it would mean something.

She wrapped her arms around me and didn't let go, not until I did, and I only did because we were hugging way too long and I didn't want to piss her mum off even more.

"Take it easy," I said to her when we pulled apart, searching her gaze. "Stop if it's too much, alright?"

She nodded, squeezing my hands gently, but I knew deep down that she was only saying what I wanted to hear, or rather doing what I wanted to see. She was too obedient to her mum and didn't want to let everyone down, even if it meant working herself to death.

It was all of these little things adding up that inevitably pushed her to seek out an escape where I just couldn't help her anymore.

The first time I realised it might be an issue was that same tour, about halfway through, when I was photographing some of the crew the day before a concert to eventually use in the tour documentary they were making of Skye. It was a fun day for me since I loved hanging out with the people who made the magic happen, and I was excited to show my photos to Skye back at the hotel like I always did. Only, this time, when she let me into her room, I realised she was drunk.

If it wasn't the acrid scent of alcohol that clung to her clothes that gave it away, or her giddy nature as she flopped on her bed, it was the countless mini bar bottles and cocktail glasses littered around her room.

"Did you... have a party with yourself or something?" I asked with confusion, sitting at the edge of her bed.

She laughed like I'd said the funniest thing ever smacking my hand gently as she stared at the ceiling. "Something like that."

I watched her, mildly concerned. "Are you gonna be okay for sound check tomorrow? Your mum might actually kill you if you show up with a hangover."

She waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, it's not that bad. It's a one-off, honest. I just wanted some fun."

Stupidly, I believed her. "Okay, well... maybe we should attempt to sober you up. C'mon."

She groaned, rolling over to stick her head under her pillow. "Later."

"Skye, please," I tried to reason. "Have you eaten anything?"

She ignored me and I took that as a no.

"I'll order some room service, yeah? Get some food in you," I said, talking to air as she continued to ignore me.

I had it easy enough that evening, looking after her. And even though she did wake up with a hangover the next morning, she promised she'd never act so irresponsibly again. I didn't care, I just didn't want her to struggle.

Of course, that was only the start. Whereas we'd usually hang out together after her shows, she began to leave to hang out with some of the crew and their friends. I wouldn't have minded since she was her own person, but it meant she'd come back absolutely hammered and it only worried me. It kept happening, to the point that it was a regular thing. Even after the tour ended, it was almost impossible to see her without a drink in her hand.

We fought about it at first, but I didn't want to push her away even more, especially into the arms of her shitty Hollywood friends. She was once open but now she'd hide things from me, making it difficult to know exactly what she was up to. I couldn't control her and I didn't want to, but she didn't seem to understand the severity of her actions.

It kept getting worse as the years went on, especially when she got a new boyfriend. They were awful for one another, terrible influences. Skye became more irritable to everyone around her, including me. It was like being friends with a completely new girl. Between the drinking and the partying and the drugs, I couldn't keep up. And as much as I cared about her, I wasn't important enough in her life for her to even consider listening to.

The final straw was when the paparazzi released some photos of her having a breakdown, screaming at some poor makeup artist for no reason at all. A joint was in her hand, she looked a mess, and it was enough to send her mum in a livid spiral. I wanted to stay out of it, but when her mum practically forced me to go to her and try to knock some sense into her, I had no choice.

When I knocked on the door of Skye's apartment, she saw it was me and rolled her eyes but let me in.

"She send you to fix me, did she?" she asked, walking to the kitchen.

I tried not to get offended as I stepped in and closed the door behind me. "It's bad, Skye. You look insane."

She faked a laugh. "Wow, way to fuckin' sugarcoat it."

I sighed, leaning on her kitchen island and looking over at her. "Are you gonna act childish with me right now or are we gonna have an actual conversation?"

She raised her brows, surprised and irritated. "Seriously?"

Maybe it was the years of putting up with her on-again off-again mood swings, or maybe it was just her complete disregard to listen to anyone who cared about her, but I'd had enough in that moment.

"Skye, you're embarrassing yourself," I said sternly, meeting her red-rimmed gaze. Of course she was high. "It's concerning and these pictures should be a wake up call."

She narrowed her eyes. "Good job I didn't ask your opinion."

I rubbed my face, fed up of her anger. "Skye, I'm not trying to argue."

"Then stay out of my fucking business, Y/N! You're always on my back about this shit and it's getting old."

Ignoring her tantrum, I said, "I'm worried about you."

Suddenly, she began to laugh slowly, quietly, mockingly. "I bet."

Confused, I watched her. "What's that supposed to mean?"

She tilted her head as she nodded at me, arms crossed over her chest condescendingly. "It's written all over your face. You're in love with me."

I couldn't really comprehend what she'd said, not at first, but then my face felt hot and I felt like I'd been caught out.

"God, you're so obvious!" she whined loudly, approaching me. "You've been obvious with it. All these fucking years."

How did she know? How could she?

"You- you don't even know what you're saying," I finally spoke, cursing inwardly when I stumbled. "You probably won't even remember this in the morning, you're that fucking high."

"Oh, I'll remember," she assured me with a smile so cruel that it looked nothing like my best friend. "Because it's written all over your face."

She poked me in the cheek and I swatted her finger away instinctively, ashamedly, making her laugh.

"You're terrible at hiding it," she continued, eyes flickering between mine. "It's laughable."

Every part of me was screaming to leave, to run away and never come back. My skin was crawling and I wanted the earth to swallow me up, hot with shame. Tears pricked my eyes, embarrassed and hurt by how cruel she was being, how careless she was with my feelings.

"Did you think there was a shot?" she asked with a raised eyebrow. "Is that why you stuck around all this time?"

I frowned, attempting to glare at her, but it was a foolish one. "I stuck around because I care. Because you're my friend."

"You're lying." She laughed again.

I swallowed the lump in my throat. "Forget it."

"It's forgotten."

I couldn't even look at her, turning around to leave. Never had she been so hurtful with her words.

"Oh, fine, fuck off like you want!" she shouted as I opened the front door.

I clenched my jaw as I glanced back at her. "You've become such a bitch."

She glared at me. "Better a bitch than a shitty admirer."

My heart crumbled, but I wasn't going to give her the satisfaction. "Fuck you."

And with that, I slammed the door and left. Though, not without breaking down on the lift down to the lobby.

—

She never called to apologise. She never texted to check in. And I wasn't going to crawl back to her, not out of worry or friendship or anything. She'd made a fool of me, hurt me so much that I felt like an idiot. Because I was. I was the idiot who had my love for her practically tattooed all over my face. How could I have been so foolish?

An almost ten-year friendship gone, just like that.

Months passed and it was admittedly strange not to have her in my life. Even though our relationship had drastically changed for the worst, she'd been a consistent part of my life. And now she was just... gone.

The anger and embarrassment easily turned into hurt, which turned into sadness, and I found myself missing her greatly. But she made no effort to get in touch, so I knew I needed to move on.

It was those few months later when her car accident was all over the news. That was how I'd found out. She'd been on a drive with her boyfriend who unfortunately died, and she was in hospital. Or, at least, that was all the press knew.

As frustrated as I was with her, none of it mattered when I found out what had happened. Every part of me was concerned, wanting to know if she was okay. I was so close to calling her mum and asking to visit Skye in hospital, but I was too cowardly to do it. I'd convinced myself that she wouldn't want me there. Still, I missed her greatly.

A year passed soon enough and the only connection that I had with Skye Riley was the same as all of her fans – through a TV screen. Her story was in the headlines for ages – her public breakdown, her accident, her rise back to stardom. Interviews, the announcement of her new album, her new tour... I avoided it where I could, but she was a superstar and it wasn't always easy.

I'd gotten over her. I had. I never expected to hear from her again and that was okay.

Until I got a call out of the blue and it just so happened to be her.

"Hello?" I answered the unknown number with confusion.

"Oh, sorry, I thought you might still...," the girl on the other side mumbled, before clearing her throat. "It's Skye. Erm, Skye Riley."

I stopped what I was doing, surprised to hear her voice. "Oh."

"Sorry, I know this is really random," she said quickly, nervous, "but, erm, I... I wanted to– I'd like to see you." She paused, then added, "If that's possible."

My brain was still playing catch up from the fact that she'd even called, let alone that she wanted to see me. I didn't know what to think.

"Why?" I finally asked, not trying to be hostile, but genuinely surprised.

She paused, and then spoke, "I miss you. A lot."

I furrowed my eyebrows, looking down. "Skye, it's been a year."

She chuckled nervously. "Well, I've been in rehab for half of it..." When I didn't laugh, she continued, "Sorry. I just– I want to apologise. To explain. Ideally in person."

It didn't make sense. Why now?

"Please," she said quietly, noticing my silence.

I sighed, closing my eyes. As easy (and satisfying) as it would've been to tell her no and hang up, a part of me still cared. And annoyingly enough, I'd never gotten closure which had haunted me for a while. Maybe this could be it.

"Okay," I breathed out.

"Really?" She was as surprised as I sounded when I'd answered.

"Yeah," I said before I could change my mind. "Maybe this–?"

"Tomorrow?" she cut me off without meaning to.

"Oh," I started, but she spoke again.

"Sorry, never mind," she said nervously. "When did you want to meet?"

"No, tomorrow should be fine," I agreed.

I heard her exhale with relief. "Great. Good. Is around three okay? Maybe we can get a coffee or something."

"Sure."

"Great, thanks," she said quietly. "I'll text you."

"I'll save your number," I said without thinking.

She laughed awkwardly, making me cringe at my own discomfort. "Yeah. Thanks. See you tomorrow."

After saying my goodbyes and ending on an awkward note, I took a moment to acknowledge what just happened. Getting a call from her was genuinely the last thing I'd expected, but I was willing to hear her out. If not for her sake, then for my own.

—

I couldn't stop spinning the ring on my finger, a nervous habit of mine, as I walked into the bistro downstairs to Skye's dance studio. We'd agreed to meet there after her rehearsals since it was usually only staff that frequented it so it wouldn't draw attention from her fans.

When I walked in, I glanced around, seeing it was empty for the most part, save for one or two patrons. And then I finally spotted her sat at a booth on the side, looking a lot different to how I'd last seen her, though still very similar to the girl I once knew.

When she saw me, she perked up, looking as nervous as I felt, and I had no choice but to walk over to her. She stood up, blinking, unsure whether to speak first.

"Hi," I said, when she didn't, meeting her flittering eyes.

"Hi," she responded, before swallowing thickly and glancing at the table and then me again. "Erm..." She leaned in to give me a hug, which I had no choice but to return, but it was awkward on both sides. When we pulled apart, she smiled uncomfortably. "I– sorry, I–"

"It's fine," I said quickly, before nodding awkwardly.

