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novaursa · 5 months ago

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Web of Gold (aegon has a cold)

- Summary: Alicent could only watch as you handle her son like a lioness who plays with her food.

- Pairing: lannister!reader/Aegon II Targaryen

- Rating: Mature 16+ (just to be safe)

- Previous part: aegon in love

- Next part: aegon is jealous

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @purple-1995

Aegon lounges pathetically in his chamber, propped up by an unreasonable number of pillows, surrounded by the evidence of his misery. The usually bright and playful gleam in his eyes is dulled, his silver hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. A crimson flush colors his cheeks, but not from wine this time—no, it's from the fever that’s had him whining and moaning for hours. He coughs dramatically, letting out a moan that echoes through the chamber as if he’s on the brink of death.

Alicent stands at his bedside, her expression a mixture of concern and deep irritation. In her hand, she holds a small vial containing a thick, unpleasant-looking tonic, brought to her by Grand Maester Orwyle. She tries to smile, though it’s clear she’s struggling. “Aegon, you must take this tonic,” she says, her tone firm but coaxing. “It will bring down the fever.”

Aegon grimaces, turning his head to the side as though the very sight of the tonic might poison him on the spot. “No,” he mutters, voice muffled against the pillows. He pulls the blankets up to his chin like a petulant child. “It smells like the dungeons.”

Alicent’s smile tightens, and she takes a breath, clearly summoning her patience. “Aegon, you must be sensible. You’ll feel better once you take it. Orwyle says it will—”

But Aegon interrupts her with a dramatic groan, throwing an arm over his face. “No, Mother, I don’t want *Orwyle’s tonic! It’s foul, and it will probably kill me faster than the fever!” He opens one eye to gauge her reaction and, seeing her unimpressed look, he lets out an even louder groan. “Why don’t you just let me die in peace?”

Alicent's patience snaps, her voice growing sharper. “Aegon, stop being ridiculous. It’s just a tonic.”

Aegon, however, is already gearing up for a proper scene. He shifts dramatically under the covers, clutching his chest with a moan that would rival a dying knight on a battlefield. “I’m going to die, Mother, I can feel it. The fever’s too strong. I can barely lift my head. The end is near!” He pauses for dramatic effect before adding in a pitiful whine, “And if I am to die, I want Y/N here with me!”

Alicent blinks, caught off guard by the sudden shift. “Y/N?” she repeats, as if she can’t quite believe what she’s hearing. “Aegon, you need medicine, not—”

“I need Y/N!” Aegon insists, reaching out to grab his mother’s hand with a feverish desperation. “She knows how to take care of me. She’s warm, and she’ll make me feel better with her presence. And she’ll bring honey cakes!” He glances at the tonic in her hand with a scowl. “Not that awful sludge Orwyle calls medicine.”

Alicent pulls her hand back, her lips thinning into a displeased line. “Aegon, Y/N isn’t a healer. She’s not going to make your fever go away.”

Aegon, determined to be as difficult as possible, shifts to stare up at the ceiling, adopting a pitiful, far-off look. “Then let me waste away. Alone. Unloved. Without the touch of my sweet lioness by my side.”

Alicent pinches the bridge of her nose, taking a deep breath. “Aegon, you are not going to waste away. You have a cold, not greyscale.”

But Aegon is already in his own world of dramatics, ignoring her entirely. He clutches the blankets tighter, his voice dropping to a rasping murmur as if his strength is ebbing away. “Tell her I need her… Tell her it’s my last wish.” He glances sideways at his mother, his lips trembling with a pout that might almost be convincing if it weren’t so exaggerated. “You wouldn’t deny a dying man his last wish, would you, Mother?”

Alicent’s eye twitches, and she takes another breath, visibly trying to keep her composure. “You are not dying, Aegon. You’re being overdramatic.”

But Aegon ignores her, already raising his voice to the empty room. “Someone fetch Y/N!” he calls out to the ceiling. “Bring her here, or I shall succumb to this fever and perish before the day is done! I can feel the darkness closing in…”

Alicent looks heavenward as if praying for patience. She sets the vial of tonic down on the bedside table with a decisive thud, her expression turning steely. “Fine,” she says through gritted teeth. “I will send for Y/N, if it will stop you from this nonsense. But you will take the tonic when she arrives.”

Aegon’s face immediately brightens, his sudden smile undermining all his previous complaints. “Oh, thank you, Mother! You won’t regret it. Y/N will make everything better, you’ll see.”

Alicent gives him a tight smile that looks more like a grimace. “Yes, I’m sure she will,” she mutters, turning on her heel and leaving the chamber with an air of resignation. She doesn’t bother to hide the annoyance in her stride, the sharp click of her heels echoing through the hall as she goes to find the only person capable of soothing her impossible son.

As soon as she’s out of sight, Aegon relaxes back into the pillows with a contented sigh, a satisfied smile curling his lips. He reaches for the goblet of water by his bed and takes a sip, already picturing the way you’ll fuss over him and bring him sweet treats to “help with his strength.” For Aegon, being pampered by you is the cure to any illness—no tonic required.

You sweep into Aegon’s chambers with a swirl of your golden skirts, exuding the warm energy of someone who has absolutely no idea how to take care of a fever but is determined to make a show of it. Aegon, who is propped up in bed like a tragic hero, immediately brightens when he sees you. He looks as pitiful as ever, a blanket draped over his shoulders and a dramatic flush on his cheeks. The moment you step through the door, he gives a loud, exaggerated sigh of relief.

“Oh, Y/N, you’re finally here!” he croaks, though his voice is suspiciously more robust than it was when Alicent was present. He reaches out a hand to you, his expression one of desperate longing. “I feared I would perish before you arrived.”

You smile indulgently, sitting yourself on the edge of the bed and taking his hand in yours, patting it as if he’s a fragile, wilting flower. “Oh, Aegon, don’t be so dramatic. I’m sure you’ll make a full recovery,” you reply sweetly, though there’s a teasing glint in your eyes. “But I brought honey cakes just in case.”

Aegon’s expression lights up immediately, and he clutches your hand even tighter. “See? You understand me better than anyone. You know exactly what I need.” He leans back against his pillows, looking thoroughly pleased with himself. “I’ve been telling Mother that you are my cure.”

You cast a look over your shoulder, catching Alicent’s displeased expression as she lingers by the doorway, but you offer her a serene smile. “It’s only natural for a wife-to-be to tend to her betrothed, Your Grace.”

Alicent’s expression tightens, but before she can respond, there’s the sound of footsteps approaching, and Aemond strides into the room, his boots clicking sharply against the stone floor. He takes in the scene with a raised brow, his single eye sweeping over you and Aegon in bed, with Alicent hovering nearby looking thoroughly exasperated. Aemond’s lips twitch in what might have been amusement, though his tone is as dry as ever.

“I heard that my brother was on his deathbed,” Aemond says, a slight edge of mockery in his voice as he crosses his arms and looks down at Aegon. “But it seems he’s found his miracle cure.”

Aegon, never one to miss a chance to exaggerate, clutches your hand to his chest with renewed fervor. “Oh, Aemond, it was terrible. The fever—it was like dragonfire coursing through my veins. I thought I wouldn’t make it through the night!” He glances over at you, batting his lashes in a way that he probably thinks is charming. “But now that Y/N is here, I feel hope returning to me.”

You play along with a sympathetic look, pressing a cool cloth to Aegon’s forehead as if that might truly stave off the fever. “He’s been so brave, Aemond,” you say, though there’s a teasing lilt to your voice. “But I think he just needs a bit of pampering. And perhaps a few more of these honey cakes.”

Aemond rolls his eye, clearly unimpressed by the theatrics. He looks from you to Aegon with a resigned expression, then sighs. “Brother, you’ve caught a cold, not the Grey Plague. Surely even you can endure a little discomfort without turning it into a full-blown tragedy.”

Aegon shoots his brother a wounded look, releasing your hand to point accusingly in Aemond’s direction. “You just don’t understand, Aemond! You’re all… stoic and serious. You wouldn’t know what it’s like to suffer through this kind of agony.” He lets out another dramatic sigh, letting his head fall back against the pillows. “But Y/N understands. She knows how to take care of me.”

You pat Aegon’s hand again, your smile turning a little smug as you glance at Aemond. “Well, I can’t fault him for wanting a little comfort in his time of need, can I, Aemond? Surely you wouldn’t begrudge him that.”

Aemond’s gaze flickers with barely concealed amusement. “Oh, I don’t begrudge him anything, Y/N. I merely question whether he is truly in as much peril as he claims to be.” He arches a brow at Aegon, who is now picking at the edge of a honey cake, nibbling on it like a spoiled child.

Aegon, catching his brother’s skeptical look, scowls and quickly adopts a pitiful expression, pressing the cloth to his head as though that might convince Aemond of his dire condition. “You see? Even now, my head is pounding. I’m practically burning up! Feel my forehead, Y/N. It’s like touching the sun.”

You humor him, pressing your hand to his forehead with the most serious expression you can manage. “Hmm,” you murmur thoughtfully, as if considering a grave diagnosis. “Yes, it’s very warm indeed. It’s a wonder you’ve survived this long, Aegon.”

Aegon beams at your attention, thoroughly delighted by your pampering. “See, Aemond? Y/N understands. She’s the only one who truly cares about me.”

Aemond, however, just rolls his eye again, his expression one of long-suffering endurance. “If you’ve truly caught a fever, brother, then you should rest and stop talking so much.” He glances pointedly at the untouched vial of tonic on the bedside table. “And perhaps actually take the medicine that Orwyle prepared for you instead of relying solely on sweets.”

Aegon makes a face, shoving the tonic aside with a weak swipe of his hand. “I told you, that stuff is poison. I won’t drink it.” He turns to you, eyes wide and imploring. “You wouldn’t want me to suffer through that awful stuff, would you, Y/N?”

You offer Aegon a conspiratorial smile, tapping a finger to your lips. “Well, perhaps if you’re very good, I’ll bring you something that tastes better. A little wine, maybe?”

Aemond’s eye narrows at you both, clearly exasperated. “Yes, because what you need right now is more wine,” he mutters under his breath, though you catch the faintest twitch of his lips.

But Aegon’s already nodding eagerly, looking far more animated than any feverish man has a right to be. “Yes, yes, that’s what I need. Wine and Y/N. The two best remedies in the realm.”

Alicent, who has been silent but watching the entire exchange with a tightly controlled expression, finally speaks up, her voice clipped. “Aegon, please. Stop behaving like a child.”

Aegon gives her a wounded look, but his grip on your hand tightens as though you’re his only tether to this world. “But Mother, Y/N is taking such good care of me. Can’t you see how much better I feel already?” He turns his gaze back to you, his voice dropping to a more pitiful tone. “Y/N, don’t leave me. I need you.”

You give Aegon a reassuring pat, your tone soothing. “I wouldn’t dream of leaving you, Aegon. Not until you’re feeling better.” Then, casting a look over your shoulder at Aemond, you add with a playful smile, “Besides, it’s not every day I get to dote on a king.”

Aemond meets your gaze, his mouth twisting into something resembling a smirk. “Indeed. Though I can’t say it’s doing wonders for his dignity.”

Aegon ignores the jab entirely, snuggling deeper into his blankets, content to have you by his side and blissfully unaware of the thinly veiled amusement on Aemond’s face—or the deep irritation on his mother’s. And you, for your part, settle in for what promises to be a thoroughly entertaining afternoon.

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bunny-jpeg · 7 months ago

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Hi bunny!

Can I please have Belgian waffles, angel food cake and on the house ( hopefully that is the correct thing to say) with max or danny or both 🫶

Love all you have written 🫶🫶

bakery menu

want to submit your own order? then hit up the menu! it's great to hear what orders you come up with! as for this lovely request from @biancathecool thank you! and yes i can write for the other two drivers you sent in another message (their names escape me as i write this), but yes! hit me with it!! thank you! enjoy!

belgian waffles ("i cum in that every night.") + angel food cake ("if he fucks with me again, i'm finishing inside of you.") + on the house: coffee (rivals au) served by max verstappen & daniel ricciardo (formula one)!!

cw: smut/pwp, threesome, maxiel + reader, rivals au, ferrari!reader, cock & pussy drunk, degrading language/dirty talk, mean!max, mean!daniel, rough sex, dom/sub, biting/marking, possessive beheaviour, hate fuck, facials & back shots, cum eating

sharing was caring, at least in daniel's eyes. he had shared a lot of things over the course of his friendship with max verstappen. there were normal things like food, plane rides, they spent weekends together even. he could even recall a night austin when they both shared the same girl for an evening.

so it only made sense that daniel ricciardo would share his favourite rival. the cute little thing on the ferrari team. lucky number forty-seven.

max was mad by the end of the dutch grand prix. one clip from you, another from leclerc. he was getting pummelled by the prince and princess of ferrari on his home turf. and that left a bitter taste in his mouth as he hit his helmet against the wall once the race was over.

you dressed in your ferrari red, beaming at charles who came in first. ferrari took first and second while the lion of the netherlands barely clung to fifth. as you and charles sprayed champagne on each other and laughed, max could feel the anger in his veins.

and daniel was like the devil in max's ear, "hey max, seem kind of pissed." he placed his hand on max's shoulder, "you know, i'm seeing her after this... in my hotel room. you're free to join us, maybe get some of that anger out." he patted the other man's shoulder.

max's jaw tensed for a moment as he got a full view of you on the podium, laughing and waving. max couldn't very well put you under his boot, but he could make a mess of your pretty insides.

"we have a guest tonight." daniel chuckled as he served you more wine.

you were in the hotel room robe with very little underneath. you were tired of wearing clothes after being in that stuffy uniform all day. you happily accepted the wine and brought the glass to your lips, "guest? you didn't."

daniel chuckled and put the bottle down back on the coffee table, "word won't get out. he's good at keeping secrets." he patted your thigh.

the wine tasted good, expensive in a way that you weren't accustomed to. you had your fair share of grocery store wine, but the more that daniel lured you in with the finer things in life. it was getting harder to go back to your old ways. money couldn't buy taste, but it could buy flavor.

there was a knock on the door and daniel got up. you took sight of his ass in those the sweatpants he wore. there was no use looking formal, you were both here for the same thing.

daniel didn't say who the guest of the evening was. but you almost spilled red wine all over yourself at the sight of max on the other side of the door.

"daniel." you said, "not max."

daniel looked over his shoulder and smiled, "c'mon, princess. i can assure you that he won't hurt you... too much." that gleaming smile of his always seemed to get you into more trouble.

you put the glass down and kept your focus on the two men as max entered the hotel room.

"she looks good." max said as if you weren't in the room with them. you swallowed when he looked at you, "she looks better without the uniform on."

"max..." you said.

"well you know, mate." daniel smiled "i cum in that every night." your arrangement had been going on for some time. it didn't help that you lived in the same building during the off season and he'd often visit you in your driver's room. often to get a taste of that soaked cunt he adored.

your ears went hot as you replied, "danny, what the fuck."

max took a step forward and got his shoes off. he stood there in a white t-shirt and jeans. his eyes gazed with hunger on you. it made you close your robe a little more.

"princess." daniel said as he went back to the couch and pulled you close to him, "i think you own max an apology. you've been fucking with him, toying with him. i see how you look at him, when i mention his name you get wet." his grip on you grew tighter, "it's only right you make amends for your team."

you were soon seated in the middle of the couch between the two men. usually the routine with daniel was that you two would have some wine, indulge in kinky and he'd often cuddle you until you made a hasty escape back to your hotel room before anyone caught on.

but there was a look in daniel's eye that had you worried. it felt like you were between two lions who wanted nothing more than to sink their claws into you. chew you up and devour you whole.

daniel started to undo the robe you wore, while max held you face in a tight grip. you weren't going anywhere fast. daniel's lips were on the back of your neck, in a sensitive spot and max was kissing you deeply

"are you going to be good for us, princess?" daniel asked before he made you keep eye contact with max by holding onto your hair.

you looked into the other's blue eyes and swallowed, "you two are sick."

max raised an eyebrow at you before his gaze looked to daniel, "seems you haven't trained her." he spoke about you like you were a dog, not the second place of this weekend's race.

daniel got a hand around your throat and held onto it tightly, he tilted your head back to look at him. he said in a soft voice, "you're making my look bad. i promised our good friend max here a good night tonight."

you swallowed, you felt something boil in your stomach. like it was all going to boil over soon. you were sandwiched between two men who honestly hated you after the grand prix.

you looked at daniel for a moment before you said, "sorry, sir."

"and you'll be good for our friend tonight? treat him nicely. no teeth, no attitude?"

you nodded like an eager puppy and daniel kissed you on the lips. you were pushed up further against the australian driver as max pressed further into you. further being squished between the two men.

when you stopped kissing daniel, max captured your lips once more. you held onto the back of the couch with one hand as a means of some sort of support.

you were stripped of your robe before daniel made you get off the couch and onto the bed in the other room. you scampered away on shaky legs, basically exposed to both men. you could feel their gazes on you.

"why not the couch?" max asked, it would've been easy for max to fold you in half or toss you over the couch.

daniel chuckled and slapped his friend on the shoulder, "it'll be more comfortable for us on the bed. she's pretty flexible, can fuck her about anywhere. but i'd love for us to have a little more comfort." then got off the couch to join you with the dutch driver close behind.

you knew that if you wanted to keep your underwear in one piece, you had to get them off before the other men came. your kicked off your panties and your bra was on the floor before you sat on top of the bed, one leg over the other.

this all felt so sick, it was almost degrading. their stares and their words pierced through you and left your brain running on carnal desires.

you watched them come in, and you tried to make yourself appear a tad smaller, but daniel's voice made you sit up straight once more.

"show them off, princess."

daniel was on you first, he clothes went flying as he smothered you against him. he weight on top of you kept you pinned down to the hotel room bed.

he kissed you with a fever, only breaking it to get his t-shirt off over his head. you felt the leg of his jeans grind against your soaked sex which made you whimper.

he looked over his shoulder for a moment to say to max, "come on in, the water's fine." before he went back to kissing you with a heated passion.

max was slower to get his clothes off. everything came off slowly as he felt a throb between his legs. watching his friend make you a debauched mess.

daniel was a good friend, letting max have a taste of you. letting him sink his teeth into you. and you were such a good little girl for letting max enact his revenge for your little stunt on the track. maybe that'll teach you.

you were meant to look pretty for ferrari, their logo plastered across your pretty tits, not to get in the way of men like max and daniel.

daniel got away from you and propped himself on the bed beside you. his expression was wild and his cheeks were hot. "c'mon there, maxie! don't be so shy!"

max was in his briefs and you swallowed at you looked at him. even so physically exposed, his gaze remained stern on you. you knew he could crack jokes and be funny. but your (almost) win left something searing inside of him.

you swallowed and with a bit of confidence you crooked your finger at him, "yeah, mad max."

"wouldn't be so mad if you gave me a reason not to be, princess."

you swallowed and tried to bite back, in a last ditch effort to gain some sort of control between these two men, "maybe you should race better."

the corner of max's mouth twitched before he looked at daniel, "i'm taking her throat." before he got onto the bed and got himself up against the headboard, he gave his thigh a pat.

daniel was in your space once more, hand on your hip as he said, "you heard the man, hands and knees, princess."

you got between max's legs, your front pressed against the bed to give you the best chance to suck his cock. your ass was stuck up to give daniel a good angle as well. you were to be used.

you looked up at max, his cock pressed against your cheek. you let out a shuddered breath.

"not much of a princess." he said as he took your hair in his hand. his grip was tight, not enough to rip any of it out. but firm enough to guide you onto his cock.

daniel slapped your ass before he placed those large hands on your hips. he chuckled in response, "more like a whore. i wonder what ferrari would think of this? sandwiched between two other drivers. shame, shame." he rubbed his tip up against your wet slit as you started to suck max off.

max held onto your hair as you got your lips around his cock. he took back anything he said about you not being trained. you sucked cock like an obedient dog.

daniel noticed max's expression and chuckled, "i told you she would be good for you." their gaze's met and he added, "took her about eight months to lose that gag reflex. now she's the cock sucking champ of formula one."

max felt something unfamiliar curl in his stomach, "do you share her often?"

daniel shook his head, "no way. she's isn't some whore i give out at parties. we're friends, max. and she needs to learn a lesson."

max looked down at you and pinched your cheek, "if charles fucks with me again, i'm finishing inside of you." a threat about your teammate. that you were responsible for the entire team. to not upset the likes of max verstappen.

daniel was lapping this up. he knew that sometimes you could be a bit mouthy in the bedroom, so it was nice to have someone fill that gap. keep you nice and quiet.

you whimpered when daniel stuffed his cock inside of you suddenly and your back arched more which allowed the man to push further into you. you were drooling around max's cock, having it almost choke you.

"always wondered how she got in." max said idly as he ran his fingers through your hair. he kept an eye on how well you choked down his cock, "i know her daddy didn't buy her way in. she wasn't the best in any race she was in." he spoke like you weren't in the room. he pushed his cock deeper, your nose in his trimmed pubic hair, "did you give mister vasseur head, princess?"

you met his gaze like you were going to respond but the driver's cock in your mouth left you unable to form much of a sentence. max liked when you looked at him, below him. less than.

"danny won't pass you around, but i bet every head principal got a taste of you." max said, "i be you started with the best and worked your way down." he gripped onto your hair tighter, "whored yourself out for a good contract."

you whimpered, his demeaning words made you cunt tighten around daniel's cock. you were a good driver! you knew that! you came in second and these two were acting like you has the worst record in modern f1!

daniel smirked as he groped your ass cheek, threatening to bruise the skin with his grasp, "while i would agree with you." he licked his lips, "she had actually never had sex before we started to mess around. it only started because she just got so fuckin' turned on after races. taught her everything i could."

max's expression looked surprise, "oh.." he looked down at you once more, "seems you've been a good girl for daniel. i'm surprised, given that mouth of yours. but i guess you just need something to occupy it."

you whined as you felt daniel's cock deep in you. you were being fucked both ways. the princess of ferrari made a mess of. you held onto max's bare thighs and let out a small whimper as they continued their motions against you.

daniel seduced you early on with that laid back attitude, but the more he unwrapped about you. the more he knew that you were just a little slut waiting to happen. you had been a good girl your entire life and now handed a lot of freedom and piles of cash, you needed someone to reign you in.

thankfully daniel liked to keep his favourite rival on a short leash.

"i think after tonight, she'll be a little more gentle on the track." daniel pushed you further into the bed, which made max's cock hit past where your gag reflex used to be.

you felt raw all over, there were a few stray tears in your eyes. but yet it all excited you. letting these two enact their wrath over your second placement.

"she better be." max replied.

the two of them continued to fuck you and you were subject for wave after wave of pleasure. you felt sore all over. daniel's cock rearranging your guts while max's cock was cutting off proper air circulation.

depraved nonsense.

"prettier when she's quiet." daniel mentioned.

max chuckled in response, his cheeks stained pink, "of course she's greedy enough for two cocks."

daniel was the first to finished, he quickly pulled out and jerked off on your back before he finished all over your skin. covering your lower back in pearly white cum. you groaned at the feeling of it across your back, the mess that was made.

"don't cum until our guest finishes. it's called being polite, princess" he said, his voice hot in your lust ridden head.

you mouth on max was sloppy, the driver made sure that you were taking it all the way to the base. and when he was close to finishing, he pulled out of your mouth and stroked his cock until he made a total mess. letting cum land across your cheeks and up into your hair.

max rested against the headboard and looked at the mess he made. if only he had his phone.

"she's something else. if only she brought that energy to every race." daniel chuckled.

you whimpered and tried not to get cum all over the hotel sheets. the embarrassment of house keeping finding it made you want to die. but you weren't covered in cum for long. soon you were fed the cum all over your face and back by the men who put it all over you.

their fingers shoved in your mouth as you whined. their digits dragged across your teeth and the inside of your cheek. they made sure to get the seed all over your tongue so you'd taste them for the next few hours.

number forty-seven for ferrari was a good driver, but an even better cum slut.

you woke up in the morning rested against daniel's chest. while that felt familiar and all. there was no way both of his arms were wrapped around your waist like that.

you lifted your head and saw max holding you from behind. the previous night came back to you and you tried to move. but max's arms tightened around you.

