#slow but sure we rise towards the sun

[jobean12-blog]

Mission Accomplished

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female reader

Word Count: 4,157

Summary: You've had a crush on Bucky from the moment you met and now that Sam has the two of you going on a mission together you're not sure how to handle it. Sure you've had casual conversastions before and hung out as a group but all this one on one time... what could possibly go wrong? Or maybe right?

Author's Note: I love a sweet and slightly shy, soft Bucky! The details of the mission are not really important here so I just have them flying from some lovely hidden away location to NYC for some sneakin' around to get info. Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: shy and sweet Bucky, awkwardness from both characters haha, but lots of fun, flirting, tension, fluff, implied smut

You’re alone in the elevator, having just left your meeting with Sam, when Bucky steps inside just as the doors are closing.

Your eyes meet and your breath catches in your throat, the weighted silence becoming awkward.

You open your mouth to say something but then stop, blinking away the words before leaning heavily against the wall.

The damn elevator is moving so slowly.

Finally, the doors open and Bucky gestures for you to go first. Instead, you nearly shout at him, “looks like we’re going on a mission together.”

“Yeah,” he says with a small smile.

“I’m excited, I’ve never been to the city before.”

He rubs the back of his neck and shuffles his feet. “It’s definitely somethin’.”

“Should I meet you at the Quinjet tomorrow morning? Or do we need to talk about anything before then?”

“I think that’s fine,” he answers, still holding the doors of the elevator open.

It starts to ding, and you register the sound with a nervous giggle and step out.

“It’s fine if we just meet at the Quinjet or before?” You ask for clarification.

“Um,” he starts. “It should be…”

“I don’t mind…” you begin at the same time.

“Sorry,” you whisper, “I interrupted. Go ahead.”

“We can just meet at the Quinjet,” he says as he shoves his hands into his jean pockets and starts to walk down the hallway.

“That sounds good,” you tell him. “I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

“Yeah, see you in the mornin’.”

He smiles, his gaze lingering before he turns around the next corner.

“Great,” you mutter to yourself. “Now he really thinks you’re a bumbling idiot.”

Your feet shuffle along the ramp onto the Quinjet and you squint against the early morning sun that’s just starting to rise above the top of the mountains in the distance.

Fumbling with your bag you head toward the seats, finding Bucky already inside and waiting. He stands and reaches for your bag.

“Hey,” he says quietly.

“Hi,” you answer back, staring.

He secures your bag and sits back down. You glance around at all the empty seats and then sit right down next to him.

“Do you mind if I sit here?” you ask. “I’m a nervous flyer.”

With a smile he says, “no doll. That’s fine.”

You watch him wipe the palms of his hands on his pants.

The door to the Quinjet closes and you shift in your seat, toying with the seatbelt and growing more frustrated with every passing second.

The engines ignite and you make a squeaking sound, finally deciding to just try and tie the seatbelt rope in a knot.

Bucky places his hand over yours. “Let me help?”

You nod and try to slow your breathing as his hands work smoothly to undo your mess and clip the belt then tighten it.

“There. Comfortable?”

“Yeah, perfect. Thanks.”

You feel the jet start to move, and you clasp your hands together in your lap. You can feel his eyes on you but for fear of further embarrassment you keep your face forward and try not to sweat too much.

“What did you bring for lunch?” he asks.

“What?”

“Lunch. What did you bring for the ride?��

“Were we supposed to bring lunch?” you ask wide eyed.

He laughs. “It’s not a long ride but I’m always hungry so I brought peanut butter and jelly and a bagel. Plenty to share.”

“That’s good,” you say with a smile. “And thanks. It’s a good thing one of us is prepared.”

“When it comes to food yeah, otherwise, I’m leaving that up to you.”

You smile. “Don’t worry. As far as the mission goes I know exactly what we need to do.”

“Good. And I’ll show you all the best places to eat.”

With a laugh you let out an exhale and realize you’re already up in the air and cruising. You give him a thankful look and smile.

He winks and then settles back in his seat.

Eventually, after some light conversation, you drift off to sleep, slowly slanting toward Bucky until your head is resting on his shoulder.

His movements are soft and easy as he drops lower, so your neck isn’t so stretched out and he leans back to close his eyes.

You wake to the jerking of the jet and the feeling of weightlessness in your stomach as you start to make your descent. You’re awkwardly twisted in your seat but somehow so comfortable. The body next to you is warm and firm and smells so good.

With a jolt you straighten and disentangle yourself from around Bucky’s metal arm. You then notice your leg is hitched over his thigh.

Trying not to wake him you remove the rest of your limbs from his body and rub a hand over your face. He’s still quietly breathing, eyes closed and long lashes fluttering when you start to study every feature of his face up close.

His hair is mussed at the back, and the front, normally pulled upward, now falls over his forehead, shiny and soft. His sharp jaw is covered in a dark shadow, highlighted every now and then by patches of gray that travel down his strong neck.

And there, on his shoulder, is a wet patch of drool covering his leather jacket.

You anxiously wipe at your face and search for something to wipe it off with. Your panicky movements jostle him enough that his eyes flash open only to find your face inches from his.

You smile with a whispered, “hi.”   

He blinks a few times before his blue eyes widen, his gaze moving from yours to the spot on his shoulder where you had been wiping.

“I’m sorry about that,” you mumble. “Apparently you’re very comfortable.”

He grins. “Good to know.”

“I guess I dozed off too. Sorry about that doll. I was trying to stay awake and keep you company in case the trip got bumpy.”

“Oh my gosh, don’t be sorry. You looked adora…”

You stop yourself, snapping your mouth shut and then looking down at your seatbelt.

“Think you can help me out of this I need to stretch.”

“Not sure that’s a good idea…” he starts as the jet hits another patch of turbulence.

You ignore his warning and start to work on your seatbelt, opening it with minimal effort and trying to stand. The moment you do your body is thrown off balance and you nearly fall into his lap.

He wraps a strong arm around your waist and holds you close to his chest.

“I got you,” he says with a mischievous smile.

“I shouldn’t have gotten up,” you sigh. “I’m…”

“Nah, don’t worry. I get it. I never liked flying much myself. I’ve just done it so much now I guess I’ve gotten used to it.”

The sincerity in his words and tone make you melt against him and instead of moving back to your seat you rest your head on his shoulder.

“You’re a comfier seatbelt anyway,” you say quietly.

You can feel his eyes on you, but you keep your own on the wall across, afraid of what he’ll see written all over your face.

Once you’re out of the jet and into the fresh air you breathe deeply, taking in all the sights and sounds of the city. Bucky leads you to a small hotel on the upper west side of Manhattan, opening and holding the door for you.

The clerk greets you warmly and asks for your names.

“Separate rooms?” he asks with a questioning look.

You clear your throat and rush out with, “we’re here for business.”

The clerk nods and hands you your keys. You follow Bucky to the elevator, wincing inwardly when you remember your last encounter in one of these machines.

But this time the silence is more comfortable and when you exit Bucky points down the hallway.

“I’m right down here.”

“Looks like I’m next door,” you say. “I’m gonna freshen up.”

“Ok,” he says and watches until you unlock your door and get safely inside.

You fall against it and drop your head along the hard wood, groaning. You’d been on this mission for less than half a day and you’d already drooled on him, practically groped him, and threw yourself in his lap.

“Fucking hell,” you grumble and shuffle toward the bed, falling headfirst onto the pillows.

When you awake with a stretch you realize it’s only been an hour, but your stomach grumbles and you contemplate your food choices.

Before falling asleep you had managed to discard your clothes and don the soft hotel robe hanging in the closet. Now, as you tighten the knot at your waist you peer out into the hallway and hope there are vending machines near the ice machine.

It’s eerily quiet. Not even the sound of a television coming from a nearby room.

You head down the hallway.

“Doll?”

You let out a squeal of surprise in the quiet, the shrill sound echoing off the walls.

You turn and say, far too brightly and loudly, “HI!”

“What are you up to? I was just grabbing something to eat. Didn’t bring any snacks, remember?”

“Snacks?” he repeats, looking around the hallway before his eyes linger on your robe.

“From the vending machine,” you chirp as you lean casually against the wall. “Hungry?”

“What were you gonna get? Doritos?”

A pop of color stains his cheeks and a hint of a smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

“Maybe an energy bar?” you muse.

“What about half a peanut butter and jelly?” he offers.

“What no bagel left?”

He dips his head and rubs his hand along the back of his neck.

“Might have eaten that when you feel asleep on the jet.”

Your head falls back with a trill of laughter, and it makes his stomach flip.

“I’d love some pb and j. Thanks.”

“Come on,” he says and steps backward toward his room.

After you stuff the half a sandwich in your mouth, Bucky eyes you suspiciously.

“That definitely wasn’t enough to eat. We have to get you more food. And me too.”

He rubs his belly and stretches, the motion lifting the hem of his henley and exposing the waistband of his boxers and the dark trail of hair that disappears beneath.

“Food…right?” you whisper.

“Are you still hungry?” he asks, oblivious to your ogling.

“Starved,” you say with a harsh swallow.

After excusing yourself back to your room you to change you emerge ready to eat. The air is cooler now and you close your eyes, grateful for the refreshing feeling on your skin.

You take in as much of the city as you can while Bucky leads you with confidence down the street. You reach the corner and wait for the signal to walk. When the light changes, the crowd moves and you feel the press of his palm on the small of your back, urging you forward.

The sensation sends a shiver down your spine and when you reach the other side of the street he stops and gives you a concerned look.

“Are you cold?” he asks and starts to shrug off his jacket.

You’re anything but, however, there is no way you would ever turn down his jacket.

“A little. Guess I wasn’t expecting it to cool off so much.”

“Here,” he says and drapes his jacket over your shoulders. “Better?”

“Much,” you say, snuggling into his warmth and smell. “But won’t you be cold?”

“Nah, I’m like a walking heater,” he promises with a smile.

You continue down the sidewalk, now truly oblivious to all else other than the occasional brush of his shoulder and the feel of his jacket wrapped around you.

His voices pulls you from your trance and you finally register what he’s saying as you look up and see the iconic edifice of the American Museum of Natural History.

“Oh my god,” you say and stop dead in your tracks.

“Pretty cool right.”

You rush toward it, grabbing for your phone.

“Will you take a picture of me?”

You’re still trying to find your phone when you ask him and he laughs, pulling out his own.

“I’ve got mine. I’ll take it and send it to you.”

A sea of tourists rush by before he’s able to open the app and snap a picture but after he does the expression on his face is a little…charmed.

“Got it,” he says, turning the phone to show you. “Came great.”

You squeal in happiness. “Ok, now you come here.”

He stands next to you, and you take his phone. “Let’s get one together.”

“But…” he starts. “Your arms aren’t long enough!”

“Nah, I’ve got this! Just bend down a little and I’ll just…”

You start to maneuver closer to him, your heads almost touching.

“I’m being such a tourist right now,” he grumbles playfully.

“I promise I won’t tell anyone, “You giggle.

He takes the phone from your hand with a smile and holds your gaze for a fraction of a second, clearing his throat.

