#pls don't hate i'm not in the mood
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seokmattchuus · 1 year ago
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When Matthew tells you he's been a bit stressed with debut preparations, you help him get his mind off of things. With some handcuffs and a torturous, never-ending hand job.
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meownotgood · 8 months ago
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i need pictures of aki today before I get overwhelmed and burst into tears
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sunandmoonster · 1 year ago
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it's honeatly such a pain in the ass to dislike the fandom's most popular ships 😫😩💀 whhyyyyy, brain whyyyyy :(((((
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nereidprinc3ss · 1 month ago
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do you believe me now? | 8
it's the morning after. spencer reid suspects you’re left with some doubts after losing your virginity to him. he has to figure out why—which is hard when you're keeping secrets.
series masterlist
this series is 18+ warnings/tags: fem!reader, blood related to losing virginity (dramatized for the drama duh), super vague allusions to the BAU being hungover, mild blasphemy if anyone even cares, pondering god bc am I really a fanfic writer if I don’t get a little religious w it, emily AND hotch are here and nobody knows why pls don't pay attention to that bc we are imagining like season 11/12 spencer and I'm inconsistent w who is unit chief in this series apparently, spencer slut lore, spencer emotional wounds lore, Spencer is a traumatic situationship survivor a/n: DADDYS HOMEEEEE (me and dybmn not spencer) anyway missed these little guys and am happy to be writing for them again!! idk what my upload schedule will becoming back to this but pls lmk what u think of this part, I have no idea how you will respond but I'm being brave and ily
Friday morning Spencer comes into the office fifteen minutes late (he tried his best), in yesterday’s suit (everything in his go-bag had been too wrinkled), hair messy (no doubt from your fingers), coffee cold (he’s exhausted) and overall, in an excellent mood.
The rest of the team isn’t faring quite as well—Spencer gathers they stayed at the bar celebrating Derek’s birthday a lot later than he had. It shows through sallow skin and dark circles and the grimaces he receives on the way to his desk that are probably supposed to approximate good morning’s. 
Honestly, he doesn’t mind the dull mood—he doesn’t need the teasing and the prying questions that would be sure to come if his co-workers were at peak performance and were able to put together his unusually perky demeanor and disheveled appearance. At least Prentiss doesn’t appear to be paying him any mind. She’s always the one who can read him like an open book and has no shame in doing so aloud. Echoes from years of, ‘so who was the lucky girl, last night, Reid?’ Still ring through his mind and it’s like he can feel her finger prodding at his side. 
The Emily of it all makes him smile, though the rest of the memory leaves a metal tang in his mouth. Back in those days, there were sometimes a lot of girls, but even then he was consciously aware he wasn’t necessarily doing something he enjoyed. He spent a lot of time, actually, staring at his bedroom ceiling, psychoanalyzing himself. Repetition compulsion. The insatiable desire to repeat or reenact emotionally painful experiences. Maybe he thought if he could teach himself to subsist off of emotionless hookups, he could in some way heal from his experience with Elle. Though, he’s hesitant to think of it now as healing—it’s not like he didn’t know what he was doing when a few nights after she said I don’t feel the same I’m sorry he opened up his front door for her. It’s not like he didn’t know what he was doing every time after that. So, maybe heal isn’t the right word, when one doesn’t have the right to be injured. Or when the injuries are, in a manner of speaking, self-inflicted. At the very least he could tell himself that this time around, meaningless sex was a choice he was making for himself. Spencer hates when things just happen to him. 
But you—you’re different. You were a complete surprise. At first, a cute and unexpected complication. After a few painful and short-lived attempts at real relationships, Spencer decided he was simply not to be trusted with emotional intimacy of any kind, including that which inevitably develops from physical intimacy, and would resign himself to a life of celibacy. He tried not to like you, but you were just so damn likable. Magnetic, to use a trite and perfectly honest turn of phrase. All that to say: he doesn’t regret you at all. There is no filter of putrid shame or anguish over his memories of last night. 
Just you. Perfect. Starlit. Glowing softly around the edges like you’re not even real. 
I love you I love you I love you. A hymn with no melody. You, always reminding him exactly why he is decidedly not a man of faith. At least, not in the typical sense of the word. 
How God became the idol and not Mary is lost on him. That’s why, Spencer supposes, tapping an eraser on his desk, marriage and sex were forbidden for so many ecclesiastics. After all, if they knew what it was to love a woman, specifically to love you, he doubts they’d feel like spending much time in the pulpit. Love. Humans had that long before they had any gods. It’s primeval. It’s the most natural manifestation of devotion and worship. It will always have come first. Isn’t it a better kind of religion when a man realizes he can kneel in front of a woman rather than an altar?
A heavy hand falling on his shoulder jolts him from his theological musings—which are in all practicality useless. What’s that saying about blasphemous thinking on the FBI’s dime? Right. There isn’t one. 
“I’m scared to ask,” Morgan says as Spencer jumps slightly in his chair. 
“What?” He mumbles, looking up from the document he’d only sort of been reading.
Morgan just looks at him, strong brows furrowed and a ditch between them, angles his head and glances to the side as if Spencer is missing the obvious. He almost follows Derek’s eye-line. When that doesn’t work, Derek just says your name. Like your status is somehow in question. 
“Did you two work things out, or not? It looked pretty bad when you guys were leaving last night.”
People often misunderstand an eidetic memory. It’s not like things can’t slip his mind—Spencer can actually be quite forgetful. It’s made worse by the fact that last night at the bar feels like months ago. For a moment, he has no idea what Derek is referring to. 
“Oh. Oh! Right, we—right. Yeah, we, uh—we worked it out.” Before Derek has a chance to read his face, no doubt as incriminating as his fumbled speech and an ill-timed throat clearing, he turns back to his paperwork. “Thanks for keeping an eye on her at the bar. I appreciate that.”
It’s quiet for a moment, and Spencer’s lips twist as he can feel the incoming inappropriate comment. 
“Is that the same suit you were wearing last night?” Morgan quips, his wide grin audible. Spencer can practically hear the cartoon gleam of his friend’s bleached teeth. 
“No.”
“You dog.” Derek is still smiling as he claps Spencer’s shoulder again. “What did you say to her that worked so well?”
Spencer clears his throat again and tries to look extremely involved in logging onto his computer, speaking quickly as if he’s beyond disinterested and can’t wait for the exchange to be over. 
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m actually trying to work so if you wouldn’t mind going back to your desk that would be great.” 
“Uh-huh. I’ll let you work. But I see you, pretty boy.”
Spencer tries not to blush like a teenager as he refuses to look up. 
Naturally the rest of the day is a slow descent into dread and madness as all those good feelings with which Spencer had started his morning begin to harden into something much worse, chilled by your lack of response to the text he sent you earlier. Which was essentially a rehashing of the note he left on your bedside table. 
Maybe it was too much. It should’ve been one or the other, but not both. He’s overwhelmed you. 
Okay, so maybe this is what religion is for. A last ditch effort when you can’t talk to your girlfriend so you have to try talking to God. 
But Spencer knows you, and he knows something is wrong. You wouldn’t just ice him out so blatantly if everything was okay. He catches himself glancing up toward Hotch’s window to see if the blinds are drawn, and considers faking an illness to get out of work early and go check on you. But he powers through the remaining hour and a half that he is obligated to stay at work, he bounces a pencil between his fingers, drums at his desk, and gets nothing else done. As soon as 4:59 rolls around, he’s out. 
Spencer can hear shuffling on the other side of your door as he stands in the hallway. A pot clatters. The walls hum with the rush of water through the pipes to your sink. He knocks, relieved that you’re okay and at the same time struggling with that weight on his chest—something cold that leans over his shoulders and whispers into his ear—so she just didn’t want to talk to you. 
Suddenly all sound from inside your unit ceases. For a few long seconds, Spencer’s confusion only grows exponentially. 
“Who is it?” You finally call, voice wavering. Also odd. Usually you just open the door. 
“Um… Spencer?”
“As in my boyfriend Spencer?”
He frowns, bottom lip jutting out ever so slightly as he tries to decipher your sudden paranoia. “I hope so?”
The click and jingle of several locks precipitates your much-anticipated reveal. 
“Come in,” you say breathlessly, more harried than usual and not giving him the tender greeting he’s selfishly become accustomed to—barely even giving him a second to look at you. But he steps inside, watching on in concern as you do up every single lock—the one on the knob, the deadbolt, even the chain. Is this really all because of his little comment last night about anyone being able to get in? He certainly hopes not. He didn’t mean to terrify you. 
When you finally turn, he takes stock of your appearance. Big hoodie, pajama pants patterned in little hearts. Hair pulled back hastily. Your skin is sort of dull where you normally glow. But you’re beautiful, like always. It always aches just a little bit to look at you. Spencer’s always been like that. Going breathless at a particularly good piece of art or pretty girl. Like yourself. Mostly you. 
You quickly turn to hurry back into the kitchen. “I was trying to make dinner, I—”
“Hold on,” he interrupts, stopping you with a hand on your stomach that is so non-demanding it’s really mostly a suggestion. He tries to clear his head, though you make it hard. “You didn’t talk to me all day. Not that you have to, but… I was worried.”
You glance at the floor and mumble, “I lost my phone,” with so much embarrassment he believes you’re telling the truth. “Did you, um—did you text me?”
Insecurity. Spencer knows well what it looks like on you. He softens. You weren’t ignoring him—but you’d been left in a vulnerable state without any ability to contact him or anyone. That couldn’t have been comfortable. 
“Of course I did.” He pauses to observe you. Still anxious. Still prepared to run at any second. Something, and he’s not sure what, did a number on you today. Maybe it’s sheer exhaustion, maybe it was the anxiety of not having your phone. But he has to figure out what it is so he can undo it. “What? What’s wrong?”
He watches your breathing pause—watches your eyes gloss over with tears and a frown contort your features. Oh, god. He’s done something terribly wrong. It’s been thirty seconds and he’s done something wrong. 
“Can we sit down? I don’t feel very good.”
“Yeah. Yeah, we can. Whatever you need.”
You cast a baleful look at him and now he has to wonder what that means. Spencer sets his bag on a pulled out dining chair and follows you to the couch where you settle on opposite sides—you’re curled up in the far corner, hugging a pillow to your chest with your legs folded in front of you. Spencer’s heart is beating fast. He doesn’t know what’s going on with you and he can’t figure it out just by looking and you don’t seem eager to tell him. 
He’s exhausted all his typical ways of collecting information, and now he’s at a loss. 
Eventually, the anxiety comes bubbling up. 
“Please talk to me,” he pleads. And you do. Almost instantly, like he stepped on some sort of landmine. 
“I know it’s my own fault for not having my phone on me and not being able to see your texts, but it really sucks that I had to find out from my creepy neighbor that you snuck out in the middle of the night without saying goodbye.”
The whiplash is so strong it’s almost a broken neck. Spencer reels, frowning deeply as he tries to process your impromptu speech, the sudden confrontation. What creepy neighbor?
“I… didn’t. I went to grab my stuff from the car around one, but I came right back. I left at 7:30. You don’t remember me saying goodbye?”
Your brow furrows, and your eyes dart over the design on the rug like you’re watching memories go by. He sees it in your eyes when you recall some hazy image of him holding your face, kissing your cheek more times than was necessary and whispering sweet things against your lips before he had to go. You shrink into the couch, clearly struggling under the combined weight of relief and embarrassment. 
“I forgot. I thought… he said…”
A moment passes and it’s clear you’ve abandoned the sentence. Spencer is concerned about this shadowy male figure who put malicious untruths into your head. He slides his hand under yours and twines your fingers together. Finally, finally you meet his gaze. 
“Someone made you believe I left without saying goodbye.”
And he almost wishes you weren’t looking at him as more tears pool before falling down your cheeks. You nod, and don’t make a sound. 
“No, honey. I didn’t do that. I’m sorry that’s what you’ve been thinking all day.”
“I was worried that you… or that I wasn’t…”
His chest aches. You’d woken up alone, no recollection of his goodbye, and without the comfort of even a text. 
“You didn’t see my note?”
The way you look at him then is heartbreaking. Eyes wide and wet and sad, lip trembling. 
“You left a note?”
Murphy’s Law. Anything that can go wrong, will. 
It must’ve fallen off the bedside table, or maybe he just hadn’t positioned it obviously enough. 
A lost phone, a missed note, and not even a memory of his departure. While none of these things are verifiably Spencer’s fault, he feels so, so guilty. 
“I did,” Spencer says gently, scooting closer and pulling you into him, head pressed to his shoulder as you try not to cry, and he rubs your back slowly. 
Your sulky words are muffled by his shirt. “I didn’t see it. What did it say?”
“A lot of very nice things about you,” he whispers. Spencer thought maybe he could get away with giving you all the sincere compliments you can’t accept face to face through a note you could read while he wasn’t around. That way you couldn’t refute them or stop him. It was a good plan. 
He feels the sigh of relief leaving your body against his neck. 
“I didn’t know.”
“I know. I’m sorry. That’s not… I should’ve just stayed. This is my fault.”
You keep your cheek pressed to his shoulder as you speak. 
“It’s not. You have a job. A really important job. You can’t just call out whenever I want you around.”
Logically he knows you’re right, but he doesn’t always think logically around you. 
“I could’ve made it work. I could’ve come in late, or the team could’ve called me if there was a case, which there wasn’t—”
“Spencer, it’s okay. It’s not your fault. Don’t worry about it.”
He pulls back slightly, frowning at your tone. You do look relieved, much less plagued than you’d been when he arrived minutes ago, but something heavy still weighs you down. The burden of it darkens your eyes and dulls your expression. When he cups your cheek, you glance up at him, and then away once more. 
He speaks softly. “Is that all you wanted to tell me?” 
Again he earns a moment of your eye contact, but it’s fleeting. He watches the words spin around your head as you try to figure out what to do with them—and then choose to remain silent. 
There is in fact something you’re keeping from him. 
Spencer hates to use work tactics on you, but he doesn’t speak either, hoping that you’ll feel compelled to fill the silence with the truth. Knowing how you’re not entirely comfortable with quiet. 
And you try, lips parting and the sound delayed as you wrestle with something you clearly don’t know how to talk about. 
“I… my neighbor,” you say, frowning like you don’t quite know why you’re speaking. “The one who told me he saw you leaving in the middle of the night. He also—he said…”
Spencer brushes hair away from your cheek with a thumb, stroking the high point in gentle passes as your words taper off. Now that he’s thinking about it, he did encounter a man in a dumpy robe standing in the courtyard and smoking a cigarette when he left you tangled in sheets and dozing contentedly to get his bag from the car. In fact, they rode back up to your floor in the elevator in mostly awkward silence. Spencer was sure his outfit told a story—shirt untucked and hastily buttoned only partway, no belt, shoes barely tied, duffel slung over his shoulder—he wasn’t really expecting to run into anyone at such an hour, to be honest, but he hadn’t particularly cared what this man thought of him, so it didn’t cross his mind again.
Now he remembers. 
Long night, huh? I remember those days. 
It was an inappropriate comment, but given his job he’s used to ignoring those. Mostly his mind had been preoccupied with the idea of returning to you, who gave him such a warm and sleepy welcome when he climbed carefully back into your arms several minutes later that it was like he’d never known anyone else at all. 
Now he resents that he hadn’t said anything, he hates the idea that you spoke to this man and he said something to upset you and Spencer wasn’t there. Usually he tries not a judge a book by its cover (metaphorically, of course) but he’s been around enough bad men to know when he’s looking at one. Last night he hadn’t even been cognizant enough to realize they got off on the same floor. 
“What did he say, angel?” Spencer whispers, incapable of being anything but soft with you at the moment. Even though he senses something a lot like a tide of preemptive anger rising in his chest, painted over with layers of anxiety and guilt. He should’ve found a way to stay with you this morning. 
You sniffle and let your head fall again, forehead resting against his collar. Instinctively his hand slides to the back of your neck and even at the awkward angle he finds a way to press his lips to yours hair. “Can we talk about it later? I don’t feel good.”
If it’s making you this uncomfortable, Spencer really wants to know what passed between you and this neighbor. In fact, he’d be willing to bet a lot of your strange behavior this evening stems from something that occurred which you don’t feel comfortable telling him yet. But he manages to bite back anymore questions. He doesn’t want to make you feel interrogated. 
“Yeah, you mentioned that,” he says eventually, kindly, hand tracing down the length of your back and up again. “Why don’t you feel good?”
He doesn’t miss the way you reach up to discreetly wipe your cheek. But he won’t make you talk about anything you don’t want to talk about until you’re ready, and it seems like you’re already having a rough day. Which is not what he wanted. This is so far from what he wanted for you. He’s cursing himself for how he handled this whole situation. 
“Um, I just… I don’t know. I feel… bad. I’m sorry I’m being so weird.”
“You’re not being weird, honey. You had a hard day. You’re having a normal reaction to an abnormal set of circumstances.”
You sit up, sniffing and wiping your tears like you can just make the whole thing go away. 
“No, I am. I am. It’s all okay now, right? So I don’t know why I feel like this. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
He watches helplessly. “Nothing is wrong with you. We’ve… it’s been a big couple of days. Mostly good, but I think you’re probably really tired. Emotionally and physically.” 
You bury your face in your hands and nod silently. He still feels like he’s shooting in the dark, but you’re not entirely comforted yet, and it’s killing him. 
“Whatever you’re feeling is okay. If this is… about last night, or this morning, or something entirely different—regardless of what it’s about, you’re not going to be… in trouble with me if you’re having complicated feelings. And you can talk to me. But it doesn’t have to be right now. We don’t have to figure it out all at once, okay?”
You press the heels of your palms into your eyes, and for a moment, his words sink into silence. When you do raise your head, nodding, the evidence of your discomfort is all over your face—reddened eyes, cheeks polished with wiped tears. But you take a deep breath and try to project whatever it is you think he wants to see. 
The back of your hand is soft under his thumb as he sweeps it, as if he could draw forth more information that way. People speak when they’re ready.
“Is there anything I can do?” He tries, all ramped brow and soft spoken. 
You’re looking at where he’s tracing swirls on your hand as you swallow and blink the last of your tears away. 
“Um… you can say no, but—do you think it would be okay for you to maybe stay again tonight?”
Spencer sucks in a breath, painfully aware that he’s about to let you down. 
“I… I haven’t been home in a week. I’ve been wearing this suit for two days straight and I don’t think I would want to share a bed with me again until I shower.” He watches you wilt and lifts a hand to stroke your hair. “But I do want to spend time with you… do you maybe want to come stay with me instead? No pressure—”
“Okay. Yes. Is that okay?”
Spencer’s brow knits. You seem even more enthused about the idea of going to his apartment, like now that the opportunity has presented itself you can’t wait to get out. Maybe you have some sort of black mold problem. 
“Of course. Do you wanna grab a few things and then we can go?”
“Um—I also haven’t showered today. Do you mind waiting?”
“Sure. Or you could use mine. With supervision, this time.”
Spencer is attempting to make a joke about your unplanned (and unmoderated) stay at his apartment last week after he left—but looking at your face now he’s wondering if he touched a nerve. 
“Like… one at a time? Or…”
He thought maybe you’d be more comfortable around him after last night—and it’s not like he hadn’t seen you naked before then, either.
“Do you wanna do it one at a time?” He asks gently. 
There’s this sparkly sort of longing in your eyes that he’s seen before, but you tamp it down like always. You’re so cautious. About everything. Even the things you’re curious about. It’s sweet and a little sad. 
“I’ve never… showered with anyone.”
The corner of Spencer’s mouth twitches as he pushes hair over your shoulder. “I know. You don’t have to. We could save like 100 gallons of water depending on how long your showers typically last, but—”
“Spencer—”
“Sorry, sorry—I didn’t—I didn’t mean it like that. I’m not trying to pressure you. You absolutely can take your own shower. You can go first so you get the hot water.”
“No,” you laugh, and it’s like a sparkling cloud of gold has settled around you, fractals bouncing off the shine of your cheeks and eyes—the sound of your laughter, the look of it, is such beautiful relief he can’t believe how good it feels, but it fades from you quickly. “It sounds… I think I want to, I just… I don’t wanna, like… do… anything.”
For a split second your veiled language mystifies him and then he realizes what you’re trying to say without saying. Something has changed since yesterday, when you brazenly referred to it as fucking, and today, when you can’t even say sex. He’s gotten as far as it being something your creepy neighbor said. Maybe. He needs to know what. 
But that’s not the topic at hand. 
“We don’t have to. I didn’t mean to imply that we would do anything like that. I don’t expect anything from you.”
You swallow. 
“Okay. I wasn’t sure.”
About what?
He says your name. No response. 
“Can you look at me, please?”
It takes you a moment, and your head raises like you might need some oil in your hinges, but eventually you manage. Spencer hopes the way he’s rubbing your leg is comforting. 
“You know I’m never, ever going to make you do anything you don’t want to do, right?”
To his horror, your answer isn’t an immediate and resounding yes. Instead you look back down and cover his hand with your own, fiddling nervously with his fingers. 