"where are you going, princess? we're not done." max's sleepy voice could be heard.

daniel's eyes slightly opened before he pressed your head back to his chest. he held you there for a moment and added, "you're not getting away that easily."

your eyes went wide for a moment. the princess of ferrari had fallen into the jaws of the f1's most ferocious predators. you laid there for a moment, your hand across daniel's chest. you swallowed, there was no where you could hide that daniel and max wouldn't find you.

daniel gripped the back of your head for a moment. he believed in sharing with his good friend max verstappen. didn't matter if it was a slice of pizza, an extra euro for a vending machine, or the princess he had meticulously trained. <3

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luveline · 2 years ago

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losers | remus lupin

“Please.”

“Please?” he says back, mirroring your soft tone. “You think you need to say please?” His pinky bumps under the waistband of your trousers. There isn’t much give. He traces the lining to your zipper, fiddling with the small piece of metal as your eyes darken. “I should be the one saying it.” His voice keeps dropping, an utterance in the shell of your ear, his words for you and you alone. “I’m at your mercy, dove. Don’t say please with me. Okay?”

you find remus’ number on an abandoned motorbike. things snowball from there. [10k words]

fem!reader, fluff, first date, smut mdni, implied inexperienced!reader, almost rockstar!remus, mentioned that remus takes painkillers, muggle!au, early 2000’s au

˚��♡ɞ˚ There’s a motorbike outside of the cafe.

It’s huge. Too heavy for you to move. Technically, you hadn’t found it at all, it was left there in the dead of night a few days ago and hasn’t budged since. It’s illegally parked, a fact that your manager won't stop muttering about while she’s elbow deep in latte foam and coffee cakes.

“I’m getting the bastard thing towed,” she grumbles that morning. “Let the police deal with it.”

That seems rather harsh to you. It isn’t necessarily in the way, and it looks well loved. Perhaps whoever left it can’t remember where they left it, having stumbled home on inebriated footing after one too many at the pub across the street. You think about how much it must cost to get your stuff back after it’s been towed, and though you aren’t sure of the specifics, you know it can’t be cheap. So, when your manager falls into conversation with a regular and your break begins, you creep outside to do some investigating.

It’s a hulking thing made of more black than silver. There are stickers across the left side of the body, weathered and peeling, though one is newer than the others and immediately draws your eye.

A phone number.

If lost, please call.

You take your phone out of your pocket, a flip phone with one dangling charm in the shape of a star. You click each faded button slowly. You're scared to talk to someone you don’t know, but relieved to maybe save the day.

It goes for ages.

“Hello?”

“Hey,” you say, dropping your voice into its sweetest tones, though nerves make you too soft, and you worry you’re hard to hear. “Hey, um, sorry to bother you. I work at The Mill, it’s a– a cafe in the city centre… Are you missing a bike, by any chance? A motorbike?”

“Oh, thank you. Yeah, it’s my friend’s. He can be… forgetful.” The voice that speaks is both smooth and gritty, impossibly, like whoever it is that’s talking smoked half a pack of cigarettes before he answered the phone. He clears his throat. “I hope it hasn’t been an imposition for you.”

“Actually, uh, my manager wants to have it towed. Like, now. I can try to fend her off but honestly she’s like, that physics law, um, unstoppable force? Uh,” —you’re stuttering, making it worse, because his voice is surprisingly handsome and you’re an idiot through and through— “yeah, so could you come and get it?”

“Yes! Yeah, absolutely, we’re on our way. Thank you.”

“Sure. Of course.”

You hear something not meant for you, the tail end of, “Sirius, get up. You better call Marl and—”

Phone back in your pocket, you take a quick glance around the street before reaching out to run your finger over the cracked leather of the motorbike seat. You’ve never ridden one before. You’ve never wanted to. The level of fearlessness one needs for it isn’t one you possess.

You’re the opposite of fearless.

The sun hides behind a wave of clouds. Your skin chills near immediately, your prim slacks and apron a worthless defence against the cold. It’s an average day here, grey and quiet. Occasionally a couple will pass you, hand in hand as they traverse the worn pavement. You smile at an elderly man and his dog as they shuffle across the street and into the cafe. Your smile fades as you tune into the fierce tones of your manager, demanding to know where you’ve gone. If your absence is what distracts her from calling the police, so be it.

You’re considering getting your phone back out to play Snake when a passing car slows beside you. You straighten up and out, feeling your spine click in more places than it should as the passenger door opens and an insanely attractive man throws himself out of it.

“My angel!” he cries, heading straight for you.

You take a panicked step backward. The man dives for his motorbike. You flinch, mystified by his enthusiasm and his opposite appearance. Short sleeves reveal arms full of dark tattoos, with one side marred by a brutally long scar from his elbow to the back of a ring-laden hand. You tear your eyes from him as a second door closes across the street, and feel all the air rush from your chest as a second man approaches.

He’s very pretty. It might be redundant to say it to yourself, presented as you are with an undeniable truth, but you think it anyway. Sandy brown hair, pale skin, and in enough layers to make up for his friends lack thereof, the second man ignores any dramatics and meets you head on.

“Hi,” he says, holding out his hand, “you’re the one who called?”

Closer now, you can see the scars on his face. They stretch over the ridge of his nose and into his eyebrow. A smaller one tugs as he talks against his top lip.

You take his hand and shake it limply. “Yeah, that was me.”

If he’s concerned with your nervousness he doesn’t show it. His smile doesn’t move. “He wants to say thank you. He will, once he gets over himself.”

“Thank you!” the dark-haired man calls. “She’s my everything. I’ve been sick with worry.”

“Have you?” the man in front of you asks, his voice steady, almost intimidating in its impassiveness.

“Yes, Moons, I have been… not that you’d know.”

“Some of us have real problems,” Moons snips, though he quickly looks at you like he’s embarrassed. “Sorry. He brings out the worst in me.”

“You must be good friends.”

You don’t know why you say it. He only smiles.

“We must be.”

The first man stands up from checking over his motorbike and beams at you. You suspect it’s an expression that works in his favour more often than not. “What can I give you, doll?”

“No, nothing. Please. I’ll just be glad to hear the end of it.”

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, really."

Your manager calls your name, clear as day despite the thick pane of glass and brick walls separating you.

"That's you?" Moons asks.

"That's me. Sorry."

"No, don't be. Thanks so much for calling."

You nod hurriedly, throwing them both a 'nice to meet you, I'm sorry for leaving so fast' kind of smile and head back inside.

You take a sneaky look back when you're behind the counter again. They’ve turned their backs to you, Moons' friend ruffling his hair roughly. After a minute or two, Moons gets back in his car, and the motorbike pulls away like it was never there to begin with.

What sort of name is Moons? you ask yourself. It's a question that stays with you for a few days. You find yourself hoping you'll see him again, or that his friend's motorbike will turn up outside of the cafe for a few long days and give you an excuse to call him. His number stays unsaved in your recent calls menu for a while. Eventually, you forget about him altogether; the motorbike, the call, the gentle wave of his hair.

You're hard-pressed to forget his voice, though. There'd been something familiar about it.

"Nice highscore."

You jump hard and wince as the metallic taste of blood hits your taste buds. To make it worse, you slam your phone up into the counter it was hiding under in shock. It makes a fatal crunching sound.

You shove it into your pocket and look up. Standing there, in all his handsome weariness, is Moons, sans friend. He's wearing nice clothes, clean and clearly ironed. You're immediately aware of your ratty uniform and your unkempt hair.

"Shit," you say, which is so fucking embarrassing, honestly, you could fall through the floor and stay there, "Sorry. What can I get you?"

His eyebrows inch up his forehead. "What's the easiest thing to make?"

That's not a question you get often. "Uh, regular black coffee, or tea, or, the uh– the hot chocolate's not that hard. But you should order whatever you like, of course."

Moons smiles at you. You're starting to understand the nickname (assuming it is a nickname). He has this odd but enticing presence about him, like that awestruck feeling of looking up at night and seeing all the teeny tiny stars and the moonlight that comes down with them, bright and somewhat daunting.

"Sure you don't mind?"

"I'm paid not to mind."

"Can I get the biggest cup of tea you can make? Milk and two sugars, please."

"Absolutely." You sidestep to the register and click a bunch of the wrong buttons. You're unprofessionally flustered. "Uh, three sixty five?"

He passes you a five pound note. Your tip cup is for the more generous type, and he has no trouble dropping his palmful of change into it. He barely looks. You're expecting him to take a seat but he stays standing, one arm pressed to the counter, the other held up. He scratches behind his ear absentmindedly, as though he has nowhere else to be.

"Are you in a hurry?" you ask, confused.

He stays quiet for enough time to shit you up. You're tipping milk over your hand and hoping he hasn't seen it when he says, "No rush. I'm here to see you."

You look over your shoulder at him. You can't help it. "To see me."

"Yeah."

You spin back to his tea. The counter is covered in spills and sugar, cup tops and wooden stirrers. You take them all in with wide eyes. Nobody ever comes to see you. Not your friends, not family (unless they want something). Especially not boys you met once for two minutes.

"Is there something wrong?" you ask.

You clip the lid onto his big tea and wrap it in napkins so it doesn't burn his hands.

"Nothing's wrong," he says kindly. "I wanted to apologise. Your boss was upset with you. It was Sirius' fault. We owe you for it."

"You really don't have to say sorry. She wasn’t that mad. No harm, no foul."

You put his cup of tea down in front of him and try to smile like girls do in the movies. Soft doe eyes, not too bright, not too awkward. You give up after a second and feel it twist into something regrettable.

His long silence makes you squirm.

"A thank you, then.”

He offers you an envelope. You take it.

The paper is crisp and thick. Your fingers are clumsy, and it takes you too many seconds to fold the envelope's lip and pull out the card stock inside.

You look up in shock. "I can't–"

He's not there. You look to the door, catching what might've been his hand as he walks out of view.

He's left you two concert tickets. You don't go to concerts. You might have, when you were younger, and had friends to follow. As it stands he's given you two seated tickets for a show in the Pointer Arena not far from where you work, for a band you've never heard of. The price on each is a solid £20, which is way too much repayment for ringing a number from a sticker. Worse, you're not sure you have somebody who can use the second one.

You hope he'll come back for clarification alone, and a little to see him, but he doesn't, and soon the date on the ticket matches the date on your calendar and you're standing outside of the venue with no clue how to hold yourself.

You stand in line for a while. It's a very long line made up of mostly younger women. You listen for the calling of a reseller and spot a group of young girls trying to haggle with them, reluctantly leaving your place in line.

"Hi," you say quietly to the one furthest from the epicentre. "I'm sorry if this is weird. I have an extra ticket tonight, and I was wondering if you'd like it? I know it's seated, but maybe you could use it to get in and then, uh, not sit? Or just sit." You could writhe around on the ground in shame. You hold out the spare ticket. "If you want it."

"Are you kidding?"

"No, seriously."

She takes the ticket and you walk away before she can try and give it back to you. Whether she uses it or not, it's no longer your problem to deal with. The lady who'd been standing behind you lets you back in line, for which you're extremely grateful, and you shiver your way to the front with nerves churning your stomach.

You've imagined being turned away twenty times by the time they usher you through the doors. The air is buzzing with excitement, enough of it to ramp up your nerves, and you smile weakly at the people who pass you on the way up to the seating area you've been designated. The Pointer Arena is a smaller venue with much more standing than seating capacity available. The seats are at the sides and back of the second floor, looking down at the pit with a safety barrier in front.

You slide into your seat and peer down at the crowd as it fills up one ant of a person at a time. You can't distinguish one person from another after a while. It’s a moving sea of dark clothes.

It takes a long time for the opening act to come on. You're not having much fun. You'd tried to use the computer in the cafe to research the bands playing tonight but the dial up hadn't been working and your manager hates when you take long breaks, so you aren't sure you'll even enjoy yourself. You're not sure why you came here — is it sad, to come here alone? It looks sad, you think, pathetic, but it doesn't feel sad. You're not very good at talking, anyways. It's so difficult. Or maybe you just make it that way.

This is why you regret coming. Any time spent by yourself is time to think. You hate thinking, but it's all you seem to be able to do. Think and think and think. Your mind runs in the same circles. Things you've done, things you wish you did, things you want to do so badly it makes you feel sick. You can't stand it.

The crowd begins to rise in volume. Cheers echo against the atrium ceiling, and you push yourself to the edge of your seat to see what's making them all so excited.

The opening band. They're too far away to see clearly. First on stage is a man with brown skin and a head of black curls, a guitar swinging from his neck, the body barely held as he waves to the masses. Next comes a paler man with hair tied up in a bun who sits down behind the drum kit and doesn't move much after that. A girl practically sprints to centre stage, scooping up a waiting guitar (or bass?) and strumming down the body appreciatively. She has purple hair, bright and choppy, particularly abrasive against the alabaster white of her skin.

And last on stage… last on stage is Moons.

You move forward suddenly, smacking your face against the plexiglass barrier and biting your cheek for the second time in a week. Used to your mistreatment, the poorly healed skin wastes no time splitting, and the metallic taste of blood makes you cringe.

That's Moons. There are two huge screens either side of the stage that magnify him. First his hand on the microphone, a scar coiling up from his wrist to his thumb purple against his skin. Then his face. You wouldn't forget what he looks like so soon, not when you've half obsessed over him for days with could-be's because he'd wanted to see you and you have a bad habit of inventing future's with people you don't know, but even if you did it wouldn't matter. You've never met anyone else with three scars as he has across his face, taking centre stage.

You hadn't realised the tickets were to see his band. It makes sense, now, why your seat is in such a quiet area, and why the people sitting close by aren't firecracker happy at the sight of them. They must've received their tickets in the same way, gifts or thank yous for small favours.

Your mouth dries as they begin to play. It's not what you're expecting. Of course, you haven't really had time to expect anything, and yet you're shocked when they start to play a slow song. He doesn't really look like a rockstar, but a heartthrob? You can see it easily. The long lengths of his lashes, and the dark honey of his eyes. His smile, so small but somehow piercing.

His voice is careful. He doesn't sing anything impressive —there's no belting or high notes— but you still find yourself wringing your hands together, entranced by his confidence. He dances around the melodies and fills up every space he can find between the beat of the drums and the searing guitar riffs that follow.

They only play five songs. By the time they've finished you're feeling sick to your stomach, and you can't get your heart to calm down. You hadn't known a word of the lyrics, but you'd felt them.

They're good.

Like, too good to be openers for long.

The crowd echoes your sentiment. They clap and scream and wolf whistle. The noise vibrates in the depth of your stomach. The cheering doubles when the headlining band’s techies emerge. The lights go down. Equipment begins to roll out.

You scrounge through your purse for a lip balm and think about heading downstairs to the concession stands for an overpriced bottle of water to wash away the unfortunate tang of blood. It aches to pay, but if you don't soon you might get nauseous, and that would be a real disaster, throwing up here of all places.

You hear his voice before you see him. He's laughing, talking to somebody about the set.

"It was great!" compliments a feminine voice. "I don't know what you were so worried about, Remus, you're really great. And if you weren't, Marl would've saved the day anyways with her gorgeous showmanship."

"Thanks, baby," says a second voice. Marl.

"Thanks, Mary," Moons says.

What had Mary called him? Remus? Odd, not quite as strange as Moons.

You try not to tense as footsteps approach.

"Can I sit?" he asks.

You look up too fast. He's a little damp, the hair closest to his face curled with it, but he smells good as he sits down. He must've washed up.

"I– I've been calling you Moons in my head," you admit, not sure what to say.

He's intimidating. You don't imagine he knows it. He sits in the chair without any fanfare, setting his forearm on the rest between your two seats and turning his face to you completely, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth, almost like he doesn't want to smile but can't help himself. His eyes are the slightest bit lidded, emphasising the brilliance (and unfairness) of his lashes, so thick and dark you wonder if he's wearing makeup.

"You can call me whatever you want to, but my name's Remus. I should've told you that before. I was… distracted."

He isn't being coy, you realise. He easily could be if he wanted to, but he was genuinely lost for words for a second.

"I didn't really tell you mine," you say, hoping to ease his gentle confusion.

He says your name like it's easy. Like he enjoys the sound of it. "Y/N. Do you like music?"

Is that a trick question? His eyes trace up to your eyebrows as they pinch together, but he doesn't amend his question. Not a trick, then.

"I like music,” you say.

"I realise it's brave to ask someone to come and see you on stage. And that I look like a tosser sometimes with the stage lights and makeup."

"No," you say quickly, "you don't. You looked just fine. You looked good. I bet it's hard getting on stage like that, and in front of this many people. And singing. You have a really nice voice."

His eyes soften. "Thank you. Do you wanna go get a drink with me? There's a bar. It's quiet."

Your elbow brushes against his long sleeve. "Yeah." You're not breathless enough to embarrass yourself, but it's a close call.

Remus leads you up and out of the seats. The venue is large in that it has just as many hallways and back rooms as it has places to watch the show. Remus’ warm hand catches your elbow, a friendly touch that guides you around the barrier and through a dimly lit hallway that takes you to the bar.

The bar overlooks the stage, but the sound of the band and the crowd is dampened severely, making for a sorely needed respite. VIP's mill around the room on plush leather sofas and cushy bar stools sipping from sweating glass bottles. Remus' hand moves up to your shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze as a familiar face waves you over.

"Hey, it's you!"

You smile at Remus' motorbike friend. You're a hundred percent sure his name is Sirius, but you won't say it aloud in case you're wrong. Beside him sits the other man you'd seen on stage with them, the guitarist with brown skin and a head full of thick hair. You look between the three of them in secret shock, wondering if handsome attracts handsome or if it's just dumb luck that they ended up together.

"James, this is the babe that found Stacia," Sirius says.

James wrinkles his nose. "Hi," he says, in a voice that sounds deeply apologetic, years of it like the rings of a tree. "How are you?"

"I'm good. Um, and you?"

"I'm good! Thanks, I'm good, it's nice of you to come see us. Did you like the show?"

"Yeah, I did. I had no idea you guys were musicians."

He splits his attention between you and his jacket. He pulls a glasses case out of his pocket, clicks it open, and straightens out a pair of wire frames.

"Couldn't tell from our baby boy's general demeanour?" he asks. "Hey, that's better, I can see you now."

"Sirius is the youngest," Remus says.

"And the handsomest."

"No, Marl's clearly the handsome one," James says lightly.

Sirius takes the rebuttal in good jest and brandishes his drink toward you like a toast. "Want a beer?"

"I'm getting her one," Remus says, "come on, give me a minute here."

Everybody laughs. You laugh too, turning your face into your shoulder to smother the sound.

"Well, come and sit with us, make yourself comfortable," James says, moving his jacket off of the chair in front of you.

Remus makes a small, apprehensive sound. "Drinks first." He looks to you for confirmation. "Yeah. We'll be back."

You follow him to the bar. Your shoes, a pair of dirty converse you wish you'd swapped for heels or something sophisticated, squeal against the hardwood floor. How were you supposed to know you'd see him again tonight? In what world does stuff like this happen to scruffy waitresses? You're starting to think he might be somebody.

Not that it matters if he is or isn't.

But if he is… This is embarrassing, right? Not knowing who he is.

There must be a couple thousand people here tonight. Then again, his band were the opening act, so it doesn't necessarily mean they're all famous or anything.

"Hey," Remus says softly, stopping your thoughts cold. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Sorry. I've never been in here before, anywhere that's like it,” you say.

"Venues are all different but the bars don't change," he says. "What do you like?"

"I'm not a big drinker."

"That's okay. I just wanted an excuse to be alone with you." He doesn't even give you time to recover. "Truth is, I wanted to ask you out. But between shows I couldn't find time, and next week I'm in San Marino."

What you mean to say is, you wanted to ask me out? But instead, you choke, "You're going to Italy?"

Remus pushes a seat out for you, helping you up with a solid hand, and, while your fingers are still warm from his touch, he says, "San Marino isn't Italy. I didn't know that 'til a few months ago. But pretty much."

"What's in San Marino?"

"A wedding." He climbs into the seat next to you, smiling.

The tan colour of his long-sleeves contrasts his pale hands. Your eyes flash to his ring finger. Not his wedding.

Remus isn’t easy to talk to. It's not wholly his fault. He doesn't force conversation, leaving you awkwardly searching for something to say. You're not the best conversationalist either. He clearly doesn't mind it.

You're in the midst of a clumsy retelling of a shitty customer service moment when he tips his head to the left just a touch.

"Maybe we can go on an actual date when I'm home,” he says.

He says it like he's talking about the weather. You'd be worried he was messing with you, but then he smiles again, flicking his index finger against your wrist mildly. "You don't have to answer me now. Finish telling your story."

"It was pretty much finished. And– and I'd like to. Go on a real date. I've never been out of the country, so you'll have to forgive me if I want to know everything about San Marino."

He looks at your lips. Says, "Good," and doesn't give any indication that he's noticed how nervous you are. That is, until he covers your trembling hand with his and presses it flat to the bar.

"You're really pretty," he murmurs. He takes a moment, and he smiles. "Come with me? If I don't give Sirius some attention soon he'll start showing off."

—

James is starting to wonder if he should invite you to San Marino. He's not that stupid; it would be a huge pain if you were standing in the middle of all his wedding photos and you and Remus don't work out. But, while he's certainly and majorly jumping the gun, he has a suspicion he’ll be seeing you again.

James has never seen Remus like this before.

His friend is usually quiet, quipping every now and then perhaps at Sirius' insufferable antagonism but otherwise brooding. He hasn't seen him smile this much, ever.

James is under no illusions — he knows Remus loves him very much. He knows Remus is happy, and not always healthy but managing. He knows Remus is pleased with their lives and ecstatic to have their music take off. But he also knows Remus won't let himself have a good thing, not really. Maybe that's why he's asked you out now, when in a week they'll be in San Marino, and a week after that they'll be in Cardiff to officially start the new tour.

He knows Remus, sweetheart, kind hearted, miraculous Remus, tends to let people down. He's a stickler for asking people out and cancelling the day before. It's how it always goes. James will ask how the date went and Remus will shake his head and say, "it didn’t work out."

He knows Remus doesn't mean to hurt anybody. He just… can't get close.

But he's trying, with you. A glass of cordial in one hand, the other behind your chair, Remus tells you one of his more embarrassing stories about how he'd taken a bad fall and ended up in A&E with half of an eyebrow. He doesn't mention the painkillers that made him woozy.

You've relaxed considerably since sitting down. James would be happy to report that you're having a good time. You have your own drink in hand, and your eyes are bright, with a receding space between your face and Remus' as the story goes on. It's like watching two magnets fight to hold themselves apart.

Matter of time, James thinks to himself smugly.

—

Honesty is important. You admit to yourself that you and Remus aren't exactly a perfect match. Both quiet, both not quite social butterflies, your conversations had occasionally been stilted and slow, but you've only met twice. Things don't have to be perfect, and more than that — there's a spark there. A twinge of a possibility. He'd liked what little he knew about you enough to ask to see you again, and you'd like what little you knew about him in turn to say yes.

It doesn't have to be perfect, you insist to yourself, a bundle of nerves. Nothing does.

He looks pretty perfect. Base of his palm pressed to the brick wall of the cafe, hand angled down as his fingers grasp the neck of a bouquet whose flowers have been shedding petals onto the damp pavement below. He holds his other hand against his chest, clicking buttons on his phone.

You approach from the left and watch him play a game of Snake.

"You play Snake?" you ask.

"Doesn't everybody?" he asks back, his smile softening what might otherwise feel like a chastisement. He doesn't look up from his phone.

"Woah, how long have you been out here?" you ask, eyeing his weirdly long snake.

Remus guides the snake into a wall on purpose. It dies, his high score flashes across the screen, and he aims an apologetic look your way. "Sorry, that was rude." He doesn't try to hide that he's looking over your face. "Thanks for coming."

He leans in and kisses your cheek. Delighted warmth curls in your stomach, worse when he passes you the bouquet of flowers. They've mostly survived his poor treatment, and there's a lot of them. He's left the price tag on and you're not sure if he's noticed. You pretend not to see it.

"Thank you…” You look away from the flowers, all whites and reds and baby’s breath, to ogle him as subtly as you can manage. “Wow, you've caught the sun. Was it lovely in San Marino?"

"I'll tell you all about it over dinner,” he says. “I thought we'd walk, it's not far." He holds out his hand. You wipe your palm against your side before you take it, worried you'll have clammy hands. He must guess, because he says, "Don't be nervous."

"I am," you say hopelessly. "I've never been on a date before."

"This is your first date?"

You feel a hot flush coming on. "I– yeah. That's embarrassing, I shouldn't have told you that."

"No, it's a good thing. Now I know it has to be extra special."

"It doesn't," you say.