She slid into her side of the booth so I did the same, hoping she couldn't hear my irregular heartbeat. I looked over at her, noticing her new look. She'd cut off the long, dark hair she'd had as long as I knew her, donning a pixie cut that was now dyed blonde. I'd seen it in the press, but it still took some getting used to. Suited her though. Annoyingly, she was still as beautiful as she was the day I'd met her.

"The new look is nice," I spoke, breaking the silence and nodding to her.

A nervous smile crept on her lips. "Thanks." A pause and then: "You look good, Y/N."

"Thanks," I mumbled, smiling just as nervously.

She pushed an iced coffee towards me, saying, "I ordered for you, but I'm now realising your favourite order could've changed since we last... yeah. I can get you something different if you want."

I looked at the drink, reading the label, surprised she'd even remembered. "No, no, this is still my favourite. Thanks, Skye. You didn't have to."

"It's the least I could do," she replied with a shrug, playing with the lid of her own coffee. "I... thanks for meeting with me."

I glanced up at her. "I thought I'd never hear from you again to be honest."

She frowned, looking down. "I know. I debated calling sooner. I... I owe you a huge apology." Her eyes met mine with the utmost sincerity. "I'm sorry. For all of it. For the way I took advantage of your kindness, your friendship. The way I ignored your warnings and support. And–"

She stopped, eyes flickering to her drink guiltily, and she didn't even need to say it for me to know what she was remembering next. Everything she'd said to me before I left for good. How horrible it was, how embarrassing it was. Even now, I couldn't look at her, my face growing warm. After all this time, it was still so humiliating.

"It was awful, I know," she said quietly.

I didn't know what else to say other than, "It was."

At this, she sighed. "I know it's unforgivable and that this isn't an excuse, but I wasn't in the right head space then. I just– I miss you. After the accident..."

When she was quiet for a second longer than usual, I looked up at her, seeing a faraway look in her expression.

"Skye?" I prompted, a hint of concern in my voice.

She shook her head, glancing at the table before meeting my gaze. "Sorry. I just– I miss you and I wanted to see you."

"You keep saying that you miss me, but you had a phone," I pointed out gently, not trying to argue but unsure how to believe her. "You could've called. Especially after the accident."

I wanted you to call, I so badly wanted to add, but it was embarrassing to admit.

"I tried to," she said with a frown. "I didn't think you'd want to see me again after what I said."

I searched her gaze, saddened to hear that. "You thought I wouldn't have wanted to make sure you were okay? Just because of one argument? That I wouldn't have put all of that bullshit aside to make sure you were actually alive?"

She didn't meet my eyes, but she shook her head weakly, and I realised I was a being a little unfair despite it all.

Sighing, I leaned back in my seat, drawing shapes in the condensation of my cup mindlessly. "It's not fair of me to say you should've called. It was a lot, I can imagine. And I had a phone too, I know. I just... I didn't think you cared anymore. After everything, I thought the last person you'd want to see in hospital was me."

"I don't blame you for thinking that," she muttered, picking at her coffee cup lid again. "It's far from the truth though."

A quiet fell between us as neither of knew what to say nor where to go. It was a lot to digest, knowing she regretted how things had ended up. Selfishly, it was all I'd wanted all this time – an apology and some closure.

"I want to make things right," she said, eyes flickering up to mine.

I met her halfway, exhaling gently. "I forgive you, Skye. I appreciate your apology."

The tension in her shoulders seemed to relax, as did her expression, and she nodded slightly. "I'd like to try again. If you would."

"I figured that's where this was going," I admitted, before nodding slowly. "I'd like that too."

She breathed out with relief, containing it behind a simple nod, and it meant a lot to me that this meant a lot to her, more than I thought it would.

"I really missed you," I said, feeling like a weight had been lifted.

Her eyes were glassy as she gave me a small smile. "I really missed you too, Y/N."

I stood up, as did she, and hugged her properly. It was unlike the previous one and she returned it with just as much relief, the two of us clinging tightly to one another like it was the last.

It was still a mystery to me as to whether rebuilding a friendship with Skye would be for the better, but my heart was saying to do it and I couldn't help myself. She was so easy to give into, so easy to fall back into place with.

#smile 2 #skye riley imagine #skye riley x reader #naomi scott #smile 2 imagine #skye riley x you #skye riley

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gyllenhaalstories · 7 months ago

Text

FETISH — RUSTY SABICH

summary: something something you needed a job and raymond offered you to work at the office. something something there is a misunderstanding and you pique rusty's curiosity.

warnings: this story happens before the events of presumed innocent so rusty is still a prosecutor, includes tommy molto (with mentions of barbara, carolyn, nico & raymond), sexual harassment, cheating, smut (masturbation, underwear smelling). 18+ NO MINORS.

word count: 3360

gif credits: me @/gyllenhaalstories / divider credits: @/firefly-graphics

notes: raymond is the star of this fic and so is @sizzlingcloudmentality's idea that saved this story 📂 thank you for reading & REMEMBER TO REBLOG!

You were thankful for Raymond Horgan. He considered you as his niece, he had helped you more times than you could remember. He bought you the biggest dollhouse you could dream of when you were a child, he set an absurd amount of money aside for your education and now he had offered you a job most law students of Chicago could never even dream of. Most of the time, you were thankful for Raymond.

"So, let met get this right... You found the file in a recycling bin?" Tommy's voice sounded like nails on a chalkboard. The twisted grin glued to his face sent a shiver down your spine.

You were not thankful for Raymond at this precise moment. He left you all alone to answer his phone calls while everyone in the office had left to enjoy their weekend. You assumed that no one would care to call the district attorneys on a Friday afternoon. No. Evening. The sun had started setting, you did not even see the day go by. You assumed that no one would bother, but Raymond had never been more popular. "For the third time, yes, I found the documents in the bin and I thought it was important material so I grabbed it before the janitors did. If I had known, I would not have touched it. I can assure you of that, Tommy."

"Mister Molto," he rectified, he pursed his lips. "It's Mister Molto for you."

"Since when are you so passionate about recycling, Mister Molto?" You spat out his name with disgust. There was just something about Tommy. Everyone in the office had been pleasant, you had no trouble believing that Raymond knocked on each door and instructed them to treat you with the upmost respect. Everyone listened, except Tommy.

Tommy's gaze fell on your hand, he watched you tap your fountain pen on the notepad nervously. You were always so nervous in his presence, surely this must mean you liked him. You liked him but you were too shy to admit it. "What did you do with the documents?"

You grabbed your notepad, imitating your every action. Maybe, you thought, the man would understand better if you gave him the visuals. You explained how you pulled the file out of the bin and set it down exactly where Tommy had found it: on Nico Della Guardia's desk. You assumed he would know better than you what to do with it, but Tommy had the reflexes of a cat and snitched the papers before anyone else could see them. "Is it more clear now? Do you want me to tell you the whole story again for the fourth time?"

You were making an excuse to talk to him longer. He found it endearing. His thin lips curled into a smile, he shook his head. He looked down at the file he gripped on tightly, so tightly that the sweat of his palm began to warp the material. "In this office, we value being thorough..." The phone rang, cutting his lecture off. Tommy looked down again. He recognized the code written on the file, he even recognized the handwriting. It was from a case Carolyn Polhemus had worked on with Rusty Sabich.

You exhaled dramatically and let the phone ring three times before picking it up. You repeated your greeting like a robot, expecting the caller to insist you made Raymond magically appear so they could talk to him.

"It's you." A familiar voice resonated through the phone. Rusty was calling. "Hi." You could practically hear him smile. "I was just wondering if you saw my stapler anywhere. Ray always steals it, and..."

"We also value respect around here." Tommy pulled your attention back to you, annoyed that you picked up the phone without excusing yourself. "Anyway." Another grin, another wave of shivers. He rambled about how you should stick to your tasks, how you would be a better secretary if you did not go snooping around people's trash. Apparently, he could not even begin to comprehend the concept of a simple mistake.

You narrowed your eyes while he continued his monologue. You could not believe what your left ear heard, as your right ear burned against the phone while it perceived words about Raymond's kleptomaniac's tendencies regarding office supplies. You tried to breathe through your nose to calm down. Overwhelmed. Overstimulated. You wanted this day to be over.

"Am I disturbing something? I'm sorry, I didn't want to bother..." Rusty frowned, trying to recognize the other voice he heard. He could not see the scene, but he started to imagine the agitation. "Who's with you?"

Tommy's expression faded into a dark one. Annoyance, perhaps. You could not read him well and you certainly did not want to. He gave you... Ick. There was something else, a spark in his eyes that made you swallow a knot of nerves stuck in your throat. "Evidence from a trial is not to be messed with. I hope you learned your lesson. Or maybe... You wanted to see me. So we could have a little talk just the two of us. And the problem is that you can't keep your hands to yourself, can you?"

You scoffed. "That's inappropriate." Tommy was not annoyed. He was aroused. There was a double meaning to his words that made you sick to your stomach. He lost no time defending himself, hiding behind his inflated ego to justify how his comment was perfectly normal.

Rusty had trouble discerning a single thing from the word vomit that fell out of his colleague's mouth. He tried to inquire about what was happening in vain. He had to pull the handset away from his ear, Tommy and you argued in full volume. However, Rusty heard one thing before you violently hung up the phone, forcing it back into the receptacle. He remained unsure of who you directed your rage-filled words to.

"Go fuck yourself!"

*~*~*

"Go fuck yourself! Go fuck yourself! Go fuck yourself!"

The sound of your voice echoed in Rusty's mind. It had been all he could think about. He was fixated. Obsessed.

He replayed the scene over and over again. By now, he understood you spat these words out at Tommy.

Rusty spat on his hand, squeezing it around his cock that he pumped to full hardness.

You sounded like a broken record in his head. By now, he still did not understand why these words had such an effect on him.

His left hand dived into the teal laundry basket, feeling around. He pulled out the towel he used after his session on the treadmill earlier. He also pulled out a bunched up piece of black fabric. The plastic basket was roughly pushed to the side before Rusty flattened the towel on the counter. His right hand moved up and down on his cock, he was desperate for some relief.

You spent so much time with Tommy. Too much time. Why? Why did you spend time with Tommy? All the small talk by the coffee machine or the elevator. Why was Tommy going down in the elevator with you? Why was it always him?

Rusty pulled his hand away from his cock that twitched. He looked down at the counter, grabbing a clothespin to fidget with. He was thankful there was a window before him and not a mirror.

A pathetic sight.

He pulled his sweatpants down below his ass, a drop of precum even left a wet stain on the front. His cock throbbed with the desire to be touched again. His thoughts fought an unfair race.

He wanted to think of you.

But he was thinking of Tommy. Of his jealousy towards Tommy. He could not see straight. Rusty was too blinded by his insatiable lust to remember all of the times he caught you grimacing after Tommy walked away, flinching when Tommy initiated physical contact with a squeeze of your shoulder or a pat on your lower back. You hated Tommy. Rusty hated Tommy.