Eventually, you reply, “Yeah… I know. I just thought… I’m not sure. Maybe it’s supposed to be different now.”
“It doesn’t have to be. Nothing has to be different. We’re still doing everything on your schedule, okay? And as for the next few days, at least—I think it might be a good idea to take sex off the table altogether.”
Your eyes narrow and you hesitate. “Why?”
“Because I don’t want you worrying about it. And I don’t think it would feel good for you right now. I think there are things we need to talk about, but… we’ve probably tried enough for a while, hm?”
You give him a shy nod and hum your agreement. For a moment he lets his hand linger on your leg and then pulls it back. 
“Okay. Do you want my help packing a bag, or should I wait out here?”
“You can wait. It should only take a minute.” You pause, halfway up to look pensive. “Um, Spencer—do you think it would be okay if maybe I… if I stayed tonight and tomorrow? I just—I wanna get out of here, for a bit.”
He frowns but doesn’t hesitate. “Of course. Can I ask why?”
“It’s just… suffocating sometimes,” you call as you turn and hurry down the hallway to the bedroom. “Feels like my neighbors are on top of me, like they’re… breathing down my neck, half the time.”
Sure, bigger apartments exist—but it’s not like you’re in a studio. And you’ve never mentioned feeling that way before. That bad feeling is starting to come back—like you’re not telling him something he needs to know. But is it worse to let you deal with it yourself until you’re ready to talk or to force it from you?
A few minutes later you return, a duffel of your own over your shoulder and full to bursting. 
“So I’m an idiot. My phone was literally in the pocket of my jeans on the floor.” You drop the bag as you bend down by the door to pull on your favorite slippers. “Oh—I think I forgot my charger, can you grab it? It’s by my bed.”
Spencer of course obliges, and is secretly pleased to be in your room again, in the light this time, so he can see better. It’s sweet. The pictures on the walls, the plants and the knickknacks and the sticky notes scrawled with messy reminders on every surface and the sweater hanging over the back of a chair—the one you’d been wearing at the cafe all those months ago—it all feels so you. He wonders why the two of you don’t spend more time here. 
He lets himself linger for only a minute before remembering his task, but as he reaches down to unplug your charger, whatever dopey smile he’d been wearing evaporates. The sheets have been stripped from your bed, and he can see why—there’s a striking stain of dried blood, and several surrounding dots, soaked into the mattress. Not much, but enough to make him feel horrendously guilty. He cringes, imagining what it must’ve been like to wake up all alone to nothing but your own blood. Poor girl. Of course he’d noticed some, last night when he was doing his best at cleaning you up, but it had been dark, and he was exhausted, and he hadn’t done enough. 
“Where’d your sheets go, baby?” He asks once back by the front door with his own bag on his shoulder, setting a gentle hand on your lower back and holding out your charger for you. You jump slightly, and he makes circles on your back, wishing there was something he could do to settle you. 
“Oh! They—they got ruined. I threw them out. It’s fine. I have others.”
So you didn’t have enough energy this morning to walk a few feet to your shower, but stripping your bed, getting dressed, and walking down to the trash chute at the end of the hall had been top of your priority list. 
You swallow as he undoes the locks and holds the door open for you, and pretend like you’re not doing surveillance to either side as you stand in the hallway, locking your door again like you can’t get out of here fast enough. 
Spencer casts a sidelong glance at you and wonders if you’re intentionally avoiding eye contact. He tries not to think like a profiler. He tries not to assign meaning to your actions, but he can’t help it. He can’t not notice. 
He can’t not worry. 
And he can’t not wonder what you’re not telling him. 
-
part nine
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plasticferal · 10 months ago
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hey queen! can you pls do an angst story with chris. where they get into an argument and chris said things he never meant. then he apologizes to her afterwards. ( basically angst to fluff)
damsel in distress | chris sturniolo.
i added my own twist to this ask. it's my favourite prompt so thank you! 18+ protective!ex-boyfriend chris x fem!reader. fighting, touches on themes of unwanted attention, mentions of alcohol, explicit language. reader discretion is advised. p.s inspired by the unreleased olivia rodrigo song 'prison for life'.
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the house is filled with familiar faces and strangers. a small gathering turned into a full blown house party from the moment the word got out. where the sturniolo triplets are, a flock follows. you sigh, pushing and shoving your way through the unwanted crowd.
all you want is to make it into the kitchen, miraculously being the only place no one wants to linger. the last person you need to see right now is your ex lover. chris is standing ahead of you, leaning on the kitchen counter, alone in the room. you shut the doors behind you, needing to escape. even if it means with him.
“if you wanted to get me alone, you could have just asked." he speaks smug, before taking a sip from his red solo cup.
“i'm not in the mood,” you dismiss. you open the fridge, eyes scanning the shelves but nothing calling your name.
you know you're not actually looking for anything, you just don't want to look at him. the entire night has you shaking with anger. from the mess in your home, the lack of care everyone is taking, the noise complaint you know you'll be getting later, and worst of all, that one guy who won't leave you alone.
you've never seen him before tonight, you don't even know his name, but all he's done is make you uncomfortable. try to dance with you, try to give you drinks. he brushes your waist every time he walks past.
all of your friends have been encouraging you to go for it, to get over chris. and honestly, you consider it for a moment. just to finally move on, but you can't bring yourself to. at least not with some random creep.
the break up is still raw. he tells everyone it was 'mutual' but it was a part on your request. he'd never throw you under the bus like that. he knows why you made your decision, he's never questioned it.
chris feels like it's unrequited love. although, you haven't lost any love for him, no matter how much you try to push him away. he has every right to despise you, but he doesn't.
every time you close a chapter with him, you find yourself in a sequel. it's like you're re-reading different stories, but the ending stays the same. your heart wants him, your brain wants to hate him.
"what's wrong?" he asks, sensing you're genuine in your frustration.
"nothing." you refuse to let him know what's happing in your world, let alone your mind. you don't need to let in him anymore, even though you want to let it out. he's the one person who could just sit and listen to you for hours on end.
"alright, just askin" his words trail off into a hush. he switches the tone, not wanting the conversation to stop.
“your friends are nice” he speaks in a sickeningly sweet tone, because if anyone knows how to kick you while you're down, it's him.
"you would think that" you scoff, implying that you've seen them throw themselves at him all night. him pouring them drinks, smiling and frothing over the attention he's receiving.
"the fuck is that supposed to mean?" his temperamental side seeps out, and you grow only more irritated.
"chris, can you get out please?" you huff, hands crossing over your chest. an unintentional way to seperate yourself from him, a metaphorical wall being put up.
"such a party pooper. you really gotta let loose, relax a bit." his words come out a lot more nasty that you hope he meant them, and it makes your face hot.
you give him the benefit of the doubt and think he's speaking with resilience, at the fact you keep shutting him down.
"i wonder why we ever broke up." you reply sarcastically, a fake smile on your face. he rolls his eyes, finishing off his drink and letting out an audible "ah," like a child finishing a juice box.
"i haven't seen you all night, y/n" his voice softens, and it becomes clear he's speaking for the sake of talking to you. he always wants to talk to you.
looking at the counter quickly to place his cup down, he looks back at you, tilting his head to the side slightly. he's not being horrible to you, he never has been. he's still in your life whether you like it or not, despite your hostility.
"sorry. i'm just tired." you lie. he knows it.
"your poker face isn't very good. i learnt that the hard way," he bounces his eyebrows, biting the tip of his tongue, eyes a bit wider as he stares at the ground and you can tell he's having a flashback.
you chuckle at the reference. the one time he caught you faking an orgasm didn't end very well, and he's been able to catch you out ever since. he's never been afraid to pull you up on your own fibs.
"sorry, again." you hug your body tighter, avoiding his eyes. he pushes himself off the counter with a stretch like hum and walks over to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder.
"stop apologizing, you sound like matt," he rolls his eyes lightheartedly, and you let out a small laugh. that's always his intention, to make you smile.
"c'mon princess, let's get you a drink. seems like you need it." he nods toward to the door, rubbing your shoulder enthusiastically.
you let him try to fix your mood, because god knows you do actually need to stop stressing. you can't control what happens, just how you react. that's what chris always used to say when you were together.
feeling safe in his embrace, he security guard style moves you through the party. he hollers "excuse me!" and "coming through!" and everyone just listens, parting like the red sea. he's not the biggest guy in the room, but he sure is the most assertive. especially with you under his arm.
when you finally get to the drinks table, he makes you a vodka lemonade, saving the rest of the can for himself to finish off. it's not the most thrilling drink, but enough to keep you settled. ease the tension a bit. plus, it tastes good. no harm, no foul. as chris is mixing the liquids into cups, you feel an unwanted hand snake up around your hip.
"there you are. are you hiding from me?" your stomach drops at the voice of the mystery man towering over you, and you look ahead to watch chris's eyes snap up instantly.
chris lowers the cups, holding his eyes on the man behind you. you watch as he kinks his neck and his jaw tenses, taking a step closer. you shake your head at chris, holding a hand up subtly to tell him not to come any closer.
turning around, you stare up at the man. his breath reeks of liquor, and his shirt is drenched is sweat. it makes you sour your face and tense your entire body.
"i don't know what you want from me, but it's not gonna happen. i think you should leave." you speak sternly, trying not to let your voice shake with pure nerves. not even liquid confidence could help you right now.
"the party's just getting started," the man smiles, stumbling toward you in what you think is an attempt at a hug, but you begin pushing his body away from yours with a shove.
"dude, she doesn't want you. walk away." you hear chris's direct voice over your shoulder.
the last thing you want is negative attention on chris in a room full of people who would spread the news like wildfire. you never want that for him.
"it's okay, i got this." you dismiss chris in the nicest possible way, but you're being serious.
"come on, we'll have fun," the man hiccups through his words, mumbling them and tripping over toward you again.
"get the fuck away from her." chris's breath hits the back of your neck as he moves even closer to you.
"christopher, i'm serious. stop." you speak through grit teeth, so people can't read your lips, as he lingers next to you.
you try to be as inconspicuous as you can in your rejection to his advances, but he won't give up. the man appears more annoyed, and he grabs your wrist with a tight grip.
"let go of me." you grab the mans hand, trying to pry his grip without making it obvious.
you’re shaking at the thought of attention drawing. not for you, but for chris. eyes are already on you, being his ex. it's not what he ever wanted for you either. if he could make it all disappear, he would. it becomes more difficult when chris notices, and this time, has no intention of backing down.
"i'm not gonna repeat myself, back the fuck up." chris walks around your body, face to face with the guy who has a hold on you now.
"please, chris." you beg, voice quivering.
you know his temper can change in the blink of an eye. him and matt both have that in common.
"she doesn't need your help, pretty boy." the man splatters his words, a malicious smile on his face as he leans toward chris, almost nose to nose.
chris smiles criminally, flashing his teeth.
"you're right," chris puts his hands up in defence, a downward smile on his face as he chuckles darkly, taking a big step backward.
there's a feeling of relief, and intense fear as he actually does start to back away. but you know chris. unfortunately, it's unavoidable.
you try to catch his eyes, and speak through a begging stare without using words. he looks at you with sadness, and you mime the words, 'please don't'.
the moment the man tugs your wrist as if to leave with him, making you wince with the grip he holds. you regret your counteraction instantly, because chris reacts viscerally.
he flares his nostrils and squeezes his nails into his palm, balling up his hands by his hip. his knuckles are turning white.
before you can get pulled away, chris lunges forward with a tight fist, throwing a strong, perfectly aligned punch to the mans cheekbone. it throws the man to the ground in the blink of an eye, relieving the pressure on your skin. you stumble backwards, out of the line of fire.
chris steps heavily forward, shoving a foot into his ribcage before straddling his legs, completely overpowering him. the man projects forward to swing and hit chris's mouth. chris doesn't even flinch, like it was painless. you watch chris raise his arm up again to pummel down onto the now defenceless stranger.
the surrounding crowd gasps and yells, clearing the space that chris has created with his actions. iphone cameras flash, making you feel sick. the whispering and gossip you can already hear pounding in your head is overwhelming.
you feel so futile. chris is too in his own world to even realise the repercussions. you're not saying the guy didn't deserve it, you have no care in the world for him. you care about the aftermath.
in a fantasy world, a daydream, a fairytale even, this is attractive. a knight in shining armour, fighting for his lady. a world where there are no consequences, or social media, or fear. a reality chris has suddenly forgotten about.
he looks natural doing it, too. the veins in his arms so prominent, his tight mouth and huffed breaths as he gives it everything he's got.
you're frozen in shock, watching chris pelt another punch into the man, and you want to pull him off, you know you need to, but all your body can do is watch. watch the two men roughhousing and exchanging blows, chris taking every hit with pride.
you're numb to the feeling, screaming in your head.
appearing out of thin air, nick and matt are in your line of vision, hiding the chaos ahead of you. his brothers move into action before anyone else needs to.
they've obviously been summoned, but there's a part of you that believes they could just sense it. like they telepathically knew chris was getting himself into trouble by the lack of surprise they express.
nick grabs chris by the collar of his shirt, pulling him off. matt grabs his wrists, to stop him from using his fists. the fight comes undone, finally, but chris is disoriented. he spits onto the man as he's being escorted into the kitchen by his brothers.
your eyes burn with tears that refuse to fall, and matt sweeps your hand up, guiding you with them in a hurried manner. matt is trying to snap you back to reality, but it's just white noise.
chris hits his palm aggressively with frustration against the door frame of the kitchen as you all walk through, and you take a deep breath to compose yourself. your eyes are still welling as you choke back a sniffle, and you're not sure if it's shock, hurt, or anger anymore.
you're in a trance as you walk over to the freezer. your body is in autopilot, moving without you even knowing. you grab a frozen bag of vegetables out of the tray.
"so fucking stupid," you say nastily under your breath, slamming the door shut.
walking over to chris who's sat up on the ledge of the sink. you throw the packet at his chest, and he grabs it, questioning you for a second before matt walks over and shows him to place it on his bruised and red raw knuckles.
the room is filled with tension.
matt is biting his nails, you're leaning against the closed door, and nick finds himself squatting on the floor.
"what the actual fuck was that?" nick is too stunned to even yell, he just speaks aloud.
"i asked you not to, chris. i could have handled it myself." you shake your head, vision blurry as you stare vacantly ahead. you want to lash out at him, but for some reason you can't.
"yeah, it really looked like you had it under control." he crushes the frozen packet harshly against his hand.
"we'll leave you two alone." matt cuts through awkwardly, shooting nick a warning glare.
matt knows it's not his place to go off at chris right now. he'll do that later.
"but-" nick begins, and matt snaps toward the door. you hear nick sigh, knowing he would love nothing more than to stay and listen to you tear into chris. alas, they both leave promptly, matt flashing you a sympathetic smile on the way out.
you can hear from the other side of the door, both nick and matt are hustling trying to kick everyone out. it’s a weight lifted off your shoulders. the literal mess being left behind is the least of your worries now.
you're alone with chris in the kitchen again, the second time not being anymore pleasant than the first. you blame yourself fully for dropping your guard, even if for a second.
“i begged you not to, chris.” you repeat with a stern tone, laced with betrayal and genuine hurt.
he’s silent for a moment, staring at you from across the room with no emotion on his face. you know he feels terrible, he doesn’t have to show it. or tell you.
“did you think i was just gonna stand and watch?” he rebuttals.
“i would have preferred that, honestly.” you don’t understand how he can’t grasp the intensity of the situation.
"did you want him? go back out there then." he's bitter, pointing at the door. you roll your eyes, shaking your head in disbelief.
"chris," you start. he keeps talking.
“because i’m sure he’s still laying on the floor. go ahead. he might have a hard time talking now, though.” chris shrugs, speaking in a provoking manner.
“you’ll be lucky if he doesn’t press charges." you apprise.
“he should feel lucky i didn’t do worse.” he takes another step toward you, presumptuous in the way he carries himself.
"you've done a lot of stupid shit, chris. but that," you raise your hand as you speak, laughing in shock.
"that was unbelievable." you pinch the bridge of your nose, taking yet another deep breath.
"you know what's unbelievable is how you haven't even thanked me once" he ignores your words and bites back with irritation, face growing more twisted with upset.
"thank you?" you repeat, jaw dropping. you step toward him this time. you feel dejected trying to get him to understand.
"thank you for what? for causing a scene? for putting yourself in danger?" you step forward again, feeling like you could drive your heels into the ground beneath you.
"you're acting insane" he brings his hands to his head, tugging at his own hair with despair. his words sting, despite the back and forth arguing.
"you're the one that lashed out on that guy with no consideration for anyone else around you. that's insane" you speak with physical gestures unconsciously.
you're trying to reason with him, but with the state he's in, it's like trying to put a brain in a statue. you examine him, trying to search for his eyes but his body won't keep still, twisting and moving around.
"fuck, okay, i get it! i get it, y/n. you're not happy with me. you never fucking are apparently," his words trail off and he waves you away, turning his back to you. he sounds desperate for it to end.
you want to scream at him at the top of your lungs, and quite frankly, you could. your face burns and steam is about to shoot out of your ears.
"you don't need to protect me anymore, chris."
"i saved your ass out there." he speaks with his hand, four fingers direct to your chest. his words are like salt being rubbed into an open wound.
"saved me? that's a fucking stretch. your brothers saved your ass, because you don't think before you fucking act!"
"this is about YOU, y/n! what i did for you!" he slaps the back of right hand into the palm of his left.
"i'm not some damsel in distress that you need to sweep up and put in a tower, chris"
"yeah well at least in a tower you can't attract trouble." he speaks as if it's your fault, and of all the things he's just spit out, that's by far the worst. the most menacing and cut to the bone tone he's used.
"that was low, even for you." you huff, emotions at an all time high.
your breathing feels tight, but instead of reacting, you force yourself to seperate your emotions from the reality of the situation. you're both feeling very intensely, and expressing it the same way.
in hindsight, you could have redirected some of your emotions, but you also wish chris would take back some things he's said. there's no excuses.
chris re-collects himself and turns toward you again. he shrugs his shoulders, like he has nothing left to say. no fight left.
the closer chris is standing the more prominent his face is, and more specifically, his busted open lip.
you gasp in a mix of being upset, and shock. it feels like a piece of your heart is breaking off, seeing his delicate, pale skin so sore.
"your lip, chris." you exhale, stepping toward him.
he flinches when your hand raises to touch his face, and you know now that you've acknowledged it, it's hurting him. neither of you paid any attention to it amongst the turmoil.
"come here." you sigh, pulling his arm, bringing him over to where the paper towels are, in the corner of the sink.
tearing a white square into your hands, you rinse it under cold water lightly before squeezing the saturation out, leaving a damp cloth in your hand.
turning into chris's body, he looks down at you. he's still at last, and looks like he has no thoughts behind his now seemingly innocent eyes.
you cup his cheek gently, to turn his face downward. you bring the towel up to his lip, wiping his stained chin and mouth. he lets you, and doesn't even wince. he visibly gives into your touch. he's content.
"i need you to promise me you'll never do something like that again." you pull back, folding over a clean side and then wiping his lip softly, trying not to cause him pain.
"i can't promise that." he speaks in a whisper, as if he doesn't want you to hear his word.
with his lip no longer being red, you toss the damp and crumbling paper into sink, making it a problem for another time.
"why?" you look into his eyes, wiping your hands on your shirt.
his blue eyes are big but blameless, pupils dilated. holding his stare as your arm lowers.
"because if anyone lays a hand on you again, i'm going to prison for life." the piece of your heart that broke off earlier reattaches at his words alone.
chris's much shorter hair is spikey around his ears, and wet at the ends, turning dark brown from his sweat. you caress his messy curls, tucking it over the curves of his ears and taming the wispy strands. you hold his head in your hands, tiling him up and your mouths are inches apart.
"how hard did he hit your head?" you ask against his lips. he chuckles, genuinely.
he's an idiot, undeniably. but the gut wrenching, lawless love he has for you makes him that way. his low, smooth laughter, makes your heart skip a beat.
"i mean it, y/n."
"but i know, i know it was stupid." he admits.
"yeah, it was." you agree, shaking his head around slightly.
he grabs your hands with his own, engulfing them and holding them in his palms. he squeezes your hands, bringing them to his lips and kissing your knuckles.
"i'm sorry." he speaks on your skin.
"like really fucking sorry." he strains his head back with remorse, making his adam's apple more prominent, and he swallows hard. like he's swallowing his guilt.
"i said some nasty things. i wish i could take them back, y/n. i really do."
"i know, chris."
"no, you don't. i'll apologise to you everyday for the rest of my life if i have to. i've been horrible tonight."
"chris, enough," you hush him, the calmness in your tone making him understand you hear him. loud and clear. you need some time to forgive, but you absorb his words.
"i don't know how you didn't smack me in the mouth." he jokes, and you giggle through your breath.
"there's still time," you joke back. and he knows it by your tone.
"i could never bring myself to do that. as much as you deserve it." your banter eases the pressure, and you feel chris squeeze your hands in his again.
you rub your thumbs over his knuckles, looking at the little purple marks forming. he notices your face drop with stress, and he slips his hands away, moving to your hips instead.