"I was hoping it would be." He pulls you down the pavement and further into the city centre toward the main high street. "San Marino. It was beautiful, and I took a couple of photos but I didn't have room on my phone. Well, I could've deleted Snake–"

"Why would you?" you joke, grinning.

He laughs, and squeezes your hand slightly. "Exactly. I have priorities. It's a long flight, and looking over the photos can only take up so much time. No, but it really was… it was beautiful. I'd never given much thought to a destination wedding. They make sense, right? It's the best day of your life, why would you have it here?"

He tilts his chin toward the grey sky. You look up with him, feeling the cold wind kiss the sides of your face and pull through your hair.

"Come on, Remus, it's not that bad. If it's sun you're after, you could just wait for British summer time. You know, the whole three days of it."

He laughs — you've made him laugh twice already. This is going okay. Laughing while looking at one another, a bouquet in one hand and his hand in the other, you feel that curl of delight begin to bloom. It fills your insides up, has you smiling until your eyelashes brush in the corners.

"It was James' wedding. Do you remember which one that was?"

He asks so kindly. You don't doubt for a second that he wouldn't care if you forgot. It's refreshing, even if it's something you'd expect.

"I remember. I didn't realise he was getting married."

"Don't ever say that in front of him, he'll put himself on the cross." He swings your hand as you turn a corner. The Italian restaurant you'd agreed on winks from a distance.

"He's devoted," you guess.

"He's insane. He was worse when we were younger. His girlfriend– his wife," he amends, "Lily, she's really something else. Warm and funny, but she's been keeping him on his toes for years. She has family in San Marino, hence the wedding."

You listen to him talk eagerly. His voice is as handsome as his face, and the more he says the less stilted he becomes. There had been a strained quality to it before (strained, or restrained? something he wasn't saying) that's all but disappeared.

"It was like a movie. White linen, sand, crying."

"Did you cry?" you ask, expecting a puffed up chest.

"So much. Too much, maybe. I was half of the best man."

"Half?"

"We had to share, me and Sirius. They've always been…" Remus slows his steps. "Am I being boring? I'm talking too much about me."

"We have time. I want to hear it. I'd like to hear it," you say.

James and Sirius are brothers. Remus sees your surprised look and doesn't condemn you for it. Sirius is unofficially adopted. The Potter's fostered him from ages thirteen until he aged out, and though they tried to adopt him, Sirius was reluctant. Remus doesn't get into the reasons beyond that, and you don't ask. You suspect he's only telling you about it to drive home how much the Potter's love Sirius. How much James does.

Remus had been Sirius' friend from their very first year of comprehensive school. Sirius moved in with the Potter's, and, adoring as they were, they let him have friends over whenever he liked. James, Sirius, and Remus spent the next decade together like that, hiding in Sirius' room. Best friends, entirely inseparable, and all fiercely protective of each other.

"They've always been like brothers."

"But not…"

He understands what you're worried to say. "I think it would've been weird… I had a candle burning for James. For a long time."

Your jaw drops a little. "And you just had to watch him have the most romantic wedding ever," you whisper sympathetically. You're joking: it's clear the candle isn't burning now.

"Told you I cried," he says. "No, but you've seen him. He's a supermodel. It's awful."

"Remus, I think you might be underestimating how handsome you are," you say. You bite your lip and look at his chin rather than his eyes.

He's generous. He gives your wrist a tug and chuckles warmly. "I'm glad you think so. Tonight might have been awkward, otherwise."

You duck together inside of the restaurant, hands falling apart as Remus gives his last name for the reservation. Lupin. Your face has a mind of its own.

"Charming, isn't it?"

"It is," you say emphatically, denying his sarcasm. "I've never heard anything like that. Lupine, like a fox?"

"Wolf."

A server shows you to your table and hands you two leather covered menus. Leather, not plastic, a sign that tonight is going to be classy. You've dressed for the occasion in a smart blouse and slacks, too terrified of wearing a dress. Remus seems to have done the same as you, reaching for smart but dodging the mark in a button down and a casual jacket. When he takes off his coat, he looks perfect. He fits right in.

"Could we get a glass?" he asks the server. "For the flowers? If it's not too much trouble."

"No trouble at all."

You run your hand across the silken tablecloth and the space between you both feels somehow smaller than when you'd been holding hands. Outside, you could let your gaze drift to the pavement, the fenced in trees, the couples that passed you by. Here, you're forced to watch one another.

It's not so bad. It's agonising.

"This is weird," you say. You flinch when you hear yourself. "Sorry, not that you're weird! I'm weird. I've never ever done this."

"No, I know," he says, almost murmuring, "it's okay."

"I just blurted out what I was thinking–"

"I know." He sits back in his chair. His head tilts down, his eyelashes kissing the skin above his brows as he fixes you with a look. It has the intended effect, tension easing from your rigid spine and tight shoulders. "This is weird. But it's still early. It could get weirder."

You like that he says it as if it's a good thing.

You order the same thing he does, and you don't turn down his offer to get a bottle of wine, though it feels too grown up. You keep forgetting you're an adult, and that your life isn't on hold. Things can happen to you at any time.

"I want to address the elephant in the room," he says.

Not promising. "Okay."

"Are we having dessert?" Remus leans forward on both forearms. Hair falls in his eyes. He's dressed nicely and he's handsome but there's something homespun about him, something golden. You can't help looking at him and thinking impossibly forward thoughts, cheesy waffle from the films. He's familiar. "Nobody ever wants to get dessert with me. It's actually a real issue for me."

"I'll get dessert with you." A smoother you with more confidence, who wore the dress and asked him to go to the Thai restaurant instead, would've said something more suave. We're having whatever you want, handsome.

Remus flips the menu to the very last page and reads the desserts aloud. For himself, it seems, half-muttered and apprehensive. "Chocolate cake from places like this will either be the nicest thing we've ever eaten or burnt in the microwave. And it's childish that I want chocolate cake. I should be spoon feeding you creme brulee. Or whipped cream and strawberries."

He tips his head back and rubs his eyes. It's a charade of feigned self loathing that makes you laugh.

"I'm a child," he laments, thumb and index finger pressed into his eyes. He checks to see if you're watching before doubling down.

"I like cake," you say, and you'd lie if you thought it was what he wanted to hear. Handsome, kind, and funny. Not to mention talented. He needs smart for the sweep.

Remus falls out of his dramatics. You mourn the loss, beggy a good look on him, but forget all about it when he slides his chair around the table to share the menu with you, your heads inclined as you read it together again. He smells woody. You hope he likes the jasmine of your perfume.

"It all sounds really nice," you confide, afraid to disturb the comfortable hush. "I haven't had gelato since I was a kid. Oh, did they have real gelato in San Marino?"

“They had a lot of stuff in San Marino… I want to hear about you.”

“What do you want to hear?”

The questions start and don’t stop. Where did you grow up? That’s the easy part. What did you study in school? Were you in sports? The art club? And what do you do now, when you aren’t working in the cafe? The more he asks, the easier it is to answer. He doesn’t slow when the waiter brings a glass for your bouquet, simply stands and places them inside with exceedingly gentle hands, smiling at you from between the stems. You eat slowly when the food arrives — you're busy talking.

It feels fucking amazing. To have someone want to know anything about you. And unless he’s an actor of the highest regard, he’s obviously enjoying your conversations, though they wilt and wane and wind around one another. You lose track of time and thread as the night goes on, distracted by the near unnoticeable asymmetry of his smile, and the way he laughs when you laugh, like an echo.

You get cake like he wanted. Triple fudge cake with buttercream thick but melting from the heat. It looks straight from the pages of a magazine, glossy and dusted with sugar powder, but he doesn’t seem to like it. He takes a couple of bites and leaves it alone. You don’t want to look greedy, so you do the same.

The date is suddenly over.

“Could I walk you home?” he asks, when you’ve both put your coats back on, and the damp roots of your flowers are leaving an imprint on your chest.

You nod rather than answer.

Things are good, not perfect. That’s what you keep thinking. There’s something he isn’t saying. Or, horrifyingly, something he doesn’t like about you. Still, the sky is velvet black and the air is crisp. Stars like needlepoints dot the air. Street lights work to hide them, casting a warm yellow glow over the pavements and your meandering shoes.

A brisk wind whips past you. You shiver and press your lips together hard, hands quick to rigidity. Remus looks at you sideways, and breaks the quiet. “Are you cold?”

“A little.” No point in lying when he can see you trembling.

“Do you want my coat?”

“No, no, it’s alright–“ You cut off as he steps in front of you, his hand vying for yours.

He tucks the flowers under his arm and sandwiches your fingers between his. He has short fingernails, and another scar down one pinky finger. How’d you get that one? you want to ask. How’d you get any of them?

His breath clouds the air. “I should’ve thought about the cold.”

“This is better,” you say. Than a warm taxi home. His thumbs brushing down the backs of your hands.

You walk to your flat building and hesitate at the foyer door. The potential for a kiss goodnight has flayed your thoughts. The image of his hands climbing your arms, holding you still, plays like a flickering film. You have no idea if he’s going to do it.

“How will you get home?” you ask quietly.

“I parked by the cafe, it isn’t far.”

“Oh…” The lights from your building paint him the faintest shade of pink. Your breath fogs out in front of you, as does his, and the warmth of walking will soon fade. “I–“

“Here,” he says, handing you the flowers again.

“Thank you. They’re beautiful.”

“Fits the recipient.”

It takes a second for you to get it. Oh, you think. You can hardly feel the cold now. Your heart hurts, and you’re begging him to want to take a step toward you. The silence goes for too long.

“I– I’d love to see you again,” you say. Love comes out funny. Maybe because you can feel his rejection coming.

“I won’t be here next week. Not for a long time. We’re touring properly, now.” He scratches the side of his face.

“Right. Right, of course you are. Um, good luck with that. And thank you for tonight, for dinner.” You wave your flowers weakly.

He looks at you. He takes a half step toward you. You can see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows.

“You really are pretty,” he says finally. “Goodnight.”

He smiles quick and turns quicker. You watch him walk a few steps but ultimately can’t face it, pushing into the foyer of your building with a hardset frown. Your hands shake, minute abstractions of the sharp rejection panging in your chest. Your ears roar and then go quiet. What did I do wrong? you think, shocked and upset and trying to rationalise. He doesn’t have to kiss you. He asked you out on a maybe, and now whatever question he had is answered.

The door creaks open. You spin on your heel, too wrapped up to think about hiding your expression. Remus stands in the doorway of the porch, his arm pressed to the glass panel, the other held out to you.

"Come here," he says quietly. It isn't a question, but he's asking.

You step into his reach, letting him pull you by the waist against his chest. He leans down until his nose glances against ýours, and he starts to say something. You push your chin up in your eagerness and he doesn't try again. He kisses you, once, contrite, and he pulls back and his hand clasps your arm tight as he ducks in for another. His lips are fast to lose the cold of the weather, but his tongue is a hot shock at the seam of your own.

You go weak in his arms. The flowers between you crunch and smother themselves. You can’t think about it. Your hands are numb. He takes over every one of your senses until you’re more kiss than thought, reciprocating his slow, deep searching. You run out of breath.

He eases you backward, cupping the side of your head in his big palm.

“I want to see you again,” he says hoarsely. “But I– I don’t know when I’ll be back.” His hand adjusts against your cheek, like he’s worried you’re slipping out of his hold. “I don’t know what to do.”

“I can wait,” you say.

“I couldn’t ask you to.”

You rub your buzzing lips together, each heaven of your chest marked by the crinkling sound of cellophane.

“Do you want to come upstairs?” you ask.

He strokes the edge of your mouth with his thumb. “Are you sure?”

You kiss him. You don’t know if this will work, any of it, the broad stroke or this one night, but you want him.

—

Remus doesn’t know what he’s doing. He knows how to fuck somebody, that isn’t the problem. He doesn’t know what he’s doing with you. The same thing that made him walk away had pulled him right back in, had him skipping steps on the staircase up to your flat, drinking in the back of your head and roll of your shoulders as you’d made apologies for the mess inside.

He doesn’t feel like himself when he’s with you. He thinks of it like this — what he is, his pain, his wants, that’s all set in stone. Any change is an erosion, and little by little over the years he’s managed to whittle himself down into the smallest, cleanest version of himself. Then suddenly the band’s making money, people are listening to his voice on the radio in countries all over the world, and he can’t hide anymore. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to, after all. What else inspires a performer into the spotlight? The music, he thinks desperately, knowing it’s half a lie.

Isn’t it why he’d asked you to the show? Come and watch me sing. See me at my most impressive. My most curated.

And now he’s following you into your bedroom after one date, about to strip it all away.

“You didn’t have too much wine, did you?” he asks. You hadn’t really finished your first glass, but it won’t hurt to make sure.

You peel your jacket off and drop it over the back of a wide armchair. “I don’t think so. Did you?”

“No.” His head has never been this clear.

He thinks about what you said. This is your first date, and he’s not clueless enough to assume that never going on a date means never having sex, but he wants to be careful with you anyway. He wants this to last beyond a dinner date.

Which means he has to get out of his head.

Beyond all of his own mess, he really does think you're pretty. More than pretty. You’re beautiful, and your voice…

He wants to see what other sounds you make.

Remus gets his hands on you. Soft touches, his hands coasting from your elbows to your warming hands. He squeezes your fingers, leaning in for a quick kiss. He rests his nose against the skin beneath your eye. “Tell me if it’s too much?” he asks, a murmur of hot air.

“Yeah.”

“I’ll go slowly.”

“Okay.” Your voice is barely audible.

He pulls away to make sure you’re alright, and is surprised to see a glassy sheen in your eyes. He holds your face in both hands and works your lips open against his, guiding you backwards into the plush of your poorly made bed. He’s all sweet touches and eager kisses, cautious not to hurt you, or let too much of his weight press against your soft torso. His kisses follow to the corner of your mouth, the tip of his nose tender against your cheek. “You’re so quiet,” he says. He isn’t complaining, but he wants to hear your voice.

“I’m a bit preoccupied.”

He laughs into your skin, kissing down to your jaw. “You’re right,” he says, revelling in the goosebumps that rise under his hands.

Your shaking inhales cleave a pit in his stomach. He mouths at the side of your neck, half-kisses, tiny warning nips before he thumbs open the first button of your shirt. He meanders, dropping a path crescent moon kisses into your front until the fabric of your bra gets in the way. The soft hill of your breast staggers to a halt beneath him. He can tell that you’re holding deliberately still.

Kisses. You need more kisses, an absolution from any lingering nervousness. Your hands thread into his hair gently, your fingers raking wavy strands behind his ears as you give in. You melt into your sheets, your legs parting from the pressure of his hips.

Your hands fall from his hair to needle between your two bodies and undo the rest of your buttons. The fabric falls aside, your chest and tummy his to catalogue. He drops his hand against your stomach, smoothing a line down to your slacks. His lips ache against yours as he asks, “Can I?”

“Please.”

He smiles at your daunted expression. “Can I take these off?” he asks you, his fingertip running under the edge of your underwear. “Please?” he teases.

Your skin is a furnace, hot hot hot everywhere he touches as you nod your permission and Remus undresses you, one piece of clothing at a time. Your trousers, your shirt. Your bra, your underwear. His fingers slip in his ardency as he tears out of his own button down.

Your thumb traces a scar.

He looks up from your chest, startled, but you aren’t giving him anything he doesn’t want. There’s no pity in your gaze, no curiosity, no sadness. Just lust, your trembling hands pulling his slacks down the lengths of his thighs.

He pulls the condom from his wallet in his pocket and lets it fall to the floor.

Remus hooks his hands under your arms and urges you back against the headboard, a pillow behind your head, your thighs tipping open as his hand runs down between them. He grabs at them greedily, handfuls of fat that have his mouth dry as a bone.

“Has anyone ever done this to you before?” he asks. He needs to know.

You squeeze your eyes closed and shake your head.

Fuck. “Hey, look at me,” he says, waiting for your eyes to meet before continuing. “I just want to make you feel good. If I don’t, you let me know.”

He waits for you to answer aloud. “I will,” you say, your hand behind his back and urging him forward. “Please.”

“What did I say?” he jokes gently, letting his weight bear down on you again.

He closes his eyes, his lips in what feels like a new home at the juncture of your neck. His hands skirt dangerously close to your heat.

He’s gentle. He rubs a sweeping line against your cunt with the front of his fingers, heart hammering fast as a mouse’s when he finds the little button of your clit. You shiver and shudder and squirm as he toys with you, your fingers steadfast against the plane of his back while he opens you up. His lips part in tandem, not nearly as kind as his hands. His teeth scratch against your throat.

Your soft moans move through him as he hickeys over your pulse, chasing each capering thud of blood. He winds you up. You’re snug around his fingers, fluttering, and he knows he’s probed something sweet when your breath catches and you whine.

“Was that alright?” he asks.

You nod, heavy headed, and lick your lips as he tears open the condom and eases it onto his cock, one measured roll at a time.

“Can you– I want you to–” You turn your face from him, the line of your jaw kissed by the lamplight outside, and the rest hidden.

He drags you down to lay flat on your back and holds himself over you, nudging his nose against yours until you lift your head. Face to face, he gives himself time to adore the shape and colour of your eyes, the side of his hand brushing along your cheek. “Do you think you’re ready?” he asks sincerely. The slickness between your legs is obvious, but he doesn’t want to blindside you. “It will feel…”

You nod, saving him the explanation. It will feel weird. Good, but foreign. “Will you kiss me again?” you ask feebly.

He can’t stop himself. He kisses your lips sore, his hand behind the crook of your knee pushing your leg up toward your stomach as he slides into the space he’s made there. He breaks the kiss to listen to your breathing as he pushes forward.

Remus hadn’t been lying — he wants it to feel good. He takes it slow, his thrusting almost languid as you get to grips with the feeling. He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and bites down hard, struggling to smother the moan that escapes him as he feels you clench around him. You gasp, your arms tightening around his waist, destroying any semblance of space between your sweat-damp bodies as you hold him tight. He murmurs praises in your ear, his forearms tucked beneath your shoulder blades, hands gripping your shoulders a touch too hard. He can’t remember the last time he was this close to somebody, can’t remember ever feeling so maddeningly lost, like he’s one good push from hurtling over the edge.

He kisses your cheek, calling you all the things he’d been too scared to say before. “Lovely girl,” he pants, “how’s that feel?” And, when you answer, “Yeah, you’re taking it so well, dove. Think you can take a little more?”

All that nervousness and desperation shrinks down to dust, and the smiling girl he’d been with at dinner comes to the forefront. There’s no mistaking it. You giggle something awful and turn your face into his, kissing him between sounds, dizzying him with the tender scratch of your nails down his back as he starts to move.

“There she is,” he says lightly, almost smirking. “Feel good?”

“Feels– oh,” —you shiver violently, filled all the way up— “feels good.”

Remus let’s his forehead fall to your chin, his eyes closed in pleasure, his cock to the hilt. Every move he makes evokes a near sinful sound from you, mewling, silvery whimpers and pleased little laughs when he angles his hips right. He’s a mess, desperate to cum from the second you touched him and running on stolen time as he presses you deep into your mattress. One of your hands flies backward into the pillows and scrunches up into a ball, the look on your face too tempting to ignore.

The first time you fuck someone — it’s never timed right. Remus knows he hasn’t quite figured you out, but he knows enough to get you where he wants you. He slides his hand between your bodies and your soft cunt to draw circles into your clit, entranced by your twitching lashes as the pleasure builds. You chase him with your hips, and he grabs your hand at the last second to stop you from covering your mouth, holding it above your head as you come apart.

He cooes at you. The sound you make — the breathless little cry that leaves you, your hips jutting up to meet him. He’s at your mercy, just like he said.

Remus fucks into the extra tightness, drawing your climax out for as long as he can. You’re smiling as you shove his arm away, a playful chastisement that wanes when you see the look on his face. “Are you close?” you ask, brushing a curled strand of hair from his eyes.

Close? Remus is fucked.

“You can go faster,” you say, “rougher, whatever you want.”

“Shit,” he hisses, leaning back.

His rutting hips slap the backs of your thighs. He squeezes your waist, his eyes fixed on your cunt as it pulls him in. One last wavering, “Oh, fuck,” from you is all it takes for Remus to lose it. White hot pleasure tightens his whole body, his abdomen aflame. You scramble to gather him back into your arms. You kiss him, swallowing his resulting string of moans.

He has to catch his breath afterward. You comb the hair back from his face, your eyes droopy with pleasure.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks, voice stringy.

“Of course not.” You’re quickly losing your confidence. Remus hates it, but he understands. This vulnerability can only stretch so far.

“Let me clean you up,” he says.

“You look like you’re gonna fall over if you stand.”

He strokes your face with the back of his ring finger, his nail ghosting along the highest point of your cheek. “Funny,” he says dryly.

He gets confused in your bathroom, and you won’t let him towel you off, but when he lies down beside you with his boxers back in place you don’t push him away. You drop your face into his chest and curl up.

He drags the quilt over your naked back.

Was that okay? he wants to ask. “Sore?” he worries instead.

“Don’t think so.”

He chews his cheek. “You’re alright?”

You stir, looking up at him through your lashes. He thinks you’re the kind of pretty people might not always see. You’re clearly beautiful, but there’s something else to it. The way you move, maybe. The way your eyes smile before your lips can catch up.

“I’m fine. I’m good… Can I…”

He hums. “What?”

“Could I kiss you again?”

You speak so quietly, he hears the vibration in your throat more than the sound of your voice. It’s endearingly timid. He feels his attraction for you flare violently.

He wants to ask you to come with him to Cardiff. He knows he can’t. It’s yards too soon, but for a second he entertains the thought.

“Wait for me to come home,” he says. He’s still asking for more than he should. “I want to see you again. You can kiss me as much as you want, if you say you’ll wait.”

You nod immediately. Not a flicker of reluctance to be seen.

You lift your chin and kiss him. He tries to make it the kind of kiss worth waiting for.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading! i hope you enjoyed! if you did, please consider reblogging cos it helps more than you might think <3

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cyberl6ve · 7 months ago

Text

𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒 ─ 𝟐𝟏 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐍𝐎 𝐊𝐈𝐃𝐒

CHECK 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 FOR MORE!! (NSFW!!)

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

── .✦ : Y/N quietly arrives at the Sturniolo triplets' house at midnight, eager to be the first to celebrate their special day. Armed with personalized mini cakes for each brother, she makes her way downstairs to Chris's room. As she opens the door and surprises him, the intimate and thoughtful gesture creates a memorable start to his birthday. When he blows out his candles he wishes for something special, something that might come true.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · · 𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 !! · · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

⋆˙⟡ STORY CONTAINS MATURE CONTENT !! ⋆˙⟡

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ : 𝐀𝐬 𝐈 𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐬’ 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞, my mind is racing with excitement. It's well past midnight, but I know this is going to be worth the late-night visit. I can barely contain my anticipation as I pull up in front of their house, grabbing the three small cakes from the seat next to me.

I quietly unlock the front door and tiptoe inside, making my way around the darkened house. I place the cakes on the kitchen counter, careful not to make any noise. As I approach Matt's door, I light up the 2 and 1 candles on his cake, a sly smile playing on my lips. I knock softly, and his voice calls out, “Come in.”

I walked in and turned the light on and with a soft, hushed voice, I begin to sing “Happy Birthday” to Matt, hoping the other brothers won't hear me just yet.

Matt looks up, a surprised but happy expression on his face as he hears my voice singing the familiar birthday tune. His eyes widen as he sees the cake with the lit numbers flickering in the dim light.

“Y/N, what are you doing here?” he whispers, a mixture of surprise and delight on his face.

“Shhh, it's a surprise,” I reply quietly, holding a finger to my lips in a playful shushing gesture. I approach his bedside, holding the cake out to him with a small smile.

“Happy birthday, Matt,” I murmur, watching as he looks at the cake in a mixture of disbelief and happiness.

A genuine smile spreads across Matt's face, his eyes meeting mine. “You came all the way over here in the middle of the night just to give me a cake?” he whispers, clearly touched by the gesture.

I nod, a small smile playing on my lips. “Of course I did,” I answer quietly. “It's your birthday, and I wanted to be the first one to celebrate with you guys.”

Matt looks at the candles flickering on his cake, his eyes sparkling in the dim light. He takes a deep breath and blows out the candles, extinguishing the slender wisps of smoke that rise into the air. As he does, he looks up at me with a soft smile.

“Thanks, Y/N,” he says quietly, his voice warm with gratitude.

I hand Matt the fork, watching as he takes his first bite of the cake. His eyes light up with pleasure as he tastes the flavorful treat.

