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golden-cherry · 4 months ago

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deal - cl16 (35/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: Lets get drunk - with Nightmare Coladas.

Warnings: fluff, alcohol consumption

Word Count: 3.2k

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A/N: love you. feedback is appreciated!

You are sitting on the sun bed when Charles rejoins you. He is holding a tray in his hands and as he places it on the floor next to you, you see that it is filled with sliced fruit. In addition to a plate of watermelon, there is a bowl of grapes, strawberries and raspberries.

“A good foundation is essential if you want to get drunk,” he grins and lies down next to you on the sun bed, a healthy distance between you.

You raise an eyebrow. "Wouldn't it be better to eat something greasy then? Like fries or pizza?” you ask, helping yourself to a strawberry.

“That's just the beginning,” he defends himself and nibbles on a piece of watermelon. “There are fries, mozzarella sticks and chicken nuggets in the oven.”

You have to grin. “Sounds like lunch for a five-year-old.”

Charles shrugs and pops a raspberry in his mouth. “You'll be able to drink like a grown-up in no time.”

“Touché.”

The two of you lie next to each other in silence, enjoying the last rays of sunshine while you eat the fruit and wait for the timer on Charles' cell phone to beep. The water splashes against the sides of the boat, the smell of the sea hits your nose and if you didn't know that tomorrow is Christmas, you'd think it was a beautiful summer evening.

“What would you like to drink?” Charles asks.

You turn your head in his direction. “Do you have any sweet white wine?”

He nods. “I had Thomas bring your cheap wine,” he grins. "He didn't find it at first. Apparently you can only get it in the supermarket and not in a wine store."

You purse your lips. “Hey. The wine tastes good,” you say with mock offence, trying to suppress the thought that Charles sent Thomas out to get your favorite wine. Very thoughtful. “What are you about to drink?”

"There are quite a few drinks. Maybe I'll make myself a cocktail,” he considers, popping a strawberry into his mouth. "Maybe a piña colada? Or a sex on the beach?"

The way the word 'sex' rolls off his tongue makes the blood in your veins run hot. You bite into a piece of watermelon. “When are the fries ready?”

Just as you've said it, Charles' phone rings. He gets up and leaves the sun bed. “I'll be right back.”

You turn to him. “Do you want me to help you?” You're almost on your feet when Charles waves you off.

“ It's all right.”

While he disappears into the interior of his yacht, you also leave the sun bed to grab your camera and laptop, but instead of lying back on the sun bed at the back of the boat, you move the party around the bow, where there is another sun bed. From here, you have a wonderful view of Monaco - even if it is still some distance away from you.

You start to edit a photo of Charles when he rejoins you - fries, mozzarella sticks and chicken nuggets on a tray.

“Here you are,” he smiles, setting the food down. “I thought you'd jumped in the water and swum home.”

"Are you crazy? I'm sure the sea is freezing cold,” you reply and put your laptop to one side so you can grab a nugget. “I've already started editing a picture of you, by the way.”

Your friend plops down on the sun bed next to you. "And?” he asks. “Do I look good?”

You roll your eyes. “You always do,” you reply jokingly, hoping that he can't hear the truth in your words.

“I know,” he grins and pops a chip in his mouth. "But seriously. Do you think the pictures are any good? For my Instagram profile, I mean."

Charles is a natural model. With his big eyes, deep dimples and beaming smile, he could even advertise haemorrhoid cream and look great doing it.

“Absolutely,” you smile and push your camera over to him. “See for yourself.”

While Charles looks at the many pictures on the small display, you continue to edit some pictures on your laptop. They are all good - thanks to his looks - but somehow none of them reflect Charles as you see him. They look posed, which isn't a bad thing in itself, but you had hoped to capture him with your lens in such a way that you could almost feel the closeness to him and his warmth.

But you don't tell him that, after all he has to decide for himself which pictures he would like to put on the internet.

“What do you think of this?” he asks and shows you the display. In the photo, he is standing at the wheel, his sunglasses are perched on his nose and he is smiling broadly over his shoulder, as if someone has said something funny. It's a good picture - objectively speaking.

“It's good,” you reply and bite into a mozzarella stick. The cheese almost burns the roof of your mouth, but you try not to let it show.

Charles raises his eyebrow. “Just ‘good’?” he asks, looking at the picture again. “Okay, I'll find another one then.”

You shake your head vehemently. "No, Charles. It's a good photo, really,” you assure him.

He's not buying it. “But?”

You purse your lips and shrug your shoulders. “It - it looks so posed,” you answer honestly. "But maybe it only looks like that to me because I know it's fake, you know? Maybe I just can't see it."

He looks back from you to the display. “I know what you mean.” He presses his tongue into his cheek. "I'll take another one then. They're your photos. And I want you to feel comfortable with them too."

You smile at him. You didn't know he cared so much about your opinion. "That's nice. Thank you."

Charles pops a French fry into his mouth. "Keep eating. Your wine is cold and just waiting for you to drink it."

You continue to eat in silence - Charles continues to rummage through your camera while you edit some pictures. The silence between you is comfortable and every now and then you smile at each other to reassure each other that everything is fine.

When the last of the fries has been eaten, Charles stands up. "Very nice. Now it's time to start drinking,” he winks at you as he leaves the sun bed. “You want your wine, I guess?”

You nod. “Thomas shouldn't have made the trip to the supermarket for nothing,” you grin and cross your arms behind your head. You look at him. "But I think one glass is enough for now. Maybe I'd like to try one of your cocktails afterwards."

“Of course, Madame,” Charles replies and bows to you playfully like a servant to his queen. "Can I bring anything else? A pillow, perhaps?"

You nod, beaming. “That would be great. Then the bed here will be even more comfortable."

Without another word, he disappears, the bowls and plates in his hands, while you close the laptop and put it to the side. You consider whether you should put the camera away too, but decide against it. Perhaps there would be another opportunity to take photos of Charles later.

A few minutes later, Charles reappears. He puts your wine glass down next to you and throws you two cushions. "Make yourself comfortable. I'm sure you'll want to stay here longer."

You look at him in confusion. “Why?”

With a nod of his head, he points to the shore. "When it gets dark - and I mean dark - Monaco lights up beautifully. And I don't want to deny you the sight,” he smiles. "I'm going to make myself a cocktail. Do you want me to bring you your sweater right away?"

“Yes, thank you,” you answer him. “And you really don't need any help?” you ask uncertainly. It's nice of him to go to all this trouble to make you feel comfortable, but you feel a bit like you're taking advantage of him.

But Charles disagrees. "Stay put. You're my guest on this boat. I'll take care of everything while you lie there and look pretty."

Before you can react to his words, he has disappeared again.

Look pretty? Charles thinks you're pretty?

You try to ignore his words, but they keep bubbling up. When he said he was afraid of losing you, he hit you hard. You would never let anything separate you again. You need him too much for that - and it seems he needs you too. Even if it's not the same way. But that's okay, you tell yourself. You'd rather have a piece of him than nothing at all.

When he rejoins you, you seem to have almost forgotten his compliment. Or at least pushed it aside.

“Here,” he says, handing you your sweater before setting some things down behind your head. There are several bottles, an ice bucket and a couple of shakers in the large basket. Then he carefully sits down next to you with his cocktail in hand. As he tastes it, he makes a brief grimace.

You have to grin. “Too strong?” you ask him.

“No,” he replies, but from the way he raises his eyebrows and turns his head away briefly, it's clear he's lying.

“What did you mix?”

“Piña Colada.” He furrows his eyebrows. “But it tastes more like nightmare colada than pineapple.” He stretches out his arm and holds the glass out to you. “Have a taste.”

Without hesitation, you reach for the cocktail - still careful not to let your fingers touch - and sip the drink once. You look at him in amazement. “I don't know what your problem is,” you reply and take a big sip. “It tastes fantastic!”

Charles looks at you doubtfully. “Are you serious?”

“Definitely,” you confirm. “I'd offer you my wine, but you don't like sweet wine.”

“Give it to me,” he says unceremoniously and grabs the wine glass as you hold it out to him. Without hesitation, he puts the glass to his lips and drinks every last drop of the wine. "Sorry. I had to get rid of the horrible taste of that cocktail."

You look from the empty glass in his hand to his face in amazement. "Wow. So you think the piña colada is that bad. If you keep going like this, you'll be drunk in no time."

Charles reaches behind your head into the basket and pulls out a bottle of wine. “That was the plan, wasn't it?” Slowly and intently, he pours some of his dry wine into your glass, careful not to waste a single drop. “Don't tell me I did all of this for nothing.” He points to the many shakers with a nod of his head.

You curl your lips into a thin line. “Are you even allowed to drive the boat tomorrow if you still have alcohol in your blood?” you ask and take a sip of his - now your - cocktail, which, contrary to Charles' opinion, actually tastes phenomenal.

“I don't know,” he replies and sips his wine. “But if need be, you and I can stay here another night.”

“Tomorrow is Christmas,” you remind him. "Your mom would be furious with us if we didn't show up for dinner. And then she'd kill us."

Your roommate shakes his head. "My mom loves you. She'd kill me without hesitation, but definitely not you." He leans back a little and rests his head in the pillow so that he's comfortable but still sitting upright enough to drink easily.

“I think I'd stand up for you,” you say before taking another sip.

The Monegasque looks at you, dumbfounded. “You think?”

The way he opens his eyes and looks at you, you can't help but burst out laughing. "Yeah. After all, I don't want to incur your mother's wrath. I like her far too much for that,” you say into your glass and look at him over the rim.

Charles rolls his eyes. "You're being mean. I'll take you on my boat -"

“Yacht,” you correct him.

"All right then. I take you on my yacht, where you can even spend the night, make you delicious food and offer you all the alcohol you can imagine - and you think you'd stand up for me?" Playfully hurt, he puts his hand on his chest. “Wow. I thought you'd care more about me.”

You do, you say in your mind. More than you'll ever know.

“Oh, come on.” You snuggle into your pillow too. "How many women have you taken here already, huh? Surely I'm not the only one you've spent a night with here." Realizing your choice of words, you clear your throat. “In a friendly or romantic way, I mean.” Even though you don't want to know the answer to how many women he's had here on the boat, curiosity wins out.

Your roommate shrugs. “You're the only one,” he replies quietly before taking a sip of his wine. He avoids your gaze.

Your head jerks in his direction. “Not even Annika?”

“Not even Annika,” he confirms to you. “I - I don't know - I took Annika out for a nice day at sea once, but we went home at night. This is the first time I've been on a boat with someone other than my family and stayed the night."

His answer relieves you a little. Apparently you're not the next in a line of women Charles is spending the night with on his boat. And the fact that you're the only one, according to him, makes you feel a little happy.

“If it makes you feel any better,” you start your sentence, “you're also the first person I spend the night with on a boat.” You smile at him.

“It's not that difficult if you've never been on a boat before,” he replies with a grin. “And I thought it was a yacht?”

You roll your eyes. “Don't make me regret being on a boat on the open sea.”

As the wind sweeps around you and the sun disappears behind the horizon, you pull on your sweater. You feel Charles's gaze on you. “What?”

He shakes his head. "I thought the alcohol would warm you up a bit. But apparently you need to drink more."

You look into your cocktail glass. “I've almost finished your Nightmare Colada,” you defend yourself.

"But only almost. Drink up, then I can pour you another one."

You raise your glass to your lips. “Are you trying to get me drunk, Mr. Leclerc?”

“Maybe,” he grins and pulls a shaker out of the basket. "There's a little Nightmare Colada left, if you like. Otherwise there's still your wine, or Sex on the Beach, or schnapps."

You take the last sip of your cocktail and put the glass down for him to refill. Heat shoots into your face, which is almost certainly due to the alcohol - and definitely not the way he says the word 'sex'. "Your offer sounds tempting. I think I'll stick to the nightmare colada for now. We can always have the schnapps later."

Charles shakes the shaker briefly before carefully pouring the rest of the cocktail into your glass. “I haven't had a schnapps in ages.”

"Why? Is your nutritionist against it?” you ask him with a grin.

“Yes, actually,” he replies and hands you your glass. "But I'm on vacation at the moment, so I don't really care. That's why I had the chicken nuggets."

You raise your eyebrow. “I thought the chicken nuggets were there so we wouldn't get drunk straight away?”

Your friend shakes his head. "Actually, you had chicken nuggets because, culinarily speaking, you stayed somewhere between canned soup and Big Mac. That's what Lando said anyway."

The fact that he remembered that warms your heart. A little something you didn't think he would remember.

"There's also dessert, by the way, if you're still a little hungry. Chocolate muffins,” he smiles. "But maybe we'll save them for later, when we're drunk. They'll taste even better then."

“Muffins?” you ask in surprise. When Charles nods, blood rushes to your cheeks. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” His voice is soft and warm. He briefly puts his glass to one side and pulls on his white sweater.

“Are you cold?” you joke, sipping your cocktail.

“Haha.” He rolls his eyes and adjusts the bandana that is still tied around his head. “Even if the alcohol warms me on the inside, I can be cold on the outside.”

“But make me look stupid for it,” you retort playfully.

"Sure. It's just pretty easy to drive you up the wall."