"hey, i'm fine. i don't care what happens to me, i just need you to be okay."
"i am okay," you reply. he drops his face with a look that expresses he doesn’t believe you. you give a light eyeroll, and small smile.
"i mean it, i swear.” you raise your pinkie finger to him, to keep your promise. knowing it’s the only way he’ll actually believe you.
chris smiles, weak with his bruised lip, and wraps up your pinkie with his own, wriggling your hands around.
"i'm always gonna want to protect you." he pulls you toward his body. he's so warm, and radiates a magnetic energy that makes you want to collapse into his arms.
you know you don't need him to, but deep down, you would like his protection. his unconditional love. selflessness.
"i'll be sure to send you love letters in jail" you grin up at him, and laughs from the chest.
his voice is like a scratched record, fatigue taking over his body. you swallow hard, all of your senses coming back. he feels so real standing in front of you all of a sudden, like it's not just a dream you're about to wake up from.
"stay the night." you speak mindlessly.
chris brushes your hair from your face, cupping the back of your neck lightly to pull your forehead to his lips, kissing just above your eyebrows gently. he rests his chin on the crown of your head, pulling you tight to his chest in an embrace.
"i'll stay forever if you ask me to."
this is the feeling he fights for. requited love.
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readsaboutreid · 7 months ago
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Periods Suck | S.R.
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this is inspired by lenaleechi on instagram's comic about hating periods as well as the gif above because it gives me mad baby fever so i guess this is season 4 softdom!spencer x gn!afab!bau!reader plus a blink and you'll miss it buffy the vampire slayer reference
content warning: breeding kink and period sex [i'm too stoned to think of any others but if you think of them please add them (kindly) in the replies and i'll add them in later :)]
this is smut, minors dni pls and thank you
"...fuck this, fuck everything and everyone, I am done, I quit," I ramble as I open the door to my apartment and kick off my dress shoes that were painfully squeezing my toes, just adding to my frustration. This case had been particularly mild compared to others but I couldn't help but be in a mood due to the littlest things done by the (admittedly innocent) local police officers. I was so relieved to finally go home and get to sleep in my own bed and curl up with a heating pad and my boyfriend with a Doctor Who marathon.
"Deep breaths, (y/n)," I hear from behind me in a soft, soothing tone as gentle hands come down to rub my shoulders from behind. I know he’s well aware what’s causing me to be in such a shitty mood. His pattern recognition skills are off the chart and while he never outright said anything to me about it he'd always be prepared with hot water bottles and chocolate when this time of the month rolled around. I turn around and bury my face into his chest with a sigh.
"I hate periods, Spencer. They suck," I whine with a sigh, my voice muffled by the knit fabric of his cardigan.
"I know, love," he sighs above me, resting his cheek on my forehead and wrapping his arms around me, "I'm sorry there's not more I could do to help."
"You're helping already," I sigh again, but this time out of contentment as we sway side to side in the entry way. "I wish there was a way I could just, like, stop having them," I mutter, my face returning to the soft fibers that I had come to find so comforting over the years.
Spencer's voice is muffled against my hair as he mutters, "That may be something I can assist you with." I don't even need to see his face to imagine the grin spread across it. Lately, he had been subtly expressing his desire for children, but after JJ gave birth to Henry, his hints have become more pressing. And technically, it was all because of me.
The night was a blur of celebration and drinks, as Emily and Garcia joined me in raising our glasses to toast the occasion. But as we were caught up in the joy of the moment, I couldn't help but let slip that after seeing the pure happiness on Spencer's face at the sight of his godchild a spark ignited within me, igniting a fierce case of baby fever that threatened to consume me entirely. Garcia, the horrible traitor that she is, had messaged a video of my confession to Spencer before I had even finished talking and before I knew it, my phone was buzzing with pictures from Spencer himself - tiny onesies and miniature sneakers - accompanied by words like, ‘just imagine a little genius of our own running around our home in this.’
Without changing his stance, he starts off on one of his typical Spencer Reid rants. "Did you know that scientific research has indicated that orgasms can alleviate menstrual cramps? It's due to the release of endorphins and muscular contractions which help relax the uterine lining," he explains with a slight hint of arousal in his tone, "not only does it address your discomfort, but it also takes care of your other request at the same time."
"We could start trying now, if you want," he suggests with a playful tone, though the subtle hint of desire in his voice sends a jolt of anticipation down my spine and settles between my thighs, igniting a fervent ache. Oh. Oh.
I finally turn my head to meet his gaze, and I am met with intense desire radiating from his eyes. His pupils are dilated, and he licks his lips before gently tracing a finger along my cheek and following up with a soft, "what do you think?"
I interrupt him by pulling his face towards mine, and our lips meet in a soft kiss. Suddenly, I'm pushed against the wall with the command to "jump," and my legs automatically wrap around Spencer as he lifts me up by my ass. Our lips met in a hungry yet tender kiss.
Our breaths come in ragged gasps as he pulls away to meet my gaze, his eyes searching mine for confirmation. I eagerly nod, my heart racing and anticipation building. Our lips collide once more, the heat between us intensifying as we lose ourselves in each other's embrace. The world fades into the background as our bodies meld together, consumed by desire. He sets me down and guides me to our bedroom by the hand, giggling slightly with excitement. I know he wants kids and we have discussed having them together in the future but the giddiness of the grown ass man in front of me ends up drawing a giggle from my own throat as well.
As we enter the bedroom, he stoops down to give me a quick kiss before heading to the bathroom. He grabs an old black towel I use for dyeing my hair and returns, laying it down on the bed and patting it lightly. He sends me sweet smile full of adoration as he whispers, "after you, my love."
I stumble towards the light switch and turn it off before making my way over to the bed. I take off my top and lay down, the darkness giving me a sense of privacy. Suddenly, I hear a soft sound from Spencer as he walks away. The lights flick back on, and he quickly closes the distance between us with just two steps. Before I can even cover myself up in the glare of the harsh light, he's already crawling on top of me.
"You're so gorgeous," he beams at me again before leaning in to kiss me gently, lowering his hips to rest between my legs as they wrap back around his hips instinctively as he begin peppering kisses all over my face and drawing endless laughs from my mouth, "I'm," kiss, "so," kiss, "lucky," kiss, "to," kiss, "have," kiss, "you."
He moves back, his lips leaving a trail of fire as they kiss and caress my skin. My jaw trembles under the soft brush of his lips, before he slowly trails kisses down to my throat. I can't help but let out a moan as his lips touch the sensitive skin there. His body presses against mine, the unmistakable hardness of his arousal pressing against my hypersensitive center. Every move, every touch, sends electric shivers through my body, igniting a primal desire within me.
My body aches with desire as I struggle to catch my breath. "Please remove your clothing now," I manage to say between deep, passionate kisses. Spencer eagerly strips down and helps me out of my own clothes before settling back between my legs. His arousal presses against the wetness between my thighs, adding to the intense heat building inside me.
"I've been craving this all week, sweetness," he mutters against my neck as he sucks feverishly at the skin, leaving love bites in his wake. "Craving you and your beautiful body." I have no idea how he managed to get me from wildly upset to wildly horny in such a short time, but instead of questioning it, I just let out a moan as I grind my hips against him, begging for his cock to enter me. He continues to tease me by rubbing the tip against my wet slit.
“P-please, Spence,” I whimper, unable to form a coherent sentence through the haze of lust I had become quickly lost within.
Spencer's eyes flicker with desire as he holds himself over me, his hands fisting the sheets on either side of my head. "Say it again," he growls, rubbing his erection against my aching center.
"P-please," I beg, my voice shaking with need.
He chuckles darkly, the sound sending shivers down my spine.
"As you wish," he murmurs before slowly sliding inside me. I gasp at the intense pleasure that washes over me, causing my body to arch off the bed and my nails to dig into his back. He begins to move in slow, deep thrusts, filling me completely and igniting a fire within me that threatens to consume every inch of my being.
As our bodies meld together in a blazing inferno, time itself seems to cease to exist. Every touch of Spencer's fingers sends shivers of ecstasy coursing through me, while each caress of his lips against mine ignites a fire within. Our movements are fluid and perfect, each one bringing us closer to the pinnacle of pleasure. I am consumed by an overwhelming sensation, my senses heightened to their limits as our passion reaches an almost unbearable intensity. It feels as though this moment could stretch on for eternity, and I never want it to end. In this single moment, there is nothing else but the all-consuming desire between us, and I give myself completely to it.
My heart pounds against my ribs as Spencer's gaze locks onto mine, his eyes filled with the same ferocity and desire that burns within me. He gives me a wicked grin, and I can feel my resolve crumble as the insatiable hunger consumes me. "You want to have my baby?" he gasps, and all I can respond with is a loud, whorish moan, entirely unable to form any words as his hips start to move ever so slightly faster.
He surges forward, his body fusing with mine in a wild, primal dance. Our movements become more frenzied, our bodies slamming together with the force of a thousand thunderstorms. My breath comes in short gasps as Spencer's relentless thrusts coax an orgasm out of me. My muscles tense, my hips bucking against him, seeking the sweet release from the intense pleasure building up inside of me.
Every thrust, every touch, every whispered word sends me higher and higher, my body arching and bucking beneath him in a frenzy of ecstasy.
Spencer's eyes are locked onto mine as he continues to drive into me, his gaze burning with an intensity that matches the fire inside us both. His hands grip my hips tightly, never losing rhythm as he thrusts into me and coaxes that sweet release from me. My body trembles and shakes with each surge, and I can feel the orgasm building, growing stronger and more intense with each passing second.
A low, guttural moan escapes from Spencer's lips as he picks up the pace, his movements becoming harder and faster. I can feel him growing more desperate, and I know that he's close to his own release.
The pleasurable ache between my legs intensifies, and I know that I'm about to reach that peak. I let out a helpless whimper as the pleasure was threatening to overtake me, and I feel as though I'm being pulled into a vortex of ecstasy. Time seems to stand still, and I'm lost in the moment, our bodies moving together in perfect harmony.
The bed creaks and groans with our passionate lovemaking, the sound echoing in my ears as I reach for the pinnacle of pleasure. Spencer's eyes are locked onto mine, and I see the same intensity in them that I feel in my own being. We're one, united in our desire for each other, and nothing else matters in this world.
His thrusts become harder and faster, the tip of his erection brushing against the most sensitive part of me with every stroke. The pleasure is overwhelming, and I can feel the orgasm building within me, growing stronger with each passing second. I cling to Spencer, my nails digging into his back as I beg him to take me over the edge.
“Gonna fill you up,(Y/N),” Spencer moans, “everyone will know who you belong to once you’re — oh fuck — carrying my fucking baby inside you.” His words send me falling over the edge and I can feel myself slipping away, my mind consumed by the intense pleasure reaching it's peak as my hips buck wildly.
Time seems to stand still as we reach the pinnacle of pleasure together. Our bodies move in perfect sync, every thrust, every caress, every whispered word fueling the fire that burns within us. The pleasure is all-consuming, coursing through my veins and reaching every cell in my body. I let out a series of orgasmic moans bordering on screams and Spencer smiles down at me wickedly, his eyes never leaving mine as his thrusts become harder and more disjointed as his own orgasm looms on the horizon. His moans grow louder and louder as the feeling of slight overstimulation makes me clench even tighter around his throbbing cock as he reaches his breaking point.
"Please, Spencer," I whisper, "make me yours, sir. P-please, please put a baby in me!"
Finally, with one last deep thrust, Spencer moans loudly and shudders above me, his body rigid as he loses himself in the pleasure of a release he had been building up to for what felt like an eternity. As Spencer's body shudders above mine, I can feel the warmth of his release filling me up, an earth-shattering feeling that takes my breath away. We lay there for a moment, our bodies still joined together, basking in the afterglow of our passion. Finally, with a contented sigh, Spencer pulls out of me and collapses onto the bed beside me.
I snap back to reality, my mind reeling from the intensity of our lovemaking. I can feel the stickiness between my legs, a reminder of the incredible moment we just shared. The room is still, the only sounds being our heavy breathing and the rhythmic beating of our hearts. I reach over to grab the bedside table, searching for a tissue to clean myself up.
"Spencer?" I say softly, my voice barely a whisper.
"Yeah, sweetheart?" he replies, still out of breath.
I flash him a saucy grin, "I think we'll have to make sure we keep trying this before my next period so I won't have to suffer through another one, for a while." I joked, while playfully poking his chest.
He chuckled softly, brushing a lock of hair behind my ear, "I think that's a great idea, my love." I couldn't help but giggle at his response, feeling a burst of warmth spread through my body.
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xbellaxcarolinax · 1 year ago
Text
Futile Devices
Miguel O'Hara x civilian f!reader
Summary: The deal was explicitly no strings attached. You were finding it harder to keep up your end of the bargain. 
Word Count: 8.2k (A behemoth of a fic, I'm so sorry guys)
Warnings: FWB, language, angst, reader is totally in love with Miguel, Miguel being a bit of an ass, probably a tad toxic? SMUT, p in v (no protection), cum play, low-key breeding kink? Like super low-key. Oral (f receiving). Miguel climbing through windows. Idk why I'm obsessed with that thought lmfao I make him climb through windows every chance I get. Idiots in love. Probably a rushed ending, sorry!
Thanks to @whatthefishh for beta-reading. Partly inspired by this.
Also, this is mega ultra cliche, we all know they're gonna end up together, so just enjoy the ride! It's not the destination, it's the journey 😌 Hope you guys enjoy, and if you do, pls let me know what you think! I love reading your comments!
MDNI pls.
...
It was always a mission getting to Miguel's office.
Headquarters wasn't built to accommodate civilians, the winding pathways and corridors a danger if one wasn't too careful.
You had to be extra careful. 
You hurried toward Miguel's office, heels clicking against clean tiled floors as you dodged a fuck ton of spider people and the inescapable attention of one annoying Peter Parker.
"Come on," Peter Parker number two hundred tried his luck again, "just one date. I’ll take you anywhere you wanna go." 
"No." You rolled your eyes, swatting him with the manilla folder in your hands like you would a fly. 
“Look, all I’m saying is you should give me a shot. I’m funny.”
“So is every other Peter Parker I’ve encountered.”
“I’m different.”
“I doubt it.” 
He deflated, keeping up with your quick steps. “Who doesn’t like funny guys?”
“Me.”
“Sure,” he stretched the word out, unconvinced, "so if not funny guys then what? The ones with sticks up their asses, like Miguel?" He snorted with a shake of his head. You knew it was a sort of rhetorical question but you couldn’t help swallowing thickly, your hands gripping the folder a little too tightly. 
Yeah. Something like that.
You felt your heart drop to your stomach when Peter Parker two hundred raised his brows at your silence. So maybe he did want an answer.
"Nah, there's no way. I'll try again tomorrow." He smiled, shooting a web out in some random direction and swinging off toward the floor above. 
Fuck. That was close.
You breathed a sigh of relief, loosening your fingers over the folder before quickly hurrying toward your destination. 
You pressed your watch against the sensor outside of Miguel's office, waiting for the metal door to slide open. It didn't. You tried again. Still nothing. Again. It wouldn't budge.
"Ugh, come on, Miguel!" You banged the door with a tiny fist as if that would make a difference, "open up!" 
Lyla appeared suddenly, her sprite-like form circling your head once before she faced you.
"You probably shouldn't go in there," she warned, "he's in a…mood." 
"He’s always in a mood," your hands were on your hips now, the manilla folder crinkling further in your hand, "I need to report a couple of grievances—"
"Mmmmmm, I'm sure that's the last thing he wants to hear right now, Miss HR." God you hated when they called you that. You rolled your eyes, swatting her away with the folder which did nothing, of course, and pressed your watch against the sensor. 
"That's not gonna work, honey."
"So let me in." 
"Promise to be nice?"
"To who?" You snorted, "You or Miguel?" 
"Me," Lyla grinned, adjusting her heart-shaped glasses, "forget Miguel." 
You sighed, cracking a smile, "Lyla, would you please let me into Miguel's office?" The Ai made a noise of approval, comically saluting you before granting you access.
"Don't say I didn't warn ya." She sang, disappearing from your sight. 
You sighed. Miguel's shifting moods were nothing new to you—not anymore. Back when you both worked at Alchemax, he was passive and less quick to anger. But that seemed a lifetime ago. 
Life progresses. People change.
“Mig?” You called out, peering up toward his solitary platform. You could hear the soft hisses of machinery, the yellow glow of Miguel’s holo screens illuminating the area above like a radiant star.
He didn’t answer. 
“Miguel,” you tried again, “we have some things to discuss.” You slapped the manilla folder against your hand as if he’d recognize the sound of formal complaints filed within the last week. 
The platform began to descend after a moment, and you breathed a sigh of relief as his figure came into view. His shoulders were stiff, his body rigid as he swiped through the yellow screens.
“I told Lyla not to let anyone in.” His voice was cold, frigid even. He didn’t bother to face you, his eyes pinned to his screens as he leaned forward, the muscles of his back flexing through his suit. 
You couldn’t see what he was looking at but you could hear it: the soft giggles of a little girl, the cheers of a soccer game, the chuckles of a man now broken. It wasn’t the first time you’d heard the sounds of Miguel’s past. It probably wouldn’t be the last either.
“I-uh, got some reports to share with you.” You felt foolish. Lyla was right. HR complaints were the last thing on Miguel’s mind. 
“Reports of the anomaly on Earth 9811?” Your brows pinched in irritation. He knew those weren’t the reports you had. You were fucking HR, not on active duty, let alone a spider person. 
"No, you'd have to ask Jess or Gwen about that, but you need to listen—"
“I don’t want to hear it.” He grunted. You saw his hands form fists at his sides, the same hands that’d fisted your sheets in the throes of pleasure just days ago. 
You shook your head. It was not the time for that kind of thought. 
You carefully opened the crinkled folder, pulling out the paperwork you’d printed from your antique printer to read aloud from it.
“Peter Parker of Earth 5431-02 has formally filed a complaint,” you began, your eyes scanning the black text before releasing an exasperated sigh, “he’s saying you threw a chair at him?” Miguel grunted, the holo screens shutting off at his (Lyla’s) command.
“He’s an idiot.” Miguel snapped, finally turning to face you, his sharp features shadowed by the lack of light. He regarded you carefully, red eyes tracing your figure. You’ve grown used to the way his eyes lingered over you, especially when you were under him, his body pressed against yours, but sometimes you couldn’t help but squirm under his more severe gaze.
“Well, yeah,” you reluctantly agreed with a tilt of your head, “but a chair, Miguel?”
“It’s not like it hurt him...badly.”
“That's not the point."
“The point is that I got my point across.” Miguel snorted. 
"It's the principle. You don't go around throwing fucking chairs at the people who work for you!" 
"Mhm." 
"You're their boss! What kind of behavior is that?"
"Uh-huh." 
You were about ready to strangle him but knew your fingers couldn’t even go around his throat properly. You’ve tried before, under very different circumstances. You settled for pinching the bridge of your nose, as he often did, taking a breath to calm yourself before you completely lost your shit. "Listen to me."
"I'm listening, HR."
"Ugh, look," you pointed a finger up toward him, your brows knitted in obvious irritation, "annoying or not, he's still a member of the Spider Society, therefore, he has every right—”
“—to file a grievance under any circumstance as a result of an injustice, discrimination, or harmful behavior, and is to be given the respect to which every spider person is due as a valued member of the society. I know.” Miguel finished the legal jargon for you, hopping off the platform with an ease that’d always surprised you.
He stepped into your space, his large body casting a long shadow over you as he snatched the crinkled paperwork from your hands. 
“I’ll speak with him.” He grunted. You pursed your lips, watching as his eyes scanned over the page.
"Make it right, Mig. Apologize. Formally. Or informally. It doesn’t matter— there’s nothing normal about this place anyway.” You placed your hands on your hips as you leaned forward, aware of how he was suddenly gazing down at you. “Just be nice, okay? Compensate him with, I dunno, a minor mission. He always wants to get involved, so let him.” 
Miguel rolled his eyes, heaving a great sigh while running his hand through his hair. “Fine.”
“And no more throwing chairs to make a point.”
“Uh-huh, fine, anything else?” God, you wanted to smack him. You opted for snatching back the paperwork from his hand, smoothing out the wrinkles over your skirt-clad thighs before searching for the proper page.
“Yeah," you brought a finger down on the page, "the spiders are getting bored of the cafeteria food.” That was enough for Miguel's face to pinch in displeasure.
“What’s wrong with empanadas and churros?” He scoffed, waving his hand to dismiss the complaint, “And that stupid blue burger with my face on it?” He paused, eyes squinting for a moment, “You know what? That can go. Get rid of it.”
“Fine. Do I have permission to organize a survey?”
“For food?” 
“Yes, for food. They want options.” 
“Aye, por Dios,” Miguel grunted, waving his hand again, “Fine.” 
“Fine.” 
“Anything else?” 
“Nope.” You organized the documents back into the manila folder before handing it over to him.
“You know you could just send this electronically, right?” He looked down at the folder, his eyes tracing your neat cursive in black ink.