“This is really good,” he whispers, his mouth partially filled with cake. I chuckle quietly and take out my phone, raising it up to capture the moment.

“Say cheese,” I murmur, clicking a picture of Matt with the cake in front of him.

Matt obliges, flashing a wide, cheesy grin for the camera. I can't help but smile at the sight, capturing the moment forever on my phone.

“There we go,” I say as I put my phone down, still smiling. “The perfect birthday snap.”

I leave Matt's room, the smile still lingering on my lips. I head back to the kitchen, grabbing Nick's cake from the counter and lighting the candles. With care and anticipation, I make my way up the stairs and knock softly on Nick's door.

“Yeah?” Nick's voice calls out from the other side, and I take it as an invitation to enter.

I push open the door and step into his room, Nick sitting at his desk, his back to me. He turns around, a surprised but pleased expression on his face as he sees me standing there with the cake in my hands.

“Y/N?” he whispers, his voice filled with a mixture of shock and joy.

I smile at him, my heart swelling with affection. With a soft, hushed voice, I begin to sing “Happy Birthday” to him, just like I did for Matt. Nick's eyes widen with surprise and warmth, a small smile spreading across his face as he listens to my singing.

I can see the mix of emotions playing on his face as he listens to the quiet birthday tune, his eyes never leaving mine. As I reach the end of the song, I hold out the cake towards him, the glowing candles casting a warm light in the dim room.

“Happy birthday, Nick,” I murmur, my voice soft and sincere. He stands up from his desk and approaches me, taking the cake from my hands.

“Thanks, Y/N,” he replies, his voice filled with gratitude. He takes a moment to admire the cake, then looks back up at me, his eyes shining.

I continue the same routine, handing him the fork and taking a picture of him holding the cake. Nick smiles widely for the camera, clearly enjoying the unexpected birthday treat.

“Perfect,” I say as I lower my phone, smiling at the photo. “Now we just need to do it for Chris.”

I head back to the kitchen, my heart fluttering with nerves and excitement. I prepare Chris's cake, setting up the candles just like I did for Matt and Nick. This time, I hold up my phone camera to record the moment, wanting to capture the look on his face.

With the cake in hand, I begin to make my way downstairs, feeling the anticipation building in my chest.

I approach Chris's door and knock softly, my heart pounding in my chest.

“Come in,” Chris's voice calls out from the other side.

With the phone camera recording, I push open the door and step into the room. I begin singing “Happy Birthday” quietly, my voice soft and melodic in the dim light.

As I walk into Chris's room, I notice him sitting on the edge of his bed, his phone in hand. He looks up as I enter, a surprised expression on his face.

He quickly sets his phone aside, clearly intrigued by my unexpected presence and the cake in my hands.

Chris looks up at me, a mixture of surprise and delight on his face.

“Baby, what are you doing here?” he asks, his voice filled with bewilderment. He stands up, his eyes fixed on the cake in my hands and my phone recording in the other.

I take a few steps towards Chris, holding the cake out to him. The camera continues to record the moment, capturing the way his eyes light up when he sees the cake and the flickering candles.

“It's your birthday,” I say softly, watching his face as I put the cake in front of him.

Chris's eyes widen as he looks at the cake, the realization slowly dawning on him.

“You really came all the way over here just to bring me a cake at midnight?” he asks, his voice bewildered yet touched.

I nod, a soft smile playing on my lips. “Of course I did. It's your birthday, and I wanted to be one of the first ones to celebrate with you guys,” I reply quietly, my voice filled with affection.

Chris smiles, his eyes meeting mine. “You're amazing, you know that?” he says, his voice filled with genuine appreciation. He looks down at the cake, the warm candlelight casting a soft glow on his face.

I glance at the candles on the cake, noticing their flames starting to flicker. I chuckle softly and look at Chris. “Blow them out before they go out by themselves, silly,” I say gently, a hint of amusement in my voice.

Chris smiles at my words, closing his eyes and making his wish. For a brief moment, his face is filled with quiet contemplation. Then, he blows out the candles, extinguishing them in a single gentle breath.

He looks back up at me, a smile still lingering on his lips. “There,” he says, his voice tinged with satisfaction.

I hand him the cake and ask, “What did you wish for?” Chris chuckles, shaking his head slightly. “I can't tell you,” he replies, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “If I do, it won't come true, you know that.”

I roll my eyes playfully, a small smile on my face. Chris stands up and gives me a quick peck on the lips, the camera still recording.

“Thank you, baby,” he says, his voice filled with genuine appreciation. “I appreciate you so much for doing this.”

I smile back at him, feeling a flutter in my chest. “I'm just glad you liked it,” I reply, my voice soft.

Chris grins, his eyes sparkling with fondness. “I do, I really do, baby,” he says, his voice filled with affection. “I love it.” He leans in, going in for another kiss, and the camera captures the sweet moment between us.

I stop the recording and look at Chris, a smile on my face. “Can we take some pictures?” I ask, my excitement growing.

Chris nods, a smile on his lips. “Sure thing,” he replies. He sets the cake back on the bed for a moment to join me. “But I need a quick drink first,” he says, heading towards the kitchen. I follow behind as he grabs a Pepsi from the fridge.

I walk over to the body-length mirror against the wall, smiling as I watch Chris approach. He wraps his arms around my waist, his head resting on my shoulder. We stand there for a moment, giggling as we pose for the camera, taking pictures of our fun moment together.

Chris grins, his eyes fixed on the camera as it captures the moment. “We look good together, you know that?”he teases, his voice low in my ear.

I chuckle softly, my heart fluttering at his words. “Do we?” I ask, a coy smile on my lips. Chris nods, a smile on his handsome face. “Mhm,” he replies, leaning in to give me a soft peck on the lips.

I take a few more pictures of us, smiling at the silly shots we create. Then, we make our way back downstairs and into Chris's room, me walking in first with him following behind, closing the door.

I turn to him, a playful gleam in my eyes as I tease him “How does it feel to finally be 21 with no kids?” I ask, a smirk playing on my lips.

“It feels great,” Chris responds, his voice rough with desire. With a flash of intensity in his eyes, he immediately pulls me into a hungry kiss, his lips claiming mine in a passionate embrace.

I melt into the kiss, my body pressed against his as our mouths move together in a feverish dance. The world around us fades away as we lose ourselves in each other, our bodies flush against the door as our lips and tongues explore each other's mouths.

His hands roam over my body, his touch igniting a fire in my veins. I tangle my fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, wanting to feel every inch of him against me. Our breaths mingle, our kisses becoming more urgent, our need for each other growing with each passing moment.

As our kiss deepens, Chris begins trailing kisses along my neck, his lips hot against my skin. I tilt my head back, sighing softly as his mouth finds the sensitive spots, sending shivers down my spine.

He pauses for a moment, his breath warm against my neck, before continuing his trail of kisses up to my jawline and then to my earlobe, nipping it gently between his teeth. I let out a soft moan, my hands gripping his shoulders as I revel in the sensations he's evoking in me.

Chris pulls away for a moment, his lips still close to my skin, and whispers against my neck.

“Looks like my wish is coming true,” he says, a smirk in his voice.

His words send a thrill through me, and I shiver again, the promise in his statement making my heart race. I look up at him, meeting his darkened gaze, and smile.

As our eyes meet, something primal and hungry ignites in his gaze. He leans back in, his hands gripping my hips tightly, holding me close against him. Our mouths crash together in a heated kiss, no longer gentle and tentative, but rougher and more urgent. I wrap my arms around his neck, my body pressing against his, giving in to the rising heat between us.

The intensity between us grows, electric sparks jumping from every touch, as if we're dancing on the edge of a flame. His arousal is evident against me, firm and hot, eliciting a needy moan to escape my lips.

My breath hitches as he lifts me up, his grip strong and unyielding. I wrap my legs around his waist, crushing my core against him. The kiss turns deeper, more demanding as we move together, a perfect rhythm forming between us.

Chris, ever the gentleman, eases me down onto the bed. His hands linger on my bare arms as he watches me with a carnal hunger. I lie back, legs still wrapped around him, and let out a sigh as his lips explore my neck.

Chris' lips meet a particularly sensitive spot, and I moan in response, arching my back, pressing myself closer to him. The pleasure is building, tightening in my belly. God, I want him.

“Baby, we're going to mess up that cake,” I giggle breathlessly as Chris trails kisses down my neck. “Mmm, leave it,” he growls, nipping at my neck. “It's going to come in handy soon enough.”

Chris reaches down, his fingers hooking into the hem of my shirt. He pulls it up over my head, leaving me bare-chested. His eyes widen as he takes in the sight, my breasts on display with no bra to hide them. “No bra?”

“Fuck, you're killin' me,” Chris groans, his eyes roaming over my bare chest. He leans down, taking one nipple into his mouth and swirling his tongue around it. I moan, reaching up to grab onto his hair as he worships my body.

“Fuck, you taste so good,” Chris growls against my skin, sending a jolt of pleasure down to my core as he switches between sucking and nipping at my nipples. “Mmm, please don’t stop, baby.”

Chris grabs the tiny cake I got for him, a wicked glint in his eyes. He opens it, pulling the frosting out with his fingers before smearing it over my breasts.

“Happy birthday to me,” Chris chuckles, his hands full of frosting and breasts as he leans in to lick it off. The cold frosting mixed with the heat of his mouth sends a rush of pleasure through me, making me moan and arch my back.

Chris devours the frosting off of my breasts with intent, his hands gripping and kneading them as he goes. He licks and sucks every inch of them, getting every bit of frosting off while leaving me a panting mess.

Chris' hands move down my body, tugging at my sweats and underwear. I lift my hips, letting him pull them down my legs and off. Now I'm completely naked, the cool air a stark contrast to the heat between my thighs.

“Goddamn baby, look at you,” Chris says, his voice low and husky as he drinks in the sight of me splayed out on the counter, bare and wanting. He moves closer, his erection pressing against my thigh.

Chris slides his hand between my legs, his fingers brushing against my slick heat. He groans, his hips grinding against mine. “You're so wet already,” he breathes, his fingers dipping into my folds and teasing my clit.

“I need to taste you, baby,” Chris growls, dropping to his knees and burying his face between my thighs. He hungrily licks and sucks at my wetness, his fingers teasing at my entrance.

As I reach for his hair, trying to guide his face closer to where I need him most, Chris grips my thighs hard and forces my legs apart. “No, baby, I'm in control now,” he says, his voice rough with lust as he resumes his relentless oral assault on my aching pussy.

Chris' tongue delves deep, fucking into me as his fingers dig into the soft flesh of my hips. I cry out, my fingers tangling in his hair as he eats me out with reckless abandon. The intensity of his desire, the raw hunger in his touch, sends me careening towards the edge.

Chris's lips and tongue work me higher, my moans growing louder as I writhe beneath him. He sucks on my clit, hard, sending an electric jolt through my entire body. “Oh god, yes!”

Chris's tongue curls around my sensitive nub, the pressure and friction pushing me over the edge. I scream, my body convulsing as I cum hard, gushing all over his face. He laps at my pussy, milking every last tremor from my body.

Chris slows down, painting my still-spasming pussy with thick, cold frosting. He smirks against my wet folds, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Here, baby,” he says, squeezing a dollop of frosting onto his finger. “I think this needs a little something extra.”

With a wicked grin, Chris leans in and licks the frosting from his finger, savoring the sweet and tangy taste. Then, he dives back in, his mouth covering my pussy as he eats the frosting off me like it's the most decadent dessert.

Chris reached my lips, kissing me deeply, his tongue twining with mine as he groans into the kiss. I reach up, my fingers finding the hem of his shirt and tugging it upwards. Breaking the kiss, I pull the shirt over his head, revealing his tone chest and abs.

As Chris's shirt hits the floor, his hair falls across his forehead, framing his chiseled features. The silver chain dangles enticingly against his chest, drawing my eyes to the V of his tone torso.

With a sudden surge of strength, I flip Chris onto his back, straddling his waist, my knees on either side of his waist. I run my fingers down the length of his chain, watching as it slides across his chest.

Leaning down, I press my lips to Chris's collarbone, leaving a trail of kisses down the length of his chest. I nip and suck at the sensitive skin of his torso, creating love bites on his collarbones, pecs, and abs.

With every bite and kiss, Chris lets out a low moan, his back arching up off the bed as I tease him. He reaches up to tangle his fingers in my hair, pulling me closer. “Don't stop,”

“Oh, don't worry,” I whisper seductively. “I plan on exploring every inch of you.” I continue kissing and biting my way down his torso, making sure to leave my mark on him. His moans grow louder and more desperate as I work my way lower.

With a swift tug, I pull Chris's sweats and boxers down in one motion, revealing his thick, throbbing cock. I lick my lips hungrily, my eyes flicking up to meet his, a wicked grin on my face. “Mmm, someone's eager.”

“You have no idea,” I say, my voice rich with desire. I can't wait any longer, I need him now. I wrap my hand around Chris's cock, slowly stroking up and down as I continue peppering his chest with kisses.

“You like that?” I ask, my voice a husky whisper. His only response is a low moan, his hips thrusting into my hand as I pump him harder.

With a determined glint in my eye, I decide to make Chris's birthday one he'll never forget. I lean down and run my tongue along the underside of his cock, from the base to the tip, savoring his musky taste.

I take in the sight of Chris's thick, veiny cock, the veins pulsing with his arousal. I wrap my lips around the head, giving it a gentle suck as I stroke the shaft with my hand. My tongue swirls around the sensitive flesh, lapping up his pre-cum.

Moving my mouth further down the shaft, I take more of Chris's cock into my mouth. I use my tongue to massage the veins, adding a new level of pleasure to the blowjob I'm giving him.

The feeling of Chris's cock in my mouth is overwhelming. I can feel every vein and ridge, and the taste of his pre-cum is driving me wild. I moan around him, the vibrations sending shivers of pleasure through his body.

I bob my head, taking him deeper and faster, my hand pumping in time with my mouth. The sounds of slurping and sucking fill the room as I worship his cock with my mouth and hand. Chris's hands tangle in my hair, guiding me as he grunts and moans.

“Oh, fuck, that feels so good,” Chris gasps, his hips thrusting forward as I take him deeper into my throat. “Your mouth is amazing. Don't stop.”

“Mmm, yes, just like that,” Chris moans as I suck harder, my hand stroking him in rhythm with my head bobs. “You're gonna make me cum so hard... Ah, f-fuck, don't stop, please don't stop.”

Chris's voice becomes higher pitched as he nears his climax, his breath hitching in his throat. “Oh, fuck, I-I'm almost there... don't stop, don't stop, oh God, don't stop!” He whines, desperate for release.

I pull back slightly, looking up at Chris with a mischievous glint in my eye. “Hold it,” I whisper, my voice husky with lust. “Don't cum yet.” Chris whimpers, his hips twitching with the effort of holding back.

I take his cock back into my mouth, swirling my tongue over the tip possessively, feeling it throb against my lips. I then reach for the frosting and smear some on the shaft of his cock, sucking harder as I lick and taste the sweetness.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Chris whines, his hips bucking against my face as I suck and lick his coated cock. “Please baby, please, I need it, I need it so bad!” He begs, his voice cracking with desperation as he teeters on the edge of climax.

“Need what so bad, hmm?” I taunt, taking my mouth away from his cock for a moment to give him a wicked grin. “Be a good boy and beg for it harder.”

Chris's eyes widen at my challenge, and he lets out a low groan before saying, “Please, baby, I need your mouth on me. I need you to make me cum. Please, I can't hold back much longer.”

I take Chris's cock back into my mouth, and he immediately starts to face fuck me, his hips thrusting forward as I struggle to keep up with his aggressive movements. The head of his cock hits the back of my throat, causing me to gag slightly, but I don't fight him off.

Chris groans deeply as he continues to pound into my mouth, his grip on my hair tightening. I relax my throat, letting him go deeper, and he bottoms out with a harsh grunt. I gag again, eyes watering, but I swallow around him, trying to take all of him.

Chris's thrusts become more erratic as his climax approaches, and I can feel him tensing up, his fingers gripping my hair tighter. I use my tongue to swirl around the head of his cock, sucking harder to bring him over the edge.

I moan around Chris's cock, my breath hitching as he face-fucks me harder and faster. The sounds of our heavy breathing and slapping skin fill the room, and I feel like I'm losing myself in him.

“Chris... Chris!” I moan, my voice muffled as he fucks my mouth with a fever intensity. I'm his to use however he wants, and I love it. My body tingles, wetness pooling between my thighs as he takes me like this.

Chris's thrusts become more desperate as he nears his climax, and with a final hard fucking, he comes hard in my mouth. I swallow quickly, moaning softly around him as I taste him. I'm a mess, legs weak and aching, but I want more.

Chris reaches his climax with a loud groan, his hips bucking against my face as he releases inside me. I swallow every last drop, loving the taste of his power and pleasure. “Fuck!” he exclaims, his body tensing with the final waves of pleasure.

Panting heavily, Chris slowly pulls out of my mouth, his softening cock slipping past my lips with a pop. I lick my swollen, glistening lips, tasting the remnants of his release. He looks down at me, his eyes dark with desire and satisfaction, and I know we're far from done.

I hover over Chris, our faces inches apart as I capture his lips in a searing kiss. He responds eagerly, his hands coming up to frame my face as we make out passionately. Breaking the kiss, I grab a piece of cake from and press it to his lips. “Open,”

With a smirk, Chris opens his mouth, his eager tongue reaching out to meet the fork as I feed him the cake. He moans slightly at the taste, his hands wandering down to rest on my hips, pulling me closer as he chews. “Mmm, cake and cum.”

Without warning, Chris suddenly flips us over, pinning me beneath him on the bed. I let out a surprised yelp as he settles between my thighs, his hardening cock pressing against my soaked pussy.

Chris's eyes gleam with a wicked intent as he grins down at me, his voice low and husky. “Think you can make my wish come fully true?” He reaches down to run a finger through my wetness, teasing my entrance before withdrawing. “And what would that be?”

Chris grins down at me, a devilish twinkle in his eyes. “Oh, you know exactly what that would be,” he says. “I want to fuck you until we both pass out from exhaustion.”

Chris's lips curl into a wolfish grin as his hands grip my hips, pulling me against his hard cock. “So, will you let my wish come true and let me fuck that tight pussy of yours? It is my birthday” he growls, his breath hot against my neck.

I nod eagerly, wrapping my legs around his waist to pull him closer. “It doesn't have to be your birthday to fuck me, baby,” I whisper huskily, my hands roaming over his chest. “I want you to fill me up, no matter the reason.”

Chris' eyes widen at my response, and I can see the hunger in them. “Well then,” he growls, his voice laced with desire. “If it doesn't have to be my birthday to fuck you, then I guess I'll just have to take you up on that offer.”

Chris aligns his massive cock with my dripping entrance, his thick head nudging against my sensitive folds. “Breathe, baby,” he coaxes, his voice low and soothing. “Let me in.”

With a wicked grin, Chris finally enters me, causing me to gasp at his size. “Fuck! You're so tight,” he groans, easing himself deeper inside me. “I never get tired of stretching you out like this, baby.”

Chris begins to thrust in and out of me with slow, measured strokes, each thrust hitting that perfect spot deep inside me. “Does it hurt, baby?” he asks, his voice full of sinful pleasure.

“Mmmm...a little,” I moan, my hips bucking against him as he fills me to the brim. “You're so big, baby...stretching me open...oh god...” I whimper, my nails digging into his back as he pounds into me.

Chris continues his steady rhythm, his cock driving in and out of me with ease. “Breathe through it, baby,” he coaxes, his hot breath tickling my ear. “Feel how good it feels, how I'm claiming this tight little pussy as mine.”

I let out a high-pitched whimper as Chris plunges deeper, his thick cock stretching me to my limits. “It's too much,” I whine, my voice shaking with pleasure. “You're so deep, I can feel you in my stomach...oh god, baby, please...harder...”

Chris's hand presses down on my stomach, his fingers splayed out wide. “Feel me, baby,” he murmurs in my ear. “Focus on the way I'm filling you up, the delicious stretch as I enter you deeper and deeper...can you feel it?”

I can only gasp and moan as Chris continues his relentless pace, his thick cock driving in and out of me with brutal intensity. “Oh my god,” I pant, my body writhing beneath him as he takes me. “You're so deep,”

“You like that, don't you,” Chris says, his voice full of lust and satisfaction. “Seeing you squirm beneath me, feeling your tight little cunt squeezing around my cock...fuck, baby, you were made for me.”

Chris speeds up, thrusting in and out of me with a fast, bruising pace while his other hand holds down my stomach, forcing me to take every inch of him. “I can't, oh god, I can't!” I cry out, my body trembling with pleasure and strain.

Chris's grip on my stomach tightens, his hand clenching into a fist as he continues to plow into me. “Yes, you can,” he growls, his voice low and rough with lust. “You can take it, baby. God, you feel so fucking good around me. Fuck, look at you, so sexy, so tight, all mine.”

With a sudden, brutal grip on my hips, Chris pulls me flush against him, his cock driving into me with a violent force that has me seeing stars. I'm a moaning, writhing mess beneath him, my back arching off the bed as he pounds into me with abandon. “Chris!”

The bed shakes beneath us, the headboard thudding against the wall as Chris fucks me with a wild intensity, his hips slapping against mine in a loud rhythm that drowns out any other sound. “Oh god, Chris!”

My mind is a haze of pleasure as Chris ravages me, his thick cock splitting me open with each brutal thrust. “Fuck yes, just like that,” he grunts, his hot breath falling on my neck. “Take it, baby, take all of it. You're so fucking tight, so perfect.”

With a gasp, I reach up and wrap my fingers around Chris's forearm, feeling the corded muscles flex as he drives into me. His other hand finds my breast, squeezing it hard enough to make me cry out. “Fuck, don't stop!”

Chris's relentless pace shows no signs of slowing as he pounds into me, the force of his thrusts pushing me up the bed. I cling to his arm, my nails digging into his skin as I'm overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of it all. “Chris!” I scream, my voice hoarse with pleasure.

“That's right, baby,” Chris growls, his hips never slowing as he works me mercilessly. “Moan for me. Scream my name. You're mine, all mine, and I'm going to fuck you until you can't think straight.”

Chris's words send a jolt of heat through me, my body quivering under the onslaught of his passion. I'm lost in the feeling of him, his cock stretching me, hitting that spot inside me that makes stars explode behind my eyelids. “Yes, yes, yes!”

As Chris continues to pound into me, he suddenly leans down, his mouth finding mine in a bruising kiss. I wrap my arms around his back, holding on for dear life as he fucks me senseless. My nails dig into his skin, leaving red marks as I cling to him desperately.

As Chris breaks the kiss, panting heavily, a thought flashes through my lust-addled brain. It's his birthday, after all. I should make his wish come true. With a sudden burst of energy, I flip us over, straddling Chris's hips as he looks up at me in surprise.

Smirking down at him, I grip his thick cock and position it at my entrance. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, I sink down onto him, taking him deep inside me. I started to ride him hard and fast.

Chris's hands shoot out to grab my hips, gripping them tightly as I ride him hard and fast, his cock throbbing inside me with every thrust. The sound of our bodies slapping against each other fills the room, mixing with our heavy breathing and moans of pleasure.

Chris lets out a deep, guttural groan as I continue to bounce on his cock, my inner walls clenching around him. “Fuck, baby,” he rasps, his eyes dark with lust as he watches me ride him with wild abandon. “Take it all, just like that.”

Chris's hands tighten on my hips, pulling me down onto his cock with each thrust, making sure every inch of him fills me up completely. My body shudders with pleasure as I take him in deep, feeling him hit my spot with every stroke. “Oh god, yes!”

I lean forward, bracing my hands on Chris's chest as I continue to ride him hard and fast. His muscles tense beneath my fingers, rippling with each thrust of his hips as he meets me stroke for stroke. Our breathing quickens, growing harsher and more urgent with every passing moment.

Chris's voice rises in a desperate crescendo as he loses control. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! I'm gonna cum! Shit, wait, stop, baby, please stop!” But I ignore his plea, riding him harder and faster, determined to make him lose himself in pleasure.

Chris's body tenses, his breathing growing ragged as I continue to ride him mercilessly, pushing him closer and closer to the edge. “Please, please stop,” he pants, his hands clutching at my hips as he tries to slow me down.

Chris's grip on my hips tightens as he lets out a strangled cry, his cock pulsing deep inside me as he releases a torrent of hot cum. I moan at the sensation, feeling his seed fill me up, and giggle breathlessly, thrilled that I managed to make him lose control.