"Go fuck yourself!"

You resisted Tommy. Why were you not resisting him? Why were you always so pleasant and nice with him? Rusty remained charming and resourceful. When it came to working his way through a case or helping you with a task Raymond gave you that seemed way above your skill set, he was the smartest guy in the room.

Rusty was stupid for wanting to think of you.

He dropped the wooden clothespin on the counter and proceeded to continue. His dominant hand wrapped around the base of his cock, his long fingers grazed over his balls. His left hand brushed over the bunched up fabric. Clumsily, he unfolded it and it revealed to be a pair of panties.

He should think of Barbara.

He brought the panties up to his nose. He brought his hand up to his tip. That would work. That usually worked. It had not worked for a long time, but... But it had to work right now.

He inhaled her scent and he moaned. "Good. Keep going." He traced his fingertip over his slit, smearing the precum over it while he relaxed. He closed his eyes, images of Barbara flashed. His face buried in the crook of her neck, his eyes blinded by the black curls of her hair, his hands squeezing on the soft flesh of her ass. He kept going. He kept thinking of Barbara.

Barbara's features started to morph with yours. He imagined your smile. He imagined your curves. He imagined the sound of your voice moaning his name.

"Fuck!" Rusty shouted. His thin upper lip curled in frustration. His face twisted with anger towards himself while his mind became a mosaic crafted with the memories he had of you.

He barely had anything. It was all office related. It was all Raymond related. It was all Tommy related. He barely had any memory alone with you. You should tell him to go fuck himself. You should push him away. You should resist him. Resist. Resist. Resist.

He needed to resist you.

He wrapped Barbara's panties around his cock and he used them to jerk off. His shoulders loosened up. The fabric dragged over his cock, a familiar sensation that used to make him climax effortlessly. Just the thought of it would make him hard.

Like a fetish. His wife's panties used to work like magic. It could work again. He needed it to work again.

He threw his head back, his eyes fluttered close. "That's it, that's it. Feels so fucking good..." He mumbled. His hand and the panties blurred together while he stroked himself hard and fast. He fought the frustration with pathetic desperation. You appeared in his mind again.

Like a fetish. He could not get rid of his thoughts of you. A fixation. An obsession.

Rusty tightened the grip on his cock. The panties got bunched up at the base, caressing his sack deliciously while he focused on his leaking tip. His breath came in short gasps. He felt so close.

His balls tightened, his orgasm imminent. He propped himself up a bit on the tip of his toes. Just high enough. Quick strokes. Tight quick strokes.

Would you jerk him off this way if he begged you to? Did you even think about jerking him off? Or would you tell him to go fuck himself?

He groaned, he fought the urge to close his eyes so he could aim at the towel.

Did you ever think about the two of you fucking? On his desk. Against the wall. On the floor. He did. He thought about it many times. A fixation. An obsession.

"Fuck yes!" He cried out when he spilled all over the towel. His entire body tensed up. Ropes of white cum painted the navy blue towel. It felt so good to cum for you. It would feel even better to cum inside of you.

He slowed the movements of his hand and squeezed the remaining of his release on the cumrag. He set his feet flat again, his chest heaved while he panted.

For a moment, a moment that did not last long enough, his mind seemed blank. No imagery, no thought. A void. It was peaceful, but volatile.

He opened the door of the washing machine and threw in his cumrag and Barbara's underwear after he wiped his cock clean with them. He added the rest of the dirty laundry and poured a generous amount of detergent with the hope it would wash away what happened.

Rusty noticed a spurt of his cum squirted on the counter top. He grabbed the small tissue box and wiped it clean. He shook his head, unsatisfied. He rummaged through the cabinet and found cleaning wipes. He dragged the wipe over the counter with force until it started to tear up.

He looked out at the window. Rained poured outside, the clouds looked menacing. A bad omen.

Later, he would tell himself this was inoffensive. He could be very convincing, very persuasive. He would make himself believe this was not harmful. He used Barbara's panties. He finished on a cumrag. How could it be harmful if he did not even touch you?

He never touched you. He needed to touch you.

He would fixate on you. He would obsess over you until you granted him the privilege to touch you.

*~*~*

Exactly a week after the incident, you returned to the office with Raymond. He handed you a box, the type of boxes they used to store files. He had already found you another place to work in a less anxiety inducing setting. He reassured you that your departure would not inconvenient you in the future. He also mumbled something about how he would like to have a word with Fuck-Thing One and Fuck-Thing Two. You figured who carried these endearing pet names.

Rusty came into work every morning this week with the hope of bumping into you. Nobody had warned him about how you had been strongly advised to quit. He could tell Raymond was grumpy and Tommy was annoyed. Nothing out of the ordinary.

You leaned the box on your hip and put in the few belongings you had brought to Raymond's office. A set of highlighters with two missing colours, a box of cookies that only had a sleeve left in it, a pad of sticky notes with a smiley face scribbled on it. It felt as though you had never even walked up those infamous stairs in front of the building. You assumed everyone would forget about your short employment, like you had never worked here at all. You gave the stuffy room one last look before you closed the door behind you.

There was nothing out of the ordinary except for the knock on his door during lunch break despite it being wide open. "Come in." He invited you after you waited patiently outside. A patience he could not reciprocate. Not around you.

"Hi, Sir." You took a couple of steps in his office while the man leaned back on his chair, spinning slowly from left to right.

"Screw that." He brushed the formalities away with his hand. "No Sir or Mister with me. Didn't I tell you this on your first day?"

And on your last day too.

His eyes glanced from your beautiful face to what you carried in your arms. "Box full of stuff. That's bad news." Rusty's enthusiastic smile faded. He had waited so long to see you and now you were going away. Bad news indeed.

"Bad? Depends for who." You chuckled dryly. "I'm happy to get away from him."

Rusty nodded, acknowledging what you referred to. "Office gossip. It goes around." You arched a curious brow. "Rumour has it he's not happy."

You laughed, this time more genuinely. You looked at the content of the box, remembering what you came here for. You set the box down on a chair across Rusty's desk and you pulled out the stapler he asked for the other day. "Better late than never."

He stretched an arm across his desk to grab it, his fingers brushed against yours. He wondered if you felt the shock that went through his hand when your skin touched his. Sparks? Probably just static electricity. Rusty tilted his head back to look at you.

"I didn't come here for the stapler... Ray definitely stole it. He always steals things. He says it's endearing, it means he loves you. In my opinion, he probably thinks everything is free real estate." You reacted to your own amusing comment.

Oh how Rusty loved the sound of your laughter. Tommy would be jealous of him if he knew how many times he heard it, how many times he made you laugh.

"You've been working with Ray for how long?" Rusty opened his mouth to tell you the number of years, but you cut him off. "A hundred years or something? And you didn't know that! Wow." You clicked your tongue, mocking him like you truly disapproved of his ignorance.

His smirk turned into a frown of confusion when you quickly switched the topic.

"I came here to apologize for lashing out at you the other day. I was yelling at Tommy, not you. But yeah, I just wanted to say sorry. And goodbye."

"Don't even worry about it." He held his hands on his thighs. "I figured you weren't talk to me. One way or another... You would have ended up telling me to fuck off anyway."

You reacted to his words, squinting your eyes while trying to figure out what he meant. While Tommy had been nothing but a pain in the ass, Rusty revealed himself as one of the nicest people you met in the office. He brought you a cup of coffee, remembered how you preferred it. He paid for yours and Raymond's lunches so he could tag along. You smiled to yourself, remembering your stressful first day and the way it took the two of you to fix the printer by getting a scrunched sheet of paper unstuck.

Rusty caught that small smile of yours and he mirrored your expression. Silence lingered in the office one moment too long. His gaze lingered on you one moment too long as well. He swallowed thickly and fixed his tie back in his vest.

"Well..." You put the lid on the almost empty box and picked it up. You turned on your heels and headed in direction of the glass door.

Rusty was not ready to watch you leave just yet. "Got anything lined up? I can write you good references if you need. Whatever you need." His voice dropped to a whisper with the last three words.

"Uh, yeah. I'm fine, but I appreciate the offer." You explained what Raymond did, The old man called up a few connections, offering a round of beers at the bar as a thank you for the special treatment. "Although I'll have to work on my language, or so I've been told." You rolled your eyes playfully.

Rusty did not understand why it had been such an issue. He would have lost his job a long time ago on the basis of telling people to fuck off one too many times.

"Whatever that new place is, I'm just happy that it's Tommy Molto-free."

"I'll... We. I mean we'll miss having you around!" Rusty slipped up, his nostrils flaring while he inhaled deeply to try and dissipate the potential awkwardness.

You answered that you had a good time, that you appreciated his help. It felt so good to hear these words of praise from you.

"You know, after a while... I'm sure you'll end up missing Tommy too."

You basically cackled at his words, now stepping out of the glass door. "Oh, fuck you, Rusty."

"Fuck me?" He raised his voice so you could hear him loud and clear.

You remained immobile to let him finish.

"Is that a threat?" He pulled his glasses off in one swift motion and let them fall on his desk covered in scattered papers. "Or a promise?"

#jake gyllenhaal #rusty sabich #rusty sabich smut #jake gyllenhaal smut #presumed innocent #jake gyllenhaal imagine #rusty sabich imagine #rusty sabich x reader #jake gyllenhaal x reader

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aritsukemo · 10 months ago

Note

Heyyy! I hope the requests are open and im not putting too much work on your shoulders...

Anyways, this is my first ever time requesting... ANYTHING at all so i hope this is a not-so-hard or something that i shouldn't request (if not or you just don't feel like doing this request do NOT respond/do this request. I don't want to cause you burnouts or anything...)

Okay.. so...

May i request OMORI main gang x reader (all separate ofc) how long did it take for them to get comfortable around their s/o fully and how do they act in the developed relationship?

Thank you for your time! ^^

How long would it take the Omori Gang to become comfortable with their s/o? Well..

( @weed-stoner )

Warnings: Spoilers ahead! ( Implied in others and blatantly stated in Aubrey's part )

A/N: I AM SOOOOO INCREDIBLY SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG!!! I started this shortly after you requested it but then things happened and I had a little dry spout with Omori and forgot about it completely. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy this! ( And again, I am SOOO sorry, love! 😅)

I'd say, based on their level of openness, the ranking of how quickly they'd become comfortable with their significant other would look something like this..

Kel

Mari

Hero

Aubrey

Sunny

Basil

And here's why..

Kel is the type of person who can vibe with anyone as long as they aren't a horrible person. ( Or act like Mikhael. Even then there's a chance. )

I'd say give it maybe a couple weeks? He's never been in any kind of relationship like this one so he may act a little different than usual for a while. Once that's over though, he's pretty much the same eager ball of sunshine! He'll always want to nag them to come out and enjoy the world with him and will do everything in his power to be around them! After all, it's way more fun hanging with them than being at home..