“I’m old-fashioned.” You shrugged, turning on your heels. You heard him snort out a laugh, a tiny thing that made you smile. He has a nice laugh.
“One more thing,” Miguel called out, demandingly. You looked over your shoulder at him as he regarded you with heavy eyes.
“What is it?” 
He boarded the platform once again, the machinery coming to life and slowly elevating him back to his preferred height. He tossed the folder somewhere over the desk, to be forgotten. It was the least of his worries at that moment.
You watched Miguel ascend above you like some kind of heavenly being, the yellow light of the holo screens illuminating his tan skin till he glowed molten gold. You waited on him with bated breath, his response sinking straight to your core.
“Keep your window unlocked tonight.” 
He loves it when you ride him. 
His large hands were glued to your hips as you bounced on him expertly, your cunt soaking him in your sticky juices. 
Most nights began this way—with Miguel's cock buried deep in your pussy after a long day of enduring his insufferable attitude. You'd fuck the stress out of him—fuck the astronomical weight of the multiverse off his shoulders if only for a few short hours.
"Been thinking about this all day." He groaned under you, throwing his head back over your pillow when he felt your walls grip his length viciously, fighting to keep him in.
"Yeah?" You gasped, your hands firmly planted on his bare chest as you made work of your hips, rotating them in delicious circles—the way he liked—your thighs spread wide to accommodate his massive size. "W-wasn't enough to curb that a-attitude though, huh?" 
Even amid the utmost pleasure—of Miguel's length hitting a spot that had you trembling—you found the strength to taunt him, your hazy eyes catching a glimpse of the twitch in his brow. That meant trouble.
Within seconds Miguel had you on your back, his imposing body trapping you against your mattress. His cock slipped out for a moment but he had no problem finding his way back into your slippery channel, snapping his hips strategically to reach as deep as he could.
You cried out, your hands scrambling to find purchase over his shoulders, your pretty manicured nails digging into his perfectly golden skin.
"F-fuck! Miguel!"
"Wanna say that again?" He growled, his face hovering mere centimeters from yours, "Go ahead, say it again." You did nothing but whimper as he pounded into you mercilessly, his cock stretching you open. 
"That's what I thought." Miguel chuckled smugly, delighting in your little chokes and stutters, egging him to keep pounding you relentlessly. You tried speaking—tried to articulate your words to him, but you couldn't, too cock drunk to focus on anything else but his gorgeous face twisted up in pleasure and his thick cock kissing the secret place within you.
He had you coming soon after, stars exploding behind your lids as you trembled in his arms. Your cunt squeezed him just right and he came, panting in your ear as he filled you to the brim. 
His spend stained your sheets when he pulled out, and as always, he watched it dribble out from your swollen cunt with lidded eyes. He wasted no time in taking his fingers and stuffing the mess back in.
“Keep me in there.” He muttered, swiping through your puffy folds one final time before he ripped himself from you. You immediately soured, keeping your gaze on him as he quickly cleaned himself off with a cloth you left for him on your nightstand. 
You admired his figure: the ripple of his muscles as he moved, the broadness of his shoulders, the glow of his skin in the dim lighting of your bedroom. 
Miguel was gorgeous. You’ve always thought so.
His suit glitched before coming to life, covering his sculpted body in the usual blue and red you've come to know. 
“Did…you want to eat before you go?” Dinner was on the stove, cold but still good. You sat up against your headboard, more of his spend leaking out as you fiddled with your fingers over the soiled sheets. 
Miguel shook his head, sighing as he closed his eyes for a moment.
“I have to go.” He said, stepping forward, grabbing your hand, and placing a chaste kiss over your knuckles. It was the only form of affection he’d allowed himself to give you. He’d never kissed you before. Probably never will. It wasn't part of the deal.
Your heart sunk, your skin searing where his lips had lingered. 
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Most nights ended this way—with your aching cunt full of his seed and your eyes wet with unshed tears as you watched him leave through your window, disappearing into the night.
A few days later, Peter B. Parker landed in your office. Quite literally. 
He plopped down on the seat in front of yours from seemingly nowhere, a messily packed diaper bag hanging loosely from his shoulder. He had his daughter snuggly pressed against his chest in her carrier, her chubby arms and legs flailing over his pink robe.
You yelped, dropping the pen in your hand, clutching your chest in freight. 
“Jesus! Where the hell did you just come from?!”
“Up there.” Peter pointed up. You followed his line of vision, noting the door to the air vent busted open, barely hanging from its hinges. “Sorry about the vent.” He offered sheepishly, taking a large bite of a slice of pizza he'd pulled from a greased-up brown paper bag. 
"You could've just taken the elevator!"
"Takes too long to get to the basement.” He said between a mouthful of pizza, “Why'd Miguel give you an office down here anyway?" 
"I'm scared of heights." You reminded him, watching Mayday struggle to release herself from her carrier prison. Peter snorted out a laugh, dropping the diaper bag on the floor while simultaneously taking another bite of his pizza.
“Doesn’t make sense to work in a place like this.”
“It was the deal I made when Miguel asked me to work for him. Chew with your mouth closed.”
“Have you tried the cafeteria pizza?" He asked suddenly, ignoring your demand and speaking with another mouth full of the greasy treat, "It's the new thing. Everyone's going crazy."
You smiled smugly. "I know. You’re welcome."
“Ah, I should've known Miss HR was behind this!” You rolled your eyes at the nickname, rummaging through your drawer before tossing him a few napkins.
“What can I do for you, Peter?” 
Mayday whined, crawling out of the carrier and over her father’s thighs. She hopped on your desk, scattering some of your paperwork. You quickly caught her before she tumbled off the edge, cooing at her before placing her in your lap. You squeezed her in your arms and she let out a scream of delight before squirming, reaching out in wonder at the different knick-knacks on your desk. 
“Right, almost forgot." Peter took the last bite of his pizza, wiping his face and fingers with the napkins you provided before his face morphed into something serious. "Is this guy bothering you?” He pulled out a yellow holo pad, one presumably given to him by Miguel, revealing a video of you and Peter Parker two hundred from the other day. 
You blinked, your eyes tracing the moving image carefully.
”Oh. Not really,” you finally said, ripping your gaze away from the screen, “Nothing I can't handle. Why?” 
“Miguel asked me to investigate the situation discreetly.” 
"Asked?"
"Well, demanded, you know Miguel," Peter shrugged, reaching down into the diaper bag and procuring a lollipop when Mayday began to whine, “he’s concerned. I figured it’d be easier to just ask you about it.” 
You frowned, grasping the sweet when he handed it over to you, pulling off the wrapper and placing it in Mayday's chubby hand, “That’s hardly discreet.”
“I didn’t wanna follow the guy around!” 
“He's making you do that?”
“‘Of course he is. Doesn't like the guy. He barely tolerates me!” 
You snorted. “Why does Miguel even care?”
"You know him better than any of us do. If anyone would know, it’s you." 
Well, that was true.
You knew Miguel before he created the Spider Society, before he was ever Spider-Man. You knew him before his addiction to Rapture, before he experienced fatherhood, before he lost Gabriella. 
Back when, to the world, he was just some guy in a white lab coat. 
But he was never just some guy to you. 
You’ve loved Miguel for years. You’d loved him in your early days at Alchemax, when he was fresh out of college and eager to begin his shaky career, back when you were hanging on to the corporation by a measly thread of an unpaid internship. You were a pair, stuck to each other like glue.
A few years later, when you both decided to take it a step further and mess around, well, that only ignited your feelings further. Miguel was an attentive lover. He knew your needs and fulfilled them, taking you to the heights of pleasure before humbling you just as smoothly with his strict rules about your agreement. 
He didn’t have time to cater to someone's feelings—didn’t have time for a romantic relationship when he had too much on his plate. But his sexual appetite demanded attention—and why not with someone he’s called a friend for years? 
You were just a friend. And that’s all you’d ever be. 
It was just sex. That's all it'd ever be.
“You okay?” Peter ripped you away from your thoughts, his brows furrowed in concern.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” You answered with a sigh, gently resting your chin over Mayday’s soft curls. “Is Miguel worried?” 
“You’re the closest thing he has to a friend, of course he’s worried about you. Those were his words, not mine.” Peter shrugged, putting his holo pad away, “so is there a cause for concern?” The thought alone almost made you smile. Almost. Instead, you scoffed, shaking your head.
“I’m usually the one that handles these situations, you know.”
“And who’s supposed to help you?”
“I don’t need help.” 
“Right.” He didn’t seem convinced. “Miguel doesn't seem to think so. You sure?”
“Very.”
“Alright, I did my part!” He clapped his hands as if he’d successfully completed a mission, “Time to go, Mayday!” He stood, grabbing the babbling baby from you and placing her back in the carrier.
"She's precious." You said, gently pinching Mayday's drool-covered cheek as she teethed over her lollipop.
"Takes after her dad." Peter grinned, snatching up the diaper bag, "Listen, if you ever need any help—"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, get outta here, Parker." You shooed him away, quickly organizing your wrinkled paperwork together. You could still feel his eyes on you as you kept your hands busy, and when you finally looked at him he had a silly smile on his face.
"What?"
“You guys are idiots." He was still grinning.
"What?"
"Nothin'," he said, pressing a kiss to Mayday's red curls, "Just do me a favor. Don't mention any of this to Miguel, alright?" 
You crossed your arms, leaning back against your swivel chair. "Sure."
...
"So you think I need help?"
Miguel's hands immediately stilled on your hips as you stirred the boiling pasta over your electric stove. 
You didn't hear him come in, but you had a feeling he’d show up. It had been a couple of days since he’d fucked you, and there were many stressful days between then and now.
So you’d left your window unlocked just in case.
"What are you talking about?" He muttered, his fingers lightly dancing on your waist before pulling away completely.  
"Nothing." You huffed to yourself, cutting off the heat and getting on your toes to reach for the pasta strainer on the shelf above. After a second of watching you struggle, Miguel put a hand on your shoulder to stop you, reaching forward to grab it for you.
"Doesn’t sound like ‘nothing’.” He finally said, observing you strain the pasta over the sink, the steam from the hot water engulfing you both in what felt like a thick cloud of tension. You peered over your shoulder at him, your eyes raking over his solid form.
“You know, Peter Parker two hundred?” You asked, witnessing his face contort from passive to extreme annoyance.
He sucked his teeth, pinching the bridge of his nose. He leaned back against your counter, looking so out of place in your tiny kitchen, his broad shoulders almost the entire width of your cupboard. “I told Peter to be discreet.”
“He said you’re worried about your only friend.” You continued to tease him, emphasizing the word as you lifted the lid to a pot where a homemade Pomodoro sauce was bubbling. 
“I said that?” Miguel muttered, feigning innocence, watching you take a spoon and scoop some of the red sauce for a quick taste. You could feel his gaze on you, his eyes tracing the way your tongue licked off the remnants of sauce. 
You hummed in approval before scooping up some more and turning to offer Miguel a taste. You lifted the spoon toward him, and after a moment of contemplation, he hunched forward with arms crossed over his toned chest, mouth opening slightly to allow you to press the spoon past his lips. 
His eyes fluttered as he savored the rich taste, humming his own tune of approval. 
"Is it good?" 
“Mhm.”
You beamed, eyeing how he licked his lips like a satisfied cat, his fangs protruding slightly when he ran his tongue over them. The same fangs you’ve felt over your delicate skin from time to time. 
Miguel was a biter. You didn’t mind.
Miguel grunted, using his thumb to wipe off a bit of sauce that lingered near the corner of your lips. You inhaled a shaky breath, your eyes fluttering from the heat of his touch.
"What else did he say?" He murmured, looming over you, his hand now gently cradling the back of your neck, thumb caressing your skin. 
"T-that you're worried about me?" You breathed. Miguel pulled you closer suddenly, the faintest noise of surprise escaping you. His suit always felt strange under your fingers, the digitized fabric almost slippery, like fine silk. It was ridiculous how perfect you felt wrapped up in his arms. You sometimes wished he'd show up in civilian clothes. You missed his lazy outfits when he'd throw on an old t-shirt and a pair of sweats. 
You couldn't remember the last time you'd seen him in anything other than his suit (and his naked form, of course). It meant he was always on the clock, devoting all his precious time to the multiverse. 
It meant that whenever he was alone with you, he considered it work.
And yet, the suit made you feel secure and safe—like nothing in the world could harm you. And there was truth to that, though the only thing harming you these days was Miguel himself. But that was your fault too.
The deal was explicitly no strings attached. You were finding it harder to keep up your end of the bargain. 
You gazed at his full lips. You desperately wanted to taste them, to know how soft and warm they would feel molded against yours. If you were brave enough you might have stolen a taste, might have felt those sharp canines for yourself on your tongue.
Miguel’s thick fingers trailed into your hair, gripping the roots with just a hint of pressure, his lidded eyes taking in every part of your face: your brows, your eyes, the bridge of your nose, and your supple lips—wet and swollen from biting them so damn much.
"Maybe just a little," he finally answered, his shoulders shifting in a slight shrug. You could feel his length press against your hip, hot and throbbing, demanding attention. 
It filled you with pride knowing your proximity was enough to get him excited. It shouldn't though. It was only arousal. Basic primal instincts. 
You shouldn’t be feeling pride for any of this. You had to remind yourself of that.
You closed your eyes, willing your heartbeat to slow down just a bit. Could you really be this love-sick? So hung up on a man who was emotionally unavailable? If you hadn’t fallen before, then you knew you were plummeting now, so far gone that you’d let Miguel do anything to you.
So when he whisked you away to your bedroom, dinner long forgotten, you didn’t put up a fight.
He fucked you from behind. 
It was a tight stretch, your wet cunt fighting him as he tried pressing his swollen tip in with little luck. 
"Gotta let me in," he grunted, spreading your cheeks wide to gaze down at your twitching holes, "you're too tight. Let me in." 
"I'm trying," you panted, tears in your eyes as you buried your face into the sheets, "i-it's been a while." 
"It's okay," his large hands caressed the globes of your ass in comfort, "it's my fault. Haven't been fucking you enough, hm? S'my fault." Miguel rubbed his cock through your soaked folds a few times, the obscene noises of your sopping cunt causing him to grunt. 
"Goddamn, so fuckin' wet." He muttered before lining himself up and carefully pushing in again. You cried out, fisting the sheets when he successfully got the tip in. He groaned, the guttural sound masking your tiny mewls as he pushed on, your wet cunt coating him entirely in your sticky essence, easing his entry just a bit.
"Fuck, Miguel, it h-hurts." You whined, the stretch of him both painful and pleasurable as he bullied his way in, his girthy cock plunging through your fluttering walls. 
"Shh, I know." He rarely cooed as he did now, reassuring you with gentle noises and tender touches as he eased into you, balls deep in your core, “Look how good you’re doing for me. S’good.” A fresh wave of arousal dripped from you at his praise, your fluttering cunt allowing him to push and pull as he pleased.
He began a steady rhythm, holding your hips tightly to work you over his length, muttering to himself all the while as he watched how your creamy juices clung to his cock and covered his skin.
The pain quickly subsided into blinding pleasure. Miguel had you mewling into your mattress, your eyes rolling and drool slipping past your lips, your back impossibly arched, and your swollen cunt wetter than it’s ever been. The slapslapslap of his hips against your ass was loud in the quiet of your bedroom, your moans even louder when he skillfully hit something inside you that made you see stars every single time. 
You loved the feel of him, loved the stretch of his cock, loved how your cunt would ache for days after as if to remember him. 
“Coño,” Miguel growled, keeping a large hand on your lower back to keep you steady in your arched position, “you sound so pretty when I fuck you.” He suddenly gripped your hair, pulling you up as he curved over you, continuing to spill filth into your ears.
It was too much. 
“M-Miguel, I’m g-gonna—”
“Cum for me.” 
That was it. The dam burst within you, your eyes rolling back as you cried out, cunt spasming and gushing all over him.
“That’s it,” he muttered, sloppily thrusting into your tightening core, “good girl.”
“Miguel,” you continued to whine, grinding against him, “Fuuuck, I love you.” 
You didn’t even realize what you said until it was too late, so wrapped up in the bliss of it all that your mouth worked faster than your brain could think.
You froze when you felt him still above you. He released your hair, bringing his hand back to your hips before gripping them viciously, chasing his own release. He rammed into you faster, slamming his hips against your ass one final time before letting out a guttural groan deep from within the confines of his chest. You could only imagine how he looked: tan skin glistening, chocolate hair plastered against his brow and head tossed back in pleasure. 
Miguel said nothing as he gently removed his cock from your aching sex, letting his seed dribble out from you and soak into the sheets.
As soon as you turned around he was already in his suit, pushing a few buttons on his watch before he brought his wine-colored eyes to you. 
"I have to go."
“Mig?” You whispered his name softly, your naked body burning with embarrassment, “I-I’m sorry I—”
"I’ll see you tomorrow.” It was the same thing he always said, but it hurt twice as much. It was as if he were on autopilot, disconnected from what just happened. 
You felt your heart plummet into your stomach as you watched Miguel leave through your window with a speed he usually reserved for missions.
His spend caked your thighs. There was so much of it coming out of you, more so than usual, his cum ruining your sheets enough that you’d need to change them before bed. 
You sniffled, eyes watering, tears threatening to fall. He didn’t even kiss your hand goodbye.
You ripped yourself away from the soiled sheets, stomping over to your window as his cum leaked down your inner thighs before slamming it closed, locking it for good.
...
“You made this?” Miles exclaimed with a mouth full of spaghetti, clumsily twirling another forkful over his paper plate. You were handing out some of the spiders' leftover Pomodoro pasta from the previous night. You’d lost your appetite. It’d be a shame if you let it all go to waste.
“Yeah, eat up, there’s enough for everyone.” You scooped out more pasta from a Tupperware and onto a paper plate for Gwen. The younger girl’s eyes sparkled as she grabbed the plate, immediately slurping up a bite.
“Oh my god,” she muttered, lips covered in red sauce, “why are you working at the Spider Society when you could be a chef?”
“It’s because Miguel begged her to work here,” Miles quipped, a lone spaghetti hanging from his mouth.
“And who told you that?” You narrowed your eyes at him.
“Uhh,” his eyes flew over to Peter B., who was waiting patiently for his own plate of pasta to be served. You turned and narrowed your eyes at Peter, who chuckled nervously. 
“Listen,” he began, hands thrown up in surrender, “the kid got curious, okay? He was convincing, I mean, look at those eyes.” You huffed, snatching Peter’s plate and loading it up with pasta.
“You guys are annoying,” you muttered with no bite, shifting your gaze toward Hobie, who sat quietly with his legs thrown up on the table, “Hobie, fuck the government and all that, but you need to get your dirty boots off the table if you want some food.” 
Hobie sighed dramatically, letting his boots drop to the ground.
“Fine, boss lady.” 
Satisfied, you handed him a plate.
“So, let’s talk about you being a chef?” Gwen tried again, scrapping the remaining bits off her plate. 
“It’s just pasta,” you shrugged, pulling out a chair and taking a seat, “anyone can make a Pomodoro.”
“My dad can’t.”
“…why?”
“He’s Irish.”
“And a bloody cop,” Hobie interjected, twirling his pasta with a plastic fork, “hate those.”
“Here we go,” Gwen huffed, the beginnings of an argument forming. You chose to ignore them, letting Gwen, Miles, and Hobie bicker between themselves.
You squirmed in your seat, crossing your legs to cure the throbbing within. You could still feel Miguel, the stretch of his cock, and the inevitable ache that lingered afterward. You were still full of him, your cunt wet even hours later, plaguing you with the thought of never feeling him again. 
You drummed your fingers over the messy table littered with paper plates and napkins, your body hunched forward, lost in thought.
“So…” Peter began, adjusting the collar of his pink robe, “you gonna tell me what’s going on or am I gonna have to force it outta you?” You whipped your head to look at him, brows furrowed as you regarded him.
“What makes you think something’s going on?” You whispered, hoping the cafeteria was loud enough so the rest of the table wouldn’t hear.
“Something’s going on or you wouldn’t be whispering,” Peter whispered back, his blue eyes pinned to yours as he searched for answers. 
“It’s nothing.” You answered quickly, continuing to squirm in your seat, fighting to ignore your achy cunt. 
“Did you guys finally smooch?” You froze, your hands gripping the edge of the table with a force that made your knuckles go white. 
“Peter, what the fuck are you talking about?” You hissed, watching him happily eat his Pomodoro.
“You think I don’t know?” He challenged, “It might not be obvious to everyone else but I know what’s going on.” He winked at you, dabbing a napkin messily over his mouth.
Your heart was pounding, ready to beat out your chest, but you schooled your features as best you could. You swallowed thickly, crossing your arms over your chest as if to make yourself smaller. 
“Okay, fine, you know. What of it?” 
“Miguel’s being mopey.”
“Mopey?” You snorted, shaking your head, “He’s always mopey, isn’t he?”
“This is a different kind of mopey,” Peter raised a brow, “it’s actually kind of… frightening.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s got nothing to do with us, for once. Usually one of us pisses him off enough to throw things but he’s on a mission. Said he needed to clear his head. So what happened?” You sighed, shoulders sagging.