Chris gasps as he catches his breath, a slight pout on his lips. “I wanted it to last a little longer,” he admits, but his words are quickly followed by a chuckle, showing that he's not really upset.

I lean down, my lips brushing against his ear, and whisper with a smirk, “I really needed your cum inside me, sorry not sorry.” Chris laughs, shaking his head in amusement at my brazenness. “You're a naughty one, aren't you?”

“Only for you,” I whisper against his lips before pressing a soft kiss to them, my body still humming with pleasure from our intense lovemaking. Chris responds eagerly, his arms wrap around me, pulling me closer as our lips move in sync.

With a satisfied sigh, I slowly lift myself off Chris, his spent cock slipping out of me with a lewd squelch. A flood of our combined juices pours out, splattering onto the sheets below as I rise up, panting and glistening with sweat.

Slick with juices, I move the overturned cake on the nightstand to the side, clearing a space. The scent of sugar and sex fills the air as I cuddle up against Chris's side, resting my head on his chest and letting out a contented moan.

“Happy birthday, my love” I coo, my head still resting on his chest. “I hope you enjoyed your gift.”

Chris chuckles, running his hand through my wild hair and giving me a deep kiss. “No one will ever top this gift,”

Authors Note: this took for ever!! started this at 11:30pm and finished at 4:23am >_<!! i still got two more to type out!! but hope you enjoyed reading, this is probably my longest story. anyways i’m going to bed

#chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo triplets #smut #cyberl6ve #happy birthday

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razorblade180 · 4 months ago

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A Quiet Home

Jaune:*walks in* Hey, I’m back.

Weiss:*writing*….

Jaune:I umm, got some food. Saph said she always makes too much so-

Weiss:You should’ve turned it down. Your nephew is a growing boy.

Jaune:She wouldn’t have offered if she couldn’t help. How’s rent looking?

Weiss:Despite my colossal fuck up on the mission, it’s covered.

Jaune:Hey, what’s important is-

Weiss:Jaune, don’t patronize me. I screwed up, got my leg hurt, got the client hurt, and lost the target. *puts pen down* Thankfully I found another high paying one. It’s a three weeks long and I’m-

Jaune:Actually…I put in a request to take that mission too. Client said he’ll think it over.

Weiss:*turns around* Excuse me? You’re taking my job line ups? You went in the last two missions. It’s my turn to-

Jaune:You need a break.

Weiss:Tsk, not this shit again. I just had a break!

Jaune:Crunching bill numbers is not a break. Weiss, your head isn’t in the game, and that’s fine. After all, your mom…

Weiss: “My mom” nothing we aren’t talking about this. There’s nothing to talk about. She lived drunk and died drunk. Predictable ending.

Jaune:Weiss-

Weiss:Give me space! And cancel your request while you’re at it. You’re in no condition to go on another assignment so quickly.

Jaune:…I’m not letting you go on that mission.

Weiss:Sorry, you’re not letting me? *stands up* I don’t remember needing your approval.

Jaune:That’s not what I-

Weiss:No it was, or else you wouldn’t have applied for the same mission despite our agreement. I made one mistake and now it goes out the window?

Jaune:You’re angry.

Weiss:Of FUCKING course I’m angry! I’m trying to keep these lights on and not burden others while you’re bringing in leftovers and stopping my job!

Jaune:You’re not doing your job! You’re running away from your problems!

Weiss:Oh you’re one to talk! The only reason why you’re here is because moving back in with your folks would be too much to handle.

Jaune:I moved in with you because you needed a roommate! My girlfriend was cutoff and alone and I could help! All I’ve been doing is trying to help!

Weiss:I didn’t ask for your help! I was handling things just fine!

Jaune:You were struggling.

Weiss:AND I’M NOT NOW!? Does it make you feel a little better to say you tried. Can’t help but I want to fix things huh?

Jaune:That’s not fair.

Weiss:Oh now we want to be fair? After intentionally making my job harder? For someone who is “trying to help” it never really works out for you now does it!? Not for me not for P-

She immediately covered her mouth, scared and shocked from the venom that almost slipped past her lips; this carelessness was given back with a stare of contempt that ate at her.

Weiss:I-

Jaune:There was a never a second I thought you were broken, or needed to be fixed. Guess that was my fault. Looks like your father did a number on you after all.

Her blood went cold. Weiss’s cheeks began to burn red as her anger boiled over.

Weiss:And yours never cared to do a swing to begin with.

Jaune:Speaking from experience?

Weiss:Get. Out.

Jaune:….

Weiss:I SAID GET OUT! I DON’T NEED THIS FROM YOU! I DON’T NEED YOU!

Jaune:…Good, cause you don’t have me. Sell my stuff for all I care.

He reaches in his pocket and throws his key at her. Weiss catches on reflex before hearing a thunderous boom as Jaune slams the door on the way out that shakes the room and cause a picture to shatter. The room is deathly silent as Weiss stares at the door.

Weiss:F-FINE! RUN BACK TO YOUR FAMILY!

………..

Not knowing what to do, Weiss simply grabbed her broom to clean up the mess Jaune made. Glass was half hazardly swept aside as she picked up a broken frame holding a photo of her laughing with Jaune, their face covered with cake from their house party with a banner overhead.

“A year of memories and miracles”

Weiss’s hand began to tremble until the picture slipped from her fingers. A giant pit filled her stomach and threatened to gag her as her knees fell to floor and her hands covered a ghastly wail. Finally, her breath was robbed and tears broke through shaking eyes filled with dread over the reality that was flooding in. The miracles were gone, and the memories, now bittersweet.

#rwby #weiss schnee #jaune arc #rwby whiteknight

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etherealily · 19 days ago

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𝕓𝕚𝕣𝕕𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝕒 𝕗𝕖𝕒𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣 // f.odair

based on this ask <3

Finnick Odair + fem!reader. I love him.

Warning: Cuss words .

You do NOT have permission to repost and/or translate any of my fics.

Desc. : bitter truths and blobcakes.

◇──◇◇──◇──◇──◇◇──◇──◇──◇◇──◇──◇──◇◇──◇──◇

It's hard to recall his first tribute. He'd had to begin quite early. Maybe in some twisted way, he was jealous of you for being able to be twenty and mentor. He'd had to be seventeen. Well, that was until he found out that you knew one of your tributes. His initial sharp inhale of breath upon the realisation didn't even begin to cover the turmoil he knew you must be facing. The jealousy evaporated out of him expeditiously.

He'd first seen your little tribute at the Tribute Parade with her little overalls and laurel crown. The boy seemed to have a better chance. But this little girl, good god, she was younger than Finnick had been during his own Games.

He'd seen you around quite a bit, too. I mean, how could he not? A couple years after his own Games, you'd won yours. Absolutely obliterating the competition. You weren't particularly strong, definitely not Career-level, but you'd definitely got the smarts to make up for it. You relied on geurilla surprise-attacks.

He'd always wondered what happened to you. You were oddly composed after your Games, which meant you were internally chaos personified. He knows this, because he personally knows someone else who was eerily calm after their Games. Him.

Now you were back. Same anxiousness as you'd exuded at your own Tribute Parade, but now, with the anxiousness for two others.

After spending far too much time gnawing on the inside of his cheek watching his tributes train in the Center from an obnoxiously large screen - they were talented, of course, they were Careers, but it was just not enough - he decided that he'd actually take advantage of the Capitol treating this like a party and help himself to the food laid out for him and the other mentors.

And then he saw you. He wasn't exactly sure if you'd remember him.

You were attempting to (utilise your evidently limited knowledge of) sign to the Avox behind the counter, who gave you a small menu in response. Looking up the item number on the menu, you tilted your head. "Cupcake?", you questioned, brows furrowed.

"Yes, Sugar?", he asked, leaning his elbow on the counter, grinning. With all his perfectly pearly white teeth. "Sorry, I had to.", he chuckled, watching as you curiously turned to look at him. "You don't think that's a cupcake?"

"It doesn't look like one."

"It's a District 1 delicacy. Don't let them hear you say that."

"It doesn't look like anything. It's a blob. Plus, I think that's gold on it."

"It's edible gold. It's fine. She'll have two. Trust me, if the Capitol's good for one thing, it's knowing the best materialistic stuff to have. And gold-dusted-cupcakes are iconic. We have 'em every year."

You nodded as you begrudgingly took the two cupcakes from the Avox attendant, handing one over to him.

"Thank you kindly, ma'am.", he replied, tipping an imaginary hat. "I'm Finnick."

"Yeah, I know."

"You remember me? And I don't mean from any ads or TV appearances. I mean, me, from the last time you were here at the Capitol."

You shrugged. "Kinda? Sorry, I was more focused on the Games."

"No doubt, no doubt.", he nodded, watching as you gently unwrapped the bottom of the blobcake. "What are you doing?"

You gestured at the blobcake. "Eating. You said it was good."

"You gotta lick the icing off first. That's how you eat it. It's a law."

"It's a law?"

"Well, not a-- yeah, basically."

"That's disgusting."

He spluttered. "The icing is the best part!"

"So save it for last!"

"Wow. Uncultured.", he muttered, running his tongue along the icing, shooting you a triumphant look. "Mm-mm, it's better when it's eaten right."

Defiantly, you took a bite of the cake-part, mirroring his look, to which he mock-gasped. "Blasphemy."

You laughed. He was glad. "So. You really don't remember me? I was standing right next to your mentor when you came out of the Arena?"

"Wait, aren't you the one who told your tributes to try to psych me out--"

"I nudged them in the direction of psychological--"

"Warfare."

"Not- not warfare, more... teasing. You killed 'em, anyway, so, I guess we're even.", he muttered, offhandedly as he took another lick of the icing, cleaning his lips with the back of his hand. Your silence made his head snap up.

"Right. Sorry." It was so quiet, he almost screamed to counter it.

"No, no, that was a joke- well, not a joke, I'd never joke about that, I just... it didn't mean anything.", he rambled, nudging your shoulder with his elbow, only letting up once you nodded.

Clearing his throat, he continued to lick the gold dusted icing off his blobcake, now sort of understanding your point of how disgusting it must look. But it felt right, and he'd long learnt that things feeling right was a rare emotion these days.

"So, your tributes. Quite the age difference, huh? Can't really push the whole star-crossed-lovers thing that Abernathy's doing with the 12 tributes, can you?", he asked, looking up at you taking another gentle bite of the blobcake.

You shook your head, instinctively glancing up at the screen, where, like clockwork, 11's tributes were displayed, along with a ranking.

"Seven.", you whispered, setting your blobcake down slowly, causing him to raise a brow before his eyes dutifully followed your line of sight. Oh. Wow.

"A twelve-year-old got a seven?", he muttered, resting his elbows on the counter behind him. "You trained her well."

"No, she's always been like... this insanely talented kid. Back at the District, right? She'd manage to squeeze her way into the Victor's Village to come see me. Peacekeepers never see her."

"Squeeze her way? What, you're not allowed to see the others?"

You gnawed on your lip, shrugging as you picked at your blobcake. "I mean, you guys haven't heard? The Peacekeepers said that the whole of Panem knew and that's why they look down on 11."

"Knew what?"

You looked down at your cake and he huffed. "C'mon, let's cause a scandal.", he mumbled, dragging you by the wrist to a secluded corner of the room. "Now, tell me."

Exhaling softly, you glanced around for a moment before nodding. "11's been trying to get our own Training Programme. Like you Careers have -- because it's an unfair advantage. The Capitol doesn't like that. It prefers you guys, obviously. So Snow calls me over sometimes, being the most recent Victor from 11, because he thinks I'll be loyal to him and snitch."

"Do you?"

"Would you?"

Touché.

"And that's why he has you guys separated from the rest of the District? So you can't give them tips?"

You nodded. "I try my best to help people out. I know it's stupid, that at the end of the day, there will be two tributes chosen every year anyway, but I donate some of the annual income I get as a Victor to families with eligible but very young kids. Y'know, like Rue. So that there's no need for Tesserae."

Whoa. So it was true, what the other mentors had been whispering about. You had personal attachment. Yeesh.

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"Can I sleep with you tonight?"

"Of course, Rue, c'mon."

You allowed her to settle down in your blankets before you stroked your fingers through her hair. "You have pretty hair."

"Thank you."

"No problem, Rue-bird." You'd been told by her mother, while she was clutching your arms with her trembling hands, to call her that if she needs it. No promises were demanded of saving her. No promises were given, either.

"How did you win your Games? They didn't tell us."

They wouldn't have. Doesn't go with the image of the badass, merciless Victors.

"Well, um, I was in an alliance with someone from 2. Which, I know, is odd, because usually, the Careers band together, but she was weaker than the rest of them. And somehow, it had just come down to four of us left."

Rue hummed, playing with her fingers as they rested on your stomach.

"So, we'd gone our separate ways to look for food. I found a, uh, a District 3 boy bleeding out. Some muttation, I think, had got to him. He didn't have much time left. He reached out his hand. But all that went through my head was my little baby brother. I had to know him. I--", you exhaled, licking your lips as you looked up at the ceiling.

The worst thing is that you've always been incapable of tears, when asked about the brutality of the Games.

"What did you do?"

"I turned back around. I went past our meeting spot, to where she was, the 2 tribute. And then...", you sighed. Fuck. "I literally stabbed her in the back as she was aiming at a squirrel for food. Well, not stabbed. I shot her. With an arrow. Both of their cannons went off at the same time. Hers and the boy's. I didn't have to mercy kill him."

"That's how you won?"

You nodded, lips pursed.

"You said there were four of you."

Oh, right.

"The other one was my fellow 11 tribute. I hid from him. The Gamemakers tried their best to force us together, but I managed not to."

"So he was looking for you?"

"I couldn't handle killing him, too, Rue. Someone from my own District. But he started believing I was dead and he just kept missing it on all the nightly announcements. He thought the Capitol was messing with him, that he was alone in the Arena. Wouldn't put it past them. But he went mad. He ended up killing himself."

Rue's silence was expected, and strangely enough, welcome.

"You won by default."

"Yes. They didn't see it that way, though. The Capitol's so used to brutal murders that they thought this was an 'innovative psychological strategy', not that I couldn't bring myself to kill him. But for my brother, I couldn't bring myself to let Heath find me."

"Heath?"

"The other 11 tribute's name."

"Did you say sorry to his family?"

"I haven't been able to look them in the eye since. They forgive me, though, they've sent letters on numerous occassions."

She fell asleep, then. Good. After this reliving of trauma, at least one of you should.

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If you could loop this week for the rest of eternity, you would.

One week went by so quick. One second you were on a train, watching Rue and Thresh's knees bounce as they looked out the window on the journey to the Capitol, and the next, you were sitting in a swivel chair marked '11', with Haymitch Abernathy to your right, mindlessly offering you a bottle for the fifth time after you'd declined.

But this time, you said okay. Because the countdown had just begun.

You bit the inside of your cheek, taking a sip, but your eyes stayed trained on the screen. If those two kids can't close their eyes, neither would you. You'd avoided watching any of the Games since yours so far, but now, you had no choice.

Your biggest worry was that some Career jackass would set off one of the landmines and that would set off Rue's or Thresh's.

But no. That didn't happen. Instead, a goddamn massacre painted the screen and the reflection on everyone's eyes was an angry, bruising red.

"It's a motherfucking bloodbath. I mean, it always is, but goddamn.", you heard Haymitch mutter from next to you. You looked down from the big screen back to the little one you'd been personally provided - the one you could zoom into, use map tools and whatever the fuck else the Capitol had cooked up - to locate your tributes. But fuck. You couldn't find her.

Thresh, of course, survived the bloodbath almost effortlessly. Well, no, that would be wrong. He used a lot of effort, but his training worked well. And plus, finding that he's hidden himself in the ginormous patch of tall grass - forestry district, baby! - you weren't too worried. But fuck, fuck, fuck, where was Rue? Where the hell was Rue? You heard cannons upon cannons and you just clenched Haymitch's bottle tighter with each one.

You were allowed to try to find your tributes on the screen, allowed to navigate through landscapes in the arena, but you weren't allowed access to the tracking tools used on them, or any other districts' tributes. Because what if you sent in a sponsor gift with a coded message of other tributes' locations. Wouldn't be fair, would it? At least, that's what the asshole Gamemaker Crane had said. As if sending kids to fight to the death was fair.

"She's a fuckin' idiot. An actual goddamn idiot."

For a split second, you didn't even care that he's possibly insulting your tribute. "Where?" You realised all too quickly, he was talking about his tribute.

"This girl, she's...", he groaned, slapping his forehead as he gestured to her, the one who got an eleven - Katniss, you recalled - running with an almost fluorescent orange backpack. "He was smart, he hid. And she was supposed to, but she just fucking-- she's this lucky. This goddamn lucky.", he muttered, pinching his fingers together.

"I can't find Rue."

Hey, you'd take all the help you can get. He's more familiar with this computing system, anyway.

"What, the tiny one? She's probably up in the trees or something.", he mumbled, waving you off.

"But we don't have access to those cameras."

"Yeah, I know. You just gotta keep waiting till it shows up on the big screen, I guess. Man, how the hell am I supposed to push this whole star-crossed-lovers schtick if one of them keeps trying to get herself blown up?"

Your eyes ran back to your screen, trying to scour the arena's locations for any hint of Rue. He was right, actually. She could be in the trees.

"You gonna hog that, or what?"

Eyes still on the screen, you absentmindedly passed the bottle back to him. Your blood pressure was rising with every cannon you heard.

Hands rested on your shoulders, and it shot even goddamn higher, as though it was you in the Arena again.

"It's me." Well, it's good Finnick decided to announce himself, because there was no fucking way you'd have taken your eyes off the screen for a moment, even if it was Snow himself trying to slit your throat from behind. "You find them yet?"

"I saw Thresh. I can't find Rue, we don't have access to the tree cams."

He nodded, leaning over your shoulder. "Shh. I know an override."

As silently as possible, while occassionally raising his brows (and eyes) to look around to make sure he wasn't being watched, he typed out something complex that looked almost like what you'd expect only people from Three were capable of.

"Did you find yours?"

"My boy died at the Cornucopia. My girl's still alive. She's with the other Careers.", he murmured, his eyes still focused on typing. "There. You won't get all the tree cams, 'cause they'd notice that. I've lowered the range to near the Cornucopia. She can't have gone that far."

You nodded. "Thank you, Four."

"No problem.", he muttered, squeezing your shoulders before sneaking back to his seat, seven seats to your left. You almost frantically navigated through the tree-cams, until finally, finally, you saw a flash of her hair.

"See? I toldja. All the Eleven ones do it every year. If there's trees. Never fails."

You could both hug and stab Haymitch at that moment.

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"Yeah, this is weird as hell."

Your head whipped around, and you raised a brow, watching as he moved closer to you, arms crossed.

"What is?"

"No one does this shit, man. You know that, right? You'd get notified if your tribute died."

"I'm just making sure."

You watched the night sky of the Arena light up with the names of the fallen. The two of you stood in silence as the big screen shone with eleven bright announcements, Finnick's jaw clenching as the District Four boy was announced.

He inhaled deep and long, tilting his head as the screen went dim again, the cameras showing split screen shots of the faces of the thirteen remaining tributes. "You didn't ask me what I was doing here."

"I didn't really care."

He nods. "Fair. You wanna know now?" You shrugged. "I kinda figured you'd be here."

"Capitol darling, expert hacker and now psychic, too?"

"Everyone hates triple threats.", he grinned, resting his elbow on your shoulder. "I figured you'd be like me and not trust the Capitol on your first Games as a mentor. Ergo, figured you'd be here."

"How so?"

"I remember during one Hunger Games - can't remember which one, but this kid thought he was all alone, and he was going insane. And the Capitol fucking taunted him. Let him goddamn believe it. They started displaying all the dead in a list and once or twice, the other tribute was shown although they were alive."

You didn't respond. How could you? You were reeling from the new information that Heath had got a tiny display of the deceased list all to himself that you hadn't been privy to, and the Capitol had fucked with him by adding you in sporadically.

"So, yeah, I figured you might have seen that Hunger Games. It was more recent. So. No Capitol trust."

"Those were my Games."

His elbow slipped off your shoulders as his hand slipped into his hair. "Fuck. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you, uh, relive that.", he rambled, clearing his throat. How many fucking times is he going to put his foot into his mouth in front of you? He's pretty sure a hundred more.

He exhaled, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Hungry?"

"No."

"Blobcakes?"

You raised a brow, and he raised one right back. "That's what I thought. Come on, Eleven."

----

He'd never seen anyone look as delicate as you while licking the icing off a blobcake. "Man, I don't know if I'm going to keep my end of the deal up. You're just making my way look so appetizing."

"Hey, whoa, I'm being disgusting and eating it your way. You gotta do it my way."

"What, a bite with cake and icing?"

"Uh huh.", you nodded, wiping icing off the corner of your mouth with your thumb. "Go."

Begrudgingly, he took a bite of the whole thing. Whoa, okay, whoa. He'd never fucking admit that it was perfect. But it motherfucking was.

"Hey, I saw that, I saw that!", you exclaimed, pointing at his eyes.

"Saw what?"

"That! That look in your eyes. You're awe-struck! It's the golden ratio of cake : icing. You know it!", you laughed, scrunching up your nose as you jabbed your finger in the air in front of his eyes.

"It's average. It's not that great."

"Oh, please!"

"What'd your district bring to this metaphorical potluck, then?"

You shrugged. "Nothing much. It's all out, now, anyway. No one wanted it, so I snuck it all back for Rue and Thresh, so they had something to eat to remind them of home." That was a week ago.

"What was it?"

"We have this special kind of bread, y'know? Like, it's... the most delicious thing ever. We have it on birthdays and when Victors come back."

"How long's it been since that happened?"

"A good couple years, besides me."

He nodded, setting down his blobcake and leaning against the counter. "You find any sponsors yet?"

You threw the wrapper of your blobcake away, before patting your hands together, clearing any crumbs off as you accepted the glass of water he passed to you. "For Thresh, yeah. For Rue, uh...", you trailed off, rubbing the ridge of your brow.

"She's hiding. She probably will do so for the rest of the Games. They won't really see much of her potential, will they?", he reassured.

You furrowed your brows, sucking on your teeth for a moment before shaking your head. "Yeah, thanks, man.", you mumbled, attempting to shoulder past him.

"It's just the truth.", he told you, his hand on your shoulder again. "Okay? I have no reason to hurt you or 'psych you out'. We're not the ones competing."

"Can you stop doing that?"

He removed his hand from your shoulder. "What? The hand? 'Cause I'm sorry, it's insti--"

"No, asshole, I mean the whole, like... 'you and I are birds of a feather, you can trust me, soft-as-fuck-look' in your eyes! Seriously, it's getting old.'

"What's getting old? Me caring?"

"No, you acting like you do! You're Finnick Odair! It doesn't matter to you whether your tributes live or die, because if they live, you get the glory, and if they die, you get the sympathy!"

"Whoa, HEY!"

Silence. He hadn't meant to snap.

"Do NOT fucking go there."

"I'll see you around, Four."

Good that you walked away, 'cause he'd have beat you the fuck up if you'd doubled down.

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Three days later.

He didn't think of what had happened between the two of you as a fight - he'd long learned that a disagreement and a full-fledged fight were vastly different - but he'd pretty much expected lack of any further conversation. Not that he wanted to talk to you and your half-baked knowledge of who he was.

But that's not to say he didn't check on you. And he just could not handle watching you take to Mr. Abernathy's methods.

"I think I'm cutting you off. Yeah?", he whispered in your ear, a hand on your shoulder to stop your inevitable jump of surprise as he gently pried the bottle off you.

"You have one.", you replied as you allowed him to drag you to the corner of the viewing room as you gestured at his glass.

"Yes. One. My first and only one of the night.", he informed, before tipping it towards the screen. "You're not checking up on them?"

"I just did. Thresh is still fine, and Rue's in an alliance with Haymitch's tribute."

He hummed, pulling you from in front of him to his side, wrapping his arm around your shoulders after pushing hair off them. "And sponsors?"

"I have enough for Thresh. I can't find any for Rue."

"Have you tried talking to the bettors?"

"What?"

He leaned his face in towards your hair, whispering once more. "It's inhumane, but you could convince them to help you out with Rue."

"Finnick. I'm not going to talk Rue up to get people who are betting on her life to put in more money, no fucking way."