“Holding you to that doll.”

It takes a few tries to get the angle right but when you do he wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you in tight, snapping the pic.

He looks at the photo then turns the screen so you can see it. It’s a great picture. You’re both smiling and cozy.

“What’s your number?” he asks.

You recite it and watch as he types. In your pocket your phone buzzes and you chime, “ah there it is!”

You try not to smile too widely at the photo or the fact that Bucky seems to be smiling just as much as he looks at it one more time.

The smell of something good starts to fill your senses as you continue walking down 81st street and when you reach another corner, Bucky stops at the hot dog stand there.

“Always go to the one with the longest line,” he says.

You try to wait patiently but he notices your hopping feet and wiggly fingers.

“Don’t worry doll, it’ll be worth it. I promise.”

Once you have your hot dog in hand you pull him away from the cart and onto a bench under the shade of trees.

You moan around the first bite. “Bucky…oh my god.”

Thankfully, you’re so engrossed in the joy of your street dog that you don’t notice the way he’s staring at your lips, his own parted with his sharp inhale. Your tongue darts out to lick the corner of your mouth and he nearly chokes.

“You ok,” you ask, forgetting about the food.

He nods and holds up his hand, motioning for the bottle of water you bought. You open it and hand it over, watching him take a long drink and focus on the way the muscles in his neck shift with each swallow.

“Yeah, all good,” he sighs, next stealing the napkin from between your fingers.

“So, you like it huh?”

“Yeah,” you say with grin. “Think I need another.”

On the way back to the hotel you discuss the mission and go over your plan for the next few days. You’re mostly there to collect information and be covert so other than being in the right places and the right times you’ll be free to explore.

You point out every landmark, asking questions and hanging on his every word. When you reach the door of the hotel he holds it open for you once more and you realize he’s been quiet the last few blocks as you’ve rambled on.

“Shit,” you mutter. “You must think I’m so weird.”

He smiles and follows you in.

“Weird, yes but weird is good. I like your energy, and I think you’re pretty amazing.”

Before you can respond, the elevator dings and a crowd of people file out. He walks you to your door and you shrug his jacket from your shoulders, hanging over his and waiting until his arms are through before you smooth the leather down his chest and fix the collar.

He sucks in a breath, and you wait, worrying you’ve crossed a line.

“Thanks for getting me dinner,” you whisper.

“Anytime doll face.” A small smile tilts his lips upward as his eyes search yours.

Your hands still linger at his collar, and he takes your wrists, securing your hands around his neck.

This time you gasp and the faint scent of him hangs in the air, leather, and warm spice. You lean in slowly, and he does too, making the space between you disappear. His nose brushes the edge of yours and you can feel his breath across your lips.

“Are you going to kiss me Bucky?”

His chest is pressed against yours and you feel his heavy breathing. He pulls away just enough to look you in the eyes.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to stop,” he murmurs.

“I wouldn’t want you to…I’ve thought about this. A lot.”

Your confession makes his brows hit his hairline.

You continue. “I always thought this would just be a crush. But now, spending time with you, I feel like I’m going a bit crazy…in a good way.”

When you look up and meet his wide eyes you groan. “And I’ve said too much and totally freaked you out.”

Your head drops but his fingers catch your chin, lifting your gaze to meet his soft expression.

“No doll, you haven’t. I’m just not used to any of it.”

“I can’t believe that” you smile. “You must have girls falling all over you.”

He shakes his head with a huff of a laugh. “Not really and uh…well, it’s been a while…since I’ve done this.”

He steps back and gives you a sheepish look. “So, if you’re really interested, you’ll have to be patient with me. I feel like I have no idea what I’m doing.”  

His admission is endearing, and you give him a reassuring smile before leaning up to kiss the corner of his mouth.

“You’re worth the wait Bucky.”

You turn and with one last smile, close your door softly and once again collapse on the bed.

The next day you meet Bucky in the hallway, ready to tackle the day and get things done. The brightly shining sun brings plenty of warmth and you notice Bucky rolling up his sleeves as you walk toward your destination.

While you’re admiring his forearms, both metal and flesh, you nearly run into the crowd in front of you. He grabs your arm and pulls you back just in time, against his chest, and you exhale before sharply inhaling the same breath at the feel of him so close.

“You ok?” he asks softly against the shell of your ear.

“Yeah,” you answer. “Sorry. Was just lost in thought.”

He nods in understanding and steers you safely through the crowd. He stays close, his arm hanging at his side and his knuckles occasionally brushing yours. You assume it’s accidental and try not to react as goosebumps spread along your skin. But by the third and fourth time, you begin to wonder.

His pinky extends and caresses yours, and every nerve in your body seems to ignite, beginning at where you skin touches and stopping at your toes. You sway on your feet and your stomach erupts in butterflies.

The more time you spend near each other, the more he seems to unwind, and his wordless flirtation slowly builds throughout the day.

You want to scream at him that he knows exactly what he’s doing but instead you go with it and make sure he knows you’re receptive.

When you’re on the subway back to the hotel, the train rocks back and forth as you move through a darkened tunnel. Your body sways into him and he grabs your hip, holding your back to his chest.

You can feel the flex of his fingers against your skin and the warmth of them through your shirt. By the time the train reaches the station you’re breathing rapidly and walking unsteadily as he guides your toward the train doors and steps behind you.

His large hand remains at your waist, and he presses into you, allowing you to feel him, every inch.

Back at the hotel, your skin is burning and your body aches and you’re sure you can see the same desperation reflected in his eyes.

But instead of making a move he simply takes your hand and lifts it to his lips, watching you over your knuckles and kissing each of them.

He looks like he wants to say something and even inches forward before letting out a nervous exhale and waiting for you to go inside.

It’s torture to feel this way, knowing you’re not dreaming that he wants you but also knowing he’s scared. And besides that, the entire day of quiet foreplay left you needy.

You opt for a relaxing bath which doesn’t relax you at all and when you spread your warm body out on the bed the urge to slip your hand between your legs is too great. Your mind immediately fills with thoughts of how his calloused fingers would feel on your skin, so sensitive and wet.

You know he’s only on the other side of the wall and you think you can hear him talking on the phone, his voice faint but it’s enough for you to pretend.

The swift movement of your fingers along with your wild imagination is enough to send you over the edge with a cry of his name.

It’s only when your breathing evens out that you notice how quiet it seems, and you realize that you might have been too loud.

A knock at your door makes you yelp in surprise, and you hear Bucky’s voice on the other side.

“It’s just me doll.”

On shaky legs you walk to the door and open it only enough to peek out at him. You don’t say anything, and he asks, “everything ok?”

“Yeah, sure, why wouldn’t it be?” you answer, still quite breathless.

“It’s just…I heard…I thought? Did you call my name?”

Your eyes widen and your mouth hangs open.

He taps his ear with a sideways smile. “Super soldier hearing.”

“Well. No. I mean, yes? Maybe. I think I was dreaming?”

He waits for you to finish and then gently pushes on the door.

“Are you gonna let me in?” he asks.

You hold his stare, your heart hammering against your rib cage.

“Are you going to kiss me this time?”

Something in his eyes answers your question and you let go of the door, allowing him to slip inside and shut it.

You lean against it, his hand still pressed to the wood above your head as the other joins it, effectively caging you in.

He tilts his head, wearing a smile that gently pulls at his lips.

“What were you really doing in here?” he asks.

Your gaze moves from his lips to his eyes and every coherent thought leaves your head. You stare and let your tongue trace the outline of your mouth.

“Answer me,” he demands quietly.

“I was thinking of you.”

He bends to kiss your neck softly, his lips tracing the column of your throat before meeting just below your ear to whisper, “that’s it?”

“And touching myself.”

He inhales sharply through his nose, exhaling your name and dropping his hands to take your face between them. He drags his nose along your jaw and then his lips hover just above yours.

He stills and as much as you know he wants this you know his insecurities are hard to overcome.

You slide your hands up his chest, feeling the strong muscles flex beneath your fingers, and curl your hands around the back of his neck.

“I came with your name on my lips,” you whisper, keeping your eyes on his.

It’s all he needs, and he lets a low growl rumble through his chest before he closes the distance and kisses you. Your lips slide over his and you pull his bottom lip between your teeth, making him groan.

Your fingers dig into his hair as his hands slide along the curve of your waist to your back, clutching and bringing you impossibly close.

The kiss grows deeper, and you let out tiny little gasps as he tastes you, barely registering what you’re saying before, “please, Bucky, escapes.

“Please what?” he says, his lips sliding to your ear, softly kissing the skin beneath. “Anything.”

“Just…kiss me.”

He smiles against your lips. “Pretty sure that’s exactly what I was doing doll face.”

“Touch me,” you beg, taking his metal hand and sliding it down between your breasts.

“You can’t be real,” he breathes out.

You kiss his neck, lifting your lips to his earlobe and nibbling it before whispering, “I am and I’m all yours.”

[abucives]

𝐌𝐲 𝐅𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐌𝐞𝐚𝐥

Warnings: 18+, black reader, female anatomy, smut, p in v, short, teasing, overworked!ony, business man!ony, mdni! based off of this request!!

Ony x Black fem!reader

You know he's been working hard in his home office, so you plan a little surprise. You spend the afternoon cooking a delicious meal, making sure to take breaks to tease and flirt with yourself, building anticipation for what's to come.

As the sun begins to set, you turn off the stove and undress slowly, piece by piece, enjoying the feeling of freedom and the cool air on your bare skin. You walk seductively towards Ony's office, carrying the plate of food. The door is slightly ajar, and you can see him sitting at his desk, typing away, lost in his work.

You enter the room quietly, and he doesn't notice your presence at first. You stand there, naked and proud, your deep black hair cascading over your shoulders, your dark skin glowing in the soft light. Finally, Ony finishes typing and looks up, and his breath catches in his throat when he sees you. A hungry smile spreads across his face, and his eyes dart over your naked body, taking in every curve and swell.

Without a word, you walk over and place the plate of food on the desk. Ony reaches out and grabs your waist, pulling you closer. He stands up, still holding your waist, and pulls you against his chest. You can feel his hard cock pressing into your stomach, and a tingle runs through your body. Ony bends his head and captures your mouth in a fierce, hungry kiss. His tongue invades your mouth, and you moan, wrapping your arms around his neck.

Breaking the kiss, Ony sits back down in his chair and pulls you onto his lap, so you're straddling him. You can feel his thick cock pressed against your ass, and you grind yourself against it, wanting more. Ony's hands roam over your body, squeezing your breasts and pinching your nipples gently, making you gasp and arch your back. He leans forward and sucks one nipple into his mouth, teasing it with his tongue, while his hand moves down to your pussy, stroking your clit gently.

You're so wet and ready for him. Ony seems to know it too as he teases you, sliding his finger along your slit. You whimper with need, grinding your hips down onto his hand. "Please," you whisper.

"Fuck me, Ony."