“I might have said something I wasn’t supposed to last night.”
“What?”
“We made a deal,” you explained in a whisper, “no feelings, just…you know,” you wiggled your fingers, hoping it would be enough of an explanation. Peter nodded, urging you to continue, “Well, I messed up.”
“How?”
“ItoldhimIlovehim.” You blurted out, your hands flying over your mouth. Peter blinked with a subtle tilt of his head, before a grin stretched over his lips. You groaned, now covering your eyes, “W-what is that, why are you smiling? Stop it.”
“I mean, one of you had to say it first.”
“Peter, you’re killing me here.” He rolled his eyes, inching close enough till your knees brushed against his.
“You don’t think the big guy feels the same way?”
“No!” You squeaked incredulously, “There’s no way. You should’ve seen him yesterday. He could barely look at me!” 
“You caught him off guard.”
“I know that, but he still could’ve said something. Anything.”
“He’s a guy. Guys are stupid.” You groaned, pushing your hair out of your face. You turned to look at the other spiders. You knew they’d been listening given the way they all turned away immediately.
“Someone is stupid,” you muttered to Peter, feeling dejected, “and it’s definitely not him.”
...
You took a deep breath before placing your watch over the sensor.
The door to Miguel’s office didn’t budge, not to your surprise. Lyla must have blocked the systems again.
What were you even doing there? 
You hadn’t seen Miguel in about a week. That was ample time to inform you he wanted nothing to do with you. You couldn't blame him but still, it was…unprofessional. He was your boss at the end of the day. 
Maybe you shouldn’t have started fucking the head of the Spider Society. Your weak heart wouldn’t be in shambles if you didn’t.
It was a stupid move, you knew, telling someone you love them in the throes of passion when they clearly weren’t on the same page, unprovoked or not. He probably hates you. He must. 
You’d given yourself enough time to think it through and given yourself so many pep talks before deciding a professional relationship with Miguel was for the best. No more friends with benefits. 
No more keeping your window unlocked.
You took a breath and tried again. No luck. 
Did he fire you? That couldn’t be right. You were still in the system and able to enter HQ with your keycard just fine. 
“You’re always catching him at a bad time,” Lyla sighed beside you, whipping out her tiny little holographic phone, “he didn’t even want to take a photo! Unbelievable!” The small image on her screen revealed a snarling Miguel, clearly unamused by the bunny filter plastered over his face. It was cute, even if he looked a bit terrifying baring his fangs. 
Lyla shifted to face you, hands on her little hips as she looked you up and down.
“You look niiice,” she quickly snapped a photo of you, “no cute filter needed.”
“Uhh, thanks?”
“Now it’s your turn to say something nice to me.” The Ai grinned when you rolled your eyes. 
“You look…extra yellow today, Lyla.” 
“Thank you! I’m in default mode.”
“Okay, so I’ll just come back later then?” You rushed to leave but Lyla stopped you, zapping in front of you suddenly.
“Nah, I’ll let you in.” You could hear the door to Miguel’s office opening, “Fix him.” 
“What? How am I supposed to do that?” 
Lyla shrugged, “I dunno, I just know you’re the only one that can.” She waved farewell, disappearing in a glimmer of gold. 
You groaned, dropping your head in your hands for a moment to collect your thoughts. Your palms began to sweat—they always did when you were nervous—so you quickly wiped them over your black pencil skirt before facing the office entryway. 
It was dark as usual, the only light illuminating the area was Miguel’s bright yellow screens. They hung above him as he sat slouched in his chair, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. His head turned lazily to regard you. 
“I heard you’ve been mopey.” You began, cracking a smile when he snorted. He shook his head, watching you slowly approach him like one would a wounded animal.  He didn’t confirm nor deny the accusation.
“What do you need?” 
“To talk to you.” You said, finding the courage to step into his space, leaning back against his desk and blocking one of the yellow screens.
“About?” 
“Us.” Miguel hummed, running a hand through his messy hair. He sat up in his chair but said nothing else, allowing you the space to speak freely.
“I-I wanted to apologize if I made you feel uncomfortable,” you began to fumble with your fingers, unable to keep eye contact with him for very long, “I know that what I said was…crossing the line—”
“Did you mean it?” He asked abruptly, the question forcing your eyes away from your fingernails and toward his chiseled face. He looked exhausted, eyes heavy but swimming with curiosity.
“W-well, I mean, it was a moment of—”
“Did you mean it?” He repeated, his tone stern as he awaited a proper answer from you. You bit your lip, slowly nodding your head.
“Yeah. I did. Still do.” 
The silence that stretched wasn’t very long but it felt like an eternity. Miguel only stared at you, his jaw tight as he sat forward, his elbows resting on his toned thighs.
You wished you could read his thoughts, take a peek at what ran through his mind. He was always so good at hiding his emotions, never showing an ounce of what he felt. That wasn’t always the case but after Gabriella, he didn’t show much of anything. 
“I think it’s best we don’t see each other anymore,” you finally concluded, crossing your arms, “we should stop.”
“What?” Miguel’s eyes narrowed, “What do you mean stop?” He was towering over you in a matter of seconds, forcing you to crane your neck to look up at him. Your heart was pounding, your hands flying to grip the edge of his desk.
“Mig, we can’t keep doing this.”
“Yes, we can.” He caged you in his arms, bringing his face just a few inches away from yours. He never had much of a problem with eye contact, but you did. You chose to look at his collarbones and the large swoop of his shoulders. It was intimidating and arousing all at once and you weren’t getting anywhere with this speech, were you?
“We can’t. Not when we’re not on the same page.” 
“Who says we’re not?” You felt his fingers graze the side of your face, pushing a lock of your hair behind your ear. You turned away, squeezing your eyes shut, feeling the familiar prick of tears behind your lids.
“Stop playing with me.” You said, pushing him away with little luck. Miguel shifted slightly at your touch, watching you rub at your eyes. 
“I’m not.” 
“Then why have you not said anything for a week?” You hissed, the frustration threatening to boil over, “You’ve left me agonizing over this for a week, Miguel!” You wiped furiously at your cheeks, catching a few stray tears. “I’m such an idiot.” 
Miguel grabbed your wrists in his hands, yanking them away from your face. His concerned eyes met your wet ones, a frown tugging at his lips.
“Stop.” He demanded, taking your flushed face in his hands and wiping the wet streaks away with his thumbs. “Don’t say that about yourself.” You glared, cheeks puffed and swollen from the pressure of fighting away tears.
“Fine,” you snapped, ignoring the way he stroked your cheeks, “you’re the fucking idiot.” 
“I am,” Miguel agreed with a sigh, refusing to release you, “I didn’t know what to say. Thought you might have been lying—don’t look at me like that.” 
“You’re pissing me off.”
“I know, beba.” The endearment startled you for a moment, your glossy eyes peering up at him as a rush of excitement settled in your stomach. He’d never used endearing words with you before. It had you stumped for a second before you remembered yourself, your brows furrowing in irritation
“Why would you think I was lying? Mig, I’ve loved you for years, you buffoon!” Miguel loomed closer with every word before he kissed you, silencing you effectively. Your eyes fluttered, your lips unresponsive at first until he coaxed you into a gentle rhythm. 
Kissing Miguel was so much softer than you imagined. 
You thought he’d be all tongue and teeth, desperate to devour his victim. His kisses were syrupy and deliberate, steady and reassuring. He was taking his time learning the shape of your lips, the plumpness, how perfect they felt molded against his. 
“I’m sorry, beba,” he said between kisses, letting you snake your arms around his neck to pull him closer, “perdoname. I’m an idiot.” You hummed in agreement, continuing to assault his lips sweetly. You couldn’t stop kissing him if you wanted to, sneaking your tongue past the seam of his lips to taste more of him. 
He growled, tightening his hold on you, allowing you to taste at your leisure. He tasted fresh, like the spearmint gum he always had on hand.
“Perdoname,” he repeated, wanting so desperately for you to forgive his transgressions, slotting himself between your legs.
“Yeah? You’re sorry?” you teased, feeling the familiar ache of arousal blooming in your core, “show me how sorry you are.” Another growl ripped from him, animalistic and provoked. He wasted no time, pushing you down so that your back was flat against his desk and your legs were wrapped around his hips. 
He pressed a button beside you and suddenly, the platform began to elevate. 
“Mig,” you sat up in a panic, but Miguel only pushed you back down, lifting your skirt up till it pooled over your waist, “w-why are we moving up?”
“Privacy,” he grunted, spreading your legs, running his thumb over the soaked patch of your panties. Your hands scrambled to find purchase on something over the desk, your heart hammering in your chest as the ceiling seemed to loom closer.
“Y-you know I’m scared of heights!” You squealed when the platform came to a jutting halt, squeezing your eyes shut. You didn’t even want to think about how high up you were.
“It’s okay,” Miguel purred, gently rubbing your clit through the fabric, “you’re safe, you’re with me, beba, no tengas miedo.” 
“M-Mig, please,” you didn’t even know what you were begging for at that point, you just needed something, and whatever that was, he gave to you. You felt him push aside your panties, and you finally spared him a glance, almost choking at the sight of him mesmerized by the sweetness between your legs.
“You’re so fucking wet,” he muttered, slipping a finger through your folds, “you dripping all over my desk.”
“Y-yeah?” 
“Mhm,” he hummed, easily ripping your panties apart before getting on his knees, “smell s’good.” He muttered, licking a stripe up with his fat tongue, scooping whatever mess you made. He moaned at the taste before completely diving in, eyes closed and large hands keeping your trembling thighs spread for him.
As always, you were a whimpering mess for him, mewling with every precise stroke of his tongue. It was the first time he’d done something like this, and god, it was nothing you could have ever dreamed of.  
He moaned into your cunt, the gentle vibrations sending shockwaves through your body. You trembled and whined with every loud slurp of his mouth over your clit, his tongue swiping over your precious bud before working his way down to dip inside your hole. 
“Fuck, Miguel,” your hands flew to his hair, your fingers weaving through the thick strands to keep his head in place. He skillfully nipped and licked the surface, lifting his face away slightly to spit into your cunt, watching it run through your puffy folds with lidded eyes before devouring you again.
“You taste fucking amazing,” he groaned, sucking your clit between his lips.
You threw your head back, letting out the prettiest moans for him. You forgot about everything, about where you were and how high up you were from the ground. You couldn’t care less as long as Miguel continued to eat from you like a madman. 
You could feel the tension in your abdomen, the clear sign that you were close. Miguel continued to drink from you, slurping obscenely at the fresh arousal that dripped into his mouth.
“Close?” He asked, giving you kitten licks, his hands squeezing your thighs encouragingly. 
“God y-yes, so close.” You could feel him smiling against your folds before starting up a vicious rhythm again with his eyes closed. 
With a loud cry, you came into his waiting mouth, your back arching and body withering over the table from the overstimulation. Miguel licked and sucked every inch of you, determined to catch every drop of your orgasm. 
“Oh my god,” you moaned, releasing your grip from his hair and draping an arm over your eyes. Miguel stood, removing your arm and leaning over your fatigued body. He looked down at you with intense red eyes, his mouth and chin completely covered in your slick. You bit your lip when a smile curved at the edges of his lips before he swooped down to kiss you.
You moaned, completely aroused all over again from your own musky taste on his lips. He slipped his tongue in your mouth, allowing you a proper taste. 
“Perdoname.” He begged again over your lips before gently brushing the tip of his nose against yours. You giggled, pushing him away slightly so that you could sit up on your elbows. 
“Mm, I don’t know,” you teased, “you’re gonna have to try again.” Miguel shook his head, tapping a button on his watch, and allowing his suit to vanish. You gasped at his sudden nakedness, your eyes glued to his throbbing erection. Miguel grinned, fangs bared, tapping his cock over your sensitive cunt.
You closed your eyes as he immediately pushed in, moaning as he worked himself into your tight channel. 
In your euphoric state, you barely registered him grabbing your hand and placing a chaste kiss over your knuckles, whispering over your skin. Your ears picked up a few words, some naughty and some sweet, but your heart fluttered and your chest tightened when you caught the last two words before he began pounding into you.
“Te amo.”
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lightsoutletsgo · 8 months ago
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names the f1 drivers would call their partner ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅
word count: 2k
warnings: cheesy cringy fluff I just thought this was a cute little idea so I decided to turn it into a whole post of it's own! I noticed that I've kind of started assigning names to specific drivers just because that's the vibe I get from them! as always this is entirely personal opinion. happy reading! mimi ₊˚❀.ೃ࿔*:・ it isn't all the drivers bc I don't write for the entire grid but if you wanted to see one driver in particular then pls send in a request and I'll see what I can do!
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cl.16 ❀⋆. ࿐࿔  Ma belle (my beautiful or my lovely) Simple and sounds divine when it rolls off the tongue with the French accent! Charles can't remember when he first called you the name because it's all he ever calls you! He adores the way you smile when you hear it and knowing you like it just as much as he does makes him say it again and again and again. 
"Ma belle" is the first thing you hear as your eyes slowly blink open in the morning light. You smile happily with a hum as Charles' lips press against your cheek slowly,  "Good morning ma belle, how did you sleep hmm?" With a giggle you roll over to look at him properly,  "You know I always sleep better when you're home, handsome." You poke his nose gently and it scrunches up before he's pulling you into his arms, hating that you're not as close as possible to him,  "Well then ma belle, let's sleep a little longer..."
cs.55 ❀⋆. ࿐࿔  Princesa (princess) It's classic and sweet without being too cringy!  Carlos originally started calling you princesa as a joke but found that he actually quite liked it. You're his princess and so giving you that title only made sense! Carlos swears his heart melts when you pout up at him and he realises all over again he's more than happy to keep calling you his princess.
"Carlooooos!" You whined, "My feet hurt..." You pouted as you squatted down on the pavement, unable to take another step.  "Princesa..." Carlos sighed, "I told you those shoes would hurt your feet." You stared up at him, bottom lip jutting out,  "I can't walk anymore..." Carlos chuckled and rubbed his thumb over your bottom lip gently,  "Here, princesa," He guided you up and over to a nearby bench before kneeling in front of you. You sighed as his warm hands eased your shoes off of your feet,  "Better?" You nodded, "I'm going to get the car, it's just around the corner okay?" You smiled at him,  "Thank you."  "Of course princesa... And when we get home I'll run you a bath and give you a foot rub, okay?"  
ln.4 ❀⋆. ࿐࿔  Sunshine  Cute and different. Lando has many names for you that all depend on both of your moods and the situation; jellybean, pretty girl, babe, mamas, peach, but sunshine is his favourite. He tells you it's because you're his little piece of Monaco sunshine when he's far away from home and missing you. He draws his inspiration from lazy mornings spent with you in the bed of your shared Monaco apartment, the sun dappling soft patterns on your skin as his lips chase the sunlight.
"Hi sunshine..." You giggle as Lando's scruff tickles your bare shoulder, relishing in the way his lips trace a line of soft kisses across your back as the sunlight pours in through the floaty net curtains. You roll over and loop your arms around his neck, "Good morning gorgeous..." You nuzzle your nose into his and he presses a kiss to your cheek, humming happily as the sun warms the room. "What are your plans for the day?" He asks, desperately hoping that they revolve around him, you contemplate for a moment before rolling over on top of him, "Nothing at all!" Lando finds himself breathless as he gazes at you, the morning light highlighting the colour of your eyes, the glow of your skin and making your lips look so damn kissable. He knows that when he's far away from home, this is what he'll remember. His own slice of heaven and his very own sunshine.
op.81 ❀⋆. ࿐࿔  Angel  sweet and gives you butterflies! Is very nice to hear in all sorts of settings and moods... The first time he saw you, Oscar thought you looked like an angel and though it took him a while to pluck up the courage to call you angel for the first time, it's now the name he always uses for you! Even when you're not around he still refers to you as his angel (much to Lando's annoyance because he thinks you two are icky sometimes).
"Hey angel!" You gave a watery smile at your boyfriend through the call, hating that he was so far away, "have you been crying?" You nodded slowly, knowing how guilty Oscar felt leaving you behind. "I'm sorry angel... Hey," he said lowly, "I left one of my hoodies in your wardrobe, why don't you go grab it?" Following his instructions you grabbed the hoodie and cuddled into bed, holding it up to your nose and desperately trying to imagine he was there with you, "You look so cute angel..." You giggled, "Even when I'm all teary and snotty and sad?" "Especially then!" He beamed back at you, "Who you talking to Oscah?" You heard his teammate's voice drift through the phone, "Just talking to my angel." Oscar cooed, earning a groan from Lando that had you and Oscar bursting into giggles, "You're not even here in the same room and you're still being mushy!"
ls.2 ❀⋆. ࿐࿔  Baby Simple and understated Logan likes to keep things simple but sweet and so baby is his go-to name for you. He's worked out that it suits a variety of situations and moods whether you're feeling happy, down, excited, angry or... needy. 'Baby' is usually followed up with a quick smooch to the cheek or forehead. 
"Babyyyy?" Logan dragged out the last syllable, sitting next to you on the couch, "Babe? You can't stay mad at me forever!" He whined, flopping down onto the pillows.  "My last brownie Logan. The last one." You hmmphed, crossing your arms for emphasis,  "Baby I'm sorry! I didn't realise it was the last one..." You looked at Logan who now sat up next to you looking very dejected. You sighed,  "It's okay,"  "Thank you so much baby," he kissed your cheek, "I will never eat your brownies again no matter how many are there." You giggled as he gave a mock salute,  "Now, go put your shoes on baby, we're going to go and get more brownies!"
gr.63 ❀⋆. ࿐࿔  My love  Classic and to the point! It’s sweet without feeling like too much. With or without the ‘my’ it still feels intimate.George knew not long after you’d started dating there would never be any other name for you. He loves saying it even when you’re out and around other people, it’s not too much that it’s cringy or awkward but it lets people know just how important you are to him. Sometimes he’ll drop the ‘my’ and just call you love, but even that is enough to have your cheeks heating up and to make you bite your bottom lip through a smile. 
“My love?” You heard George call out as the door to your shared apartment opened, “In the kitchen!” You called back, hurrying around to make sure everything was ready for dinner. “Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” You whirled around to see George standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame. You smiled fondly at him as he approached you, pulling you into his arms and settling his hands on your waist, “You look beautiful my love, is this the dress you bought with Lily the other day?” You nodded, looping your arms around his neck and leaning up to peck his lips, “It is, speaking of, is she here?” George nodded, “Yeah, they’re in the dining room.” You squealed with excitement and untangled yourself from George to run to Lily, after the squealing and hugging had died down, George poked his head out of the kitchen, “Do you want me to bring the plates in here love?” Alex laughed shaking is head at George, “You’re so whipped for her.” George nodded, not even phased at Alex’s teasing, “She’s my love, of course I am.”
lh.44 ❀⋆. ࿐࿔  Darling  Iconic and timeless, this name has stood the test of time. Darling sounds so good falling off of his lips. Whether it’s tinged with that slight American accent from time to time or sounds completely British, Lewis loves the way your hand always searches for his or your head drops to his shoulder once he’s said it. Lewis isn’t one for big PDA but he will always use this name, especially if he wants to check in with you mid-event or at a large gathering. Using this name is just one of the many ways he takes care of you. 
“Darling,” You stopped mid-conversation with Toto and Susie as Lewis suddenly appeared behind you, his hand sliding down your arm before linking his fingers with yours and subtly pulling you to stand a little closer to him “are you feeling okay?” He knew you hated these big events, especially when he couldn’t stay by your side the whole time. You turned to look at him a sweet smile breaking across your face as you squeezed his hand, “I’m okay, I promise” He pressed a gentle kiss to the side of your head before noticing your glass was empty, “I’ll be right back darling,” He plucked your glass out of your hand and made his way to the bar, you staring after him lovingly, “The two of you are so sweet.” Your head snapped back to Susie who stood there watching you with a fond expression, you giggled, “He takes good care of me,” “You’re good for him too.” Toto acknowledged with a nod, “Here you are darling,” A hand appeared in front of you with a fresh drink, followed by Lewis. Taking the glass from him you pecked his cheek and linked your hand with his, “Thank you love.” 