He licked his lips, before sighing, placing a soft, seamless kiss on your temple. "Okay. Can I help you out at least? I know some Capitol patrons who have a thing for helping underdogs. You'll have to talk her down, though. They're the same people who bet on Johanna, when she pretended she was weak so no one would go after her."

Sighing, he relinquished his grip on his glass of champagne and watched you gulp. "Just 'cause Katniss and Rue are in an alliance, doesn't mean you and Haymitch have to share supplies, too."

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Two days later.

Fifth day of the Games. His girl's doing fine. Career pack.

You? No, you're frantic. Thresh is getting herbs and knives and Rue's getting Katniss-scraps.

He doesn't come up to you, though, you who's spinning in half-arcs in your little swivel chair, eyes on the screen. He can't, not when the Capitol patrons devote such unnecessary attention to him, especially now that they're sure one of his tributes is valuable, having not been killed by the bloodbath nor by the other Careers (yet).

"What did they expect, her being trained by Finnick Odair? The fourteen year old victor himself?" They think he's flattered? They're sorely mistaken.

Yeah, well. Maybe you weren't particularly wrong about the fact that no matter if his tributes lived or died, he'd still be adored by the Capitol. It was so sickening, he'd have clawed his skin off if he could. Just to get their paws off him.

He watches from across the room as you slam your screen closed, shouldering through the crowd of patrons, bettors, mentors and gamemaker assistants alike, muttering "space, please" and "excuse me" too many times to count.

Fuck. He wished he could apply his 'not my circus, not my monkeys' motto here. But he couldn't. He'd almost made the same mistake and he'd been helped out, so.

It'd be a hard task, though. Sneaking away from the Capitol patrons would be fine, but sneaking past the Avoxes and the Peacekeepers would be a hassle. Nevertheless, he grabs your screen, tucking it under his arm, before he slips out of the viewing room as seamlessly as possible.

Now the real hard task.

He'd just have to hope the people already in the elevator were from 1, 2 or 3, so they wouldn't see him press the 11th floor after they left. That was a slim chance. The chances of that were, what? Three out of ten, excluding you and him? Phenomenal odds.

Luckily, it was goddamn Johanna Mason. District 7.

"Odair, as I live and bleed."

"Hey, Johanna." Thank fuck.

She nods, her eyes trailing down to his arm. "You're going to watch the Games in bed, eat popcorn or something? You're around Snow too much. He's rubbin' off on you."

"I'm returning this."

She raises a brow, gently gesturing for him to turn the device over, reading the huge '11' sticker on the back. "The new mentor? Really? You're all buddy-buddy now?"

"Uh huh."

"Fucking ace, man. But you know you can't visit other floors, right?"

"Yeah, I know."

"No, like you can't. You'll be stopped."

"How do I--"

"There's stairs. Not the staircases, take the stairwells. Get off on your own floor, then make two rights."

He snorts, watching the elevator climb up past the floor for District 2 and get to District 3. "And you know this how?"

"You think I don't have midnight business with the other floors?"

He chuckles once again, hugging her by the shoulder. "Man, I missed you."

"Tell Eleven I said hi. And good job on keeping both her kids alive. See you next year."

He salutes, watching the doors open on the District Four floor, before disappearing to the right. And then another. And sure enough, there's a door that looks just right enough to hold an abandoned secret stairwell.

He shuts it gently behind him, before sighing. Seven more fucking floors.

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The thuds on your door are loud enough to elicit a frustrated groan from you, spitting out your toothpaste and gargling before slamming the bathroom door shut behind you. "I said I didn't FUCKING want dinner! No dinner, no dinner, I said no dinner!"

There's no Avox in front of you.

There's a goddamn Finnick Odair.

"Sorry, so, did you say you wanted dinner, or...?", he muses with a grin, raising a brow and showing you just why the Capitol was so obsessed with his eyes. They were his district. Ocean. Water. Beauty.

You can't exactly do anything but scoff, and he tilts his head knowingly. "Johanna says hi. And congrats."

"Johanna Mason?"

"Yeah, why? You need proof before you let me in?"

Oh, right, you hadn't even let him in.

Moving to the side, you glance at him walking in, whistling lowly. "Sweet suite.", he mumbles, flicking the end of a leaf on a potted plant near your bedside before placing the device on your bed.

"You can't be leaving this shit down there, you know?", he scolds, hands on his hips as he points at it and then you.

"Why not?"

"You don't want to know what happens? You only get the notification if your tributes have died or got sponsors if you have the goddamn device on you, do you realise?"

He flops on your bed, hands behind his head as he watches you disappear into the bathroom again, presumably to floss.

"Did you talk to the Underdog-bettors?"

A soft "mhm" gently floats out the bathroom.

"They didn't go for her?"

"No."

"Did you tell them her age?"

"I told them everything. I even used her fucking family for pity points."

Your voice sounds odd, and his head gently lifts off his arms, as he sits up. "Yeah?"

"Mhm."

He bites the inside of his cheek, flicking at the comforter mindlessly. "Hey."

"Mhm?"

Okay, that's your third 'mhm' of the night. He knows what that shit means.

"You okay?", he asks, but he's already up and stalking towards the bathroom.

You don't respond, and he knows he needs to go the fuck in. He knocks, his knuckles lingering on the wood to softly push the door open. It creaks weakly, and he tilts his head.

Hands on either side of the sink, you're looking down at it, as if it contained all the money you'd need to send Rue mentor-gifts. The tap wasn't open, but the sink wasn't dry.

Tears.

Fuck.

Now, Finnick has little to no experience comforting people. That's his biggest flaw, he'd wager. He could light up a room, but not a person.

"Hey." It's as soft as he can bear to go without sounding patronizing. It's a gossamer-thin line, and he's pretty sure he's crossing it.

You don't respond, shaking your head, and he almost, almost makes the grave mistake of thinking that's you saying you don't want him there. However, he mentally flips off that thought, and instead, reaches a hand out.

It's almost like he's taming a bear or something. But. But when his fingertips graze the skin of your shoulder as timid as the first snowflake to ever fall, you immediately move, and he's found himself in the new, unfamiliar position of holding you, your face -and tears- on his chest, and his hand in your hair.

He doesn't tell you to 'shh', he doesn't say 'it's okay', because it's goddamn not.

"Why won't they help her? And why won't they let me use some of the money for Thresh on her?"

Your voice is barely heard, constantly overshadowed by trembles and sobs and gasps.

"Sweetheart.", he breathes out, attempting to pull you to the safety of air when you buried yourself harshly into his chest, so harshly, he's half sure you're breathing in zero oxygen, just 100% tears. "Hey. You're gonna have to look at me. Yeah? Yeah?"

His thumbs rub arcs into your cheek as it slowly untethered itself from his chest, and he sighs. "There she is.", he smiles softly. He's not going to give you any illusion of Rue and Thresh's miraculous saving.

"I don't get it."

"Look, she got a seven, which is impressive for her age, but--"

"No, I don't get the whole thing! District 13 rebelled, and so we gotta send our children to this shithole to die?!"

He really wasn't prepared for a worldview analysis.

Pressing fluttery kisses to your hair and your forehead, he hums, shaking his head. "It doesn't make sense, you're right, but we're here."

"If one of them doesn't win, I'm starting a rebellion."

That was treason. He should recoil, tell you to shut the fuck up, to never goddamn say that.

But instead, he kisses lower. Your cheeks. Your nose. Your chin. "You're right. We should." He's humouring you, but Johanna's already been talking about this, grumbling, more like. He's also got one of those gut feelings, y'know? He can feel something big happen.

"I might start a rebellion either way."

"I'll back you up."

"I'm not joking!"

He takes the shove like a man. "Yeah, I know, I'm serious, too. I'll join you."

You glare at him for a moment, before shouldering past him to the bed again, turning the screen on. "I wish they both would survive."

"Two Victors?" Maybe that's the 'big thing' that he feels will happen.

"Uh huh."

"I tell you, sweetheart, that will be the day the rebellion actually starts.", he tells you, scratching at his chin before he closes the bathroom door, and eases himself back onto the bed in front of you, of the screen.

Your eyes are still red, your lip still quivering, as you navigate first to the tall grass field, to check that Thresh isn't in any immediate sort of danger, and then back to the rest of the Arena to search for Rue. You do it monotonously, as if you've already resigned yourself, and honestly? You might have a point. He won't tell you that, though.

"If you say I'm still only pretending to care, I don't know what to tell you.", he muses, and you snort, shaking your head.

"Listen, I'm not going to pretend to know what you feel. I've never... I mean, my fellow tribute in the Games was someone I never knew, and I've never personally known any of my mentees, so, what you must be going through? Unimaginable."

"I don't need pity."

"It's not pity. It's concern. It's sympathy. It's... it's caring."

You nod. "Thank you. Greatly appreciated." Sarcasm? He'll never know.

"See, you're saying that, but you're not really easing up on the comforter there, sweetheart."

Your hands, gripping the cloth like the talons of the mockingjays in the trees back in Eleven, loosen on reflex. It leaves a mark on the bed. "What do I do, Finnick?" Your voice chokes off into a tired exhale. He tries not to focus on the fact that you've just used his name for the first time.

"What's that?", he asks, tilting his head as he reaches to turn up the volume. You frown for a moment, biting your fingernail, before your brows relax in recognition, and you lean back onto the pillow, sighing.

"Her song. Four notes. They've been using that as a signal, her and Katniss."

"Why does she sing it?" Anything to get you to forget the fact that this girl could die.

You smile, softly. "She sees the end-of-day flag go up, because she's the highest up in the trees."

"'Cause she's the smallest."

"Exactly. So she whistles that, and the mockingjays carry it back. Lets us know the working day's over."

"Mockingjays? Whoa, never seen one. Thought they went extinct."

You shake your head. "They prefer staying in our District. High trees where they can hide. They don't like the electric fences, though, of course."

"What do they look like?" He's on one mission. Keep you talking. Distract you. Maybe this is how he should have approached comfort before.

---

It's been hours.

The screen's long forgotten now, though he sees a flash on your screen saying his tribute has died from trackerjack stings. He'll have to rewatch how the hell that happened. "Fuck."

"Oh. Oh, Finnick, I'm sorry.", you murmur, your hand on his arm. See, you're better at this comforting thing than he is.

"The sponsors didn't prefer her, either. Coral was, uh...", he groans, rubbing his hands over his face. Fuck, fuck, fuck. "Not the strongest. Not the most charming. She was just a Career. Just there."

"Will you have to go home? To pay your respects? I think Johanna had to, I heard Haymitch talk about it."

He shakes his head, pushing some hair from your shoulder before chewing on the inside of his cheek. "Usually, yeah, that's the procedure. But, uh, not me. I just go home. I have one here, in the Capitol."

"You have a house in the Capitol. Not a home."

Yes, yes, yes! Fucking exactly! He nods, earnestly. "Yes."

Silence, as you both watch Katniss and Rue speak.

Their conversation is short, but the Capitol will eat it up.

"Do you really not want dinner?"

You shake your head, and he kisses your temple as he stands.

"Then let's just go get blobcakes."

114 notes · View notes

madamsnape921 · 8 months ago

Text

Phone Help

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x female reader

WC: 2557

Warning: f/f smut; I really went out of my comfort zone for this one but I think it turned out okay; my husband deserves a shout out for his help of writing this one: Thank you, Nick!

Tags: @alwaysachorusgirl @beccabarba @storiesofsvu

You had just started your first month at Quantico, not exactly your dream job but it provided a steady income and federal benefits. It was a relief to be able to afford a two-bedroom apartment in the city after your recent relationship ended. However, the agents were a challenge. They were arrogant, thinking they were the ultimate saviors, and their actions reflected that attitude.

“YN?”

As you snap out of your self-absorbed tirade, you notice one of the top members from the Behavioral Analysis Unit standing in front of you, looking just as perplexed as you feel. Why is she here? You wonder to yourself.

“Yes, Agent…?” you look for a nametag.

“Prentiss. Emily Prentiss. I am with the BAU. So, hey. Our normal tech person is not keen on doing our personal phones. She mentioned I should come to the new girl, which I am assuming is you, to help me?”

You despised phone work. Actually, you loathed it. But you knew that earning some brownie points with a senior agent could be beneficial in the future. So, you forced yourself to answer the call and politely responded, "Of course, Agent Prentiss. What can I assist you with?"

“The phone is acting slow and I can’t seem to find any of my files,” she hands you a card. “YN, here is my work number. Call me when you figure it out?”

“Sure. I’ll look at it here and then I’ll see what I can…,” you started.

I'd rather not use agency time or equipment for this task. The data on my device is personal and I don't want anyone else to have access to it. One of my close friends happens to be a top-notch hacker, so she probably has something lurking around in there.”

Prentiss gave a nod and then exited your office. She walked away with ease, her sensible pantsuit moving smoothly with each step.

After a grueling day at work, you finally reach your apartment. Your fingers are still warm from typing on the keyboards as you touch the doorknob. You step inside and are greeted by your faithful feline companions. "Sorry guys, Mom has to fix a friend's phone."

A friend's phone? That was unexpected, you thought.

You pour yourself a glass of wine and sit down at your computer, confident that this task will not take too much time. All I need to do is scan the phone for any harmful files and reinstall everything. It should be a piece of cake, you think to yourself. After completing the scan and finding everything to be in order, you give Agent Prentiss a call, relieved by the ease of the process.

“Hey, Agent Prentiss, it’s YN. Your phone is finishing up now. If you want to head down I can text you my address.”

“YN, that would be fantastic! Thank you for being so efficient,” Prentiss exclaimed. “I'll be at your residence in 15 minutes.”

“How do you know that?” you asked.

“I’m with the government. I know everything,” Prentiss joked.

After completing the scan, you realize that there is an issue. The program alerts you to the presence of a malicious app on the phone, Calculator PlusPlus. You launch the app and it prompts for a password. Using your own knowledge, you successfully crack the password and let out a triumphant laugh, "Take that, Penelope."

The next thing you see are numerous pictures of nude women, all with the same hair color and style as you. This must be what's taking up all the storage space on the phone, along with all of the data. You panic when you hear a knock at the door.

“YN, it’s Emily. I’m here about my phone,” Prentiss called from the hall.

DOUBLE SHIT. MINIMIZE MINIMIZE MINIMIZE! SHIT it’s frozen. SHITSHITSHIT.

“YN, I thought it was ready,” Prentiss knocked again.

After hearing a knock at your door, you call out "Coming!" and get up to answer it. You open the door to see Agent Prentiss standing there.

"Hey there, Agent Prentiss. Please come in," you say with a smile, dressed in your comfortable lounge pants and cat mom tank top.

“Please call me Emily, we’re not at work.” You close the door behind her, her in the same suit from work.

“Please sit. Do you want something to drink?” you offer.

“I’ll have a beer. It’s been hell with the BAU.” She sits on your couch and begins to pet one of your cats. “Beautiful cats, YN!”

“Thanks, they’re my babies,” you smile.

You grab the beer from the fridge and pop it open, handing it to Prentiss. As you both relax and chat about work and other small talk, an hour and a half quickly passes by. Suddenly, you remember something and say, "Oh, your phone! It's in my room. I'll go get it for you."

Upon entering your room, you find the computer still frozen on a picture of a nude woman. The figure resembles you, but not entirely. It's almost like a lower-quality version of yourself. You are immediately jolted by the realization that these intimate images are displayed prominently on your oversized screen.

“Oh, I see you found the Calculator PlusPlus App…,” Prentiss whispered.

“OH MY GOD! I AM SO SORRY. I was trying to find any malicious apps and I cracked this one’s code and…. I wasn’t snooping. I promise,” you apologised.

“I believe you, but you know what this means, right” Prentiss scowled.

“No…,” you said in response.

Prentiss puts her hand on her gun holster, “I’ll have to kill you to keep my secret safe.”

The room fell silent, and Prentiss let out a chuckle. "Just kidding," she said with a smirk. "Just put them back and don't tell anyone. I have a type...smart, dark-haired girls like yourself."

The phone was too easy to fix. Would she… she wouldn’t.

Prentiss gently brushed your hair and whispered, "We can keep another secret just between us, if you'd like." Your face paled as she tenderly kissed your lips. You had never been with a woman before, let alone one as stunning as her. Feeling unsure of yourself, you tentatively kissed her back, unsure of what to do next.

“Do you want to do this, YN?”

You nod your head.

Prentiss continued to kiss you softly. Mostly on the center of your mouth, but then switching to the left and the right sides, keeping you guessing. You felt yourself become weak in the knees.

“Let’s sit on the bed, YN.”

“Yes, Agent Prentiss.”

You both sat on the bed and continued to kiss. Prentiss’ hands exploring your body. Your mind and your arms begin to open up.

“Good girl, YN. Take off my jacket.”

You obey the orders given to you, carefully removing her jacket and placing it on the chair next to the bedside table. She sits there, still wearing a sleeveless blouse and her gun holster.

“Now take off your top, YN.”

You cautiously remove your top, wondering how she has such control over you. Your breasts are now exposed to the cool air, and the intense energy in the room causes your nipples to harden. Suddenly, a soft yet firm suction envelops your left nipple, sending waves of pleasure through your body. You've had boyfriends do this before, but never a woman. Prentiss continues to knead and suck on your breast while gently stroking your hair, creating an overwhelming sense of bliss.

Prentiss stopped and moved to the other breast. It was just as amazing. However, you where brought out of bliss with a sharp bite. “Ow,” you moaned.

“Pay attention,” Prentiss stated.

“Yes, Agent Prentiss,” you moaned again.

Prentiss finished with that breast and stood up and removed her shirt, bra, and gun holster. “Now you do me,” she smiled.

You attempted to replicate Prentiss’ actions on her, but your efforts fell short. Prentiss chuckled and giggled as you struggled, until you accidentally bit down too hard. She stopped and got up. You panicked.

“Pants off. Now!” Prentiss ordered.

“Yes, Agent Prentiss,” you jumped to your feet and stripped. She stood there and watched you sit back on the bed.

“Lay back.” You did as you were told. “Now don’t cum until I say or I will have to leave. Understand?”

“Yes, Agent Prentiss,” you sigh.

Prentiss flashed a sly smile before sinking to her knees. From this new vantage point, she spotted a drawer slightly open and couldn't help but peek inside. She found a small vibrating wand tucked away and placed it beside her feet. Starting at your thighs, she lavished kisses leading up to your glistening womanhood. You let out a soft moan as she got closer to your sensitive areas. With deft fingers, she parted your lips and exposed you fully to the world. "I bet your ex never did this," she said with a hint of smugness. "And I guarantee it won't be this good with anyone else."

Prentiss pressed her tongue against the sensitive spot above your clit, applying a constant and firm pressure. At the same time, she used her thumbs to press into your lips, causing a rush of sensation to flood through your body. It was a new experience for you, and you couldn't help but gasp in response. With a smile, Prentiss continued her oral exploration, slowly moving down from the flat spot towards your hood. She flicked her tongue gently against your hood, alternating between soft and medium pressure while also pulsing on your opening and lips. Your moans of pleasure grew louder with each movement she made.

“Don’t cum, YN. Don’t be a bad cadet!”

“Yes, Agent Prentiss, I will be a good cadet.” Cadet, where did that come from?!

Prentiss started licking your clit. This licking was a continued game of alternate pressures and circular licking. You hear a vibrator turn on.

SHIT! SHE FOUND MY STASH!

Prentiss moaned.

“You naked girl, spread out for me, huh?” She did two licks around your clit. “Mmm, who’s wearing the pants, cadet?”

“You are, Agent Prentiss.”

“And who is the naked slut, cadet?”

“I am the naked slut, Agent Prentiss.”

“Who’s in command of this pussy, cadet?”

“Agent Prentiss is the commander of this pussy.”

Prentiss then takes the vibrator and places it firmly on your clit. You start to buck. You are so close. You don’t want her to leave. Prentiss then takes two fingers and slides them into you, putting sudden and strong pressure on you G-Spot.”

“What do you want, cadet?”

“To cum, Agent Prentiss.”

“You may cum, as long as you ask nicely.”

“May I cum, Agent Prentiss?”

“Nicer.”

“May I please cum, Agent Prentiss?”

With that she presses hard against your clit with the vibrator and your g-spot with her fingers. You quake as a hard, loud, and wet orgasm rolled through you. You feel shaking and the last thing you see before passing out is a smiling Prentiss.

You came to and found Prentiss taking her phone from your computer. She is now fully dressed.

“How long was I out?”

“Thirty seconds or so. I got you a glass of water. It’s on your table. I’m going to leave, wheels up in the morning.”

“If you need any more phone help, let me know.”

“Oh, next time I need phone help I’ll make sure you do all the work.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You can feel every thrust deep inside you. Each one makes a distinctive thud and shlick sound. Your orgasm is building, getting closer with every movement. You tightly grip onto the strapon as it fills you up. Nothing has ever felt as unyielding and solid as this before. The plug in your backside grinds against the bright red toy, adding to the intense pleasure of being penetrated.

“Come for me, Cadet.” Prentiss demanded.

You feel the grip of orgasm squeeze you tightly and pleasure erupts from within your core. Your body trembles and shivers as a powerful orgasm overcomes you. As it subsides, you take a moment to catch your breath.

"That was incredible," you exclaimed with gratitude.

"Rocking a holster isn't the only thing I'm good at," Prentiss replied with a sly grin on her face.

She gently pulls out your plug and carefully cleans you up with a towel from the bedside table. You thank her with a smile as she helps you stand up and put on a robe. Prentiss starts to get dressed, putting on her panties first before reaching for her pants.

“Why don’t we spend the day together? We can watch a movie?” You suggested.

“YN, we just finished fucking… you don’t need to ask me for a “movie” to watch,” she laughed.

“No really, Emily, stay with me.”

You two have been fucking feverishly and often in a kinky mist of desire and need for a few weeks at this point. Emily was not an odd name to call her, but it was new. You didn’t know if you should call her that or Prentiss.

“Why? We both finished and I’m sure you’re busy today. As am I.” Prentiss declared.

“Actually, it’s Saturday… at 11 am. I’m off today. Aren’t you? Or am I a lunchtime snack?” you smiled.

“You’re definitely satisfying my appetite,” she replied with a coy smile.

I stood up from the bed and handed her a shirt.

“So, we have underwear and shirts covered… I’ll grab some drinks. You can choose the movie.” You suggested.

Prentiss strolled into the living room and switched on Netflix while you headed towards the kitchen. You grabbed her favorite European beer from the fridge, excited for the chance to surprise her. Balancing both beverages in your hands, you made your way back to the couch where Prentiss had already pulled up "Une vie de chat," a French cartoon about a cat.

You sit down and offer her the beer.

“Thank you! This is my favorite beer! It’s only at that one German store downtown. How’d you know?”

“You mentioned it once. I thought it’d be a nice treat,” you smiled.

As the cat's misadventures unfold, you realize that you and Prentiss have gravitated towards each other on the spacious couch. You rest your head on her shoulder as you continue to watch the show together.

As she begins to say, "This is my favorite..." you rest your head on her shoulder. Emily grins and gently kisses the top of your forehead. It's a new experience for both of you, but it feels natural and perfect in that moment. Your stomach flutters with excitement, but it's a pleasant sensation that matches the rhythm of your heart. It's a mix of thrilling and serene feelings all at once.

"Emily, this is really nice," you say with a smile.

"I'm glad you're enjoying it, YN. It's been a while since I've felt this relaxed. I could definitely get used to this," she replies, returning the smile.

"I have a proposition for you. In here, I have my Emily and in there..." you start, but she interrupts with a knowing smile.

"...you have Agent," she finished your sentence. You try to hide in her embrace, but she finds you anyway.

"Yes, YN, you can have your Emily out here and your Agent in there," she confirmed, snuggling into you as you both fall asleep watching TV together.

#emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #criminal minds #emily prentiss fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction

194 notes · View notes

kitten4sannie · 2 years ago

Text

𝐵𝑒𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝐿𝒶𝓉𝑒 𝒯𝒽𝒶𝓃 𝒩𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇

pairing: husband! san x fem! reader

genre: smut, fluff

summary: when san is forced to work overtime on your birthday, he wants to make up for it.

w.c: 4k

warnings: switch! san, pussydrunk san, switch! reader, praise, pet names, dirty talk, brief spit kink, begging, teasing, strength kink, oral (f receiving), squirting, unprotected sex, crying, creampie, breeding kink, brief cockwarming

a/n: this is a birthday present for my lovely best friend nora @cheollipop ilysmmm <3

song recs: get you by daniel caesar, yeah i said it by rihanna, aphrodite by rini

Masterlist

➽───────────────❥

When San’s boss set a fresh stack of files on the desk inside his already cramped cubicle, San found himself opening his mouth to protest, “Sir, it’s already half past 8…Do you think I could possibly work on this tomorrow? It’s my wife’s birthday today, and I wanted to–”

“San, San, San,” his boss interrupted with an air of arrogance, setting his hands down on the salaryman’s tense shoulders. “We all have to make sacrifices in this company, you know? You’re not the only one. I’m sure your wife will understand when she sees the extra dollar signs in your paycheck at the end of the week.”