Ony chuckles, a deep, sexy sound, and finally releases your nipple, giving it a gentle bite as he pulls away. He reaches down and guides his cock to your pussy, rubbing the head up and down your slit, making you squirm. "Impatient, aren't we?" he teases, grinding his cock against your clit.

"You know I want it," you reply, reaching behind you to grab his neck pulling him closer. "Give it to me. Fuck me nice and slow."

With a grunt, Ony slides into you, filling your pussy with his thick cock. You throw your head back and moan loudly, your walls clenching around him. Ony grips your hips and begins to move, sliding out of you slowly and then thrusting back in, hard and deep. You rise up onto your knees, braced on the arms of the chair, giving him better access.

He starts to pound into you, his balls slapping against your ass with each thrust. The sound of your wet pussy fills the room, along with your moans and gasps. Ony's breath is hot on your neck, and he bites down gently, sending shivers through you. "That's it, baby," he growls. "Take it all. Feel my cock stretching you open."

You can't form words, just incoherent sounds of pleasure as Ony fucks you senseless. He knows all the right moves, driving you wild with desire. Your pussy clutches at his cock, and you know you're both close to the edge. Ony reaches between your bodies and rubs your clit in circles, sending you over the edge.

"Cum for me," he demands, and you do, crying out as your orgasm washes over you. Your pussy pulses and contracts, milking his cock. Ony groans and thrusts into you a few more times before he spills himself inside you, his warm cum filling you up.

Breathing heavily, you collapse forward, your body resting on his chest. Ony wraps his arms around you, holding you tight as you both catch your breath. You can feel his cock still buried inside you, slowly softening, and you smile, knowing you've given him an evening he won't forget.

[pastryfication]

hihi could I request a fic where arthur is babysitting leo and takes him on a walk and meets y/n and their dog?

love at first sniff | arthur leclerc

part of the love at first . . . series.

pairing: arthur leclerc x reader note: it ended up just being very short but i hope you like it either way xx

when charles asks arthur to look after leo for the weekend, he doesn’t hesitate for even a moment. leo’s a tiny dachshund with big brown eyes and an even bigger personality, and while arthur’s not entirely sure how he’s going to manage, he can’t say no to charles—or to the way leo wags his tail when he sees him.

the first morning, arthur decides to take leo for a walk around the neighborhood. it’s early, the sun just beginning to rise, casting a soft golden glow over everything. the streets are quiet, and arthur finds the calm refreshing. leo trots along beside him, his little legs working overtime to keep up, and arthur can’t help but smile at the dog’s enthusiasm.

as they turn a corner, leo suddenly perks up, his ears twitching. arthur follows his gaze and spots another dog up ahead—a cocker spaniel with a golden coat, ears floppy and a leash held by a girl around his age.

you’re standing near a patch of grass, watching your dog sniff around, a soft smile on your lips. arthur notices the way the light catches in your hair as you fondly look at your pet, and he feels a flicker of nerves in his chest.

leo, however, doesn’t share his hesitation. the moment he sees the cocker spaniel, he’s off, tugging at his leash with surprising force. arthur stumbles after him, trying not to laugh at the little dog’s determination.

“sorry about that,” arthur says once he’s close enough, a bit breathless as he finally gets leo to slow down. “he’s really excited.”

you laugh, glancing down at leo, who’s now stretching up on his hind legs, trying to sniff your dog’s face. “it’s okay,” you say. your voice is warm and comforting and arthur never wants you to stop talking. “he’s adorable. what’s his name?”

“leo,” arthur replies, gently pulling the dachshund back to a sit. “he’s my brother’s dog. i’m just looking after him for the weekend.”

“well, leo’s very charming,” you say, smiling down at the little dog. “this is daisy,” you add, nodding toward your brown dog, who’s watching leo with curious, gentle eyes.

“leo and daisy,” arthur says, grinning. “they sound like they could be the stars of a children’s book.” immediately after saying it, he cringes on the inside. what was that?

but you only laugh again, seemingly not put off by his awkward humour, and arthur can’t help but feel a bit more at ease. the conversation flows naturally after that, both of you chatting about the dogs and swapping stories about their quirks. arthur finds himself relaxing, enjoying how easy it is to talk to you. daisy seems to have taken a liking to leo as well, sniffing around him and wagging her tail, while leo bounces around her, excited and playful.

as you talk, arthur learns that you live just a few blocks away and that you often take daisy on early morning walks.

there’s something about the way you speak—open, friendly, and warm—that makes arthur feel like he’s known you longer than just a few minutes. he’s never been particularly good at small talk, but with you, it doesn’t feel like an effort at all.

eventually, you glance at your watch and sigh softly. “i should probably get going,” you say, though you don’t seem in any real hurry to leave. “daisy’s going to start pulling if we stay much longer.”

arthur nods, feeling a twinge of disappointment but trying not to show it. “yeah, leo’s got a lot of energy to burn off too.”

you kneel down to give leo a quick pat on the head, your fingers gentle in his fur. “it was really nice meeting you, arthur. maybe we’ll see each other around again?”

“i’d like that,” arthur says, his response coming out a bit more eagerly than he intended, but you just smile.

“me too,” you reply, giving daisy’s leash a gentle tug. “come on, daisy.”

as you walk away, arthur watches for a moment, a small smile lingering on his face. leo whines a little, clearly disappointed to see daisy go, and arthur chuckles, giving the dachshund a gentle nudge with his foot. “come on, leo. let’s head home.”

as they continue their walk, arthur can’t help but think about the way you smiled at him, how easy it was to talk to you. maybe looking after leo isn’t so bad after all, he muses, a small spark of hope warming his chest.

and as they make their way back to charles’s place, arthur finds himself wondering if maybe, just maybe, tomorrow’s walk might lead them past that same corner again.

[novemberheart]

{overview} The two alphas in the pack are warming up to you and you can't help but feel the same

{warnings} a/b/o dynamics, fem reader, a bit of reader backstory, poly 141 x reader

Chapter 7 <- Chapter 8 -> Chapter 9

“Sweetheart, I want you to promise me two things.” John began as you started your walk back home. “Number one, if there's a question on this thing-” he nearly growled, holding up the envelope he was carrying for you. “that you don't want to answer, don't. Nobody's business if you don't want it to be, understand?”

“Yes, Alpha.” the title slipped from your lips out of instinct. You were so focused on your own embarrassment to notice the sudden rise in his body temperature, or the way he began holding the envelopes lower. “I’m sorry-”

“Don't be,” he insisted. “You can call me whatever you want, whatever feels comfortable to you,” he assured, causing your heart rate to slow. The title ‘alpha’ certainly fits the Captain. It also felt more personal- more intimate than John. You hoped the outside air would be enough to waft away the growing sweetness in your scent.

“What was the other thing you wanted me to promise?” you reminded.

“That you'll seriously think about getting chipped. If it's a hard no, I'll understand, but it's important to me- to all of us that we set you up to be safe should anything happen.” he requested.

The butterflies in your stomach were fluttering around at lightspeed. The alpha was close to you as you walked. The overwhelming urge to just tuck yourself under his strong arm so he could make good on his promises. A whine left your throat at the understanding that you couldn't touch him yet.

Alpha's were built to keep their omegas warm. Your omega was throwing a temper tantrum at the denial.

“I’ll stop pressing you, sweetheart. I apologize.”

You quickly realized he was referencing your whine. The sound made his stomach flip.

“No- I wasn’t whining at that. I'm not sure where that came from, to be honest.” you lied. “It's probably a good idea actually. It'll help me feel safer too.” you didn't know who had taken over your mouth. Maybe it was desperation. If you got chipped that would be one step closer to being his.

“Come on, pup.” You poked your head outside your door, peering at Simon as he shut the TV off and stood up from the couch. He winced a bit as he tested how much weight he could put on his leg. He stood still watching you with dull eyes. You quickly got up and trotted over to him.

“Do you need something?” you pondered.

“Time for your walk,” he smirked down at you, making his way over to the kitchen, where he grabbed his key card and a pack of cigarettes out of the drawer. He then grabbed a black balaclava and tugged it over his head. Your brows furrowed at the tease in his voice, but you complied heading back towards your room to grab a pair of shoes. “Need to get you walking shoes.” he ‘tsked’ eyeing your flats. There was a subtle limp in his walk and you could tell he was trying to downplay it.

“Do you need a cane or something?” you poked. He shot you a look, but his hand reached up and rested on the back of your neck, causing you to erupt in goosebumps.

“This’ll do.” he shot back, giving you a gentle squeeze.

“You like being outside don't you?” he observed, watching the way your breathing deepened and a glow appeared on your face as the sun hit it. You nodded your head.

“I grew up in a crowded city. Every summer break my parents would take me to the countryside to be with the rest of our pack,” you explained.

“Split pack?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you affirmed softly.

“That’ll serve you here.” Simon commented. “You already have experience being away from the majority of your pack, along with knowing how to manage the emotions that come with it.”

“For when you guys have to do your jobs?” you clarified. He sucked air through his teeth, then hummed in agreement. When you were at the Omega house you would lie awake thinking about it, growing anxious even though you had no relationship with them. Now the thought of them leaving wasn't an entirely negative one. You hoped that they wouldn't all leave at the same time. It would give you a chance to bond with those who stayed and miss the ones who left. “How often do you leave anyways?” you questioned.

“Eager, huh?” he gave the back of your neck another squeeze. “We never know. Sometimes we’ll go a few weeks without being called away, other times we’ll just be here a few days out of the month.”

“Do you all leave at the same time?” you held your breath.

“Sometimes.” he drew out. “That might change with you though, at least in the beginning.” he sighed. He guided you behind a large building, releasing your neck. He leaned against the side of it, pulling the pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, rolling his mask up, and placing the cigarette between his lips. “You don't smoke do you?”

“No.” you nearly spat.

“Good, nasty habit.” he praised, lighting it. All was quiet between the two of you and you focused on trying to listen to the birds between the distant sound of gunfire, whirling machines, and shouting. “How’d you end up in an omega house?” he asked suddenly. He watched as you frilled up like a spooked cat.

“When I was fifteen my mom left us.” you began. You avoided Simon’s gaze even though you could feel the burn of it. “My dad reclaimed shortly after and along with that came a new pack. I didn't adjust too well.” you trailed off.

“Their fault or yours?” he questioned. You paused for a long moment mulling it over. You finally lifted your eyes from the tree line, merging with Simons. Cold and unreadable.

“I'm not sure. Mix of both,” you whispered. He got the last bit of cigarette he could before putting it out against the lid of a trash can.

“Tell you what.” he started. The grip on the back of your neck returned, as he headed back towards the pavement. “I’ll let you know whose fault it is after I get to know you a bit better.” he offered. You rolled your eyes, ignoring the slight sting in your chest at the memories.

“Hey, Peaches.” an instant smile appeared on your face at the familiar voice.

“Hi, Johnny.” you smiled up at him. You had just gotten back from your walk with Simon when John and Kyle came back to swoop you up for lunch. After they dropped you back off you were determined to finally finish unpacking.

“Need any help?” He asked, taking a seat in your doorway.