Now this can be up for debate, but I think Mari wouldn't take long at all to grow comfortable with her significant other. In her opinion, communication and trust are key parts to any lasting relationship so she doesn't mind coming to you when she's a little bothered by things. ( Which happens more times than one may think )

I see her taking maybe around a few months ( like three to four ) before completely letting the person in. It's nothing personal, she just wants to gauge their personality and see whether or not this relationship will be able to last.

Now, Mari doesn't act much different when she's comfortable with people. Subtle things do change though. For example, her smile seems more relaxed and she gets less upset when making mistakes around that person. Their presence soothes her and as a result, she's less uptight around them.

For Hero, it really depends on when he got into the relationship. If it was before his relationship with Mari, which is not likely, he's not that much different to Kel. He'll spend a lot time with the person and pretty much tell them anything and everything. If it's after his relationship with Mari, which is more likely, it'll be much different.

You see, Hero has experienced heartbreak in one of the worst possible ways and it'll take time for him to heal. That being said, I really don't see him dating anyone until that happens, but let's say that he does. Realistically, it take quite some time which can vary from a few months to a year to way longer than that.

Now, Hero is still Hero so he'll treat whoever he dates with the kindness and respect that they deserve and will do everything he can to make sure they're happy and healthy, ( both physically and mentally ) however when it comes to verbalizing his own emotions, that's where we hit a nail. Whoever he dates would have to be very patient with him otherwise it may cause him to put even more walls up.

When he's finally comfortable around them, it'll show. He'll start telling them things he wouldn't before and'll even rant to them about his problems occasionally. He'll be way more open with his partner and'll be just a tad bit ( a lot ) more clingy than he used to.

Aubrey is a rather tough cookie. Ever since Mari died and everyone distanced themselves, forcing her to cope with everything alone, she has never truly let her walls down in front of others. And, if someone attempted to break down those walls, she'll grow defensive and even violent towards that person.

How long it would take Aubrey to even be comfortable enough to date someone really depends on the personality. Like, I see her letting her guard down quicker if the person is more kind and patient with her like Mari rather than someone's who's short-tempered or rough around the edges like her.

When Aubrey is comfortable around her significant other, she'll be less afraid to tell them how she feels. She'll vent to them, but because of that, she'll be more shy towards them. Aubrey'll also hold that person in higher regard than others and'll hold them close to her heart. When they scold her, she actually listens and tries to do better. If they're upset, she'll be the first to notice and'll be there to listen to them rant/help them out in any possible way. And, she'll always try to make sure that her little fights and other violent affairs never mesh and disturb the person's daily life. In a way, she sees this relationship as a way to pay them back for putting up with her for so long so she'd pretty much do anything for that person.

Sunny's next and oh boy..

I honestly don't see him indulging in any kind of romance with anyone unless him and that person were like childhood friends—I'm talkin' never leaving each other's side, seen everywhere together type of close childhood friend with someone—and even then, it's hard to imagine post-traumatized him feeling comfortable around anyone besides his former friends, let alone a relationship. But for the sake of this, let's say he does..

I can't put a time limit on how long it'll take him simply because I see it depending on which ending we're talking about. Obviously if we're talking about any of the bad endings, he's pretty much a lost dead cause. He's not going to make any attempt to open up to them and no matter how much they may try, there will always be distance between them. Now, if we're talking about good ending Sunny, the person actually has a chance.

There will be a lot of trial and error simply because Sunny's used to keeping things bottled up. He's not used to being upfront and truthful and he's only used to running away and not facing his problems. That being said, I see the process quickening a bit if the person he's dating is super gentle and patient with him. If they just gave him time, and a tiny push here and there, he'll come around. And when he does, he'd be stuck to them like glue.

I feel like he'd make it known with his body when he's truly comfortable around his partner. Whether his shoulders noticeably slump in their presence or maybe he lets his guard down enough to hold you or lean on you. Just something that'll let the person know that he feels truly safe around them! I see him being sorta touch-hungry and expressing it once he's comfortable with that person by giving them a bunch of hugs and cuddles and such.

And hey, maybe he'll even talk! ( Nah I'm playing BAHAHA- )

Finally, we have our sweet boy Basil. The gardening genius that carries a ginormous bouquet of trauma wherever he goes..

It's easy to say that whether the person was his friend prior to the incident or not, it'll take forever for Basil to truly feel comfortable around them.

If they were his friend prior to the incident, well, it all really depends. Was he close ( closer than he was with the others ) with them before the incident occurred? Did they distance themself from the group like everyone else? Did they stick to him and never let him go? Depending on what the person does all depends on how long it'll take. To me, I definitely feel like Basil would spill everything eventually if the person decided to stick with him when everyone grew apart and, as a result, would become sort of this unhealthy lifeline to Basil. Since they'd be the one he confides in about everything, it would grow to the point that they'd be the one thing keeping him together. He'd be at their mercy, and in a way, they'd be at his and nothing would really change until probably after the truth comes out ( if it were to come out ) and Basil got the proper help he needs.

If they weren't his friend before the incident, good luck. They'd be lucky enough to even get a full conversation from him, much less get him to be their friend and harbor any kind of romantic feelings for them. But let's say that is the case. Let's say that through some stroke of luck they managed to befriend Basil and eventually end up in a relationship with him. The person is going to have to put up with a lot. Basil is a very sensitive person and all it takes is one bad interaction for him to completely shut them out. They'd have to tread very lightly ( but not too lightly; if they don't try enough, the relationship's not getting anywhere ) or else they'll end up back at square one. I see this taking years ( specifically four or more ) and really, I only see him completely growing comfortable with the person after some extensive therapy.

When he's finally, fully comfortable with them, he'll be way more verbal and open. The fear of being rejected/judged would've been less apparent and slowly pushed to the back of his mind. Being with them for so long, ( and having gotten at least some bit of therapy since I literally don't see this happening otherwise ) he's grown to trust them to some extent. He's also grown to love rambling to them about whatever's on his mind. Whether that be about flowers or things much darker. I see him craving their touch and he wouldn't mind asking. ( But not too many times, he's still Basil after all ) I see those two spending so much time together that Polly would see them as an extension of the household. ( She'd fix them dinner every evening and would grow concerned if they didn't show up to get it and say hey to Basil. That's how much they'd be together. )

Dividers were made by me, pictures used are from Pinterest, post formatting is inspired by @xxsabitoxx

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theemporium · 1 year ago

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Can I please request a 🐈‍⬛ blurb? Maybe something where (literally any f1 boyfriend(s)) and you do something like go to a haunted house or watch a scary movie or something and he tries to be super chill about it but ends up terrified, hiding behind you while you’re just teasing him laughing about it

If not that’s totally okay, thank you for all of the blurbs anyways, they’re so cute! 💞

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

You knew exactly what he was trying to do when he suggested a horror movie night.

He had been so nonchalant and casual with the suggestion when he proposed it to you over dinner. On the weeks Charles wasn’t travelling around the world, he liked to spend time with you. And in a lifestyle that was so fast-paced and chaotic, a lot of the dates the two of you shared were mundane and simple and bordering so far into normal, it probably seemed boring to people looking in from the outside.

A common occurrence was movie date nights. You loved them. Charles loved them. You would switch between who would choose the movies and it led to some of the most wholesome, sweetest date nights shared between you.

But if there was one genre Charles always avoided, it was horror. There hadn’t been many occasions of either of you jumping to choose a thriller or scary movie, but Charles always picked a comedy or an action movie. It was a fact you could always rely on.

Until tonight.

“Really?” You asked, your brows furrowing together. “You want to watch a scary movie?”

Charles smiled. “Yeah.”

“You’re sure?” You questioned.

“Don’t tell me you’re scared, cherie,” he mused, shaking his head as he reached over to take your hand in his. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.”

Because in Charles’ head, he knew exactly how this night would play out. You two would sit on the couch, sharing a blanket when the movie would start. It would start to get scary and you would gravitate towards his side. And as the scenes continued, you’d be nestled into his lap where you would probably spend the rest of the night clinging onto him.

What Charles failed to take into consideration was the fact the movie would actually be scary.

“You good over there?”

“Mhm.”

“You’ve been really quiet.”

“Just enjoying the movie, mon amour.”

You let out a snort, trying to cover your mouth to muffle the noise but it was hard to do. The boy was as stiff as a board, practically digging his nails into the couch as he fought to keep his eyes on the screen. You could have sworn you could hear his heart beating in his chest from across the couch. But as much as you wanted to help him, the sight of him trying to play everything off was far more entertaining than any movie ever could be.

Charles lasted another ten minutes before a particularly bad jump scare had him scrambling across the couch, your body pulled onto his lap and his face pressed against your back as he tried to ignore the fact his whole body was shaking.

You couldn’t help but let out a loud laugh, your hands holding onto his arms as his grip on you tightened.

“Charles!”

“Turn it off! Turn the stupid thing off!”

“It’s not finished—”

“Please, mon amour.”

You listened as you reached for the tv remote, switching the movie off. Though, it didn’t stop the giggles you were no longer bothering to hide or the massive grin on your face as you twisted around on his lap so you could see him.

“Shut up,” Charles grumbled, his cheeks burning in embarrassment as he tried to hide his face in your neck but you didn’t let him.

“Aww, it’s cute,” you assured him, biting back your grin as you pecked his lips. “Don’t worry, baby, I’ll protect you.”

“You’re evil.”

“And you’re a scaredy-cat.”

“We are never watching a horror movie again.”

#cece's slumblurb party #charles leclerc #formula one #f1 #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x y/n #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc one shot #formula one x reader #formula one x you #formula one x y/n #formula one fic #formula one one shot #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #f1 fic #f1 one shot

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kedreeva · 6 months ago

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This might be an odd thing to ask but my friend just had to do their first cull (quail) and is feeling a little freaked out by it still. Do you maybe have any advice for like, coping with that?

I'll put this under a cut, since it involves animal death

I guess it depends on what they are freaking out about, the physical sensation of any part of it (for instance, if they did a butcher job to use the meat, instead of a euthanasia job for burial or something) or the empathy part of it (taking a life personally).

If it's the former, rub your (general you) hands on some kind of rough surface (like a bristle brush/dish scrub brush), trim your nails short, and take a long, hot shower, and light a smelly candle. It won't particularly stop you from thinking about it, but it will make sure that the actual physical stimuli that remind you (ghost sensations on nerves, any remaining scent of blood or offal or dander, sound) get pushed back in memory behind the new sensations and/or removed.

