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beloveds-embrace · 2 days ago

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I feel like feral reader has the biggest, saddest eyes known to man when not on a mission, they just want love and pack. It's not their fault they're so feral. They were /made/ to be a weapon, when all they wanted was peace

If feral's an alpha - I can see them hunting down snacks and bringing it to the 141 like "look! I can provide! I can be gentle!" And just watching them eat with those (almost weirdly) big eyes.

If feral's an omega - I can see them hiding away and trying to frantically nest, to give themself somewhere safe. It's not right, there's no pack scent so it just pushes them further into the feral mentality, but (once) if feral swipes some of the packs' items, it does help. It's messy, it's too small, but its a nest, and its theirs and thats all that matters

And omg imagine if feral gets hurt and needs to be hospitalized

The higher ups demand that they be cuffed to the bed, but when the 141 sees feral, they see someone who's just scared. Scared of the hospital and scared of themself. They've been stripped of the muzzle, chains, and scent patches, and look so utterly /weak/. Their scent is distorted from the cruel use of scent blockers, meaning telling their designation from that is impossible.

And then they're so drugged up on pain meds that their walls are lower, and a /lot/ more talkative without their muzzle...

Igh just imagine the sweetest fluffiest angst that hurts so good

(Not a request, just some of my rambles)

👽

do you know that you ate with this ask? because you did. you absolutely did 😩 i loved reading all your thoughts about feral reader, especially the speculation of how they'd act depending on their designation!! the part abt the hospital works so well with what i had planned so i hope you like what i've added to it <33

CW: human trafficking omegaverse masterlist

The hospital room is quiet, sterile, and suffocating.

John clenches his jaw as he steps inside, his sharp eyes scanning every inch of the space. He sees the IV lines, the machines monitoring vitals, the thick, military-grade cuffs securing your wrists to the bed. You look so small like this- nothing like the unrelenting force they fought beside.

Here, right now, you’ve been stripped of everything that made you feral.

No muzzle, no reinforced collar, no scent patches suppressing your pheromones into oblivion. For the first time since you’d been forced into their pack, they could see you. And it guts them.

Because you aren’t some bloodthirsty creature bred for war.

You’re just scared.

Your fingers twitch weakly against the restraints, dull nails scratching uselessly at the cuffs, but there’s no real struggle. No vicious snapping of teeth, no blank, unfeeling stare of a tool awaiting its next order. You barely even react to them entering the room.

Your scent is muddled- soured by years of suppressant use, reduced to something broken and incomplete. It makes it impossible to tell your secondary gender, but it doesn’t matter. Not to them.

The steady drip of the pain meds in your IV dulls everything- your body is sluggish, barely responding, but it also lowers the walls that kept them from truly knowing you.

“… ‘S too quiet,” you mumble, blinking slowly. Your voice is hoarse from disuse, raspy from the damage the muzzle had done to your jaw. It’s the first time any of them have heard you speak so calmly, in a controlled setting that isn't a battlefield, without the muzzle in place.

Johnny is the first to move, dragging a chair close so he can sit beside you. His movements are slow and careful- like approaching a wounded animal.

“Aye, hospitals tend to be,” he says gently. “Bit shite, aren’t they?”

Your lips press together in something that might be the ghost of a frown. “... Hate it.”

The words are so soft. They’re used to you tearing apart enemy soldiers with your bare hands, not murmuring complaints like a child unhappy with their surroundings.

“Yeah, I know,” Gaz murmurs from the other side of the bed. His fingers twitch like he wants to reach for you, but he doesn’t. Not yet. “You, uh… don’t like small spaces, do you?”

Your response is slow, weighted with exhaustion, and your eyes flicker between them yet remain unfocused. “Not the spaces.” A small pause. “The waiting.”

John exhales slowly through his nose, crossing his arms. You were never allowed to wait. You were a tool, a weapon unsheathed only for war. They never let you have quiet. The only time you weren’t fighting was when you were locked away, bound and muzzled like a rabid dog.

It’s sickening.

You shift against the restraints, huffing when they keep you pinned in place. “‘M not gonna run.”

“Yeah, we ken, sweetheart.” Johnny says before he can stop himself. The pet name slips out, but you don’t flinch. If anything, your muscles relax just a little.

Simon, who has been silent in the corner up until now, finally moves. His mask is still in place, but his scent- bitter with restrained frustration- is unmistakable. He steps closer, gloved hands reaching out to carefully unfasten the cuffs.

It’s a risk. The higher-ups demanded you remain restrained, even sedated if necessary. Hell, it was a fight for the doctors to convince them to take off the collar and muzzle.

But Simon doesn’t give a fuck.

You blink sluggishly up at him as he undoes the clasps, rubbing absent circles over the raw skin left behind. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t acknowledge the way your fingers twitch under his touch.

You don’t lash out. You don’t fight. You just watch him with the biggest, saddest eyes he’s ever fucking seen.

Fuck.

“We shouldn’t be here,” you say, words slurring together slightly. “Don’t- don’t need to waste time. ‘M just a weapon.”

Something cracks in John’s chest.

“No, you’re not.” he says firmly.

You blink slowly at him. “… That’s what they said.”

“Well, they don’t know shit.” Gaz snaps, unable to help himself.

Your lips part slightly, as if you hadn’t expected that. As if no one had ever disagreed with that sentiment before.

Johnny leans forward, his voice softer now. “You’re not a weapon, bonnie.” His fingers twitch again before he finally gathers the courage to reach for you, brushing a careful hand over your hair. You don’t flinch. Don’t move away. Your eyes slip shut under the warmth of his touch.

It’s the first time you’ve been touched like this. Not in combat, not in restraint, but with care.

“Jus’ want pack." You mumble, so quiet they almost miss it. And fuck- if that doesn’t make their chests ache.

They knew it wasn’t your fault. They knew you were made into what you are, forced into something unnatural. They’ve seen you- seen the way you watch them, longing written in the lines of your body, in the fleeting glances and hesitant movements that scream of someone who just wants.

And now, stripped of the chains and the regulations that kept you leashed, they see you for what you truly are.

Not a weapon, nor a monster.

Just a broken little thing that was never given a choice.

Johnny keeps petting your hair, Gaz is murmuring quiet reassurances, and Simon hasn’t moved his hand from yours. John steps closer, resting a heavy, grounding palm on your ankle.

“We’ve got you,” John says, voice low and steady. “You’re pack now.”

Your breath hitches slightly. Your walls are too low, your body too exhausted to mask the emotions that flicker across your face.

And for the first time since they met you, you look safe.

(John just wishes the reality you'll face once you are recovered was far, far nicer to you).

Later, Ghost is the only one still awake with you. Johnny dozed off in the chair beside your bed, arms crossed over his chest, head tilted back in an uncomfortable angle that would have left him sore in the morning if it weren't for the scarf Simon bundled in the crook of his neck. Gaz and John left hours ago, forced back to their own quarters under the watchful eyes of command. They’ll be back in the morning.

For now, it’s just you and Simon, the quiet hum of the hospital machines, and the weight of something unspoken between you.

Until you speak up again.

“Y’know,” you murmur, eyes closed, voice rough from disuse. “I wasn’t always like this.”

Simon stills.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t even breathe for a second, like any sudden shift might scare you away from whatever you’re about to say. His hands tighten over his knees, fingers curling into the fabric of his fatigues.

He doesn’t ask you to elaborate. He doesn’t need to. He knows you’ll either continue or shut down completely. He prays it’s the former.

There’s a long silence before you exhale, long and slow, staring up at the ceiling like the words are carved into the sterile white panels above you.

“They took me in the middle of the night,” you say quietly. “Didn’t hear ‘em coming. Should’ve. Should’ve smelled ‘em.” Your lips press together, something dark flickering over your face. “But why would I? I was just... doing something. Near a car, and then- then I got knocked out before I even... knew they were there."

Simon doesn’t ask who. Not when it means interrupting you, not in this fine, delicate moment with its hands grasped around his throat. But he can guess and connect the dots, though; It’s always the same types. People who think they can own things. Who see others as commodities, as something to be bought and sold.

His fists clench.

“Woke up in a cage,” you continue, voice distant, like you’re narrating someone else’s story. “Couldn’t tell how many others were there. Too many. Some crying. Some too scared to move. Some already…” You swallow hard. “Already gone."

Ghost keeps his breathing steady, keeps his hands still even though his body screams to move, to do something. But this isn’t something he can fix. He can’t go back in time, can’t put a bullet in the heads of the men who did this to you. The only thing he can do is listen.

“I remember thinking,” you murmur, lashes heavy, eyes wet. “if I just waited, someone would come.” A bitter, breathless laugh slips past your lips. “Someone always comes. That’s what they all say, right? That someone always comes.”

Simon knows better than anyone that sometimes, no one does. Sometimes, you have to claw your own way out. Sometimes, it would still not save you.

He says nothing, just watches as you shift slightly against the pillows, your fingers twitching restlessly atop the blanket.

“They started selling people off,” you say. “One by one. Didn’t matter if they fought, if they screamed. Just lined them up, packed them into trucks, and that was it.”

A pause. Your eyes fluttered shut, a lone tear rolling down your face.

Then, quieter:

“No one came.”

The silence that follows is heavy. Suffocating. Simon still waits, letting you decide if you want to keep going. You don’t look at him, but your fingers twitch again, this time like you’re reaching for something absent.

“Didn’t matter what I wanted,” you whisper, now more to yourself than to him. “Didn’t matter who I was. I was just a thing to them. Something to be sold. Caged.”

He knows that feeling too well.

He knows what it means to be stripped of personhood, reduced to nothing but flesh to be used and discarded. He knows the rage, the helplessness, the slow descent into something feral and unrecognizable. But unlike you, he had John Price's need to adopting strays to reel him back in. But you-

“What happened?” he finally asks, low and rough as gravel.

Your lips part, and for a moment, he thinks you won’t answer.

“I killed them.”

Simple. Unapologetic. Matter-of-fact.

Ghost doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t react at all. He just waits.

“First one was easy,” you say, exhaustion coloring every letter. “He was the one who opened the cage. Didn’t think I’d fight. Thought I was too weak, too scared. I was scared.” You exhale. “But not enough to let them take me.”

Your fingers curl into the sheets, grip tightening.

“They were so scary.” Your voice is flat, emotionless, but Simon can see the tension in your shoulders, the way your pulse jumps against your throat and reflects on the heart monitor. “Strong. Trained. Bigger than me. Didn’t matter.” A small, humorless smile twitches at your lips. “Didn’t matter how much stronger they were. I fought like a fucking animal.”

Ghost can picture it.

You, starved, exhausted, barely more than skin and bone- tearing through men who thought they were untouchable. Clawing, biting, ripping, killing. Not for sport. Not for pleasure. Just to survive.

It was never a choice; the only other option was death.

“I didn’t stop,” you admit, softer now. “Even when they were all dead, even when there was no one left, I couldn’t stop.” A deep, shuddering breath. “I was stuck like that. Didn’t know how to turn it off. Still don’t.”

The silence stretches long between you, until Simon breaks it; “Not your fault,” he murmurs, waiting for you to look at him with those glassy, painfully big eyes. He shakes his head. “You didn’t have a choice.”

Your throat bobs, something unreadable passing over your face and for a long time, neither of you speak. “You’re the first person I’ve told.” You admit, voice barely above a whisper.

Simon’s fingers twitch. He wants to touch you. Wants to pull you close until he can rub his face and scent all over every crevice of your body. Not to restrain, not to command- just to comfort. But he doesn’t. He can't.

Instead, he just nods, voice soft when he says: “..Get some rest, love. We’ve got you now.”

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the-original-skipps · 2 days ago

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|| These Chocolates Are What Now..?! || Honkai Star Rail Reactions ||

I know I’m super duper late for valentines day but better late than never right? also to celebrate 3.1 coming out so this is kinda a 2 in 1 kinda thing lol I was meant to post this way earlier but the burnout hit first

synopsis: A mysterious box of chocolates appear on the kitchen table of your shared home, signed with your name. "From: (Name)" it reads, it's only natural to assume that it's from you right? The chocolates look appetizing enough, you wouldn't mind if he went ahead and took a bite right? Little did he know, that they weren't from you but a certain trash lover seeking to spark a little mischief.

: established relationship. use of aphrodisiacs. suggestiveness. sexual content. nsfw. not too explicit sexual content. don't worry its safe they won't die by eating too much.

: aventurine. sunday. phainon. mydei. anaxa.

❥ Aventurine with narrowed eyes tries to look over the report displayed on his tablet for the 8th time in a row, trying to understand its context. His body feeling unusually hot despite the cool air conditioner, his leg bouncing restlessly as he sits in his lavish office. Something’s definitely wrong with him, this sudden change in his body.

Aventurine tries to think back to the last thing he consumed - the only thing that came to mind was the box of chocolates given to him by you. He ate a piece of it, okay maybe two because they were delicious but his sudden bout couldn't possibly be caused by mere chocolates right?

“Aventurine?”

Interrupting his chain of thoughts, Aventurine snaps his head towards the sound of your voice. The door opens slowly to reveal you and the blonde couldn’t help but swallow at the sight of you. “Y-Yeah?” He curses his voice for coming out so shakily as he puts down his tablet. You look at him curiously before stepping into the room, with a cup of coffee in hand.

Aventurine tries to smile appreciatively at your actions but his current thoughts are amok with indecent thoughts. How your lips look so kissable, the smooth skin of your thighs from the bottoms you're wearing. Fuck, he just wants to pull you into his lap kiss you senseless. The blonde feels his hands unconsciously tightening into fists in trying to hold himself back. His eyes trained on you as you place the coffee on his desk.

Too engrossed in his thoughts Aventurine looks up in surprise as your hand is suddenly placed on his forehead, a worried look in your eyes. "You don't look so good. Maybe take a break?" You suggest with concern.

The gambler's face warms at your touch. He can feel his restraint snapping as he takes in your sweet aroma. How close you are to him, it’s all so intoxicating. He doesn't think he can hold back anymore.

Dammit...!

You let out a surprised squeak as Aventurine suddenly pulls you to straddle his lap, his arms wrapping around you to keep you in place. His face immediately nuzzles into your neck, taking in your scent.

Gosh, this is so embarrassing he feels like an animal. Aventurine thinks to himself, a blush lightly dusted on his cheeks as he feels his trousers getting tighter. You probably feel it too judging by that look on your face. This is all your chocolate’s fault!

"You little fox..."

Aventurine purrs, finally looks up to gaze into your eyes - his sweet breath fanning your face. You almost gulp in response despite not knowing what he's referring to. He lets out a low chuckle at your nervous expression leaning close until his lips are pressed against your cheek.

"You didn't have to resort to such tactics for me to want you..." He whispers, his lips teasingly brushing against your skin - inducing shivers you can't hold back.

His lips trailing from your cheek to the pulse of your neck leaving kisses in his wake before he licks a stripe. Wanting to sink his teeth onto the smooth expanse of your neck. His hands run up and down your thighs before gripping your hips in a desperate hold. The blonde holds your hips to grind against his while quiet sighs leave his lips.

You try to suppress your moans, your own face turning just as red to match his. All the while his hypnotic eyes are drinking in your expressions, fueling his already lustful state. Work can wait, there are more pressing matters to attend to right now.

“Don’t hold back…you better take responsibility for making me like this.”

❥ Sunday hugs you from behind, a soft breathy moan escaping his lips at the feeling of your body pressed against his. He wraps his arms around your middle, pulling you flush against him. Trapping your body against his and the kitchen counter.

You flinch in surprise at his sudden hug, quickly placing down the plate you were just washing. You almost dropped it with how he startled you. You wonder if he’s in one of those needy moods again, you giggle at the thought.

What you didn’t expect next was for his lips to immediately latch onto your neck. Sunday flutters his eyes closed, as his tongue licks and lips suck on your skin. An uncontrollable shiver runs through you at his actions as your hands instinctively places itself over his own.

“S-Sunny, what’s gotten into y-you all of a sudden?” You try to speak out, trying to suppress the moans from leaving your lips.

Sunday only hums in response, his lips still working on your neck - from one spot to the other. While his hips rutting against your ass. Bracing yourself your hands move from his to grip the counter instead. The force of his hips rocking you forward.

“S-Slow down, l-love.” You laugh sheepishly as you try to turn your head to face him. Only for the Halovian to grip your chin, turning your face so you remain facing forward while he continues to leave bruising marks on your neck.

Sunday feels as if his own body has been possessed, as if he’s looking through misty lenses. His rationality takes a backseat as he lets his primal instincts take over. His body is burning hot with sweat like he's running through a fever.

Normally, he wouldn’t dare to be so forward with you but something awakened in him after consuming all those chocolates from you. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to eat an entire box of it but he couldn’t help his sweet tooth. Especially when he knew it was gifted by you.

Was this your plan all along? To gift him such a thing? To see your usual shy boyfriend take the lead? Sunday nearly whimpers at the thought, as his lips latch onto the curve of your neck.

This is all too much.

Too overwhelming.

Is this what it feels like to be tuned? He’d always been the one tuning other people in the dreamscape and now he’s on the receiving end of it. It almost hurts with how hard is cock has gotten. He needs to be inside you right now before he completely loses his mind. Curse your delicious chocolates.

“P-Please, I don’t think I can hold back much longer…”

❥ Phainon can feel his body being set on fire with how hot he's feeling right now. The sweat clinging to skin makes him want to shed all of his clothes right now. He grimaces at his wet shirt, unbuttoning it to gain some relief. The trousers he's wearing are sticking a little too close to his legs. He sheds all his clothes off, leaving him clad only in his briefs. Phainon lets out a sigh as the cool air hits his exposed skin, giving him temporary relief from this unbearable heat.

"Ah love, I think I'll go take a showeー"

Phainon feels his breath knocked out of him as he turns to face you. Though, you weren't doing anything in particular that was breathtaking per se. You were just sitting by the window still with a book in hand. Too engrossed to have heard his earlier words. Yet, why does he feel his own arousal growing at the mere innocent sight of you.

The smooth skin of your legs barely hidden by the bottoms you wear. The gentle wind ruffles your hair, exposing the unmarked expanse of your neck. Your soft parted lips as you concentrate on the ink on the pages. Phainon unconsciously swallows at the view.

Damn.

The ashen haired male feels his cock standing at full attention now. His briefs holding onto dear life in trying to keep his cock from springing free. The tightness is almost uncomfortable now. Phainon could deal with the problem himself with the shower he was planning to take earlier ( a smile creeps onto his face at an even better idea) but where's the fun in that?

A familiar presence makes himself known to you causing you to look up from your book. Only for your eyes to nearly bulge out of their sockets at what you see. There stands your boyfriend in all his sweaty muscled glory with only a pair of briefs on. All the while sporting a massive hard on.

"Hi!" He greets you with a wave of his hand, unbothered by the weird look you're giving him. "I need some help. Care to help little ol' me?" Phainon asks almost too casually, palming his hardened length for emphasis.

A pregnant silence falls over you both.

You feel your cheeks immediately heat as Phainon continues to stare at you with an yearning gaze - awaiting your answer. You can almost make out the invisible tail wagging behind him in excitement. You try to take in and make sense of the situation but it was taking too long. Too long for Phainon's liking. So, he takes matters into his own hands.

A surprised yelp leaves your lips as Phainon looks his hands under your thighs to pull you forward and onto his chest. Forcing you to wrap your legs around his waist. Your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself from suddenly being lifted onto him. Phainon chuckles, finding your reaction adorable as he holds you to his chest tightly. Making his way towards your shared bedroom despite your frantic confusion.

"I take that as a yes!"

❥ Mydei approaches you with fast and determined steps to your spot on the couch. His large shadow casting over you. You look up at him blinking in curiosity as he stares down at you with a small box in his hand. You both continue to have a mini stare off in silence causing you nervously shift in place. Wondering the meaning behind this box he's brought and this look he's giving you. Just as you were about to speak up, the blonde sinks onto his knees in front of you - placing the unknown box to the side.

With a smirk, using his large hands Mydei pries your thighs open in one smooth motion. He slots himself in between them, leaning close until his face is only a breath away from yours. His golden eyes locking in with yours in some sort of hypnotic trance. You sit in silence as the anticipation eats away at you, wondering what he's planning on doing.

"Aphrodisiac chocolate huh?" He asks his voice emphasizing the "aphrodisiac" part.

"I don't know what you mean?" Causing you to look at him in confusion, unsure as to what he means. As you pick up the box he set aside inspecting it with a careful eye, before shaking your head. To your response Mydei blinks in confusion.

"It said it was from you..."

Mydei mumbles to himself as his eyebrows furrow, his thoughts scrambling to find the answers. "How do you even know it's aphrodisiacs?" You grumble, eyeing him suspiciously, slightly uneasy that had received them from someone else even though they claimed to be from you. It all just sounds like a bad prank.

Oh.

"I know who sent it." You say as laughter spills from your lips. There's no doubt in your mind who the culprit could be, only a certain gray haired friend would do something like this. Maybe you should thank them, for bestowing you this opportunity.

Mydei immediately asks who but you brush off his question, choosing to place the box in your lap. You ask him if he's eaten some already to which he affirms that he did.

"It'll take a lot more than a box to get me feeling aroused but..." Mydei chuckles picking up a piece from the box with his fingers as he eyes you with a dark look in his eyes. He brings the piece of chocolate to your lips, coaxing you to take a bite.

"Instead of feeding it to me, why don't you have a taste?"

❥ Anaxa is sitting on his expensive looking chair with his legs crossed as you enter the room with a knock. His face resting on his gloved hand while the other, his fingers drum against the hardwood of the table in a slow rhythm.

Closing the door behind you, you fully step into his office approaching his desk where he sits. The situation reminds you a lot of when you were a student being called into the teacher's office for causing some kind of trouble. You hope that's not the case here.

Anaxa turns, so that his seated figure is facing you. He remains silent, as he studies you with his eye. You can feel the anticipation and dread manifesting in your stomach at his prolonged silence. You hope you haven't done anything to upset him.

Then Anaxa, while seated, pushes forward a box towards you - gesturing to you to open it. You eye the box with curiosity laced with nervousness as you run your fingers down the smooth surface of it before grabbing hold of it.

"W-What?"

You open the box only to be met with the sight of rows of neatly lined chocolate and enticing looking within the box. You look up, sending a look of confusion towards Anaxa.

"Someone thought it would be funny to play a joke on me." Anaxa speaks up for the first since you've entered his office. He fishes out a note from his coat, handing it for you to see.

It was a note signed with your name.

"Though I already know who that person might be." He lets out a sigh at this whole predicament while you look at him puzzled by his words. Sensing your confusion, Anaxa explains a summary of the sequence of events which lead to you being called to his office.

"It doesn't matter who sent it but what they sent."

Taking a piece of chocolate with his fingers, Anaxa rises to his full height to stand in front of you. "These aren't just normal chocolates though, care to guess what they are?" He asks you, taking on his professor voice with a small smirk on his lips. You eye the chocolate held within his fingers as you rack your brain for the answer to his question.

"Poison?"

"Close but still incorrect."

"They're aphrodisiac laced chocolates." He simply answers, discarding the piece of chocolate in the trash. Slightly grimacing at how the chocolate melted onto his fingers. "Don't worry, they're basically harmless unless you decide to eat the whole box."

You let out a sigh of relief, glad that no one was trying to poison your lover and pin the blame on you. "Although..." You perk up at the sound of his voice.

"I am quite curious about their potency." You see a familiar gleam in Anaxa's eye as he tips your chin up before smearing his chocolate covered thumb across your bottom lip.

"Shall we conduct an experiment?

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gothcsz · 2 days ago

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First Sight | Frankie Morales x F!Reader | ~3.5k wc | Explicit. Minors DNI.

Summary: Two strangers discover they’ve been swapping movies through a communal space, each leaving a note in return until curiosity forces a meeting.

Tags: meet cute kinda i think, drug use (smoking weed), the movie swap box is definitely inspired by little free library, pwp, smut, lust at first sight vibes, thigh fucking!, spanking, unprotected p in v, face riding, lil bit of dirty talk, pull out method strikes again, no use of y/n, reader is afab and able-bodied, no physical descriptions, any typos/grammar mistakes are of my own doing and i apologize in advance, if i missed any other tags pls let me know okay, thanks!

A/N: helloooo this is my submission for @jolapeno's dear-uary challenge (i know i'm late pls...) so thank you jo for hosting! such a fun idea! 🖤 okay so i'm not usually a meet cute person but i wanted to challenge myself by writing it, which is why this took me forever to finish! i'm still a little iffy about the results and frankie's characterization—but fuck it, we ball! gotta start somewhere! shoutout to @mandaloriankait for reading over this as well when it was still in its early stages lmfao ummm i hope you guys enjoy and let me know what you think! 🖤

Francisco stands at the edge of his uncle’s property, staring at the house he now owns. The old man had lived like a ghost in his final years—ex-military (like himself), a recluse, barely seen except for maybe an occasional grocery run.

Now that he’s passed, the place is Frankie’s problem.

He planned to sell it, take the cash, and move on. But after really assessing it, taking in the sturdy bones of its structure, covered in grime and dust but still holding strong, he changed his mind. Maybe fixing it up would be good for him.

Lord fuckin’ knows he needs something to get his mind right after all the shit he’s been through.

So that’s what he devotes his time to. He takes many trips to the local hardware store, flips through home improvement magazines to find tricks to make the process easier. On occasion, one of the guys will drop by to lend a hand, but for the most part it’s just been him.

It also helps that the neighborhood is quiet, houses spaced out just enough to offer privacy but close enough that it isn’t completely isolated. A large pond stretches out, shared by the community, and it’s the kind of place that could feel like home, if he lets it.

Needing a break from the endless cleaning and repairs, he decides to go for a walk. The nicotine-laced weed dulls the edge of old cravings, a quiet battle he fights every day, choosing this over the harsher habits he’s trying to kick.

He wanders without aim, hands tucked in his pockets, the low hum of insects filling the gaps in silence. Something catches his eye as he approaches the end of the street—a small structure, half-concealed beneath the spill of a streetlamp.

Curious, he ambles closer. The old newspaper stand has been given new life, converted into a makeshift movie and book swap. Inside, a careful arrangement of DVDs and dog-eared paperbacks wait to be discovered. His fingers trace over the spines, skimming titles until he stops on one—Blade Runner.

As he pulls it out, a green post-it note, scrawled in neat, looping handwriting, flutters to the ground.

Always a bittersweet watch (I cried this last time) but it’s a comfort movie of mine. Also helps that Harrison Ford is a hunk!

His brows raise in amusement, as if weighing the personality behind the words. He pockets the note and takes the movie home.

Later that night, he’s sprawled on his couch, half-buried in old blankets, takeout on the coffee table as the film plays. He watches as Deckard moves through the neon-drenched streets, the melancholic score settling into his bones.

He doesn’t cry, obviously, but he does walk away from this viewing with something different than when he had watched it back on base years ago with the rest of the other lost twenty something year olds in his cohort.

By morning, he’s still thinking about the movie and the note along with it. On impulse, he plucks one of the carpenter pencils from his toolbelt, tapping it against the counter before messily scrawling his reply on the corner of a random sheet of his notepad.