“Not really.” you sighed, looking over your horrible wrinkled clothes. “Thanks though, Johnny.” You smiled. He smiled back, getting himself comfortable by leaning against your doorframe. “Can I ask you something?” you asked hesitantly.

“Course, bonnie,” he replied instantly.

“How come you don't have an omega yet?” his smile remained on his face as he shrugged.

“I always wanted one, and I know Kyle has been thinking about it a lot lately, well, ever since Laswell had brought it up. I think the Captain was putting it off because he's a worrier. Simon is just a prick.” he whispered the last part, his eyes snapping over to the couch where Simon had passed out. You giggled, following his gaze. “I hope we didn't hurt your feelings, bonnie. I know Laswell wanted to pair you up with us sooner and we”-

“Rejected the idea?” You finished for him. He nodded his head- regretfully.

“Didn’t know it would be you though.” The smirk returned to his face, as his eyes drifted up and down you playfully.

“I don’t think Simon’s a prick.” You defended softly, wanting to change the subject. “He’s been quite nice to me. Well- all of you have.” You sighed happily.

The words he wanted to say were at the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed it back. The truth was you seemed rather oblivious to your impact. The closest way he could describe you was addictive. Your scent, your eyes, even the way you scowled when you didn’t approve of something. You had flipped a switch in the brains that had been dormant their whole lives. It wasn't just him either. He watched the way John eyed the clock and practically sprinted out the door when it was time to pick you up for lunch. He noticed the way Kyle picked out a deep, forest green shirt today because you had absentmindedly shared you had liked the color. Just the idea that you had been chosen for them. You had been selected with the intention to be theirs. And even though you still hadn't bonded with them or been marked, the prideful beta in him rumbled at the thought.

Instead of saying all that he settled with:

“Give him some time, Peaches. He’ll come around.” he snickered.

“If you say so.” you huffed.

“We should throw your things in the dryer, Bon. Can't have you walking around like nobody’s takin’ care of ya.”

It was dark out before you knew it. You had already eaten dinner, orange chicken with white rice. They didn't have a dessert, but Kyle quickly raced to the vending machine to get you a candy bar. You smiled, curling yourself deeper into your blanket.

All of you were together, for the first time since you had arrived. John is at the very end of the couch, with his feet up on the coffee table. Kyle lying next to him, his feet nearly on his lap. Johnny was also sprawled out, he and Kyle sharing a pillow. Simon sat stiffly next to him. His pain meds must be starting to wear off. You could always tell because an annoyed scowl would appear on his face. You were curled up on the other side of Simon, and you took it upon yourself to slowly inflate your scent. You weren't sure if he knew you did it on purpose, but you felt giddy when you saw his tense muscles begin to relax.

It was John's turn to pick what to watch- although he offered to forgo his turn if there was something that caught your eye. You politely shot him down, already feeling your eyelids grow heavy. He had settled on a ‘How It's Made’ episode about kayaks, safety boots, electronic signs, and cereals.

All in all, it was the perfect recipe for sleep. A pack that you were beginning to feel comfortable with, a calm voice on TV, a full stomach, and a soft blanket.

John watched as your eyelids began to droop. You were comfortable. He was pleased with how easily you had adjusted to their pack. He knows the first day wasn't easy- or what you had hoped for. If he could do it all again, trust him, he would. But here you were drifting in and out of sleep, the smell of warm peaches and vanilla filling the air. It made his own restless mind slow, and the ache in his temples dissipated.

“She asleep?” Johnny whispered. It was then he realized the show had ended. “Should we move her back to her room?” The Scot questioned, peeling himself off of the couch. He stretched, his back popping loudly.

“Best leave her out here with me,” Simon said all too quickly. Three heads snapped in his direction. “Fuck off,” he growled. “You want me to get better or not?” he reminded. They all agreed, not voicing any other theories about why he wanted you there with him.

Hi friends! Hope you enjoyed this chapter! I'll see you in two days for chapter 9! 🧡

[jolalibrary]

take my picture

francisco "frankie" morales x ofc!reader | collection masterlist

summary: you find a polaroid camera, and offer to let frankie take photos.

chapter kink: photo exhibitionism. warnings: smut. frankie takes polaroids of you (consenting). oral (m!receiving). bit of cock praise. fingering. lots of sexy photos. underwear to the side. fuck bud things aka two fools who won't talk. frankie is a sleepy boy (not a warning, just stating facts now). blue has a name and job/likes/dislikes. no physical descriptions. wordcount: 3.9k. an: thanks to @pedgito for beta'ing. dedicated to @luxurychristmaspudding because i haunted her with this, she told me to write it, and i told her only if i could gift it to her. i love you bby. one day we hug, yes?

You’ve only been awake for an hour when he lets you know he’s here.

The clock on your kitchen wall tells you it’s midday, though the light outside seems to have forgotten. Everything is muted, as if the sun has forgotten to rise fully, the sky from your kitchen a blanket of dull grey, casting shadows over everything. You can sense the hum of activity—the muffled clatter of life moving above you, or people in the hallway.

Then, in a hundred and forty-six seconds—that’s all it takes—his knuckles tap softly on your door before he’s twisting the handle.

The coffee you’d only half-finished is swirling down the sink, and you’d just manage to fluff the cushions on your two-piece sofa when your eyes meet his. You worry, briefly, that the signs of your night shifts are as obvious on your face, as they are in your home. Little traces of exhaustion are scattered around—the shoes kicked off near the basket of unworn pairs, your jacket draped over the armchair, and your bag lying on its side, carelessly dropped and forgotten.

When he steps through, it appears as though he’s blind to it all. The usual duffel swings down from his shoulder, but this time he’s an accompanying pair of bags under his eyes—a tiredness that doesn’t filter away even when he smiles. There’s a tightness in his face, a 4 o’clock shadow you trace with your eyes that’s beginning to darken his jawline.

The greeting is gentler this time. Softer kisses, his fingers skating along your jaw, thumb resting on your chin, as his mouth slants over yours. Your lashes flutter closed as you tug him closer, pulling him in, melting into him before his face finds the curve of your neck. The duffel drops with a thump as both his arms cage you.

He breathes in, right against your neck, before he grazes unspoken words against your skin as your fingers massage the top of his neck, feeling the tightness, hearing how he lowly groans into your skin.

“You slept, captain?”

“Hmm,” he hums as his mouth presses slow, open-mouthed kisses to your neck.

Ones you almost bow towards, lean into, let happen.

“Frankie.” Fingers sliding around his cheeks, lifting him, forcing his eyes to wander over yours. “Have you slept since you’ve been back? Preferably in the last day or two?”

Scratching the back of his head, temporarily averting his eyes as his nostrils flare, he eventually spits out, “Here and there.”

Tilting your head, sighing. Something there, unspoken. An explanation, one that would weave a thread between the two of you, a deepness you’re not sure either of you is willing to surrender to.

You’d sensed something was simmering beneath the surface when he told you he was back. The timing of his return and your string of night shifts had become an enemy to you both, keeping you apart, forcing him to go home and make excuses instead of—what you suspected was his usual—lying and saying he was back later than he was. The benefit of this was that the two of you rarely had the chance to converse as much as you have in the past few days—conversations broken up by your erratic sleep schedule and shifting time zones. Still, it had felt strange to find him keeping you company as you tried to eat leftover lasagne at three in the morning.

Thinking you like texting me too much.

What makes you say that?

You’ve responded within seconds, Morales.

You don’t admit you like texting him. That it’s nice, almost normal in the grand schemes of whatever this thing is. This thing where you text him and wait for a response, giddy when you see his name flash up; this thing where you count down, in your head only, to the day you think he’ll be home.

For sex, you remind yourself. Just sex—and food.

“Here or there less than three hours a day or…”

He glares, but smothers it quickly, jaw tightening as he keeps his hands in place.

“Bed, now.” His brow arches at your words, lips rolling as he stares. “Alone.”

“Blue… c’mon.”

“The plans we have require you to be awake for the duration, not somewhere between snoozing and existing. Just go, I don’t know, sleep for an hour or two in my bed.”

His brow raises again, remaining there, hovering over his brown eye. “In your bed.”

“Yeah, my bed.” Folding your arms, letting your lips slide into your cheek. “Don’t be difficult and argue with me. I’ve done four back-to-back night shifts.”

He snorts, eyes slightly wider than usual—as though acknowledging it, how you’ve overshared, how there’s a bit of you amongst the other parts.

“Look, I can study—I’ve got another nursing exam thing coming up and you can sleep, and then when you wake up, we can…”

Dragging his eyes up and down you, you try to remain tall, strong. Not giving in as you feel your skin warm under his gaze; not crack under the way he lingers on your legs, on your arms crossed just under your chest.

“Nurse, huh.”

“Go.”

“Fuck, alright.”

Smiling, watching him move to grab his bag, you begin biting the inside of your cheek, gnawing at it. “Hey,” you say, watching his eyes flick up, staring through his brows as he remains hinged, “Am I eating for one tomorrow night or?”

Softly, he begins to smile. Likely remembering the texts—the odd few the two of you have managed to send between whatever he does and your work.

It rises, the smirk kissing his eyes at the same time as the dimple appears on his cheek when he straightens up, sweats in hand as he takes a step closer. “Was thinking about you not eating alone for another night after that, if you still wanted?”

Swaying on the spot, you mirror his smirk. “You’re buying.”

Then he’s kissing you, fingers sliding around the back of your head, cupping it, as he smothers a reply to your mouth, a murmur of being back soon as he swats at your ass.

You don’t stop smiling for several minutes after your bedroom door closes.

Frankie wakes around the time you’ve grown sick of diagrams, words and note-making.

When your pastel highlighters are suddenly not as cute and the clear post-its are not as innovative as you first thought. When you’re distracting yourself with making a coffee, struggling to adjust to the fact it’s almost evening when in fact for you it’s more midday.

You’re barely three sips into your drink when he takes it, dwarfing your cup with his paw as his sip is larger than yours.

“Oh, help yourself, Morales.”

Smirking, he takes another small sip before handing it back. “Fuck, somehow forgot how pretty you are.”

You hum, placing the cup down, it clinking against the counter before he slides his arms around you. Instinctive, that’s how you’d describe it, your nails scraping against the base of his neck, the edge of your counter digging in as he presses his body flush against yours.

“Been thinking about you.”

“Memories of me serving you well, Morales.”

He groans as you kiss him, as you pull his mouth to yours—feeling how warm his mouth is, how there’s the slightest taste of mint.

“Poor Frankie, having to use his mind to jerk off in the desert or forest or… wherever you get sent to.”

Snorting, he grabs a handful of your ass, making your mouth open in a gasp before he smothers it with his lips. Kneading it, making your hips meet his. Your hand reaches for the side, knocking into it—the unboxed surprise that just catches his eyes.

“What’s that?”

“Well,” you say, picking it up, and turning it over in your hand. “It's a Polaroid camera.”

“I can see that.”

“Thought you might have grown tired of your imagination. Thought maybe I could give you a gift—especially when you left me with one of your shirts.”

“No, I didn’t.”