“What do you mean -” you start your question, but he jumps up from the sun bed as if stung by a tarantula.

“There!” He goes to the railing in front of you and holds on tight. “I told you.”

You carefully put your glass to one side and stand up too. When you see what he means, your breath catches in your throat.

Monaco shines in front of you in the dark and the water reflects the light beautifully. Charles hasn't promised too much.

You stand next to him with your mouth open, your eyes fixed on the beautiful Monaco. “It is - breathtaking.”

“It is,” Charles replies quietly. You don't notice him looking at you. “Breathtaking.” He‘s almost ashamed at how beautiful you look to him. He has to look away.

The Monaco in front of you glistens and sparkles, captivating you so much that an idea occurs to you. With quick - and slightly swaying - steps, you walk back and grab your camera before standing on the sun bed. The cocktail has done a good job, because the cushion under your feet feels like jelly, so you need a moment to find your footing.

Charles is apparently just as fascinated by the view as you are, because he doesn't seem to notice that you've moved away from him. He continues to look ahead, towards his home, while you take a photo of him. A single photo - and when you look at it on your camera, you could cry.

“That's it,” you smile.

“Huh?” Charles turns to you questioningly. “What's what?”

You proudly hand him your camera. “This is the picture.”

He looks at it briefly before glancing at you. A smile spreads across his face. “I knew it was a good idea to bring you here.” He looks like he wants to say something else, but he closes his mouth again before handing the camera back to you.

“Maybe you should hire me,” you joke, sending the picture to your phone and then sending it to him.

“Maybe I should.” His smile is warm and electrifying and luminous. He's beaming - like the Monaco behind him.

God, he's the most beautiful man in the world.

“But first -” he walks around you, staggers across the sun bed and leans forward to fish a bottle out of the basket. “But first - comes the schnapps.”

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc prompt #charles leclerc blurb #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc cute #charles leclerc x yn #charles leclerc f1 #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc fluff #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 fic

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murderousink23 · 1 year ago

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08/07/2023 is National Lighthouse Day 🇺🇲, National Raspberries N' Cream Day 🇺🇲, Purple Heart Day 💜🇺🇲

#national lighthouse day #national raspberries n' cream day #purple heart day

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doumadono · 7 months ago

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name for order: katsuki bakugo

order: cup of raspberry and mint ice cream, please!

(for the AU: just f! reader being katsukis pro hero wife. :) )

Warnings: smut w/o plot, oral (m receiving), creampie, fem!reader, established relationship

Synopsis: after a long shift, you help Katsuki relax

5k FOLLOWERS EVENT MASTERLIST MY HERO ACADEMIA

Dynamight sat on the edge of the bed, removing his costume piece by piece. His muscular chest glistened with sweat from a long day of fighting crime.

You, his loving wife and fellow prohero, couldn't help but admire his powerful physique as you watched him from the corner of the room, slowly taking off your combat boots. As a prohero yourself, you understood the challenges and stress that came with the job. You knew exactly all the stress he needed to unwind, and you were more than willing to provide it.

Slowly, you approached your hubby, your fingers tracing the lines of his muscular back. You leaned in closer, your breath hot against his ear. "I want to help you relax," you whispered, your fingers running through his short, spiky hair. "You worked hard today," your lips brushed slowly against his nape.

Bakugo tensed for a moment before relaxing into your touch after a cold shiver ran down his spine. "I'm tired but fine," he rasped.

Smiling, you began to massage his shoulders, your fingers working expertly on the knots and tension built up from a long day of hero work. "Don't worry, darling, I'll take care of everything. You just focus on relaxing, okay?"

Bakugo let out a low groan, his eyes closing in pleasure. You continued your ministrations, moving down his back and to his toned arms. As you worked on his muscles, Bakugo's breathing became heavier, and you could see the bulge growing in his pants. Smirking, you decided it was time to take things to the next level. You knelt down in front of him, your hands moving to the waistband of his pants. Looking up at him, you asked, "May I?"

Bakugo's only response was a low growl, and that was all the permission you needed.

Slowly, you opened his zipper, and fished his partially hard cock.

Bakugo's eyes were closed, his mouth slightly open as he let out a soft moan.

You took his cock in your hand, feeling its heat and its weight. Leaning forward, you ran your tongue along the length of his shaft, causing Bakugo to let out a loud groan. You took your time, teasing him with your tongue and lips. You licked and sucked on his cock, your hands massaging his balls and resting against his thighs whenever you needed support. You bobbed your head up and down, your mouth working his cock expertly.

Katsuki's hands tangled in your hair, his hips thrusting gently, his cock sliding in and out of your mouth at a steady pace. "You're so fucking gorgeous," he claimed. "I love seeing you on your knees, just for me."

You could hear the wet sounds of your lips wrapped tightly around your husband's shaft and his very heavy breathing filling the room.

"Fuck," Bakugo groaned, his hands gripping the sheets. "I'm gonna cum," he warned, his voice strained.

You responded by sucking harder, your hand moving faster.

Katsuki let out a loud groan as he came, his cum filling your mouth.

As a good girl you were, you drank it all, your throat flexing as you swallowed every last drop. Then, you stood up and swiftly removed your own uniform, then slid Bakugo's uniform pants down his legs to keep them from getting dirty.

Bakugo watched you with half-closed eyes, his gaze filled with desire and hunger, tinged with a hint of fatigue. "You're fucking beautiful, Y/N," he stated with his raspy voice, and his cock twitched, quickly getting hard again. His stamina never failed to impress you.

You mounted his lap, your pussy hovering just above his erection.

Katsuki's hands guided you down onto him, his cock sliding easily into your wetness.

"Fuck!" You moaned with pleasure when he filled you completely, your hips rocking against him as you began to ride him. "My handsome husband," you whispered against his lips. "I love you."

Katsuki's hands gripped your hips tightly enough you could be sure he left bruises there, guiding your movements as you rode him harder and faster. "I love you too, princess," he panted before gasps of ecstasy.

You could feel his cock hitting all the right spots, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. Your breasts pressed against his sweaty chest as you kissed him deeply after leaning forward.

Katsuki's hands moved to your ass, squeezing and massaging it as you continued to ride him like there was no tomorrow.

Your orgasm was building fast, and you could feel Katsuki's getting closer too.

His fingers found your clit, rubbing it as you came, screaming his name. You could feel Katsuki's cock pulsing inside you as he reached his own climax as well, emptying his balls deep inside your wetness. "Fuck," he grunted lowly, giving your ass a rough slap.

You gradually ceased your movements, allowing him to remain nestled within your drenched pussy as you shared a slow, lingering kiss. "I suppose we both could use a shower. Today's patrol was quite demanding, after all."

Bakugo's hands gripped the meat of your ass firmly. "Yeah, just don't think you can just have your way with me that easily. Now it's your turn to relax. A shower sounds like a great idea though."

#bakugou smut #bakugou #katsuki bakugou #bakugo x reader smut #mha bakugou #bakugou x y/n #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #bnha bakugou #mha smut #bnha smut #bakugou x fem!reader #bakugo smut #bakugou scenarios #bakugo scenarios #bakugo x reader #anime smut #bakugou x you #bakugo katsuki

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artyandink · 5 months ago

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that’s my man (and my woman)

Summary: Your kids are curious little buggers. Asking questions about everything and anything under the sun. So there comes the complications of when your kids ask you if you’ve fallen in love before. How will you explain everything? Time to put your imagination to use.

A/N - I’ve been putting out a lot of sexy fics recently. Why not some fluff?

Song Inspo: Style - Taylor Swift and Perfect - Ed Sheeran

It took so long just to get two human beings to eat breakfast.

“Charlie, Sam, breakfast!” You called up the stairs, sighing after you did. Your hands were on your hips in true mom fashion, and disbelief and faux-regret was your adrenaline high this time as you wondered why exactly you had kids. That you loved to death despite their poor eating schedule. “Come on, I made pancakes.”

The thundering of little feet on the stairs told you that you had two incoming hurricanes.

Your seven year old boy, Sam, and your five year old girl, Charlie, appeared at the bottom of the stairs with broad smiles, crashing into you for a bear hug that knocked the wind out of your sails. You laughed as you hugged them back, giving a few pats of their head each. “Hey, there. Ready for breakfast?”

“Is there syrup?” Charlie asked eagerly, running and hopping into a high chair, grabbing her plate of pancakes and bringing it to her with a familiar lick of her lips and happy, twitchy grin. Sam had gotten his father’s hair, while Charlie had gotten yours. But the eyes were swapped around, and it was always a point of laughing. Not one child could be more like one or the other.

Arguably, both kids had their father’s dimples and smile. So yes, he could stake his claim.

“And whipped cream?” Sam added with a toothy grin.

“Raspberries?”

“Blueberries?”

You shook your head with a chuckle; such chatterboxes. You opened the fridge and a cabinet, getting out the maple syrup, whipped cream and strawberries. “Not too much, ok?” You passed the toppings to them, and with a chorused ‘yes, mom’, they proceeded to completely disregard your orders. It made you shake your head again, huffing out a breath when all sense of scolding them disappeared once you saw the golden morning light hitting their little heads as they squealed and laughed.

Kids. You loved them to bits.

“Mom,” Charlie asked through a bite of pancake and whipped cream that smeared over her mouth, “have you ever loved someone before?”

The question startled you slightly, but you grabbed a kitchen towel, cleaning her lips with a soft smile as she shied away with a shriek of delight, little bunches waving about wildly. “Course I have, sweetie. But only once.”

“Ooh, tell me, tell me!” She giggled, while Sam cringed a little, muttering a small ‘gross’ that got a sharp glare and pout from Charlie. Out of care for his little sister, he shut himself up.

You took a slow breath in to give yourself time to think, leaning on the counter and putting down the paper towel. “Well, it started a long time ago. When I was twenty six, all young.”

“That’s old.” Sam wrinkled his nose in confusion. You scoffed lightly, because it damn wasn’t, but he was just a kid.

“Behave, Samuel.” You ruffled his hair with a laugh. “We met at my old job. 4th October, 2006. He had his brother with him. Now, I thought he was trouble. He had a leather jacket and one of those really fancy, loud cars and he was very popular with girls.” You reached out to tickle Charlie’s side, which had her squeaking. “But he was likeable, and charming, so I wanted to bump into him more often.”

“Was he cool?” Sam perked up, suddenly very interested. “He sounds cool.”

You pinched his chin affectionately. “The coolest. But our job was very tiring. We went through a lot of big stuff, like I told you in your bedtime stories. There would be vampires and werewolves and fairies of all kinds, but he and I would always save the day. And if we didn’t, we’d save the next day.”

“You saved the world!” Charlie exclaimed, making an aeroplane with a pancake bite on her fork. The action sent a flutter of warmth and love through your chest. For your family. Something you thought you’d never have.

You nodded, guiding the bite to her mouth gently before your hyperactive child sent the fork flying. “That’s right, gumdrop. We saved the world.” It was like telling a story, of you and your prince. “I couldn’t help but love him. He’d call me sweetheart and hold me tight. He’d look at me with a wide smile on his face, just for me. And he told me I was the one he was looking for.”

“That’s corny.” Sam piped up, but he also had a wide, goofy, dimpled grin on his face. He leaned forward. “So, where is he now? Did you two leave each other?”

“Well, he-” The sound of the door opening and closing echoed through the house, followed by soft padding steps and heavier ones not so far behind.

“Sweetheart, I’m home!” A familiar voice called, the deep one which always had your stomach doing flips. That you heard murmuring sweet nothings in your ear every damn day. “C’mon Miracle, stay still- attaboy. Such a good boy.”

“That would be your father.” You sighed, not in a disappointed way, but a lovesick teenager way because hearing the word ‘sweetheart’ from your husband’s mouth never got old.

Your husband. Damn, you didn’t think you’d make it to that point. Not when Chuck was still a threat. Or even that rebar that Jack saved him from.

Your kids shrieked happily and practically flew off their high chairs, sprinting towards their dad, who was busy taking off his jacket in the hallway.

Dean Winchester. All 6’ 1” of flannel and denim, but this time with burden-free smiles and lit up looks.

When he saw his two munchkins, the jacket was off in a flash and he’d bent to one knee in order to absorb the impact of two koala hugs. “Aw, hey, squirt number one and two. Hope you didn’t give your mom much trouble.”

It felt so much better than the impact of a punch. Indescribably better.

“Dad!” The two giggled at the same time, accepting two kisses on the forehead each while being smothered by their dad’s strong arms. Warm and comforting and no longer instruments of destruction.

They’d always be somewhat like that, Dean thought in the back of his mind. The seed of doubt sowing in again.

Then Dean saw you in the hallway, and his brain forgot to work, doubts forgot to sow and crept into the dark corner it came from. You, his wife (he never got tired of the way that word rolled off his tongue), Mrs Winchester, standing there all pretty looking at him with those eyes of yours that always saw through his crap and often jackassery.

Dressed up in his undershirt, your sweats with the last few winks of sleep yet to go from your eyes, but still working yourself to the bone to make sure your kids had a good meal. A far cry of the days where he’d look up, see you covered in blood that wasn’t yours, adrenaline-pumped with that sexy fire in your eyes, machete in hand instead of that ring he bought around your finger.