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really-bibi · 29 days ago
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【just choose!】
------------------------------------------------------------------------------ ⋆ ˚。⋆୨୧˚pairing: ot8 poly skz x reader ⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖summary: your boyfriends want to know who the biggest is, and they came up with an.. umm.. let's just say, interesting solution. ⋆ ˚。⋆୨୧˚warnings/genre: suggestive, mentions of fucking, dick comparison, polyamorous relationship, its honestly just awkward, i tried to make it kinda funny but my humor is absolute shit ⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖notes: MINORS DNI! pls what is this absolute shit that i wrote its genuinely so bad but idk what to write anymore!! wtf do i do but anyways, english isn't my first language, so there might be grammar issues and such. enjoy if you can ------------------------------------------------------------------------------
you woke up from your nap for the 4th time at the sound of your boyfriends arguing. god, why were they like this.. after a few minutes of contemplating your life decisions, minho comes and picks you up. "LEE MINHO, PUT ME DOWN RIGHT THIS INS-", just slings you over his shoulder and carries you up to the bedroom. as you got closer, the sounds of the ruckus got louder. great. weren't you just in the perfect mood for this. "someone please explain why all nine of us are in here right now.." you said, after being dragged into the room. all of them just started mumbling incoherently, like they were embarrassed about what they were arguing about. "ok bitch get to the point." "so who's bigger?", yes, that was jeongin. "what the FUCK", you replied. "well you said get to the point", "why are you so blunt about i-" "no but like you don't have to be so straightforward" "guys you can clearly see that she's uncomfortabl-" "ok everyone SHUT THE FUCK UP and let her choose" "yeah just choose!", yes, this is still jeongin. "i'm not doing that." "why nott" "she just doesn't want to hurt your feelings when she admits it's me", said seungmin. "oh please, we all know she's gonna pick me." "guys please this is stupid", "ok just admit yours is small jisung." uhh it's okay. they'll get over it. one day. unfortunately, that day won't be today. "let's have a contest!" "what are we even gonna do? see who can fuck her the best? that's pathe-" "YES ABSOLUTELY" "um guys i don't think that's the best idea..", you said. "i mean like size doesn't really matter if you know how to use it" and here comes the maknae again. ready to guilt trip you into their plan that you can't tell if they really made to solve their argument, or they just made to have an excuse to fuck you dumb. "pleeaaassssee-" "fuck you i'll do it." honestly, you kinda wanted to do it. just as an excuse to get fucked dumb. "well who's going first?"
------------------------------------------------------------------------------ a/n: i can't write smut for my LIFE idk what im gonna do about part 2.. this is worse than my first fanfictions i fear!! i hate this so much but im gonna post it anyway because i haven't posted in like a month
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bruhnze · 3 months ago
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Fuck this - Lucy Bronze x Ona Batlle
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Summary: Jealous Lucy.
Warnings: A lot of bad words, smut. Minors DNI. Not proof read :) THIS IS X-RATED!!!
Wordcount: 4k
i dedicate this one to you @onabronze and to the anons that asked it's not really good but i tried :).
(i've emptied my inbox so if your ask is not on my WIP pls send again (if u still want it done) because i had so much garbage in there i just removed everything in one go, sorry not sorry😬)
Ps: We do not hate Germany (don't come for me, it was for the plot)!
´´fuck this shit´´ Lucy mumbled to herself as she was running faster and faster on the treadmill, ´´fucking dick-head ref, that’s not a fucking yellow´´. ‘’Cata is a fucking goalie, you fuck ass pigfucker, really strange for her to use her hands, huh, dumb fuck’’.
´´that’s a lot of f-bombs Bronze’’ Millie tried to joke, not noticing how worked up the English defender really was.
‘’Fuck off Millie’’, Bronze called as she stopped the machine and ran off with her eyes glued to her phone.
‘’Bruh’’ Lauran giggled, ‘’you know Spain Germany is on right now’’.
‘’Oh really’’ Millie said confused, ‘’ohh, fuck, her girl is playing for Spain right’’.
‘’Yeah, they’re losing’’ Sam called from the bench on the side of the gym, ‘’Gwinn is about to take a penal and she hasn’t missed a single one for club’’.
‘’Are you watching that?’’ James asked while she strutted over to the Australian, ‘’let me watch along’’.
‘’Ofcourse mate’’ Sam chuckled, ‘’I watch everything’’.  
‘’Do we check on her?’’ Millie asked, mostly directed to Lauren, as she knows her best.
‘’Nah’’ James says, ‘’if you like to live you’d best leave her alone’’.
‘’Sure?’’.
‘’Yes, we’ll just give her some boxing gloves as the game is over’’.
..
‘’Ona doesn’t deserve this shit, what a horseshit head coach’’.
‘’Putellas missing a penalty what a fucking joke’’.
‘’You’re a cunt Berger, A CUNT!’’.
Lauren knocked on the doorpost of the locker-room, ‘’Ey Luce, they’re looking for someone to break in the new boxing gloves’’.
‘’I hate those German wankers with their ugly kits’’.
The English forward suppressed a giggle, ‘’yeah they suck, but you should turn it of bruv, it’s no point of watching them cry’’.
‘’Ona is going to be devastated’’, Lucy said as she looked up and stared ahead, as if she’s just realized it.
‘’Are you seeing her soon?’’ Lauren asked carefully.
Lucy snapped out of her trance and looked at her friend, ‘’yeah she coming tomorrow’’.
‘’To London?’’.
‘’Yes, she has ten days off’’.
''Well then you have enough time to comfort her''.
Lucy sighed ''yeah, I'll just quickly send her a text and then we'll box, I'm going to turn off this stream bullshit''. She says as she looked back at her phone and saw Paralluelo crying. ‘’my heart can’t take this’’, she muttered quietly without James hearing it.
..
When she was driving back ‘home’ from the training ground she received a call, it was Ona.
‘’Hey love’’, Lucy said timidly, not sure about if Ona’s mood would be more sad or angry, or maybe both.
Instead Ona answered pretty lightly, ‘’hey Luce, how are you?’’.
‘’Huh?’’ Lucy said, maybe a bit too loud ‘’I should be asking you that’’.
‘’Montse just scolded us for an hour’’ Ona said, ‘’but for some reason I don’t care about the loss, Germany was just better and I think Cata needs a psychologist after she’s broken her nose, she’s been out of it for every game after it’’.
‘’You deserved to win’’ Lucy said with tears in her eyes.
Ona chuckled ‘’I love you Lucy, but honestly, I’ve got respect for the Germans, they played well’’.
‘’I hate the Germans’’.
Ona chuckled louder, ‘’no Luce, you can not say that because they won Bronze’’.
‘’I hate Montse then’’.
‘’Okay’’, Ona laughed ‘’I agree with that one’’. ‘’But I am going to dinner with my family tonight, so I have to get ready in a little bit, you texted me to call you when I had time, so that’s why I called’’.
‘’Oh wow’’ Lucy said, a little hurt ‘’not because you wanted to hear your girlfriends voice’’.
‘’I see you tomorrow’’, Ona chuckled.
‘’That’s true but I still miss you today’’ Lucy sighed, ‘’maybe I’m a wuss, but I just feel bad for you Oni and I thought you might have needed some comfort’’.
‘’I love you, but I have to get ready’’ Ona laughed, ‘’see you tomorrow?’’.
‘’or you can call me tonight after dinner?’’.
‘’I think I will go to bed straight after, I am extremely tired’’.
‘’I understand, do you want to stay on the phone when you get ready?’’.
‘’Okay’’ Ona said as she put her phone on speaker.
After Ona had hung up because her cab was about to be there, Lucy thought about what she would eat for dinner.
She looked around her kitchen, ''fuck'' she mumbled ''i should clean this shit up''.
She opened her phone and ordered some sushi for tonight, 'because she deserved some comfort food' and got to work.
Her appartment was still a bit of a mess after the quick move in, and she needed it to be presentable for her girlfriend tomorrow. Ona would probably start cleaning her place and she didn't want to be a partner like that, that would be stupid because it was one of her own icks.
As she had cleaned up her apartment the bell rang.
With the sushi she took place at the table and opened the ipad that layed there.
Mindlessly she went on Twitter, she was logged on to her anonymous account and went on the hashtag 'Ona Battle'. She knew she shouldn't, but she was curious what the people thought of her performance this game.
Lucy had seen Ona was tired, but when you took in mind she'd played every single minute, and Lucy knew Ona slept very bad in the hotel, she had played very good.
She froze when she saw people joking about Feli and Ona being back together ''what the hell?'' she said to herself as she went deeper into the rabbithole and eventually came aross pictures of Ona in a Germany shirt, and not just any German shirt, it was the ugly 'Rauch 19' one.
Lucy was tempted to send a teasing text, maybe even with the picture attached, but she chose not too.
She couldn't help to feel a little anger inside her towards Feli, and as she came across a video of them chatting and giggling Lucy lost her shit and quickly closed the Ipad.
She jumped up from the table ''Fucking hell, not bothered about losing, fuck that'', she started pacing the room ''Germay deserved it'' she mocked, ''sure Ona, if you want to fuck her just say that''.
Lucy walked to her kitchen and fetched a beer from the fridge that was left from when Jorge had helped her with building some furniture ''fuck it'', she thought she might aswell have this because it was such a shitty night.
She took the beer to the bathroom and ran a bath, after that she went back to the kitchen to grab her ipad and got in, eventhough she had already taken a shower this afternoon.
Finaly she felt a little better, she had watched some episodes of a series she was watching and after two hours she decided to just go to bed early, Ona didn't want to call anyways so she didn't see the point of staying up. Might aswell get some rest before she saw Ona again tomorrow, eventhough she'd probably be very tired, so Lucy doubted they'd do anything, but atleast she'd be able to take care of her better.
As she got comfy in her bed she opened her phone to check one last time if Ona had sent her a text.
She hadn't.
Then she opened Instagram, scrolling for a little while.
She was just about to shut her phone when she saw @feli_rauch on her timeline, ''bitch'' she grumbled and as she took a better look she saw it was a teamphoto of the Germans, she only saw one person wearing a red shirt in the whole group.
''No way'' she said out loud as she zoomed in, ''are you kiddin' me'' - ''the only fucking shirt swap and it's my girlfriends' ''.
She closed her phone, trew it on the nightstand and dramatically dropped herself on the bed to go to sleep.
As she remembered she still had to put on an alarm and it would be probably best to have her phone on the charger she reached out to put the nightlamp on and fetched it.
When she held her phone it automatically unlocked with face-ID, and she saw that god-awfull team picture again ''fuckkkkkk'' she groaned as she swiped instagram away ''this is one big joke''.
After she had finally put in an alarm and found her charger, she put the light out and layed down again.
She tried hard to sleep but her mind kept wondering off to Ona.
Normally she wouldn't mind that one bit, sometimes her hand would even find it's way between her legs when she thought about her hot, beautiful girlfriend.
But not this time, her mind was polluted with images of Feli and Ona laughing together.
She knew Feli was Ona's ex, she had never really been bothered about it, eventhough she knew her mind was just being a bit stupid, she couldn't help to think back about what Ona had told her about Feli after Lucy had asked her how she had ever been with Feli.
''I wasn't really with her, we just fucked''. Ona had said laughing, ''but i soon found out she was very vanilla and for a relationship we would never ever work''.
Lucy knew she shouldn't have asked the question, but she had, ''but was she good?''.
Ona had asked her if she really wanted to know, and she had confirmed that she did.
After the answer she had regretted asking it, ''uhm, well, at the things she did do she was pretty good at, it just got boring very quickly'' Ona had said.
Now she was laying in bed with the thoughts of Feli fucking Rauch having her way with her precious Ona.
The thought that the German had tasted Ona sickened her.
The thought that the German had been inside Ona sickened her.
But the thought that Ona had, at one point, enjoyed it, got her blood boiling.
Maybe it was the distance.
Maybe it was because they hadn't been able to be intimate for a few weeks now.
Maybe it was the fact Ona hadn't told her about the shirt swap.
But Lucy felt jealous like she had never before.
..
Lucy woke up from her alarm, and checked her messages.
None from Ona.
She freshened up and got dressed.
Nothing from Ona.
In the kitchen she made herself some breakfast.
Nothing from Ona.
She went through the kitchen cupboards and refrigerator and wrote out a grocery list.
Nothing from Ona.
Lucy knew she would be flying in a couple of hours, so she decided to send a text herself, eventhough she had wanted Ona to text her first.
..
It was afternoon, Lucy was waiting in her blue Skoda outside of the airport. When she saw the beautiful freckled woman walking outside, searching for her, she jumped out of the car.
Ona was wearing sunglasses and a hat, but Lucy would always recognise her.
She opened her trunk and walked towards Ona.
''Hello baby'', she said happily.
''Luce!'', Ona said as she sped up her pace walking to her girlfriend.
They shared an embrace, ''i have missed you so much'' Ona muttered against the taller woman.
Lucy held Ona away from her to take a look at her face, ''i have missed you too''.
''I want to kiss you, so lets get in the car please'', Ona said smiling.
Lucy hastily threw the suitcase into the car and got back in the drivers seat as she saw Ona was already in the car.
''Your suitcase was pretty light'' Lucy said as she hopped in next to Ona.
''Yeah, i gave a lot of my stuff with Joan, i'm planning to wear your clothes anyways'' Ona stated.
''Oh'' Lucy said as she smiled at her girlfriend, ''and cool frames by the way''.
She leant in to kiss Ona.
They shared a kiss full of love, it was adamant that they had both missed eachother.
Not wanting to risk being spotted by anyone Lucy pulled back and got ready to drive off, reversing out of the parking spot.
''What yours is mine'' Ona chuckled, ''you said it yourself''.
''True'', Lucy said as she put her hand on Ona's thigh and drove away ''it's cute''.
..
Lucy carried Ona's suitcase to her apartment, and handed Ona the key to get them inside.
''Should i unpack your stuff? is there anything in here that needs to be washed?''.
''Uhm, i don't think so, i have only worn a few clothes, mostly the olympic stuff and those are with Joan, he is going to wash that for me''.
''Clever'' Lucy chuckled, ''putting your brother to work''.
Ona grinned, ''ofcourse, but maybe i will take a shower now and then we can nap together?''.
''I'd love that'' Lucy said, ''oh and let me show you around quickly, i almost forgot''.
It was a pretty quick tour, as the apartment wasn´t that big.
´´So here is the kitchen´´, Lucy said smiling as she turned on her heel and spinned.
Ona laughed, ´´are you making us dinner tonight?'' she asked stepping closer to Lucy.
''Of course beautiful'' Lucy said as she pressed herself against the Catalan, ''i was thinking that one tofu dish you like''.
''Hm yes''. Ona groaned, thinking about the dish Lucy made her often, because she liked it so much.
''Good'' Lucy said ''because I bought stuff to make that this morning''.
''You know me so well''.
''Yes'' Lucy smiled, ''and to be known is to be loved''.
''So romantic'' Ona laughed.
''Oh i'm feeling really romantic'' Lucy said as she bit her lip.
´´Really?'' Ona smirked as she put her arms around Lucy's neck and crossed them.
Lucy kissed her softly.
Ona hungerly answered the kiss and tried to get impossibly closer, getting up her tiptoes.
Lucy pulled away with a smile on her face ''but first you wanted to shower right?''.
The Catalan pouted ''i do.. but i also want you''.
The English defender kissed her girlfriend ''i'll be still here after the shower, and i know how you like to shower off the travel''.
''sí okay''.
They went to the bedroom, Lucy leading the way.
Lucy showed the on-suite bathroom and pointed to the towels.
''Leave the door open?'', Lucy asked in the sweetest voice she could put on.
''Sure'' Ona chuckled, ''are you staying in the bedroom?''.
''Yeah i'll put away your clothes really quick, i don't want you living out of a suitcase when you're with me, and i left some space in the closet for you''.
Ona kissed Lucy, ''you're cute''.
''You're cute'', Lucy repeated.
Lucy opened the suitcase, ''you need some underwear? and what do you want to wear or were you really planning on stealing my clothes''.
''huh'' Ona said, ''it's not stealing, it's my right''.
She chuckled until she watched Lucy's face who could appearently not laugh about it, ''what?''.
Lucy stayed silent.
''Sorry'' Ona ''i'll wear my own clothes if you really don't-
''No'' Lucy said, ''why don't you wear this'' she asked with a sarcastic laugh as she held up the white football shirt.
Ona chuckled.
Lucy looked at her in disbelieve ''you think this is funny? tell me why i have a damp German shirt in my hands right now?'''.
''I said my brother was going to wash my stuff right'' Ona said, ''well, match worn is worth more, you know you're supposed to keep the shirts you trade unwashed right?''.
''Fuck that''.
''It's financially responsible'', Ona laughed and stepped towards Lucy to kiss her.
With a quick peck she wanted to walk away.
Lucy didn't have any of that and grabbed her wrist, ''more please''.
Ona chuckled, ''let me shower, then we nap together''.
''Ona''.
Ona sighed but gave in, she held Lucy's face as she kissed her again, this time more slowly.
Lucy hands travelled to Ona's ass and squeezed her cheeks as she pulled the Catalan in closer.
Ona grinned into the kiss, ''you missed me'' she said, with a tone sounding somewhere between a question and a statement.
''Where did you and Feli talk about after the match?'' Lucy said before she could stop herself.
Ona looked up with a mischievious smirk, ''is that what is bothering you?''.
Lucy huffed out some air, ''why did you swap shirts with her''.
''She wanted too''.
''So you said yes? and giggled about it with her?''.
''What did you want me to do then'' Ona chuckled, thinking it was funny seeing this jealous side of Lucy, it was something new.
''I dont know'' Lucy scolded lightly, ''just to tell her to fuck off with her boring shirt''.
Ona laughed ''boring shirt?, how can a shirt be boring''.
''Not the point'' Lucy grumbled, ''you talked to her after the match and you didn't want to speak to me''.
''I had a dinner!'' Ona laughed as she rubbed Lucy's arms, ''don't worry, you are the only one for me''.
She kissed Lucy's pouty face, ''my beautiful *kiss* strong *kiss* smart *kiss* perfect girlfriend *kiss*''.
Lucy pulled the Catalan thighter against her, ''i think i should give you a reminder''.
''What reminder?'' Ona frowned.
''About what good sex is like''.
''Luce!'' Ona slapped her shoulder playfully.
Lucy frowned, ''you want boring sex?''.
''No..''.
''Cus if you want that I could just put that ugly shirt on and we can roleplay that''.
Ona blushed, ''Lucee''.
Lucy's jaw dropped, ''you're not even saying that you don't want that?!''.
''I don't want that'' Ona rushed to say.
Lucy rolled her eyes. ''yeah i totally believe you now''.
''Sorry'' Ona pouted, putting on a cute smile ''i was distracted because you look so hot when you are jealous''.
''Í'm not jealous!''.
''Oh, és clar que no ets gelós'' (oh i see you are not jealous) Ona mockingly chuckled, she reached out to the suitcase and grabbed the shirt.
''Maybe i will wear it today''.
Lucy looked at her with dark eyes.
''It smells like her'' Ona added with a grin.
A second of silence hang in the air.
''Put it on.'' Lucy said.
Ona's smile faded ''No i was just joking''.
Lucy repeated herself ''go on, put it on''.
''I was kidding''.
''i'm not''. ''put. it. on.''.
Ona gulped and took her shirt off to put it on.
Lucy stopped her, ''no wait, first get naked and then put it on'' she said as she took her shorts off.
Ona felt her heartbeat fasten from the way this aroused her and followed the instructions.
''Your panties too'' Lucy said as walked to 'the drawer' and chose a rather large strap-on to wear.
Ona looked excited at Lucy, wearing a cheeky smile.
''You want this one?'' she helt the strap up.
Ona nodded furiously, a blush creeping on her cheeks.
''i can't hear you'' Lucy said as she pretended to put it back in the drawer again and took her shirt off.
''No wait'' Ona said ''yes, i want that one''.
''Okay, i suppose you deserve it right?''.
''Yes'' Ona said desperately ''please Luce, i-''.
''-laughed with an ex'' Lucy said sternly, ''i don't know if that is good girl-behavior''.
Ona kept quiet as Lucy walked towards her on the bed.
Lucy put the strap in her harness and hovered above Ona.
''that's basicly asking her to fuck you'' she wispered as she let her eyes roam the woman below her.
Ona put her hands on Lucy and chuckled ''Luce, you're crazy''.
''You know how i always say you would look perfect in everything?''.
''mhmm'' Ona grinned.
''Well this is awfull'' Lucy plucked at the shirt.
Ona tried to kiss Lucy but Lucy leant back just in time to dodge it.
''Turn around''.
Ona whined but quickly oblidged, this attitude was making her feel some things.
She was on all fours on the bed and without warning Lucy slapped her ass, resulting in a moan escaping her throat without her being able to surpres.
''Im so wet'' Ona whined as she felt herself dripping along her thighs, she looked over her shoulder to read Lucy's face.
''Don't look at me'' Lucy ordered, ''your pretty face doesn't suit this revolting shirt''.
She leaned against Ona to hold her face before she could turn, and gave her a kiss ''you are beautiful'' she said and softly kissed her lips.
When she released Ona's face and let her hand slide over the number '19' she huffed out some air.
''But you should be happy i have a fake cock'' Lucy grumbled, ''cus i could never get a hard-on like this''.
Ona whimpered.
A cracking sound and a moan filled the room.
Lucy watched the flesh of Ona's as jiggle and groped the skin when it turned red.
''Who does this ass belong to?''
Ona groaned ''you''.
Lucy rubbed the tip of her rubber cock along Ona's wetness.
The Catalan's breath hitched in her throat ''Luce'' she chocked out.
Another time Lucy's hand found it's way to Ona's behind with great force.
''Agh'' Ona groaned, ''please Luce''.
Lucy grabbed Ona by her hips and guided her to grind against her.
''please''.
With one hand Lucy reached around for the smaller womans' centre.
With two fingers she traced her lips and collected some wetness before circling her clit.
''Fuck'' Lucy breathed out, ''so wet''.