The empathy part is harder, and there's just not a lot you (again, general you) can do about it, and I think that's okay, actually. It SHOULD freak you out the first time you take a life, and it should freak you out a little every time after that, because it gives weight to this action that this action wholly deserves. You are ending a life that you were responsible for starting, and that's heavy and deserves respect. This is the reality of breeding and raising animals for use, and at the end of the day, your friend will have to sit with that, and decide if they're okay with it if they want to keep doing it. There's no shortcut in this matter.

Some of the things I do made it easier to come to terms with for me. The first is to do my best to produce animals that WILL have a use (as opposed to producing just to produce and not having a plan for what to do with them), and the second is to use as much of what you produce as possible. For me, this means either selling the birds to others for use, or using the meat/bones myself and giving the rest back to nature (usually my crows come and eat offal the same day I do butchering). I find it easier to handle if I set the expectation from the start that a bird will be a use animal not a pet animal (ie, food or eggs or whatever that I intend to invest time and care into, compared to a companion I would emotionally invest in as well)- being able to compartmentalize this distinction is essential, and there are also going to be times when you have to make the sucky decision to end an animal you got emotionally invested in anyway (illness, injury, old age, behavioral changes, etc) because you're human and that's what we often do. I'm also more comfortable culling if I know the animal will have/has had a quality life (both because the meat will be better and because they deserve it). Lastly, it helps to remind myself that I produce some animals for a purpose and when I cull they are either fulfilling that purpose (used by me/others) or they are incapable of fulfilling that purpose (free to go to others/rest). Keeping them longer than that is, imo, a disservice to them.

I'm sorry there's not an easy fix-it. I hope that your friend is able to recover and keep raising quail, if they enjoy the rest of it.

#animal death for ts #culling discussion #quails #asks #anon asks #It's okay to ask questions like this it's not odd #it's something a lot of folks won't discuss openly #but I think if you're gonna do it you gotta be able to talk about it #so I don't mind and I've answered a lot of questions similar to this!#so no worries

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rita-repulsa-ke · 1 month ago

Text

The Legend of Saint Claws

"All right, Agatha," Rio said with a shake of her head, coming to her feet and doing a melodramatic twirl, green silk pajamas shifting into a dramatic red and white getup, it was always strange to see her in a color other than green. Her nails grew long and sharp, scraping through the air. "What do you think of—Saint Claws?"

Agatha and Rio, raising Nicky together in modern times. Just a cute little Christmas fic.

Maybe.

“Do you think Nicky's asleep?” Agatha asked Rio, toying with a cup of spiked eggnog, feet in her wife’s lap.

“No, I think he’s sitting in the dark, listening for the arrival of the flying reindeer on the roof,” Rio said. “You should probably tell him that none of that stuff is real. He’s old enough now.”

Agatha gave the other woman one of her characteristic twisted smiles. “Oh, let him keep his illusions for a little longer. Everyone deserves a few.” She sat up, swallowed the rest of her drink and put the cup aside, pointedly ignoring the way it disappeared as soon as she stopped touching it. “Besides, you know I love this part.”

Rio looked at her with comfortable, familiar affection, tucked up on their couch. “And I do love watching you enjoy yourself, beloved. Though I’m not sure why I have to be the one doing all the acting.”

“Because I’m doing the spell casting,” Agatha pointed out. “And I’m comfortable and uninterested in moving.” She did move enough to close the gap between them, though, enough to kiss the woman she loved, slow and sweet, savoring the contact the way she did every time.

When she pulled back, Rio's hand caught her wrist for a moment. "One more Christmas," she said. "Then we give this up, okay?"

"I don't see why you care so much," Agatha said, ignoring how tight Rio was holding on, the pressure on her wrist almost bruising. "We can talk about it next year."

Rio pulled her close and kissed her again with sudden, breathtaking force, the kind of kiss that ate away at the edges of the world. She pulled back too fast, gasping. "Later," she said, lips still tingling from the contact. "Save it for the bedroom, hmm? You have a job to do."

Agatha applauded, laughing. "Excellent, very scary," she said. "I wouldn't want to see that bringing me a sack of presents."

It had started out as a silly game, telling the boy that 'Saint Claws' would bring his presents on Christmas, but he'd best not look or else he might be torn to shreds. It was Agatha, of course, who'd escalated, started mixing in magic and costumes to make the whole thing seem real, until suddenly trying to catch a glimpse of Saint Claws without being caught was as much a part of Christmas as receiving the actual presents.

"All right, let's see if I can give you some really dramatic reindeer to herald your arrival," Agatha said, fishing around for the components for her spell, then glanced up to find Rio staring at her.

"You're so beautiful," the other woman murmured, which only made Agatha nod absent agreement, going back to setting up for the spell.

"Come on, up on the roof with you," she told Rio. "Oh, if you see Vision flying around up there, tell him hi for me."

"I thought you hated him?" Rio asked.

"Of course I do, I hate all of our neighbors, but I don't want them to know that, we still have to live here," Agatha said. "Well, I suppose I don't hate Wanda. But I don't see why she married that tinbucket calling itself a man."

"Ags, Wanda…" Rio started, then stopped. Instead, she turned to pull the bag of presents over her shoulder, careful not to rip them with her unnecessarily long claws.

When had that gotten there, Agatha thought. Surely they hadn't left it out in the living room, that was careless, Nicky would have seen it. She supposed she must have taken it out after he'd gone to bed.

She thought about asking Rio, but it wasn't important. Instead she lit the incense in front of her, and began the chant to summon her herd of illusory flying reindeer, listening as their hooves clattered loudly across the roof. She heard the sound of feet thudding above her as Nicky bolted out of bed, no doubt trying to get a glimpse of them landing on the roof. From across the street, she heard the sounds of a shrill voices yelling. At some point, Billy and Tommy had both gotten in on the 'Spot Saint Claws' game, much to the bemusement of their parents.

"Be careful out there," she told Rio. "And try not to gore any children. Especially not ours."

"Only if their eyes linger too long on—Saint Claws!" Rio said, with a terrible, shrieking laugh that made Agatha burst into much more human giggles.

"Oh, you are so sexy right now," she purred, blowing Rio a kiss.

"I'll remember you said that," her wife said, before teleporting away with her full sack of presents, landing on the roof with a heavy thunk. The yelling from outside intensified, alongside something that sounded like roaring, Rio really overdoing it on the sound effects.

"I see him, he's on the roof!" One of the twins said. "Look out, Nicky, he's coming down the right side, get back to bed before he sees you—aaaah! He's looking at me! Mom!!!"

She couldn't hear Nicky's voice, it occurred to her. He should be yelling back or shrieking in terror. Maybe she should go up and check on him, make sure that he wasn't too scared. They'd overdone it when he was four, she'd had to go up and hold him and promise him that she would never, ever let Saint Claws hurt him before he'd calmed down. But he was six now and he'd been so excited to try and spot Saint Claws, it was all he'd talked about when she'd put him to bed.

Still, she should go check.

It took her a minute to get off the couch, and far less time to get up the stairs. "Nicky?" she called as she stood outside his door, and got no answer. In fact, all the sounds outside had faded, none of Rio's ridiculous roaring or the boys yelling. It made her skin crawl and suddenly she was desperate to see Nicky. She wrapped her hand around the doorknob, pushed it open—

She realized the problem, the fundamental flaw, as the door swung open. She could recreate the whole world, but she couldn't remember what her son looked like.

On the ground of Westview, Agatha Harkness sagged and howled, her hands curled into fists that beat themselves into the ground. Next to her, inches away, lay the desiccated corpse of the Scarlet Witch.

"Tell me how it works!" Agatha screamed at Wanda's body. "I've got your power, I should be able to bring him back to me! Why can't I do it?!" A hand touched her shoulder and she jerked, turned to stare up at Rio, Death, her continual stalker. "How did you find me??"

"You summoned me into all of that, Ags," the woman she'd once loved said, looking down at her with an unreadable expression. "He's dead, beloved. You can't fix that with magic."

"I know," Agatha snarled. "Do you think I don't know that, you think I haven't tried? But hey," her lips quirked into a twisted, terrible smile. "I can pretend, can't I?" She motioned to Wanda. "It worked for her."

"I don't think you should," Rio said, voice soft, crouching down next to her. "I don't think that will make you happy."

"She seemed pretty happy, in her little twisted make-believe world," Agatha sneered.

Rio glanced at Wanda's corpse. "…She was. But she was better at lying to herself, I think."

"Do you know, I can't remember," Agatha whispered, the terrible truth slipping out. "I think that's why it doesn't work for me. I can't remember what he looked like. I can't remember the sound of his voice."

Rio opened her mouth, closed it, then wrapped her arms around Agatha without saying a word.

Maybe it was the familiarity or the recent pretense of marriage or maybe it was simply that she was suddenly so tired, every year of her long life hitting her at once, but she collapsed into Rio's arms, let the woman she'd once loved hold her, stroke her hair and whisper sweet nothings in dead languages to her.

Then she had an idea.

"Rio," she said, her voice coming out rusty and raw from the screaming. "You remember."

Death stared down at her, her eyes widening as Agatha's meaning sunk in. "...Beloved, you don't want this. Not really."

Agatha cupped the other woman's cheek, staring into those endless eyes, currently reflecting her back to herself, which wasn't anything she wanted to see. "Why not? It won't make me happy? I don't remember being happy. And it will get what you want, won't it? Come on, Rio." Her lips twisted, curled into a smile brimming with madness. "Marry me. Live happily after ever." She raised a hand, crackling with red and purple power.

Rio shuddered against her, stared at that hand for a moment, then twined her fingers through Agatha's, green and black power wrapping around their combined hands, then spinning itself into a circle, a ring, which slid neatly over Agatha's finger.

"I do," Death said.

Agatha opened the door and Nicky flew into her arms, his face bright with excitement. "Mom!" he said. "Listen, can you hear? Saint Claws is outside!"

"So he is," Agatha said, listening to the melodramatic roaring with a shake of her head, a shake that cleared some of the last of the cobwebs, pushed away any thoughts that might have otherwise intruded. She toyed absently with her wedding ring as she said, "Go ahead and take a look. I'll make sure you're safe."

#agatha all along #agatha x rio #agathario #merry christmas??