The movie/book trade idea had been something you created back in high school—before the cynicism of adulthood had shattered your rose colored glasses.

Now, after financial setbacks had dragged you back to your childhood home, bringing it back felt like the kind of mindless distraction you needed. Something to keep your hands busy (even if temporarily) when your brain wouldn’t shut up about how shitty things have been lately.

Most people just stream whatever they want now, so this is pretty useless, but you don’t get hung up on that.

There is something nice about the physicality of it. Of leaving something you enjoy behind for a stranger to find and potentially be into as well. So, you revamped the idea and set it up in a spot where it wouldn’t be totally ignored, hoping maybe someone out there would get as much out of it as you used to.

You check in on it one afternoon, expecting to see everything exactly where you left it. Instead, you find empty spaces where movies had been. A book was gone too.

Your heart skips, just a little. For the first time in a while, something doesn’t feel like a total waste of time.

You spot a note haphazardly taped to the cover of the Blade Runner DVD case.

Didn’t cry, but I respect the existential crisis. Also think I agree with the Harrison Ford statement.

A grin pulls at your lips, eyeing the messy handwriting. Someone was actually playing along.

Over the next few days, the exchanges continue. Each time the stranger returns a movie, they leave a note and a film of their own. It is exhilarating for no reason, getting to know someone in this way.

Disagree with your take, bad movie all around, but I see where you’re coming from.

At least you aren’t an asshole about it like everyone else…

…Didn’t expect to be into period dramas, but this hit different. You have decent taste.

I do have decent taste, thanks for noticing!

It became an obsession—checking the box first thing in the morning, wondering what he’d taken next, what he’d written.

Who was he? What did he look like? Most of the neighborhood was made up of older residents, so the idea of someone more your age participating in this felt strangely intimate, almost like a secret conversation no one else knew about.

You never ask for a name or anything, neither does he. It’s more fun this way. The animosity of it, but still, you can’t help but wonder what he is really like. Was it possible to crush on someone like this? Were you actually down this bad?

You finally meet him one night.

Movie in hand, he stands beneath the golden hue of the streetlight. Strong jaw, high cheekbones, full lips that look almost too pretty for someone as rugged as him, framed by a patchy beard. His worn t-shirt clings to his broad chest and toned arms, the fabric stretched just right, hinting at the solid muscle beneath.

His cap sits low, his dark curls peeking out along the edges.

Your gaze drags over him, drinking him in. His eyes meet yours and the lust you feel in that moment threatens to disorient you.

“Hello,” his raspy voice breaks the silence first, also shameless in the way he checks you out.

“Hey.”

For a moment, neither of you move as the tension simmers, absentmindedly taking a step towards each other.

He shifts, rubbing a hand along his jaw. “You the one leaving those notes?”

“Depends,” you tease, tilting your head. “You the one writing back?”

His grin widens just slightly, a lopsided thing that sends the butterflies in your stomach into a frenzy. “Guilty.”

You cross your arms, attempting to play it cool. “I was starting to think I was talking to old man Paul or something.”

He lets out a quiet chuckle at the fact that you’ve named his now dead uncle. “Close enough. I’m his nephew, Francisco—call me Frankie.” He extends his hand to shake yours and you feel yourself getting hot all over from the simple, normal fucking interaction, giving him your name in return.

His hands are so big.

“Nephew? I didn’t know he had family.”

“Not really a family man. He passed away a few weeks ago and I was the lucky one he left his house to.”

You’re about to express your condolences, but it’s like he can feel it coming before the words even form on your lips. “Don’t—it’s fine. I hate that pity shit.”

You laugh, a little nervously, though his brown eyes seem to settle your nerves.

“Well, Frankie,” you say his name, as if testing it out, familiarizing your mouth with it. “Thanks for playing along with this,” you motion vaguely to the swap box.

“I like it. Keeps me entertained while I fix up the place...” He exhales, glancing at the smaller structure before looking back at you. “It’s weird, though. Feels like I already know you.”

You nod, feeling the same. It should be strange, standing here at night flirting with a man you really don’t know… but it isn’t.

He lifts the DVD in his hand. Heat—classic crime thriller. “I was gonna watch this tonight.”

The invitation hovers, your tongue flicking over your lips in anticipation.

“You in?”

A smarter version of you might have hesitated. Might have thought about the risks, the potential awkwardness. But standing here with Frankie watching you like he already knows what your answer is, hesitation isn’t an option.

You grin. “Sure, why not.”

Things escalate fast.

You’re sitting on the couch, the low hum of the movie playing in the background, the two of you exchanging quiet comments between drags of the joint he so effortlessly rolled.

The space between you shrinks. His fingers graze your thigh, intentional but unhurried.

You don’t remember who moves first. Maybe it’s you. Maybe it’s him. But your bodies are pressed together, mouths hungry, hands wandering. His cap gets flicked off, curls spilling into your fingers as you tug him closer, inhaling the scent of smoke and tasting the candy he’d been snacking on.

The movie is forgotten. The joint smolders in the ashtray. You straddle his lap, rolling your hips down, and he groans against your mouth, gripping your waist.

Somewhere between deep drags of each other’s kisses and the slow, filthy grind of your pussy against bulge, he requests, “Let me taste you...” Biting at your lower lip, kneading your ass.

You’re not about to object to a man willingly wanting to go down on you. Nodding, you both quickly undress each other, your want for him only increasing with each layer that gets shed.

Now you’re here. Your thighs bracket his jaw, the arm of the couch supporting you as you sink down into the urgent heat of his mouth. The first slow, wet drag of his tongue at your slit makes you moan pathetically.

His fingers dig into your hips, pulling you down like he wants this—like he needs this.

The scratch of his scruff against your sensitive skin makes it all the better. He’s not gentle—he’s messy, hungry, eating you out like it’s all he’s been thinking about since laying his eyes on you. His tongue flicks, circles, then flattens as he drags it up through your slick folds, his lips wrapping around your clit, sucking just right.

Your head tips back, a broken cry slipping out.

“God, you’re so good at this,” you gasp, rolling your hips against his talented mouth.

Frankie groans in response, the vibration of it sending sparks up your spine. His nose presses right where you need it, and you swear you see stars when he starts moving his head with you, matching your rhythm, letting you ride his face.

Your fingers tighten in his curls, tugging hard. He grunts as one of his hands slides lower, wrapping around his leaking cock. He strokes himself in time with his tongue working you over, his other hand gripping your ass, spreading you wider to get a better taste of all of you.

You don’t even realize how desperate you sound, whimpering… pleading. Your grinding then shifts as his tongue goes taut and you start bouncing softly against his jaw, your hips swiveling in ways you didn’t even know you could move, your body instinctively chasing after his mouth.

He doesn’t let up. If anything, he gets more into it as you do, his tongue fucking into you before moving back to your clit, his swollen lips working magic, sucking, teasing, wrecking you.

“Fuck, I’m gonna—”

Your words melt into a strangled whine as your orgasm crashes into you, your whole body shaking while you come apart on his tongue. Frankie doesn’t stop—he eats you through it, his grip on your hips tightening as you ride out every last wave of your orgasm.

Then—smack.

Your eyes fly open as his palm connects with your ass, the sting mixing with the aftershocks in the best way possible. He does it again, harder this time, a smirk tugging at his lips when you jolt.

The sting of each spank feels so fucking good that you start sobbing, damn near pulling the hair out of his scalp when he harshly sucks on your clit.

He’s been holding himself back from finishing in his fist, but suffocating between your thighs while hearing your pretty noises nearly undoes him.

Continuing to stave off his own release, he grips the girthy base of cock tightly. He needs more. Needs to feel the walls of your pussy squelching around him, pulling him in deeper.

And from the way you’re looking down at him, mouth parted, eyes shining with satisfaction, he knows you need the same damn thing.

He maneuvers out from under you quickly and efficiently, his dexterous training being put to use, pushing your upper half flat into the old couch while your hips remain in the air, thighs pressed together.

Francisco slides the fat tip of his cock through the swollen lips of your pussy, getting himself wet, groaning deep in his chest before pressing his heated dick at your silky thighs, the lubrication of your juices making it easy for him to slip between them, the pressure against his cock having him curse beneath his breath.

“So fuckin’ soft.”

His left hand crosses at your lower back to grab at your right hip while the other lands a harsh smack to your ass. You whimper, but the sound is muffled from how your face is buried into the cushions.

He soothes over the sting with his palm before gripping tight again, using the leverage to thrust between your thighs, the thick weight of his cock teasing you with every stroke, your clit puffy and dripping, needing to feel him inside you.

“Put in, Frankie, please,” you whimper, the squeeze at your thighs causing your cunt to clench around nothing, pushing more of your slick out, pussy drooling for him.

He grunts, pressing a firm hand to your lower back, arching you deeper, adjusting the angle. He spreads you enough to give himself room to line himself up.

“So eager for this dick,” he taunts, swirling the head of his cock at your clit before tapping it repeatedly, the evidence of your horniness clinging to him in a sticky web with every smack.

Frankie teases you by running it up the seam of your pussy, notching it at your fluttering and needy hole before pulling out and repeating the action, driving you crazy. “You always put out this fast?”

You grind back against him, pushing onto your elbows, voice breathy but flirty. “Could ask you the same thing.”

He doesn’t reply, a smug smile on his lips as he finally gives it to you, sinking into the wet cavern of your cunt, groaning out a Fuuuuuck as your pussy stretches around the intrusion of his cock.

You try to moan, to say something, but no sound comes out—just a desperate gasp, eyes falling shut, fingers clawing at the rough couch fabric as he fills you completely.

He doesn’t rush. He takes his time, savoring every squeeze, every tremble. His thrusts start slow, deep, rolling his hips just right, pulling out almost entirely before pressing back in, making you feel every thick inch.

“Fuck, you feel so goddamn good.”

The heat of his body blankets yours as he lowers himself, his weight pressing you deeper into the couch. His mouth is everywhere—kissing up your spine, nipping at your shoulder, his mustache scraping against your oversensitive skin. When he bites down you whine, your cunt clenching tight around him.

His thrusts speed up a notch, somehow getting deeper and harder—grinding into you just right, making your breath stutter.

“Yes—yes—right there,” you sob, turning your head to look at him… or well, try to look at him. Your eyes are glazed over with thick tears of euphoria, barely able to make anything out but you can feel him everywhere. His breath fanning against your face, a small amount of spit stuttering out as he grunts, burying himself over and over inside your tight, wet pussy.

Your nails dig into the old, tacky couch, trying to keep yourself somewhat grounded as he screws the thoughts right out of your brain.

It’s everything you’ve needed. Life has been fucking you over relentlessly as of late, it’s about damn time you finally get a pounding that’s actually worth it.

Frankie groans against your ear as he keeps up the brutal pace. “Pretty movie girl likes it deep, huh?” You could honestly get off by just the sound of his raspy voice. “Shit, never had it like this before, have you?”

You shake your head—not out of denial, but because fuck, he’s right. Nothing has ever felt this good.

His lips brush over your cheek and then he’s kissing you sloppily, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. You moan into his mouth as the pleasure at your pussy blooms again, your second orgasm creeping up fast under the weight of his praise, his cock hitting all the right spots, stretching you wide.

Frankie growls into the kiss, pulling back just enough to watch your face as he ruins you.

“Gonna make you come on my dick,” he mutters, gripping your chin, making sure you’re looking at him while he fucks into that one spot that devistates you. “And you’re gonna take every fuckin’ bit of it.”

And God—you will. You want to.

Because you already know this is the type of sex you’ll be feeling for days.

A few more relentless thrusts, and you’re done for. Your body shakes beneath him, muscles seizing, wails and sobs absorbed by the cushion your cheek is pressed into.

“Shhh just like that, doin’ so good—shit this pussy is amazing.”

Frankie holds you down, his weight keeping you exactly where he wants you. His grip shifts to the armrest, fingers curling tight, using the leverage to piston into you rougher. The couch jerks across the hardwood floor with each thrust, the force of it sending shockwaves up your spine.

The end credits song plays somewhere in the background, barely audible over the obscene sounds of your fucking.

His breathing gets ragged, his rhythm faltering as he chases his own high. He pulls out abruptly, chest heaving, and licks the tips of his fingers before spreading your pussy open, angling his cock right at your slick, swollen cunt.

Hot ropes of cum spill from his slit, milky and thick, painting your used flesh, dripping down onto the couch beneath you. The sight is filthy, so fucking erotic it makes his cock throb in his fist.

He groans at the mess, at the way his release pools against the cleft of your clit. He pushes inside again before either of you can think, his cum and yours mixing as he fucks into you, more fervently this time, dragging out the pleasure until his cock begins to soften.

You’re too spent to do anything but take it, too blissed out to care. All you know is that you want this again. Over and over and over...

“Damn,” Frankie chuckles, still breathless, his curls damp with sweat. His hands move lazily over your body, tracing the curve of your spine, your waist, your thighs, before he leans over to grab his discarded gray tee.

He doesn’t think twice before using it to clean you up, wiping between your legs with a casual ease.

You hum in response, floating somewhere between the high of the weed and the sex. You could crash right here, stretched out on his couch, and be perfectly content.

“You good?” The hot edge of lust has barely cooled when he’s touching you again, stroking his big, warm hand up and down your back.

You don’t nod, just manage a lazy, “Mhm… just need a second.”

He smirks and a wink is thrown in your direction before he stands, sliding his sweatpants on and fixing the couch to its original position before disappearing into the halfway renovated kitchen.

You stretch your limbs, pulling your clothes back on with no real rush. Your body is warm, loose. When Frankie returns, he hands you a glass of water, and you thank him softly, realizing how parched you are when you down the whole thing in one go.

“We didn’t finish the movie,” he muses, lounging back on the couch like he hadn’t just given you the best sex of your life.

“Bummer,” you tease, looking at him over your shoulder.

His gaze flickers from the screen to you, a glint in his dark eyes catching in the glow of the TV.

“You could stay the night,” he offers smoothly. “We could watch somethin’ else… maybe fuck some more too.”

His head tilts slightly, curls messy and inviting. The broad expanse of his naked chest gleams, rising and falling with steady, easy breaths. And then there’s the soft bulge in his sweats, evidence that he’s not nearly as spent as he looks.

Your mouth damn near waters.

You narrow your gaze at him, playful, challenging. Frankie mirrors the expression, watching, waiting…

You both move at the same time.

#jolapenosdearuary #frankie morales smut #frankie morales fic #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales fanfic #kat's writing.

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mercy-burning · 2 days ago

Text

Exposure

AKA: a gentle rewrite/edit of Part 1, plus the rest of the story.

Pairing: therapist!Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: After a year of self-inflicted social isolation, a rather intimate suggestion from your therapist turns your life on its head and opens up a whole new world of cliche, sexy possibilities... Category: SMUT (18+) Content: Themes and discussions of sexual trauma surrounding a painful sexual encounter, power dynamics, masturbation, dubious consent, voyeurism (unbeknownst to reader), Spencer is a perv, fingering, oral sex (fem. receiving), dry humping. Word Count: 9.6k (I had to cut her down, y'all, it was getting ridiculous and I'm sorry flsjdlksdk)

MASTERLIST

It is finally here. I have finally tackled the beast and finished Exposure the way the fanfic gods intended. I initially wanted this story to be what is is now and what you're about to read, but back when I wrote it the first time, I had ZERO self control and decided to just post what I had without finishing the rest, and I split the story into two parts... And then part two never saw the light of day. I have felt so bad ever since for abandoning the story and leaving you without a conclusion. I hope you'll forgive me and that it hasn't been too long for you to still care and read this now. And if you weren't around to read the original first part of Exposure, I hope you enjoy this brand new story that totally didn't exist before just now... ;)

———

ACT I: Homework

"And what about your sexual relationships?"

You freeze like a deer in headlights, unwilling to budge no matter how loudly his horn is blaring. Even as he asks again, your name a gentle coax on the surface of his tongue, you remain perfectly still.

"Did I strike a nerve?" he asks sweetly with a tilt of his head.

"U—Um... I..."

"It's important that you're up-front about these things with me... It's more than acceptable and valid if you don't feel like telling me everything right away. But if there's something wrong, I'd like to know. That way we can at least find somewhere to start. Does that sound alright?"

"Um... Y—Yeah, I guess so..."

He asks again, and you find it extremely difficult to look him in the eye.

Or to look at him in general.

You knew eventually you'd have to talk about your sex life, but in all honesty it had been forced deep into the back of your mind during the other sessions— You know, when you were laser-focused on literally anything else while trying not to think about how attractive you found your therapist and how fucked up that was.

Doctor Reid always makes sure to speak slow and concisely, which, when combined with its smooth tone and the way he looks at you with his pensive, hypnotizing eyes, tends to be absolutely fucking deadly. And his hands— the way they glide beautifully across the notepad he writes in, or how they flex and tap on his knee or on his chin from time to time, his focus trained solely on you...

He'd been dangerously distracting from the get-go, but now, on the topic of your sex life? You can't even entertain looking in his general direction.

So, with your eyes glued on your lap, you mindlessly count the number of tiny flowers printed on your skirt and answer the best you can. "I don't... I don't have frequent sexual relationships."

You wonder if he'll ask you to speak up, but he doesn't. Instead, he asks, "How frequent would you say they are?"

"Um... Well... I've only ever had sex once," you continue quietly, still training your eyes on your skirt.

"Are you... embarrassed about that?"

"No," you offer more firmly. Defensively.

He pauses. "That's good. There's no reason to be." And after you don't say anything in response, counting seven excruciatingly long seconds, you hear him continue. "How long ago was the encounter?"

You hesitate a little longer, but he doesn't push it. Eventually, intimidated by the silence, you sigh and quickly blurt, "About a year ago."

There's another pause, and you would assume he might be writing something down, but the room is too silent. Not even the soft scratch of pen to page dares to interrupt the tension you're feeling.

"And how did you find your experience?" he asks then, your eyes jumping to his face as if to make sure this is actually real and he's actually in front of you right now, asking you what you think you just heard. Your heart speeds up and your hands start to sweat.

"I—I'm sorry?"

He clears his throat, and yours contracts in a gulp. "Did you enjoy yourself?"

"I... I don't... Why is that relevant?"

"You're coming to me once a week for counseling because you said you've found yourself shying away from other people, where a year ago you were a normal adult with normal interests in socializing and being around others. And you're unsure of what steps to take to get back to a normal routine. Correct?"

"Yes..."

"Every session so far, we've gone through your upbringing, your family life, school, friends, your first jobs... All up until now. Everything is perfectly fine, and yet we still can't seem to figure out why you've strayed from your habits. The only topic we haven't discussed is your sexual and romantic relationships."

You remain silent, eyes having dropped back down as he spoke, the flower pattern on your skirt suddenly becoming more like a dizzying optical illusion by the second.

Doctor Reid continues. "And judging your body language, I see that you haven't looked me in the eye once since I brought up sex. My guess is that something happened during your first time that—"

"Look, honestly I don't think that's relevant to my situation, I haven't had sex since then because I don't want to, it has nothing to do with this."

"It's okay if it does," Doctor Reid encourages. He is gentle as always, though if you hadn't known any better, you would think he sounds amused. "That's what I'm here for."

You glance up at him briefly, seeing a soft smile lighting the air between you. It briefly filters some of the embarrassment you're feeling, and with a sigh, you adjust in the chair and look off to the side.

"No. I didn't enjoy myself."

"Do... you want to tell me why you didn't enjoy yourself?"

You blink, feeling your chest tighten and your stomach churn at the memory. "It's stupid."

He calls your name gently, sympathetically... "I promise you it isn't... We don't have to discuss it now if you don't want to, but it's not stupid."

Thankfully he lets you mull it over in the silence for a while, giving you time to gather your emotions and thoughts. And eventually, without looking directly at him, you begin to open up.

"He hurt me... I—It wasn't... bad or anything, like he didn't do anything I didn't want to... I just... I—It hurt. Really bad. Like, I don't think I'd ever felt that kind of pain before."

"Did he, um... Go too hard? Do you think maybe that's why it hurt you?"

You let out the loudest breath of air, embarrassment and exasperation filling your lungs with every breath you take. "Yeah, that was part of it, but like... He was also kind of big, and it didn't feel good going in at all... And I know it's supposed to not feel great at first, and I thought it would get better, but... I—It just got worse, and worse, and I felt like I was getting torn apart from the inside out, I..."

Tears are steadily streaming down your face now, your throat incredibly tight and ears pounding as you try to find the strength to speak.

"I... I never want to do that again."

A box of tissues is dropped into your lap after you take the time to gather yourself a bit, and you mumble a small 'thank you' as you wipe your face. Doctor Reid is more than willing to let you take your time, and you couldn't be more thankful.

It's also great to know that it doesn't seem like he had been embarrassed for you or ready to laugh. In fact, his tone is still as smooth as ever, and incredibly warm as he speaks to you, aiming to help you work through this confidently and logically. It's an effort that comforts you more than you'd ever be able to express.

"Do you think that experience had an effect on the way you socialize somehow?"

"I... Maybe. Sure, I mean... I'm at that age where the people I hang out with all want to hook up, and if we're not trying to go home with someone, then we're not having a good time. It's... It's a lot of pressure, especially when I think about the fact that people like sex... I mean, like... That was awful, and people act like it's the end-all-be-all to enjoyment, I... I don't know..."

"Sure... You had a bad experience, and it's normal to retreat after experiencing that kind of pain... But it was only one time. You never know, maybe your partner just wasn't the right partner for you."

You shake your head intently. "No. No, that's not..."

There's a decent pause before Doctor Reid speaks again. "I want to ask you something... And this might be a bit personal, so I apologize if I push any boundaries..."

He waits for you to object, but you don't, silently giving him the go-ahead and wondering what else he could possibly ask you that hadn't already been beyond the boundaries of a deeply intimate and personal conversation.

"Have you ever masturbated before?"

Dear God, you suddenly feel like you have to throw up. "What?"

"Well, before you had sex... Did you ever... Explore what you like on your own?"

"Um... Y—Yeah, I guess so..."

"You guess so?"

You sigh, trying not to roll your eyes for fear of crying at any sudden movement. "Yes."

"Okay... In your exploration, did you ever try anything penetrative?"

"Do I actually have to answer that?"

"Of course you don't. If you're uncomfortable we can move on, but... I really do think this is going to help..."

You sigh again, then swallow hard as you look at his face once more, only to see him as he always has been— sincere and pensive and understanding. And then, as if that look is designed solely to pull information out of you, you can't help but continue.

"No... I've... only ever done clitoral stimulation."

"And what about after your first time? Have you masturbated since then?"

You pause, throat dry. The word comes out of you with resistance, its fear and indignity rising to the surface of your tongue like sandpaper. "No."

Then he pauses. And as you glance up at the clock to see your time is nearly up, you're pretty sure you know exactly what he's going to tell you, that sinking feeling returning to the pit of your stomach. Each breath feels like a stab to the chest.

Sure enough, he speaks and you close your eyes like shielding yourself from his words will prevent them from taking any meaning. You can hear the sympathy in them anyway, and you feel foolish for even attempting to hide.

"Before I see you next week, I suggest you try masturbating again. Maybe watch some pornography or read some erotica... Whatever you think will get you more comfortable with your body and your sexuality... And we'll see where you end up."

The whole situation is so ridiculous, you can't help but laugh, though there's not an ounce of humor lacing the sound. "Do you really think this is going to help me get over my... fear of sex, or whatever this is?"

He smiles softly at you, and despite the poor relationship you've been having with sex, it brings a low simmer to the pit of your stomach that scares more than excites you. "It's a good start."

It's a good start...

"It's a good start," you whispered when you got home that night, right before getting under the covers and letting your hand wander...

It worked, too.

You'd expected it to take way longer than a week to get back any sliver of libido. And it was definitely hard at first, but by the time your next session with Doctor Reid came around, you'd been masturbating regularly every day.

Though, it seems his instruction may have worked a little too well.

Once you were more comfortable with your own body again, you couldn't stop the images of his face as they danced in beautiful flashes behind your eyelids. Scenarios were acted out in your dreams, his presence melding with yours and replacing those you'd watched and read, and it created a new sense of anxiety once you realized that you'd have to see him again in a few days...

And now that you're here, only seconds away from the moment he'd walk through the door, your stomach twists and your heart leaps.

You almost think maybe running out the door is a good option, but then he's waltzing through it with that seasoned swiftness that only adds to his charm and intimidates you further.

"Good afternoon," he greets with a warm smile, taking the seat in front of you.

"Hi, Doctor."

"How was your week?"

You clear your throat, obviously not very good at hiding anything. "Fine."

"Just fine?"

"Yep."

He only waits for you to continue. You hate when he does that...

Because it works, getting you to talk every damn time. "Still not inclined to do anything out of my normal social routine, but I'm... better."

"How so?"

Feeling his gaze on you makes your heart lurch. "Um... I'm more... comfortable... with my body, I guess..."

"So you took my suggestion, then?"

You can only muster a nod, words dying in the back of your throat and evaporating into nothing. You're still not looking at him—not directly, anyway.

"You still seem... reserved."

"Well, I'm talking to my therapist about my masturbation habits..."

Thankfully he seems to understand, nodding with a small laugh that aims to lighten the mood and make you more comfortable around the whole situation. After all, it is only the start of your session this week, and a whole hour and a half of awkwardness wouldn't suffice.

Even still, what he says next doesn't ease your mind much at all.

"Do you mind elaborating a little?"

"I don't know how much more elaboration you need," you half-scoff, clearly defensive over your privacy— And with every right to be so, considering most of your thoughts had been about him.

"Well, let's start with how frequent you've been with it."

That you could do. "Um... about every day for the past week?" And right before I left the house...

"Good. How many times a day?"

"Once." Twice, sometimes three...

"Okay..." He writes things down, and then pauses before asking his next question. "Have you tried any new techniques?"

"I'm sorry?"

"I mean other than clitoral stimulation."

"No."

He must have sensed the unease in your punctuation, because he leans forward. "Let me be clear. My questions on the topic are thorough and perhaps a bit boundless, but I am not expecting you to be ready to have sex right away. You should always be allowed to go at your own pace, and I will always encourage you to do so, I hope you understand that."

"Right..." There's an awkward pause, but you want things to keep moving, so just to keep him talking, you clear your throat and continue, "So, um... What's the next step then?"

By the look in his eyes, you realize it had probably been the wrong question—and way—to ask. Even after just explaining that you could go at your own pace, the way you spoke to him could have easily been interpreted as a newfound confidence to push forward.

Currently, under his watchful gleaming eye, you find yourself feeling anything but confident. In the past week, unfortunately, that much hasn't changed. Especially after he tells you, "We're going to make sure you've actually been doing your homework. Come with me."

———

There's just something about you that Spencer can't seem to understand. It's something beautiful and alluring, and more than anything it's incredibly wrong. Because he surely shouldn't be taking you to a separate room in the building where they interview mental patients while others watch from behind one-way glass and take notes.

But here he is anyway, leading you into the room and trying desperately not to kiss or touch you in the meantime...