He preferred this look on you. It meant you were safe.

Dean watched as you gave Miracle an idle scratch before ushering the kids into the kitchen, then walking up to him and wrapping those gorgeous arms around his neck, gorgeous eyes twinkling and your gorgeous lips stretched into a smile.

The whole nine yards, apple pie and picket fence of gorgeous and it was all his. All his personal heaven.

“Mrs Winchester.” He murmured, nudging your nose with his as his arms circled your waist, drawing you in and gripping your hips with both underlying possessiveness and a tender glow in those emerald eyes. Your soul soaring and low, warm vibrations in your body increasing until it was at the frequency of his. Syncing you both.

“Mr Winchester.” You giggled softly as you let your lips meet his once, pulling back. Then you couldn’t help yourself, letting them meet in holy matrimony again. And again. And again, over and over until you were both mentally and physically restraining yourselves due to your children being in the next room.

“We have to stop.” Dean chuckled, his hand tangling in your hair as the other inched down from its place on your hip, taking yet another hit of your honeyed lips.

“We do.” You whispered back, meeting his ministrations with the slow massage of your thumb against his scalp from where your fingers ran through his hair, your other hand on his chest.

Over his heart.

“Hard to when y’looking so pretty, darlin’, and you know it.” He huffed, nuzzling your nose before dipping to press a slow, hot kiss to your jugular. “Wearin’ my shirt too, hardens the bargain. And these sweats, god, you know what they do for your ass.” As if to punctuate his point (and sentence), he gave a quick, firm slap to it. “Ain’t makin’ it easy for me here, baby.”

“Dean!” You squeaked, giggling. “Our kids are in the kitchen.”

“Lil’ buggers. My sex drive’s arch nemesis.” He groaned against your neck, but listened anyway, taking his hand off your ass and cupping your cheeks, pressing a loving kiss to your forehead, then hairline. “C’mon.” You two made your way to the kitchen, where Miracle then padded over, rearing on his hind legs to paw at Dean’s jeans for attention. He obliged, bending down to ruffle Miracle’s golden coat.

“Hey, boy.” He whispered, fingers doing good work to give Miracle the love he was whining for. “I love you a lot, ok? But I’ve got a wife, a very sweet, very sexy…” Dean gave you a once over with a lick of his lip and a quick bite of the bottom one, “wife. And I wanna get her in bed today, so don’t ruin this one for me. All respect given. Alright?”

A small whimper of affirmation.

“Attaboy.” Dean gave Miracle a quick scratch behind the ear before straightening up.

“C’mon, mom, tell us what happened to the cool guy!” Sam insisted, which had Dean raising an eyebrow at you in question. Cool guy? Who, what, when, where, how, why?

“Yeah, the one that stole your heart and put rainbows in your eyes!” Charlie added, making a heart with her tiny hands.

Dean smirked, leaning against the counter by his hip. “Oh? Who stole your heart and put rainbows in your eyes, honey? Do tell.”

“First of all, I did not say that.” You chuckled, raising a finger.

“You don’t have to. It’s all here.” Charlie pointed to her own eyes with an intense stare at her finger and a cute pout. It almost had you melting. “But tell us!”

“Oh, fine.” You rolled your eyes playfully with a laugh, then took Dean’s hand and kissed the battle-scarred knuckle.

The gesture making Dean internally melt and externally making his eyes fill up with hearts and his lips twitch into a warm smile.

“I married him.” You said softly, your eyes mirroring the same look.

“Damn right.” He chuckled, leaning forward and meeting your lips in a sweet, slow kiss. Free from the stress of an Apocalypse or a battle. That tasted like coffee and toothpaste rather than beer or whiskey and had no rush. His hand cradling your cheek while yours gently cupped the back of his head. Breathing in his body wash that wasn’t low grade anymore. You still had the unlimited credit cards, so you had more time for things like these. The little things.

You became absorbed in everything Dean, the kiss not as passionate as when he’d dipped you and took your breath away in front of a crowd of hunters on your wedding day but still had the same meaning. The whispers of the vows you two had choked out through tears. He became absorbed in you, in the sweet taste of a croissant on your tongue and your floral scent dizzying and overwhelming his senses in a good way. It was you he was feeling. It felt like you, so real, so safe. It felt like home.

“Ewwww!” You were interrupted by Sam and Charlie, and you broke apart, foreheads pressing together with a soft laugh coming from the both of you.

His hand on your waist, yours carding through his hair. Comfort, assurance, something you both had been deprived of for fifteen straight years. You wouldn’t let being Mrs Winchester go. Not now, not ever.

Mrs Winchester. Never got old.

I’d appreciate a like, comment and/or reblog! Make sure to do this for all your favourite writers so they get inspiration!

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#dean winchester #supernatural #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #spn #dean winchester x you #spn masterlist #dean x you #dean winchester fluff

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shojizbae · 7 months ago

Text

Too Sweet

Spencer Reid x reader

It was no secret to the team that you had a sweet tooth. Anytime you walked past an ice cream shop, your eyes lit up with unbridled joy. After a hard case, you always came into the bullpen with a box of sweets. Donuts if you solved a case under five days, Hush Puppies if there was a fallen family, or maybe some Snickerdoodles if there was arson. They were always the same pink bakery boxes with a cellophane window.

Today was no different.

"Good morning!" you signed songed as you skipped into the bullpen and too the right to the kitchen.

"What treats have you cooked up today mama?" Derek rubs his hands as he closes in on the kitchenette

"Oooh, sweets!" Emily smiles and skips over to the counter

"They're macarons."

"Ugh, those nasty almond cookies." JJ giggles as she snoops around the box

"No those are macaroons." I correct and hold a raspberry-pink macron at her. She bites it playfully out of my hand and laughs with me. She wipes the extra creme out of the corner of her lip and thanks me.

"Woah those are delicious." she goes back to her office.

"What diabetes are you giving us today." Hotch tosses a file on the counter as he walks by.

"Pistachio, raspberry, or lemon?" I smack Emily's greedy hand away as he goes back for a fourth and fifth.

"Pistachio." He leans back to look in the box "Those look professional."

"That's what happens when you have an existential crisis and take a baking course while completing your doctorate and feel like no man would ever want to marry a woman with more degrees than 'wifely skills'." You rattle mindlessly

"Well, that was our daily depressing moment of (Y/n)!" Derek chides like a sports announcer.

"Where's Reid?"

"An that's our daily 'first Spencer question' being the tally!" Emily holds a ghost microphone up.

"C'mon,"I put my hands on the counter and leans my hips forward, "I'm not as obsessed as you think I am."

"Oh, just only a little." Emily placates. The two return to their desks to grind through the many stacks of folders. I picked up the box and reorganized the disheveled cookies. I sauntered over to his hunched back. Dr. Reid, my work husband, was mangled over his desk scratching down details of a past case on a legal pad. I sit on the right side of his corner-shaped desk.

"Good Morning Spencer," I chide. He jumps slightly with the high timbre of my voice.

"Uh good morning Agent (L/n)," He clears his throat a few times.

"I made macrons," I held up the box "Would you like one? I made some with lemon, pistachio, and raspberry. Take your pick." I brandish the box once again.

"That's alright I haven't had any real breakfast yet."

"op how about some fake breakfast?" I pick up a light yellow circle and shake it twice in my hand.

"No that's really ok," but before he can protest I force half the cookie past his lips and all that he can mutter out is a disgruntled, mouth-filled groan.

"Did that taste real to you?" He sassily holds up a finger as he chews and swallows.

"That was rude." He states but takes the second half of the treat from my hand and finishes it off. A bit of the filling slings to his lips and I slide my thumb over it

"You've got a little something-" My speech is caught when his brown eyes meet mine. He looks nice below me. His eyelashes are thick but his eye bags drown out his cool amber eyes.

"Sorry," I clear my throat and lean back on the desk. "Would you like some more?"

"Yeah, can I have the pistachio one?" He rolls around on his chair. He takes a bite of the cream-filled delectable. "Woah you have a real knack for this. It's like all the ingredients want to be together. It just takes you to make things right." He gives me that dorky smile and I lose all sense of restraint. I dive in and hold his chin while I kiss him. I pull back with the fear that I stepped out of bounds.

"Come here." He tentatively holds my jaw and his kiss is much nicer than mine. He releases me and I scan between each of his eyes. "You had a little something."

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #baking

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princesssmars · 7 months ago

Text

i'd love just about anyone, so why was it you?

a victoria neuman x reader

your talent for singing is finally starting to take you places in the city of lights. so why did it have to introduce you to a woman who might ruin it all?

wc : 10.248

contains : fxf relationship. readers hair and skin aren't described. fluff. angst.nsfw including sex and language. the french. barely proof-read.

a/n : i cant believe there are no fics for this fine ass woman yet but i am nothing but a pioneer idk. in my daydreams this was like mafia au victoria but i literally never write or dream of those so i opted out lmao. go watch gen v. everyone always talks about how good the cover is but nonante-cinq by angele is a beautiful album so i recommend listening to that for french vibes. enjoy <3

it was the most stereotypical and overplayed song ever, but damn did you love la vie en rose.

just the concept of the song was romantic to you. to live every day like it would be magnificent, like you could know a day would be your last and look back at it and not regret a single thing. it meant looking at the world with a positivity that these days was mostly faked or artificial.

after the life you've lived, the things you've seen firsthand, you need that positive light in your life more than anything else. especially right now, as your manager is hounding you over the phone about your next gig.

now you loved your manager, nancy, you really did. she took you in and was honest when no one else would be, stood by you when no one else wanted to give you a real chance. but sometimes it felt like she didn't really believe in you. obviously, she believed you had talent, or else she would have 'left you in the dust for the rats to pick apart,' in her own words. it was almost like she couldn't fathom that what you had was real, like you didn't truly deserve all the things that were coming to you.

but as long as you were paying her, she didn't bother to speak up on it.

you were listening to her drone on and on into the speaker from your phone, holding the object up to your ear with one hand as you hold a menu to order something from the cafe waitress who's waiting beside you.

"ill have an uhhhh... le marie antoinette, and a coffee with sugar and cream please," you hand the menu to the waitress after she writes down your order, heading back into the cafe with a smile. this cafe was one of your favorites, nestled below an apartment building in one of the inner city arrondissements so you could sit outside beneath an umbrella and admire the city before you. "nancy, i don't see why i can't just...politely turn it down? it sounds like it's a glorified pin-up girl gig, le bellevilloise is offering for me to sing there exclusively for three months-"

"no, that's what im trying to tell you if you'd let me finish." you can hear nancy's telltale sigh through the phone. she had a short temper when she was stressed, something you sadly had in common, and you could hear her clicking a pen through the receiver. "this is an international gala slash fundraiser, attended by the one percent of the one percent. billionaires, senators, diplomats, everything. the event organizer asked for you specifically, so turning it down is a bad look. aka, you're doing it. go out and get a pretty dress. ill send you more details later."

the phone shut off and you let out a huff of air, crossing your right leg over your left beneath the table. once you have your meal and bite into your pastry you can't help but close your eyes at how good it tastes; the combination of the crunch of the macarons, the near-overwhelming sweetness of the cream, and the savory juice that leaks from the raspberries never gets old.

you don't know how you feel about this whole gala thing. sure its a great way to make connections and earn a fat stack of cash that will probably last you few weeks, but you've learned before that the people that you most admire, celebrities, politicians, even superheroes, can't be trusted. and being in a room full of them to perform wasn't at the top of your christmas wish list.

but like everyone else in the world, you were finding money hard to pass up on. just by the lowball nancy told you, you'd be able to comfortably pay the next month's rent and fix up your electric scooter, maybe even enough to save up for that beautiful flat you saw online with the grand windows and nice floor plan.

it'd only be a few hours of singing and kissing up to a bunch of snobs and you'd be done. easy peasy.

finding a dress wasn't to hard. your modeling connections from before you started to focus on singing gave you access to a few, good quality clearance pieces for your picking. you figure that the people you were performing for would prefer something classy and elegant, so you picked out a sleeveless black dress with black opera gloves, accessorized by a diamond necklace and earrings. one of your stylist friends, alex, who you asked to help do up your hair told you 'you're definitely gonna shag a rich man looking like this, just ask them if they have any friends for me!' and after a quick 'please don't wish that upon me' and a spritz of perfume you were ready.

the hours before you got on stage were nothing short of both nerve-racking but exhilarating. you rode in a standard taxi, your slight jitters noticed by the slightly balding man in the front. he eyes you pretty oddly when you got in the car before using you if you were a model, telling you that his daughter would like an autograph if you were. you felt slightly flustered when you had to tell him you weren't, but gave him some tips to tell his daughter if she wanted to pursue it. after around twenty minutes of driving through the city the car stops and you're escorted by a crew member into a grand building, those types you pass by and dream of getting the chance just to step into.

after that its a rush of meeting the event planner who gives you another run down of the evening and then meeting with the band members, a nice group of jazz players who you had heard about on the news for their blends of old and new methods of performing music. they played you a piece on their instruments in their dressing room, and it felt like hanging out with old friends listening to tunes as one twirled you around and the others laughed and the air felt warm and fuzzy.

later its time for your set, where you'll sing as the guests come in and take occasional breaks to save your breath and let whoever is hosting this talk. so you get up on your mini stage, make sure you look alright and you're in tune with the band, and then you do what you do best.

you've never felt better than how you do while you sing. every time you do so you tell a story, tales of success and tragedy and love and heartache. while you sing your favorite thing to do is to admire the crowd. when you were younger it gave you horrible stage fright, but as you grew up and saw just how much people loved your voice it made you confident, if not the tiniest bit narcissistic.

as you look out at the guests of tonight you see what's expected. important and powerful men donned in suits, their wives standing on their arms in glamourous gowns, you swear that you even see some fairly famous celebs in the mix, and they were all listening intently to you and your voice.

and that's when you saw her. near the back of the room with a glass of red wine in her hand, dark hair flowing over her shoulders, and darker eyes trained on you. in this profession you get used to people staring at you for hours on end, but something about this woman unnerves you slightly.

a short while later your set is over and after a round of applause the organizer tells you to enjoy yourselves, and that you're free to indulge in whatever food is left. after a brief touch-up in the dressing room and making sure you look presentable, you head out to get yourself something to eat. you keep getting stopped by people telling you how beautiful your performance was, how they'd love to get in contact with your agent to book you for future events, and your regular dose of creepy old guys hitting on you. but besides that things were going pretty well.

some servers were waking around with trays of champagne, but you figured since everything was complimentary you would treat yourself to something stronger. you head to the bar and order yourself a strong cocktail, and as soon as you finish your order a figure sits on the stool next to yours.