San sat still in his swivel chair, not letting the rage seep past his eyes, envisioning all the ways he could retaliate against the older man standing above him. His hand nudged his stapler. He glanced at his favorite coffee-stained mug that you gave him; it had various adorable cats painted on the porcelain. It’d probably feel immensely satisfying to smash it into the man’s head, but he would never give it up in such a way. Violence was never the answer, of course. Though he was extremely tempted to just rip his computer away from its cords and toss it at the man, he wouldn’t. He needed this job, and he needed to get this sudden influx of work done so that he could get home to you.

Eventually, San blinked up at the man, replying like a robot that had just been rebooted, “On it, boss.”

“That’s lovely to hear. That’s why you’re my favorite employee, Sannie boy,” the man chimed, smacking San’s shoulder in an overly aggressive manner.

Once San gave his boss a tight-lipped smile and a double thumbs up that turned into middle fingers as soon as the man turned his back, he pulled his phone out to dial your number. “Baby?” he mumbled out in an extremely soft voice as soon as you picked up.

“Hey, hun,” you replied excitedly, sliding your phone into the space between your shoulder and your neck so that you could put your cake into the fridge, sticking a candle into it. “Are you on your way home? I picked up a red velvet cake for us to share. It’s got this really fancy buttercream and these little gold flakes sprinkled all over it. I asked the guy and it’s real 24k gold! Isn’t that cool?” Noticing the overwhelming silence in the receiver, you closed the fridge and pressed your back to it. “San, are you okay?”

Opening one of the files and staring down at the endless strings of text informing him of sales percentages and various investments from clientele, San sighed, “I have to work overtime, baby. That old bastard isn’t letting me leave until I get all this shit done. I’m…” Frustrated at his lack of control over the situation, he raked his fingers through his gelled-up hair, not even caring that some of the raven strands began to stick out. “I’m so sorry, baby. I’m really, really sorry…”

“San, it’s okay. It’s okay, love,” you said with a warmth that would hopefully give him some reassurance, hearing him let out a small sigh into your ear. “It’ll still be my birthday when you get back, okay? So just take a deep breath, get the work done, and come home to me.”

San opened a new document up on his computer to get started, slowly drawing air into his lungs and letting it out, smoothing his hair out a bit. He smooshed his cheek against his phone, allowing you to tell he was pouting when he answered as gently as possible, “I love you so much, baby. I promise I’ll be home as soon as I can to tell you in person.”

Feeling a smile tug at your lips, you idly rolled your wedding ring around on your finger, grateful to have such a sweet angel of a man as your life partner. “I love you too, darling. I’ll see you soon.” Pushing your lips together, you lowered your phone to your mouth to add, “Mwah.”

“Mwah,” San returned instantaneously, a similar smile forming on his face, much more relaxed than he was a few minutes ago. Once you exchanged goodbyes, he gave his knuckles a good crack and admired his silver wedding band for a few seconds before getting to work.

It was a little past 11 when San finally pushed past the front door and slid out of his work shoes, meeting your gaze from across your shared apartment, seeing you sitting at the kitchen table by yourself with the cake positioned in front of you and a small lighter laying on the table. “Baby,” he let out in a sigh of relief, dropping his suitcase onto the floor and walking in your direction to pull you up from the seat into one of his famous tight bearhugs, enveloping you in his warm, inviting scent. “Happy birthday. I love you.”

“Mm, thank you, love. I love you too.” Just as you were about to ask him about work, he clutched the back of your head and pressed his lips against yours to give you a kiss, one that was gentle at first, but grew more firm in the next passing seconds. Despite missing the taste of his lips when he pulled away, you caressed his cheeks, rubbing your thumbs over his sharp jaw, feeling the scruffiness of the facial hair that was growing in. “How was work? Shitty?”

“Shitty,” he echoed, just as he pressed his mouth to your own jaw, leaving kisses along it, as well as your cheeks, your nose, your neck, and basically anywhere he could feel your warm skin against him. “But I’m home now, so I couldn’t be happier.” San brought his mouth to your forehead to give it a long kiss, running his fingers through your hair. “Do you want to light the candle or should I, baby?”

“You do it for me,” you said, squeezing his shoulders a bit, before sitting back down in the chair, watching as San sat in the one adjacent to you.

When you handed him the lighter, San brought it to the candle sitting inside the personal sized cake and lit the wick, admiring the way the flame illuminated your pretty face. “You’re so beautiful…” he sighed out, leaning his head against the palm of his hand, continuing to admire you, feeling as though he might begin to melt like the candle below. “My beautiful baby.”

“Stoppp,” you whined softly, heat rising to your cheeks, still barely able to handle the way San looked at you after all these years — with such intensity visible inside his brown eyes that you wholeheartedly believed him when he said that he wanted to give you the entire world. You were his muse, after all. His angel from above. His everything.

“Never.” San gave you a gentle smile as he took your hand in his and brought it to his lips to kiss the top of your hand, singing a soft rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’ in his silky smooth voice, bringing a shy smile to your own face. Once he was done, he pressed more kisses into your skin, running his thumb over your knuckles as you gazed back at him. “Make a wish, love.”

“Why make a wish when I have everything I want now?” you asked, watching as he played with the wedding ring on your finger, the candle below beginning to melt into the frosting.

San let out a sigh, pressing his warm cheek to your open palm, looking at you like he did years ago when you had first met, unbearably love-struck, lips parted and twinkling eyes full of devotion for his beloved. “Oh, my sweet girl,” he purred, guiding your hand downwards to press a kiss onto the pad of your thumb and following your intense gaze to his mouth. “But, right now, in this moment, isn’t there something you desire?”

A familiar feeling of warmth flooded your core, thoughts of San taking care of you in ways only he was capable of suddenly urged you to blow the candle out. You knew what you needed. Of course, San was a devoted husband in every sense of the word, but in the bedroom, he brought that to a staggering degree, always willing to please you in every way he could, loving when you used him for your own pleasure, just as much as he loved giving it to you without any restraints.

“What did you wish for, love?” San inquired, sticking one finger into the cake to scoop up some frosting and holding it up to your mouth, a playful smile tugging at his lips.

You accepted his finger inside and sucked the sweet cream off of it, emitting a small ‘mmm.’ “I want you on your knees, Sannie. I want you to please me.”

“Anything for you, my love.” San lowered himself onto the ground before you and began to loosen his tie until he could take it off, feeling a pleasurable heaviness envelop his body now that he was on his knees for his one and only. There was no place he’d rather be. After taking in a deep breath to steady his heartbeat, San began to slide his hands up one of your legs, lifting it up to leave a trail of kisses up to your thigh, stopping now and then to admire your soft skin and the intense gaze you were giving him. “I promise I’ll make you feel so good, my love. I’ll give you everything I have…” he murmured in between kisses, slowly reaching up underneath your dress to hook his fingers into your panties.

“You promise?” you teased in a soft voice, lowering your other foot down to press into his crotch, the pad of it rubbing along his work pants, feeling the solid outline of his cock pressing against it.

“I promise, baby,” he replied, his lips forming his signature pout, unconsciously spreading his knees apart, about to pull your panties from your hips when you pushed your foot down a bit harder, earning a small gasp from him, his fingers resting against your waist instead of continuing his quest to strip you.

Biting into your lower lip, you relieved the pressure you had on him, slowly standing up out of the chair and just barely lifting up the front of your dress to give him an upskirt view. “Use your teeth.”

“Yes, angel. Whatever you want, I can do…” San swallowed down some of the saliva that persistently tried to overflow and drip down his chin, gingerly kneading his hands into your soft thighs, pressing his cheek to it, looking up at your clothed pussy, his cock already throbbing away inside his pants. He moved his head up underneath your dress and got the lip of your panties in between his teeth and slowly pulled it downwards, audibly groaning as he witnessed a string of arousal drip from your heat and down your inner thigh.

Watching him with bated breath, you resisted the urge to grab the back of his head and fuck his face, desperately wanting to hear him whine and beg for you to come inside his mouth. “You can lick it up, Sannie. Go ahead…”

Your husband’s eyes practically twinkled with gratitude, choosing to pull your panties down the rest of the way and off of you, releasing them from his teeth and holding them against his crotch, rubbing them against his cock as he dragged his tongue up your inner thigh, catching your arousal on his tongue. “Fuck, baby, you taste so good. Let me eat your pretty little pussy, angel. Please, I need it.”

“I think you can handle waiting a little longer, don’t you think, Sannie?” you mused teasingly, reaching down to press your pointer finger up into his chin, chuckling at the soft gasp that escaped his glistening lips. He was always like putty in your hands. Always ready to worship at your feet if you simply said the words. While that left you breathless, what you really relished was when you pushed him so far that he simply couldn’t hold himself back anymore and gave you his all, even if that meant passing out from pure exhaustion afterwards.

“Yes, my love, I can wait. I can wait for you.” Your husband rested his hands down on his upper thighs, his teeth instantly digging into his lip as you took a step closer, your dripping pussy directly in front of his face.

Holding your dress up with one hand, you used the other to spread your pussy apart, your slick dripping down your inner thighs, making sure to push your fingers together and rub them in an up and down motion, making small wet sounds with your movements. “You want your wife’s pretty pussy in your mouth, don’t you, Sannie? You want to taste me on your tongue? Lap my cum up until you’re drowning in it? Is that what you want?”

San felt like he was going to lose his mind, gripping his work pants so tightly, he feared he might tear into them, unless his cock burst out of them first from how painfully hard he was. “Please, baby. I need you so fucking bad,” he choked out, tears stinging the corners of his coffee-colored eyes, resisting the urge to smash his face in between your legs when you grabbed him by the hair and angled his head back, whimpering softly at the grip you had on him. He wanted to be good for you. He had to be good, but he needed you on his tongue like he needed oxygen.

Once San uttered one last desperate ‘please’ in such a soft, tiny voice, you finally gave in, holding your dress up slightly with both hands and spreading your legs a bit more for him, feeling your core tighten and pulse at the sight of your husband’s teary eyes. If you were an angel, then he was heaven itself, and he probably saw you the exact same way. “You’ve been a good boy, Sannie, so come and get it.”

Like a puppy hearing the dinner bell, San was on you, pushing his head up underneath your dress, his mouth connected to your cunt, tongue lapping at your wet folds like it was his one and only mission, hands kneading into your thighs out of habit. “Thank you, my angel. Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he moaned against your heat, slurping your arousal into his mouth and swallowing it down like you were an oasis and he was a weary traveler in search of a drink. He licked, and licked, and licked, not even thinking, before he reached behind you with his outstretched arms to pull the chair closer, guiding your hips downwards forcefully enough so that you had to sit down on the cushion below.

“S-Sannie,” you gasped, surprised by his sudden display of strength, your brain going a bit fuzzy as he shoved your thighs apart, then held them up and out of his way so that he could bury his face deeper in between them. “You want it bad, don’t you?”

San took a second to give you a dimpled smile, nuzzling your slippery inner thigh with his cheek, pressing a small, lingering kiss to your warm skin. “So bad, baby. You drive me fucking crazy.” His tongue was hot and wet against your cunt, practically melting against your folds, taking long, deliberate swipes up to your clit, before zoning in on it and sucking on it with a fervor that sent waves of pleasure through your lower half.

Unable to hold your voice back, you began emitting breathy, stunted moans, involuntarily bucking up into his mouth the more he licked and sucked at your clit, feeling your cheeks burn more and more the longer he gazed into your eyes. Though you swore you were used to the intense eye contact that San preferred to have with you, he still always managed to make you feel shy.

San took another quick breather to comment breathlessly, “You’re so beautiful, sweetheart. So sweet for me. So perfect.” Taking in your pretty flushed face and glazed-over eyes, he squeezed your thighs in between his thick fingers. “Come here, baby.” He pushed your thighs farther apart and leaned upwards, taking your chin in his grasp and pulling you into a much-needed kiss. Once you let him into your mouth to explore it with his arousal-coated tongue, San lowered his hand from your chin the eagerly rub your pulsing clit around in quick, deliberate circles with his thumb, automatically bringing two digits from his other hand to your cunt, your greedy hole sucking them up to his knuckles, not hesitating to piston them in and out of you. Your muffled moans and whines were like an angelic hymn that made him want to build you a shrine and worship you day and night on his aching knees like he was doing now. Once your legs hooked around his small waist, he quickened the pace of his digits, your wetness now so palpable it was beginning to spill out of you and down his veiny forearm, emitting a knowing ‘mm-hmm’, breaking the kiss as soon as you began to tighten up around him. “Angel’s gonna come for Sannie, huh?”

“Uh-huh, gonna come, Sannie,” you breathed out, licking at your lips and tasting the remnants of yourself on your tongue, swearing you were about to come instantly at the visual of your husband quickly lowering himself back down to your cunt to slurp at it, licking near the outline of his thrusting fingers and back up to your puffy clit, eyeing it longingly, before pursing his lips and spitting your arousal back onto it, only to attach back on it like a magnet.

As soon as he curled his fingers up and rubbed at your g-spot, hitting it in a way that had you fighting the urge to let your eyes roll all the way back into your skull, San spoke up, “That’s it right there, huh, baby? Right there?” As soon as you cried out for him, your throat hurting from how dry it was, San finger-fucked you into a state of pure ecstasy, not stopping until your arousal began to spray out of you and into his open mouth, coating his tongue. “Oh my god, look at you, baby. You’re squirting for me. You’re such a good girl.” He lowered his mouth onto your twitching cunt, not able to prevent a bit of drool from dripping past his swollen lips, lapping up the rest of your squirt with a few slow, lingering licks.

Once you had enough time to gather your bearings and catch your breath, San sat up and leaned in close to you, asking huskily, “Is there anything else my princess desires?”

“Your cock, Sannie. Give me your cock,” you answered instantly, not even caring about how desperate you sounded. You were desperate, and you knew San was too, given that he hadn’t touched himself a single time.

Just as quickly as you had answered him, San was already lifting you up into his arms and laying you down onto the kitchen table, spreading your legs apart and fumbling with his leather belt to take it off. Once it hit the floor with a thud, San pulled his aching cock out and slapped it down onto your pussy, watching some slick leak out. "Are you ready? Is my princess going to take all of my cock in this pretty little pussy?"

You nodded as quickly as you could, ready to drool over the thought of finally being filled by him, knowing you’d probably come as soon as he did.

San slowly moved his hips forward and back, sliding his thick length across your needy cunt, the slick sounds of your arousal making him groan. "Let me hear you say it, pretty girl. Tell Sannie how bad you want it."

"I need it so bad, so, so bad.” Just as San’s cockhead began to stretch out your hole, your plush walls clenching around him, he pulled out, leaving you empty and ready to beg on your knees just like he had done earlier. “I need your cock, Sannie, please. I want to be full just for you. Please, please, let me have it. I’ll be such a good girl for you, I promise!”

"God, you’re so cute when you’re begging for me, princess," San sighed longingly, caressing and rubbing your thighs with his thumbs, burning the image of your teary-eyed gaze into his memory. “But, don’t worry, I’m here. I’m going to fill you up, okay?” Smiling at the sight of your furious nods, he pushed back inside of you, inch by inch, making you let out a long, almost relieved moan, not stopping until your lower halves were pressed together.

Now that he was being squeezed by your tightness, San felt something switch on inside his brain, no longer concerned with teasing you, but instead overwhelmed by the desperate need to fuck you until you were a crying, cum-filled mess for him, and him alone.

Loud, wet slapping sounds began to echo throughout the kitchen, along with the thud, thud, thud of the kitchen table being rocked back and forth into the tile flooring below. “You’re so good for me, baby, so good,” San praised into your ear, his warm body flush against yours, slamming his hips into yours, appreciating the way you had your legs hooked around his small waist, locking him in place.

“Sannie,” you cried out, unable to stop pulsing around your husband’s thick length, feeling like you would go crazy from the way it was pounding into you. You reached your hands out, smiling when he immediately laced his fingers with yours, holding your hands down against the cool surface of the table. “I’m gonna come. It’s spilling out.”

“I’m going to come too, my love. Let’s come together,” he encouraged, squeezing your fingers against his own, slowing his pace down and fucking you in a more deliberate way, his thrusts slow and deep, hitting your sweet spot every time. Just as you began to mewl and babble from the overwhelming pleasure, San pressed his lips onto yours, swallowing your moans just as you swallowed his choked ones. It felt so good, he didn’t even realize when he started to cry, his hot tears dripping down his cheeks and landing onto your heated face. “I’m going to fill you up and make you a mommy, sweetheart. Make you so full of my love. So, so full for me.”

“Yes, please, Sannie, fill me up.” Just as your body shook and trembled, your cum pouring out of you and coating your joined flesh, San’s hot load came pouring into you, filling you up to the brim like always.

“Here it comes, angel. Just for you. I love you so much,” he choked out, his voice raw and throaty from how hard he was cumming, blinking a few more tears away to focus on your pretty face, slowly going soft, but staying inside you, keeping you full of his warmth and love.

“I love you too, Sannie. So much,” you replied wholeheartedly, wiping one of his tears away as you brought him into another kiss, this one as gentle and sweet as the love he always gave you.

Slowly breaking the kiss, he pressed one onto your forehead, bringing you into a long hug, not planning on letting you go. “Happy Birthday, baby.”

➽───────────────❥

Apply for the taglist here ⇢ ♡

#cultofdionysusnet #ateez #ateez smut #san #ateez san #san smut #san x reader #ateez x reader #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez x y/n #ateez x you #san x you #san x y/n #kpop smut #ateez fanfiction #ateez oneshot #ateez hard hours

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holylulusworld · 2 months ago

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Pour me some love (2)

Summary: He always ends up in your roadhouse.

Pairing: Biker!Dean Winchester x Plussized!Reader

Warnings: flirty Dean, shy/low self-esteem, fluff, falling in love, romance

Idea by: @elle14-blog1

Catch up here: Pour me some love (1)

“Dean,” you moan against him. The kiss following Dean’s confession makes your knees go weak. You whimper against his plump pillows while fisting his leather jacket. The last thing you want is for him to break off the kiss.

“I hope you know,” he pants when you finally part, “this means you are my girl now. None of the douches coming to the bar will dare to touch or even speak to you.” Dean cups your face to kiss you again, tongue delving into your mouth to taste you.

Dean shrugs his leather jacket off to put it around your shoulders. You touch the soft leather and sniff at it, inhaling Dean’s scent deeply. “Why are you giving me your jacket?”

“You’ll get your own, but for now, you’ll be wearing mine to keep the douches away from my girl,” Dean pecks your temple. “Everyone will know you’re Dean Winchester’s girl and show you respect.”

You feel your heart flutter when he tells you all the things a woman wants to hear when she falls in love with someone special.

He looks at you with those emerald eyes, and you want to believe in the dream he promises to you. If only there weren’t the nagging voice in the back of your head telling you that Dean will never give you what you need. Love, devotion, and commitment.

“Stop overthinking,” he smirks as you are lost in thoughts. Dean rubs your shoulders and smiles. “I know you’re scared to get hurt. I watched you for a while, you know.”

“If I go on that ride with you, you gotta promise to behave.” You pat his chest. “If you get cocky, there will be no pie for you, Winchester.”

“Oh, there she is,” Dean purrs and leans closer to peck your lips. “My cocky bartender denying me some delicious pie.”

“That’s my other baby,” Dean proudly explains every detail about his beloved classic car. A black Chevrolet Impala. “Please don’t get jealous. You’re my number one, sweetheart.”

“So, you are telling me I must share your attention with another lady,” you tease. “A beautiful one, with the perfect figure, and a sexy one too.”

He flashes you a quick smile before pointing at the radio. “Shotgun picks the music this time, Y/N. Choose whatever you like.”

You giggle at his playful tone. “Is this a special occasion, or do you let everyone in the passenger seat choose the music?”

Dean sounds serious when he says, “You’re the only one, Y/N. Usually, the driver picks the music, and shotgun shuts their cakehole.”

“I thought you liked pie,” you whisper lowly and place your hand on his thigh. “I hope you know I won’t date a cake guy. That’s a rule I won’t break.”

“Pie all the way, sweetheart!” He exclaims and hits the brakes, making you gasp. “Only pie! There’s nothing else but pie in my mind.”

Dean grins when you slap his thigh. “DEAN! You can’t just stop the car in the middle of the road!” You tut. “You’re lucky this is a sleepy town and barely anyone knows the road to the lover’s lane.”

He grins. “So, you know I was trying to get more kisses and some cuddles? Who would’ve thought you knew about the lover’s lane, Y/N?

“Of course, I know about the lover’s lane and that you are up to no good, Mr. Winchester. All sexy and dangerous bikers take their girls for a ride to the lover's lane.”

“Mister? You are calling me mister again?” He covers your hand on his thigh. “I thought we were past this, sweetheart. Did I misinterpret the longing looks you gave me and how you kissed me?

“You kissed me,” you point out.

“Yeah, I kissed my girl first,” he winks at you before starting the engine. “And now I’m going to take her to the lover’s lane to cuddle her.”

“No,” you grin. “You will drive me home and get a slice of homemade pie, Mr. Winchester. I told you; I’m not a woman for a one-night stand.”

He dips his head and smirks. “Sweetheart, I won’t just have you for one night. No other man will get the chance to kiss you. I’ll not let you slip through my fingers. You and your sweet pie…”

#dean winchester #dean x reader #spn #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #biker au #biker dean winchester #Pour me some love (2)

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lostbookmark · 4 months ago

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MDNI 🔞

Main Masterlist here

WHISPERED VOWS MASTERLIST here

Summary: You thought planning your wedding was going to be a magical memory. You didn't realize that it might make you second guess everything.

Pairing: Fiancée Yoongi x Insecure F. Reader

Genre: Romance, Angst, Smut, Hurt-Comfort

Warnings: Explicit Sex, Toxic Family Dynamics, Arguments, Sex Toys, Self Doubt, Over Thinking, Yoongi Overworking Himself, Reader Needs To Speak Up

SMUT SMUT SMUT SMUT SMUT SMUT SMUT SMUT SMUT SMUt

You stare at the screen of your computer and yawn. You haven't gotten a lot of sleep the past few nights. Yoongi has been gone again at night more frequently, opting to sleep in his studio in small spurts in between working. He tells you that he's so close to finishing the album, but you'll believe it when you see it. As of right now, you don't believe him at all. This has now been the third time he told you that. You have been keeping yourself busy trying to make the decision of what cake you want to try at your tasting next week. You get ten flavors to sample, and you are taking it very seriously. Your guest won't remember your vows after the wedding but they will remember if the cake was bad. Compared to everything else, this is the one thing you were looking forward to.

“What are feelings on fondant?” You ask Seungkwan. He looks up at you from across the room and makes a face. “Buttercream it is.”

“What does Yoongi want?” he asks.

“He doesn't care for cake, so he'll leave it up to me,” you tell him with a sigh. “Just like everything else. At least he is coming with me to sample them. So, I'll take it as a win.”

“You should talk to him about it,” he says, typing away on his computer. “If it's getting to be too much, you need to say something.”

“No, I took responsibility to plan everything. I can't go back on my word,” you tell him as you lean back and close your eyes. “I got your sister's email. The picture of the bouquet she sent is beautiful.”

“Oh, I'm glad,” he said with a small smile. “What did you go with?”

“Dark burgundy delilahs and white roses. Seriously, Seungkwan, thank you. I really appreciate it,” you say. “Anyway, I'm hungry. I'm going to hit the vending machine downstairs on the studio level. Did you want anything?”

“We have vending machines on our floor too,” Seungkwan tells you with a knowing look.

“I'm not up to anything. They have Oreos down there,” you say, defending yourself. “All we have are protein bars.”

“I guess I'll take a pack as well,” he relents.

Grabbing your card from your bag, you leave your office and take the elevator downstairs. You weren't lying….technically. The studio level does indeed have better snacks in the vending machine, but you can't help it if you have to walk by Yoongi's studio to get to it. Your chances of actually running into him were slim, but hey, you'll take the chance.