"W—What do you want me to do, exactly?" you ask in that timid way of yours. It's almost innocent, like you truly don't understand why he's brought you here rather than confirming your suspicions. And somehow that only makes him want you more.

"I would like for you to watch yourself masturbate in front of this mirror here." He opens the door and urges you inside as he follows. You survey the space as your hands fumble nervously, and he continues. "It's a form of exposure therapy. My hope is to get you not only to feel your pleasure, but to see it... The act of seeing yourself that way is a good effort to boost confidence and embrace sexuality. The room is soundproof, it's camera-free... Whatever you do in here will be completely private."

"I—Isn't this like... This... I..."

Spencer reaches out and touches your shoulder, and when you look at him like a lost puppy, he nearly caves. "I understand your reservations, and you are more than welcome to decline... But I really do think this will help you. You're completely safe here, it's important for you to know that."

He's speaking to you in that slow, collected way that always gets you to open up to him, and it proves itself useful once again when you finally nod and agree to do his assignment. He smiles tamely, though the images that grace his brain of what might transpire soon are anything but. The pit of his gut is a raging wildfire, and you, though deeply unaware just yet, are the fuel that feeds and flourishes it.

"What do I do when I'm done?" you ask.

He reaches into his pocket and gives you a pager. "You can page me with this. I'll be in my office, so by the time I get to you, you should have enough time to get yourself situated. Is that okay?"

"You're... Leaving me alone?"

The question almost knocks the wind out of him. To play it off though, he offers a small, breathy laugh. "Did you want me to watch?"

"That's not what I meant! I... I just mean... Anyone could..."

"Like I said, this room is completely safe and soundproof. I've booked it for your session today, so no one will be here to use it..." He thinks for a moment, suppressing a grin to the best of his ability when the words come tumbling out. "There is a room right next door if you'd prefer I stay closer though, just in case."

"Y—Yes, please..."

Spencer smiles and hands you the pager, trying not to linger too long when his knuckles brush the inside of your palm. "Okay. Page me when you're done, and I'll give you a few minutes to collect yourself. Okay?"

"Okay," you offer with a nod and a small smile. Your nerves have calmed, and maybe this helps Spencer feel better about what he's about to do, but regardless of his ulterior motives, he truly is glad you're making progress.

He leaves and shuts the door, locking it and making quick work of sliding into the small door next to it. After locking that one as well, he switches on the light and settles in, seeing that you've only just sat down on the small couch in the middle of the room.

You both lean back at about the same time, you into the couch cushions and Spencer in the spinning desk chair. It doesn't take but a single movement of your hand down to the button of your jeans to make him hard, and the sight has him even more determined to make you feel the same way about him that he does you.

It's set in stone the moment you slide the denim down your legs and spread them wide, right in front of him. He watches as you take a deep breath and rub yourself through your panties, little pieces of your hesitation crumbling away by the second, and he just knows he's going to fuck you properly.

When, he doesn't know. But it will happen, that much he's sure of.

In the meantime, he settles for fantasy. Spencer opens up his own pants and just loosens them enough to get his dick out, and all the while his eyes are trained solely on you.

He doesn't start moving his hand until you slide your panties down as well, fluttering your eyes closed the moment your finger makes contact with your bare clit. In that moment, Spencer is glad for the soundproofing, because if you'd actually heard the way he groaned out just then, he would have been doomed. He spits on his hand and starts to glide it softly over himself, matching the speed of your own as it languidly explores your body.

All he can think about is how beautiful you are... He should be thinking about how wrong this is, or how you probably don't feel the same attraction to him that he so obviously feels about you, and doing this is only making his crush worse...

But damn it, you're just so captivating, and he can't stop.

And he doesn't.

No, Spencer doesn't even give a second thought to sighing out your name and imagining you in front of him—closer than you are now—with your head tilted up and your pretty eyes batting up at him while he fucks your throat. He mindlessly whispers praises in between low whines as his speed and pressure increases, and he's so close to coming.

He can hold out, though. He can wait for you. He wants to wait for you. He wants to watch you come undone before he even thinks about getting there himself.

But of course, as they say, you don't always get what you want.

It's not like it's his fault, though. You're the one who's losing yourself in a fantasy, using his name on your lips as a plea to aid you in the most intimate form of pleasure...

"Doctor Reid," he can hear you whine as you squirm and bring yourself closer to bliss.

He can't help it, then. His name desperately falling off your tongue sets off the explosion that ripples through his insides. His hand falters, and he releases the most pathetic sound he's ever made right as he comes all over his hand. You're calling his name again, in broken chants getting higher and higher in pitch until you're incoherent, and he's just a sticky, flustered mess.

He sits there and watches you reach your climax, still gently stroking his cock with a lip between his teeth. Your eyes squeeze shut and your mouth hangs open, and your legs, while still wide, are wavering and tensing. His eyes travel down to your hand as it strokes and circles, and he wishes more than anything that it was his.

In fact, the thought gives him an idea for another session...

ACT II: Awakening

The amount of time you've spent the last month watching porn is extremely embarrassing. It's not even just to get off anymore, either, though the relief is nice. Still, the act itself doesn't embarrass you so much as where your mind goes when you do it. You're purposely watching videos where the men have slim builds and curly hair so you can squint and imagine who you really wish you were watching...

It's wrong and dangerous and probably illegal somehow, and still, it's a better place than you were in months ago... So you can't really complain, can you?

Yes, really, you can; You still have to see your therapist while regularly having sexual fantasies about him. Which would be fine if you didn't have to talk to him about your sexual habits every session...

You almost think about cancelling today, but despite the overwhelming amount of time spent thinking about sex and how much you actually want it, you figure that means this therapy is helping. Yourself a month ago would be absolutely petrified at the idea of watching some girl get railed on screen repeatedly, vivid flashbacks of your first and final experience of sex surely to barge in and render the porn and its purpose useless.

So, despite the potential awkwardness, you end up in his office right on time.

Doctor Reid is already there, standing next to a small fold-out bed in the middle of the room with the rest of the furniture moved out of the way. It almost looks like a completely different place.

"Oh, am... Did I get the wrong time?"

He calls your name brightly, turning to see you. "You're right on time, actually. Come on in. I want to talk about your next step... I assume you've been keeping up with your homework?"

You swear then that you must still be in your bedroom, watching porn on a loop, weary and orgasmed out, because you can instantly feel the setup here; It wouldn't be hard to put the pieces together. The cliche nature of it all makes you think you might just be blurring reality and fantasy, your legs weak as you make your way over to him.

"Yes, I have..." you confirm cautiously, though the back of your mind is already battling over whether or not to be excited or scared, or both, at the prospect of this 'next step'. Is it something you're really willing to do? Is it in the realm of comfortable possibility?

Doctor Reid smiles at you, and, Yes, you think finally, it is.

"Well, you've done really well lately, and I'm proud of you for taking this journey in rediscovering your sexuality. It isn't an easy feat after going through what you did, and your progress is something you should be very proud of."

Admittedly, the praise is nice. It's comforting. Genuine. You really have progressed in embracing your sexual desires, though the thought of trusting someone enough to respect your boundaries and understand your reservations to the act itself is nearly sickening.

Unless, of course, that person is your therapist. Then it's not so hard to imagine.

Your body warms at the implications, and suddenly you're nervous all over again, your eyes trying not to eye the bed in the middle of the room. Through a deep breath, you tell him, "Thank you. What's on the agenda today?"

The small laugh that escapes him has you weak in the knees again. "Eager, are we?"

Oh, there's no way he's not flirting...

Right?

You shrug and offer a smile. "You did renovate your office rather... drastically... Excuse a girl for being curious, Doctor."

"Touché," he replies. His syllables are slow and smooth, and when his eyes bare into yours, reality and fantasy have moved past the point of blurring— they've full-on collided, creating this new atmosphere of thick, palpable debauchery that promises to alter the course of your life forever.

You want to jump his bones now, before something changes your mind, but you can't move. The possibility of misreading the situation is far too humiliating to make any sudden movements or declarations of desire.

"Please, sit," Doctor Reid invites, and you calm a little. Your limbs are still on fire with each muscle that moves, until you're seated on the bed, looking up at him and trying not to give yourself away.

Just in case.

If he can tell what's going on in your brain, he doesn't let on. Still, there's something that lives in his gaze, something knowing and all-consuming that calms your nerves like a weighted blanket as his voice plunges you further into this fantastical reality you've created together.

"Like I said, it seems that you've been succeeding at rediscovering and maintaining a healthy sexual appetite. How does that make you feel?"

"Um... Really good, actually. I think I've come a long way, and it's all because of you."

It hadn't been intentional to phrase it that way, but as soon as the words leave your mouth and his lips quirk into a gentle smirk, you avert your gaze, clutching the edge of the bed. "I mean, your suggestions and your kindness have been extremely helpful..."

"That's what I'm here for," he says, amusement lacing his tone, but disappearing quickly as he continues. "Now, I know it's only been just over a month, and it's still absolutely imperative that you do this at your own pace. So if you find yourself feeling like you're not ready to move forward when I ask you this, you are not obligated to agree. Is that understood?"

Your heart is beating wildly within the confines of your chest, daring to and desperate for escape. "Yes, Doctor."

His tongue darts out over his bottom lip as the honorific trickles sweetly off of yours, and then he clears his throat, taking a step closer to you. "Do you trust me?"

"Yes." There isn't a single ounce of hesitation in the meaning of the word or the speed at which it leaves your mouth. It's not even a second thought.

"My hope for today's session is to get you to a place where you're comfortable with trying different techniques. And if you don't mind, I'd like to assist—to show you some new pleasure points and help you discover what you like. Is that something you're willing to do?"

You nod slowly, words feeling impossible, which brings a small smile to his face.

"Okay, a few rules. This is a very vulnerable thing. So you need to use your words. I'm not comfortable moving forward unless you explicitly say so, so I ask you again; Do you give me permission to help you experiment?"

"Yes."

Firm. Some might even say confident. The word rings sharply in the air for a few moments before Doctor Reid nods and responds quietly, "Good."

He walks over to you, slowly until his knees are barely touching yours. You feel yourself becoming a living current of electricity at the sheer closeness of him, never mind that he hasn't even touched you. You can only imagine what it will feel like when he does, the thought making you fight the urge to clamp your thighs together.

"Do I have your permission to touch you?"

Touch me how? you want to ask, but you realize it wouldn't matter; You'd let him touch you in any way he pleased. So instead, you tell him, "Please."

His eyes rake slowly over your figure then, possibly considering his next move, but then he simply nudges your knee with his leg, the most brief form of touch but still electrifying all the same. "Will you hold your right leg out for me?"

Not quite what you would have expected, but you do as he says, extending your leg as he rests his palm under your ankle.

"Are you familiar with erogenous zones?"

Your heart leaps. "Yes. I know the concept."

He considers this before slightly swiping his thumb along the side of your ankle. "Are you familiar with your erogenous zones?"

"I can't say I've ever thought about it, so... Probably not, no."

"Hmmm."

Honestly, you figure it wouldn't even matter where he touched you; The fact that he's taken an interest in your sexual desires and putting them to the test with an attentive, hands-on approach is more than enough to get you hot and bothered. The sheer presence of him alone makes your whole body pulse with writhing need.

Still, you let him explore, trying not to prove impatient. It's incredibly difficult when the denim of your jeans slowly becomes nothing more than a claustrophobic obstacle to his attention. Everywhere his fingers brush, heat radiates, but you know it could be stronger. You try your hardest to focus on his questions and less on the signals your body is sending you, violently and utterly whorish. You'd never been this way before, not even by yourself, and you're becoming less and less patient by the minute

Doctor Reid seems to notice this as his knuckles brush the inside of your palm, a ghost of a smile on his lips. "Are you relaxed?" he asks quietly, keeping his head low but lifting his eyes to meet yours. Something about the sight stirs in your stomach.

"Yes."

"You don't sound very convinced."

You can't help but succumb to the bout of nervous laughter that's been dancing in its cage in the back of your throat the whole session. His fingers halt their gentle discovery of your body but remain rested in your palm, every nerve ending threatening to explode. "Well, I don't know if relaxed is really the right word, but... I'm... Good."

He hums pensively, pausing to tilt his head. "You've been responding rather enthusiastically to just about every touch..." If he's amused by this, you can't tell, but the words feel like a prideful observation regardless. "I suppose that means we can move this along..."

When his eyes meet yours again, you nearly whimper.

"May I kiss you?" he asks.

His knuckles start moving slowly against your palm, and your entire arm lights up with excitement at the contact, as does your heart. Suddenly the room feels cold yet hot at the same time, a deep chill crashing through your body like a tidal wave. Your nipples are painfully hard against the fabric of your bra, and you feel it in your bones.

You've never been so turned on in your life.

You nod, then stop yourself, remembering his rules. The word sounds utterly wanton as it gently squeaks past your lips, but it's the best you can do to give him permission short of reaching up and pulling him down to kiss him yourself.

"Please..."

He surprises you again by stepping forward and lifting your arm to his mouth. Sticky honey eyes trap you in their gaze as his lips replace his knuckles on the inside of your palm, soft and warm in every aspect. He takes his time, grazing his nose along your fingers and then your wrist as he drops the gentle pressure of a kiss along every centimeter of skin he explores. It's thorough and attentive and gentle, and you're mesmerized.

Eventually he's kissed his way up your whole arm, and it feels like you've been in this bed for hours, something slowly awakening inside you at his every touch. The excitement bubbling in your bloodstream starts to boil over when he reaches your collarbone, using his hand to slip under the strap of your tank top so he can kiss you there.

Responding to his touch has become second nature at this point, so your head leans away and gives him room to start kissing your neck, to which he does happily.

Where Doctor Reid's kisses had been kind and curious in their pursuit, they've now grown indulgent. His lips part, lavishing the skin at the side of your neck with a warm, wet caress that makes your toes curl and your fists clench. His hand comes up to drag the pad of his middle finger down your throat as his tongue darts out and laps at your skin, and you moan.

Your hips grind and your thighs clench, a disastrous wave of heat flooding through you, and he sucks gently on your skin for a second before sighing.

"There it is..."

You pout when he pulls away, but he strokes your hairline and doesn't go far. "How are you feeling?"

"Really good," you breathe through a nervous smile.

"Are you turned on?"

Obviously, you want to exclaim, but given his thorough and affirmative nature, it makes sense. You also force yourself to remember that he's your therapist and not a guy you've taken home for the night. He's a professional, despite how unprofessional in nature this particular situation is on paper; He's not going to move the process along based on an assumption, no matter how obvious your reactions might be.

"Very," you tell him confidently, a proud gleam in your eye as you look up at him. The twitch of his grin does more than excite you— it urges you. "You turn me on, Doctor Reid..."

"Is that so?"

"Mhmmm."

He leans and his breath is hot in your ear. His voice comes in low and seductive. Curious. Careful.

"Then I'd like you to show me. Will you touch yourself for me, love?"

The pet name makes you clench around nothing, and you whimper at the way it stings. At this point it's physically painful to keep lying there at his mercy without any sort of stimulation, so despite how embarrassing and desperate it might be, your hand is slipping under the band of your sweatpants with ease as you sigh out. "I'll do anything..."

The back of his knuckles tease your neck as you slowly circle your clit with your middle finger, and you don't have to do much wandering to gather your wetness either. Everything is warm and wet and ready for release, which doesn't go unnoticed by Doctor Reid.

"I can hear how wet you are," he muses brightly, his throat caught in a groan as his lips hover over your neck. "That's good."

"Uh-huh?" you whine out, his praises bringing you closer to nirvana.

"That's really good... Are you close already, baby?"

You can't help but moan at the name, a white-hot pool of pleasure filling up in your gut as his lips attach to your pulse-point. "Yes, Doctor..."

"Mmm," he hums into your skin, continuing to kiss you. His hand strokes your forehead as your own makes quick work of your clit. It won't be but a matter of seconds before you're coming undone. "How long can you go between orgasms? Do you know?"

"I... usually wait... ten minutes at least..."

Doctor Reid licks softly at your neck before he asks, "Have you used a vibrator or a toy?"

You laugh involuntarily, clenching your legs as your orgasm approaches and wishing you had your vibrator right now. You bought it after your third session. "A vibrator. A cheap one... But it works."

"Nothing wrong with that," he mumbles amusedly into your skin, trailing his kisses up to your jaw. It takes everything you have not to turn your head and take his lips with your own, just to taste his warmth as you come undone—to whimper and whine into his mouth with every wave of pleasure that crashes through you, and—

God, that's exactly what's happening...

Your body shudders blissfully as Spencer kisses you, and the moment doesn't even feel real. His mouth is gentle but coaxing, helping you through your orgasm with a sense of accomplishment, like his kisses are a reward. At least, it certainly feels that way. It doesn't help that when you finally come down, slowing your breathing and removing your hand from your pants, he rests his forehead to yours with a final gentle peck on the mouth and an affirming, "Very good, sweetheart."

You can't help but feel like he takes note of the way you flutter your eyes closed at the nickname; there's a pause in his movements before he returns to them, lightly trailing his knuckles over your neck until his touch disappears completely.

Even though you just came moments before, his next sentence nearly gives you a second wind, your eyes snapping open and your cunt throbbing with want.

"Has anyone ever eaten you out before?"

"No," you tell him truthfully, and he studies you with a look in his eyes that tells you he isn't surprised to hear the unfortunate news. Embarrassed suddenly at his pity, you try to shrug it off. "Men seem to be pretty notorious for being bad at it though, so I didn't hold it against him... My ex, I mean..." You huff a nervous laugh, seeing Doctor Reid stare at you blankly. "I figured it would save us both the trouble."

"There's nothing troubling about it," he mumbles, more to himself. But then he straightens and inhales, back to business as his gaze cements into yours once again. "Would you be willing to let me do it?"

Even more embarrassing than the fact that it hasn't been done before is the speed at which you respond, "Yes." The word is sharp and desperate, loud and true, and you swear you see Spencer's eyes glow. "Please..."

It's hard to tell what he's thinking exactly—ever the professional he is—but aside from lack of a smile or any other indicator of eagerness, his eyes give his emotions away on a grander scale. They're practically fucking you already as he saunters around the bed, their intensity settling deep in the pit of your stomach. Suddenly you're convinced you could come just by his stare alone.

"May I?" he questions, gently tugging at the ankle of your leggings.

"Yes."

"Lift your hips for me, sweetheart."

After a sentence like that, you aren't sure how you have the strength to do it, but you manage, hot flashes coursing through your entire body as his nimble fingers grip the waistband of your leggings and slide them over your hips, then your thighs. His skin is hot against yours, even with as little contact as there is; a simple brush of the knuckle over your knee might as well be a branding iron, claiming you as his own.

He doesn't even have to instruct you, your legs falling wide open once they're free from their fabric confines.

At this point you aren't even embarrassed anymore. You might even be proud of it— how badly you want him to touch you and taste you and show you just how good another person could make you feel. In an odd way it makes you feel important. Cared for.

Your cunt throbs at the intensity of all these emotions and feelings.

It doesn't help when Doctor Reid settles between your legs, making himself comfortable and looking up at you through his eyelashes. The sight is just as overwhelming as everything else.

"You're absolutely sure you want this?" he inquires softly, almost like a plea.

Your vocal cords feel like they're made of rope, the words climbing out of you with burning calluses and a determination to see it through to the end. You've never wanted anything so badly, and you tell him precisely that.

The confirmation seems to please him, a beautiful lilted sigh escaping him as his nose comes in contact with your underwear. It rests just above your clit, his breath hot against you.

His hands come up from under you then, gripping your thighs to keep you steady as he presses an open-mouthed kiss to your clothed cunt. The gentle pressure makes you moan and squirm, his fingers gripping your thighs even tighter, and you sigh his name.

He keeps going, taking his sweet time to explore what areas get reactions from you, though he's quick to learn that every touch, every kiss, every gentle probe of the tongue... all of it is slowly undoing you to the point of madness.

With a hooked finger pulling your panties aside, Doctor Reid sighs into your thigh.

"Are you ready for it, pretty girl?"

All you can manage is the most whiny, whorish "Uh-huh," to the air. It echoes brightly and rings in your ears long after the moment, time seeming to stop right as his tongue comes in contact with your dripping heat.

The sensation is hot and sharp, and never ending. After what seems like forever, the tip of his tongue finally comes up and swiftly flicks your clit before he repeats the entire motion, like a wave crashing over the shore, and that's when your body finally releases all its tension.

You hadn't even realized you were so tense. Your fingers release their grip on the thin sheet beneath you and your chest sighs of relief, and that's when you feel yourself finally start to breathe. Head spinning, the sensations happening below you are coming into sharp clarity.

Spencer's tongue is relentless, leaving no crevice untouched by pleasureful curiosity. But you barely even have time to wonder if he might be enjoying himself more than you are, because all thought at all completely disappears the very moment his lips gather around your clit, sucking softly as he groans.

"Ohhhh my god..."

You're unable to keep your hips from grinding into his mouth. Still, he persists, cycling between sucking and licking and kissing, and it takes everything you have not to reach down and thread your fingers through his hair.

"You taste so fucking good," he sighs, coming up for air for a second. Then he kisses you again and repeats himself. "You're so good..."

This time you do reach down for his head, brushing the stray strands away from his forehead as he looks up at you. He pauses his ministrations, and his tongue's absence is sorely missed in feeling but a pleasure to the eyes as he runs it over his bottom lip in a slow, almost predatory nature.

"I'm going to slowly add a finger, is that okay?"

The thought admittedly panics you, flashbacks of pain and disappointment and embarrassment barging in and nearly ruining the moment. But Spencer can tell, his head tilting into your thigh again until it makes contact. His hair tickles and sends a shiver over your limb as he uses his hands to rub gentle, reassuring circles into your skin.

"We don't have to. I can keep doing it just like this if you prefer. Whatever you want, sweetheart."

The words shoot straight to your core, which sparks the realization that your previous encounter with sex was nothing like this at all. Not only in situation, obviously, but in feeling as well. You were excited to do it the first time, sure, but the build-up was pretty much non-existent. And now here you've been, pining away at this man for weeks, reawakening your libido and engaging in the longest game of foreplay known to man.

You have this very moment to show for it, your entire body humming with want and your worries slowly melting away under Doctor Reid's careful yet eager exploration.

Where there had once been an absence of communication and genuine care, now rests a bright and blossoming excess of it, in every touch and every pull of his eyes. It burns through you like a shot of whiskey, growing in sizzling warmth as it reaches every limb.

It's this new, odd and exciting comfort that urges you to tell him, "It's okay. You can do it."

You expect him to sigh in relief, grateful for your permission, but if he feels it he doesn't show it. Gentle hands continue caressing the underside of your thighs and he looks up at you. "You're sure?"

"Yes. I want it. I want your fingers inside of me, please."

Between the desperate emphasis in your nodding and the way your eyes are practically begging him, you've sealed your fate, a soft gasp reaching your throat when his middle finger slides through your opening and sends a rush of excitement over every plane of your body.

He doesn't enter you, but simply glides, up and down, like he's trying to soothe you.

"Tell me if it's too much, okay?"

"O-kay..."

Your breath shakes on the last syllable, his fingertip slowly disappearing inside you. He takes his sweet time, one knuckle, then two, and then he's fully inside you, and it's not nearly as painful as the last time somebody had been there.

"Fuck, you're so warm..." His eyes search yours for a moment before he sighs and lowers his head. "So beautiful..." And then his mouth is on you again, his compliment muffled by the essence of your pleasure, and your head is thrown back in an instant.

As his finger kindly allows you to adjust to its residence, experimentally moving in and out, his tongue continues to lap at your clit, and both sensations together are a bit odd but not unwelcome. You're slowly getting used to the fullness, yet something in you aches for more...

Maybe it's in your sighs, or the way your hands claw at the sheets, or perhaps he simply just knows you that well, but either way, Spencer knows.

He adds another finger, slowly and without an ounce of resistance from your body, and when you sigh out this time, it's of relief. You smile through it, allowing yourself to revel in the feeling of something new and erotic and exciting. Every whimper that falls from your lips is prideful and maybe even a bit exaggerated, but it's entirely worth it if only for the encouragement it seems to give Doctor Reid to keep going.

After a while of letting you get used to the feeling, he pulls back and twists his palm up before he enters you again, slowly as he says, "You're taking them so well... I'm proud of you, love..."

His fingers are in as far as they can go, and then they curve up just right, and you gasp.

"That feel good?"

"Uh-huh..."

"Yeah?" he coos proudly, starting a rhythm with his fingers that has you crying out in unbelievable pleasure. You're quickly reaching a peak again, every sensation from the fullness of his fingers and the way they twist and curl inside you to the sounds he makes as he kisses and sucks at your clit sending you into overdrive.

Dizziness starts to swarm you and your body can't handle it. Rather than fight this tight, new feeling brewing at each stroke of his fingers, you embrace it with deep breaths and cries out into the air, and then it snaps inside you.

Doctor Reid manages to keep your legs open as he works you through it, though you're not sure how you haven't crushed him yet. Everything feels tight and sharp and blindingly good—it feels like something that would take an army to keep from closing in.

Still, he does it, holding you open and groaning his way through your orgasm. Your hands instinctively reach out to keep him there, clutching at his hair and holding on for dear life while you tremble and clench around him.

Galaxies dance vividly behind your eyelids for what feels like eons as the pleasure bursts through you like a display of shooting stars, until eventually it subsides and your body feels extremely tired.

"Mmm, see? No trouble at all." He removes his fingers and continues to lazily make out with your cunt through small aftershocks of overstimulation, and then he's gone.

He gives you a few moments to collect yourself before he asks, "How do you feel?"

"Tired," you sigh with a smile, relaxing back with your eyes closed. You feel like you could take a nap. "But good. Very good."

His momentary silence intrigues you, so you flutter your eyes open and see that the heat in them hasn't subsided. In fact, it burns through him brightly as he prowls up the bed and climbs over your body until you're face-to-face. Something hard and hot and familiar rests firmly against your thigh and you choke on a whimper.

"Have you ever tasted yourself before?" he inquires, his voice barely above a whisper.

You swallow and prepare yourself. "No."

"Would you like to?"

And then without a second thought, your hands bring his face down to yours, and you embrace the subtle tang of your pleasure on his lips. He groans into your mouth, low and warm as his hips rut into your thigh.

The action sends you into overdrive, and suddenly you want to ask if you can return the favor, but Doctor Reid seems to have other ideas.

A finger delicately makes its way past your lips, seamlessly replacing his tongue, and you open your eyes again, nearly falling apart at the sight of him. The man is wild, eyes desperate for release as you suck on his finger, and then he adds another.

You clean him of your essence, sensual and enthusiastic in your maneuvers in a newfound confidence that wouldn't even exist now if not for him. So you treat this act as a reward to him, an act of gratitude, regardless of whether or not this session is technically all about discovering your likes and dislikes. If anything, you've learned that you like pleasing him. And so—if the constant friction between his bulge and your thigh is any indication—you'd have to say that his goal for today's session has been achieved tenfold.

"God, you're perfect," he huffs as his movements stutter and his hips still. You moan around his fingers, gliding your tongue in the space between them, and when he finally comes, he's choking out your name.