Smirking, you press the button—a flash illuminating, making him hiss a swear under his breath as the machine conjures and spits out the image.

“We can call it even then—what I’ve thought up.”

Fingers rubbing his eyes, one trying to crack open. “What’s that then?”

“You can say no.”

“Something I’ve yet to do with you but go on.”

Smiling, a flutter of nerves rumbling through you as you swallow. “Thought you could… take some souvenirs with you. For you. Your eyes only kinda thing.”

His brows furrow, flicking his gaze to the camera and back again before he’s biting his cheek. It dawns slowly, slipping over his face as his eyes darken, as he catches on to the nature of your suggestion.

Continuing, you meet his gaze. “You can pick how you want me, can shoot as many as you like—but you only get to take three with you.”

“Just three?”

Nodding, biting your lip. “I almost said one, but thought you’d like a mix—especially since you were gone longer this time.”

“You want me to have dirty photos of you, Blue.”

Smiling, nose brushing against the tip of his, “I’m just doing my bit, captain.”

The last word is punctuated by the way you hook a finger in your shorts and let them slide down to your ankles. Empowered, confident, even as a chill rushes over you and your skin goosebumps.

The way he stares, makes you wonder how you’ve ever settled for anything less than the lust in his eyes. An easy explanation for why you wait, because there can’t be anything better, right? The way he tilts his head slightly and runs his hand against his jaw as your clothes fall in soft thuds to your floor until you’re stood in nothing but a pair of panties.

Ones chosen, all intentionally picked. Selected.

All set to remove them when his hands stop you. When his rough hands slide over them and press your palms to the counter, mouth slanting over yours, softly but hungrily. The kind of kiss that would make your knees go if not for his frame pressing on you, his grip on your hands tightening as you bite at his lower lip.

“How do you want me?”

The tip of his nose brushes yours, eyes closed, before he breathlessly whispers, “On your knees.”

You smile, ghosting it over his. “Help me down then, baby.”

It slips out, slithers. The name he calls you, that you now call him.

His fingers slot between yours, gripping them tight as he helps you lower yourself to the ground—to the cold tiles of your kitchen as you stare up at him. Left only in a pair of lace panties you’re grateful you’d thrown on before.

“Can I taste you, captain?”

“Fuck—yeah. Sure.”

He’s already hard when you’re pulling him free—thick, twitching. The tip already glistening as you glide the fabric down, teasingly, watching the head of his cock meet the base of his stomach.

“Your cock is so perfect.”

Your hand wraps around it, smearing the bead of precum, smirking at the hiss you make him emit, lifting onto your knees as you begin to work him, his soft stomach shifting as he breathes deeply.

“Can’t wait to taste you, Frankie—”

“—Li—”

You make him choke on your name when your mouth wraps around him. The tip at first, tongue swirling around, savouring the tangy taste of him—until you take more of him. And more. Doing so until your eyes prick with tears and you feel annoyed that you’re not at the base.

But, it’s fleeting, passing. His moan makes it worth it.

From the weight of him on your tongue to the taste of him, it’s all worth it. You lick around the head and flick your eyes up to see his stare already trained on you, the muscles in his legs twitching under your palms, gliding your tongue—all flat—on the underside of him, smearing the tip along your lips as though its gloss.

If you didn’t know what he did for a job, you’d tell him with that glare he’d be good at it.

Especially when you take him deeper, hearing the reward of a hiss, of your name—all elongated and breathy. Tears prick and spill over as your nose meets the thick curls at the base of him, feeling him twitch, pulse—all thick and fucking divine in your throat before you’re forced to slide back up. Your cheeks hollowed, eyes flicking up to see his mouth parted in surprise, chest heaving.

You smirk, with difficulty. The thickness of him makes it challenging as you swirl your tongue around the tip and feel his fingers sliding under your chin.

And you want to touch yourself.

Smudge the mess between your thighs around your aching clit, dip two fingers into your heat—

“Too good to me, Blue.”

His praise and the sight of him in the low light, the evening bathing your room, making the perspiration on his chest glitter. It’s then you notice the camera in hand—dwarfed almost, by the size of his palm.

He’s holding it like a gesture, like a silent ask of permission. One you give. A nod, a slow blink, and you spot the surprise sewn into his brows. A look vanished a moment later as you take him to the base, nails digging into the back of his thighs as you plead for yourself not to choke again.

You don’t.

Not even when he gently rolls his hips to your movements,

“Need to take a picture, Blue. Need it.”

You hum, nose against the curls at the base of him, almost feverish with how much you want him. Desperate, agitated with it.

So you flick your eyes up, swallowing—a flurry of curses leaving his lips.

Click, flash—

—Click, flash.

It illuminates you. The bright light makes your eyes widen, forcing them to, filling them with surprise. It’s barely a second, but he steals what the glare provides in the thickening darkness as the clock ticks on.

He doesn’t need the photo to develop, he’s sure the image will be burned into his brain for a lifetime. You with your mouth full of him, cheeks hollowed around his spit-soaked cock as it dribbles down your chin and wets his palm.

There are stains on your cheeks—tears. One's from taking him so deep earlier, when he’d felt the need to remind you to be slow. He caught a glimpse of your glare then, but there’s no sign of it now. Your eyes are all glassy, completely fucked out. Knelt before him in nothing but the thinnest pair of panties, likely soaked, ruined. All for him.

All. For. Him.

Then the room dims again, the photo ejecting out of the camera as it begins to bloom and paint the scene, forever immortalised, and he has to stop himself from clicking the button again just to see you in that light.

You hum as though thinking it. So he snaps another, and another. Each flash creates a different scene, one with your eyes closed—your wet lashes against your cheek. The next you smirking, fingers around the base and your tongue licking at his slit—eyes burning into the camera lens.

You loosen up the more he takes, performing, kneeling up as your hand moves to cup his balls, to gently, ever so carefully roll them as you lick another stripe up the underside of his cock.

He hisses in curses, ones barely bitten back.

It takes all of his restraint not to come down your pretty little throat the next time you take him down it. Because you’re beautiful, but this is something else. An enigma, a gift, a heavenly being that is here for him, taking as much of him as you can.

Bobbing and sucking, little moans and mews around him as you do so. It’s all too much, his eyes clenching shut, feeling, just feeling, and feeling—

It feels like something should have ripped, as though the universe has pulled apart, but he knows it’s in his head. It rushes through him so quickly, splintering and knocking him off base as his elbow awkwardly collides with the dresser before he’s gripping it with all he has, panting through his nose, hips meeting your movements.

And then his hips buck, cock twitching on your tongue.

Then, he’s coming hard down your throat. From the top of his head to his toes, his muscles clench, tighten. Body roaring, licked with flames, his cock twitching as you lick up every drop, as he begins to tingle all over from it.

Whether it’s an intention, just for the camera in his hand or him alone, when your mouth slides from him, it hinges open. Waiting, hands falling to your lap. And he knows before he brightens you with the flash what he’s going to see. But, nothing compares when he glimpses it. Your pretty, perfect fucking mouth full of him.

It stirs in him. Hunger, agonising covetous to have you—to taste himself on your lips, tongue.

“Swallow, baby.”

And he hears it, in the thick silence that you do.

The photo hangs from the device as he plants it down, as he rests it and descends to his knees to meet you. Hand cupping the back of your head as he brings your mouth to his, as he licks into your mouth, as he groans at the way you open up to him and the suppleness of your skin.

Perfect, perfect, so fuckin’ perfect.

He whispers it to your lips, groans it against your jaw as he slides a hand between your legs, underwear moved to the side as the two of you moan in unison at first contact. You shifting, adjusting, knees spread as your ass meets your floor, palms pressed to the ground behind you, head tipping back, letting it escape—

“Please. Please, baby.”

It’s delicately said, all smooth, but encased and embroiled in damned desperation. Baby—he likes it when you say it, a thing he so rarely hears.

He rewards you for it by pressing two fingers inside you, finding you soak him to the knuckles. You tighten around him, the lewd sound of your pussy filling the air, and he swallows, transfixed—a slither of light is all he has. His attention fixed, thumb pressing to your clit as you arch into his hand, bearing down against it.

“Take it,” you moan, hips beginning to rock against him. “Take a picture, Frankie.”

He smirks, almost grins. Almost full of delirium that you exist, that you’ve chosen him, let him in, let him—

You whine his name, already so close. His free hand reaching, patting for it, knocking things over to the point you laugh—

“Break it all, Frankie. I don’t care, just need—”

“Shh,” he soothes, rubbing circles with his thumb, the other hand grasping the camera, pulling it with him as he adjusts his knees on the floor. “Got you, Blue. Always got you.”

I know, I know, I know.

A chant, a soundtrack to the way he curls his fingers until you’re pleading, sobbing.

Click, flash—

Fuck, you’re a mess. Wrecked, ruined. Underwear pulled to the side, black, maybe even ripped a little, with your back bowed and your face contorted—twisted in pleasure. He sees tear tracks on your cheeks from earlier, slick spread in the crease of your spread thighs. Your hips meet his movements, pressing his fingers down on the spongy spot that has you babbling—whining; thumb pressing against your swollen, puffy clit.

Let go, he thinks. Readying to say it, to plead. But then your hips jolt, your chin raising as your head falls back.

The sound of you when you come is one he’ll never grow tired of.

Least of all the taste of you when he slowly removes his fingers and licks them clean, his other thumb massaging your knee when you wince at the loss of him.

“Go get on your bed, Blue.”

You breathe, pant. “You bringing the camera?”

“If you want?”

He hears you exhale and almost feels your smirk even in the darkness.

By the time the two of you are done, there’s a sea of them—the Polaroids.

The sheets under the two of you are a mess, with little photographic evidence of the two of you scattered all around. A play-by-play of the last forty-five minutes.

His breath is caught, as is yours. The soft hue of your bedroom illuminated by the late afternoon filters in, shades of purple and deep oranges.

You’re resting against him, fitting under his arm—heart still beating, even through him as you try to catch your breath. It’s not like the last time, when you’d looked half-awake and rode him until he had to roll you over, it’s not like the time before when he’d watched soap suds slide down your spine, pussy swallowing his cock over and over as your cries echoed around the tiles. It’s soft, sweet, the moment the two of you are sharing. Fingers, splayed out, soft with nails trimmed, skate up and down his side, and it shouldn’t be a thing he thinks, never mind confessed.

But fuck is this perfect, you’re perfect.

Frankie fumbles for the camera, for the device forgotten amongst the sheets, leaving it there, resting. Waiting.

“So how many bedpans do you have—”

You swat at him first, the lightest laugh following, spreading out. So, he continues. Asking more oddities with a shake of your head, not breaking you, not earning more than a light giggle, until:

“You got a pair of scrubs around? I do like a woman in uniform.”

It bursts out of you then, a laugh—a real one—and he lifts the camera as your head rests on him. The click comes, the flash brighter than he remembers.

It’s snapped, taken—a laugh, yours, all but frozen in time.

Later, when the photo is developed and mixed in with a stack of others waiting to be chosen, he sees his own smile. It’s light, almost unfamiliar, given how long it’s been since he’s seen it.