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abiiors · 1 year ago

Text

silent treatment 💫 // ross macdonald x reader

a/n: this is not a christmas fic, this is just something that i had in my drafts for like a month now because @the1975attheirverybest sent me a photo of ross' tour bus (the one in the banner) from when she went to the baltimore show and of course i had nasty ideas about it lmao. so yes, here we go--the tour bus fucking fic hehe. i'm still really struggling with writer's block and hate everything i have been writing so this might be a bit shit :/ cw: brat-taming kinda, smut obv, dirty talk??? general nasty behaviour wc: 2.2k

american fans are loud.

well, all fans are loud; it’s not really a bad thing to be, but the american ones are especially loud, you’ve noticed. cheers and shouts and whoops of joy at the airport, and a collective roar that tears through the crowd every time the boys come on stage—it’s all part of the world. his world. your world.

girls shriek and cry wherever he goes, hugging him—their bodies pressed against his, their hands holding his, boldly flirting with him too sometimes. sure, he ignores it and only smiles politely. sure, he only signs their stuff and indulges them for selfies but the burn in your chest remains just the same. dull but prominent.

all in all, he likes america and america likes him. you? maybe not so much.

still, it’s not all hate. it’s fun being on the tour bus and driving through the big wide expanses of the midwest, certainly fun when his hand is buried between your legs and the other muffling your moans. fun to watch your nails digging into his thigh as you chase the high over and over again before falling limp against his chest.

today, however, you skew more towards annoyance.

he’s been so busy, he hasn’t even had the time to look at you properly much less talk to you for longer than ten minutes—what with having to leave one city and go to the other immediately. it’s been hectic and he’s seized the chance to nap whenever he can, just like polly and john who share the bus with you. not that you blame him for it—the exact opposite of it, in fact—you’re grateful for any rest he can get.

but the brattiness rears its ugly head sometimes. and now as you stand there in a corner, watching the instruments being taken out of their truck and brought backstage, you can’t help but bite angrily on the lollipop in your mouth.

ross is on the phone across the room, talking to a friend or a colleague or maybe even family. you don’t know. what you do know is his eyes are trained on you and you alone—rather, on your lips closed around the lollipop, on the sticky residue on your lips. your eyes in turn move to his hand—the one gripping the phone in a vice-like grip, knuckles almost white.

it only takes him another ten seconds to end the call and cross the room. and now here he is—towering over you, looking down at you.

“what’s up with you?”

you shrug, tongue flat against the sweet candy, “nothing.”

“nothing?” his voice is low. mostly to conceal it from the people all around you but also full of warning. so you’ve irked him then… good.

you choose not to answer, giving the lollipop a small lick instead. there’s barely any left now but you plan to enjoy every last bit of it.

“what, don’t wanna talk to me now?”

“me?” you ask, exaggerating the confusion in your voice. testing the boundaries.

“yes, you,” his eyes flash a little, “don’t act like you don’t know what i’m talking about.”

it’s a dangerous game to play with him, especially the way his pupils dialate every time you swirl your tongue around the last bit of the candy, relishing it thoroughly and letting its sweetness linger on your lips.

ross leans down, mouth directly next to your ear. “you can be a brat all you want, sweet girl. as long as you’re ready for the consequences.”

and before you’ve had the chance to reply, he bends down and closes his mouth around the rest of the lollipop. a loud crunch cuts through the silence. he straightens, smiles like nothing’s out of the ordinary and leaves you holding the now empty white stick.

ross is busy talking to the organisers of a local artists’ collective.

he laughs and chats animatedly and listens to them talking about how much they value this opportunity that the band has created. their voices are loud and boisterous—happy, giddy, excited. a complete contrast to you sulking in the corner, scrolling through tiktok and watching one pointless video after another.

his eyes flick to you once in while, linger on you when matty takes over the conversation. you see the warning in them so clearly. don’t be a baby. don’t pout. but you ignore and double down. if he doesn’t want to give you attention then you’re not going to beg for it. no matter how much you want to pull him into some broom closet and show him exactly what he’s missing.

you cross and uncross your legs and send him a look.

look what you to do me.

he sends one back.

busy. not now.

so you go back to your phone. scroll, a makeup tutorial, scroll, ten must buy amazon things, scroll, movies to watch this winter, scroll— a snap of his fingers breaks through your monotony.

“come share a fag with me.”

you take your sweet time looking and him an deciding if you’re in the mood to smoke, even go so far as to make him ask again.

“well?”

“sure.”

it’s quieter once you’re outside. there’s still the sounds of traffic and a bit of laughter floating out from the inside. somewhere someone’s playing a familiar tune and you watch ross light his cigarette. the fire casts a warm glow on his jaw briefly, on his stubble that’s coming in once again after shaving it off for halloween.

the skin on the inside of your thighs stings from the memory.

“open,” he says and you obey, letting him stick the end of the cigarette between your lips and taking a drag. the smoke burns but with some satisfaction you see the lipstick smudge you left behind.

ross is just taking his own drag when you blow the smoke on his face and shrug when quirks an eyebrow.

“generous of you to take five minutes out of your busy schedule.”

“careful, love,” he warns and lets you take another drag of the cigarette. “don’t be a brat. you know i’m busy.”

“you’re always busy.”

“is that so?”

he looks amused and it riles you up even more. he’s the one that’s supposed to be affected, not you! a beat of silence passes and ross slowly drags his fingers up your arms leaving goosebumps in their wake.

“my gorgeous girl,” he says and presses a kiss to your shoulder, moving his mouth to your jaw and then to your collarbone. “are you mad at me?”

“no.”

“no?”

you fight to contain the shiver that passes through you. even when you can feel the little tingles intensifying throughout your body. need swirls through your stomach the more his mouth moves on your neck.

“then what’s this silent treatment for, huh?”

“what silent treatment?”

“oh, baby,” ross tuts and his stubble grazes over the sensitive skin of your neck. “you really wanna play dumb?”

every retort flies out of your brain when he grabs a hold of your hips and pulls you close to him.

“you know what happens to dumb little bunnies, right?”

“y-yes.” it’s almost a whimper that quickly turns into a half moan when his hand rests on the back of your thighs, trailing up and up and up until it’s almost on the curve of your ass.

you yelp when he pinches the skin.

“you want to be fucked that bad, huh?”

and now you finally have him where you want.

“so now you want to be loud,” ross mocks and dives back under your dress.

this torture has lasted for a good ten minutes now. the insides of your thighs already feel raw and chafed. and he hasn’t even properly started yet. he’s still busy marking up the smooth skin of your legs.

“always a good girl when you want something from me, aren’t you?”

you nod fervently, trying to stifle the mewl that’s about to leave your mouth. instead you clutch his head and try to push him where you want. ross is quicker. before you ever know it, his hand it wrapped around your wrists and he pulls back again, looking at you with yet another warning glare.

his hair is a mess, his mouth wet from leaving all those kiss and bites on your skin but it’s his eyes that really get you—pupils blown out so wide that his eyes might as well be black.

“please ross, please,” you whine, shamless and desperate and dying for his mouth to be back on you.

“please what?”

“please make me cum.”

your pout has stopped affecting him a long time ago, even when you look at him with teary eyes and spread your legs wider. the underwear was discarded somewhere the minute you got inside the tour bus and now he has the perfect view of how wet you are. how ready for him.

the inside of the bus feels uncomfortably hot or maybe it’s just your skin that’s sticky and sweaty and in desperate need of his touch.

“no silent treatment anymore?”

“no,” you shake your head, “gonna be a good girl now. please please please.”

“yes, you are.” ross smiles and it feels more sinister than genuine. “i’ll stop what i’m doing if i hear another sound from you, baby.”

“w-what?”

“dumb little slut,” he mocks again, mouth so so close to your clit that it’s impossible to focus on anything else. “don’t want people to walk in on us, do you?”

“no. no!”

“then be quiet for me.”

easy for him to say. because his lips attach around your clit at that exact moment and you bite down on the back of your hand to stop the loud moan from escaping.

“ungrateful, spoiled little brat,” ross tuts, presses his tongue flat against your opening. “look at you now.”

the heady mix of big and small licks makes your head spin, makes you want to cry out his name over and over again but for the sake of your sanity you stay quiet. for each small whimper that still manages to escape you, you feel a small sting on your thigh—a nip or a bite.

“my sweet, filthy girl,” he coos, ghosting his lips over each bruise, each bite and goes back to torturing your cunt.

“ross, can i–oh! can i cum, please!”

“gonna cum for me, already?” he teases and pulls away entirely. “and what if i said no.”

the look you give him is one full of desperation—tears gathered on your lower lashline, bottom lip swollen and red from bitting hard to keep quiet.

“please!”

“no.”

and that’s that, just like that his head is back between your legs, tongue hot on your cunt as his nose pushed into your clit. between trying to stay quiet and trying not to cum you barely have any grip on reality. all you know is how it feels too much, too much pleasure, bordering on pain now. the urge to let go is too strong.

“let me ask you again, baby,” his voice comes through the haze in your mind. barely even audible. “are you done with the silent treatment?”

“y-yes, m’sorry!” you whine, “won’t do it again. wont—”

“look at you…” his condescending tone somehow turns you on even more. the humiliation somehow adds to the pleasure. “ready to be my good girl again?”

“yes, yes!” the buzzing in your ears is so loud now, his voice barely even comes through. all you know is the feeling of his tongue inside you and the stinging of your thighs. the sticky sweat on your skin.

your legs shake from the strain of denying yourself an orgasm, your head swims with too much of everything and nothing all at once.

“go on then,” he speaks. finally. “you can let go now.”

all you manage is a long whine and every single restraint drops. you think you grip his head between your thighs, practically convulsing from the force of the orgasm that hits you, trembling from the way his tongue laps everything up. it’s beyond you how he manages to hold you upright.

you think you scream out his name, practically alerting everyone in a five kilometre radius. you think you pull on his hair and hear him hiss. but ross lets you.

minutes later when he finally stands, his beard and mouth glistens with slick.

“there’s my good girl,” he coos and holds you in his arms.

“look at me,” he coaxes a bit until you manage to open your eyes and look at him properly. despite how fucked he looks, there’s a sweet smile on his face. and his eyes soften when you meet his gaze. “sorry i ignored you before, love. don’t be mad at me.”

“m’not mad at you.” you mumble and every single negative emotion from before melts away within seconds.

“good.” his smile widens, just a touch of mischievous once again. “now that you’ve learned your lesson… let me make it up to you.”

and just like that, he’s back on his knees, diving between your legs once again.

reblogs and comments are always appreciated <33

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mjlovescm · 1 year ago

Text

Illicit affairs, Spencer Reid

Very old Spencer oneshot inspired by "Illicit affairs" by Taylor Swift.

“Meet me outside in seven minutes. We need to end this now.”

As you read the text, you could feel your stomach turning.

“We need to end this now.”

We, huh? He ended it months ago, so what could he possibly need to talk about. You walk to the gift table and drop your present off. Perfume and cologne. The same ones they wore the first day they met each other. No name signed on that part would hurt too much.

You asked Spencer so you could be exact about what you planned to buy. It's a simple gift, really, but it's the thought that counts. It's sweet with sentimental value. The perfect gift for the perfect couple. The perfect girlfriend and boyfriend, soon to be the perfect husband and wife.

With the gift gone, you walked towards the exit before being stopped by a worried Penelope.

“Y/n have you seen Spencer ?” Your heart drops. “We want to start soon, and the guests are getting anxious.”