His weight gradually comes down on top of you, his fingers sliding out of your mouth and resting on your chest as he finds his composure. And then he's kissing your neck and your jaw, and each hot caress of his mouth at your pulse point feels like a reward of its own, an intimate form of affection made specifically for you.

Your name sighing past his lips and into your skin is proof enough of that; the lust is still there, sure, but it's laced with something else. Something softer.

As the breathing between the two of you slows, you comb through his hair with your fingers and sigh. An odd, pleasant feeling swirls around in your gut.

"Thank you, Doctor Reid."

"Mmm, you're very welcome," he murmurs into your skin, still nestled into the crook of your neck.

"For everything," you clarify. "A month ago, doing something like that would have felt impossible to even imagine, but... You make me feel safe, and cared for. And more importantly, you don't make me feel like I should be ashamed. Like there isn't actually something wrong with me. I don't know how to thank you enough for that."

When he pulls away, you almost think you might have scared him off, but the look in his eyes is anything but fearful. In fact, they practically shine like a glimmering lively lake as they search your own.

"There is absolutely nothing wrong with you. You're beautiful, and bright, and curious... And as long as you remember that, and you hold onto it, you will be just fine—no matter where you go, or... who you go to."

You shake your head, that feeling in your gut growing exponentially and the words flying out before you can stop them. "I don't want to go to anyone else. I only want you."

The look in his eyes deepens, almost a little melancholic in their intensity, close enough to that fear you were worried about earlier to make your heart beat faster.

"You don't mean that," he says, and you want to cry. Hell, you might, if that feeling in your stomach is speaking for something.

"Like hell I don't," you counter, cradling his head in your hands. "You're the first person I've actually wanted to be around in so long, and... Maybe it's twisted, maybe it's not right, but if there is anyone that I need, it's you. I won't even be your patient anymore if that makes up for it, I just want to see you. I trust you. More than I would trust any stranger."

When your name exits his lips, this time it's a gentle warning. Authoritative. But still sweet. Maybe even a little disappointed. "The purpose of these more... interactive sessions was to get you comfortable with trusting people with your body as much as you do... Seeing me and no one else would, in the end, defeat that purpose."

All feeling in your bloodstream curdles and starts to wither away with rejection. Embarrassment fizzles behind your eyelids as you close them, forming into tears that you try and will away until you're out of his sight. "You don't... actually want me..."

He tenses at your exclamation, and sighs. "That is absolutely not what I said. Look at me."

"Then... what?"

Spencer remains professional, but there's something hiding behind his eyes that longs to get out, you can see that. You can feel it too, as prominently as you feel your heart beating in your chest.

"As your therapist, it is in both of our best interests that I recommend you to try a night out. You don't have to sleep with anyone or do anything you're uncomfortable with, obviously, but... Based on what we've accomplished today, it is my professional opinion that you're ready for the next step."

So you're kicking me out, you cry dramatically in your head, even though you know it isn't true. Still, there's something inside you that doesn't want to let go— that can't. This connection you have with him is something strong and beautiful, something valuable. Something profound. You're not going down without a fight, until he is kicking you out of his office.

Your fingers glide down the side of his face and your eyes sharpen, studying his face with lustful reverence.

"And what are your thoughts as a man... and not my therapist?"

While you'd intended it more as a plea, your words seem to challenge him. Gone is the liberal professionalism, replaced with a familiar sly desire that ignites your heart and fills you with hope.

"As a man... it's impossible even trying to deny you..."

The words excite and warm you all over. You hum, nudging your nose to his and thinking aloud. "Mmm. After my hour is up and the day is long over... Maybe I should wander back to the parking lot and let a man take me home... As my therapist, d'you think that would count as a night out?"

You're relentlessly teasing him now, but he seems alright with it, laughing dryly above you as his hands clutch your shirt and his hips shift firmly into your thigh again. "Haven't you gotten bold," he muses lowly, his mouth inching closer to yours.

"What can I say... You're very good at your job, Doctor."

"Mmm, you make it easy, love."

His lips are on yours soon after that, and with each tick of the clock your kisses grow hungrier.

Nothing escalates, but for the next fifteen-or-so minutes, your body remains buzzing with the ever-present energy of him, the knowledge that his presence has altered the course of your life forever, and the hope that the feeling is mutual.

Though, if the way he holds you and kisses you means anything, there is nothing to worry about in the slightest.

You leave his office that day feeling lighter, and while you're a far cry from where you were when you started seeing Doctor Reid, you're certain that by tomorrow you'll be a completely different woman.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid smut #criminal minds fanfiction #mercy after hours #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader fanfic #spencer reid x you

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fckmebarnes · 2 days ago

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give it to me

alpha!bucky barnes x omega!reader

18+ smut! minors DNI! p in v, cunninglings (r) bucky humps the couch in desperate need. slight scenting. light choking. daddy title. cockwarming. claiming. multiple orgasm (r). breeding kink.

hii! look at these two . bucky & bellflower <3 i hope you guys liked this! this is Not Proof read & also not sure about word count but it’s long and filthy! (think this is my first fr fr fic) asks are always open for these two! enjoy!!!

he had an exceptionally long fucking day at work, not anything he really wanted to share — it was stupid. he just needed to let off steam, take his frustrations out on something.

and that something just so happened to be you.

after a long day of work, walking into the house to see you there, on the couch snuggled up with a good book and a blanket covering your frame — he felt all the stresses of the day start to roll off his shoulders and right back out the door.

living together without being mated as alpha and omega was hard, but it wasn’t impossible, everyday bucky was so thankful and grateful you agreed to move in with him, knowing that he would be able to keep better track of you.

“buck!” you exclaimed, sitting up and seeing your alpha shrug off his jacket, before hanging it up on the rack right next to the front door. he smiled at his name falling from your lips, toeing off his boots before making his way over to you.

your arms were outstretched for him, his scent invading your mind as he gets closer. you could tell he was grumpy with the way that little line in his brown increased. you frowned as soon as he got toe with the couch before collapsing into your arms, wrapping your arms around his neck

he nuzzles his nose into your neck, inhaling your perfect scent of vanilla, lavender, smoke wood and a hint of weed. he smiles against your skin, rubbing his face gently back and forth, making you giggle from the sensation of his stubble. “i missed you, bellflower.”

your cheeks heat at the nickname as you hear it, feeling him let out a long exhale. “what’s wrong?” you ask softly, one hand coming to his hand and running your fingers through the thick, curly locks while your other hand rubs soothing circles on his back

he grumbles, making you chuckle softly. you knew he moods could go sour. he job as a lawyer was rough, always dealing with shitty clients who thought they were so much better than him, even though he was the one to represent them

he shakes his head into your neck, his hands coming to run up and down the sides of your body slowly over the blanket. “just stupid shit at work.” he confesses against your skin, nipping at it softly with his teeth.

“wanna talk about it?” he doesn’t respond, only continues to lightly nip the sensitive spot on your neck, the one that was still unmarked and unclaimed by your alpha on top of you. he shakes his head, pressing further into you if that was somehow possible.

“no, just need a distraction.” you let out a sigh, nodding even if he couldn’t see you. as he lays there, you really take note of his scent.

yes, he’s frustrated so that explained the underlying sour smell coming from him. he smelled more of cow time oranges, bergamot, cinnamon and his signature scent of musk that you fell in love with the first moment you met him.

he didn’t need to know all that though.

“what can i do to help you?” you asked softly, running your hand still through his hair. his head looks up a little at you, as he takes his right hand from your hip, taking the hand in your hair and bringing it to his mouth. he kisses your knuckles gently before down your arm, dropping it gently on the couch and trailing kisses over your collarbones.

“just let me have you, my way. please?” his voice is low against you, stubble dragging on your skin leaving soft red lines in its wake. you felt yourself shiver as you nod, letting him sit up and discarding the blanket that was covering you, to reveal your body to him.

“my beautiful bellflower.” he murmurs lowly, his eyes drinkin in the sight of you. you weren’t wearing much — just a pair of his boxers and his sleep shirt. but it was still enough to make his cock stir and throb in his own boxers. he licks his lips, eyes traveling down your chest, stopping to soak in your hard, pebbles nipples rubbing softly against his t-shirt

he parts your legs, kneeling into the couch facing you as he wraps your legs around his waist. you were both so lucky you owned a big L shaped couch, just so he could do cunninglings to you like this.

your chest heaves softly as you watch his movements, his hands slipping under your shirt and cupping your breasts in his hands — the differentiating temperature of cold and hot fingers pinching your pert nipples making you moan softly.

he smiles to himself, loving how with just the softest touch like this, he can have you singing the loveliest of songs just for him.

it makes him desire you more.

his cock throbbing in his boxers, reminding him that he still needed to feel your cunt wrapped around his knot. he needed to feel the squeeze of your pussy keeping him inside you, being able to feel all of him.

not yet, he decides. needing to taste your sweet pussy before he can give his cock a feel of you.

as he kisses down your body, he shuffles his own down the length of the couch, his cock snug against the plush pillows and feeling it throb at the sensitivity and pressure. his face comes center to your clothed core, a small little wet spot shown at the center of your boxers

“oh? eager, are we?” his eyes look hungrily at you before flickering back to your clothed cunt, resting in his elbows as he pulls your boxers down and you help him shimming out of them

you gasp as the cool air hits your wet cunt, a dark smile on his lips as his eyes never leave your pussy. “this all for me, bellflower?” he doesn’t even need to lean in to smell your arousal, the way it comes off of your skin and body as your hole clenches around absolutely nothing.

“buck..” you let out a soft whine, your head hitting one of the pillows as you look down at him, book now discarded to the side. the soft glow of the lamp on the side table made bucky’s face illuminate.

it was so sickening really, how someone as ethereal and handsome as him could look. added with being in between your legs.

this was your alpha?

you let out a bated breath as he licks a small kitten lick around your clit, closing his eyes, he buries his nose into your bush and inhales your musky scent, eliciting a deep groan from him.

“fuck, baby…you smell so good.” he buries hide nose a bit deeper into your bush, before those bright blue eyes open and look right up at you. “let’s see if you taste just as sweet, lil omega.”

his tongue licked a fat stripe up from your weeping hole right to your clit, a moan leaving bucky’s lips as he your slick explodes on his taste buds. the tip of his tongue swirled around your swollen clit, your hands finding purchase in his brown locks as he wraps his lips gently around your clit, sucking on it.

“oh…fuck, yes…” you feel him grin against your cunt, the stubble of his beard rubbing deliciously on the soft skin of the inside of your thighs. his lips stay sucking your clit for a second, his hands gripping your thighs to keep them spread

he lets go of your clit with a wet, salacious ‘pop’, licking his lips clean from your arousal. “oh, little omega. you taste even better than i imagined…” you let out a soft breath as he dives back into your cunt, his tongue going to your weeping hole.

“oh…!”’you tug his hair in surprise, feeling his tongue work its way around your folds, your entrance that’s clenching around nothing, and that swollen puffy clit if you’re he loves scraping his teeth gently against — before sucking on it.

his metal hand legs go of your thigh, his pointer finger coming over to your entrance and teasing around it, slick running down his finger. “tell me what you need, baby.” you whimper under him, breathing quickening in anticipation.

your nerves were set ablaze with each gentle touch of his. you could barely take in everything around you, the stimuli almost overwhelming. all you wanted was to feel him fill you up, make you his.

“you, please i-“ you let out a soft groan as he dips his pointer finger inside your hole, eyes never leaving your gaze — watching every flicker facial expression of yours. drinking you in.

“please, what? this what you need, baby? my fingers? or do you need something more?” you let out a soft whine as you bit your lip, nodding. you weren’t sure which you were nodding to, your body on edge with needing his touch as you stared up at the ceiling, your body begging.

“please daddy,” you breathed out in a soft moan, bucking your hips as you felt a second finger slip easily in, the cool metal making your cunt flutter from the stark contrast in temperature. “need you to fuck me, however you want…” your eyes flickered back down to his, those stormy blue eyes making your stomach flip.

his cock throbbed as you looked at him with desire and need, the ache feeling worse as he ruts his hips into the pillows. “good girl, baby. using your words for daddy.” his praise sends a shiver down your spine, a whimper escaping your throat.

“shh,” he groans softly as his hips move slowly against the pillows. you catch it, your cunt fluttering at the sight of bucky rutting into the couch like it was your pussy. he groaned softly, your eyes meeting his again.

“you like watching me like this, baby? your alpha all needy and fucked out for you and i havent even taken out my cock.” you moan at his dirty words, his fingers thrusting into you at a slow and agonizing pace, scissoring and curling to stretch you out perfectly for him

it’s not like you needed too much scissoring of his fingers, your cunt was so soaked it made his metal hand shine in the dim light. your hips bucked with his thrusts, whines and whimpers escaping your lips as you felt your stomach tightening, your orgasm approaching and fast

“there’s a good girl, you gonna cum on daddy’s fingers baby?” you nod, whimper as your hips buck into his thrusts, the palm of his hand pushing against your clit.

“fuck, yes… ‘m gonna cum, please…” you let out a moan, his eyes darkening further as you beg him for your release. as much as he loves holding it back for you, denying you of that orgasm — he needed nothing more to feel his cock in your cunt and swallowing his knot

“cum for me, doll. show me how good daddy makes you feel.” you moaned, cunt tightening as you gushed around his hand, hands lazily leaving his hair as you gripped the couch cushion next to you. your body was on fire, each nerve ending singing with pleasure as he fucks tou through your orgasm.

your hips jolt as you feel his mouth back on you, his fingers still fucking your cunt slowly as he cleans up a little, moaning how good you taste on his tongue. he slips his metal fingers out of your pussy, sitting up enough to lean over your frame, and push his two cum covered metal fingers past your lips and into your mouth

a moan slips past your lips as you taste yourself on your tongue, his metal fingers warm from fucking your wet pussy. you swirl your tongue around the digits, cleaning them as best you could. but truthfully, bucky did not give a shit how clean they would get

he couldn’t stop imagining that it was his cock instead of his fingers in your mouth while rutting his hips into the couch. your tongue swirling the tip of his swollen tip cleaning the mess off. how he’d drive your throat deeper onto him, your nose brushing against his thick knot.

“fuck. i need you.” he growls deeply, taking his fingers from your lips and cunt and pushing himself to sit up, before he discards his own pants and shirt himself.

his dog tags clink against his bare chest, a light dusting of chest hair. he was handsome, those big, broad and beefy shoulders taking up some of the low lighting, making him bigger.

your cunt throbbed at the sight of him and him alone.

his cock sprang free as he threw off his boxers, his knot heavy and swollen at the base. you licked your lips, your cunt gushing even harder at the sight of needing to be knotted by your alpha.

“you want it baby?” you nod, and coherent thoughts out the window as you now thought with just your pussy. he chuckles, coming to climb over your frame. his metal hand resting on the arm rest to steady himself while his right hand comes to grip his cock, rubbing the tip around your soaked folds.

“beg for it.” it’s a simple command, one you’d usually find yourself obeying the second it leaves his lips. but you weren’t thinking , you didn’t have a single thought in that head of yours and he knew that.

you looked fucked out as it was. drunk on his fingers, his scent, his taste. everything about him made your brain fuzzy and you couldn’t help but buck your hips up , widening your legs for his fran to fit into you again. just like where he should be.

“please…” you thought that would be enough for him, but it never was. not with bucky.

he chuckles, swirling the tip of his dick around your swollen clit teasingly. he moans at the slight touch, his cock throbbing in his hands and his knot dying to be in your cunt.

“you can do better than that.” he states, and it’s true, you can. you let out a soft whine as the tip of his cock slides down your cunt to your weeping hole, slick running down onto the couch and covering your thighs. it should be embarrassing, how much you needed your alpha in that moment but then again — nothing else mattered except how much you needed him in that moment

“please daddy, please need your knot…!” you both moan as he sinks into you at your plea, string of curses leaving his lips as he closes his eyes and dips his head back

your cunt feels like heaven for his cock — warm and velvety walls sucking him in slowly. the base of his knot presses snug against your cunt and you whine, wishing he could fit all of it, could he?

“there’s a good little omega,” he praises, his flesh hand coming to caresses your cheeks, a thumb slowly wiping your bottom lip before he pulls you. you whine at the loss, and he can only smirk before he pushes back in.

picking up a pace, you head the slap of skin on skin making you moan, feeling his cock throb inside of you. his flesh hand comes to wrap lightly around your throat, your tits bouncing under his shirt with each thrust of his hips.

“there you go, look at ya,” he looks down to where your bodies connect and he lets out a low gutteral moan at the sight. his cock was soaked, his knot getting wet from your slick. he was in heaven. “taking daddy’s dick so fuckin’ good like i thought.” he groans again as you squeeze around him in response, his hips picking up a heavier pace

“fuck…alpha…” you moan, eyes rolling to the back of your head as the tip of his cock just barely hits that sweet spot that you need him to hit

“yeah baby? you like that? like feeling your alpha’s cock so deep in your cunt like this?” you moan and nod in response, your hands grinding their way around the arm that has the hand around your neck lightly — digging your nails into his skin. your hands trailed up his arms to around his neck, pulling him closer, needing him

he pulled a pillow from behind him to push gently under your hips to give him a better angle, and you moaned aloud, his cock pushing deeper into you. he grinned at your response before he he gladly fell into you, his nose judging your mark.

“mine.” he frowned before licking the mark under neck, the one where you’ve still laid yet unclaimed by him. “all mine.” your hands frenzied over his back side, clawing at his skin with your nails making sure to leave marks. you need him, needed to know that he was yours.

your nose found the same little mark under his ear, nudging against it to scent him as yours. you felt your chest bloom with a purr, his cock pushing hard and deep into your cunt. your legs wrapped tightly around his hips as he moaned into your neck, licking the scent of you off your skin.

“yours…claim me, i’m yours…” your head was dizzy with all things him. you almost felt like there wasn’t a time where he didn’t exist, where you were only on a one thought train of just bucky.

you licked the mark under his ear and he groaned into you, his cock throbbing inside of you as he slowed his thrusts, before pushing a little harder, his knot slipping past you

you let out a moan, nails digging deep into his skin as you licked his mark, nudging and scenting it and needing him. his body vibrated from the pure coming from your chest, taking his flesh hand and trailing it up and under your shirt to grasp your breast, rolling your nipple in between his thumb and forefinger.

“‘m close, fuck please…” you moan against his neck, teeth lightly grazing the spot where you needed to take him most. his body was in tune with yours, thrusts quickening as his knot slipped past with a satisfying feeling, a deep moan elicited from both of your chests

“give it to me. c’mon, show me how bad you want it.” your eyes dilated out, blown with lust and desire and the need to claim him. he fingered with your nipple, pushing your chest into him as his knot popped in and out of your wet pussy with a squlech

you were a moaning mess under him, his teeth nipping at the sensitive skin where your mark was, before biting down on your spot the same time as you, a moan pushing past your lips the same as him. you felt your cunt squeeze and pulse around his cock and his knot, feeling his breathing heavier as you cum.

he scents you more with his nose against your neck, creating a deep bruise on the skin before moving away with a pop, after you’re satisfied with the same mark on his skin.

“fuck baby,” he leans up a bit before pulling his hand from your breast to rest on your hip, pushing into you at a sloppy pace. his hair sticks to his forehead, eyes blown out with lust as he reaches his high and you can feel him throb inside of you. “‘m so close,”

“give it to me, my alpha.” the moan that dripped from your lips was sinful, his cock throbbing harshly inside your cunt as he grips both your hips and fucks into you at a relentless pace.

“gonna give you me cum, yeah? this tight cunt fitting your alpha’s fat knot so fuckin’ good,” a string of curses leave his lips as his thumb finds your swollen clit rubbing it harshly. your body jerks in reaction making you moan in response. “gonna give you my load, fill you up and make you round with my pups.”

that draws a loan moan from you and his smirks, a dark look over his face. “yeah baby you like that idea huh? your alpha fuckin’ his cum so deep in you-“ he leans down, and grips your chin tightly with his flesh hand, making you look at him while he fucks into you, playing with your clit so easily. “making sure it sticks.” he lets out a groan as you squeeze his cock, his knot buried deep inside of you as you cum with him

you grip his shoulders, pulling him close as he fucks his cum deep inside of your cunt, taking his hand from your clit and releasing your jaw, his hips coming to a slow and lazy thrust. you whine softly, his cock slipping so easily in and out of you.

“my good omega. all fuckin’ mine.” he murmurs into your neck, nuzzling his nose against the sore mark on your skin, making you whimper and clench his cock in response. he stirs a little, pushing his cock as deep as it can go, he knot swelling down. “gotta make sure it sticks.” you nod sleepily in response, letting him turn the two of you over so he’s holding you against his chest, eyes closing, and his cock snug into your cunt.

“my beautiful, bellflower.” he murmurs against your forehead, making sure to wrap the blanket over the two of you. “i’ll always take care of you. i’ll always love you. you’re mine forever.”

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heartsforseo · 3 days ago

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This is like my first ever time to do this to a fic (in tumblr) BUT THIS IS SO GOOD I LOVE SMAU AND KUROO IS SO🫶🫶🫶 the angst ws perfect nd Idk if I’m right but does it have the same plot as love signal? (Idk I don’t rlly watch K-drama) nwaysy I’m at 17% and its 12:30 am. So…might come out of retirement, idkk ANYWYAS I RECCOMEND READING THIS. PLEASEE ITS SO GOOD.

✧ undercurrents | tetsuro kuroo x reader smau ✧

after a painful breakup, you avoid real romance, resorting to harmless happy crushes. one of them was the popular volleyball player tooru oikawa; but unbeknownst to you, you got the attention of one of his best friends and fellow members instead - tetsuro kuroo.

tags: kuroo x fem!reader, univ au, friends to lovers, love triangle? pining !! but fluffy

warnings/notes: swearing, characters may be ooc, definitely grammatical errors and typos will be made. as always it won't follow the hq timeline. CRINGE. def will be cringe in some parts. despite how it sounds, there will be no bad blood between kuroo n oikawa bc i also don't want that ;p

status: complete !!!!

taglist: closed

yn's council | men, eugh!

signal no. 1

signal no. 2

signal no. 3

signal no. 4

signal no. 5

signal no. 6

signal no. 7

signal no. 8

signal no. 9

signal no. 10

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signal no. 12

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signal no. 14

signal no. 15

signal no. 16

signal no. 17

signal no. 18

secret signal

#haikyuu #haikyu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu fanfiction #hq fluff #haikyu x reader #haikyuu smau #kuroo tetsurou #kuroo x reader

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explorevenus · 2 days ago

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something permanent pt 14 ♡ yandere!leon kennedy x reader

nsfw (18+) - minors. i stg. do not interact or i will call the cops

reminder that this is a dark fic, if any of the following bothers/triggers you, do not read: yandere!leon kennedy, kidnapping, forced daddy kink, forced breeding, pregnancy, non/dubcon

in other words, dead dove: do not eat !!! u have been warned and u are responsible for ur own media consumption.

chapter index: pt. 1, pt. 2, pt. 3, pt. 4, pt. 5, pt. 6, pt. 7, pt. 8, pt. 9, pt. 10, pt. 11, pt. 12, pt. 13

'something permanent’: the spotify playlist

word count: 6.8k

description: leon and darling become parents at last.

tags/warnings: yandere!leon kennedy, fem/afab!reader, no use of (y/n), some gory descriptions cus darling goes into labor obvi, girl dad leon, corny dad leon, horny dad leon (no smut tho i'm sorry. she just gave birth idk what u want from me), medical setting, breastfeeding, manipulation, stockholm syndrome-ish implications, some angst but also fluff

a/n: !!! i hope this was worth the wait <33 big big big big BIG sexy thanks to @dollfacefantasy and @gigabyte-flare for beta reading <3 i don't really have anything else to say other than that i appreciate everyone's patience while i've been dealing with some pretty major life things and i just hope you like it. gentle reminder that the taglist has been moved to the bottom of the chapter to reduce clutter

my masterlist ♡

my ao3 ♡

fic under the cut, thanks so much for reading and i hope u enjoy !!

-venus ♡

It went without saying that Leon had seen a lot of gore in his life.

A whole lot of gore.

He'd witnessed gushing bullet wounds, gaping slices of undead flesh, pulverized bodies, genetically modified monstrosities exploding into even more horrific versions of themselves, only to be slain by his hand, often spraying back to douse him in the kind of fetid rot that couldn't be washed out, only burned, the kind that clung deep in his skin for days after... and yet nothing could have possibly prepared him for what it would be like to witness you going into premature childbirth.

Nothing.

You were in so much pain, you were hollering and crying so hard you could barely get a breath in, and apart from holding your hand, he was powerless to help you. It was gutting.

"Shh, shh... you're doing so good, baby, just breathe with me, just breathe," He said to you, trying to manage his tone to be as reassuring as possible, but the stress had long since become him.

How could it not? He was watching his own lover split apart while conscious, pleading with the universe to ease the pain, even with an 18-gauge needle in the spine. You were miserable, and you were terrified, and Leon was terrified too. Perhaps even more than he'd ever been, because this wasn't supposed to be happening yet. He was supposed to have at least another month and a half to pamper you and watch you grow, at least another month and a half to prepare for this.

Not to mention he wasn't entirely fond of the swarm of nurses in your face and between your legs, the rotating door of doctors and specialists working on your exposed body with absolutely no capability of understanding how important you were to him, how special and sweet you were, how little you deserved this.

It did occur to him, in the midst of all the noise, that perhaps this was the wrong idea. That he shouldn't have forced the one person he loves the most in the world to suffer like this on his behalf. That maybe he'd made a grave mistake that he could never atone for, a mistake that would surpass anything he's ever experienced in its devastation.

But all of those fears crumbled to ash when he saw her for the first time.

Monday, December 21, 2015. Winter solstice. 3:36 a.m.

She was so pink. She was so, so small, so pink, and so angry to be alive, but she was alive and crying. She was alive.

In that moment, Leon experienced whatever the opposite of blacking out was, a shot of pure adrenaline down his spine that made everything shine a little brighter. He didn't even realize he was crying with relief until he turned and saw that you were, too. You were barely cognizant, what with the delightful cocktail of shock and panic and pain medication coursing through you, but you were conscious and aware— at least for now— limp with exhaustion aside from clutching Leon's hand for dear life while the professionals got to work sewing you up, and he couldn't help but swipe your slick hair away from your forehead to shower you in tearful kisses.

"My good girl... I'm so fucking proud of you," He spoke into your hair, pressing a heavy kiss to the crown of your head as his free hand cradled your cheek, holding you as close to him as he could physically manage. "I love you so much... I love you..."

You weren't really registering much other than the pure relief of it all, but Leon couldn't blame you. In his eyes, he just witnessed you creating his entire universe, and you deserved all the rest you could get. You'd certainly need it in the coming months.

And even just the coming weeks, as many as it might take for her to incubate and grow a bit.

She was alive, and she was as healthy as she could be, considering the circumstances, but Christ, she wasn't even done cooking yet. She was so little, weighing in at just three pounds, seven ounces, and she looked more like a gummy bear than a baby. She was hooked up to so many machines in the NICU that he could barely stand to even watch after a while, for his own peace of mind.