That photo might be his favourite, but it isn’t one he keeps. He thinks it’s too soon for things like that.

[spidrgirl]

childhood best friends to lovers

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Pairing: Miles Morales 1610 x female reader !

Synopsis: miles being in love with you since you guys were kids.

Genre: fluff

Word count: 2361

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His earliest memory consists of the taste of cherry flavored blowpops, the scent of strawberry lotion and wild mango shampoo, and the feeling of your soft, warm lips pressed against his.

He remembers it as if it were yesterday. The two of you had been playing outside for what felt like hours while "The mothers" (as you guys had playfully called your mothers) scolded you for running in and out of the house.

After another trip of doing exactly that—going into the house for a drink of water and quickly running back outside—Rio stopped you two and gave you the choice of staying outside, or coming inside.

you smiled brightly and assured her that you would stay outside and play until you were finally ready to come in for the day.

"Of course tia," you had agreed, "we'll stay outside and play until it's curfew! We won't come in anymore, I promise!"

And with that, you grabbed Miles' hand and ran outside to the farthest end of your street, where the neighborhood park was.

"Betcha can't beat me in a race there and back," he taunted, pointing at a large pin oak tree that stood near the back of the park. It's dark green leaves slightly brightened by the glistening sun shining down on them.

"Can too!" you exclaimed, eagerly accepting his challenge.

Miles gave you a sly grin and ran to the sandbox, which was then quickly assigned to be the starting line, with you quickly chasing behind him, your hair blowing against your face in the soft breeze.

You perched yourself at the sandbox with Miles right next to you, ready to take off and kick his butt in what was sure to be another easy round of you beating him in a race.

"On your mark…" Miles said slowly, glancing over at you to make sure you were ready, his eyes flickering with something you couldn't quite determine but making you smile anyway.

"get set…"

"Oh, hurry up Miles!" You playfully groaned, rolling your eyes at his obvious trolling.

"GO!" Miles exclaimed, and the two of you took off running towards the pin oak tree,taunting and mocking each other the entire time.

"You're slow!" You shouted breathlessly.

"You're one to talk; you are literally reminding me of a turtle right now!" Miles shot back with another big smile, sprinting to the tree as fast as he could.

When he neared the tree, though, Miles slowed down and let you pass him up—not too obviously, but just enough to let you think that he had gotten tired or that you were simply too fast for him to beat.

The truth was, Miles was much faster and stronger than you and could have easily run the race, but he always let you take the first place trophy. He enjoyed seeing you brag about how fast you were or how good you were, knowing it was only possible because of his own loss.

Because of this, you won the race and wasted no time bragging about your well deserved and expected win, completely oblivious to the fact that he had let you win this time, and all the other times that came before this.

"Ha! I beat you, Miles; you owe me a soda!" You smiled at him, flashing a row of white baby teeth with the one on the side missing.

"Oh, please," he rolled his eyes playfully, "you cheated. I would've beat you but you ran before I even said go."

You laughed at his comment and slid down the tree's thick trunk to cool down, grateful for the shade the large branches and leaves provided against the relentless July heat. Beads of sweat were starting to form on your face from the heat waves rising from the hot asphalt, and you were almost certain you were going to die of "hotness."

"Whatever, you still owe me a soda." you cooed, letting out a deep sigh and resting your head on his shoulder, hot and tired from all that running you just did.

"I don't have a soda..but I got this," he said breathlessly, pulling a cherry blowpop from his pocket stowed away from earlier.

You took it from his fingers without another word and popped it into your mouth, immediately feeling a rush of dopamine from the sugary taste of the candy.

Miles gazed over at you, resting on his shoulder and mindlessly sucking on the blowpop, silently taking the chance to admire your beauty. Even though you were just an eight-year-old girl, you were already so beautiful, and this was something everyone seemed to know but you.

Miles was reminded of this fact whenever he took the chance to sneakily take longing looks at your soft pink lips, long dark eyelashes, iridescent eyes, and that soft hair that always seemed to glow in the sun. He loved all these small details about you, but was too young to understand what this meant to him yet. So he kept them to himself, storing it for later.

A while later, you lifted your head from his shoulder, and although it was plenty hot outside, he immediately missed your warmth. He wanted you to rest on him again, perhaps come even closer, but he wouldn't press the issue.

He thought of you and what he wanted for a quick moment before he was snapped out of his thoughts when you looked up at him with a soft smile and asked him if he thought that you guys would be friends forever.

"Of course we will. We are best friends forever, remember?" He replied, fanning his flushed face.

"Yeah, but what if we get older and make new friends? You'll probably forget all about me and have way more fun with them." You countered, eyes wide, with the thought of growing up without your best friend.

"But I wouldn't, cause you're my number one girl for life. I would make other friends, but they would never come close to me as close as you are to me. I promise." He said.

As if to emphasize his words, he leaned forward and brushed a strand of hair away from your face. His touch was gentle, almost feather-light, and it sent a shiver down your spine. You felt a strange fluttering in your chest, like butterflies were trapped inside. You didn't understand what was happening, but it felt nice.

Just as you were about to ask him what was wrong, he leaned in even closer. His lips were just inches from yours, and you could feel the warmth of his breath on your skin. Time seemed to stand still as you waited for him to make his move, but you were unsure of what that move was yet.

And then he kissed you.

His lips were soft and warm against yours, and they sent a rush of heat through your entire body. He remembered the taste of the cherry-flavored lollipop on your lips and the softness and warmth of your skin. Time seemed to stand still as you kissed under the shade of the tree, the soft summer air caressing your skin.

He inhaled the scent of what was sure to be shampoo, its sweet, fruity smell making him only want to smell more of it. He counted to five in his head because it's what he had seen all the other kids do in the movies when they kissed, and when he finally pulled away, you were breathless, your cheeks flushed from the heat and the kiss. He smiled down at you, his amber eyes sparkling in the sunlight with something he was sure to love.

And this is when he knew that he was in love with you.

...

Now, eight years later, when he was sixteen and you were fifteen and a half --you always liked to point out whenever Miles teased you for your age difference--,Miles couldn't help but wonder if you remembered that day.

Did you remember the feeling of his lips on yours? The feeling of his skin pressing against yours? The sweet, innocent smiles that happened after that kiss?

Miles couldn't help but think of that moment as he lay on his bed, the sunlight streaming in through the window casting a warm glow across your face. Your hair was spread out around you like a halo of gold, and your eyes were closed as you lay on your stomach, lazily flipping through a fashion magazine.

He couldn't help but stare at you. Since you had gotten older, you had started to fill in nicely. Places where you weren't so curvy back then had started to fill in, and he couldn't help but take in every detail—every curve of your body, every freckle on your skin.

When he looked at you like this, he just knew he wanted to kiss you again. No, he didn't want to kiss you again, he needed to kiss you again. To feel your lips against his, to taste your sweet breath on his tongue.

"What do you think about this dress?" you asked suddenly, interrupting his thoughts. He blinked, coming back to reality, and forced a smile. "It's really pretty," he mumbled, trying to focus on what you were saying, although his mind felt scattered with thoughts he knew he shouldn't have.

You smiled back at him, and in that moment, he felt like everything was alright. He felt like he could forget about kissing you and how much it hurt to be so close to you yet so far away. He felt like he could finally breathe.

But then you leaned over to pick up your water bottle, and as you did, your shirt rose up just enough to reveal a sliver of smooth skin at your hip. It was only for a second, but it was enough to make his heart race and his palms grow sweaty. He wanted nothing more than to reach out and touch you, to feel your skin against his own.

"So, do you think I should get my nails done in that color?" You continued, gesturing to a pretty shade of pink on the page of the magazine. The pink had reminded him of that one hello kitty girl you liked, my Melanie? but he didn't have time to think about it for too long before he forced himself to look at the page and focus on your words.

But all he could think about was how much he wanted to kiss you again, to feel the softness of your lips against his. He swallowed hard, trying to clear his throat. "Um, yeah, that color would look really good on you," he managed to say. "You should totally do it."

Sensing the tension in the air, you look up at him and find him staring back at you with something that can only be described as love in his eyes. A blush crept up on your face, and you tried to clear your throat. The tension between you was growing thicker as you both struggled to maintain eye contact.

Finally, you decide to break it, glancing down at your magazine and pretending to focus on the pictures. "Well, I guess I'll have to ask Mom what she thinks."

Miles nods, pretending not to notice the awkwardness between you. "Yeah, maybe you should." He mumbles, swallowing hard, feeling the urge to reach out and touch you growing stronger by the second. He forces himself to stay still and focus on anything but these feelings, though.

The silence stretches between you, thick with unspoken words and unacknowledged feelings. You both know what happened, you both felt things that neither of you were sure were supposed to be felt, but neither of you dared to acknowledge them. It's as if you're both afraid that if you say anything, it will make it real, make it permanent.

But Miles couldn't take this anymore. He needed you, and he knew what he needed to do in this moment.

Miles clears his throat, looking away from you for a moment, focusing on a spot across the room. He takes a deep breath, steeling himself for what he was about to do. Then, without warning, he leans forward and presses his lips against yours.

It's a soft kiss at first, tentative and unsure, but as you respond, your fingers softly trailing up his shoulders and your lips meeting his exactly how they needed to, it becomes something else.

His hands find their way to your face, cradling your cheeks as he deepens the kiss. You taste like cherry lip gloss and it instantly reminds him of the cherry blowpop flavored kiss the two of you had shared years ago.

But now, the two of you were older. Kissing meant more than just some innocent, childlike crush thing. Kissing meant more, and in this moment, he knows that he's never wanted anything more than to be able to taste you, to feel your lips against his, to breathe in the scent of your mango shampoo-scented hair.

You pull away for a moment to catch your breath, but he still holds you close to him. Savoring the closeness between you two, he whispers sweet things against your lips, whispering all of the things he's been wanting to say since he was eight years old.

"I love you, like, really, love you" he whispers, his eyes closed and his fingers tracing your cheeks and sliding up into your hair, gently touching the soft strands.

I love you too, Miles. I always have" You mumble back, your hands resting on his shoulders and your lips still softly brushing against his.

You pull away for real this time, slowly opening your eyes and seeing something you've never seen before. You see a depth of an emotion that you didn't even know existed. You see love. Not the puppy-love of your childhood, but the mature, true love that only comes from years of knowing someone and realizing just how much they mean to you.

So, you kiss him again. This time, with a passion that Miles knows he'll be getting for the rest of his life.

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☆

☆

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tags::

[itsnoones-stuff]

He’s definitely mad

Masterlist

Summary // it’s your best friends birthday and you decide to celebrate it in the club. Five isn’t a fan of this idea.

//

“Nice dress” Five says, looking you up and down, trying not to show his irritation at the situation. “Thanks Five” you smile, fixing your dress lightly and checking your bag. Keys, phone, purse, lipstick. All there. Letting out a light sigh you give Five one last smile, not noticing him staring, before heading for the door. Ready for a drink.