You panicked not knowing what to say so you shake your head instead. You were flustered, your face warm in anticipation.

Of course, everyone is anxious. No one wants the groom to be missing on the wedding day. Everyone's looking for him, and he's waiting for you outside. You felt disgusted with yourself. Guilt was written all over your face. And soon tears would be too.

Scanning the parking lot, the only person you could see was a tall man in a large dark coat. You almost didn't want it to be him.

It had been ages since you and Spencer spoke one on one, and you knew this would be just like the last time. He'll tell you it's over, the best thing to do now is to move on. But maybe this time would be different, maybe this time you would say what needed to be said. Maybe this time you'll be the one he wants…

The man turns around, revealing himself, his face covered by the hood on the coat. You smiled seeing him again, all dressed up with his long brown hair gelled back and the bowline glasses that fit his face perfectly. You opened your arms for a hug, any sort of embrace from him. Instead of doing the same, Spencer roughly grabbed you by your arm, pushing you against a car behind him. Making sure no one could see you.

This isn't the time or place to make a scene.

“Why are you here?” He barked.

“What no hi, hello you good y/n.” you attempted to lighten the situation.

Clearly you failed.

“Answer the question,” he demanded.

From this angle you could see his face fully, it was lit up by the moon. Being pressed against the car brought back memories. Memories of him and you, but his face lit by candles, and you were pressed against his bed. Naked.

“Are you gonna answer or not?”

“Surprisingly, I was invited by the bride, Ms. Jennifer Jareau. Well, soon to be Jennifer Reid, but I highly doubt she'll take your last name.”

The tension and anger is visible not just on his face, but also in the way he was holding you. His nails digging into your skin, you still pressed to the car. The only time he was as you was when you threatened to tell her about your relationship. If you could really ever call it that.

“Fine. Then why did you show up.” he hissed.

He lets go of you, he knows remaining calm was the best thing to do. He wouldn't ever hurt you, at least not in a way you wouldn't enjoy.

“Why wouldn't I show up? My friends are getting married.”

You state the obvious.

“You know why you shouldn't show you. We've been over this y/n, it was a lap in my judgment, JJ and I were having issues, and you comforted me when things escalated.”

“A lapse in judgment for almost half a year.” you yelled, pain cracking your voice.

His hands flew over your mouth and Spencer silenced you.

“Y/n, JJ is my best friend, okay she means the world to me. I'm sorry I no longer think about us the same way you do, but the fact is… I am marrying the love of my life today.” He speaks slow and careful, praying you understand. “You telling her we slept together for a few months would break her trust in me, in our relationship, in your friendship with her, but most importantly, it would break her.”

It would. It would absolutely shatter her, you couldn't care less what happens to Spencer in the end. But JJ, she deserves to be happy. She deserves the truth, right?

Spencer calms himself and takes a step away from you as you think.

“Fine, I wasn't planning on telling her anything anyway. But I have to stay for the wedding.” you attempted to stand your ground.

“No.” He demanded. “No, you have to leave. Coming here was one thing, but staying is something else.”

You stood still, frozen in disbelief. He didn't trust you enough to stay.

How did everything crumple so fast ? How did he go from crying in my arms about how much he missed her to coldly forcing me away again ? You could feel the tears in the corners of your eyes. It soon became hard to breathe, but you hold yourself together. Crying in front of Spencer wasn't something you could do, not again. Not now.

“Promise me you won't have any more laps in your judgment, JJ doesn't deserve that, no one does.”

As you began to walk away, you felt Spencer pull you back. His cold hands cup your face. He kisses you, forcing your face into his. His hands shake from the moment, from the cold, from you. Spencer pulled away from you with tears forming in his eyes.

“I love you, y/n.” He whispers it, like the secret it is. “Thank you sincerely.”

He ran back towards the building at the speed of light. Leaving you in shock as you stood alone in the large, dark parking lot. That was the first time he'd said those words.

You walked to your car freezing, your jacket left in the coat check. Silent, you sat in the car for a moment before releasing a large sad sigh. It felt like the first time you'd breathed in months. For too long, you were caught in Spencer's awful chokehold. Without your notice, tears streamed down your face as you looked at the building in your rearview mirror.

You could stay sure, but what would be the point?

This night was painful enough, JJ doesn't need that kind of hurt.

“She deserves happiness and he deserves her. No one else needs to get hurt tonight.” you repeat to yourself as you drive away.

Masterlist - mjlovescm "Flashing Lights" Spencer Reid x black fem stripper reader fic

#spencer x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x black!reader #criminal minds #jennifer jareau #penelope garcia #illicit affairs #taylor swift #folklore #criminal minds imagine

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beesxrated · 1 year ago

Text

A Day In

Another Halsin fic.🪻

Masterlist

Light pours through the trees waking you up. You groan and turn in the large arms around you, burring your face in his bare chest. He pulls you closer kissing the top of your head before he rolls and faces you as well. Halsin's lips meet yours in a long sleepy kiss before they continue to your cheek and your neck. His hands trace and caress every inch of your body as his lips and tongue caress the rest.

"We just woke up, Halsin." You mumble as his lips meet your stomach just above your waist.

You feel him chuckle against your skin, "You can tell me to stop if you want, love."

But you don't, you enjoy his touch and lips against your body as he slowly moves downward. His hands push you down onto your back and his mouth having almost reached what you desire most. Instead he raises himself up and kisses you again on the lips before pulling away and sitting up on the edge of the bed. You lay there frustrated.

"I have some things to get done, but after those I am all yours." He leans back and kisses you hard.

You sigh, voicing your frustrations, "How long will you be?"

"I do not know. I would say maybe an hour or two."

"I don't know if I can wait that long, Hals."

He smiles at you, "I will make it as fast as I can."

He gets up, dresses himself and leaves your space. You lay there in your frustration thinking of all of the ways to get him back for this. Playfully, you think of doing the same to him, but know you don't have the willpower to pull away from him like that. You doze off thinking about Halsin.

You awaken this time to shadow, eyes still closed you begin to wonder if you may have slept through the entire day. That fear is quickly squashed as lips meet yours, softly. You open your eyes and find Halsin starting to travel down your body again.

You surprise Halsin as you push him down onto his back, taking your time in kissing his body as he has done to you many times. He seems to enjoy it just as much as you do. His hands slide into your hair tugging as you nip at his hips. You look up for just a moment to see his eyes closed and seemingly enjoying every touch. You tease him, kissing and touching all around the throbbing bit of his pleasure.

He groans as you finally take it into your mouth. His hands grip the roots of your hair pushing further into you. His body starts to shake as you work on him. You notice how much he is enjoying this and regret not doing it sooner. He's always been a giver and never complained, and now you also like being a giver.

Haslin tries to get out your name, but shudders every time you change up what your doing even a small amount. Noticing this you release him and he immediately flips you around on him. His mouth on your pleasure and yours on his. You start to lose focus as he grips your hips keeping you in place, refusing to let you move as he finishes you off.

Once he's finished with you he pushes you back into the bed on your back. His hands massage you as he continues with his mouth for a minute longer before he shifts himself up onto his elbows. Halsin almost growls, something you'd never heard him do before, as he pushes himself into you. You realize you have become louder now than you ever had before, your throat starts to feel scratchy as you groan his name.

You have lost all sense of yourself as he forgets his previously soft and slow motions you were used to. He thrusts harder than you'd ever thought he could before. He seems almost feral as his teeth find your neck and he growls again. Your nails scrape up his back and into his hair gaining a deep, heavy moan from him. Halsin brings his head next to yours as he reaches ecstasy, letting out a low grumble. His trusts become slow and shallow as you feel him finish. As he pulls himself from you he lets out a huff, and falls next to you.

Your body shakes as it tries to regulate the emotion and pleasure coursing through your body. Halsin lays his head on your chest, breathing heavily. His hands trace shapes or words on your stomach as you brush fingers through his hair.

"What are you tracing?" You ask when your throat stops stinging.

Halsin hums a bit, "Nothing, just letters."

"Does it say anything?" You ask trying to focus on the letters he could possibly be writing on your body.

"I love you." He says, "And promises in a language forgotten."

"What are you promising?"

"You will learn in time. For now, I want to lay with you."

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siempre-bucky · 2 months ago

Text

The Snowman dance

Eddie Diaz x Evan Buckley

Summary: Eddie recruits Buck to help chaperone Christopher's winter dance. At the dance, Chris asks Buck to help him ask his classmate to dance. It all leads to the two firefighters sharing a slow dance with whispered confessions and hallway kisses.

WC: 2.5k

A/N: My sister and my coworker finally got me to watch 9-1-1 and I'm obsessed with this show. I hope you enjoy my first fic in the Buddie fandom ♡

In my head, they're dancing to The Christmas Waltz by Laufey

Eddie Diaz pulled his aviators from the front of his shirt as he opened the front door to Christopher’s school. He slid them up the bridge of his nose until they rested comfortably at the top and the Los Angeles sun was no longer bothering him. He grumbled about having to park his beloved truck in the back of the busy school parking lot. It was early on a Tuesday morning in December, and he thought he would have been in the second row.

“Mr. Diaz!” A high pitched voice called from behind, but the firefighter was too lost in his thoughts of potential scratches to the shiny black paint.

“Mr. Diaz!”

After three more times, a hand touched his strong bicep. The man whipped around and put on a million-wat smile for Mrs. Romero, the older administrator of his son's school. She was a kind woman with graying brown ringlet curls and flowy earth-toned robes that reminded him of an eccentric theater teacher Chris had at summer camp once.

“I am so sorry,” he laughed out an apology, her chunky costume jewelry clinking together, “I was in a world of my own.”

The woman laughed in return and patted his arm, “I’m so glad I caught you.” She had a twinkle in her eye like she was about to ask him for a favor. He recognized it as the same look his abuela gives him whenever she needs help around her home.

“How can I help?” he gave in, just like he would for his abuela.

“Well as you know, The Snowman Dance is this Friday and I’m down two chaperones” Mrs. Romero explained, holding up two well-manicured fingers to further make her point. “Would you mind?”

Eddie bit the inside of his cheek and put his hands on his hips, staring at her crimson red nails. He could already hear the 118 making jokes about high school dances and Chris telling him how uncool he was for babysitting him and not letting him grow up. But nothing could compare to the cold stare of a woman with a plan and no highway option. “I’ll, uh, be there. I have an early shift, it should work out.”

She clasped her hands with glee, red painted lips smiling brightly, “You are a Godsend, Eddie!” She tapped his arm again and started to walk back towards the school. “Oh! Oh!” she chirped, turning around before Eddie could walk a few more feet. “Would you also ask that other strapping young man, oh, what was his name?” Another manicured finger went up, “Oh! Evan! We all just love him.”