"get me a scotch on the rocks, thanks."

you glance at them from the corner of your eye and feel your heart beat faster when you see

it's the woman from before. from this close distance, you can admire her entirely, and god is she gorgeous. she looks so put together, not a hair out of place, and wearing a perfectly tailored suit that makes you guess she's some kind of wealthy businesswoman.

after not so secretly checking her out, she turns her body towards you and looks at you with a smile.

"im sure you already know, but you have an enchanting voice."

you look down bashfully, thinking the same about her. she speaks like she's so sure of what she's saying like there's no room for debate or argument.

"thank you. no matter if i know or not, it doesn't take much to make me a little nervous every time i perform."

the bartender brings over both of your drinks and she tilts hers to you.

"trust me, theres no need. you're nothing but a natural, one of the best singers i've ever heard."

"ah, now you're exaggerating. is there a reason you're complimenting me like you're being paid to do so?"

she shakes her head, setting down her glass of liquor with a clink. "not anything nefarious, if that's what you're thinking. just glad i get to talk to a beautifully talented woman."

jeez, she was laying it on thick. normally this was coming from some fifty-year-old man with greasy skin and weird teeth, but it felt nice coming from her. she was obviously gorgeous, leaving her body language open in case you wanted to decline and she would walk away in a moment's notice.

"im glad i get to talk to you too, miss?"

"victoria. its a pleasure to talk to you, miss y/n."

for around an hour or two the both of you sat at that bar, blocking out the fake laughs of investors and boisterous noises of people who got a little too friendly with the free champagne. she was so attentive to you. asking about what got you into singing and what brought you to paris by your non-native accent. you normally kept the finer details of your past a close-guarded secret, but you figured there couldn't come any harm from telling this attractive stranger a few things about yourself before never seeing her again.

"you're telling me at only sixteen years old, you flew to paris by yourself and made a living for yourself? you've got balls on you, sister."

"yeah yeah, but im nothing special. i just got tired of all the bullshit in the u.s., y'know? the greed, the cynicism, the-"

"superhero bullshit?"

you giggled while she smirked, observing your smile and how it made your eyes squinch.

"well i wouldn't put it like that but...superheros? really? its just, they make it so american, in a really really annoying way. i just couldn't deal with that being a reality. and where better than paris? it seems like voughts all but forgotten about it recently, thank god.”

"i understand. and i know we just met, but it does suit you. 'beautiful runaway finds passion, life, and love in the city of lights'. best cliche there is."

"and what a damn good cliche it is to be. although i haven't been that lucky on the love front."

her eyebrow raises and her nail traces around the rim of her glass.

"im sorry but i simply cant believe that. someone like you would have people lining up for a chance to talk to you, let alone date you."

you dryly chuckle before taking another long swig of your glass of champagne, dancing just on the edge of being intoxicated. you understood why everyone else was drinking this, it was sweet but strong.

"people have tried, of course. but sadly most of my escapades end in tragedy. very melodramatically. but enough about me, I'm guessing this isn't gonna go my way and you have someone waiting for you at home?"

"im offended you still think so low of me. but no, there was someone but it didn't work out. now its just me and my daughter."

god, she was a milf. if there was a god you prayed he would let you get lucky tonight.

"well, im sorry to hear it didnt work out."

"are you really?"

she looks at you with a smirk on her face.

"no, im not."

that was all she needed to ask you to come back with her to her hotel.

and not just any hotel, she was rich enough to be spending two weeks in the damn ritz. asking again what she did for a living didn't get you very far, the only hint you got being that it helped her change the world. ominous but whatever. it had to be legitimate if she was invited to that gala.

the cautious and common sense side of you is snuffed out for the night the moment she set her hand over the covered skin of your thigh in the car, the feeling of her hand on your lower back leading you through the pristine lobby of the hotel, that same hand helping you take off your dress and take you apart slowly over the rest of the night.

when you wake up the sun is peeking through the curtains, the softness of the sheets your laying on calling you back to sleep before you get up and look around.

you only got a few seconds to admire the room last night before victoria was on you, and now in the light of day you could truly take everything in. you find a note left by the woman, letting you know she had to leave temporarily for an important job thing and that she'd be back my lunch, inviting you to call up room service and enjoy the room intil then.

you were expecting for her to tell you to pack your shit up and go, so despite the oddness this was a nice surprise. besides, there was no way you were gonna pass up on ordering a five-star breakfast you didnt have to pay for.

after indulging in a meal brought by room service and finding ways to pass the time, you text your manager after she happily lets you know that your night was a success and that your payment should be cleared shortly. while you're in the middle of wondering if you should answer her query about the host wondering where you wandered off to last night, the sound of a door opening makes your head jerk towards the small entry area, victoria coming in through the doorway dressed in a tan suit and carrying a large black briefcase on her arm.

"ah, youre still here!,” she sets her bag on a glass table near the door and strides into the room, eyes connected with yours the whole time. you weren’t feeling nervous before, but under her gaze you wonder if maybe you should have taken that free meal along with some tiny soaps from the bathroom and headed back home.

“yeah, figured i’d stick around for whatever. besides, i had to stay and blame you for my manager thinking i got kidnapped.”

“i’ll make sure to apologize and send her an edible arrangement. besides, i hope to take up more of your time in the future.”

your eyes bulge so hard you’re sure you look like a moron. you cover it up by getting up to get yourself another cup of coffe from the tray the food came in on.

“well i should’ve guessed this was more than a one night stand when you allowed me to order up breakfast. but now i have to admit i’m slightly scared you’re actually plotting to traffick me.”

"trust me, that wouldn't be good for business. id just like to see you some more, if that would be alright with you.

was that an actual question? after the night you had and the way she’s been treating you, you didn’t see much of a choice except to say yes.

she tells you that a few hours later she has a flight back to america, but that she wouldn't mind spending the day with you if you're free. you agree to get a little bite to eat and it turns into a whirlwind day of showing her around the city you call your home. she has to wear giant sunglasses the whole time and have a mysterious security detail not too far behind, but you wouldn't change anything about it.

at the end of it all, she bids you goodbye in front of your taxi, admiring the cute outfit she bought for you so you wouldn't have to go home in your dress from the night prior, promising that she'll keep in touch with you once she gets settled in back a new york, jokingly telling you she'll send you a postcard. as you sit in the back of the taxi, your heart inflates a little as you take in the events of the last day. you never liked to mix business with pleasure in this way, partly because most of those business people were gross perverts and also that it could damage your career beyond repair, but with victoria you can't help but think that it was worth it.

eventually, a few days pass by, and the only calls you've gotten are from friends congratulating on what they heard was another great performance. and as nice as all the praise and the new gigs you started to get felt, the longer you heard no word back from victoria, it started to eat away at you inside.

back at your favorite cafe you sit with two of your oldest friends, jamie and chloe, as they ramble about the details of their changing lives and jobs. you don't know when you zoned out but eventually, chloe's manicured finger lightly pokes at your cheek, giggling when you make a playful motion to bite it.

"where'd you go just now? take me with you before jamie keeps talking about his new lover."

"hey!" jamie pouts, "you're just jealous because i've been regularly having passionate sex allll night long while you're still vying over your boss." you hear a shocked gasp behind him and you all turn to see an elderly couple looking at jamie like he's said the most blasphemous thing they've ever heard.

"really classy, james." you snort.

"what the hell! you're supposed to be on my side! everyone has noticed how you've been in a better mood since that gala. alex told us how they checked up on you afterwise and you showed up a day later with a new outfit and a hickey on your neck."

"that is- god, that’s so intrusive and so like them,” you rolled your eyes. you knew as soon as alex saw you that morning that they’d be gossiping to everyone about the state they saw you in. “and i don’t kiss and tell like that. at least not in public like this.”

“ok, so we’ll stop by your place tonight with some wine and talk all about it tonight. agree?”

“what? no-”

“agree!” chloe beams and shakes hands with jamie across the table, blowing you kisses before leaving her share of the bill on the table and leaving with some excuse of having to be somewhere. you glare at jamie as a warning before he gives you a kiss on the cheek and does the same. you grumble before biting into your muffin.

a few hours later you’re sitting on your soft sofa with jamie’s head in your lap and chloe on the other side, talking and laughing about old stories from your jobs. you take a sip of merlot right before jamie brings up what you were hoping they’d forgotten about by now.

“ok ok, enough chatter. seriously, chlo, you cackle like a seagull. y/n, when are you going to tell us about this mystery lover of yours? do you need another glass of wine to start talking?”

“don’t even think about pouring me another glass. look, there’s not much to say, ok? i was singing, she was staring at me from across the bar, we flirted a little, that was it!”

they stared.

“you want more?”

“how could we not? we haven’t seen you like this with anyone! not since we took you on that tourist tour on the seine!”

that…that took you for a spin. you remembered it clear as day, them tugging you along when they’d heard since you came to paris you’d been focusing on building up your image and working. it was more a joke, but the lights of the boat, the sky and the lights made you feel like you were in the most perfect moment of your life. hearing them compare that to how you looked now had a nervous feeling building in your gut.

“we spent the night together. and it was…good. really good. she let me stay while she went out, bought me a new outfit then said she’d be in touch.”

your friends are silent. way too silent. you’re afraid they’re about to laugh and judge you before they’re squealing and tackling you, pulling back when you groan after you almost spill your wine on your clothes.

"god, why are you always the lucky one? this isn't fair! at all!" chloe groans while dramatically resting her head on your shoulder, jamie still giggling as the wine clearly starts to take an effect on him. "please, please tell us what happens next before i scream."

"no thats- i mean, thats it. so far. for now." you stutter along your words as your friends' faces go blank yet again, except this time without a hint of a chuckle or smile.

"what the hell do you mean 'that's it.'? she ghosted you?" jamie gasps.

"no, she didnt ghost me-"

"sweetheart, im sorry to say this but you have been ghosted. in a really dickhead way."

"its not like that! she's a busy person with a serious job and a kid and responsibilities!"

you briefly hear chloe snicker "milf?" before you roll your eyes.

"she's gonna contact me. and even if she doesn't, maybe it was just a nice one-time thing! everyone knows I'm great at those."

jamie snickers before chloe smacks his shoulder in a second.

"why? why did you laugh?"

they share a look before she smacks his shoulder again.

"would you stop? i have pains, you know this. but y/n, we know you. we love you. but your latest stints haven't been...the most successful. or left you in the best headspaces."

"he's right, honey. remember the last girl, hannah? one of the worst situationships i've ever seen. you told us you would be alright when she broke it off and then we found you at that lousy bar at eleven in the morning..."

you start biting at your lip. there was nothing you hated more than when they told you the truth about how you could act. it wasn't your fault that all the time your relationships got messy, or that you got attached a little quickly. people didn't understand but a life like yours could be lonely. standing up on a stage and performing for people who want you to do just that and only that: sing and look like a glamourous pin-up doll. most of the time its the other performers who even bother to ask if your throat is alright after singing for hours.

so yes, sometimes you rushed into relationships. and you might have done it again in the dumbest way possible.

"i just...she let me stay after, y'know? and she came back and brought me with her again. why go through that effort just to leave me behind like trash?" your friends pouted before closing in to comfort you, rubbing your back and giving you small affirmations.

for a month you go into a rut. unless it's performing or going to the dentist for a checkup you don't leave your house. you become pretty good acquaintances with the grocery delivery boy, benny, who started panicking when he realized he forgot one of your items until you assured him it was fine. it wasn't the first time you'd grown so oddly attached to a romantic prospect, and it wasn't the first time you'd gotten hurt by it. you spend your time moping on your couch and binge-watching your favorite show for the third time when your phone buzzes from beside you.

nancy schmancy : call me.

you rolled your eyes. she could have just called you in the first place, but no. she had to be extra about it. you press the call button and don't have to wait even five seconds for her voice to ring in your ear.