Bright lights flash in your face, momentarily lighting up the packed dance floor. The birthday girl hands you the 4th shot in the 10 minutes you’ve been there, you chuckle lightly, turning to your friend “again?” The exhaustion evident in your voice. She gives you a bright smile “it’s my birthday, no excuses!” You roll your eyes at the comment, she’s right but that doesn’t mean you can stomach another.

“Come on, let’s dance” you chirp, grabbing your friend by the arm and taking her to the dance floor. You let the music take over, swinging your hips left to right with ease, lowering your body as you do. Rising to your feet, you turn, arms swaying above you as the sound of the bass charges through your body. Completely unaware Five is watching you. As the song comes to an end you begin the slow, feeling your heart beating out of your chest as the bass leaves your body. Letting out a light chuckle you open your eyes, meeting Five’s gaze, your smile drops. He’s definitely mad.

You’ve seen Five angry before, plenty of times, but it was never at you. That’s what scared you the most. He starts to walk towards you, refusing to break eye contact, the panic sets in as you force a smile. “Hey Five, what are you doing here?” You ask sheepishly, like a child in trouble, he chuckles “keeping an eye on you” his words are sweet, even if his tone isn’t. “And for good reason, clearly” he adds, looking around the club. Turning to the birthday girl you flash her a sorry look, preparing to go home and listen to one of Five’s many lectures.

To your surprise, Five doesn’t try to take you home, instead heading to the bar for a drink. You watch as he weaves through the crowd before disappearing entirely. You turn back to your friend, throwing your arms up and jumping in excitement, “can baby stay out for longer?” Your friend mocks you, wrapping her arms around you as she does. “Baby can stay out all night” you laugh, watching her squeal with excitement before demanding more shots. Rolling your eyes, you let her drag you back to the bar, smiling to yourself as you go.

“Happy birthday beautiful” you cheer, raising your shot in the air, clinking cups with your best friend before taking the shot with ease, all the vodka you drank suddenly hitting you like a truck. The room begins the spin, your eyes fluttering. Resting your elbows on the bar you put your head in your hands, taking a deep breath and trying to collect yourself. “Are you okay Y/N?” The birthday girl asks, you nod, lifting yourself back up and facing her “all good, let’s dance” you say with a smile, taking her by the hand and heading back to the dance floor.

Five watches you all night, making sure to remove any unwanted male attention.

The night finally comes to an end, the club is closing and the sun is coming up. All you can think about it food as your friend leads you outside, flinching at the bright sun piercing down on you. “Fuck, how long were we in their?” You ask, not really wanting to know the answer, she laughs, shaking her head “I don’t know and I don’t want to know babe” her words slurred but sweet, you chuckle to yourself. “Where should we go now? I think the bar down the streets still open!” Your friend cheered, taking your hand and pulling you down the street, you stop her and remove her hand “no babe, we should go home” you say, yawning soon after, she gives you a sad nod. You know she’s going to stay out but are thankful you get to go home at least.

The birthday girl leads you to a near by taxi, ushering you in before poking her head in the door “you go home, I’m gonna stay out. Love you!” She cooes, shutting the door before you can protest.

Stumbling through the halls of the academy you try to be as quiet as you can, not wanting to wake your siblings. Turning the corner, you almost jump out of your skin, Five’s stood at the other end of the corridor. You freeze, quickly sobering up, unable look at him. “You’re in big trouble princess” Five’s words are harsh, he’s definitely mad. You try to swallow the lump in your throat, already knowing what the punishment is going to be. Was it worth it?

//

[frankcastleonlyfans]

𝐈𝐂𝐘 𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒

pairing: daemon targaryen x royce!reader

summary: daemon, concerned about the potential dangers, argues with both you and daenys, fearing for her safety and the implications of the alliance with the north.

warnings: slow burn (i don't even think that is a warning.

reblogs, feedbacks and likes are appreciated. support your content creators 💓 please leave a comment if you like my work, and enjoy your reading.

read the first chapter here: family ties and northern skies

· ┈┈┈┈┈┈ · ༓ ༓ · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ ·

The next morning, the tension in Winterfell was palpable. You rose early, determined to have a private conversation with Daenys before the day’s official events began. Winterfell’s ancient stones seemed to hold the cold, even as the first rays of the sun filtered through the narrow windows, casting long shadows in the corridors.

You found Daenys in her chambers, already awake and pacing, her brow furrowed in deep thought. The room was modest but warm, a small fire crackling in the hearth. The air was thick with the scent of pine and the lingering chill of the North.

“Mother,” she greeted, her voice a mix of relief and apprehension. Her silver hair cascaded down her back, a stark contrast to the dark, heavy furs she wore to ward off the Northern cold. “I didn’t expect you to arrive so quickly.”

“I couldn’t stay away,” you replied, closing the door behind you to ensure privacy. You walked towards her, taking in the sight of your daughter, who seemed so much older than the last time you saw her. “We need to talk, Daenys. This marriage—are you sure it’s what you want?”

Daenys sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly as she sank into a chair by the hearth. “I understand your concerns, but I genuinely believe in this union. Cregan and I... we’ve found common ground. He respects me, and I see potential in this alliance.”

You sat beside her, taking her hands in yours, feeling the warmth of her skin against your cold fingers. “Respect is important, but so is understanding the political implications. Marrying a Stark ties you to the North in ways you may not fully grasp.”

“I know,” she said softly, her eyes searching yours for understanding. “But I’m not a child anymore. I’ve weighed the consequences. Cregan is different from what we expected. He’s not just looking for power.”

Before you could respond, a firm knock interrupted your conversation. The door opened, revealing Daemon, his expression serious and his presence commanding as always. “It’s time for the morning meal. Cregan is expecting us.”

Daenys straightened, a flicker of defiance crossing her face. “Father, we need to discuss this. I’ve made my decision, and I need you both to understand and support it.”

Daemon’s eyes narrowed slightly, the familiar tension between father and daughter surfacing. “Daenys, this isn’t just about your decision. It’s about the future of our house. Do you truly believe you can handle the weight of the North and its politics?”

“I do,” she replied firmly, rising to her feet. “I’ve learned much during my time here. Cregan and I have plans to unite our houses in a way that benefits both the North and the Targaryens. This isn’t just a marriage of convenience.”

Daemon’s lips pressed into a thin line. “And what if you’re wrong? What if this alliance turns into a trap? The Starks are known for their honor, but they are also fiercely protective of their own. They might not see you as one of them.”

Daenys took a step towards him, her chin held high. “I’ve earned their respect. Cregan respects me. This marriage is not a trap, and I am not a pawn. I am a Targaryen, and–”

"You’re still young,” Daemon cuts her, growling as he starts to raise his voice “There are dangers you can’t even begin to understand. You think respect is enough? It’s not."

Daenys shot back, her eyes blazing with determination. “I’ve built relationships here. I’ve learned their ways, their customs. I’m not some naive girl who can be easily manipulated.”

“Do those relationships include the beast you brought with you?” Daemon said, his tone suddenly shifting. “Winterfell is no place for dragons, and yet Silverwing is perched outside these walls, a constant reminder of the Targaryen power. How do you think the Northerners feel about that?”

Daenys stiffened. “Silverwing is a symbol of my heritage, my strength. The Northerners may be wary, but they also understand the value of power. Silverwing is a part of who I am, and they will come to respect that.”

You stepped between them, placing a hand on Daenys’s arm. “Daemon, she’s made her choice. We need to trust her judgment. Daenys, your father and I are here to support you, but you must understand our concerns. This isn’t just about you or Cregan. It’s about the stability of both our houses.”

Daemon sighed, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “Fine. But know this, Daenys: if anything goes wrong, I will not hesitate to act. I will protect you, no matter the cost.”

Daenys nodded, her expression softening. “I know, Father. And I appreciate it. But trust me when I say I know what I’m doing.”

With a final glance between the two of them, you took Daenys’s hand and led her towards the door. “Let’s not keep Cregan waiting.”

As you made your way to the great hall, you couldn’t shake the feeling of unease. The meal was a tense affair, filled with polite conversation and veiled barbs. Cregan sat at the head of the table, his eyes often drifting to Daenys with a mixture of pride and something deeper.

After breakfast, Cregan invited you and Daemon for a private discussion in his study. The room was adorned with Stark banners and ancient tomes, a testament to the family's long history. Cregan poured three goblets of Northern ale, handing one to each of you.

“I’m aware of your concerns,” Cregan began, his voice steady. “And I want to assure you both that this marriage is not just a political maneuver. I care deeply for Daenys, and I intend to honor and protect her.”

Daemon sipped his ale, his gaze unwavering. “Words are easy, Lord Stark. Actions speak louder.”

Cregan nodded, unperturbed. “I understand. That’s why I propose a formal agreement. A pledge of mutual support between our houses. Not just in words, but in deeds.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And what exactly would this agreement entail?”

“A formal declaration of alliance,” Cregan explained. “Our houses will stand together against any threats. Daenys will be treated with the respect and honor she deserves, and her influence in the North will be significant.”

Daemon exchanged a glance with you, his expression unreadable. “We’ll need to review the terms carefully.”

Cregan nodded. “Of course. Take all the time you need.”

Later that evening, as the last remnants of daylight faded into the cold, inky darkness of the Northern night, you found Daemon standing alone by the hearth in one of the quieter rooms of the castle. The fire cast a warm, amber glow, illuminating the rough stone walls and sending shadows dancing across the floor. The flames crackled and hissed, the sound filling the silence that had settled thickly in the air, broken only by the occasional gust of wind howling outside.

Daemon stood with one hand braced against the mantle, his broad shoulders slightly hunched, as if the weight of the world rested on them. His other hand held a goblet, the dark liquid within swirling gently as he absentmindedly turned it in his grasp. His face was partially hidden in shadow, but the light from the fire caught the sharp angles of his features—the strong jawline, the high cheekbones, and the furrowed brow that spoke of deep contemplation.

You paused in the doorway, watching him for a moment, the flickering firelight playing tricks with your mind, making him seem both larger than life and somehow vulnerable at the same time. The tension in the room was almost tangible, a palpable reminder of the history you shared, a history that was as complicated as the man before you.

He glanced up as you approached, the movement subtle but revealing. His eyes, violet and intense, reflected the flickering flames, making them seem alive with an inner fire of their own. There was something in his gaze that gave you pause—an unspoken turmoil, a struggle that you could sense even if you couldn’t fully understand it.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence between you was thick with unsaid words, with all the things that had been buried over the years. You could see the tension in the lines of his body, the way his jaw clenched ever so slightly as he looked at you. It was clear that he was brooding, caught in a web of thoughts that kept him tethered to the hearth like a ship anchored in a storm.

As you drew closer, the heat from the fire washed over you, a stark contrast to the cold that seeped through the air of Winterfell. You could feel the roughness of the stone floor beneath your boots, the texture grounding you in the moment, reminding you of the reality you now faced. When you finally stopped beside him, the warmth from the fire mingled with the warmth of his presence, and you could feel the charged energy in the air between you.