But he couldn't relax, either, so Leon just stayed at your bedside for most of the night, watching you sleep. Killing time. Occasionally he would wander off for a walk up and down the halls, or to the cafeteria for a bitter black coffee to jump his brain, or he would linger by the window into the NICU for a while to watch her sleep, to see her pink and yellow baby blanket just barely rise and fall with every tiny breath so he could know for sure she was really here. And then he'd repeat his rounds all over again.

The nurses promised him over and over again that she was healthy, that there was no cause for concern at this point, but that didn't really stop him from concerning himself quite severely. He wasn't even sure he understood his own metric for what it would take to get him to relax at this point, so he just stopped asking questions after a while.

Walk the halls. Bitter black coffee. Check on baby. Walk back. Check on you. Wash, rinse, repeat. Eventually the nurses were looking at him like they were debating offering him an Ambien under the table just to calm him down, and perhaps because he'd grown so used to avoiding drawing attention to himself, that was when he finally decided to just sit his ass down at your bedside and stay there.

In his boredom he found that the TV was perpetually stuck on the Hallmark channel, streaming from an endless well of corny, poorly written holiday movies that left more than enough to be desired, but it was better than nothing. Leon couldn’t stand the silence, and at least it kept his mind somewhat occupied while he thumbed through that heavy book of baby names.

He’d already found one he liked— Abigail— but that still left room for one more. He couldn’t even decide if he thought that should be her first name or her middle name. All he knew was what the book told him, flowery words describing the meaning of the name as that of my father’s joy, and that was quite true, wasn’t it? She was his firstborn, and more than that, her mommy was you. Nothing in the entire universe could possibly stand to make him happier or more joyous, and thus Abigail was fitting. But how was he supposed to find another name to describe her when he hadn’t even had the opportunity to get to know her yet?

Or was this secondary name his opportunity to start a thread of her destiny for her?

It’s not like he never asked you for your opinion, you had just chosen time and time again not to give it to him. You were almost completely impartial when it came to talking about the baby, so regardless of how badly he ached for your participation in planning for the life you’d created together, he had long since become bitterly used to making decisions like this on his own.

With a deep sigh Leon let the book rest in his lap, fingertips drumming on the wooden armrests of his chair in thought of the kind of life he wanted for his baby girl. All he could think was that he wanted her to run, play, and be happy. He wanted her to be good to the world and he wanted the world to treat her even better in return. He wanted to ensure she’d never have to worry about a thing, that she would grow up kind and quick and a much better woman than he ever was a man.

He wanted her to be gentle and sweet and protected, like a princess, his jubilant little baby princess.

Lifting the book once more, Leon opened it back up to its table of contents and skimmed over the lines for the millionth time, only now he actually had a vague idea of what he might be looking for. The book was structured in sections, the first being cultural and regional names, the second being historical and literary names, and the last section was an alphabetized glossary of them all in one. It was exhaustingly organized and comprehensive to the last detail, but hey, so was he.

Tracing the page with two fingertips, he found the historical section of the table and went down the line, skimmed over architects, artists, explorers, war heroes, religious figures… all the way down to royalty.

Leon’s hope wavered a little bit when he found most of the names under that section to be underwhelming or flat-out bad when paired with ‘Abigail,’ but his mind had been set on that for so long that he’d already decided he wasn’t budging on it. He was toying with the idea of taking a break from his search for the night, until an entry on the list of princess names caught his eye. In his exhaustion, he must have previously overlooked it.

Charlotte.

“Charlotte Abigail,” Leon mumbled aloud, testing the name on his tongue. “Charlotte Abigail Kennedy…”

It flowed from his lips like a beautiful waltz.

The enticing scent of Leon's umpteenth black coffee was the first thing you noticed when you woke up, followed by the dull, full body ache that weighed you down to the hospital bed. Your head was throbbing, your eyes and throat were stinging and dry from overexertion, but more than that, you felt something like relief.

Yes, it was definitely relief, because any amount of pain in that moment felt like reprieve in comparison to active labor. And maybe you were still a bit fuzzy from the meds, but you weren't complaining.

Slowly, you blinked awake and took in your surroundings, the room quiet aside from the occasional beep of electronic medical equipment, and the subtle, rhythmic rumble of... Leon snoring?

Tilting your head, you saw Leon right there at your bedside, coffee untouched and still steaming on the little tray next to him. His legs were outstretched, arms crossed at his chest, and he had his head tilted back with that comically large book of baby names split open to rest over his face, blocking the fluorescent lights and rising sun from his tired eyes. You just watched him for a moment, knowing he'd likely spent all night fretting over you until he couldn't keep his eyes open anymore.

For as much as you would have loved to just lay there and enjoy the quiet for a moment, though, you knew it was probably wiser to let him know you were awake. At least that way you could talk him into forfeiting his coffee.

"Hey," you spoke up gently, your voice hushed with sleep and a bit hoarse, "I'm pretty sure the shop in the lobby sells bookmarks."

He jolted a little and then stirred, gravity pulling the heavy book down until his arm shot up to catch it and lift it from his face with an exhausted look of surprise. "Y-You're awake—”

"Gimme that," you interrupted, arm outstretched in a dramatic show of grabby-hands at the paper cup of coffee placed just outside your reach. You could barely even remember the last time you were allowed a sip of coffee, and having to lay here smelling it but not tasting it when you so sorely needed it was torture.

Leon blinked once or twice in confusion, clearing away the haze that clouded his frayed neurons, and as his eyes followed the path between your fingertips and the shitty cup of black coffee he'd fallen asleep before having the chance to drink, he couldn't help but puff out a little laugh, handing it off to you without hesitation. For fuck's sake, you'd earned it, hadn't you?

The cup had been sitting there idle for just long enough that its contents weren't blistering hot, but perfectly drinkable. You took a quick sip, and then another, nose scrunching up for a moment because it tasted more like a dirty ashtray than it did coffee, but somehow it still went down like liquid gold. At least the taste was enough to keep you from drinking it too fast.

"How do you feel, pup?" Leon asked, tracing the curve of your cheekbone with a delicate thumb. As joyful as it was to see you awake and in decent spirits, he had to ask, because it's not like you were just waking up from any old nap. He watched you split apart last night. He could still smell your blood. Surely you had more to concern yourself about than caffeine.

Setting aside the cup, you searched your mind for the right way to articulate how you felt right now, but found it exceptionally difficult to encapsulate what all was going on up there after giving birth for the first time. So, you decided to start with how your body felt and work your way through it from there.

"Sore, like a bowling ball went through me... but it's not unbearable. I think the pain meds are still working," you began, tilting your head to let your cheek squish into the palm of his hand. "I feel a little numb and groggy."

With a sympathetic hum, he nodded, leaning over you to smooth your messy hair back and press a kiss to your forehead. "I'm not surprised, baby, you do seem a bit silly. They drugged you up pretty good," he said, speaking from experience, "but at least you're not in too much pain."

A beat of surprisingly comfortable silence passed between you two as you finished waking up and Leon just stared at you, as he often did. While the air between the two of you felt thankfully free of tension, it wasn’t without anticipation, nor was it without the presence of that massive elephant.

You knew she was okay because if she wasn’t, Leon would be having a nuclear meltdown, but you barely even got to see her before you passed out, so you didn’t know how okay she was.

“Where is she?” You asked gently, hands fidgeting in your lap.

“She’s in the little incubator, but they said they could bring her in here when you woke up, if you were feeling well enough,” he answered, looking up at you through his lashes like a pleading puppy as he asked, “are you?”

You felt a rush deep in your chest that you couldn’t explain, emotion, and you found that your head was bobbing up and down in a nod before you even thought about it. You didn’t need to think about it. Of course your feelings about your situation and this baby were… complicated, to put it kindly, but you spent seven-ish months cooking the damn thing, so you might as well take the chance to hold her and get to meet her, right?

Leon didn’t waste any time scrambling off to get a nurse, and as you sat there waiting, you couldn’t help but wonder what she was going to be like. You weren’t ignorant of the fact that newborn babies didn’t have strong features yet, but you wondered if she would have any hair on her head, or what she would feel like in your arms, or what little sounds she might make. The few short minutes it took for Leon to return with your baby and a couple of nurses felt like a million years.

The door opened, and your heart stopped beating for a second. Your mouth dried and your eyes burned with tears.

She was so little.

Even swaddled up in a blanket, her tiny body was barely the width of Leon's forearm, her little head rested in the crook of his elbow while her socked and blanketed feet were tucked in the palm of his hand. Everything you felt in this moment was truly overwhelming— fright, nerves, and perhaps even a bit of pride, because come on. You made that thing. Willingly or not, you made your own little human, and in a removed context, that was crazy.

She was so little that you were almost afraid to touch her, trembling as Leon lowered her into your arms, but right away there was something about having her near that felt familiar to you.

Like an old friend.

For a long few minutes, you just cried. Deep, ugly, open-mouth cries that made your entire body feel weak. You couldn’t possibly get ahold of yourself, or even begin to understand how you were meant to.

Stooping down to kiss the crown of your head, Leon spoke gently into your hair, voice thick with emotion, “I-I named her Charlotte. Charlotte Abigail.”

Oh, how pretty. Internally you had to admit that he chose well, whatever his reasoning was.

“A beautiful name for a beautiful girl,” you sniveled, thumb caressing the thin, tender skin of her cheek, your chest throbbing as she squirmed and poked the tip of her tiny tongue out. “I-Is she okay? Are there any issues?”

The nurses calmly explained to you that she seemed to be regulating her temperature well enough on her own, but that the incubator was a precaution that would allow you and Leon the opportunity to get some actual rest. Her blood tests didn’t show any concerns and her oxygen levels were okay, but other than that, it was too soon to tell if anything else might be off, and they spared you the anxiety of getting too specific about the potential complications just yet. She would likely be spending at least 30 days in the NICU for good measure.

You, on the other hand, would be well enough to be on your feet as soon as the numbness wore off. That wasn’t to say it would feel good if you did, just that it was possible and wouldn’t kill you, though Leon would probably need to help you around for a few days… as if he needed the doctor’s order to do that.

Once they were sure you were healthy and comfortable, the nurses stepped out and for the very first time, it was just you, Leon, and your child.

“I’m so proud of you,” Leon whispered, watching you reverently. The sun had risen enough now to drench you in a saintly glow, your skin radiant and dewy with motherhood, your eyes glittering with tears as you gazed down at the sleepy baby cradled in your arms. “You’ve come such a long way, puppy, and just look at what you made for me. Look at what a perfect little angel you made for daddy.”

Letting out a slow breath from your nose, you resisted the urge to react to that. He’d done a pretty decent job of acting normal since you went into labor, and you didn’t realize how badly you were hoping he would keep it up until he ruined it with a brisk return to form. Perhaps the blame was on you for getting too comfortable with your expectations that high in the first place.

What felt especially unfair about it, however, was that his phrasing got beneath your skin more than you thought it would. Telling you that you’d come such a long way, and all because you made a perfect baby for him.

For daddy.

You’d only just had the chance to allow yourself to feel some kind of a bond with her, and Leon was already claiming ownership over it without a second thought. You wanted to snap at him that not everything was about him, that it wasn’t your goal to please him even if something you did made him happy, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to say any of it.

Charlotte hadn’t even been born for 24 hours yet, you couldn’t start fighting in front of her already.

You stood in front of the window with Charlotte swaddled tightly in your arms, letting her watch the glittery, falling snow outside in an attempt to calm her. She was red in the face and hollering with all the power in her little lungs— which was a lot, you’d come to learn— quite cranky about the fact that your milk was taking its time to come in. In defense of your boobs, the girls thought they were going to have eight more weeks to prepare than they ended up getting.

But at a certain point you just had to wonder when enough might be enough. You knew it wasn’t your fault, that your difficulty producing breastmilk so soon after going into premature labor didn’t reflect negatively upon your ability to love and provide for your daughter, so why did it feel that way? You were trying to keep ahold of your emotions for the sake of your daughter while wondering somewhere in the back of your mind if you were even fit to care for her, if it was your fault that she was starving.

“It’s common for newborns to lose a little bit of their birth weight in the first few weeks, especially waiting for mama’s milk to come in,” the attending nurse calmly explained to you as she changed the sheets on the bed. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, dear. There’s no guide to being a new mother.”

“Thank you,” you replied over the shrill cries of your daughter, letting some of the tension drop from your shoulders. Leon had told you nearly the same thing practically a thousand times over the past few days, but it was hard not to convince yourself that he didn’t know what he was talking about and was just spouting nonsense to make you feel better. It felt more legitimate coming from a professional.

Once she finished up changing the bedding, the nurse offered to take Charlotte for a while if you needed a break, but for right now, you didn’t really mind. Having her close was supposed to stimulate milk production, as you’d been told, and for lack of a better way to put it, you sort of enjoyed hogging her from Leon. He’d stepped out for the morning to check in at work and grab a few things from the house, so he wasn’t here to take her anyway, but you felt it was your responsibility to seize every available opportunity to bond with her. You needed her to know that you were there for her, that you weren’t budging, and that you never would.

Being alone with her was a treat. She really was so cute, just a teeny tiny little thing, and you could have already sworn she had your nose. She was pretty.

“Oh, Lottie, Lottie, Lottie,” you sighed affectionately, cupping the back of her head to cradle her close to your shoulder, gently swaying and bouncing on your feet. “What am I gonna do with you, huh?”

As expected, her only response was a continuation of shrill cries. Part of you worried that your presence wasn’t comforting her at all, but every time you slowed in rocking her or made any move that she perceived as you getting ready to put her down, she hollered louder and clung to you for dear life. Clearly she knew where her bread was buttered.

You crossed the room in slow, bouncing steps, trying to keep her distracted just long enough for you to sit down with her in the rocking chair. Little as she was, your arms were getting tired from holding her up, and you just needed a bit of a break from it. Pressing your lips to her soft forehead, you breathed in through your nose and began quietly singing to her.

“I’m… a lonely little petunia in an onion patch, an onion patch, an onion patch,” you hummed, “I’m a lonely little petunia in an onion patch, and all I do is cry all day… boo-hoo, boo-hoo…”

It was an old, old song, and you weren’t even really sure where you remembered it from, but Charlotte seemed to enjoy it, and it felt fitting enough right now. Dragging in a breath, Charlotte reached up to rub her eyes with her chubby little fists, wailing cries beginning to soften down to weepy whimpers. It was victorious moments like this that almost made you forget how you got here.

“Hey, sweetheart,” came Leon’s voice from behind, reminding you exactly how you got here, “how are my girls?”

Almost immediately, Charlotte started screaming again.

Sighing out an exhausted breath, you turned over your shoulder to watch Leon approach, trying not to let it show on your expression just how annoyed you were that he’d ruined her calming mood right after you managed to get her there.

“Cranky,” you answered him simply.

Leon clicked his tongue and moved to sit at the edge of the coffee table in front of you, reaching out to brush your hair away from your face with a sympathetic gleam in his eye. “No milk yet, huh?”

You shook your head.

“Oh, puppy… I’m sorry.”

The look on your face gutted him. He could tell you were blaming yourself in some way, feeling guilty for not being able to produce quite yet, but his mind wasn’t lingering anywhere near blaming you for this. You’d already been through so much just to deliver the baby— if anything, he’d be more surprised if these next few weeks were to proceed perfectly after that. You were a superhero to Leon right now, a goddess, and not even gods or heroes were exempt from hardship, from plain bad luck.

“It’s fine,” you said with a slow sigh, “the nurses swear we’re getting somewhere. There was some of this… I don’t know, like… clear, sappy stuff that came out this morning, and they said it’s good for her, so…”

Nodding gently, Leon took your hand and squeezed it, trying to get you to actually look at him. “Well, that’s a good sign, right?”

“I think so… I don’t know. I hope so.”

“I hope so, too, baby.”

A few moments of silence fell between you— aside from the screaming newborn, of course— and Leon continued to think about how proud he was of you. When he first brought you home with him, you were adamantly against the idea of having babies, let alone being pregnant at all. But you took it like such a champion, nourished and cared for your child anyway, his child, and even after going into labor unexpectedly early, your priorities and your focus still remained on her.

He couldn’t confidently say he’d have been as brave if it were him. That alone gave him a lot of reflecting to do.

“You’re incredible, you know that?” Leon asked, squeezing your hand again. “Absolutely incredible.”

“I don’t know about that,” you puffed out a dry breath, finally looking up at him. “Women have been birthing babies for thousands of years. I’m no different from any of them, unless you count panic-attacking myself into early labor, and even then I’m not the first. And I definitely won’t be the last.”

Shaking his head in affectionate disagreement, Leon said, “As far as I’m concerned, you didn’t just hang the moon, you molded it with your bare hands. Just… take the compliment, pup. You deserve it.”

A slight smile graced your lips for just a second, like you briefly allowed yourself to believe what he was saying. As much as it pained him to think about, Leon knew you hadn’t been given a whole lot of incentive to take him at his word on anything, but when it came to the praise you’d earned for making him a father, for growing his baby in you, it was so important to him that you knew he wasn’t just talking out of his ass.

So he spoke up again, following his praises with a gentle, genuine question; “Why are you being so hard on yourself?”

This gave you pause. He wasn’t wrong by any means— you absolutely were being hard on yourself here, in every way you could think of. The ways you’d been talking about and carrying yourself since he came home from San Francisco were indicative enough of that. It was like you were cowering from yourself, avoiding every part of you that made you you, like a mouse in a lab finally recognizing which buttons would shock you.

“She needs me,” you finally muttered, cradling Charlotte closer to your chest, even as she screamed your eardrum out. “She depends on me, I can’t just… fail her.”

“Fail her?” Leon whispered, encouraging you to continue.

Swallowing back nerves, you suddenly found you were having a difficult time making sense of what you’d been feeling lately, let alone putting it into articulate words. Still, you replied to the best of your frazzled, tired ability, “She was supposed to have eight more weeks… she wasn’t ready to be born yet, and I freaked myself out so much that I put her at risk. I’m so grateful that she’s okay, that it didn’t end badly, but Leon… it could have. It really could have.”

“I know,” he soothed. “I know it could have, but it didn’t. It didn’t. Look at her, she’s here and she’s alive and she’s healthy. She’s got strong lungs. She’s got your nose. She’s perfect, sweetheart, she’s absolutely perfect, and that’s not in spite of you, it’s because of you. I’ll repeat that as many times as it takes for you to internalize it.”

That framing of the situation was surprisingly insightful, coming from Leon, though you supposed he’d had some practice in forgiving himself over the years.

Sniffling, you nodded, letting out a shaky breath. “T-Thank you… daddy.”

He leaned in to kiss your forehead, and Charlotte began to settle.

You were so confused when you woke up in the middle of the night to Charlotte crying again— not because of anything she was doing differently, but because of how you felt. Sitting up in bed, you briefly glanced over at Leon to find that the commotion had roused him too, stirring him from a light sleep.

“I can get her,” he was quick to rasp out, voice clouded with grogginess, but for once, you put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

“No, no, wait,” you whispered, your other hand kneading at your sore chest in an attempt to soothe the discomfort, but this wasn’t the same kind of breast pain you’d grown used to by now. They were tender and full to the touch, nipples stinging under your nightgown.

And leaking.

Eyes widening, you shot out of bed with a quiet, excited exclamation of, “oh, shit,” not even taking the time to mull over how silly it seemed to be so ecstatic that your nipples were leaking milk through your favorite nightgown. All you could think about right now was her. You could finally sate her hunger.

Leon sat up too, rubbing his eyes and leaning over to turn the bedside lamp on, trying to wake himself up enough to understand what you were acting so urgently about. Only once Charlotte’s cries were silenced and replaced with a soft, greedy suckling sound did he realize what was happening.

“Oh,” he gasped, stunned, “shit.”

You just laughed, completely unable to wipe the stupid grin off your face. Feeding for the first time felt really fucking bizarre, but with how happy you were that your daughter was finally able to eat, you couldn’t bring yourself to care even slightly. That was far from the biggest thing on your mind.

“She’s eating,” you beamed, turning over your shoulder to look at Leon, desperate to share this moment with the only person who could truly understand your relief. “She’s eating, Leon, she’s— she’s perfect. Holy shit.”

“You’re perfect,” he smiled wide, crawling out of bed to join you where you stood by the crib, his strong arms slinking gently around your waist. Pressing a kiss to the highest point of your cheekbone, Leon whispered in your ear, “I knew you could do it, puppy. I love you, I love you both so much.”

And now you were crying. You couldn’t help it.

Charlotte fed for a good long while that night, gulping down every stray drop she could find, and you and Leon just watched her in complete awe. She could barely keep her eyes open in her satisfaction, long lashes fluttering angelically upon chubby cheeks, her squishy little lips bobbing back and forth with every suckle as you both cooed at her and cheered her on.

Wiping away a drop of milk from her chin, Leon preened, “Oh, little Lottie… such a good eater, princess, my goodness…”

“Such a good eater,” you echoed, adding playfully, “must’ve gotten that from your daddy. He gets grouchy without breakfast, too.”

“Hey now, it is the most important meal of the day,” he pointed out to his own defense, very much in on the joke, though he couldn’t help but add another cheeky point that was reserved only for your ears. “Well… the second most important meal of the day, right behind dessert.”

Groaning, you rolled your eyes at him, “Cornball. You’re a horny, horny cornball.”

He only smirked, “Guilty as charged, pup,” and kissed you again.

Your mood improved a lot over the next several days, and Leon was so grateful for it. The timing couldn’t have been better for squashing your insecurities about being able to care for Charlotte. Waking up to feed her wasn’t something that stressed you out anymore, it was something that made you feel useful and needed, which you always were, but now you truly believed it. Leon joked more than once that he’d never seen you happier to whip your boobs out at any given time.

You were eating well, you were laughing, you were getting lots of good rest, and you were actually talking to him. Like, talking talking, not just nodding your head and pretending to follow along. You told him about your day, you told him how you were feeling, you commentated on TV shows together. Your unanticipated stay in the NICU was turning out to feel a lot more like a dream than a nightmare, and as such, he was almost reluctant to see it end.

But time marches on, as it always does. Part of him worried you’d go right back to being difficult once you were home and the novelty of new parenthood wore off. Part of him wanted to trust that you wouldn’t, because you truly understood everything now. Didn’t you?

The final week of Charlotte’s monitoring was dwindling down, and now that he wasn’t so preoccupied with worrying himself sick about you both, he couldn’t stop thinking about what you said to him before you went into labor.

‘Daddy, I have to tell you something.’

Whatever it was, you never told him. In the chaos of everything that happened right after, he almost forgot you even mentioned it, but it’d just been gnawing at him since the dust settled.

Leon wasn’t sure how to approach this with you. Talking about it clearly distressed you last time, even though you brought it up on your own, and he didn’t want to risk setting you off, but the intensity of emotion it brought was undoubtedly indicative of its importance. By principle, you should tell him if there’s anything he needs to know, right?

Maybe it wasn’t all that important. Maybe your reaction at the time was just a product of your condition, the hormones and anxiety, and maybe you hadn’t even thought about it since that night. Maybe it really wasn’t a big deal.

So why had it been so obviously eating you alive during the final leg of your pregnancy?

“Baby?” Leon asked quietly, tilting his head to look at you. It was three in the morning and you were laying in bed together after Charlotte finally fell back asleep for the millionth time, partly trying to get some more rest and partly preparing yourselves to have to get up again at any moment. But it was peaceful, and he hoped that would mean you were calm and comfortable enough to have this conversation.

Humming in acknowledgment, your eyes met his. He had his arm around you, thumb caressing you at the waist, your cheek against his chest. It was now or never.

“I’ve just been thinking lately… the night Lottie was born, you said you had something to tell me,” he began, pouring all his effort into coming off as non-threatening as possible, careful not to spook you. “The little lady interrupted you and I never got to hear what it was. Do you remember, sweetheart?”

At first you couldn’t move, completely paralyzed in his arms. Your initial inclination was to panic, of course, but for once in your life, the nerves weren’t manifesting like they probably should have been.

Or, rather, like they definitely should have been.

You resumed breathing, biting your lip while you tried to organize your thoughts and come to a decision. It would be a tough shot to lie right now, you knew that, and while you would have usually tried to come up with a convoluted way to worm yourself out of this, for some reason, you didn’t even really feel the need to right now. Leon had been in a great mood. You were pretty sure he hadn’t stopped smiling since Charlotte was born, and even leading up to her birth, he had been acting so gentle and loving with you.

But you still needed to cover your bases if you were going to be honest with him.

“Do you remember saying that whatever it is, we’ll handle it? That I wouldn’t be in trouble?”

Uh oh, Leon thought to himself, but didn’t dare let it show on his expression. That’s not a great start.

“I do,” he nodded encouragingly, “and that still stands.”

All you had was his word, and that was going to have to do, wasn’t it? Taking a deep breath, you tightened your arms around his middle as if preemptively pleading for mercy, and then you quietly admitted, “I-I broke the rules while you were away on that mission.”

He figured as much while speculating on what it might have been, so this didn’t really floor him too much yet. “Okay. What rules did you break?”

You hesitated for a beat, looking away to collect your thoughts and then back again, hoping he could see the guilt in your eyes, the regret.

“I went outside,” you whispered, feeling an awkward and unpleasant heat burning at your ears— shame. “I-I went on a walk, a long walk, and…”

Now it was Leon who wasn’t breathing. “And?”

“And I tried to get h-help.”

There it was. You tried to get help. Help. As if you needed any fucking help when you had Leon.

But then again, he thought, she didn’t have me. I wasn’t there.

His bottom lip quivered until he bit it back, stooping his head down to bury his face in your hair, hiding, both arms holding you tightly to him. He wasn’t sure how to feel. He thought he was prepared for anything you might have to confess, but this… this was devastating. This felt awful.

“God fucking damn it, puppy,” he wept, “what were you thinking?”

The realization that he was crying made you tear up too. He wasn’t angry, he was anguished.

“I-I’m sorry… I know, I’m sorry—”

“Did anything happen? Did anyone see you? Did anyone touch you?”

“No, no, n-nothing happened, no one touched me, I promise—”

“Don’t you ever do that shit again,” he sobbed weakly into the crown of your hair, clutching you to him like you’d fall apart if he let go, or perhaps like he would fall apart. “Do you hear me?”

You just nodded, stifling your cries with a hand over your mouth to keep from waking the baby. She was sleeping so peacefully in the crib a mere few feet away.

“I hear you, I hear you, I promise I won’t ever do it again… it was freezing and I was so scared, I… I couldn’t get home fast enough…”

Home. Was that what it was to you now?

“Good,” Leon said firmly, but not apathetically, sighing out a deep, shaky breath. “You don’t just have yourself to worry about anymore.”