"do you want to know what mister barbier just emailed me?"

"i think you already have that answer for me."

"he said, and i quote, 'tell y/n i send my best wishes. her performance last night was hauntingly beautiful, and i'm hoping it was one of her greatest acts yet.'"

"if you ask me, it sounds like i did a pretty good job."

"it sounds like he thought you were singing your damn suicide note!" she groaned, and you could hear her face scrunching from over the phone. "i don't know what is going on with you recently, and i don't want to sound insensitive, but if you can't manage to keep your work and personal life separate, even i can't help you make it far in this business. clients may say they want you to be expressive but they only mean so far. unhappy music means unhappy customers, capeche?"

"i understand, nancy. ill send a personal apology to mister barbier."

"good. ill call you soon to let you know about any new gigs. take care of yourself. seriously."

the line clicks and you toss your phone onto the couch and take another sip of sauvignon blanc from your rose-shaped wine glass. it pained you to admit it, but nancy had a point. if you kept letting yourself mope in your feelings you'd run out of people who wanted you to sing, and if the point came where you were out of gigs...you didn't even want to think about it. if you weren't singing you weren't living.

only a few hours after that call you manage to get back to normal. you go out and get your own groceries, deciding to indulge yourself and buy the ingredients for some recipe you saw online months ago. one of your clients cries at your performance, ecstatically telling you they'll be in talks with your manager to set up a stable contract. things really start to look up. two weeks later you even manage to get the number of a cute girl, elise, a tall woman with dyed hair who reached for the same vintage music box as you at an open market.

you're smiling as you look down at the messy ink on a slip of paper, the numbers and tiny smily face distracting you as you enter the hallway to your apartment. so distracted that you nearly trip over a object on the floor, looking down to see...a bouquet?

a really gorgeous bouquet you notice as you bend over to pick it up. its a collage of dusty blues and off-colored ivories, and when you brought it closer to your nose for a whiff you felt a sense of bliss. you bring it into your apartment with a skip in your step before you spot a piece of paper among the flowers, plucking it from the collection and reading it over.

upon closer inspection, you can see its a postcard, the cover a flattering shot of the statue of liberty with text that reads "love from new york city!". you try to calm your heart down at the location and the 'love' part, but you've already gotten your hopes up when you turn the card around to read the message:

xxx-xxx-xxxx

sorry for the wait. i'll make it up to you, angel.

you'd never felt so conflicted as you did in the past five seconds. half of you was vindicated that yes, this attractive woman didnt leave you high and dry and did actually have a deeper interest in you, but the other part was angry. and embarrassed that you were angry, because again, you spent less than a day with this woman, she didn't owe you anything. but also yes the hell she did.

before you could get yourself together you were harshly tapping the number into your cell, biting at your lip as the phone slowly rings.

"y/n, is that you?" echoes from the line, victorias voice sounding and running over your head like soft silk. no, no, stop it. focus.

"howd you know it was me? im sure you have other people who'd be calling you this late."

"certainly not anyone with a phone number from paris. besides, i was hoping it'd be you."

"well, i would have been flattered two weeks ago but unfortunately i dont think your words could phase me right now."

she sighs and the line goes silent. you feel bad for being catty for a few seconds before you brush it off. she's the one who played with your emotions and promised to call you but never did. she had this coming.

"im sorry, really i am. i've been busy with things at work and my daughter-"

damn it, she pulled the kid card again.

"i just...dont like being lied to. or led on. maybe its my fault for beeing too clingy-"

"no, no. dont apologize. if it means anything youve been on my mind for weeks now."

"yeah, same here. except my thoughts havent been all that nice." you laugh.

"deserved. and id like to make it up to you."

"oh yeah? let me guess, this time we'll spend two nights together?"

"close. how about two weeks. in new york."

you don't know if you should laugh. you feel like you should, so you do. but she isn't.

"you...you're being serious."

"im being serious."

what do you even say? what do you even do? of course, whatever higher power there is would make your life stable and steady for the past few months then throw this in to shake you up. you really should have been expecting it, considering...

you shake yourself back to the present. victoria is still waiting on the other line, unwilling to rush you into a decision, apparently. you'd applaud her for her chivalry if you weren't so stunned.

"victoria, come on. we've only met once, and while it was nice it was brief. now you want me to upend my life and career to jet off to america? it sounds crazy."

"you make me a bit crazy, honestly. besides, you were telling me in bed you haven't been in the states since you left, i have a feeling you miss it more than you let on."

you shuffle in your spot, reminded that you're standing in your cold-ass kitchen and you haven't changed out of the outfit you wore out today. but half of your uncomfortableness is from a feeling gnawing at your chest because she's right. at this point you can barely remember the night you left your childhood home, but you know it was rushed. you wanted to forget everything.

"i think you're also forgetting that i have a blossoming career here. are you gonna pay my definitely going to be pissed off manager her wages? plus i was supposed to be first pick for this really good gig-"

"i'll pay for everything, i promise. dont forget that i have connections. in two weeks they''ll be singing you praises across the globe."

you close your eyes and take in a breath.

"can you make my ticket first class?"

one thing you didnt miss about america? just how...much everything was, all the time.

your flight was quiet. victoria didnt hesitate to book you an expensive ticket, almost taking offense to your request for a nice one and scheduling you for business class, sending you a text to get lots of rest in the ultra-luxe beds on the plane. it was probably one of the best nights sleeps you'd had in months.

when you got off the plane there were two tall escorts holding a sign with your last name on it, taking the suitcases from your hands before you could say anything and leading you into a sleek black car. a voice in the back of your head starts screaming but you ignore it. for now.

the men in the car give you some basic rundowns, how they'll constantly be hovering over you during your stay for your "protection", and that they'll be taking you to settle into a hotel until victoria makes contact, and the little voice starts freaking out again and telling you that you've slept with and are fraternizing with a mob boss. at least it's more exciting than your last few flings.

the car goes silent after that, and you put in your earbuds as you watch the city go by. you weren't from new york, but you loved watching movies set in the bustling cityscape. the buildings really are humongous, and you see so many different types of people it sets your brain on a whirlwind.

you look back down at your phone after the fifth 'the seven' advertisement in one block.

yet again you're led into a clearly extremely expensive hotel, breezing through reception before you are led to a luxuriant hotel room, the bodyguards ignoring you as you giggle and flop onto the bed, waving them off when they tell you they'll be posted outside.

the sheets feel heavenly on your skin, and with the soft sunshine from the window beaming down on you and the gentle hustle and bustle of new york outside, you think you could fall asleep in a minute. but, begrudgingly, you peel yourself form the bed and open your suitcase to start putting your clothes away before taking a quick shower in the giant bathtub.

just as you exit the shower and wrap your body in a towel, your phone starts ringing and as soon as you read the 'v' in the contact name you push answer and bring it to your ear.

"hello? vic?"

"hey, hon. eager to talk to me?"

"you called me. and 'hon'? really? we've moved to petnames already?"

"figured id start making up for those weeks with no contact. and id like to do so again tonight. i wanna bring you somewhere."

your mouth quirks up in a smile as you re-adjust the towel around your body, the phone nearly slipping from its quick placement between your phone and ear, "id really like that. i hope its out to dinner, i didnt care to eat any of the plane food."

“yes, it’s to dinner. but its up to you if you want it to be fancy or casual. i know its tacky but there’s this pretty cute french place near where i live...”

“that vaguely sounds like an invitation to your place, but ill let it slide. are you gonna pick me up or are your special agents going to escort me everywhere for the next few weeks?”

“special agents? what agents?”

a bead of water drips from your neck down your back and it feels like the tip of a knife. a pressure builds in the back of your throat and your fingers grip the fabric of your towel. “what…that’s a joke, right?”

her laughter rings in your ear and you are seconds away from hanging up the call.

“sorry, sorry. i sometimes have a weird sense of humor. you'll get used to it.”

“i doubt it.”

“and i'm hopeful. i'll let you go so you can get ready, i'll be by in under an hour.”

you hang up after a sweet goodbye and gently sit on the toilet. your brain is rushing to catch up after the conversation like your body goes on autopilot when you hear victoria's voice. its terrifying and its thrilling. and you don't know why a part of you likes the feeling.

after you brush your teeth, do some quick skincare, debate over shaving just in case, and spend twenty minutes picking out a cute outfit, you finally hear the gentle knocking on the door while you're double-checking over the content of your purse.

rushing to open the door, you're greeted with the sight of a smiling victoria, her hands tucked into the pants of her clearly expensive pinstriped pantsuit. you're admiring the look of her hair tucked back into a ponytail when she's reaching forward and pressing a soft kiss to your cheek.

"you look perfect. come on, i made us a reservation."

and it turned out to be a perfect night. she did end up taking you to the french place, allowing you to order whatever you wanted. that place was weirdly empty, only a handful of other patrons inside. you were pleased to see that the waitress was french herself, having a small chat about the customs and foods she missed while she praised the authenticity of the food at the restaurant.

only a day and you had already forgotten how forward the people back home could be, because the waitress throws a subtle look at victoria and compliments you on finding such an attractive woman. when she leaves vic just smiles.

“ok, id say at this point we’re doing pretty good with the communication thing, right?” you ask, taking a sip of the pricey wine your date ordered.

“yeah, id say that.”

you finger the rim of your glass, the nerves getting to you before you ask your question. "i want you to tell me what your job is. your actual job, not some vague ass title. you have security following gus around, so i feel like i should know."

"no, no, you're right. i just didnt wanna scare you off. or have you think differently of me once i told you." she sighs, thumbing the napkins on the table. "i work in the government. i'm a congresswoman, to be exact."

you don't doubt she's a politician for a second, because she shows no hint of nervousness at your lack of emotion.

"are you...a good congresswoman?"

"i don't really know how to answer that." she laughs.

"i'm sorry. i knew you were important enough to be at that gala, but a politician is...tricky."

she reaches across the table and lays her hand palm up, smiling when you rest yours on top of it. "look, i get it. i should have told you sooner but please understand why i didn't. i wanted to get to know you as normally as possible, without all of the press and politics in the way."

"normally as possible, huh? that includes sleeping together on the first night?"

you're trying to show your acceptance of the situation with your humor, but you can tell victoria can sense your uneasiness at the situation. here you were thinking you had found some under-the-radar millionaire to dote on you and instead, you'd roped in someone whose job was entirely in the public eye that could be put in danger at the flip of a switch.

"how about we finish up and take this back to my place? i'll tell you everything that you wanna know about me. no matter how personal."

you stare into her eyes for a few seconds and decide that she looks genuine, getting confirmation that her daughter is staying with a friend before ending your meal and following her to her place.

for the amount of money she's ready to spend on you, you're surprised to see that victoria lives in a chic but quaint townhome only a twenty-minute walk from the restaurant. she gently takes off your coat and instructs you to sit with her on the couch, pressing on a remote to turn on her fireplace.

after a few hours and two more glasses of wine, victoria had opened up to you about nearly everything in her life. the mysterious death of her birth family, being adopted by a man who helped pushed her to go into a political career, her polite but loveless marriage with her ex. she even shows you a picture of zoe that she has in her wallet, taking the chance to gush over her daughter. she seems like such a sweet girl.

maybe it's the wine or maybe it's the way vic is opening up to you so freely, but you decide to tell her more about your past. how you always wondered why you barely stuggled moving to another continent at such a young age, or the fact that you dont even remeber why you had the drive to leave your parents home in the first place. you didnt even remember the last words you said to each other.

and throughout it all she's nothing if not attentive, she doesnt ask questions unless you give her permission too, keeping her eyes on you and gently placing her hand over yours.

you feel a turning in your stomach when she moves a stray hand of hair behind your ear. you told yourself to try taking things slow this time, but your body is starting to feel fuzzy and shes looking at you like she wants to devour you.

she decides to indulge you and gently brushes her lips against yours, smiling at the way your breath staggers. your head moves forwards to finaly get her to kiss you but she jerks her head back.

"i want you to tell me what to do."

god, your stomach feels hot. this is new, but a really arousing style of new. the last time you both slept together she had taken a careful but unwavering charge, unraveling you with a steady hand a sweet smile.

"cmon just...please?"

"no. tell me what you want me to do."

you sigh and bite at your lip. "i want you to lay me down and fuck me. right now."

so she laid you down and she did. there were no words to describe how much you enjoyed that night on her couch, the way she could read your body like a book and brought you to ecstasy again and again and again...

and when you wake up a soft blanket is draped over your body, a brekfast of coffee and some crepes set in front of you.

the days after are a whirlwind. discreetly as possible victoria takes you on a tour of new york city, to more expensive restaurants and hidden jewels that most tourists skipped over.

youre lounging in your hotel room when you decide to inform your friends of how your trip is going. while slightly hesitant they seemed more than happy that you were enjoying yourself with someone who took a genuine interest in you.

until you told them her job.

"my love, are you insane? a politician?"

"an american politician?" chloe gasps, continuing off of jamies shock.

"hey, im american too dont forget!"

"of course you are, but please, you understand why this is not good, no?"