They wanted Buck to help chaperone too? Out of all the people he knew and who had come to pick Christopher up in the past, they asked for Buck. It was probably the charming smile that could woo any of the PTA moms, or maybe how his muscles filled out the shirts he wore at pick up, or the way he was with children. Eddie smiled fondly to himself, fighting off a blush “I’ll ask him!” he called out, earning himself more points with her.

Buck was cackling to himself later that night, nearly falling off Eddie’s couch as he crumpled the dance flyer. “They want me?” Buck asked for the third time, this time he was trying to catch his breath. The first had been disbelief, the second was shock that Mrs. Romero didn’t ask him herself the day before.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” Eddie intoned, bringing the amber bottle to his lips.

“Too late, Diaz,” The blond smirked. He looked down at the flyer again, blue eyes connecting with the generic clip-art snowman in the bottom corner. Chris had already loudly expressed that he wanted Buck at the dance, it was now up to Eddie and what he wanted. “Do you want me to help out?”

A silence lingered in the living room, Buck cautiously searched for any answers in Eddie’s body language. The brunet shifted in his seat, leaning forward to put his bottle on the coaster on the table that divided them. A million thoughts began to run through his head, what if he was crossing a line? What if Eddie didn’t want anyone questioning their relationship? A sadness suddenly hit him, was chaperoning a dance too much and were they getting too close?

“Yeah,” Eddie finally said casually, “It’ll be fun.”

And to Buck’s surprise, it was fun even if he had to hear “Santa Claus Is Comin’ to Town” ten times. He mingled with the moms of the PTA, avoided their advances as if it were a superpower, and stopped three kids from spiking the punch bowl. He was now the proud owner of three silver flasks.

He finally got time to breathe halfway through the event, sitting on the cold metal bleachers and taking in the tacky silver winter decorations that covered the gymnasium. Not too bad for a bunch of teenagers, he thought as he unbuttoned his maroon velvet coat jacket and leaned backward, clothed elbows resting on the bench behind him. His eyes followed a string of twinkling lights, leading him straight to Eddie who was talking to a few boys he recognized from Christopher’s class.

He looked so relaxed, laughing at their childish jokes. All he wanted was to be close to him, to—

“Buck,” Christopher whined as he plopped down on the bench below him, his limbs splayed in defeat. Buck’s thoughts were interrupted by the teen's annoyed groaning.

“What’s up, buddy?” Buck sat up and tapped his shoulder with the back of his hand.

Chris shifted in his seat and looked up at him, “They’re going to play a slow song soon,” he sighed.

Buck narrowed his eyes and cocked his head, “What’s the problem with that?”

“Carly,” Chis said sadly, pointing to a girl with chestnut-colored hair and a puffy pink dress, giggling with her friends near the punch bowl.

The older man's lips parted in realization, he wanted to ask a girl to slow dance with him. “Well,” Buck coughed, “Go ask her to dance.”

Chris rolled his eyes. “I don’t know how.”

Buck sighed and rubbed his forehead, “Well, all you gotta do is walk up to her and ask her if she would like to dance…and you dance.” Way to play it cool Buckley.

Chris thought about it for a moment, “Can you show me how to ask?”

“Like me ask someone?”

“Exactly!” the boy cheered.

Buck chuckled nervously, “I don't know, man, I don’t know anyone here.”

The teen scanned the room, his eyes falling onto his father, “You could ask my dad.”

A flush of pink dusted Buck’s cheeks, the palms of his hand suddenly becoming sweaty. “Chris,” he sighed.

Chris’s features softened, his body slumping, becoming resigned to the situation. “Ok,” he muttered sadly.

Buck was a proud man and most of the time he had an iron will, but when it came to Chris? Buck would do anything to see that boy smile. That boy's happiness mattered more than asking his crush to dance. His hand landed on his shoulder, “Alright,” he said, and Chris sprung back to life, “follow my lead.”

The two crossed the floor, Chris copying Buck’s confident posture, eyes looking towards the punch bowl. Chris gasped as the slow song started. He couldn’t miss his chance! Buck walked in front of Eddie and turned on the Buckley charm, a confident smirk adorned his lips as he stared directly into Eddie’s warm brown eyes, pushing his feelings aside.

“Eddie, would you like to dance with me?” Buck asked confidently, outstretching his hand. Eddie looked confused until Buck nudged his head towards Chris who was anxiously standing in front of Carly, side-eyeing Buck to see what he was supposed to do next.

“Oh,” Eddie chuckled, “I’d love to dance, Buck.” Eddie put his hand into Buck’s and watched Chris and Carly walk to the brightly lit dance floor.

The feelings he managed to suppress crashed into him the moment Edde slid his damn hand into Buck’s palm. His vision was blurry and his heart was aggressively leaping into his chest. It was almost like whiplash, he first saw Mrs. Romero’s gentle smile of approval and the next thing he saw was the back of Eddie’s head as he led him to the edge of the dance floor.

For Eddie, he was as calm as could be. He softly smiled as the two men stood staring at each other, waiting for someone to take the lead. The brunet snorted, he placed one hand on Buck’s velvet-clad waist and lifted the other higher. The problem was that they were still standing a mile away. Eddie glanced over the other's shoulders and watched his son timidly dance slowly with his classmate. Her soft smile as they shifted side to side made his fatherly heart happy, a sudden relief washed over him knowing Christopher was ok.

His eyes shifted to Buck, who was still watching Chris. That relief didn't last long—since when were they standing a mile apart? Why were his hands suddenly on fire? A breath hitched in his throat, now that Chris didn’t need him, Eddie was left alone with the consequences of his feelings. “Hey uh, Buck,” he began, his voice shaking, “Chris is good. We don’t gotta—”

“No- no, we gotta follow through—for him, just in case he’s watching or something,” Buck played it mildly cool, his head snapping back to look at his friend. Shit, Eddie cursed in his head, his jaw clenching tightly.

Follow through.

For Christopher—for himself.

Eddie took that step forward, closing the space between them. Buck’s blue eyes came closer into view. Were they always this beautiful up close? “We should dance,” Eddie whispered, his eyes trained on the slightly taller man.

Buck swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded nervously, “We should,” he agreed. Left, right, left, right. That’s all he had to do, just move your damn feet Diaz. By some grace of God, Eddie and Buck finally started moving along to the slow jazzy Christmas song. Buck’s grip on his shoulder tightened and he stepped even closer, their breaths almost being able to mix.

And suddenly, the world had faded around them. Eddie no longer smelled the stale gym air or overly fragrant teen boy body spray, all he could smell was the expensive cologne the blond was wearing. It took every ounce of strength not to bury his nose in the side of Buck’s neck. They had danced together before, at Hen and Karen's wedding, and many of Athena and Bobby’s parties, but it was never like this; sober and completely exposed. There were no threats of a fire alarm, their friends interjecting, or any alcohol (hopefully the confiscated flasks in Buck’s pockets continue to go unnoticed). It was just Buck standing in Eddie’s proximity.

They stayed silent and the song played, just swaying side to side and avoiding each other's nervous gaze. Maybe fate stepped in because when their eyes finally locked onto one another, they couldn’t look away even if they tried—and they tried. Eddie watched how the silver lights that hung around the room reflected in Buck’s eyes like twinkling stars, they were almost glowing. The glowing squares of light off the mirrorball danced along Buck’s features, tracing his sharp jawline and taunting Eddie by moving over the curves of Buck’s lips. He knew Buck was an attractive person, everyone knew that. But in this light and this level of closeness, he was the most beautiful person Eduardo Diaz had ever seen.

Then it hit him. The pounding in his chest was only getting worse as they danced, his desire to kiss the man in front of him only grew stronger. This was so much more than a crush, Eddie had fallen in love.

“Eddie, are you ok?” Buck asks suddenly, pulling his friend out of his nervous trance.

No, he wasn't ok, his brain had been swirling since he agreed to a dance. Eddie pulled away, taking a step back. Before he could register the new look of disappointment that appeared on Buck’s features, he held out his hand for him. “We should take this somewhere else,” Eddie managed, his voice barely above a whisper.

Buck cautiously took Eddie’s hand, his eyebrows knitted together in confusion as the taller man led them outside the gym doors. “They’ll never hire us as chaperones again,” Buck joked lightly as he watched the door click shut, the slow song becoming muffled in his ears. His attention returned to Eddie once he felt his thumb gently swipe along his knuckles.

“They can survive a bridge and chorus without us,” Eddie joked back, pulling Buck closer. This time, Eddie placed his arms around Buck’s neck, and Buck instinctively put his hands on Eddie’s waist. The taller man felt dizzy again, clutching Eddie’s waist to keep him upright, somehow they were closer than before. Their foreheads were mere inches apart, noses almost grazing as they swayed.

“Why’d you bring us out into the hall?”

So a bunch of fourteen-year-olds wouldn’t see me kiss you for the first time.

“I needed,” he breathed, his hands unclasping and delicately moved to the sides of Buck’s neck. Buck felt like he was burning, a wildfire igniting on every patch of skin Eddie’s fingers slowly moved along. “I needed-”

“Eddie,” Buck gulped, his forehead finally finding purchase on the other. His pulse thumped under the pads of Eddie’s calloused fingers, then his palms gently covered that area as he cupped his face.

“I needed to be alone with you,” Eddie whispered, noses brushing as he got closer. Buck was the one to close the gap as his blue eyes fluttered closed, pressing his lips to Eddie’s softly—cautiously. Buck pressed closer, their lips moving in perfect harmony.

His heartbeat finally returned to normal the second Eddie pulled away slightly to catch his breath. “Eddie, I-”

“-I love you.”

So much for a regular heartbeat.

“You love me?” Buck shook his head, making sure he wasn’t hearing things.

“I’m very much in love with you, kinda always have been.”

Buck kissed him quickly before pulling him into a hug, “I love you too,” Buck whispered in his ear.

The two stood there for a while, a whole song had passed as they whispered sweet nothings and swapped jokes about them taking too long and how they kissed at a high school dance. Buck finally pulled away, telling Eddie that they should probably check on Chris and the others. Eddie couldn’t help but laugh when Buck mentioned they needed to keep the kid's arms length apart from each other.

They peered into the window, scanning the glossy gym floor until they saw Christopher happily dancing with his friends. Buck reached for Eddie’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“Come on before the PTA comes for us,” Buck chuckled, kissing the back of Eddie’s hand.

Eddie shrugged and pushed open the door, “I’m sure they didn’t miss us, and thank you,” he spoke fondly, “for asking me to dance.”

Buck grinned, “Thank Chris, it was his idea, but you’re welcome.”

Eddie looked over at his son, then back at Buck. A smile broke out on his lips, the warmth of Buck’s hand very present on his own. What a beautiful little family they made.

#buddie #buck x eddie #911 abc #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buddie fanfic

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