She had problems with circling one spot at how wet Ona was, her fingers slipping away.
''Who are you so wet for?'' Lucy asked, talking in Ona's ear.
''You Lucy! you''. Ona practically cried out.
With that Lucy carefully slid the strap inside in one fluent movement.
''Merda'' (fuck) Ona moaned as her head slumped to her chest.
Lucy picked up a rhythm that she knew would drive Ona crazy, perfect for building the tension inside her quickly.
But after a few moments Lucy fastened her pace, not able to contain herself she fucked Ona hard and deep, the sight of the fabric around Ona fueling her anger.
She gave her another spanking to 'punish' Ona for wearing the shirt, but she knew it wasn't actually a punishment for Ona, which was confirmed by the filthy moan she let out.
''I'm coming'' Ona cried out as she gripped the sheets with clenched fists.
''Shit, already?'', Lucy groaned and kept thrusting.
''Lucí'' Ona said as her arch deepened.
''Fuck, come for me Ona'' Lucy said as her grip on Ona thightend.
With a loud cry Ona came.
Lucy slowly rode out her orgasm and released her grip on the girl, causing her to flop down on the bed.
The English woman shuffeld and took the strap out of the harness and layed it on the bed besides them, figuring the sheets were ruined anyways.
Lucy pulled Ona around by her shirt.
Ona looked at her with hooded eyes, wearing a content expression from her post-orgasmic bliss.
Lucy smiled, ''hi beautiful''.
Ona grinned as she took Lucy's hands, ''thought you hated it''.
Lucy scrunched her face ''the shirt; yes.. you; no''.
The Catalan smiled, ''i'll take it off'' she said as she sat up.
She stopped as she noticed reticence on Lucy's face.
''What?''.
A smile tugged on Lucy's mouth, ''i'm debating sending her a picture''.
'''Lucy!''. Ona punched her girlfriend.
She snapped out of her dream and redirected her gaze from the shirt to Ona's face. She shook her head quickly, ''sorry, i don't know why i said that''.
Ona chuckled, slapping a hand on her forhead ''jealousy''.
''I don't want her to see that pretty little fucked out face of yours''.
Ona chuckled and held her arms up, ''pull this off, we're throwing it away''.
''I'll sell it for you'' Lucy grinned, ''you didn't do all this effort for nothing, did you?''.
Lucy helped her out of the shirt and threw it so far it landed in the hallway.
''Well, that's gone'' Ona chuckled at the unreasonable attitude Lucy had, and tugged on Lucy's sportsbra ''this can go too''.
Lucy quickly took it off and got on top of Ona.
''Did i go to far?''.
''No''.
Lucy tilted her head questioning.
''I'm sure, it was hot actually, a little gross, but hot''.
''Gross?''.
''Yeah, stinky shirt'' Ona said with a disgusted face, making Lucy chuckle.
''Oh and'' Lucy said as she traced her hands along Ona's skin, ''as much as i hate it, you did look beautiful''.
Ona smirked, ''i thought the things you said were really hot'', ''i am already thinking about who's shirt i'll trade next''.
Lucy narrowed her eyes and shook her head, ''ohh you're bad''.
''Sí, soy fatal'' (i'm a baddie) Ona joked chuckling.
''Que?'' Lucy said, thinking Ona just called herself terrible.
''In spanish we call someone that's unreasonably hot, fatal, it means they're bad but it is like slang'' Ona explained, ''a funny joke, because you called me bad''.
''I get that now'' Lucy laughed, ''that's funny actually, in English you can also say someone is a baddie, same thing''.
''Really?''.
''Sí'' Lucy said, ''god, i will miss our language talks''.
''We call every day'' Ona said, frowning.
Lucy looked at her with a pouty face ''but you don't want to talk to me''.
''Luceee'' Ona dropped her head on the pillow ''I had a dinner!!'' she called out snickering.
''I love when you call out my name'' Lucy said as she ran her hands along Ona's thighs.
Ona looked up with a smirk, ''I love when you make me call out your name''.
''I think I forgot what you taste like'' Lucy said as she crawled on top of Ona.
..
-----
The end, not theirs.
-Keep an eye out for Feli's shirt on Ebay 😂
Feel free to give me feedback/tips (anonymously) but in a kind way is the most appreciated xx
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junkissed · 8 months ago
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late night talking
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member — minghao x f reader genre — angst, idk if there's enough fluff for this to count as hurt/comfort but the ending is sort of happy ? word count — 2.1k synopsis — the best and worst conversations always happen at 1am. warnings — reader is very drunk and very very insecure, lots of crying, lots of internal back & forth, unreliable narrator moment, refers to reader as girlfriend/my girl/etc., idk if i'm missing anything else but lmk if i am notes — this is an old fic that i never really intended to be released but @onlymingyus and @wooahaeproductions convinced me otherwise. sorry this is not at all what i normally post lmao i swear don't write like this often i just found this in my drive that i wrote when i was in a very shitty mood. we will return to your regularly scheduled smut programming soon i promise lmao! leave a comment in the reblogs or send an ask if you enjoyed this? idk i am nervous to post this pls don't perceive me too much
⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁
you're ugly when you're drunk.
“hao?”
your voice rings throughout the house, the sound shaky and quieter than usual.
he wouldn't even have known you were home if he hadn't heard your friend's car pull up minutes ago, bright headlights flashing through the bedroom window. he wouldn't have known, if he wasn't already worried sick at you being gone so long and consuming an unknown amount of alcohol. he should've been there with you, but too much was riding on the deadline for his students’ grades that had to be finished before midnight. any other day he would've been by your side the whole night, a steady hand on your arm for balance and a sharp eye on your glass just in case. he loves playing the role of protective boyfriend, letting his girl do whatever she wants because he'll always be there to watch over her. but he couldn't do that tonight, and it tears him up inside.
he hears your trudging footsteps down the hall, soft footfalls signalling your approach as you drag yourself towards the room. he pretends not to hear; he doesn't want to make a big deal out of this and embarrass you.
“you're home early,” he comments with a chuckle, but his sarcasm is lost on you in this state. it's well after 1 in the morning, and you tilt your head in confusion at his words, brows deeply furrowed.
“what— are you working on?” you ask after a moment, focusing all your energy on not stumbling over your words. 
you know how drunk you are, he knows how drunk you are, but even now you're still putting on an act. you hate feeling stupid in front of him, and right now you couldn't feel any stupider. the worst part is that you feel as stupid when you're sober as you do right now, but you couldn't tell him that.
he pauses, choosing his next words carefully as he surveys your current state. he can't risk hurting your feelings, especially in such a vulnerable headspace.
“grading finals,” he decides on. not too detailed to confuse you, not too simplified to make you feel stupid, just enough to make you feel involved.
distantly you feel your eyes welling up with tears. you don't know why, but at the same time you know exactly why. you're never good enough compared to him, not when you come home drunk in the dead of night, and he never does. not when he's so good at everything he touches, so talented and beautiful and perfect, and you're… not. 
he deserves someone at his level, an artistic genius like him who can help him with his work. someone with an eye for his paintings, someone smarter, someone prettier, someone who can keep him on his toes. someone who won't drag him down and burden him with your obvious lack of skill and your quality of being so embarrassingly lightweight that you need to be supervised at all times. 
“i’m sorry,” you finally muster. you can't find the words to explain what you mean, but you hope he's able to sense your sincerity.
“what for?” he asks. his voice is softer now. 
you hate it when he uses that voice. he's talking down to you, talking like you're a child and he has to explain everything to you in the gentlest way possible because you aren't capable of handling the truth.
you love when he uses that voice. sometimes he can be so blunt it almost feels isolating, but when he talks to you like you're a child in that sweet, gentle, kind tone you feel like everything will be okay. he can soften himself for you, drop his straightforward persona around you and be the tender man you know he's capable of being. 
you lift your eyes to his computer screen and the feelings you've been struggling with float back into view. “i'm sorry,” you repeat, voice cracking despite the effort you put in to stop it from breaking. it's all you can say.
you don't notice when the tears overflow, bursting from your eyes without a sound. you're embarrassing, you're an idiot, standing in front of him with red eyes and hunched shoulders as tears stream down your cheeks. you don't even feel them fall.
if he knows what you're trying to convey with your tearful apologies, he doesn't mention it. 
of course he knows, how could he not when he's so astute with everything? you suck at keeping things to yourself. 
of course he doesn't know, why would he take the time out of his busy schedule to care about how you're feeling? you're not worth his energy.
the moment seems to stretch on for eternity, standing in front of him. you don't know why you started dating in the first place; he doesn't have the time, you're too annoying, too clingy, too affectionate. standing in front of him, you don't feel anything. you just feel cold.
you turn to drag yourself out of the room, deciding that you've embarrassed yourself enough by now. you don't know where you'll go or what you're doing, probably to pour yourself a glass of water and try to sleep on the couch. obviously he won't want you to sleep in his bed when you’re like this, why should he? you aren’t deserving of that privilege.
but then you feel a warm hand on your wrist, gently tugging you back towards him. you lose your balance, stumble over your feet, fall onto his lap. you're mortified, barely able to get another “sorry” out before trying to stand again on wobbly legs. you shouldn't be here. you're so aware, so painfully conscious of your weight on him, every ounce of energy you have left fighting to keep yourself from annoying him even further but it feels like it's too late. everything that comes from you is too little, too late.
“no,” he says. his tone is still that soft, sweet sound, but his voice is firm and you don't try to get up again. “we can talk tomorrow,” he says as he begins to run his hand along your back, and you hate yourself for the way you instantly melt at his touch. “just… relax. calm down.”
your body slouches against his chest, feeling like a puddle on his lap, head tucked into the crook of his neck whether you meant to or not. your legs dangle limply off his lap, arms wrapped loosely around the back of his chair as he holds you.
“it's okay,” he says simply, still stroking his hand along your back in small, soothing motions. “it's okay.” he repeats the words, maybe to convince himself but mostly to convince you from having a breakdown. even now when he's treating you so delicately, your brain won't let you rest: he's probably scared of you, he doesn't mean it, he doesn't mean any of it and he's using whatever means necessary to stop you from turning hysterical or even violent. of course it doesn't mean anything to him. 
“how much did you drink tonight, baby?” he asks, and you know you should take that as judgmental but you don't have the energy left anymore. you don't note the twinge of concern in his voice, you can't see the look in his eyes as he gazes down at you.
“a little— a lot,” you answer, somewhat truthfully. the real truth is that you lost count. you weren't trying to get drunk, but one turned into two turned into ten and before you even knew what you were doing a car was dropping you off in front of your house.
he shifts his legs for you to sit more comfortably on his lap, and as much as you want to fight it you don't have the strength to. “do you want to go to bed?” he asks gently. “or do you want to stay up with me?”
“don't… want you to go to bed ‘cuz of me,” you mumble against his neck. god, his skin is so soft and warm. you couldn't move your body right now even if you tried. “not your fault.”
“what kind of guy would i be if i didn't take care of my girlfriend when she needs me?” he asks. “i can put you to bed if you want. it's alright. it's late anyway.”
“it's not– your job,” you manage to reply, and his hand on your back stops for a second.
“it is my job,” he says softly. he tucks a piece of hair behind your ear. “i'm sorry if you feel like i haven't done that.”
“please, don't— no sorry,” you choke out as fresh tears prick at your eyes. “it's my fault. i'm sorry. it's my fault.”
he holds you tighter, both arms wrapped around you on his lap now. “it's not your fault,” he says in that same firm but gentle voice. “you haven't done anything wrong at all. it's alright, baby, i promise. you don't have anything to worry about. why are you sorry?”
“i don't know,” you mumble. your hand clutches at his chest unconsciously, balling his t-shirt in your fist. “i dunno. i love you. i dunno.”
“i love you, too,” he says after a beat. the tears, the drunken outburst, he just lets it all happen. without a word of complaint. despite the voices in your head fighting to convince you otherwise, he never says a single negative thing to you.
you know he's not normally like this. with everyone else he's polite, unemotional, reserved. he's never vulnerable. which is why you're so confused right now.
“why?” you slur, still grasping onto hope.
he hums in questioning, nudging you to elaborate.
“why are you like this to me?”
but now he's the one who's confused. “like what?”
you pause, and the room goes quiet for a moment, the only sound your shallow breaths against his chest. “nice.”
for all his knowledge, this time he's actually lost. “why would i not be nice to you?”
“i don't deserve it.”
he shifts again, pulling you closer to his chest as he starts to run his fingers through his hair. “of course you do, baby.”
“you don't deserve me.”
he stops again, this time in shock. “hey. that's not true.”
“is too true,” you say. your eyes are closed and you can't help the frown overtaking your face. “you should have somebody you deserve. it's not me.”
he just sighs, and you feel his chest expand beneath your cheek at the deep breath he takes. “i love you, baby. not anyone else. you'll feel better in the morning, and we can talk then. but i'm not mad at you, okay? there's nothing wrong. everything's okay.”
you try to mimic his sigh, but the angle you're laying at on his chest and the alcohol in your system makes it hard to breathe deeply. 
“do you want to keep sitting with me?” he asks. he knows how much you like the sounds his keyboard makes, the quiet tapping as he enters grades and types comments to his students about things you could never fathom to understand.
your eyes stay closed and your head doesn't move. “yeah,” you murmur softly.
he settles back into his chair, you curled up on his lap. he's not doing much, he's finished the worst of it and now just entering numbers. he glances down at your figure, almost asleep on him, and he feels an ache in his chest. 
every emotion feels amplified to you right now, but if it took getting blackout drunk for you to finally say it then it must've been weighing on you for a long time coming. he wonders how long you've felt like this, felt inadequate compared to him, and it makes him pause. it was never his intention. when you're awake and sober and hopefully not massively hungover, then you can talk, and he can make this right.
he loves the person snuggled against his chest, loves the feeling of you comforted and protected by him, and he'll do anything to make sure you know that. he'll do anything to let you see yourself the way he sees you. above all the worries he has about you, he knows one thing for sure.
you're cute when you're drunk.
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i hope you enjoyed this!! if you did, consider reblogging or leaving a comment or an ask :) it shows me this is something people want to see more of, and knowing people like this makes me want to write more of it! thanks for reading!!
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noodle-is-unstable · 1 month ago
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Maybe headcanons for kinktober for daddy/mommy kink? Like you did with petplay 🥺
(if it's possible, don't include mentions of actual pregnancy or kids, pls)
I don't write for kids or pregnancy so I got you lol lotta head cannon requests coming out 🤔
I'd also like to say I don't see Mommy/Daddy in a kinky way as gendered. Example I prefer to be called daddy and would barf being called mommy. I've seen Dommy be used as a gender neutral version but please just insert what you prefer as I won't specify
Mommy/Daddy Kinks with the JJK Characters
(Head Cannons)
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Ft ~ Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto, Kento Nanami, Toji Fushiguro, Ryoumen Sukuna, Choso, Takuma Ino, Shiu Kong, Uraume, Yuki Tsukumo, Shoko Ieiri, Mahito Kink ~ Mommy/Daddy Synopsis ~ How the JJK Characters feel about Mommy/Daddy Kink Content Warning ~ 18+, mommy/daddy kink. Idk adult stuff
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Gojo ~
"I'll be you're sugar daddy baby cakes."
Being Called or Calling: Both. He'll call himself daddy or mommy depending on what he does. If he makes dinner he'll ask if mommy did good just to get a reaction and will call you one just because he can. General Feelings: Uses it more as a joke than sexual. Doesn't feel strongly about it one way it the other, doesn't mind if you use it and will use it but is okay not to
Geto ~
"Tell daddy what you want."
Being Called or Calling: Loves it when you call him daddy. Might reciprocate the nickname but wants you to call him daddy General Feelings: Will basically bust a nut if you call him daddy. It drives him FERAL to be called daddy
Nanami ~
"Is that so darling?"
Being Called or Calling: Both. If you call him daddy he'll reciprocate in kind because he prefers a more equal relationship dynamic General Feelings: He does enjoy it but it won't drive him crazy. Just enjoys any nickname you give him
Toji ~
"Yeah? Whose you're daddy?"
Being Called or Calling: He wants to be called Daddy. He'll probably also give you the nickname because he likes to match (he'll never tell you that though) General Feelings: LOVES it. Call him daddy and he'll bark like a dog and make sure you can't walk the next day
Sukuna ~
"I'm not your father."
Being Called or Calling: Neither. Won't use it and won't be called it General Feelings: HATES it. He would prefer names like Lord, king, or master, but doesn't like daddy. In turn he wouldn't call you it either because you're Minx. That's it
Choso ~
"Please! Please! Please!"
Being Called or Calling: You're being called the nickname General Feelings: Immediately melts, drooling and panting. Will call you almost exclusively by this term when in bed. Will immediately give him a hard on
Ino ~
"Is that so babe?"
Being Called or Calling: Both. If you call him daddy he'll reply in kind. Same if you call him mommy. He'll just call you the opposite to what you call him. General Feelings: Surprised by his much he likes it. Will fake moan after you call him daddy/mommy. It's not necessarily sexual for him but he does enjoy it
Shiu ~
"Be good for daddy, yeah?"
Being Called or Calling: Likes being called it. Unlikely to call you it too but would if you asked General Feelings: Makes him chuckle, but he does like it. He's always happy to take a dominant role (brat tamer coded) so the nickname pleases him
Uraume ~
"Do you like that?"
Being Called or Calling: You're getting the nickname, Uraume would refuse any version of it General Feelings: Really likes calling you by the nickname. It is absolutely sexual though and that's how they tell you they're in the mood
Yuki ~
"Open for Mommy."
Being Called or Calling: DOMMY MOMMY CODED. Wants to be called Mommy. She's the only one that gets this nickname General Feelings: Froths for it. Will jump you IMMEDIATELY if you call her mommy
Shoko ~
"Am I mommy or daddy?"
Being Called or Calling: Both and both names. She likes it when you mix up what one you call her General Feelings: Is amused by it. Doesn't necessarily get turned on by it but she does enjoy the nickname exchange
Mahito ~
"Just tell me what to do."
Being Called or Calling: You're about to get a new name. Will basically exclusively call you by it too, your actual name and pet names be damned General Feelings: Thoroughly likes it. Not even in a sexual way just in the fact you're taking the lead. Anything where he can give you control makes him happy
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About the Kink: Mommy/Daddy Kink is not inherently an age play kink but a Dominant Submissive kink. This is generally a power dynamic Kink where Mommy or Daddy is in charge and the other participant is in a submissive role. How to Practice the Kink Safely:
With any kink it's important to have a safe word, action and sound. The action is in case it's not possible to be verbal. The sound is incase it's not possible to make words or move. Pick something easy to remember and wouldn't come up naturally. Eg. Red, 3 fast taps, 3 repeating grunts
This is a type of power dynamic play and should be able to be turned on and off. A phrase or signal to initiate. There isn't anything inherently dangerous about this kink, it should simply be known that this isn't a permanent dynamic but a roleplay esk one. Ensure both parties are still willing and eager participants, and have fun.
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luvsturniolo · 11 months ago
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ー ★ !! STRANGER
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pairing : matt sturniolo x fem!reader
synopsis : having been dared to kiss a random stranger, you're the first person matt choses to approach
a/n : guys ive been needing to write another fic so badly that i got this prompt off of pinterest and i'm completely winging it (this is a cry for help. pls send reqs bc i'm running low atm.)
i hate how this is written & this is prob the worst thing i've done on this app but i need to post something so ur gonna read it anyway !
wc : 2.5k
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nick, matt, chris, nate, and madi are currently on an expidition to the mall. they hardly ever hang out as a complete group, so everyones moods are sky rocketed from the simple fact of them all being together. it honestly doesn't matter what they're buying or where they are. they'll all have smiles on their faces regardless.
"i'm surprised nick isn't trying to record a video right now." chris says as the group enters a random clothing store. "it's one of the very few times we're all together and everyone is in good moods. nick would normally take advantage of that."
"just say you want to record and move on." matt grumbles, walking over to one of the racks to flip through the t-shirts on display.
"i don't want to record! i was saying nick probably would!" chris tries to defend himself, earning weird looks from everyone due to this very clearly being a lie. chris lets out a sigh when he realizes that nobody is believing him. "whatever. i'm just saying that i don't think we should waste the opportunity to make good content. the fans love nate and madi."
"woww," madi says sarcastically, feigning offence, "you're just using us for content?"
"oh, shut up." chris replies, dramatically rolling his eyes at her teasing. madi giggles and takes a sip from the cup of lemonade she got from lunch earlier today at the food court. everyone else already finished their drinks, she's the only one with anything leftover from the meal.
"i didn't bring the camera anyway." nick says with a careless shrug, causing chris's jaw to drop with shock. "i wanted this hangout to be authentic. just everyone laughing and smiling together as a group. no cameras. no new friends. just us."