"you know how fishy they are, especially with all the supe business going on. that place is getting more dangerous by the day, and i dont think you should be seeing someone whos contirbuting to that."

it pained you to admit it but jamie had a point. the three of you would always laugh in amused horror at how badly things were going on in your birth country, and the politics...it was less than pleasant.

not to mention the supe business. every corner of the world had to deal with the annoyance that was vought and their "products", even france. but so far you'd just had to deal with a few perverted looks from traveling supers and talks of some stupid theme park a few miles out of the city. meanwhile, it seemed like every day a new superhero was being introduced to the American public. it unnerved you.

"i understand. i appreciate both of you looking out for me. trust me, i'll be on my guard for now on." you mumble, picking at the material of your sleeve.

"of course, songbird. we'll call again soon."

the call ends and drop your phone on the nightstand. you look at the eiffel tower cutout in your phone case and your heart aches.

the next morning you're eating a a breakfast of coffee and fruit crepes when your phone rings, dragging your atttention away from the trashy dating show you were watching on the bedroom's tv. when you see nancy's name you hesitantly answer the call.

"nance? is everything alright?"

"everything is great. i'm just here to check in about your next gig."

"my next- nance, im on vacation. please tell you didnt forget and booked me for a job when im across the ocean."

"no, im not that stupid, hon." she sighs. "i didnt even arrange this job, victoria did. im just the messenger."

you blink once. then twice. you remember vic saying something about helping you with a job but you honestly just thought that was bullshit to get her to come stay with you.

(or get in your pants. but you don’t think you’d be too upset about that now.)

“ok. thank you, nancy. tell me the details.”

it’s a lot more extravagant than you expected. victorias friend, an actual senator, was holding a fundraising event for some government program he and vic were both involved in. nancy wasn’t told what the program was, but that you would have to go through a security debrief before being told you'd be given a team to help you prepare. and picking from a selected closet of dresses. fun.

you ignore the feeling of nervousness that’s building up in your gut. because while all of your gigs were important, they were never this important. you push it down as you call victoria and thank her endlessly, when you tell your friends the minimum amount that you can tell them, and when victoria picks you up from outside your hotel twelve hours before the event even starts.

she pressed a small kiss to your hand, laughing at the grumpy and tired mumble you let out when you sit in the car seat. it only passes once she gives you a coffee she picked up, the caffeine waking you up and putting a smile on your face.

the content feeling turns into shock when you enter victorias' place and see zoe, vic throwing a short explanation of “busy babysitter” over her shoulder as she heads into the kitchen.

its a bit awkward at first, sitting on one couch as she plays on a black nintendo switch on the other. it helps when you ask her about whatever she’s playing, the girl diving into a rant about the farm game she’s playing and how she’s trying to catch a certain type of fish.

victoria comes back with a tray of breakfast for the three of you before asking her daughter how school is going, how her friends are, etc. its nice to get a glimpse into victories private life during the morning, the close bond she has with her daughter. you notice some tension but decide not to bring it up.

the morning goes by too quickly, zoe being picked up to be dropped off at a friend's house after giving you a sweet goodbye and you getting rushed upstairs as the team comes to the townhome to help you prepare. its a nice change, having other people doll you up instead of having to worry about trying to do everything correctly and by yourself. and its a perk you don't have to spend your own money to do it.

the team members are nice but punctual, finishing your hair and makeup in record time with not a second wasted. you barely get time to notice yourself in the mirror before you're ushered into a gorgeous gown, soft fabrics and a chic and elegant style.

when your finished you’re finally allowed to observe yourself while your transportation and is prepared, and it feels like you’re looking at a dream version of yourself.

as you admire yourself in the mirror vic comes up next to you, clearly enjoying herself as her eyes slowly drift up and down your body.

“you look…ethereal.” she whispers, pressing a small kiss to your cheek after you turn to smile at her.

“only because of you. i don’t know how i could ever make this up to you, vic. this is just…”

“trust me, you’ve already done enough.”

while you knew there would be some press at the event, you didn't expect over two dozen paparazzi to quickly start flashing their cameras in your direction as soon as you got out of your ride. questions about who you were wearing, the relationship you had with vic, etcetera etcetera. you would've buckled from the sudden pressure if it weren't for victoria’s steady hand on your waist, the press of her arm through her red pantsuit.

the venue is downright insane, so grand you start to wonder if you're in one of those gilded age mansions you used to read about in new york magazines. climbing pillars and art on the ceiling of the main hall, which you don't get to admire since you’re yet again whisked away to get ready.

after a few more touch ups you aren’t afforded a minute to prepare, guided to the edge of the performance area. the sinking feeling is back in your stomach. the biggest moment of your life and you feel like you’re going to be sick.

the lights dim and you glide onto the stage, able to see the shadows of the guests faces from the flickering table lights. it’s eerie, the amount of them staring up at you with eyes you can’t even see.

you were given a set list a few days prior, only a couple of songs for the payment you would apparently receive after this. the songs piqued your interest, a collection of classical melancholic pieces from around the fifties. vic told you her friend was a vintage nut, but you didn't know why he chose these for you to perform when the event seemed to have an uplifting aura.

either way it felt…different, singing this time. the spotlight was on you and you’ve never felt as beautiful as you did in this moment. everyone was watching you, so hooked on the melodies escaping your body that you could see the emotions brining some people to the edge of their seats.

you don’t let it show but you grow a bit anxious at the sight of supers in their uniforms in the crowd. you don’t see anyone from the seven, but you do notice a woman you recognized from some commercial about climate change and earth preservation, the green of her dress and the nature motifs in her outfit give you a clue as to what her power was.

just when you feel yourself about to slip, dangerously close to hitting a note at a weird pitch, you see victoria, getting deja vu at the sight of her staring at you from the bar like the first night you met. she's looking at you like she's never doubted you for a second, like you're an angel sent from above that's blessed her life.

you hold her gaze when you sing. noticing the soft smile on her face when you sing a lyric about how the feelings in your heart feel so intense you fear you're going insane.

when the first song ends the lights come back on and you're met with a polite yet thunderous applause, the smile on your face so wide your cheeks start to hurt. the presenter comes back on stage, praising your performance with a swipe at his eyes before telling the guests that the host would be on shortly, and after he gives a short speech you'd be back to sing some more. with a gentle nod and wave, you step off the stage.

you feel like you're walking on air, with no doubt that was one of your best performances yet. your emotions got a little intense there but nothing you couldn't manage, and everyone seemed to like it anyway.

you're able to send a quick text and a picture to jamie and chloe before you hear the sound of the door to your quaint dressing room open, not able to turn around before you feel hands around your waist and plush lips on the side of your neck, the sight of victoria wrapped around you in the mirror making butterflies swarm in your stomach.

"i take it you liked my singing?"

"like doesn't even begin to cover it," she mumbles into your neck, raising her head slightly to be able to hold eye contact through the mirror. "i'm so lucky i found you, y'know that?"

you playfully brush her off, telling her you have to freshen up for some mingling before you get back on stage. she gladly helps you with your makeup, and while you weren't expecting her to be so touchy tonight you definitely aren't complaining, especially when her hand starts to drift closer to the space between your legs. it takes an embarrassing amount of mental strength to deny her, promising you'll continue once you go back to her place.

once you're finished getting ready she leads you back out to the hall, introducing you to numerous business people, politicians, celebrities, etc. you try not to fangirl when you meet a singer whose songs you've been obsessed with lately and when she asks you to perform at her cousins wedding. victoria just smirks when she leads you away and you let out a tiny squeal under your breath.

once the networking is done you're able to take the time to sit down and eat some of the catered food, almost moaning at the tastes of the food. you sometimes forget just how good food could be in the states, and these rich people pulled out all the stops. you try not to eat too quickly or impolitely as victoria talks with her tablemates, some people from her job apparently. after the first introductions and praises they gave you you mentally tapped out of the situation. she luckily covers for you when they question your mood, laughing when she tells them you've had a long day of being treated like a singing barbie doll.

everyone in the room quiets down when the hos taakes the stage and starts his speech. he introduces himself as robert stendham, and you feel a little embarrassed that this man gave you the chance to sing here and you didn't even know his name. you're thinking about how odd it is that you weren't introduced before this when he mentions something about the program and you perk up.

"...extend a personal thank you to general jameson for finding the time to escape his duties to fly in and be here with us tonight, and a special thanks to director neuman for helping me with this project and finding the beautifully talented y/n to perform for us tonight."

there was a brief few seconds of applause, victoria looking around and giving out smiles while you wondered what the hell she was the director of.

"as you can see, we have a few supers with us tonight. people like hazelwood, whose efforts against climate change have lead to over a dozen organizations plating millions of trees and clearing millions of pounds of trash for the ocean. because that's what supers are supposed to do-protect us. not act like degenerates who get to do what they want because of their abilities."

your eyebrow twitches, sensing the slight anti-supe propaganda from the end of his speech. well, not anti every supe, just the ones who act like gods among men, which you could understand. but you still felt an uneasy feeling rising in your stomach. you feel vic's palm rest over the top of your hand under the table.

"which is why im incredibly honored that director and congresswoman neuman has extended a hand to me to invest in the federal bureau of superhuman affairs, and to further extend that hand to you to help participate in this monumental institution..."

everything is a fog and your brain taps out once he starts talking about what this burerua does, how they closely monitor supes and jail the ones who've caused public harm. your head feels hot and your chest feels cold, and you can't stop your body from going on auto-pilot and excusing yourself to the bathroom before finding some balcony on the higher floor.

the cold air of new york shocks your body back into normalcy, but the pounding in your head persists. it feels like a panic attack ut so much worse, like your fight or flight has been activated without anything even happening. had you rushed into all of this? chasing a girl and a dream like you were a teenager again?

yet again the door opens behind you and someone comes to stand next to you, able to tell who it is by the scent of brown sugar and the glimpse of dark hair blowing with the slight breeze.

"you alright? mr. brandon from the tech startup was asking about you, tried to make me invest in some room light plant grower hybrid-"

"why did you bring me here?"

you cut her off and the air is quiet, save for the sounds of cars and the city and the wind. it's weird, standing in a tense silence like this with her.

"how are you feeling?" she whispers .

"are you- " you turn, nearly giving yourself whiplash with the speed at which you turn to look at her. the look on her face, like she's just observing you and how you're reacting. it only upsets you more. "are you being serious?"

"yes, i am. tell me."

"no, answer my question first. why are you avoiding it?"

she sighs, brushing a few strands of hair away from her face before reaching to grab your hand, which you hesitantly let her hold.

"as you heard, im part of a buereau that monitors supherhumans, keeping track of them, making sure they cant use their powers for harm. so far we've only had to deal with supes here in the states. until one day, this couple comes in that believe their daughter has used her powers on them."

she reaches for something in her pocket and your grip tightens. she pulls out a polaroid and holds the picture up for you to see. you feel like you're going to vomit when you see you, smiling, standing with your parents in a backyard.

"what...what is this? how'd you get this?"

"the couple gave me this picture, and told me how weird the least few years have been. friends and family asking where their daughter went, how she was doing, a daughter they didnt even remeber having."

you bring a hand up to your head, hopelessly trying to dissipate the splitting headache that's forming.

"but then they said the memories started coming back. glimpses of a child running in the grass, birthday parties, graduations, talent shows-"

"stop, please just stop." you gasp, hunching over as good as you can with the restrictions of your gown. it doesn't even feel like the world is just spinning, it feels like its being played in some celestial game of pool. "so what, you're saying...you're saying i did that? to my parents?"

"yes," she reaches for the side of your face, guiding you to look up at her. "and you can do so much more. you already have."

this can't be happening.

"why do you think people react so emotionally to your singing? you think its just because you're amazing? that's not even half of it."

your breathing is picking up again.

flashes of memories start appearing in your vision. so many happy times with your parents that you forgot, friends that you left behind. how your parents didn't support your half-thought-out plan to become a singer, how you made them forget. made yourself forget.

"i don't want you to think i did all of this just for what i want. i didn't. i care about you, and i want you to help me. but you need to trust me."

the blood is rushing back and from your head, and you think about how weird her eyes look against the backdrop of the city before you pass out.

finally. FINALLY. ong i wrote like 1k in the past day because i said just get this shit over with but its done! 5 months later! hope you enjoyed :)

#the boys #the boys x reader #the boys series #the boys smut #gen v #gen v x reader #victoria neuman x reader #victoria neuman #victoria x reader #victoria neuman fluff #victoria neuman angst #victoria neuman smut

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milfsloverblog · 10 months ago

Text

Secret Benefits (part 4)

Previous part here

Sugar mommy!Larissa Weems x fem!reader

A/N: Guess who’s back, back again. I know, I know. It’s been a while. Life has been a crazy ride in the last couple of months and I just didn’t have the heart to be writing anything. But I thought it’d be nice to gift you this chapter as a new year present. Have fun! ps: this contains ANGST. You’ve been warned. Enjoy <3

You could tell that The Paragon was another one of those ridiculously expensive restaurants as soon as you set foot inside. High ceilings, heavy velvet curtains hanging by the windows, paintings on the walls.

You took a deep breath and slid your hand into Larissa’s, intertwining your fingers with hers. It felt reassuring, feeling her skin against yours and knowing that she was there with you. Or that you were there with her.