You and Leon were practically tangled with one another, stuck together like glue as you desperately tried to soothe each other. Silence fell around you again.

taglist: @tosuckmyweenis @worriedweirdo @nexysworld @gigabyte-flare @litepowee @pb-n-aj @idekman111 @honeysoakedbandages @cosmicerror83 @ifeelikeflying @grnherbs @shycandykitty @monkeysoda @reijniana @starcrossedreaders @vividelreyy @elfven-blog @arthurdelrey @elliewilliamsno1simp @texas-chainslvt @sop-myers @1smallmediumatlarge @dangerousdreamkitty @briefwinnerpersonaturtle @theladynymph @stella-fleurets @alexi-is-depressi @death-paint @dollfacefantasy @wildest-dreams-at-midnight @pupthepokemonenthusiast @sleepyluxe @needylilgal022 @yuiopiklmn @fouyumixuri @amidalashandmaidens @average-yandere-enjoyer @gr1mreper @starkeysslvt @kcolrom

#venustext #emotext #flufftext #something permanent #resident evil #leon kennedy #leon kennedy fluff #yandere!leon kennedy #leon kennedy angst #dark!leon kennedy #yandere!leon kennedy x you #yandere!leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #sp!leon #dark!leon kennedy x reader #dark!leon kennedy x you

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havens-iphone · 1 day ago

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ᡣ𐭩 between shared walls ⋮ roommate!hamzah

wc ⋮ 1.2k

authors note ⋮ so this was ORIGINALLY intended to be like 300-500 words.. yeeeaaahhh.. ANYWAYS i feel like theres rlly not enough hamzah fics and its so sad i read them all in like 2 days💔💔

the first time you met hamzah, he was standing in the doorway of your new apartment, a cup of instant ramen in hand and sleep-mussed hair. his voice was groggy when he introduced himself, rubbing his eyes like a kid waking up from a nap. you were flustered, apologizing for the boxes blocking the hallway, but he just shrugged.

“it’s your home too,” he said, flashing a lopsided smile before disappearing into his room.

living with him was… easy, in ways you didn’t expect. he cleaned the kitchen without being asked and always brewed an extra cup of tea in the mornings. you’d find notes on the fridge in his scrawled handwriting — reminders like “don’t forget your umbrella” or “good luck on your exam!” he never overstepped, always giving you space, but his quiet presence became a comfort you didn’t know you needed.

but easy didn’t mean simple.

you tried not to fall for him. truly, you did. but then he’d lean against the counter late at night, listening to your ramblings about work with those gentle eyes, or he’d nudge your shoulder with his when you were sad, offering a half-hearted, “want me to fight whoever upset you?”

it built slowly, this ache in your chest.

and then, one night, it cracked.

you’d just gotten home from a disastrous date, eyes puffy from crying, mascara streaking your cheeks. hamzah was on the couch, scrolling through his phone, and he immediately sat up when he saw you.

“what happened?” his voice, usually so light, was low, serious.

you tried to brush it off, but he wouldn’t let you. he listened as you spilled every awful detail — the harsh words, the disappointment, the feeling of never being enough. you kept talking until your throat hurt, until there was nothing left to say.

and then he whispered, “he’s an idiot, you know.”

you laughed, wet and shaky. “i think that’s generous.”

he looked at you, really looked at you, and something shifted.

“i don’t get it,” he murmured, voice rough around the edges. “how anyone could have you — could know you — and not feel like the luckiest person alive.”

your heart thudded painfully. “hamzah…”

he smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “forget it. you should get some sleep.”

for days, things were… strange. he wasn’t cold, but distant in a way he never was before. the notes on the fridge stopped, and he spent more time in his room, door closed. you missed him, missed the way things used to be, and it made your chest feel hollow.

but then, one night, there was a knock on your door.

hamzah stood there, rubbing the back of his neck, looking unsure for the first time since you met him.

“i can’t —” his voice cracked. “i can’t keep pretending like i don’t want more.”

and just like that, the ache in your chest unraveled.

because neither could you.

you stared at hamzah, your heart hammering against your ribs like it wanted out. his words lingered in the air, heavy and fragile all at once.

“i can’t keep pretending like i don’t want more,” he’d said, voice shaking like he hated how vulnerable he sounded.

but the truth was, you hated it more — hated the thought of him hurting, of him thinking he had to hide from you.

“come in,” you whispered, stepping aside.

he hesitated, lingering in the doorway like he might run. but he didn’t. he stepped into your room, hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie, and you shut the door behind him.

the silence stretched, uncomfortable and loaded. you sat on the edge of your bed, picking at the hem of your sweater, and hamzah stayed standing, shoulders tense like he was bracing for impact.

“why didn’t you tell me?” you asked, voice small.

he exhaled a humorless laugh, rubbing his face. “because you deserve someone better.”

your chest cracked open. “better?”

he nodded, pacing the length of your room. “someone who doesn’t freeze up every time you smile at them. someone who can actually hold a conversation instead of standing there like an idiot because they’re too busy trying not to stare at your mouth.”

your breath caught. “hamzah—”

“you don’t get it.” he turned to face you, eyes burning. “i liked you from the start. and every day i told myself it was just a crush, that it would fade. but then you’d leave me notes on the fridge or laugh at my stupid jokes, and it just… got worse.”

you swallowed hard, hands trembling in your lap. “it wasn’t a crush,” you whispered. “not for me either.”

he froze. “what?”

you stood, heart in your throat. “i tried so hard not to fall for you, hamzah. but then you’d make me tea when i couldn’t sleep or stay up late watching terrible movies with me because i was sad, and i… i couldn’t help it.”

he stared at you, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“i thought you didn’t see me that way,” you admitted, voice breaking. “i thought i was just your roommate.”

hamzah closed the distance between you in two steps. his hands hovered over your arms like he was scared to touch you, scared you’d disappear.

“you were never just anything to me,” he whispered.

and when you didn’t pull away, he finally cupped your face in his hands, fingers warm and careful.

“you sure about this?” he asked, voice shaking.

you nodded, tears burning your eyes. “i’ve never been more sure.”

so he kissed you — soft, tentative, like he was terrified of doing it wrong. but when you kissed him back, fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie, he melted.

and for the first time since you met him, everything finally made sense.

#ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 haven.#fanfic #hamzah x reader #hamzahthefantastic #martin and hamzah #hamzah imagines #hamzah fic #hamzahthefanatasticxreader #hamzah fluff #hamzah angst #slushy noobz #fluff #fanfic fluff #fanfic angst #x reader

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fireinmoonshot · 2 days ago

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second impressions | joaquín torres x fem!reader

READ PART ONE HERE Pairing: Joaquín Torres x Fem!Reader Summary: After making a terrible first impression on you, Joaquín goes back to the Avengers Training Facility in hopes of making a better second impression on you... but you have other ideas. Warnings: Mentions of fighting/combat and food Word Count: 2.1k A/N: I had a few people requesting that I write a second part to First Impressions so I have been working on this for the past couple of days. I am also going to be writing a third part to it as well which will hopefully be up in the next couple of days. Not much happens in this tbh but I still hope you guys enjoy it. I think it has some fun elements to it 💗

When Sam asks Joaquin if he wants to join him for some training at the Avengers Training Facility, there isn’t a second of hesitation before he says yes. He does truly want to learn the art of being the Falcon… the fact that you’re also going to be there is just a bonus.

He even puts on an extra spritz of cologne before he leaves his apartment. The fact that he’s wearing gym gear and therefore doesn’t need cologne doesn’t even cross his mind.

“You sure you’re up for this?” Sam asks him as they walk into the training room. “You seem a little distracted.”

Joaquin shakes his head and tries his best to pretend that he’s not looking for you. He is a little distracted, he can admit that. But it’s just because he’s here and you’re also here somewhere and he hasn’t stopped thinking about you since you body slammed him in this very room two weeks ago. “Nah, man. I’m ready. I’ve never been more ready.”

Sam gives him an amused look. “Yeah, sure…”

He drops his gym bag by the corner of the mat and starts to do some stretching. His body is tense from the drive and he needs to loosen up big time before he starts to train with Sam. He’s fully aware he’s probably going to be getting his ass kicked, but he has to start somewhere, right? He’s a pretty decent fighter when it really comes down to it, but he knows he can do with some improvement.

“So,” Joaquin begins, stretching one of his legs. “Do you think that if I can win in a sparring match with you today, you’ll let me face off with that Black Widow we saw here last time?” He purposely doesn’t use your name in an attempt to make Sam think he’s nonchalant about it all. Sam is well aware he’s the entire opposite.

Sam snorts. “Yeah, in your dreams. Even I wouldn’t fight her.”

Joaquin frowns and stands up straight, momentarily pausing his stretching. “What do you mean you wouldn’t fight her? You’ve fought Super Soldiers, you’ve fought aliens. You even fought a Red Hulk and won. I mean, come on – you totally could!”

Unbeknownst to Joaquin, you’ve slowly been walking up to them for this entire conversation, a small smile on your lips. As you reach them, you casually drape your arm around Joaquin’s shoulders, enjoying the way he tenses beneath your touch.

“Yeah, listen to the kid, Cap. I reckon you could totally take me on.”

Sam rolls his eyes and continues his own stretching. “I could, but I don’t need that kinda humiliation. By the sound of it, though, Joaquin sounds like he’s up for it.”

Joaquin’s eyes widen. “I did not say that.”

You look over at Joaquin, still smiling. “What, are you scared, Torres?”

His breath hitches as he looks at you. Your face is so close to his, closer than its ever been before, and your arm is still wrapped around his shoulders. He’s never been electrocuted before but he’s pretty certain it must feel something like this. “Me, scared?” He attempts to scoff but it comes out as more of a choking sound.

You remove your arm from around his shoulders and move to stand a little in front of him. “Aren’t you here to learn some fighting techniques? C’mon, Torres. I’m a good teacher.”

For the first time probably ever, Joaquin is a little lost for words. He’s looking at you, trying not to think too much about how attractive he finds you, and also trying to convince himself that maybe he should accept a match against you. It’d be a good way to learn… and to get his ass kicked. But if you are the one doing the ass kicking, he could definitely get behind it…

“I’m just teasing,” you say, breaking his train of thought. “I’m not fighting you today.” There’s not a single bone in your body that is willing to fight against someone with such little training compared to your usual partners. When he was better and could really hold his own against you? Sure, that was fair game. But you hadn’t been able to help yourself today when you’d walked into the gym and heard them talking about you. “Do you mind if I watch though?”

Sam shakes his head. “Nah, that’s fine. It’ll probably be good for him to have another set of eyes to see what he needs to improve on.”

“Okay, great,” you hum, starting to walk over to the edge of the mat. You pause by Joaquin and place a hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “You got this, Torres. Oh, and by the way, you smell good.”

Joaquin stares at you, a little bewildered, as you move to sit on the floor by the edge of the mat, leaning up against the concrete wall behind you and stretching your legs out in front of you. Did you actually just say that to him? How the hell was Joaquin meant to fight under these conditions? He’s all hot under the metaphorical collar now.

“Joaquin, you ready?” Sam asks, finishing off his stretching and stepping up onto the mat.