Leaving the elevator, you round the corner past Hobi's studio and then down past Yoongi's studio to get to the coveted snack machine. Sliding your card, you press the correct number for your cookies, the machine roars to life and pushes your cookies out. Bending down, you take them from the bottom of the machine and repeat. Only this time, the Oreos do not drop once you press the correct buttons. They get stuck between the coil holding them and the small black divider to its side.

“No,” you say into the empty hallway. You give the button another press and another, but still nothing happens. You gave the machine a big whack this time, but the only thing that you managed to do was hurt your hand. “Ouch!” You exclaim and shake your hand.

“Need help,” a voice says, startling you. You didn't even hear a door open.

Shit. Kai is smiling at you when you look to see who came to your rescue. He looks just as handsome as you remember, but this is not the best place to be seen with him. Not when you can look past him and see your fiancée's door. Fucking Orero's. They were too good to resist. You need to lay off the junk food. You should have gone with the protein bars.

“Um, sure. Thanks,” you say and back away from the vending machine.

Kai presses both his hands at the top of the vending machine and gently rocks it back and forth. It probably takes less than ten seconds before the sweet snack hits the bottom of the machine. He reaches down and retrieves them for you. Standing back up, he smiles and hands them to you.

“Thanks,” you say again, taking them from him and then proceed to take a few extra steps away from him.

“Y/N, right?” He asks you and leans on the machine he just manhandled. “Lisa's friend. We met at Jimin's party.”

“Yeah, that's me,” you say, standing there awkwardly in front of him. “I should…”

“You know it's a shame that our night was cut short at that party. I had a good time talking to you,” he comments, and you can hear the elevator ding. “Do you have any plans for Valentine's Day tonight?”

“No,” you say quietly. Is that today? You have completely forgotten.

“Is your boyfriend working tonight? He works here, right? Your boyfriend is a producer in the company? I think I have seen around….he glares a lot.”

“Fiancée and part owner actually,” Jimin says, walking up to the two of you. He slings his arm around his friend's shoulder. “I think Y/N needs to head back to work.” Jimin widens his eyes and jerks his head quickly. You stare at him strangely but decide to just go with it.

“Yeah, umm, very busy,” you say as Jimin still motions for you to go.

“Oh,” Kai said, looking amused. “So busy you had to have a cookie break? You don't seem that busy to me.”

“Yup, she just needs sugar every now and then, or she gets angry. I think she …realllyyy….needs to go. She should also…take the stairs. Now.” Jimin says.

Your eyes widen. You finally get it. Yoongi was probably on his way down. You turn quickly, running down the hall and heading for the door hiding the stairwell. You hear Kai say something to Jimin, but you were too busy running for your life to catch what it was. You make a sound of defeat when you open the door. Do you want to take four flights of stairs in heels? No. Do you want Yoongi to catch you with Kai? Absolutely not. You'll take the chance of busting your ass in your heels because it was better than the alternative.

Huffing and puffing, you make it back into your office and throw the cookies at Seungkwan, hitting him squarely in the chest. Who then made a disapproving sound when they hit him. You throw yourself in your chair and wipe your forehead with your hand. Man, you're out of shape.

“What happened?” he asks, opening the snack you got him and shoves one in his mouth.

“Kai happened,” you say and don't elaborate. You just hope that Yoongi doesn't find out.

Did anything interesting happen today?

It should have been an innocent text from Yoongi, but you knew better. He knew that you must have talked to Kai earlier, but you don't know who told him. Would Jimin go through all that trouble to help you and then rat you out? Probably. Not that there was anything to tell because you did nothing wrong. You bite your lip and think about how you want to answer this. You weigh your options. You can be brat about this, or you can fess up and be honest. Your fingers tap the side of your phone in thought. This is the fifth night in a row that he wouldn't be home, and your eyes drift to that red trunk that has yet to be discovered in your closet. You chose brat.

I got me and Seungkwan Oreos. You responded by typing back.

That all?

Yup, I wanted to save my energy for tonight. You write back.

Getting out of bed, you go to your closet and drop to your knees in front of that red chest. You take off the blanket and hoodies that you threw on top of it, placing everything to the side. You're going to take Lisa's advice and send Yoongi a quick picture. Of what exactly….you're not quite sure yet. Opening the lid, your face still burns with embarrassment, looking at everything that Lisa bought for you. You don’t even know where to start.

What's tonight? he types back.

You reach inside and grab what you think she called a personal massager. A deep purple device was one of the more innocent looking items in the box. Your eyes next land on the leather handcuffs, and you quickly snatch them as well before you could talk yourself out of it. Taking a breath, you put everything back before walking back over to the bed. Chucking your shirt off over your head, leaving your top half completely exposed. You lie down on your stomach, moving the toy close to your body and squish your boobs together between your arms. Positioning your device in what you hope is just the right angle to make you look enticing you snap a picture using the timer. You look at the result, and you are actually kind of impressed. Not bad.

Solo play, you answer with the accompanied picture and hit send.

Your palms become sweaty, your hands shake, and your eyes become large as you stare at your phone screen. What did you do? Oh, no! What did you do? Can you unsend a text? Please, you just want to take it back. Your hands start to flail around in the air by your head in panic. Your heart stops as the message goes from delivered to read.

“Oh shit,” you whisper to yourself and grab your shirt to cover yourself.

You watch as the dreaded dots appear on the screen, showing that he was responding. Your mouth goes dry, and suddenly, they disappear, but nothing comes through. You wait and wait, but again, nothing comes through. He's not going to respond. You don't know if you should be relieved or embarrassed that he probably didn't like it. Maybe Lisa doesn't know what she is talking about after all. You thought maybe you could salvage Valentines, but now you feel just plain stupid and a little unwanted. It kind of hurt. Tossing your phone on the bed, you lazily roll yourself off the bed and head for the bathroom to shower. Maybe you can wash away your idioticness.

When you open the bathroom door after your shower, the steam rolls out behind you. You tighten the towel that is wrapped around your freshly cleaned body as you head back to the bedroom. Stepping over the threshold into said room, you freeze. Yoongi is sitting on the edge of the bed. In his hands was that deep purple toy. His eyes look up at you through the strands of hair that have fallen over his forehead and into his eyes. Your pulse quickens. You guess Lisa does, in fact, know what she is talking about. You watch him reach over and grab the discarded cuffs. He dangles them off one of his slim fingers and raises an eyebrow at you.

“Solo play, huh?” he asks, resting both his elbows on his knees.

“I didn't think that you would come,” you tell him, holding your towel tighter like it was going to hide you somehow. Hide away the embarrassment of your actions.

Yoongi stands up from the bed after he discards the gifts on the bed and approaches you slowly. Once he reaches you, he slides his hand down your bare arm. The excess water in your hair starts to drip down your exposed skin, sending a chill through you. You noticeably shiver, and Yoongi pulls you closer to him. Bending his head, he captures your lips with his own, giving you a soft, teasing kiss.

“Do you still want it to be solo, or can I join?” he whispers against your lips.

You slip your hands to the hem of his shirt and pull up. Yoongi lifts his arms, helping you bring it over his head and taking it off the rest of the way by himself. Pulling his head down to you, you press your mouth against his. Yoongi moves his hands to your wet tangled hair, gripping your head tightly, keeping you where you were.

“Were you thinking of me?” he asks, pulling away slightly and pressing his forehead against yours.

“Yoongi,” you whimper and try to look away, but the hold on your head doesn't let you.

“What? You can't send me pictures like that and be embarrassed, baby,” he tells you as he kisses a path from your cheek to your neck. “You don't think that I haven't touched myself thinking about you? Hmmm, because I have…and I do.”

Something in you snaps, and you grab him, kissing him hard as you think about him alone in his studio, stroking himself. He groans into your mouth, holding you close against his body. You place your hands on his chest and back him up to the bed. The both of you falling onto it once the back of his knees hit the edge of the mattress, mouths still connected. Pulling away, you crawl off of him and move to the center of the bed. Yoongi twists around trying to grab for you, but you stay out of his reach, and you make him follow you up the bed.

You gently push him back against the pillows when he reaches out for you again, and you climb onto his lap. Leaning down, you press your mouth to his again. His hands travel to the top of your twisted towel, and he gently pulls it apart, giving him the treat of your naked body with small water droplets now dripping down onto the both of you. He relaxes underneath you and takes in every inch of you as his hands run up over the top of your thighs and land on your hips.

You reach over and grab the black leather cuffs that are laid beside you. You toy with them and undo the velcro with a loud shkriiiiip. He smirks at you and wets his lips with his tongue. One hand goes to your face. lovingly strokes your cheek with his thumb.

“You want me to cuff you to the bed, baby?” he questions, his voice deep with desire. You smile shyly back at him and shake your head. His eyes narrow at you for a moment before laughing silently. Yoongi places his hands above his head, resting them on the pillow and raises an eyebrow at you. He's daring you to do it. “It's okay.”

You lean over him and wrap his wrist in the leather before hooking the other side through the dark wooden slats of the headboard. Repeating the same treatment to the other wrist, he willing lies there at your mercy. You want to keep here so he can't leave you for days, almost weeks at a time like he always does. God, you miss him, and you don't know how much longer you can last like this. The loneliness at night has almost become unbearable. The silence was almost too loud.

Taking his mouth with yours again, your tongues dance together naturally as your mouths open for one another. He groans in your mouth as you ground your hips onto his pelvis. Your lips pull away with a smack, and you slither your way down his body as you maintain eye contact with him. You can see that his breathing has picked up by the way his chest moves up and down. If that wasn't a sure sign of him liking this, the straining in his sweatpants definitely did.

Settling yourself on the bed between his legs, you run your hand over his clothed erection. Yoongi bucks his hips up into your touch and lets out a harsh, shuddering breath. Reaching for the top of his sweats, you curl your fingers around the fabric and pull them over his hips. You stop in surprise when you realize that he didn't have anyone underneath. Your eyes meet his, and he smirks and gives a slight shrug as best as he can, given his current position.

Pulling them the rest of the way off, you grab his hardness and bring your mouth down to him. Giving his tip one small lick, you pull away. You sit back on your heels and stare at him with an innocent smile before crawling back up his body. You rest your weight on your hands as you hover your face over his.

“Happy Valentine's Day,” you say quietly, and his eyes widen in recognition.

“I'm sorry,” he says quickly, but you shut him up with a kiss.

“I forgot too, until….Kai reminded me,” you tell him with a knowing look, and he narrows his eyes.

“I bet he fucking did,” he growls.”He was so fucking smug talking to Jimin about you.”

“Oh,” you say and drop your hips onto his hardness that was lying against his flat stomach. You languidly move your wet core back and forth along it. Letting the motion stimulate your clit.

“Yeah,” he answered breathlessly as his eyes rolled back slightly. “Fuck, keep going.”

“Nothing happened,” you tell him as you lift your hips off of him, denying him your touch. “I barely even said two words to him.”

“I trust you,” he says, taking a deep breath

“Do you?” You ask him seriously.

“With my whole heart,” he says, lifting his head for a kiss. You lean down and press your mouth to his once again before moving your kiss to his neck. Yoongi's head falls back onto the pillow. “Baby, can we talk about this later. My cock is so hard it hurts.”

Sitting up you reach between your legs, you grab his cock and run the head along your folds, coating him with your natural slickness before slowly sinking onto him. Yoongi pushes his tongue against the side of cheek as he watches you take all of him with rapt attention. You lean forward with your hands on his chest and press your forehead against his as you start to slowly move up and down on him. You close your eyes and savor the feeling of him inside of you as you take your time. The feeling of fullness replacing the ache of emptiness and loneliness that has plagued you for months now. The hot flame within you that has dulled finally roared back to life.

Yoongi plants his feet flat on the bed and thrusts his hips up against you. His hard dick spears you over and over again as you fall forward from the force of his hips hitting you and bury your face into his neck. You let out a strangled moan as he takes control.

“Undo me, Y/N,” his raspy voice commands. “I need to get my mouth on you.”

You reach up blindly and pull the velcro off one of the cuffs. With his wrist successfully freed, he hurriedly grabs the opposite side and undos it himself. Sitting up, he throws them to the floor and gently guides you off him. He grabs your waist and turns you so you can lie down in his previously occupied spot before he grabs your knees, spreading you open for him.

Lying on his stomach, Yoongi presses a kiss to your throbbing clit. His fingers run up and down your opening gathering your wetness before sinking them into you. You sigh and wiggle your hips in response. Sticking his tongue out he traces small circles around you as his fingers start a slow rhythm pumping into you.

“Do you want me to use that?” he asks, jerking his head to the deep purple toy.

“NO!” You exclaim and cover your face.

Yoongi moves up up your body, hovering over you as his fingers continue to slide in and out of you. He crooks them at the perfect angle that has you gasping and grabbing at his shoulders. Yoongi leans down and kisses your cheek before pushing his fingers deeper inside of you. You press your head further into the pillow underneath you with a whimper.

“Let me use it. Please?” he asked, tongue licking a wet stripe underneath your jaw. You bite your lip as he shoves his fingers into you at a rapid pace that is just as deep.

“Fuck,” you gasp out. “Okay, okay. Use it.”

Yoongi pulls his fingers out of you quickly and grabs onto the massager. His hand fumbles with it for a second before he finds the button to turn it on. The low hum of the messenger and the dark look in his eyes make your mouth go dry. Placing his lips on yours, he trails the deep purple toy down between your breast over your stomach before reaching his final destination. A whine escapes your lips as the vibration hits your sensitive spot.

“Shhh,” he says softly. “I got you. Stop me if it's too much.”

Yoongi moves down the bed, resting on his knees before sinking his fingers back into you. Holding the toy against you, his fingers start pumping into you at a furious pace. Tapping that innermost spongy spot repeatedly has your wetness dripping out of you with every push and pull of his fingers. Your hands reach up and grab on to the wooden slats of the headboard and squeeze tightly. Your hips start to gyrate, and your breathing picks up, making your chest heave up and down.

“God, I miss seeing you like this,” Yoongi growls at you.

“I….I….,” you struggle with words as your hips jump. Your inner walls rhythmically pulse around his fingers, slicking them even more. “STOP!” You manage to sob out. He throws the toy down on the bed in an instant and looks at you with wide eyes. “You…I….I want you.”

“I'm here,” he said, wrapping your legs around his waist. “I am right here. Are you sure you want more?”

“Please, I need it,” you whimper.

Yoongi lines himself up to your entrance and plunges himself all the way. Your back arches as you bring your arm around his shoulders and pull him down to you. Your chests press together, his face buried in your neck, legs wrapped around his waist as his hips thump repeatedly against your own wildly. You feel delirious as his lips attach to your neck sucking hard enough to mark you. You sink your hand into his hair, tugging him off your neck.

“Got to show him your mine, baby. He acts like he can have you. Can he have you? ” he growls in your ear, and you shake your head, unable to speak. His hips pick up in tempo as the headboard starts to rhythmically bang against the wall loudly. “I'm not going to last much longer,” he pants. “You are going to come again. Do you hear me?”

“Yes,” you pant.

Reaching out, he grabs the discarded toy. Turning it back on, he sneaks it between your bodies to touch it to your clit. You both moan loudly as it makes contact as the vibrations rush through both of you. You feel yourself clench around his hardened length as you cry out, your wetness coating his length. Yoongi hums deeply in satisfaction at the feeling of your pulsating core that surrounds him. His own hips stutter and lose rhythm, toy falling out of his hand as you slap it away when it becomes too much. Slamming his mouth against yours, his hips give you one more hard thrust before he stiffens and comes deep inside of you.

Yoongi drops his head onto your shoulder, panting. You slowly graze your nails up and down his back as you stare up at the ceiling. You can feel his lips lightly connect with the front of your shoulder in what you think is a loving gesture. A tear falls out of the corner of your eye, and you quickly wipe it away. The roaring fire within you minutes ago has gone back to that dull flame. It's a flame that barely flickers and fights to stay lit. You're scared.

Fuck.

《Chapter Six》

Tagged Readers

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fanfics4all · 5 days ago

Text

New Chapter

Request: Yes / No Can you do a s2 Spencer Reid x Reader smut 🙃@yrfavel

Don’t be shy, request things! <3 Have a nice day/night

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Word count: 1779

Warnings: SMUT!!

Y/N: Your Name

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*Spencer’s POV*

I tugged at the sleeves of my sweater as I stood outside the little Italian restaurant, shifting from foot to foot. Even after a year of dating, I still felt a little nervous before every date with Y/N. Not because she made me uncomfortable, quite the opposite, actually. It was because she made me feel too much, and the emotions had never been my strong suit. But tonight was special. One year. Three hundred and sixty-five days. I calculated the exact number to hours too, but that might be a bit much.

I spotted Y/N walking toward me, looking effortlessly beautiful in a way that made my heart stutter. I straightened up immediately, hands clasping together as I greeted her with a slightly awkward but endearing smile.

“Hi.” I said, rocking on my heels.

“Hey, Spence.” She grinned, stepping closer to press a soft kiss to my cheek.

“Happy anniversary.”

My face turned pink. “Happy anniversary.” I hesitated before adding. “I, uh, got us a reservation. Statistically speaking, this restaurant has some of the highest-rated customer reviews for romantic atmospheres without being overwhelmingly intimate.”

Y/N laughed, lacing her fingers through mine. “You researched this, didn’t you?”

My blush deepened. “Maybe a little.”

She squeezed my hand. “That’s adorable.”

I let out a small breath of relief as we walked inside. Once we were seated, I found myself relaxing. A year ago, I would have been overthinking every little thing- was I talking too much? Should I hold her hand? Was I supposed to make more eye contact? But now? Now I could just enjoy her company.

“So…” Y/N said as she picked up her menu, eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Did you prepare any fun facts for tonight?”

I pushed my hair behind my ear, lips twitching upward. “Did you know that in ancient Rome, couples would break a piece of bread together during their wedding as a symbol of good fortune? It’s where the modern tradition of wedding cakes comes from.”

Y/N chuckled. “See, this is why I love you.”

My heart jumped at that. Even after a year, I still wasn’t used to hearing it. I shifted a little in my seat before mumbling.

“I love you too.”

She reached across the table, taking my hand again. “You know, you seem more comfortable tonight. You’re not as fidgety.”

I tilted my head. “I think… I think I’m finally getting used to this. To us.”

Y/N smiled warmly. “Good, because I kind of wanna keep you around for a while.”

I grinned, my fingers gently squeezing hers. “I’d like that.”

As dinner went on, I found myself relaxing more and more. It was strange, I spent so much of my life overthinking social interactions, especially in romantic settings, but with Y/N, things felt…natural. Maybe it was the way she looked at me like I wasn’t just some socially awkward genius who struggled with intimacy, but just me. Maybe it was a warmth in her eyes every time I spoke, the way she actually enjoyed listening to my rambles instead of just tolerating them. Or maybe it was just because after a year, I finally let myself believe that I didn’t have to be perfect for her to love me. And that confidence? It was showing.

As we talked, I found myself leaning in more, my long fingers tracing light circles over the back of Y/N’s as they rested on the table. Every so often, my knee brushed against hers, and unlike before, I didn’t pull away. Instead, I let it linger.

At one point, Y/N raised a curious eyebrow. “You’re awfully bold tonight, Dr. Reid.”

I smirked, surprising even myself. “Well, you’ve stuck around for a year. I figured I must be doing something right.”

She laughed softly. “You’re doing everything right.

My heart swelled at that, and without thinking, I brought her hand to my lips, pressing a feather-light kiss to her knuckles. It was a simple gesture, but it felt big for me. An unspoken, I trust you, and I want you close.

Y/N blinked in surprise before a soft blush dusted her cheeks.

“Okay, who are you, and what have you done with my awkward boyfriend?”

I chuckled, rubbing the back of my neck. “I guess I just feel more… comfortable. More confident with you.” I hesitated for a second before adding. “And, um, if you’re not too tired, maybe you’d want to come back to my place after this?”

She tilted her head. “Oh? And what would we do at your place, Dr. Reid?”

I felt heat rise to my face but didn’t back down. “I was thinking we could just spend more time together. No pressure, of course.”

Her smile was teasing but affectionate. “I’d love to.”

I exhaled a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, my fingers tightening around hers.

“Good, because I really don’t want this night to end just yet.”

My apartment was quiet and dimly lit as we stepped inside, the atmosphere still charged with the lingering tension from our dinner conversation. I kicked off my shoes and Y/N set her purse down on the entryway table.

“Make yourself comfortable.” I said, rubbing the back of my neck awkwardly.

“I’ll just… I’ll be right back.”

I ducked into the bathroom to splash some cold water on my face, trying to calm the butterflies fluttering in my stomach. A year ago, the idea of being alone with Y/N like this would have sent me into a tailspin of anxiety, but now? Now I felt… eager. Excited.

When I returned to the living room, Y/N was perched on the edge of the couch, her eyes bright and curious as they followed my movements. I took a deep breath and crossed the room to sit beside her, close but not touching.

“So…” I started, my voice coming out softer than I intended. “I guess this is… this is new territory for us, huh?”

Y/N nodded, her hand finding mine and lacing our fingers together.

“It is, but I like new territory for you, Spence. You make me feel… safe like anything we do together will be okay.”

My heart swelled at her words, and without thinking, I brought our joined hands to my lips pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles.

“I like making you feel safe, and I like being with you, Y/N. In any new territory, you want to explore.

Her breath hitched slightly, her eyes darkening with desire as they met mine.

“Spence, I…”

I leaned in closer, my free hand coming up to cup her cheek. “Y/N, I…”

Our lips met in a soft, tender kiss, a silent conversation passing between us. It was slow and sweet at first, but as the seconds ticked by, the intensity grew. Y/N shifted closer, her hands sliding up my chest to loop around my neck as she deepened the kiss. I groaned softly against her mouth, my own hands roaming over her curves, memorizing the feeling of her under my fingertips. She tasted like wine and possibility, and I couldn’t get enough. My tongue swiped along the seam of her lips, seeking entrance, and she granted it readily. Our tongues tangling in a dance as old as time.

We stayed like that for what felt like hours, lost in each other until the need for air became too great. We broke apart panting, foreheads pressed together as we caught our breath.

“Bedroom?” Y/N whispered her voice husky with desire.

I nodded, taking her hand and leading her down the hall to my room. As we entered, I turned to face her, cupping her face in my hands.

“Are you sure about this?” I asked softly. “We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for. I want our first time to be perfect for you.”

Y/N smiled up at me, her eyes shining with love and trust. “It will be perfect because it’s with you, Spencer. I’m ready when you are.”

Her words made my heart soar, and I captured her lips in another searing kiss as I walked her backward toward the bed. We tumbled onto the mattress together, a tangle of limbs and wanton moans. I took my time undressing her, trailing kisses over every inch of newly exposed skin. Y/N arched into my touch, her nails raking down my back as I explored her body with reverent hands.

“Spence, please.” She whimpered as I circled her clit with my thumb.

“I need you inside me.”

I obliged her request, settling between her thighs and pushing forward slowly. Y/N’s eyes fluttered shut as I filled her, her inner walls stretching to accommodate me.

“Oh God.” I groaned, stilling once I was fully sheathed within her.

“Y/N, you feel incredible.”

She clenched around me, and I had to bite back a moan. “Move, Spence. Make love to me.”

And so I did. I set a slow, steady rhythm, taking my time to savor every thrust, every gasp, and moan that fell from Y/N’s lips. She matched me thrust for thrust, her hips rising to meet mine as we lost ourselves in the pleasure.

“I love you.” I whispered, burying my face in the crook of her neck as I felt my climax building.

“I love you so much, Y/N.”

“I love you too.” She breathes back, her nails digging into my shoulders.

“Cum with me, Spence.”

Her words were all the encouragement I needed. With a final snap of my hips, I came undone, spilling myself deep inside her as she shattered around me, my name on her lips. We collapsed together, limbs entwined as we floated down from our high. I pressed soft kisses along her jawline, her neck, anywhere I could reach.

“That was… wow.” I murmured, still struggling to catch my breath.

Y/N laughed softly, tracing patterns on my back with her fingertips.

“Wow is right. I have no idea you had it in you, Dr. Reid.”

I grinned, propping myself up on my elbow to look down at her. “I had a good teacher, and I plan on practicing a lot more.”

She smirked up at me, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Oh really? Because I think I might need a few private lessons…”

I chuckled, dipping my head to capture her lips again. As we lost ourselves in each other once more, I knew that this was just the beginning. The start of a new chapter in our relationship, one filled with love, passion, and endless possibilities.

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