"since when did you ever leave the house without your camera?" chris asks him with his jaw still hung loose on its hinges. "it's practically glued to your bag at all times."
matt finds himself zoning out of the conversation as he looks around at the clothes. their argument about recording is only relevant to him if they decide that they are going to record. otherwise, it's unimportant and frankly quite boring. and now that nick admitted that he didn't even bring the camera, the conversation is no longer of interest to him.
they continue to stay near the front of the store, nick and chris arguing about the camera predicament while nate and madi laugh at them from the sidelines. but matt strays away from the group. he has about eighty bucks he brought with the intent on spending it all today. well, at least half of it or more. so he begins to get distracted with the task of finding new clothes to add to his wardrobe.
he made a mental note before leaving the house that he wants more hoodies since the weather is started to get colder. knowing this, he wanders over to the back of the store. he's been here enough to know that there's a rack of jackets and long-sleeved shirts in the right corner beside the employee exit door.
matt flips through the clothing. he wants more bright colors in his closet. most of his hoodies are black or dark grey. nick said that his wardrobe looks like a funeral home and he needs something more lively. but nothing here seems to catch his eye.
"need help finding anything?" a random female voice asks him. he turns to face the sound and sees a worker standing to his left. you. and lets just say you definitely catch his eye — unlike any of the clothes you're selling. he likes the style of your hair, the color of your eyes, the shape of your face, the bridge of your nose, all of it.
damn! matt's never been this whipped for a random stranger. it's normal for him to find random girls attractive in public, but something about you is making him unable to take his eyes away yours.
"okay? i'll take that as a no." you say before turning on your heel and leaving. as soon as you walk away, matt feels the urge to call out and stop you, but he doesn't know your name. he was too busy admiring you to read the tag on your uniform.
he lets out a sigh before walking back across the store and rejoining the group, his mood now soured completely. when he walks up to his brothers, nick turns around with a camera in his hand, recording.
"what the hell?" matt says. "i thought you didn't bring it."
"he lied so he didn't have to film." chris says with an eye roll. "but i didn't believe him. so i dug through his backpack and guess what! i found it sitting on the very top, fully charged."
matt just nods, not having anything to say to that. plus, now that he's in a bad mood it's be best to stay away from the camera so his bitchiness doesn't ruin the video. he feels guilty for being like this while everyone else has such high spirits, but he can't help it. he embarassed himself in front of the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen. there's no coming back from that.
the group exits the store and they begin to wander around. they're looking for a sunglasses store for nate so he can buy a new pair seeing as he broke his last ones while leaning out of the window of the van. the slipped off of his face — never to be seen again. but nate claims he needed new glasses anyway due to how old and scathed those ones were.
"you okay?" nate asks. the fact that he noticed matt's fatigue takes him by surprise. matt wants to continue sulking in his soured mood, but when he looks at nate's genuine worried expression, he can't help but confide in his friend about the events from earlier.
matt tells him about how he was looking for a jacket when you approached him. you came up so casually as though it meant nothing to you, when it meant everything to him. matt describes you, accentuating your beauty to paint the picture as well as possible. he tells nate that he feels like he's being dramatic, but he can't help it. i mean, you're a complete stranger whose name he doesn't even know. and yet he can't take his mind off of your guys's short interaction.
"i wish i had some wise words of advice for you, but i don't." nate says. "but judging just by the way you talk about her, you need to get her number or something. i've literally never heard you talk about a girl like that. you're fuckin' whipped, man."
"i agree." matt says. "but how the hell am i supposed to get her number when she's a literal stranger? i don't know anything about her."
"you know where she works." nate points out.
matt thinks about this for a moment before deciding that nate's right. he knows where you work and that's more than knowing nothing. someones job says a lot about them — how much money they make, what means a lot to them, etc. i mean, he's not the type of guy who gives a shit about your income, but if he wanted to know something about you, he could easily find out a lot.
"lets buy your sunglasses." matt says, confidence slowly overtaking him now that he doesn't feel like this whole thing is hopeless. "then, we can all go get a snack at the food court so i have some motivation to go talk to her."
nate agrees and hurries to catch up with the rest of the group. matt does the same, rejoining everyone now that his mood is boosted once again. they go to the glasses store and nate picks out a pair that he likes. the whole time, matt is back to normal. everyone notices the shift in his demeanor, but they decide not to point it out.
after nate purchases the glasses he chose, matt tells nick that he's hungry. madi agrees with matt, saying she could eat something seeing as it's been a few hours since they had lunch. not thinking much of it, nick agrees to go to the food court.
"fuck." chris says, sitting in the plastic chair beside matt. "i didn't know they had mozzarella sticks! if i'd known that, i would've gotten them too!"
matt just shrugs, eating another bite with a smug look on his face. chris shoots him a glare and scoffs, turning back to his cheesy fries with a frown. just as chris is about to insult matt, nick and madi come over to the table with their food. nick is still carrying the camera around, filming everything for their next blog. most of what he's filming will be edited out, but he's still taking the footage just in case.
as they all begin eating their food, nate — who had been using the bathroom for the past few minutes — comes back with a slushy and a small grin. he sits on the other side of matt with a weird look on his face. matt gives him a strange look and nate just giggles and looks away.
"i'm bored guys." nate says. "we should play truth or dare."
"okay." chris agrees easily. but nick shakes his head, not thinking this is a good idea. but chris insists. "c'mon, it'll be good content. plus we're not gonna do any stupid dares that will get us in trouble or anything."
when matt and madi take chris's side, nick has no choice but to give in play the game. his only condition is that he gets to ask chris first, and he has to pick dare. chris agrees to his terms.
"i dare you to say yes to everything i ask for the rest of the day." nick tells him with a sarcastic smile. chris rolls his eyes, but has no choice but to do as he says.
"can i go next?" nate asks excitedly. it's supposed to be chris's turn next since he was the one who did the dare, but nick answers dow him. he nods, letting nate go ahead. and chris can't argue since he has to say yes to whatever nick wants. nate grins widely and continues. "matt, truth or dare."
"dare." matt says without hesitation.
"i dare you to kiss a random stranger." nate tells him with a grin. "they have to be in the food court, though."
"what the fuck type of dare is that?" nick shouts. "we're not bringing random stranger into this! plus, isn't that against some kind of law? kissing random people can't be fucking legal."
matt is about to agree with nick, saying it's a horrible idea. but he notices nate flicking his eyes back and forth between matt and someone over his shoulder, gesturing for him to look at them. matt turns around and follows nate's gaze to find you sitting alone at a table. you're wearing your work clothes, sipping on a smoothie while scrolling through your phone.
matt changes his mind in an instant. "it's my dare, nick, not yours. so fuck off and play the game like everyone else."
with that, matt stands up from his seat, causing the legs to scrape against the tiled floor beneath it. he awkwardly approaches you with a giddy smile. god, he feels like an idiot. he feels like he went back in time to when he was a child, getting nervous to talk to literally any girl on the playground.
he stands in front of your table and clears his throat to get your attention. you look up at him and raise a brow in confusion. "mind if i sit down?" he asks, pointing to the chair beside you.
"go ahead." you tell him. you're still confused about who this guy is as he sits down at your table. he's attractive and seems sweet, but who is- oh. as he runs a can through his hair, you remember who he is. "you're the guy from the store. you were the one who stared at me instead of answering."
matt feels his cheeks heat with embarrassment. that's not the first impression he wanted to make. but at least you remember him! it's better than you not knowing who he was at all.
plus, you're not talking to him in a weird way. you're smiling as though you find his awkwardness amusing rather than strange — which it is.
"that's me." he says. matt glances over his shoulder at his friends only to see that they're all staring at you guys intently. chris waves him on, urging him to hurry the hell up.
"they're nosy." you say with a laugh. "i'm assuming they're your friends. otherwise, i'd be extremely creeped out."
"uh, yeah." matt says, looking away from chris to refocus on you. fuck. every time he looks at you, he's taken aback by your beauty. like time seems to slow when you guys make eye contact. "listen, they sent me over here as a dare. i'm supposed to kiss you."
you laugh at him for a second. but then you realize he's not kidding. he's being serious. "god, take me on a date first." you tell him sarcastically. matt laughs, but is still pretty serious about the dare. you feel weird agreeing to kiss a stranger, but it'd be even weirder if you were to say no.
not to mention, the boy beside of you is insanely attractive. it wouldn't be such a bad thing to kiss something this hot. "i'll let you kiss me if you agree to give me your number afterward." you tell him.
"i would have asked for it anyway." matt says with a teasing smile. knowing you have an interest in him as well gave matt a boost in confidence. and you honestly think that his confidence makes him even more attractive.
he leans forward and you do the same. you were expecting a small smooch the way little kids kiss at recess, but this guy went all in. he places one hand on the back of your head to tangle through your hair while the other hand cupped your cheek. the kiss was passionate and needy. and you fucking loved it.
when he broke it to catch his breath, you felt deprived of something more. you were practically craving this guy you met only a few minutes ago.
matt smirked at you before you guys exchanged numbers. you were still distracted by the fact that you guys nearly made out in the middle of the food court to process what was going on. as your confidence left, his was refilled.
"i'll come back to your shop before i leave the mall." matt says. "maybe next time i'll actually catch your name before we make out in the storage room."
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o-sachi · 2 months ago
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Orter Madl Relationship Headcanons
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ᯓ character; orter madl (mashle) ᯓ tags; fluff, sfw, gn reader, no y/n
[🐟]: Ngl, I had a hard time trying to make rs hcs for this guy because he's literally un-romanceable in reality SOB.
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— I'm not sure how you managed to bag this guy. But... congrats. Like, truly, you deserve it. Up until dating you, this guy has never shown an ounce of interest in romance AT ALL. Perhaps you could say that his type is simply "you"?
— But maybe he gets into a relationship since it's transactional; he gets something from you and you get something from him. He has always been a rational person, so this is the only way he can rationalize something like "love" if he even believes in such a concept.
— Perhaps he'll give more of his time to you than any other person. Not that he expects you to feel special because of that. Though, somehow, the transactional relationship is able to blur some boundaries and help both of you ease into spending more time with each other.
— You don't know it, but he does look out for you, especially if he gets something from you that's really valuable. He'll always be on the look for anything that's bound to threaten your safety. There have also been instances when he butts into one of your fights.
— There isn't a day when he doesn't question you or your motives. Again, he tries to rationalize everything. So he can't make sense when you do things selflessly for him. What's the point if you don't get more in return? You confused him plenty and those thoughts plague his mind more than he'd like them to.
— One day, while spending time together, he'll be staring holes in the back of your head. What's he thinking? Well, let's just say he's having the biggest crisis of his life (having thoughts/feelings that cannot be rationalized). He'll be in a pissy mood for the rest of the day, but he takes it out on everyone else but you.
— The change of heart happens excruciatingly slow, but there will be signs. Perhaps you won't notice it at first, but certainly everyone else around the two of you can see it—clear as day.
— Eventually, he starts to see your values—not as a wizard—but as a person. Your strength, unwavering determination, and goal oriented mindset all seem quite alluring to him. It just never occurred to him before that these things could mean something else out of a fight.
— Through time, he'll just let himself be drawn to you. After all, there's nothing wrong about respecting someone who upholds justice and righteousness like he does. You're strong and can hold your ground. If anyone will take up space in his life—it might as well be you.
— His idea of softening up is showing you his tough love. He knows the types of things you get yourself into as a wielder of magic, so he reminds you to get stronger everyday even if it kills you. He'll practice with you and show no mercy. In his mind, he's thinking of wanting you to become self-sufficient to the point that you can handle yourself even without him by your side.
— He hates it when other people talk about you, even praises annoy him. But if he hears anyone insult you... they'll find themselves buried 6 ft. deep under sand. Without knowing it, he thinks so highly of you now—that if anyone were to utter the mere thought of you pisses him off. At this point, he lets you walk closely by his side so that everyone knows you are not to be messed with.
— You'll never hear him say the words, "I love you." But on a special occasion—like your birthday or your anniversary— he'll do something sweet for you (much to your surprise). You walk into his training grounds, a vast space with a bunch of sand. In the middle is a big heart made out of sand with him standing right beside it. Then he says something like, "Today's a special occasion hence the shape," or something unromantic like that lol.
o-sachi © 2024 pls do not translate/copy/reupload my work on other platforms.
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trash-magics-blog · 1 year ago
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"You need a man... Not a boy"
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Captain Price x Reader (NSFW)
Summary: Your current bf is being a little bitch so John decides to put him in his place... And treat you right while he is at it
(Boyfriends name is Sean and you guys are arguing about him being childish and unruly.. TW for alcohol, I'm straight up obsessed with this man pls)
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"I fucking HATE you Sean! You're so fucking childish... Whenever I do something wrong you pout and run off to your mom, your almost 25! You yelled from your guys room, you and Sean had been fighting all day and you were so close to calling it quits.
"What the fuck ever you bitch! I'm leaving your ass, I hope you make it out there without me!" He stormed out of the house and slammed the door, it sounded like it broke and you also heard his car drive off, he finally left.
You and Sean were together for about 6 months and it was constant issues... From him being childish to him straight up hiding your keys and phone so you couldn't talk to your friends, it was due time for you to leave but you just couldn't pull yourself to do so, even if your best friend John told you that you could find better.
John Price. He was your closest friend, you guys met at a bar and you've always stayed in touch even when he left on his missions and whatnot but no matter what he was always there for you, more than your now ex boyfriend ever was. John didn't like Sean at all, said he was to much of a child, unbeknownst to you John was always trying to hint at you and him, but he didn't beat around the bush, he just didn't even stand by the bush. He was awful at hinting at things.
You called John, trying not to cry about the situation at hand, your house was a mess and everything was just a mess. "Hey John... I was wondering if you can come over?" He could sense the sadness in your voice and didn't hesitate to leave and go be with you. "I'll be there soon love, just give me a bit". After about 15 minutes John showed up and walked in, not minding the mess or anything and immediately wrapped you in a bear hug, he could tell what happened and was sorry for you, but also somewhat glad Sean left... You were John's now and he was gonna make sure of it.
"He called me a bitch and everything John... And he trashed the house and broke the damn door" you said into his shoulder, you had started to cry and pulled away from his hug to sit on the couch, John followed. You and him talked for awhile, he lifted your mood instantly and made you almost forget all of this drama and he helped you pick up the house somewhat. You loved John but didn't realise it till now, the way he made you feel and just everything about him made you love him, he was everything you needed in a man.
"Ya know what, how about we go out for drinks... You could use a few and I know the best spot in town" he suggested, you had no real reason to say no so you agreed and you two got in his car. "Sorry John, didn't mean to drag you into all this" you put your hand on your head and sighed, clearly a bit ashamed and slightly embarrassing. He put his hand on your thigh and squeezed it, causing her heart to flutter and he spoke "Oh love, I don't mind and you know that, he was a joke anyway... You need a man, not a damn child anyway, your to beautiful and too good of a person ya know" he blushed a little as he said that and you noticed, but didn't say anything just smiled to yourself and continued to look out the window, John's hand never left your thigh during the ride.
Soon you guys arrived at a random bar, you didn't catch the name of it. John came over and opened your door for you and helped you climb out of the truck, he had it lifted a bit, not a lot. You always loved how gentle and how old fashioned he was, he always opened the door for you and let you go first with anything, he knew how to love someone. As you guys made your way through the crowd of people and to the bar he put his hand on your thigh again, but higher.
"I'll take a scotch please... What'd you want love?" John asked, smiling at you. "I'll take strawberry wine please" you smiled at the Bartender and he went off to get your guys drinks. After you and john got your drinks you guys talked for what felt like hours, about anything and everything as well. There were a couple times where he made you laugh quite loudly causing people to look but you guys didn't care, you were having some much needed fun.
It reached the end of the night and the bar was nearly empty and you guys decided to leave finally after a couple rounds of drinks. You guys made it to his truck and you both got in the truck and just sat there, you both knew that there were deeper feelings peeking through, it was just a matter of who said it first. You heard john sigh and he looked over at you, you knew what was coming.
"Come here love, please...?" He asked, his voice sounded soft and he reached his hand out, to pull you into his lap. As you went over and sat in his lap you guys looked at eachother then you decided to do it, you grabbed his face and kissed him, he kissed back and pulled your hips to him. He slipped his tongue through your lips and the taste and burn of scotch hit your tongue and it sent a shiver down your spine... *The end of part 1*
A/N: I decided it would be like a little much to put the whole story in one post so the next part will be out whenever I get to it, I know I already have another price story needing to be finished but that done I just need to post it😭😭 I only come back to this when I'm like bored or whatever, but I hope you liked this!!
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xxhispieceofheavenxx · 2 years ago
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can i pls request remus being jealous and (non-toxically lol) possessive when seeing reader with someone else 🫣
Hello!!! I'm so sorry this took so long to get out, this week has been completely out of control for some reason. But here it is! I hope you enjoy! Thank you for requesting. My ask box is open.
Wc: 1k
Cw: It's just fluff, a few swear words
He was already having a bad day, the full moon looming close, only two days away. His day started at 5:30, with James throwing around his quidditch equipment, claiming he was late for his daily training. Then when he finally managed to fall back asleep, he didn't hear his alarm go off, making him late for potions, his least favourite subject. Thankfully Slughorn didn't give him a hard time, unlike Snape, who had made fun of his brewing abilities. And no matter how much Lily had helped him to finish and pass the assignment, his mood hadn't improved; it actually soured, thinking he was useless at potions kept distracting him from his other classes. So when lunchtime came, he was in an even worst mood than before.
Remus sits next to Sirius, who is excitedly talking with James, Marlene and Peter. He pinches his nose, feeling a headache growing at his temples. His eyes open to see his girlfriend talking with Adam, a Ravenclaw he is sure has had a crush on the sweet girl since first year. His brow furrows as he watches the boy touch her arm in what appears to be more than a friendly gesture.
He stands up, ready to stomp his way over there and give the blonde boy a piece of his mind. Before he can take a step, James' voice interrupts him.
"Where are you going, Moony?"
The curly-haired boy turns around to see where his friend's eyes were directed.
"Moons," James turns back to him "You're going to be upset if you go over there and cause a scene."
"No, I'm not."
"The full moon is in two days." James gives him a knowing look that makes him sit back down. Remus knows that in the days before the full moon, he becomes irritable and explosive when pushed.
"I hate that guy." His eyes roll as an unpleasant look forms on his face. "He is always all over her, and she is too fucking nice to tell him to sod off."
"I know." James' voice is gentle in understanding. "If it makes you feel better, I'll knock off his broom next week when we play against Ravenclaw." A mischievous smile forms on his face.
Remus can't help his own smile at his friend's attempt at making him feel better; and at the image of Adam falling off his broom too.
"Sure, just make it look like an accident."
"I'm the best at making things seem like accidents." The boy gives him a wink before he takes a sip of his juice.
His eyes divert back to the pair, who are still talking by the entrance of the Great Hall. Remus' patience seems to wear out even faster when he sees the stiffness of her body. She's still smiling, but as time goes on, it seems more forced; she keeps moving her body to the Gryffindor table, clearly trying to end the conversation. But as the blonde keeps talking, she returns to her previous place just to do this awkward dance again. Deciding he's had enough, Remus gets up and stomps to them.
"Hey, love." His voice is sweet, unlike his eyes that send a murderous glance to Adam.
"Remus!" She turns to him, a smile plastered on her face. She opens her arms and hugs his neck, pulling him down to her height. "Get me out of here." She whispers in his ear.
Remus breaks the hug and smiles down at her as he tucks a rouge strand of hair behind her ear.
"Yes, hello, Remus." Says Adam through tight lips.
"Yes. Hi. I'm going to take my girlfriend away now, goodbye." He quickly turns on his heels, pulling her with him.
"Remus! That was rude!" She chastises him in a low voice when they are far away from the boy who is standing in his spot, mouth agape.
"I don't care." He grunts. "Come on, I know you're hungry. I saved you a spot." He turns to her with a smile.
With a sigh and shake of her head, they arrive at the table. Remus pulls out her chair so she can sit and then takes his own sit.
"Stop being cute, I'm trying to be upset with you."
"I'm not being cute, I'm just trying to take care of you." He grabs her hand and kisses it, making her grunt and hide her face with her other hand.
"This is being cute, Lupin." Accusing eyes stare at him. "You were rude to Adam."
"The bastard was making you uncomfortable."
"He wasn't making me uncomfortable."
"He wasn't letting you leave." He says in a knowing voice.
"Okay, he wasn't." She concedes. "But, he was just being friendly." Her statement is met with a snort and a roll of Remus' eyes. "You're just jealous."
"I am." He says easily as he leans on her shoulder, letting his nose tangle in her hair. "You'd be jealous too if you had the most amazing woman all to yourself." She giggles, making him smile.
"I have the most amazing guy, though." Her hand finds the back of his head.
"I'm sorry I was mean, I get possessive sometimes." His soft voice reaches her ears.
"I like how possessive you are, but maybe next time be a little bit nicer." He takes a deep breath, inhaling her scent, allowing it to calm him.
"I'll try when it's not so close to the full moon." He pulls back just enough to kiss her lips.
"Are you guys going to eat each other instead of the food, or what?" Sirius' voice makes them pull apart.
"Shut up, pads. They're having a moment." James interrupts his teasing, making her laugh. Everything seems to be better now, maybe he just needed her to turn his bad day good.
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