He clears his throat, looks at you one last time, and then nods. “Yeah, I’m ready.” Oh, he’s so screwed.

~~~

You stay, watching the two men as they spar on the mat in front of you. Sam is good, as you had expected him to be with so much experience under his belt. Joaquin, though, is better than you’d expected. He fights almost as effortlessly as you, although some of his movements are a little clunky in places and he could definitely learn a thing or two about predicting his opponents movements. All things considered, though, you’re impressed.

After the training wraps up for the day, you excuse yourself from the gym and head into the kitchen – a popular place among the Avengers while using the Training Facility. You’re making a sandwich when Joaquin walks into the room.

He has a towel resting over his shoulder and there’s still a sheen of sweat over his skin from the fighting. His hair, which had been neatly styled before, is now a little messy, some strands of it falling over his forehead and softening his face. It’s the first time you’ve seen him outside of the gym and even though you knew that he was good looking before, nothing can prepare you for the strange feeling that erupts in your stomach as he saunters into the room.

“I guess Avengers eat sandwiches too,” Joaquin says, breaking the silence as he sits on one of the stools on the opposite side of the counter from you. He notices that your eyes are a little unfocused as you look at him, but then you blink and you’re back to normal.

You chuckle. “You say that like we’re some kind of special breed, Torres. I’m a human, too, sweetheart. We humans eat sandwiches.”

Joaquin is pretty sure he feels his heart stop as you call him sweetheart. He’s not even thinking about the sandwich anymore. All he can think about is the fact that you never refer to him by his first name and the fact that you just gave him a nickname that he hasn’t been called since he worked in a supermarket as a teenager and the older ladies would fawn over how kind and lovely he was.

“Yeah, sandwiches are pretty great…” is all that he can manage to say, his head swimming with thoughts about how you’re so tough, so strong, but how the word sweetheart sounds like music coming from your mouth.

You look at him for a moment. “Are we really gonna stand here talking about sandwiches, Torres?”

He pauses and attempts to clear his thoughts. “What else would we talk about?”

“I don’t know, but I really don’t feel like trading sandwich secrets with you,” you admit as you grab a knife and cut the sandwich in half before putting it on a plate. You push it to the side, then, and lean down on the bench, looking across it at Joaquin. “I wanna talk about the fact that you wore cologne to a sparring session at the gym.”

Joaquin is glad he’s not eating or drinking. He’s certain he would’ve choked on it. You telling him that he smelled good had been on replay in his mind for the entire sparring match against Sam and had definitely been the reason Sam had gotten a few punches in. He hadn’t thought you’d notice it, letalone mention it, and he’s pretty sure it’s worn off by now considering he’d sweated so much during the fight. But here you are, cornering him about it.

“I wanted to make a better second impression on you than my first one,” he explains, a little sheepishly.

Truthfully, his terrible first impression on you had been weighing on his mind. He’d made a total fool out of himself, even though you’d assured him that he hadn’t. He had decided very quickly that he needed to do better next time.

You look at him for a second and then extend your hand towards him. “Give me your phone for a sec,” you say.

Joaquin furrows his eyebrows. “Why do you want my phone? He replies, mid-way through grabbing it and handing it to you across the counter. There’s nothing on there that he’d be worried about you seeing. Well… apart from a few selfies in his camera roll.

“Because,” you start, taking the phone from him. “I want to put my number in it. We’re on the same team now and if you ever have any questions about fighting techniques or anything similar, shoot me a text and I can help.” You open up his contacts, adding yourself to them. “And because you are not going to make a good impression on me simply by wearing cologne to a sparring session, Torres.”

He takes his phone back from you after you finish adding in your number and places it on the bench in front of him. “How am I going to do that, then?”

“We may be Avengers, Torres, but that doesn’t mean every interaction we have has to be within the walls of this training facility. I’d honestly prefer that they aren’t,” you admit, shrugging your shoulders. “We should meet sometime out in the real world, where we’re just you and me instead of a Black Widow and the Falcon. Get to know more about each other rather than just our fighting styles.”

Joaquin finds himself smiling. He hadn’t expected that from you. According to Sam, you’re one of the best fighters and a damn good Avenger. He’d thought you’d want to keep things that way – co-workers and nothing more. He’s never been an Avenger before so he assumed that would be how it was – his friendship with Sam being the exception. But apparently not.

“You’d actually wanna do that?” He asks, a little in disbelief.

“No, actually. I just said all of that but I didn’t mean a single word,” you reply, deadpan. “Yes, of course I would want to do that, Torres. I do actually have a life outside of being an Avenger, you know. I don’t only exist in this facility.”

A thought pops into Joaquin’s mind… you have a life outside of this place, which means there’s a very possible chance that you might have a partner. Someone you go home to every night, someone that listens to your troubles and fears when it comes to your job.

Almost like you can read his mind, you speak again.

“I’m basically asking you on a date, Joaquin.”

His head snaps up, eyes meeting yours. “You– wait, you and me? You want to go on a date with me? You’re– you’re asking me?”

“What is with you and not believing me when I say things to you?” You laugh a little, shaking your head. “I’m not talking anything serious, hence the word basically, but yes. You don’t need to give me an answer straight away. You should take some time to think on it. This is only the second time we’ve met, after all.”

You stand up straight and pick up the plate with the sandwich before walking around the counter and sliding the plate in front of Joaquin.

“Eat. You need to regain your strength after getting your ass kicked by Sam,” you hum. “And then text me yes or no once you’ve had some time to think, yeah?”

Before Joaquin can even recover from his shock enough to actually say yes to you, you’re gone. He spins around in his chair, eyes falling on the empty doorway. Then, he turns back around, picks up his phone and types out a message to you.

I don’t need time to think on it. I’m in. Yes.

#joaquin torres #joaquin torres x reader #joaquin torres x you #marvel #marvel x reader #captain america brave new world #listening to the new sf9 album as i did my last edit on this #and i'm surprised i actually got any writing done #a bop

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valer1esgallery · 3 days ago

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Small ways they show affection

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lucifer

Leaves roses on your desk or bedside table with a small cup of tea/coffee for you in the mornings, even if he isnt there, i feel like he would make you something warm to drink along with his normal coffee he has in the morning. Its not outright said, but he cares alot for you to do this every morning without fail, its become part of his routine now, not that he minds

Mammon

I feel like he would subconsciously play with your hair or your jewelry if you both are together, you both could be lost in deep conversation and he would just reach up and start playing with a strand. If you mention it to him, he would turn red and look away, claiming that he did nothing of the sorts

He gives you small shiny objects like a crow. A small bracelet, a pair of earrings, shiny rocks, coins, a cool leaf he found, he would give you those types of things

Leviathan

Leviathan is pretty socially awkward so you don't really get large displays of PDA from the demon, but if your waiting in line or are in a large crowd, he intertwines your pinkies together or holds onto your sleeve

I feel like he would also pre-save games that he thinks that you would really enjoy, sending you a vague text about saving it for you while his face is bright red behind the screen

Satan

He leaves you little note with quotes from romance novels, i will die on this hill. If he finds a book that he thinks you will like, he will leave the book on your desk with a small sticky note that reads something like 'and for the first time in his life, he felt comfortable, and its all thanks to her/him', cheesy stuff like that

Asmodeus

This man is so into PDA, a arm around your shoulder, his hand on your waist, arms linked together, fingers interlocked, he just loves PDA. But when you both are alone, you could just be talking and you have your legs over his lap, he rests his hand on your calf as you both talk

Alone, his touches are more gentle, more loving. He likes touch, and he feels just resting a hand on your leg or just resting his head on you

Beelzebub

He knows all of your favourite devildom drinks and snacks, he makes sure that he brings enough for you while he's on snack time. Sometimes they don't make it to the house but its the thought that counts!

But when they do, he restocks your small snack draw and leaves some on your desk, making sure you never go hungry

Belphegor

He would give you a small bracelet that he tops up with magic every night so that you don't have bad dreams, Is it annoying? Yes, but is it worth it to see you happy? 100% Yes

He would just lean on you, not out of sleepiness (even though it does happen), he likes to lean against your arm or rest his head on your shoulder

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sorry i disappeared off of the face of the earth for a while, things came up and i was in a massive writing rut for a good long while lol

but anyways, IM BACK :D

This has not been proof read lmao, what should I do next?

#valer1esgallery #obey me shall we date #obey me nightbringer #obey me #obey me!#obey me swd #obey me x mc #obey me x reader #obey me x y/n #omswd #obey me headcanons #obey me hcs

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fics-lovebot · 2 days ago

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seventeen fic recs pt. 2

main masterlist - svt fic recs pt. 1

· ♡ · · tysm to the amazing creative minds of the writers for giving me sevaral moments of joy reading your creations

pls remember to reblog if you like any of my recs❤️

coffee talk - ( @wqnwoos ) fluff, coworker!vernon, work romance au, jwhhxsjxsjd cutee

bias - ( @wooahaes ) fluff, slice of life, vernon idol!au, you make the cats choose their svt bias, IT SO WHOLESOME :((((((((

mr. nice guy - ( @toruro ) smut, next door neighbor!joshua au, I HATE HIM skfffkjs this got me blushing and shit, he cosplays as a gentleman but he´s actually just a flirty nasty mf

confession - ( @nonranghaes ) bf!shua, fluff, slice of life, this is so cute sldfjshldjfkh

You Know What They Say About Men With Big Feet - ( @hansols-yoda-boxers ) smut, big feet, big nose, big muscles and a big dicc YUPPPPPP, seokmin has it ALL

2am conversations - ( @wqnwoos ) bf!jeonghan, slice of life, “what if crabs think that fish can fly?” “angel, it’s two in the morning,” sdkhfksb it´s cute :(((( so domesticc

the long way - ( @trblsvt ) model!jeonghan, staff!reader, UGGHHDSLHFLSKH i love this, he´s so confident and lowkey straight forward

tinted windows - ( @duhnova ) smut, ceo!hannie, panty ripper,, literally, car sex, “sir you have a meeting in twenty minutes.” “fuck that stupid meeting, i have more important things to be doing right now.” IT´S GOOD YALL

poker match - ( @hoshifighting ) smut, sub!hannie, dom!reader, famous poker player!jeonghan, famous poker player!reader. he finally meets his match in every way. I LOVEEEDDD this, it´s such a fresh concept

night time questions - ( @wqnwoos ) bf!jeonghan, fluff, LEAVE ME ALONEEEEEE THIS IS SO CUTEEE :(((( had me giggling and crying at the same time

drunk and in love - ( @97-liners ) fluff, wasted!hoshi, him in his tiger patterned-shirt, asdkjasdh he´d deff be like this, he rants about how wonderfull you are to whoever got ears, so cute

lollipops and candy bars - ( @hansols-yoda-boxers ) smut, sub!hao, reader loves to tease, cute and innocent looking reader, hao needs help lmao, "Well, I finished off my lollipop a while ago, do you have anything else I could suck on?” SKLHDLFJHKLDJ wow

clingy - ( @tomodachiii ) hubby!gyu x pregnant!reader, fluff. so you want me to kms,,THIS IS THE FLUFFIEST PIECE I´VE READ THIS WEEK (っ °Д °;)っ ilysm

sweater paws - ( @duhnova ) smut, virgin!jeonghan. yeah so i fucking love this :D literally one of the best smut pieces out there fr, so so detailed

bad girls make good boys cry - ( @duhnova ) smut. virgin!joshua. pleeeassseeeee this is so gOODD, "first of all, you rode me till i cried" IKTR!!

reaction to their s/o appearing on going seventeen - ( @welcometomyoasis ) fluff, crack. LMAOOO i loved this sm

them accidentally ditching you on your bday - ( @hannieehaee ) angst, idol!ot13 if you know me you know i´m a wHORE for an angsty fic, it just hits a certain spot on my brain idk, and this is IT, i loved both parts

menace - ( @hannieehaee ) fluff, simp!jeonghan, when you´re the only one who can deal with him. mannn why is mingyu always the target lmao

fake dating? - ( @hannieehaee ) crack, fluff, suggestive, bff to lovers. nahhh this was too funny lmao, poor vernon

whipped - ( @gi4hao ) FLUFF, bf!wonu. this is so wHOLESOME and ihateit (not) :((((( plssssss its so cuteee

when you call them by their name - ( @emocheol ) sdkhskdhf this is too good, no them panicking

12:31 am - ( @hoasvuon ) bf!jeonghan, fluff. so...i´m so in love :´)

leave your message after the beep - ( @shuaraes ) angst, ex-bf!minghao, the way this is written,, how tf doesn´t it have at leAST 1000 notes??? its crazy!

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writingwisterias · 2 days ago

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i need a fic where di leon is a grumpy farmer and reader is the golden retriever girl who went to spend time with her grandparents and is invading his farm to steal the strawberries from his garden (obs: she is a little afraid of him) HDJEKDGWJDGWJ😭😭 im hungry to read something like this PLS SAVE ME

Anon you won me over with this! It's like you know me and my love for strawberries! I hope you enjoy!! I got carried away I'm sorry it took so long omg!!

Warnings: SMUT, MDNI, Soft Leon, Age-gap, Cow-girl, Overstimulation, Hinted PTSD, Soft Dom Leon, Switch Leon, Leon deserves every bit of happiness, Unprotected Sex, Missionary, Words: 5k

DI!Leon Kennedy x AFAB!Fem! reader

The wind blew at your dress as you stared at the fence opposite you, the gaps wide enough to use as a way to hoist yourself up. A curious nature was always a dangerous one your mother would whisper but you just couldn’t help being curious, not when the fruit over the fence looked so much riper than yours. You shouldn’t be greedy and just accept the ones that you have grown. No one was home, at least it looked like that. The window that overlooked the garden always had the curtains drawn shut, the swing chair on the back porch had a thin layer of dust from its lack of use. You had shown at the old fence a few days in a row, the strawberries turning a brighter red each time. Surely they wouldn’t care if you stole a few? The white buds that laid around them signalled a new batch coming in.

If it wasn’t for your grandparents constant mention of the man that resided here you would have assumed it was abandoned. You always thought it must be lonely living in a farmhouse this big, the green of his own garden stretching just as far as your family’s. Your boots notched on the fence perfectly giving you the stability you needed as you began to climb over. The wind whipped away at your hair, the sun gave you an angelic glow.

At least that’s what Leon thought as he watched you from his bedroom window, his form hidden in the folds of the curtain. His coffee was as bitter as he could make it steaming in his hands. He wouldn’t confront you, he never has not in the many years he's watched you do this. Not when in a few days you would come back down to the fence with your small basket containing a book and some of those mouth–watering cookies and he got to watch someone live freely without the horrors that haunted him.

Leon never knew what caused him to grow the fruit. Perhaps it was the craving of something sweet in his seemingly bitter life or maybe it was just to see your curious features every summer to see if the plant had made it through the harshness of winter. Leon’s years of service had dwindled, his aging body no longer fit enough for whatever they wanted him to do. Which allowed him to finally nurture the life he thought he deserved, the simple dream he imagined for himself all those years ago.

The farmhouse was always a part of this dream of his, the expansive land always seemed like the perfect ending and start to family life. Since he moved in, your grandparents helped him get settled quickly. The older couple were innocent in their teaching to help him learn how to repair everything. Leon offered what labour his body would allow nowadays as a thanks to their warmth. It was then that first summer he saw you.

This sweet ray of sunshine that ran through the blades of glass like you were in the sound of music. Every colour of dress looked good on you, your hair always pulled in styles that frame your face perfectly. Too bad he respected the kindness of his elder neighbours to do anything about it. Your youthful features told him it was wrong, his darkened ones were too dangerous for yours. His touch would surely taint you, corrupt you. So he settled on his observations.

It didn’t take much brain power for him to figure out that you were afraid of being caught. Not when you held the berries in the skirt of your dress staring at the kitchen window. If only you were smart enough to look up, then you would see him. He didn’t have the heart to stop you from doing this. Not when it kept that gap in the curtains open allowing the single ray of sunshine to spread out on the floor of his bedroom in his otherwise shadow of a home.

“Not stealing Leon’s strawberries again are you?” Your grandmother spoke from the kitchen doorway. You had finished preparing them for the cookies, licking the syrup that they created as you sprinkle them with sugar. “Do you think he would mind? I never asked but all the curtains were drawn again” You spoke turning to face her. It felt like home here, like you belonged to help them out during summer. Your boots waiting at the door for the next adventure. You had long since swapped the summer dress you wore earlier to the lounge clothes you would normally wear at home. At least ones your elders would approve of.

“I don’t even think he eats them himself,” she laughed as she stood next to you. “Perhaps he just grows them for you, he lives alone after all”

The idea of him doing this made you blush, you weren’t sure why. If it were true the action was kind and it almost made you feel guilty for your actions. You turned your face away from her instead, willing yourself to focus on the cookie dough that you were currently rolling out in small balls and placing them on the baking tray. “I’m sure he doesn’t, we’ve never met and as far as I know he doesn’t know I’m the infamous thief” You awkwardly blubbered out. “I guess he must think it’s a pretty big rabbit then since they steal so many at a time” She laughed, her hands held out towards the bowl, washed and ready to help you with the baking process.

It was moments like this that you enjoyed, the simplicity of it reminding you of the true home you craved. The bed they provided was always soft and warm, the sheets smelling like the fresh air that would filter in throughout the day. It was an escape for you, the life you always dreamed of but were never sure you could sustain on your own. The six weeks were a countdown of your daydream ending. The stark reminder that reality was close to hitting you in the face and you would have to wait three seasons for your return. It was always bittersweet. Moments like these will always be cherished, especially as you chatted about anything and everything you could whilst the cookies baked. Their smell fills the room.

“I should thank him one day for growing such great strawberries, I wonder how he does it” You laughed as you took a bite from one of them now they were finished. “He’s home more often than you think, love. I think he would like to see who stealing his strawberries, maybe he’ll give you some tips for yours”

One day you’ll be brave enough to walk up his driveway instead of over the fence with some of your infamous treats. To put a face to the name that was spoken so commonly in this household. The image of him you formed in your mind was good enough but there was always that lingering curiosity to see if it would match.

You could see the farmhouse from your bedroom whilst you began already mapping out the spot you’ll sit at tomorrow. The sun setting gives the sky a red glow. It was always your favourite time of day watching the foxes weave through the longer grass, the deer making a fleeting appearance as they ran across the fields. It wasn’t like the city you would have to return to, the sky barely visible amongst the smog of the industries.

The basket you always took was ready at your bedroom door filled with your latest read and the dress you had picked out hanging neatly above it. A weekly routine for you at this point – it has been since the first week you arrived. You enjoyed the sun on your skin, the smell of the fresh grass as you laid across it. Despite enjoying your time here it often felt lonely, you wished for a sibling or someone to enjoy the outside but no they were far too busy now to continue this tradition. They didn’t care for the open space like you did or how good it felt to be off the grid for a few months.

The dew drops darkened the leather on your boots, the blades of grass leaving small thin lines as you waded through it to that one spot you wanted. However, today felt different, like something had shifted in your routine. Not necessarily something bad, just different. You paused allowing the soft breeze to cool your skin, it was only then that you spotted the normally empty swing chair now occupied. You stood frozen watching the wind swipe at the brunette, his features calm…serene. When he finally met your eyes he smiled, a toothy grin that suited his face. You gave your own shy one back before returning to your previous task.

You faced away from the direction of the wind, pinching the blanket at the corners as you let the wind straighten it out. Moving the basket to pin the fabric down, all practiced movements. Careful and methodical to ensure your skin never touches the damp grass. Your dress was blush pink today, it suited you. It was one of his favourites, the fabric laying delicately over your skin with small frills at the hemline. You looked like a princess, something that he shouldn’t disturb. He shocked himself today when he sat on the swing, the hinges creaking with his weight.

Leon bought the swing with the intention of watching his family run around as he sat on it, drinking the bitter coffee he subjected himself to with his partner in his arms. It was what he wanted but it never happened and perhaps it never will. Maybe he was always made to be the fun uncle to his friends' children. His large house entertaining them – that was if he ever invited them over. He wasn’t sure what compelled him to approach the fence today, to finally introduce himself to you. Compared to you he seemed undressed, like some peasant trying to introduce themselves to a princess.

You didn’t pay attention to the sound of the fence moving, or the shadow that formed over your book as he stood above you. Perhaps you had chosen to sit too close to the fence today. “So you are my strawberry thief I take it?” He chuckled, his voice horse from not talking to anyone in days. He smiled softly when you blushed and looked up before giving a shy nod. Leon watched as you moved to sit on your knees, giving him your full attention. Your eyes drifting upwards slowly until finally meeting his face. His eyes were tired but held the most beautiful colour of blue, his lashes were long and thick as he blinked. The stubble coating his cheeks suited him. “I am” You finally replied.

Leon’s head dropped slightly as he chuckled at the timidness of your voice, his posture was relaxed as he leant up against the fence; coffee mug still held tightly in his hands. “Do I not get a sample of what my produce gets turned into?”

It was weird to you, with the way your grandparents describe Leon you always assumed he was a lot older than he came across. His form was strong, you see that he had put in effort to get it like that. His job was never mentioned, your grandparents cared little of how he obtained the money to even own the house. Everyone was subjected to their secrets you supposed yet you still craved to learn his. You looked at the scars along his hands as you passed him a cookie; each one holding stories you now felt eager to learn.

The fence is now a barrier between the two of you, the sun shining down on his hair allowing the few blond strands he had left glow like natural highlights. The tiredness was evident now you were closer also spying the crows feet that formed as he smiled at you. You found yourself waiting eagerly for his thoughts, maybe if he thought that they tasted good then he wouldn’t get mad at your trespassing for the sweet fruit. Somewhere inside of you now craved for his approval or praise on the taste.

The low groan he let out once he had taken a bite shouldn’t have affected you the way that it did. Your thighs pressing together slightly to ease some of the tension. “These are so good, your grandparents are right. You are a good baker” He complimented, scoffing the whole thing as if you might take it away from him before he got the chance to finish. You beamed at him, eyes twinkling at the compliment and approval. The sight caused him to pause, to scan over the softer features you held. It was only then he realised how beautiful you actually were.

How was he allowed to be in the presence of such beauty? He barely deserved this house, let alone to be standing here in front of you. Part of him wished to invite you over the fence, to greet you in the house. Host a dinner with you. Leon knew the state of the house wasn’t acceptable to you, shame filling him with the idea of you even seeing it. Instead he thanked you once more before bidding you a good day and heading inside. Leaving you to your peaceful afternoon.

However, this time he left the back door open allowing the summer breeze to blow inside along with the sun.

It wasn’t until a few days later that you saw him again, only this time he was in the living room of your grandparents house. His posture was relaxed as he spoke to them, leaning back slightly in the chair one leg leant over the other. “Oh honey! You’re awake, Leon has left something in the kitchen for you” Your grandmother smiled, a wink following shortly as she turned to look at you. With a nod of your head you turned to walk to the kitchen where a tupperware container of strawberries laid. A post-it note on the top with your name neatly written.

“Figured you could make a batch of cookies with these ones? I picked them today” Leon said from the doorway.

You turned to face him, smiling brightly once again. He was leant against the doorframe, his eyes scanning your form. “I’d be happy to, they are the fruits of your labour after all” You replied. Leon chuckled softly, nodding slightly. “I suppose they are”

“I’d be happy to do it for you though, I can bring them round tomorrow afternoon?”

It was now his turn to smile brightly before nodding. With that he left you to resume your task, returning to his spot in the chair as your grandparents spoke to him about their plans for harvest season.

You took greater care in the making of his, each strawberry cut perfectly. The sugar left to marinate slightly longer. It was cute the way you sat in front of the oven, observing them through the slightly browning window. They had to be perfect, Leon didn’t deserve anything less than that. Besides you felt like you owed him this at least.

You knew the nerves were high today as it took you longer to pick out the dress. Each one felt unworthy to be worn in front of him. A pile of dresses were now left to crease in front of the wardrobe as you worked your way through them until you found the one. The milkmaid dress was a rare one for you, not yet worn this summer despite the way it clung to your curves as you tightened the back. The front extenuating your breasts perfectly whilst keeping some modesty. You allowed your hair to fall naturally today, small wisps of it framing your face after all it wasn’t too windy. You weren’t sure what compelled you to look good today, the outfit was nothing unusual. The worn brown boots still found their way on your feet, the heels clicking slightly on the drive as you began your journey to his front door. Your basket clutched tightly in your hand as if it was some precious cargo.

Leon waited at the kitchen window, waiting to spy you sauntering down the hill again. It made him jump when you knocked on the door, it wasn't your fault you did it slightly too loud for him. The bangs echoing around the empty house. His brain short circuited for a moment as he tried to calm his heart rate down. Breathing in and out with one hand clutched to his chest the other gripping the counter. When he eventually did open the door he spied you rocking on the balls of your feet. The dress swaying with your movements. You gave him another one of your infamous bright smiles; your hands holding out the basket of goodies to him. “Special delivery?” You joked.

Fuck, you were so cute. Your cheeks darkened in colour as he stepped aside to allow you to enter. For the first time in months the curtains were all open. The sunlight bouncing around the space eliminates the darkness in every corner. His shelves were filled with trinkets and medals, his couch a rustic brown leather one with seats so plush you knew you could curl up in them. It was basic, something you assumed a man of his age to decorate like.

The kitchen is filled with the basics, enough for someone living on their own to get by. He set the basket on the kitchen island, a mug of tea already brewed waiting for you. The mug was cute, decorated with small flowers. It was clearly a gift from someone, his cup didn’t match. Instead adorned the words ‘NO.1 Uncle’. “I’m excited” He chuckled, unwrapping the basket to get out the tupperware container. A pink post-it note on the top with his name in cursive writing. “Nice touch”

You watched as he took a bite of one, the crumbs catching in the stubble and in his cupped hand he moved in a poor attempt to catch them. He let out that same low groan as the other day, his eyes shutting slightly as if the action made him savour the taste further. It looked like you had touched the front of his jeans, your cheeks heated up with the imagery. Instead, willing your mind to focus on the warmth of the mug you cradled. “Somehow they are even better than I remembered” He chuckled, already reaching for another.

Your cheeks flushed at the compliment smiling against the rim of the mug as you brought it to your lips. “Seriously, did you do anything different?” He asked, prompting you to finally speak. Hoping that you would eventually relax into the chair, perhaps next summer you would grace him with your presence more. He was in dire need of company after all and somehow he felt like you needed the same thing.

“I only added some more sugar, perhaps you just need a sweeter pallet” You teased, before taking a bite of your own cookie. Sugar dusted your lips, the juice of the berries giving them a slight shine like a natural gloss. You watched as his tongue swiped over his lower lip, his eyes boring into yours. He was watching for something you weren’t quite sure of. You watched as his hands flexed around his mug, relaxing and then contracting again. His eyes suddenly dazed over before they met you once more. “Are you okay?”

It had been years since someone had asked him that, it had been years since he isolated himself to these simpler days. He was sure most of his friends would have thought he must have died, his phone left uncharged and on the coffee table. The only thing he didn’t dust for your arrival. He craved your touch, to taste the sugar that still lingered on your lips. It was wrong of him to have these desires but it felt right in his soul. It felt like a reward was finally being granted to him in the form of your soft fingers over his scarred hands.

Leon didn’t deserve you. Not your attention, not these cookies, the kindness you offered as you directed his head back to you. It was then you saw the man your grandparents cared for, the lonely broken one that slipped through small cracks. That only wanted to help and protect people. To be useful to someone in a way that didn’t involve violence or blood. That was why he grew the strawberries every year, to see you smile as they greeted you in a bright red. He knew it made you happy.

Maybe that was why you leaned forwards. Your hand cupping his cheek, the stubble that coated it pricking into your skin as you kissed him. You felt the tension fade when your lips met, the sugar and crumbs that coated your lips adding to the texture. His tongue swiping, prodding for access to taste you further. His hands found your arms, tugging you closer without yanking you out of the chair. Your hair tickled the corners of his face as his fingers weaved through the strands. You tasted like his dream, like his future he wanted. You were sweet, so sweet. Brightening his pallet from the bitterness he subjected himself to.

Your foreheads met when you pulled away, the sun shining brightly causing you both to close your eyes. “We don’t have to– I’m sorry…” He mumbled before you cut him off with a peck. His eyes meeting yours again, this time vulnerability laced them. Longing for a connection. “I want to”

“You can’t…not me. You don’t deserve my mess”

His words didn’t make sense to you, perhaps you should have waited longer before you got off the stool giving you both a chance to get to know each other better. You didn’t though, instead you found yourself now standing between his legs to look at him, the pain that lingered in his soul now visible to you. “I make a mess when I bake and get something delicious out of it.”

It took him a moment to process what you meant, his eyes scanning you again before finally nodding. His frame towered yours as he dragged you further into the house. The stairs creaking under your weight. The tour was brief, informal as he dragged you to his room. Part of him wanted to guide you to the guest room instead, the sheets in there weren’t tainted with the sweat of his nightmares. It was like you knew which one his room was, the curtains still drawn except for that small gap.

He was gentle when he brought you to the edge of the bed, his lips trapping yours into a needy kiss. You felt his hands run up your sides until they reached your shoulders where he began to pull away at the straps of your dress. He broke the kiss to savour the taste there, sucking softly at the nape of your neck. Inhaling your fresh scent, the sweet vanilla suited you. Your own hands teased the hem of his shirt, silently waiting for his approval to remove it. Part of him wanted to shake his head, to keep the red lines that decorated his skin away from your innocent eyes but for this work. To get what he needed, you had to see.

“They’re ugly I know”

You hadn’t expected him to be insecure, to hate the stories you were fascinated to learn since you saw them upon his hands. His breath faltered as you shook your head before leaning in to kiss each one, it didn’t matter if they were faded. “Not to me”

Not to you?

He found comfort in that as he cupped your face, directing your attention back to him. His blue eyes boring into yours. “You are so sweet, it’s cute how fitting it is”

Leon began to unlace the dress, watching as the fabric loosened around your body until it fell on the floor at your feet, leaving you in just your underwear. Your fingers worked on the belt, the clash of the metal on the floor made him flinch slightly. He didn’t have time to calm his brain, to count down in his head like before; not when your fingers moved along the outline of his growing bulge. Feeling his cock thicken beneath his boxers. You smiled at the low groan he let out again, “I love that sound”

He pushed you against the bed, watching as you laid back. Your legs spread eagerly for him showing off the darkened colour of your underwear. “So wet already? I bet the taste is better than any of your cookies and sweeter than any fruit I could grow for you” Leon spoke as he crawled up the bed. His arms rested either side of your head as he hovered above you, hiding you in his shadow. You smiled at him, shaking your head slightly before pushing him to lay on his back. He needed to relax, to get the attention he’s carved for so many years. A chance to escape the shadow he claimed to bring.

As the afternoon changed to evening the breeze picked up, blowing the drawn fabric of his curtain open. The sun flickering over your body as you straddled him. “You deserve to be happy Leon, everyone does” You whispered in the shell of his ear. Your teeth grazed his lobe before kissing against his pulse point, moving the pressure down until you reached his collarbone. You watched as your marks blossomed along his skin. Each line of raised scar being covered by you and your claim. “You deserve this after your years of service – you earned those medals on your shelf”

Each praise caused him to groan softly, his hips lifting to meet yours. You looked between the two of you, smiling at the darkened spot on his underwear. “Please”

His beg was simple, one word but his voice cracked holding emotions you weren’t sure you could comprehend yet. You would grant him this moment of escape, of pleasure he was worthy of taking. You moaned at the sight of his cock as you finally freed him. The tip glistened with the steady stream of pre-cum he was producing. You smirked at his whimper as you ran your finger over his head gathering it before bringing your finger to your lips. Sucking softly on the taste of him. Leon’s cock jumped at the sight, the needy cock begging for your attention once more. You removed your underwear, the fabric discarded in the pile of clothes at the bottom of the bed. Leon had done the same, his thighs clenching underneath as he prepared for your warmth to encase him.

For the connection he’s craved for so long.

He moaned as you sunk onto his length, your walls already fluttering beautifully around him. His hands landed on your hips gripping at the flesh softly only tightening when you began to move. You felt like heaven, the sun giving you that same angelic glow he watched from his window. Your breasts bounced with your movements, your nipples hardening begging for his lips or fingers. Who was he to deny them?

You cupped the back of his head as he captured one of them, his tongue flicking over the sensitive bud as his fingers tweaked the other one. You felt each exhale he made, the air escaping over the soft mound. His name sounded like music as it left your lips in breathy moans. You deserved to be worshiped like this, like the goddess the sun painted you out to be. His house was bright again, the corners rid of any lingering cobwebs. The porch swing was used again, his skin actually felt the warmth of summer in his own leisure and not yard work.

He felt you clench, your rhythm faltering as your core tightened with need. Your clit throbbed against his happy trail. Your thighs tighten around his hips. He smiled as you threw your head back, your nails digging crescent marks in his shoulders, scraping new lines over the old ones. “Come on sweetie, cum for me please” he begged, helping you move at the speed you needed. You felt his cock twitch inside, stroking that spongy spot.

He begged for your release once more before it flooded through you. Your head falling to his shoulder as your chest heaved. Leon moved you both, pinning you against the sheets with his own set of needy thrusts. The pleasure tightened his balls as his release grew closer. “So perfect” He whispered against your skin, claiming you with his set of marks. Nipping at the soft skin of your breasts. You whimpered at the overstimulation, the sound falling effortlessly off your lips as he brought you to another orgasm. He groaned deeply as you milked him, sucked him closer inside. Your legs trapped him, holding him in place as you pressed into the swell of his ass.

Your eyes twinkled brightly as you met him again, nothing but acceptance and pleasure lingering in them. A silent devotion to love him. He groaned once more before he spilled himself inside of you. His chest heaving breaths that met your own. Neither of you moved, trapped in this moment as his warmth spread inside you. His world was smaller, reduced to that smile you gave him. Nothing else mattered, nothing else would matter, not when he had this. Something to hold, to worship, to service. A purpose again.

The kiss was gentle as he pressed his lips against yours, the swing creaked with your combined weight as you laid in his arms. You smiled against his lips relishing in the sweet taste that lingered on them after you had both settled eating fresh strawberries. With the red streaks in the sky now finally being able to watch your favourite time of day in the warmth of his embrace instead of the coldness of your room alone.

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nicolewritesthings · 24 hours ago

Text

Don't press your luck

Steve Harrington x Hopper!Reader

Summary: After the team wins their basketball game, Hopper!reader and Steve go to a party just as friends. But do you leave that way?