A waiter quickly walked your way, flashing the two of you a bright smile before leading you to a table. You felt a couple of stares as you walked past the other seated people and realised what they were probably thinking about. A young woman with an older one, holding hands. You hadn’t even asked Larissa if this was okay - holding her hand in public. Holding hands like a couple would. That thought made you pull your hand away from Larissa’s as if you’d been burnt, much to Larissa’s dismay.

You sat down at the table and Larissa followed suit, sitting down in front of you. The older woman smiled when you didn’t bother opening the menu that had been handed to you by the waiter, knowing full well she’d be picking whatever you’d be eating.

Good girl, she thought as her blue eyes bore into yours before dropping to the menu in her hands.

Seared scallops with a saffron sauce as a main and a white chocolate and raspberry semifredo for dessert, that’s what she had picked for you that night.

Dinner went like it did last time, Larissa was always more willing to listen to you talking about your life rather than share about hers.

The tall woman chuckled softly when you pushed some semifredo in your mouth, making you look at her.

“What?”

“You have some-“ Larissa didn’t finish her sentence, choosing instead to reach out and wipe the bit of cream from the corner of your mouth with her thumb.

Almost instinctively, your lips parted. Larissa’s breath hitched, her heart doing that damn fluttering thing in her chest. You looked so beautiful, she thought. So open to her, so inviting.

Without thinking about it twice, she pushed the tip of her finger between your parted lips. And without thinking about it twice, your tongue licked the pad of her thumb clean.

A shiver ran down Larissa’s spine and she pulled her hand away from your lips, leaving you with your mouth half open and a questioning look on your face.

“Larissa, I-“ you started apologising but the older woman cut you off, raising her hand to catch the waiter’s attention.

You stayed quiet as she paid the bill, following when she stood up and buttoned up her blazer. You weren’t sure what you had done exactly to warrant her whole demeanour to change, but it was clear that you had messed up.

She was still silent when you sat down by her side in the car, seemingly lost in her own thoughts as she drove away from the restaurant.

Larissa was as lost as you were, thousands of thoughts rushing through her mind as she remembered everything that had happened that day. This was nothing more than a beneficial agreement - she found herself thinking for what seemed to be the hundredth time that day.

She was still quiet by the time she dropped you off at your place, reaching for the envelope inside the glove compartment and carefully placing it on your lap.

“Larissa, you don’t have to-“

“I know. But that’s what we agreed on, I’m paying you for your time.”

You gave a slight nod and pushed the envelope inside your handbag.

“Well,” you started, turning a little to face Larissa who kept her gaze outside the windshield. “Thank you for today.”

The older woman nodded and gently squeezed your knee without looking at you.

For a second you wondered if that was it, if this was the last time you’d see her. And then it hit you, the sudden urge to lunge at her and pull her into a kiss. Maybe it would wipe the worry off her pretty blue eyes and the pout off her crimson lips. But you didn’t kiss her, choosing instead to mutter a quiet “goodnight” before getting out of the car.

You didn’t see Larissa again after that night, at least not for a while. She didn’t contact you anymore, not even a single text to ask how you were doing. And maybe, you thought, maybe that was for the best. Sure, money was tight again but…

“Fuck!” You dropped the letter on your coffee table. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. You were fucked.

“What do you mean you don’t do instalments?!” You snapped at the woman on the other side of the phone that was pressed to your ear. “Yes, yes I get that! I get that it’s my fault but-“ you groaned when the woman cut you off again to remind you for the third time that you had missed part of the payment for your college fees and you had to pay for the remaining amount as soon as possible.

“For god’s sake, I’m a college student! Where do you think I’ll find two thousand dollars before Friday?! No, no my parents won’t-“ you pinched the bridge of your nose and took a deep breath. It was clear that the conversation wasn’t going anywhere, so you thanked the woman for her time and hung up.

You were fucked.

Asking your parents for help was useless, you already knew that. Maybe you could pick up a few more shifts at the bar but that meant you’d have to skip some classes and even then you would never gather that much money in a few days. And then it hit you. There was someone in your life who did have that kind of money.

You sighed loudly and sat down on the couch, staring at the phone that was still in your hand. You couldn’t just text Larissa asking her for two grand, not after you hadn’t talked to each other in weeks. No, you’d have to come up with a plan. And so you did.

It was a fairly simple plan. You texted Larissa asking how she was doing and chatting for a while before you offered to see each other. “A drink at my place,” you said. You knew that Larissa was attracted to you, a blind person could have told you that. Were you attracted to her though? You shook your head to get rid of the thought. It didn’t matter if you were attracted or not, all that mattered was that she was.

She had arrived at your place that evening with a bottle of Chardonnay. “I hate showing up empty-handed.” She’d told you when you said you had a couple of red wine bottles in the cupboard.

Larissa was a vision, as always. A beige-coloured coat that she shrugged off her shoulders to reveal a tight dress of the exact same beige fabric. Her hair was tied in one of those intricate updos, like the ones you’d seen in old movies, and her lips painted a darker shade of red. She was a vision.

“Make yourself comfortable, please.” You smiled and gestured towards the sofa. After a few seconds of hesitation, you opted to open a bottle of red. You had a feeling Larissa had a preference for it.

“There,” You said, placing the two glasses on the coffee table and sitting down next to the older woman. “Had a good day at work?”

“I did, it could have been worse.” Larissa gently clinked her glass against yours and took a swig of wine. She never shared much about her work which only made you more curious.

She asked about your day and you told her about it, avoiding mentioning the astronomical bill you had to pay.

“I’m glad you could come tonight.” You smiled and took a sip.

“I’m glad you invited me, I know it’s not an easy thing to let people into our space.”

“You’re right, but I trust you.“ How ironic. “It’s not much, but it’s home.” You added, looking around your living room.

Larissa hummed and took another sip of wine, uncrossing her legs and crossing them again.

“Do you live in a house?” You asked, hoping to learn more about her.

“I…No, it’s a bit complicated. I have my own apartments at work.” Larissa explained, visibly ill at ease.

“It’s fine, I know you don’t like sharing about your private life.” You pushed a small smile and carefully placed your hand on Larissa’s leg, right above her knee where the soft fabric of her dress gave way to her alabaster skin.

“Thank you,” Larissa whispered, adjusting herself so she could look at you.

You felt bad at the thought of what you were about to do. Your stomach twisting in your belly as Larissa’s gaze bore into yours. You liked her. You couldn’t do this.

Almost as a reflex you lifted your hand and emptied your drink to give yourself more courage.

“May I kiss you?” It left your lips without you even thinking about it.

Larissa’s eyes widened to the point where she looked like a deer caught in the headlights of a fast-approaching car.

Well, that did not go as you had expected.

The silence was almost too unbearable so you cleared your throat and moved to get up from the couch, hoping to pour yourself another glass of wine when slender fingers wrapped around your forearm and yanked you back down. Next thing you knew Larissa’s lips were crashing against yours, her right hand finding purchase on your cheek and pulling you impossibly closer.

“Yes,” she whispered out of breath when she eventually pulled away from you, her red lipstick smudged around her mouth up to the tip of her nose. “Yes, you may kiss me. And you may not stop.”

Larissa couldn’t help but notice the way your pupils dilated in reaction to her words. So you did want her. You wanted her like she wanted you and that made the woman’s heart swell in her chest.

“Kiss me again.” A demand that you couldn’t say no to, really. And so you kissed her again. And again. And again. Until she pulled you so you’d straddle her thighs and her lips eventually left yours, busying themselves on leaving red marks along your jaw and down your neck.

“Larissa-“ it came out as a strangled cry, your fingertips gently tugging on the woman’s hair and messing up her neat updo.

“Stop me if I go too far.” She whispered against your skin as her hands slipped under your dress to caress your thighs.

You weren’t sure if this was still part of your plan. Sure, you had hoped to seduce her thinking it might make her more susceptible to lend you the money but maybe this was actually going too far.

“I need two grand-“ it was out of your mouth in less than a second and Larissa’s hand instantly stilled their movements.

“What ?” She huffed in disbelief.

“I-I need two grand for a bill, but I’ll pay you back! I swear!”

Larissa huffed again and shook her head, her hands moving to her hair in an attempt to fix her updo - or perhaps to ground herself, you weren’t sure.

“This is why you called me here, isn’t it?”

You quickly stood up from the woman’s thighs and fixed your dress.

“No! Of course not-“ you swallowed thickly as she rose to her full height and towered over you.

Larissa’s face was flushed and you could tell it wasn’t the same flush as a few minutes before. No, this time she was furious.

“Larissa, Listen-“ You tried, taking a step back and watching her take one forward.

“No!” She growled with a severity that made the hair on the back of your neck stand up. “It’s your turn to listen.”

You took another step back as she took one closer, then another one, until she had you trapped against the fridge.

“You lied to me,” she said. “You made me come here, made me believe that you wanted to spend time with me. But all you care about is my money, isn’t it?” Larissa hissed, baring her teeth like a rabid dog. “You would sell your body like some cheap whore on the street.”

“And you would buy it!” You snapped, unable to let her bite you without biting her back.

“No, that’s where you’re wrong. I wouldn’t. I don’t mind paying for your time, your company. But this? No. It would feel like using you, and I already feel guilty enough as it is. Although you obviously don’t mind using me.” Larissa took a step back and reached inside her handbag, pulling out her chequebook and opening it.

“What are you-“ you started, only to be cut off by the older woman.

“I care.” Larissa simply said as she wrote the cheque. “And I thought-“ she slightly shook her head and handed you the cheque. Two thousand dollars. “Yes, I thought.” She repeated before giving a nod and putting her beige coat back on.

“Larissa,” you tried, gently wrapping your hand around her bicep.

“No,” she shook her head again and pulled away. “You’ve played me. You won’t see me again, sweetling.” It was said without any animosity. Instead, you found that her blue eyes were filled with melancholy as if she had been through this before and life was just repeating itself.

I’m sorry, you wanted to say, I’m sorry I lied to you and manipulated you. And I’m sorry to be hurting you.

You wanted to rip the cheque into pieces, to show her that it didn’t matter. But it did. You needed the money or you’d be kicked out of college. But, Larissa. Larissa, Larissa, Larissa. Larissa and her melancholy-filled eyes. I’m not like the ones who’ve hurt you before, you wanted to shout. But you were. Perhaps you were even worse than them.

Larissa and her melancholy-filled eyes.

Larissa and her warmth-filled laugh.

Larissa and her love-filled kisses.

Love-filled kisses.

Oh, god.

Of course.

You hadn’t realised it. Not before that moment. Larissa didn’t just like you. She had feelings for you.

“Larissa!” You exclaimed, snapping out of your thoughts only to find your apartment empty.

She was gone.

You were fucked.

————————————————————————

Taglist: @raspburrythief @weemssapphic @readingtheentrails @larissaoftarthweems @principal-weems09 @kimiinou @winterfireblond @im-a-carnivorous-plant @geekyarmorel @h-doodles @azu-zu @barbarasstar @witchesmortuary @m1lflov3rrr @dumbasslesbi @crow-raven-crow @fridays-coven @lilfartbox1 @shawncantwrite @autumn-leaves-chasing-breeze @gwens0girl @aemilia19 @the-bagel24 @lvinhs @thefutureisus2020 @gela123 @a-queen-and-her-throne @rando-mango @wheresmyboo @my-silver-spring @hillary-nicks @ablsk @natasha29romanoff @tallvampirelady12 @canyoufeelmyheartsayinghi @i-love-nerdy-stuff @1-800-milfdilf @scarlettssub @jasperobsidian-blog @i-write-sometimes-maybe @brienne-the-brave @slytherinthepms @non-binary-frogking @wife-of-gwendolinechristie @anjo-iludidoefudido @imnotafruitt @opheliauniverse

#gwendoline christie #larissa weems x reader #larissa weems #secret benefits #no beta we die like larissa #principal weems #larissa weems x y/n #you know I had to write angst #it’s what I do #it’s what I live for

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crguang · 24 days ago

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the little… life?

this essentially explores a bit the disconnect between shalom’s mind and her body which she holds no particular attachment to. it is a tool, like her, and she’s discovered a new use for it.

gn!reader, smut…, bottom!shalom, no clear idea who tops here but shalom is the one receiving so, fingering, 3k words

A/N: my first path to nowhere work and it’s shalom smut because of fucking course it is. whatever man. if this feels a little clinical instead of something written by a horny lesbian it’s on purpose

The expanse of skin before you is a smooth frozen lake beneath your fingertips untouched by seasons and wandering souls, an unnatural landscape that the flow of time cannot scratch or sully. She doesn’t melt, no matter what, yet the vigorous torrent under her icy surface can only be seen from this close; with her slender neck bared to your gaze, the blue tendrils of her veins pulse in anticipation. Her meticulously cut hair, dark raspberry fading into a washed out cream, has been carefully arranged over her shoulder in an invitation to do as you’re used to on her skin and her head is tilted towards the clear patio doors allowing silver light to bask in this barren room even with no moon in sight. The sharp edge of her relaxed jaw obscures your vision of her eyes but having done this multiple times already, you know that their empty pink irises are fixed on the starless sky beyond the confines of her bedroom. Her breathing is inaudible, almost absent if it weren’t for the steady beat of her chest hidden by her slightly wrinkled blouse. She lies on her back beneath you, slack and as open as she can be, expectant and awaiting. Her arms rest clinically at her sides, her palms lax against the gray bed sheets, and you withdraw from the crook of her neck with a sudden uneasiness in your guts. This is always how she is, how she allows herself to be during nights like this one, but you’re reminded as usual of the distance of her mind compared to the presence of her body. She is miles away somewhere deep on a metaphysical plane you’ll never reach. You trace the faint pattern of a vein down the hollow of her throat with a fingernail. She senses your own distance, the loss of your parted lips on her skin, and her head slowly turns to face you.