Warnings: a little bit of steamy time

Note: it's been a minute, and then I thought I got locked out of this account but I found my password!! This can be read alone, but also is an installment for my hopper x harrington series because I love that idea so much.

Read another part of that series here: What would Madonna do?

Enjoy :)

Spring 1985

Hawkins High School's gym is filled to the brim during a much anticipated match up this basketball season. The crowd cheers on their Tigers as the clock dwindles down to under a minute left of the fourth quarter.

Steve is having a particularly good game, leading the team in points. Boy, did he need the win. After everything that happened a few months ago with Nancy and another brush with death, he really needed some good energy. Dare he think, to get back a bit of the King Steve glory again.

He weaves down the court, faking out a player, and SWISH. Another basket. The crowd ROARS. Steve looks up at the scoreboard: 35 seconds, they're up by 4. Let's keep it that way.

From the crowd, little miss Hopper watches intently. Quite literally on the edge of her seat. She doesn't normally go to basketball games. Maybe she went to a couple with Nancy her freshman year, but basketball really wasn't her preferred sport. So, when she and Nancy naturally drifted apart and made new friends, she had no one forcing her to these games. That is, until now.

Her newly formed friendship with Steve started last Halloween when she was stuck babysitting a bunch of kids, fighting monsters, and getting beaten up by Hargrove. Trauma really bonds the least likely of friends.

Now the two really couldn't get enough of each other. And that is meant in the most platonic way possible. Well, sort of. The two are both major flirts, so it's not her fault when the banter crosses that line and there's a little too friendly of touching. It would also explain why she was at a basketball game for the first time in two years. Yeah, to support her new friend. But, she can't lie to herself, she really wanted to see him sweaty and aggressive and thankfully - winning.

So, Miss Hopper watched as Steve ran down the court again, bidding his teammate for the ball. It's passed to him and she stands up along with the rest of the crowd. They all watch in anticipation as Steve shoots and - SWISH, sinks it into the basket.

The buzzer sounds and the crowd erupts. Hawkins won! Against their rivals no less! She CHEERS, high-fiving the students around her.

Her eyes are on Steve as he celebrates with his team. She smiles, damn he needed this.

Steve breaks apart from his teammates and looks up to the crowd, easily finding her already staring back at him. He gives her an arrogant shrug, making her roll her eyes so hard, but that smirk doesn't leave either one of their faces. He nods his head toward the locker room, silently communicating to her in the very loud, packed gym.

------------

Hopper waits outside the gym in the parking lot, where some other students are waiting for their friends and most likely - boyfriends. Some of the girls look over at her and eye her "GO STEVE" sign. She know how this looks, but making the sign gave her a really good laugh. With all its glitter and pep. She knew Steve would crack up too.

But here, now faced with presumably other girlfriends, she feels just a slight bit of insecurity. Then Marissa Adams is striding over to her, and Marissa's other friend, Ashley something, follows. Marissa nods over at the closed locker room doors.

"You're Steve's girl now?" Marissa asks casually.

Hopper shake her head, "just friends."

Marissa nods, her hands in her pockets, and shares a look with Ashley. She eyes the sign then looks back at Hopper and says, "no girl's just friends with Steve Harrington."

Marissa's a senior like Steve, and it's safe to assume there's some history there. Hopper thinks back, trying to recall any rumor about the two of them together but comes up short. He's been with a lot of girls, she knew that much. But, she'll have to ask Steve about her later.

"Well, there's a first for everything," she says, smiling.

Marissa smiles, taken back by her casual demeanor. She's cool, Hopper thinks, and not your typical townie. Her parents are rich, like work in the city and vacation in Europe rich.

"My boyfriend's throwing a party after this if you want to come," Marissa says cooly, "bring the MVP with you."

Hopper nods as Marissa and Ashley turn toward the opening doors. A blonde boy, Mark, envelopes Marissa into a hug. Hopper shifts her attention to a certain dark head of hair racing towards her.

Steve smiles, pointing at the sign, "that is the best fucking thing I've ever seen." He quickly pulls her into a hug. She wraps her arms around him, face nuzzled into his chest, taking in the fresh soap smell and clean clothes.

She pulls back and he takes the sign into his hands, continuing to gawk, "is that blue glitter? So cheesy."

"You love it," she smirk, walking in tandem toward his car.

Steve throws his things and the sign into the back. She eyes Marissa and turn back to Steve, "I got invited to Mark's party tonight."

He laughs at this as the two get into his car, "wait, who told you? I was just going to bring it up."

"Marissa Adams. She thinks we're dating," she flips through the radio.

Steve starts the car, "oh yeah? What made her say that."

She points to the sign and settles on some rock song.

He nods his head, "yeah that is a bit deceiving. You know, I had a thing with her back in the day."

"I gathered that," she eyes him, "she said you're not friends with girls."

"What the hell does that even mean," Steve scoffs, "you and I are friends."

She throws her hands up, "that's what I said! There's a first for everything."

Steve sneaks a glance over at her, taking in her features. Her cute nose, big eyes, perfect lips. He always does this, sneaking a look here and there when he thinks she's not paying attention. But he's oblivious to her knowing smirk and her own stolen glances.

He lets the song sit comfortably in the car, lost in his thoughts of her. Marissa is right, he wasn't close friends with girls. But, that was his former self, his previous persona. Now he had Hopper and her witty humor and their study sessions and their movie nights and late drives to pick up the kids. Not to mention they ate lunch together almost every day, save for basketball practice or her english club meetings.

They were friends. His first close girl friend who he hasn't ended up romantically, or physically, involved with in some capacity. Which is a miracle because god, have you seen her?

Her perfect hair and soft skin that he gets to feel sometimes when she's a little too close or they're a little too touchy. Oh, he's in for it come summer. She'll probably lifeguard again and come by his pool in a tiny bikini and-

"Steve!" she practically yells for his attention. His bicep burns at the touch of her hand enclosed around his arm.

He scoffs, "sorry, what?"

"Let's park at yours and walk. I'll call my dad and tell him I'm crashing at your place again," she shrugs, retracting her hand from his arm.

He breathes out, "good idea. We can sneak some of my dad's booze."

"Fuck yes," she practically moans. Steve sucks in a breath. She continues, "your dad has excellent taste in tequila."

-------

After a night of dancing and drinking and an abundance of school spirit, Steve and Little Miss Hopper make their way up the Harrington's driveway.

"Really? Rob Lowe over Han Solo?" Steve whispers as he unlocks the door. Their game of who'd you rather has gotten very heated.

She follows him inside, slipping off her shoes, "have you seen him in the Outsiders?!"

Steve shushes her, "but does he fight intergalactic space battles?"

“Now you’re suddenly a star wars fan?” she asks in disbelief, “you fell asleep last time we watched.”

“Whatever, I still think he’s a cool dude,” he shrugs.

They head upstairs and into his bedroom. Steve flicks the light on and she immediately beelines for the bed, plopping down onto it.

"But Rob Lowe's eyes are to die for," she doubles down.

Steve fumbles around his drawers, pulling out extra clothes for her to sleep in. He sets them on the bed and sits down beside her. She sits up on her elbows.

Steve shakes his head, "they have the same eyes, don't they?"

She shrugs, "I prefer brunettes anyways."

"You do?" he smirks.

She rolls her eyes and smacks his arm, "get your mind out of the gutter, Harrington."

"Oh, I could go way deeper into the gutter if I wanted to, Hopper," he laughs, looking down at her.

She sits up now, giggling, "deeper, yeah?"

Now he rolls his eyes, and can't help but join her in laughing at their mutually childish sense of humor.

See, friends can laugh like this together, he thinks. He also thinks about how she's staying the night. In the guest room, of course, but still. They can go to the diner tomorrow for breakfast, sit in their favorite booth, and order their usuals. He'll feign disgust at her purely black coffee and she'll pick at his pancakes even when she insists on never getting the sweet option.

"I'm still surprised your dad let's you stay the night here," Steve ponders this every time it happens, "isn't one of his rules, 'no boys overnight.'"

She shrugs off her jacket, "I guess he doesn't see you as a threat. And actually his rule is don't get pregnant, but they go hand in hand."

Is that disappointment she catches in Steve's eyes? Is he seriously offended that her dad, the big scary Sheriff, believes they're just friends too. I mean, hell, he's grown fond of Steve over the past few months with how much he's been there for both of his girls. Also, the Sheriff knows his daughter and he knows when she's hiding something. She's not hiding Steve.

"Don't look all sad, Steve," she moves on the bed to face him, "it's a good thing you're flying under his radar."

"Yeah, but it's like your dad doesn't think I have a shot with you," he slips out, wincing as soon as the words leave his mouth.

Hopper's eyes glimmer. A mischievous look on her face as she debates her next move. She could do nothing and look past this falter in Steve's usual smooth confidence. Or, she could give in a little and entertain this whole conversation.

So, with the help of the few drinks in her system, Hopper eyes Steve, taking in all his glorious features. His long eyelashes and great hair. What would it feel like to run your fingers through it? To tug a little?

She smirks, "do you think you have a shot with me?"

Steve looks up, taken aback by her question. He nearly melts as her big eyes stare up at him. Fuck, what is she doing? Is she doing what he thinks she's doing?

Wait, Steve knows what this is. He's done this a bunch of times with girls. He's egged them on, gotten them to be the ones to make the first move. He's never the first one to lay all his cards out there on the table. He's definitely never felt shy about being attracted to someone before and yet, here he is with the most beautiful girl he's met, in his bedroom about to change into his clothes, batting her eyelashes at him like it's some game.

No way is he going to lose at his own fucking game.

So he does what he does best and reverts back to King Steve. Just this once is fine, he thinks.

He stands up and walks over to his dresser. With his back faced to her, he shrugs, "you tell me."

Hopper sits back, shaking her head in disbelief. She thought she had him for a second there, but now he's acting all aloof and-

She looks up to find him tugging his shirt off his body, leaving the perfect view of his bare back. Oh you got to be kidding me. Now he's playing with her.

The tension in the room is palpable as Steve turns around and leans against his dresser. He doesn't break eye contact as he slips on a loose white t-shirt to sleep in. She stares back, not looking down as he covers his bare chest.

What she says next will change the trajectory of their friendship, she thinks. So she debates her next move, thinking back to how well they know each other now and how if they move into this physical territory, they risk their friendship. Is it worth it?

But the pounding in her heart is distracting and she can't help but focus on the feeling of desire in the pit of her stomach and the way her skin buzzes by the mere thought of him touching her. This isn't the first time she's felt this way with Steve.

She thinks back to the first time she felt this spark with him. When they were walking down those train tracks with Dustin slightly ahead of them. How Steve grabbed her wrist to stop her from tripping over a broken track. The electricity shot through her in an instant. Something she's never felt before.

Then the memory of desire floods her system. When she and Steve sat on his couch watching Nightmare on Elm Street and he pulled her into his chest because he was anxious and spooked. She felt his warmth and could smell his fresh linen scent. God, she could have taken him then and there if she really acted on how she felt.

But now she's in his bed, on the precipice of changing their friendship forever and instead of making the logical decision, she lets the need for his touch consume her.

His statement echoes in her mind - 'you tell me.'

"Yeah, you do," she states cooly, eyes still locked with his.

Steve breaks momentarily, sucking in a breath. He did not expect that answer, but fuck it. He can't help but eye her pouting lips and big eyes looking back at him. Don't do it, don't do it, don't-

and then she looks down at his lips, briefly, but he still catches it and now all he sees is red.

Steve strides across the room and lunges down to her level, cupping her face in his hands. He crashes his lips to hers and oh wow, is it better than he's ever imagined.

She grips his wrists, pulling him into her as he stumbles onto the bed. Her skin buzzes as they kiss, she needs him to touch her - anywhere.

He sits beside her and puts a hand on her waist. She leans towards him, sitting up on her knees and lowering onto his lap. She deepens the kiss as Steve's hands wander over her body.

The pit in her stomach grows more and more as she pushes further into him, grinding onto his lap. He groans and grabs the side of her head and neck, gripping her to look back at him. They eye each other, waiting for the other to break.

Steve bites his lip, "don't do that."

"You sure?" she smirks, going to lean in. He grips her head gently, making her look at him still.

With hooded eyes, he drawls out, "don't start something you can't finish."

Oof.

King Steve strikes again.

It's subtle. This implication that she's going to put out, and that brings her right back to any other hook up with any other guy. Maybe he didn't mean it like that, but it rubs her the wrong way. It sobers her up completely.

She stares back at him and Steve feels the mood shift.

"Don't push your luck, Harrington," she scoffs, nudging his hands off of her and rising from his lap.

Oh god, he fucked up, didn't he?

He goes to stand and go after her, but his hard-on decides otherwise. Steve stays glued on the bed as she grabs her clothes and retreats to the door.

"Wait, I'm so confused right now," Steve says quickly.

Hopper pauses, turning to him, "I'm tired, okay? Let's just talk about this tomorrow."

Before he can respond, she's already shutting the door and crossing the hall to the guest room, leaving Steve very confused and still very turned on by his best friend.

154 notes · View notes

httpswritings · 4 hours ago

Note

hii! can you do an alexia blurb where she's super oblivious to reader's advances towards her? but everyone in the team can tell, and everyone's just face palming about the situation

Here it is! I hope you like it <3

Everybody knows

alexia putellas x reader

Dealing with a crush wasn't Alexia's cup of tea. She liked to be focused, always, no excuses for her. But when it came to you, she had trouble concentrating.

Gym sessions, training, matches... Luckily, you got paired up often, so she could practice what she loved most, football, with the woman who had stolen her heart.

But when you got paired up with anyone else, Alexia's focus was still on you.

Everyone thought she was just being Alexia, The Captain, and that you had just happened to be her favorite teammate.

But your teammates did suspect, actually knew, about your feelings for Alexia.

How couldn't they? If Alexia needed something, you were already offering to help, even if she hadn't finished talking.

If you scored a goal, you'd always cling to her.

If everyone was laughing at Patri's jokes, you were leaning your head on Alexia's shoulder as you laughed.

Everyone, and I mean everyone, knew except for Alexia.

Patri actually gave you the confidence to pursue the captain, and little by little, she had won new allies to support your adventure in loving Alexia, but the poor captain was so oblivious that everyone was starting to become a little uncomfortable.

On International Book Day, the whole autonomous community of Catalonia celebrated Sant Jordi, its patron, and it was a tradition to give a book with a rose as presents.

You had bought books and roses for everyone but had reserved two roses, one red and another blue, for Alexia, with the book she had been wanting to read.

Somehow, you had the guts to give Alexia her present in front of everyone, and she joked, acknowledging how good of a teammate you were, telling everyone to level up.

Everybody except for Alexia could see the hurt through your forced smile.

Vicky was actually going insane.

She was determined to lock up both Alexia and you in a room until you confessed, but thankfully Aitana had put some sense into the situation.

"If she confesses, she shouldn't do it with Alexia on her nerves trying to get out of a locked room."

The fact that everyone knew about your love for Alexia felt a little invasive, and you wondered if Alexia already knew and tried to play it off because she didn't feel the same way.

Little did you know that Alexia was not doing well with her crush on you.

She kept yearning about how good of a girlfriend she would be to you, and surprisingly, she was a little jealous of Aitana.

You had been spending a lot of time around Aitana, and when you were around Alexia, you had been speaking about her a lot, so Alexia couldn't help but feel uncomfortable.

"I swear to God that if she's actually jealous of me, I'll follow Vicky's plan and lock them up in a room."

And because Aitana is a woman of her word, she actually locked you up with Alexia in a random room.

At first, Alexia thought that the door was broken and had left you both locked up, then she thought it was a joke, and then, she just wanted to exit the room as soon as possible.

"Let's hope neither of them is claustrophobic," said Patri.

Vicky, tired of waiting on the other side of the door, shouted, "You both need to talk."

You stood up from the floor and got as near as you could to the door.

"Vicky, if this is a joke, it's no longer funny. Open the freaking door!"

Alexia had stopped listening around her because you were close to her body, very close.

You were so focused on shouting at poor Vicky that you couldn't notice how Alexia yearned for you in every aspect.

"We don't have all day. Alexia, explain to her why you're jealous of me."

You looked at Alexia very confused, and Alexia was a mix of anger and shame.

She never talked to Aitana about her love for you, she never did with anyone, but you both locked up and Aitana and Vicky (and Patri) on the other side of the door told her that they knew, and they wanted you to know.

"Aitana, we're grown enough for this game. Open the door."

"She's not going to open the door. If you don't want to talk, let's hear the other part talk, then," Patri said, referring to you.

"Of course the life and soul of the party is here!" You said angrily, referring to Patri.

"You two love each other, for God's sake! Alexia, she gave you the most beautiful roses on Sant Jordi." Vicky said. The younger player talked very securely, but deep down, she feared having crossed too many lines. At the end of the day, she was very young, and Alexia was the captain.

"And Alexia is jealous of me because we spend a lot of time together!" Said Aitana.

"You both have been so oblivious but Alexia, you've been the worst. Everybody on the team knows her love for you and you keep looking away!"

Alexia couldn't even look at you. Shame had paralyzed her whole body, and it was probably because of that why you took the initiative to get closer.

"Look at me, please."

And how could she not if you asked her to.

After a few tries, she said her first words, "You like me?"

You laughed, not believing how oblivious she still was about your love for her.

"Ale, I'm in love with you. Everybody knows. Everyone but you."

She laughed because it was true.

Not even the idea of you reciprocating her feelings for you had crossed her mind.

"I'm in love too."

And with that being said, and both of you finally knowing each other's feelings, her lips carefully kissed yours.

You were lost in each other's lips when you heard the door's lock unblocking and the three girls outside running for their lives, as if a tiger was about to come from inside the room.

"I'll deal with them later," Alexia said, to then close the space between both of you, to then say in between kisses, "I actually knew all this time."

"No, you didn't!"

And she did not, but neither did you.

#woso imagine #woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine

139 notes · View notes

trombonechurchill · 22 hours ago

Text

Floriography

HenRen Flowershop AU - 3.6k words, rated G

“What’re the best flowers to say ‘Congratulations on Not Dying.” Karen looks up from where she’s been fussing with an arrangement, setting aside the Baby’s Breath with a sigh of a relief, interest piqued as the woman at the counter adjusts her glasses. “I guess it depends,” she settles on, giving the woman another look up and down and raising her eyebrows. “... On what?” The woman responds, propping her own hand on the counter and popping her hip out and Karen feels a smile fighting its way onto her face as they try to suss each other out. “Variables.” --- aka The henren flowershop AU

Read here or on AO3

“What’re the best flowers to say ‘Congratulations on Not Dying.”

Karen looks up from where she’s been fussing with an arrangement, setting aside the Baby’s Breath with a sigh of a relief, interest piqued as the woman at the counter adjusts her glasses. She’s been tweaking this last bouquet for the past hour now easily and the flowers are probably more than due to go back in the freezer before they start drooping. Besides, there’s an interesting look on the face of the woman who’s just walked in, contrite and yet conspiratorial and Karen can’t help but lean into her space some, propping her chin into her hands as braces an elbow on the counter.

“I guess it depends,” she settles on, giving the woman another look up and down and raising her eyebrows.

“... On what?” The woman responds, propping her own hand on the counter and popping her hip out and Karen feels a smile fighting its way onto her face as they try to suss each other out.

“Variables.”

“Variables?”

💐💐💐💐

“So-” Hen starts, breezing past Karen and making a beeline for the counter as Karen struggles to untangle herself from the hose she’d been using to mist the ferns near the front.

“Oh no, what this time?” Karen says in disbelief, finally catching up to where Hen's already parked herself, picking the squirt bottle out of Hen’s grip that she’d been fiddling with and aiming at her threateningly till she raises her palms in defeat. “I hope you guys get insurance because the number of Get Well Soon bouquets you come in here buying is starting to get concerning,” she says, finally settling herself in behind the counter and making herself comfortable, ready for whatever insane injury or event her or the 118 managed to get themselves into this time.

“You’re my flower girl, where else would I go? But no, it’s a good one this time,” Hen says with a fond twist of her mouth and Karen can’t help the way face goes warm as her eyes trace the curve of Hen’s lips for a moment as she parses that one.

“‘Flower girl’?” Karen repeats dubiously, eyebrows raising.

“I’ve got my cake guy and my flower girl,” Hen says easily, ticking them off on her fingers and looking pleased with herself.

“Uh huh,” Karen says flatly, doing her best to hide the way the word ‘my’ makes her stomach flutter with a roll of her eyes. “You said it’s good news for once? I didn’t think you guys were capable of that,” she ribs gently.

“Yeah, our little probie survived his probationary period, and he only got fired twice which I think we can all agree is a miracle,” Hen says, eyes still shining in that way that she knows drives Karen wild wanting more details. Karen tries not to take the bait.

“Oh well if he only got fired two times I better bust out the good flowers,” she says, shaking her head.

“Does this mean you’ve been holding out on me?” Hen asks, mock offended. Karen just hums, already reaching for a bundle of dahlias and holding them up questioningly.

At first, Hen had let Karen have free reign, giving her the general occasion (and boy had some of those been a doozy until she’d gotten used to the 118’s special kind of chaos), but now Hen seems to enjoy being involved, or at the very least sitting at the counter and running a commentary as she put something together. Karen likes it.

It’s not exactly a lonely existence, working in the shop, but she’d be lying if she said she didn’t enjoy Hen’s company when she dropped by. Hen’s special brand of teasing that felt like a chess match and a hug at the same time. It’s all Karen can do to keep up and give as good as she gets before she gets too flustered.

“What about some of the green things in there too?” Hen offers helpfully as Karen gets finished trimming a few stems, setting the shears aside so she can level Hen with a properly unimpressed look. Hen continues to twirl a finger in the air, motioning vaguely to the buckets of flowers near Karen’s elbow.

“Ferns? You mean ferns, one of the most basic ass-”

“Look we didn’t all go to flower school-”

“I’ll have you know I have a botany degree thank you very much- Ugh, flower school, unbelievable.”

“Wow, really?” Karen’s surprised that Hen looks suitably impressed at that, her hands stilling when Hen gives her another once over.

“Well yeah, they don’t just let anyone work in florists you know,” she says, stuffing a few ferns into the arrangement with a little more force that is perhaps strictly necessary so she doesn’t do anything crazy like ask Hen if she thinks masters in botany are hot, not that's exactly doing much with it right now. Who asks that, who thinks that?

And yet, even as Karen finishes up the bouquet for Hen’s probie, watching her sign the congratulatory note with a message Karen’s pretty sure borders on insulting if not for the fond smile as Hen did it, she can’t help but replay the look in Hen’s eyes and wonder if she wasn’t imagining the interest in Hen’s eyes.

💐💐💐💐

Hen looks a lot more somber as she pushes her way into the shop that morning. The sky outside seems to agree with her, an ugly, smoggy gray that Karen knows will threaten rain without ever actually following through. Story of Karen’s life, really, she thinks, brushing a few pieces of imaginary dirt from her shoulders as she meets Hen at the counter.

“What’s the occasion today then?” She asks, softer than she might normally, Hen still looking fragile around the edges or maybe like she didn’t get quite enough sleep last night. Having since learned that Hen’s a firefighter that doesn’t seem all that unlikely.

“Just- Something to cheer someone up,” Hen says with a weak smile and Karen feels her heart pang, nodding quietly.

“Sure, grab a seat- Or… Can I get you some coffee maybe?” She offers, waving a fluttering hand to the backroom where she stashed a Keurig in the first month of opening the shop having realized her boutique dreams of patronizing the local coffee shop down the block were dashed at the sight of a $15 latte.

Hen seems ready to wave her off, already shaking her head and Karen feels herself deflate, diverting to grab a vase so Hen can get back to wherever she needs to be before Hen cuts her off.

“Coffee would be great actually. Thank you.”

💐💐💐💐

That Summer is LA is a doozy and frankly Karen is surprised it takes as long as it does before someone on the street ends up popping a hydrant. It’s not until after the kids have had their fill and dispersed that she starts realizing there might be a bigger problem than drought restrictions, frowning as water spreading across the street creeps closer and closer to the shopfront, already soaking into the soles of her Keds.

“Thank you so much for coming, I didn’t want to call the emergency line of a hydrant but well, I rent the shop space and I don’t think my plants need this much watering,” Karen says in a rush from where she’s moving her display of buckets and flowers from the sidewalk as the 118 pull up.

She doesn’t think this is technically fair use of the contact number Hen had left on all her flower orders but sometimes needs must. Besides, despite what has to be a busy fire season for the 118 it seems they’ve managed to avoid any incidents major enough to require cake and flowers and Karen would be lying if she maybe didn’t sort of have an ulterior motive calling up her local fire station.

“Not a problem at all, all part of the job,” The 118 captain assures her as the team disperse from the truck. Karen goes to thank them again, lifting an arm to shield her eyes from the bright sun overhead and nearly swallowing her tongue as she catches sight of Hen in her turnouts.

She’s foregone the heavy coat Karen normally associates with firefighters, left in nothing but the bunker pants and tight fitting tank top as she hefts the heavy tool to turn off the hydrant. Water gleans off her arms as the muscles flex under wet skin and Karen feels her entire body flush, blatantly staring and unable to stop. She never thought suspenders could do it for her but wow.

“Arms…” She manages faintly.

“What was that?” A voice to her left pipes up and Karen jumps enough to actually splash a bit in the water around their feet. The firefighter next to her grins, popping his gum. “Hen’s really something, huh. One of our best,” he says conversationally and Karen presses her lips together, clearing her throat quickly.

“Uh, yep. Yep she sure is,” she says faintly, eyes already tracking slowly back to where Hen’s finished re-tightening the bolts on the hydrant, her laugh carrying across the street as Karen watches her lift the hem of her tank top and twist it, releasing a rivulet of water down the planes of Hen’s revealed stomach. Karen’s glad there’s medical professionals here cause she’s going to pass out.

“One of our very best, very single firefighters,” the guy next to her continues, the words knocking Karen’s gaze loose as it snaps back to him.

“What, no- I wasn’t-” Karen sighs, “Was I that obvious?”

“A billboard would have been more subtle.”

Karen groans.

"Don't worry," the guy says, grinning behind his sunglasses. "I won't tell anyone."

💐💐💐💐

It's shocking how something so small can be so damning Karen thinks, staring down at the tiny red one on her email inbox. A few pixels to signal the entirety of the rest of her life, her career, only a little tap of her fingertip away.

Karen's been staring at it for almost a full 14 hours now, playing chicken with her inbox half the night last night before finally shoving her phone under her pillow to get a few hours of uneasy sleep before coming today.

And now she's right back to staring.

"If I'm interrupting something between you and the flowers I can come back later," Hen says teasingly from somewhere behind her.

Karen nearly launches her phone into a nearby bucket of lavender, pawing at it before it can tumble out her hands and hurriedly locking the screen. Pointedly ignoring Hen’s eyebrow, Karen leads them back over to the counter, email burning a hole in her pocket.

“So, who nearly died this time,” Karen says quickly, shaking out her hair in a way that she hopes is suitably distracting enough that Hen won’t ask about her recent foray into phone shot put.

Hen’s eyebrow stays raised but a fond smile joins it as her eyes trace down Karen’s neck so she thinks she’s in the clear.

“Managed to not blow up another probie, though not for lack of trying, so I need something obnoxious for his badge ceremony,” Hen says, finally drawing her eyes away from Karen’s warming face and to the rows of flowers and ribbons behind her.

“Another one? I’m shocked they keep giving you any,” Karen says mildly.

[Hen laughs and Karen's drawn in by the sound, the amused tilt of Hen's head and lips. Hen gives a pithy reply, something about she has a good feeling about this new probie.

They chat for awhile, as Karen puts an arrangement together ("No, bigger, I want him struggling to fit this through the door when he takes it home.") and Hen fills in how everyone at the 118 is doing, Buck's leg, Chim being back at work etc. Karen's relieved.

"So, what about you, what's got you so jumpy?" Hen asks, steepling her fingers as Karen does her best to look as busy as possible to give herself a few extra moments to formulate a response.

"Oh you know, just the usual, nothing as exciting as what you guys are doing day to day."

"You don't believe that, you spent like an hour detailing soil salinity to me once, I know you get excited about all this."

"Well, soil salinity is an important-" Karen cuts herself off with a sigh at Hen's raised eyebrow. "It's nothing, it's just- " She drums her nails on the Formica counter top, relived when Hen seems content to let her percolate on it for a moment.

"Have you ever been scared to take that next big step?" Karen finally manages. It feels like a stupid question, levied at someone like Hen, with the sorts of things she does every day, but Hen's eyes soften immediately and Karen thinks maybe it was the right one to ask.

"Yeah, all the time. It's never easy, especially when you don't know if it's going to work out," Hen says knowingly. "I wasn't always a firefighter you know."

"I find that hard to imagine," Karen says softly. Whatever Hen did before, Karen was sure she was just as fearless (though maybe in a slightly less sexy uniform. If that were possible she thinks, eyes skating at the curve of Hen's biceps under the sleeves of her uniform shirt, where the taper of her belt hugs her waist.

"Well, it's true, sometimes the hardest thing is admitting when it's time to move on." Hen tilts her head, nudging Karen to continue. It's always felt daunting, bringing up these things with people, like she's asking for too much. But Hen makes her feel calm. Like someone's going to be there to offer her a hand up if she stumbles.

"There's this program, once in a life time grant type deal, studying Kidney Ferns."

"That sounds amazing, Karen-"

"It's in New Zealand. For six months."

"Annnd. You don't want to go to Hobbiton?" Karen huffs a laugh.

"No, no I mean I do I would, who wouldn't, I just. I don't know. Things are good here, right? Surely at some point you're suppose to just be content with what you have right?When am I supposed be done asking for more?"

"Never." Hen's eyes are dark and solid on her face and Karen swallows.

"You should go for it." Hen's closer now, bent partly over the counter. Karen's not sure when she moved to match her but they're both there, sharing space, like two brackets curled together.

"Go for it?" Karen repeats, lips simply copying the same shapes as her eyes linger on Hen's mouth

"Mhmm," Hen says, their noses practically brushing as she hums into the inches of space between them. Hen wants her to be brave. Hen wants her to be okay with wanting and taking.

Karen inhales.

She leans forward.

And she takes.

💐💐💐💐

The next few months pass in a whirl of stolen moments and notes left in elaborate bouquets. What can Karen say, she's inspired and Hen's schedule is more than a little difficult to work around.

They savor the moments they do have, long evenings and quiet mornings wrapped in each other until Hen's due to leave for another shift. Now, Karen watches Hen from where she's sprawled among the pillows, early morning light branching across the sheets still tangled around her legs as she watches Hen shrug into her uniform shirt.

Her heart beats painfully in her chest, watching the way the light falls across Hen's skin, the shell of her ear, her fingers as she fastens the button of her shirt.

This is all so new, this thing between them and Karen's shocked to find how easily she's slipped into it, how easily Hen fits into her life. They both agreed they were keeping it casual, they're busy, attractive people, it doesn't have to be that deep. Except maybe. Karen wants it to be.

But Karen has a reply back from the fellowship waiting in her inbox for her with the offer of the grant in New Zealand. She's put off answering as long as she can. If she doesn't take it, she'll miss her chance.

If Hen walks out that door, she'll miss her chance.

"Hey," Karen says, shifting up onto her elbows with a rustle of sheets, "Maybe when you're done later, we could dinner."

"Breakfast, 24 hour shift," Hen corrects absentmindedly.

"Okay, yeah, breakfast. That works too. I just thought maybe we could go out, you know. A proper date." Hen's hesitation is obvious and damning, her shoulders shifting up as she busies herself searching for her watch. Oh. Okay then. Karen sits up more, pulling the sheets higher over her legs, twisting them in her lap, feeling exposed now that Hen's fully dressed.

"You don't want to?" She asks as Hen's silence drags on long enough for her to locate her shoes. Hen finally looks up, mouth a thin line.

"It's not that I don't want to, it's more, well. We agreed right? That neither of us had the time of energy for anything serious. Dates and sleepovers and all this is kind of serious."

"I thought maybe we could make time. Nothing's-" Karen swallows, "-Nothing's changed for you?" They've changed for Karen. Somewhere along the way, everything changed.

"Why are you suddenly asking?" Karen glances at her phone, the phantom weight of the email still sitting there pulling her eyes like a black hole.

"I got the grant. They want me on a plane in two weeks."

"And you'll be gone for six months."

Karen nods wordlessly.

"And you decided now was the time to try and start a relationship? Karen, come on, what are you thinking?" Hen's not unkind as she says it but Karen feels herself cracking open anyway. "You're not thinking of staying, are you? Baby… This is what you wanted remember, you have to go, why are you even hesitating?"

"Because of you," Karen blurts out, confession ripped off like a band-aid. She likes to imagine she didn't see Hen flinch.

"Me," Hen almost sounds amused, Karen feels like she's wilting, drying out in the sun. "I thought this was your dream, something outside flower orders and fertilizer?"

"Maybe I can have more than one dream." Karen doesn't need to hear Hen's answer, can see it already played out on the soft planes of her face. The pity in her eyes. Karen lept before she looked and now she's falling. And she's landing alone.

"So that's it then, that's all you wanted out of this? Just a bit of fun?"

"Not like that I just. You're great, I'm just not in a place for any attachments. I'm sorry. I hope it works out for you." Hen pats Karen's ankle, thumb lingering over the curve of her foot. Karen tries to savor the warmth, hates herself for wanting to lean into it as Hen retracts it.

She doesn't say anything as Hen walks away, door shutting softly in the distance. So this is how Karen's love life falls apart she thinks, dropping hopelessly back into the blankets. Not with a bang, but with with a whimper.

It's easy, after that, to pull up the email and accept. There's obviously nothing waiting for her here.

💐💐💐💐

If Karen thought things had moved fast with Hen it was nothing to the next few weeks. Cleaning out the shop was a huge chore, made only bearable by Chimney's amicable (if suspicious) support. He hadn't been willing to explain what he planned to do with her left over stock and she wasn't going to ask.

Before she knows it, her apartment is sublet, her things in storage and her bags sitting packed at her feet outside LAX.

She distracted by staring down the arrivals board by the insistent ringing of her phone and Karen frowns at the sight of Chimney's name lit up on the screen.

"Chim, I'm sorry, but I'm about to head security I don't have a lot of time-" She starts, pulled to an immediate, frozen stop at Chim's next words.

"Karen, Karen something happened. It's Hen-"Karen's heart feels like her heart's dropped to her sensible, easy-on airport shoes. "Karen, I'm so sorry-"

Chim's voice is muffled, like he's moving in a hurry, the sudden, static-y sound of air cutting across the line followed by what sounds suspiciously like a car door opening and closing in rapid succession.

Karen flinches as the sound of an overhead flight announcement echoes across the line.

"Chim…" She says slowly, glancing over her shoulder. "Where are you?"

"Ah beans," Chim says.

"Hen's fine, isn't she."

"Welll, for whatever definition of 'fine'," Chimney drawls. "Look, I'm sorry, my only job was to keep to distracted long enough to give her a chance."

"A chance for what?"

"A chance to catch you before Security," Hen's voice says from behind her, breathless as Karen spins to face her. Her chest is heaving, a bouquet of grocery store roses clutched tightly in her hand.

Hen stepped forward, plastic of the bouquet crinkling quietly and Karen feels that weight again, the soft warmth of Hen's eyes on her.

"I just needed to know," Hen says softly.

"Know what?" Karen barely breathes, barely dares to, having Hen this close again.

"What flowers should I get to tell someone you're in love with them and that they're worth the wait. Any wait. Any dream?"

"Some things are better said with words," Karen says wetly, disbelieving as Hen grins, towing her in with a hand gently on her neck. "Or even better…" She leans in, smell of roses in her hair, and presses her lips to Hen's.

💐💐💐💐

#kris writes #911 #henren #henren fic #[rings bell] henren lovers come get your femslash #told you guys I'd finish it tonight

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