“Is something wrong?” Shalom lifts a hand to cup your cheek, an index finger stroking the back of your earlobe’s base. She’s learned that this gesture relaxes you somehow, and now she does it every time she requires your full attention.

Her voice is soft, it blends with the stillness of the night around you and is tinged with curiosity, nothing else. Her bright eyes seem bottomless behind their beautiful shade of rose. At their corners, thin creases accompany her easy smile. She fixes you with a gentle look, you feel the coldness of her smooth palm seep into your skin.

“Do you want this?”

Shalom finds your inquiry amusing. “I opened the door for you, didn’t I?”

“Yes…” you concede with a short pause, glancing at the crystallized stretch of her lips. You don’t voice your lack of comfort with her unresponsiveness, but she senses your hesitation regardless.

“Oh. I was a little lost in thought.” Her reply visibly hurts you in a way she doesn’t understand. Your brows twitch indignantly, so she adds, “I’m sorry.”

“This should be enjoyable for you.”

“It is.” Her hand snakes around your neck in an intimate caress and her fingertips sink in your hair as she guides you closer. Her eyelids droop with the proximity of your face, gaze flitting to your mouth, and she lets herself feel your warm breath on her lips for a moment. “It is,” she repeats in a murmur before softly pressing her lips against yours.

Shalom takes the initiative once she understands that this is what you need from her. She holds you near with a hand on your nape and another on your cheek and leads you in a slow dance that she deepens after a while, parting her mouth wider for her tongue to swipe along the seam of your lips. The warmth of your breath melding with her own, the gentle movement of your connected mouths, your tangible weight above her body; she absorbs those sensations like a dehydrated sponge in clean water, with greed and abandon. Her Mania reacts to yours and thrums right under her skin, lighting a spark she cannot feel otherwise. Your fingers wrap around her throat, pressed to her windpipe. Shalom makes a quiet sound, a sharp and involuntary intake of breath, and she relishes in the unexpected responses of her body. They’re always the same, yet they manage to surprise her each time. She slightly angles your head upward for your tongue to meet hers, they kiss wetly in a tangle of shared saliva. Her pulse quickens, that alien rhythm in the hollow of her chest and muffled in her ears. The temperature of her skin doesn’t grow warmer, she doesn’t sweat, but it’s okay; she feels electricity along her limbs zapping towards her brain and the feeling is intoxicating. She can only compare it to a surge of Mania within her body, that invigorating force that seizes her from head to toe and fills her with vitality she does not naturally possess.

Shalom lets you kiss her breath away. She surrenders to her body’s physiological reactions, allowing them to ground her wandering mind if only for a few moments. She is entirely present as your hand brushes her protruding collarbone and travels over her thin shirt to feel her rising chest. You cup her breast fully, and there it is again, that delightful little gasp out her mouth. Her grip on the back of your neck tightens. Each response is eternally new, born from the disconnect between her mind, always working, and her physical form which has never been used for this purpose until mere months ago. She’s discovered a new utility to it outside of Paradeisos’ reach and the first time she tasted the ancient pleasures of the flesh, the influx of sensations that coiled inside of her and their release was so intense that she had felt like a person for the short minutes it lasted. Her thighs trembled, she caught a glimpse of that coalescence of colors behind her eyelids, her breath was squeezed out of her lungs and Shalom was certain, for this fleeting instant, that this was how life felt like. It could have been death, for all she knew of either— which is nothing. If she were to describe the feeling, the words would escape her. It has to be experienced first hand, to be lived through for it to make sense to anyone. She sought it out again after two weeks. Then again, and again, and she’s found that her body is like an endless source of pleasure that can be exploited whenever she desires it. It was a splendid discovery and now her moments of reprieve are marked in the calendar of her mind as are her daily communications with Paradeisos.

The contrast of your warm palm and the bare skin of her stomach brings her out of her straying train of thought.

“You’re elsewhere again,” you reproach her, teeth grazing her jaw.

“I’m sorry.” The words leave her too easily to mean anything.

With both hands cupping your face, she brings your mouth to hers again. You feel the plane of her abdomen and the curves of her waist under her blouse. Her dips and crannies are familiar now, you’ve mapped them out with your hands often enough to know the hollow of her belly button makes her shudder when touched and the underside of her breasts is where she’s most sensitive. You take your time, Shalom wants the pleasure to build to a boiling point that has her toes curling reflexively until her release feels like salvation. You leave no inch of skin untouched, lift her shirt to expose more of her body to your restless hands, and they trail up the curve of her spine to reach the clasp of her dark bra. Undoing it takes a couple of seconds. Shalom reluctantly lets you withdraw from her lips so you can help pull her clothes over her head. You bare her upper body to your admiring gaze, slithering fingers touching all the parts even the sun doesn’t kiss, and instead of staring at the expanse of midnight blue outside, Shalom watches you watching her. She smiles when you meet her eyes, not ashamed in the slightest at her responses to your attention, the way goosebumps rise on her skin and her pink nipples stiffen under your contemplation. Her hair is only slightly tousled from the pillow and the deep kisses she planted on your mouth, most of it is still perfectly brushed as it always is. You feel scrutinized in the face of her stare, calculations and analyses veiled by the gentle smile on her lips.

You firmly cup her perky breast once more. Shalom’s eyes show more activity, they gleam brighter in the moonlight.

“What do you want?” You ask, watching the way her flesh bends to your will in the palm of your hand.

“I want you close.”

You lift your own shirt over your head and discard it at the end of the bed. With a palm on her cheek, you bend low and steal another kiss from her, your body flushed to hers. Her freezing skin doesn't bother you much anymore, you’ve tried to warm it up with your own to no avail and learned to treat it as a stimulant that lights your nerves on fire. Your thumb circles her nipple, then applies sweet pressure on the hardened rosebud and Shalom sighs into your mouth. An arm around your shoulders keeps you pressed to her. Each ministration pleasantly tightens her guts, she feels ecstasy slowly building within her and the anticipation of sudden relief further excites her. She shifts beneath you, legs joined together to stimulate the need in her core. Still, you litter her jaw and neck with open-mouthed kisses and ignore the lower half of her body for now. She invites you closer with a tilt of her head. The love bites that follow your teeth and tongue will disappear before morning but that fact doesn’t deter you from mixing pain and pleasure to hear the soft sounds coming from the woman in your arms. You twist her nipple between two fingers, Shalom's lips part in an exhale. She’s not particularly loud during these moments but she doesn’t contain her reactions either, the need to be submerged in them easily wins out within her and she lets them come as they do in order to experience them fully.

Your mouth draws a path from her throat to her smooth chest, layering kisses on every inch of skin at your disposal. Your upper teeth graze her sensitive nipple before it’s sucked past your lips. Shalom has a hand at the back of your head and her body arches further into your mouth, lidded eyes staring into the distant semi-darkness of the room. Her fingertips tingle as your tongue flicks over the bud, wetting her skin unashamedly. She’s a patient woman, so she submits to your pace and enjoys the slow ascent of pleasure within her. Her heartbeat is irregular, she can hear it in her ears, it’s still a strange feeling to be attuned to her own body when it’s simply something her superiors pay attention to to monitor the risks she poses. With you, she finds a maddening use for this form that she hasn’t considered in length before. Her chest is lavished with your genuine adoration and that is another unfamiliar notion difficult to make sense of. She’s never put her Mark on you.

Finally, your fingers travel down her torso to fiddle with the belt buckle over her skirt. It no longer poses any problem to you now but you distinctly remember Shalom’s amused chuckles the first time you faltered in front of it. You shake the embarrassing memory from your head. Her belt falls apart under your trained hands and Shalom lifts her hips before you can ask her to, allowing you to pull her long skirt past her legs. Your nose nuzzles into her, just below her jaw, to feel the rapid pulse of her artery as your fingertips slide beneath the waistband of her underwear. Her thighs part automatically for you.

“Hush, you’re already dripping,” you whisper into her, lips brushing the skin of her neck with each word.

Shalom’s following laugh is soft and breathy. “That’s right… What will you do?”

“Mm…”

Two fingers trail down her wet slit under her panties, feeling the slickness gathered on her cunt and smearing it over her puffy lips. Your digits are coated in her arousal in seconds and they dip between her folds when Shalom spreads her legs further apart, another blissful sigh out her mouth. You explore her pussy like it’s your first time, leisurely and methodically, eliciting the sweetest breathless moans from her. You press more kisses to the skin within reach, sucking it between your lips and sinking your teeth into the flesh enough for it to sting. One of her hands is at her side, gripping the blanket below your bodies. Your closeness is an important factor in her pleasure, Shalom eventually figured out. Your skin on hers, your warm breath against her, your kiss-swollen lips wandering all over her body like she’s something to be adored; they all tighten the coil of her intestines in her lower stomach. Now, peppering kisses to the underside of her jaw as your pointer finger finds her needy clit, she can almost see beyond the hill of pleasure she’s gradually climbing towards. The fall is her favorite part, the fall is where “life” lies, this previously unachievable state that is purely physical and yet, that holds a thousand secrets she won’t ever uncover.

You rub her clit from base to tip then suddenly flick it a few times. Shalom makes a sound of surprise where half of it gets stuck in her throat.

“Ahmn…!”

“Oh? That’s a new one,” you repeat the motion, but it seems the element of surprise is crucial to getting such noises from her. What a shame. “Never heard this sound from you before. Aren’t you happy? There are still sensations we haven’t discovered yet, after all.”

“Ha…” Shalom shifts again, the onslaught of pleasure making her somewhat restless. “Wonderful…”

Your digits find her gushing entrance and circle it once before testing the resistance by slowly sliding a finger into her cunt. She takes it in stride with only a heavy exhale, but you feel her clench around you at the intrusion. You stroke her inner walls gently, coaxing her to relax, and after a short moment she does. You wish you could do something about the perky nipples on her chest, however, you’re lying halfway on her body and your other arm is around her neck, acting as a support for her head. You settle for licking a stripe up her jaw to the corner of her mouth. Shalom turns a little, meeting your tongue with hers. You push a second digit into her cunt and readily swallow the soft moan that bubbles up her throat. You slightly curl your fingers once you’re deep enough to reach the spot that makes her shudder and revel in the stutter of her chest in response.

Each thrust into her is one less second on the countdown of her release, Shalom knows it’s soon to come by the telltale clench of her guts and the tension in her hand as it grips the sheets. Her breath is squeezed out of her lungs with the relentless kisses you freely give her, small tremors run through her parted thighs from the effort of keeping them spread for you and there’s a faint array of colors deep inside her mind where what was taken from her resides in constant indignation. She’s not close enough, she needs more, needs to venture farther.

“More,” she demands against your lips, fingers clawing in your hair.

“More than two?... Another new one,” you mutter to yourself, hissing softly when Shalom pulls your head back in retaliation. “Getting a little needy, Hush?”

You say her alias like a nickname instead of something that inspires fear in Paradeios’ enemies. She doesn’t understand it. Amidst it all, Shalom chuckles breathily. You slide a third finger inside her, earning a low moan from her, and plunge them all at the same steady pace. Her bedroom, more of a place to rest than a living space, fills with the wet sounds of your digits thrusting into her cunt and the sounds of pleasure that spill from her lips.

There it is, Shalom can feel it mounting within her, this indescribable feeling that her body is able to produce endlessly. She feels the blood rushing in her ears again and her lashes flutter, eyes not quite shut nor open, her pupils are blown with a white triangle gleaming faintly in her left eye. This is the instant where her body and mind connect, an exhilarating fall after such grand anticipation; her fingers quiver in your hair, a shuddering breath tumbles with difficulty out of her mouth and she sees those same merging colors glowing brightly against the obscurity of her consciousness, within reach yet forever unattainable— Shalom outstretches her hand towards them for the few seconds it takes her to reach her peak, and when she finally falls, she’s harshly brought back to the present by the titillating pleasure that overcomes her at once. She doesn’t hear the noise that leaves her. Her body shudders, that same spark form earlier has turned into jolts of electrifying bliss along her limbs, and she can only surrender herself to the sensations until they come to pass two minutes later.

You easily slip your cum-covered fingers out of her throbbing pussy once she relaxes the grip she had on them. You bring them before you and watch how they glisten in the moonlight. You look at Shalom, who’s calmed down enough to meet your gaze with clear eyes, and brush some hair further away from her face.

“Satisfied?”

She smiles. “No.”

#path to nowhere #shalom x reader #ptn x reader #ptn shalom #ptn smut #shalom smut

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