Daemon’s eyes tracked your movements, his gaze unreadable but intense, as though he were searching for something in your expression. He didn’t speak, but the way he looked at you said enough—there was a weariness there, a guardedness that you recognized all too well. It was the same look he had worn in the aftermath of battles, when the weight of decisions made and lives lost bore down on him with an unforgiving hand.

“What do you think of Cregan’s proposal?” you asked in a quiet voice, settling into a chair beside him.

Daemon sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It’s a bold move. He’s putting his intentions in writing, which means he’s serious. But there’s always a risk.”

“There’s always a risk,” you agreed. “But maybe this is what Daenys needs. A chance to carve out her own destiny.”

Daemon’s gaze softened. “She’s strong, like her mother. If anyone can handle the challenges of the North, it’s her.”

You smiled faintly, a sense of shared understanding passing between you. “Then we’ll support her. Together.”

For a moment, it seemed like the conversation would end there, with a rare moment of concord between you. But then Daemon leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest, and the atmosphere shifted.

“You know, you always think you know best,” he said, a hint of irritation creeping into his voice. “But this is the North we’re talking about. It’s not just about political alliances. It’s about survival, about knowing when to fight and when to yield.”

“And you think I don’t understand that?” you retorted, sitting up straighter. “I’ve seen more of the world than you give me credit for, Daemon. I know what’s at stake here. But Daenys needs our support, not our doubts.”

Daemon’s eyes narrowed. “Support, yes. Blind faith, no. You’re too eager to see the good in people, to believe that love and respect can conquer all. This isn’t some fairy tale. It’s a game of power, and we need to be sure Cregan Stark isn’t playing her.”

You felt a flash of anger. “And you’re too quick to see the worst in everyone! Not everything is a power struggle, Daemon. Sometimes, people are exactly who they say they are.”

“Like Viserys?” Daemon shot back, his tone bitter. “Like Rhaenyra? You’ve always been naive about the world, trusting when you should be wary.”

“That’s not fair,” you said, your voice rising. “I’ve made my share of mistakes, but so have you. Maybe if you spent more time listening and less time trying to control everything, you’d see that Daenys is capable of making her own decisions.”

Daemon stood up, pacing the room. “She’s our daughter. It’s our job to protect her, even if that means making decisions she doesn’t like.”

“It’s our job to guide her,” you corrected, standing as well. “Not to control her life. She chose to stay at Winterfell, and she chose Cregan. We have to respect that.”

He stopped pacing, turning to face you. The firelight flickered between you, casting shadows that seemed to deepen the divide. “And what if she’s wrong? What if this marriage puts her in danger?”

“Then we’ll deal with it,” you said firmly. “Together. But for now, we need to trust her. She’s not a child anymore, Daemon. She’s a woman, and she’s made her choice.”

The tension between you was thick, almost palpable. For a long moment, neither of you spoke, each lost in your own thoughts. Finally, Daemon let out a long breath, the fire in his eyes dimming slightly.

“I just don’t want to lose her,” he said quietly, his voice almost a whisper.

You stepped closer, reaching out to take his hand. “Neither do I. But we won’t. She’s strong, and she has both of us to back her up. We just have to find a way to work together, for her sake.”

He squeezed your hand, a rare gesture of affection. “Alright. We’ll do this together. But I’m not taking my eyes off Stark. If he steps out of line, he’ll know the full wrath of dragonfire”

You felt the warmth of Daemon’s hand linger longer than you expected, his grip firm yet gentle, as though he were holding onto something fragile. It was a rare moment of closeness, one that felt both foreign and familiar. For a heartbeat, the old walls you had both built up over the years seemed to crack, letting a sliver of something else—something unspoken—shine through.

He didn’t pull away, and neither did you. Instead, you found yourself meeting his gaze, the intensity in his eyes softened by a vulnerability you hadn’t seen in years. It was strange, unsettling even, how the man you’d once loved so fiercely, and later fought so bitterly, could still stir something deep within you.

“I’ll admit,” he began, his voice quieter now, almost as if he were hesitant to break the moment, “it’s been a long time since we’ve stood together like this. I almost forgot what it feels like to be on the same side.”

You felt a pang in your chest, an echo of the bond you once shared. “So much has happened,” you murmured, your voice catching slightly. “But for Daenys… for her, we can find a way back to that. Even if it’s just for a little while.”

His thumb brushed over the back of your hand, a subtle movement that sent an unexpected shiver down your spine. “You were always the stronger one,” he said, his tone almost admiring. “Even when we were at odds, you never wavered. I don’t think I ever told you that.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “Daemon…” you started, unsure of what to say. This was uncharted territory—where the past and present collided in a way you hadn’t anticipated. The bitterness, the anger, it had always been easier to hold onto, easier to understand. But this? This was different.

He tilted his head slightly, studying you with an intensity that made you feel exposed, as though he were seeing through every defense you’d ever put up. “Maybe we’ve both been too proud to admit that we need each other, even now.”

You felt your heart skip a beat, your mind racing to make sense of the emotions swirling inside you. How long had it been since you’d allowed yourself to feel anything for him other than resentment? And yet, here he was, standing before you, not as the man who had hurt you, but as someone who understood you in a way few others ever could.

“It doesn’t change what’s happened between us,” you whispered, though your voice lacked conviction. “But maybe… maybe it doesn’t have to define us, either.”

His lips curled into a small, almost sad smile. “No, it doesn’t. But I won’t lie, it’s hard to forget. Even harder to forgive.” There was no accusation in his tone, just a weary acknowledgment of the truth.

You nodded, feeling the weight of his words. “I know. But maybe we can start with understanding, if nothing else. For Daenys’s sake, and maybe even for our own.”

Daemon took a step closer, his free hand moving to rest lightly on your shoulder, the heat of his touch seeping through the layers of fabric and armor—the one you made to protect yourself from men like him. The years had changed both of you, but in that moment, you were reminded of the passion that had once burned so brightly between you, now buried under layers of history.

“For our own,” he echoed, his voice a low rumble that sent a thrill through you. The space between you felt charged, heavy with the weight of all that had been left unsaid over the years.

You found yourself leaning into him, just slightly, your breath mingling with his in the cold, firelit air. “Daemon, I —” you began, but the words faltered on your lips as a torrent of conflicting emotions surged within you.

He was close enough now that you could see the fine lines at the corners of his eyes, the way his expression had softened in a way that made him almost seem younger, more like the man you had first fallen in love with.

But before either of you could say anything more, the moment was broken by the distant sound of a horn, echoing through the stone walls. It was a reminder of where you were, of the duties and expectations that awaited you both outside the privacy of this room.

Daemon’s hand lingered on your shoulder for a moment longer before he finally let go, the connection severed but not forgotten. He cleared his throat, the mask of stoic resolve slipping back into place as he stepped back. “We should join the others,” he said, his voice returning to its usual gruffness, though it lacked its usual edge.

You nodded, the brief glimpse of what might have been already fading as reality set back in. “Yes, we should.”

As you made your way towards the door, you couldn’t help but glance back at him, catching his eye once more. There was something there, a glimmer of something unspoken but understood. You weren’t sure what it meant, or where it would lead, but for now, it was enough to know that you weren’t alone in this.

Whatever lay ahead, you would face it together. Not as husband and wife, not as enemies, but as something in between—two people bound by history, by their daughter, and perhaps, just a little, by the lingering embers of a love that had never fully burned out.

[lola-writes]

One-Eye & the Dreamer

(Aemond's POV)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x O.C Aylana Velaryon

Word Count: 2,2k

Themes & Warnings: slow burn, friends to enemies, enemies to lovers, violence, blood, targcest, sexual themes, tension, drama, angst, fix-it of sorts, eventual smut, sexual inexperience, forbidden love, high valyrian, dance of dragons, POV first person

Summary: Aylana Velaryon foresees Aemond Targaryen's fate and assigns herself to alter it.

Written from Aemond's POV.

More chapters

Gravity had nothing on us, my dear. 

You can’t untie red strings of fate. 

This is how it feels to fall in love with the atmosphere. 

The world surrendered to a symphony of wind.  Turbulence thundered in my ears and whipped my hair untamed as I ascended the skies. Rising higher and higher, the clouds enveloped me in a blinding haze, and the elements of the earth below decreased into a mosaic. I conquered the celestial at such speed that I felt like Aegon reborn. 

Vhagar was an extension of myself, her undulating muscles beneath my straddling body felt as if connected to my own, forcing our masses through the heavens with an effortlessness. I commanded her higher still, and she heeded my command. We defied gravity in a dance of grace and power.

As we approached the stratosphere where air ran thin, I straightened in my saddle, and my mighty Vhagar leveled out, conforming to every delicate change in my movements. The world below became an inverted dreamscape as we sailed the vague interstice that marked the transition between sky and oblivion - the clouds beneath were the unconquered sky, and the indigo above was the ocean, and I was flying upside down. 

Together, Vhagar and I, were limitless.

The memory of when I first claimed her was so potent it eclipsed everything else, real or imagined. It was like walking penniless and finding a mountain of gold at your feet. What was one to do with such power? A power so raw and exhilarating, it consumed. Suddenly, I had no fear. Suddenly, I was not alone…

I leaned into Vhagar’s warmth and she folded her wings against me. We plummeted back down towards the earth, a thrilling drop that sent a jolt of pure ecstasy through my veins. My stomach lurched, and beneath me, Vhagar’s thorax vibrated – a deep, primal roar that resonated through my very bones. In that moment, I mirrored her, a guttural exclaim of pure, unadultered joy escaping my lips.

Never had freedom tasted so sweet.

The force of our descent sliced through the nebulous clouds like a knife through cotton, and as we emerged, the Narrow Sea gaped wide, glittering beneath the noontide sun like a crystal embellished blue silk. I leveled out again and watched Vhagar’s twin loom out of the water. 

In the distance, the seven huge drum-towers, proud sentinels of pale red stone, rose out of the sea on their stony summits, and the tolling bells welcomed me back home. An unfamiliar fleet of ships coasted down Black Water Rush like wooden beads along a blue mesh - an unremarkable observation, as nobles from every corner of the realm had been descending upon King’s Landing for the wedding. They had all come through the gates by horse and carriage, none by sea. 

Traders perhaps? Coming just in time to fortify our stores for the upcoming plunder. 

So many fucking mouths to feed. I had seen them endlessly pour through the castle gates in a river of gold, silver, and polished steel – their banners displaying the sigil of house Lannister, Baratheon, Tully, and I could’ve sworn I saw a direwolf banner among them. Would the Starks truly find a Targaryen wedding of such importance that they would bother dragging themselves out of their frozen pits? It was to be a grand affair, to be sure. A celebration with tourneys, hunts, feasts, and dancing, to last for at least a fortnight.

If I had it my way, I would escape and race the wind on Vhagar. But mother’s orders were a bittersweet curse. We were to be on our best behavior, a euphemism for me babysitting my nuisance of a brother, to ensure he does not imbibe every wine cask in the keep, and to hearten my sweet sister who always grew gauche in social gatherings. 

One could hardly fathom I was the youngest.

But the chief of my worries was Aegon. He already had an inclination of getting unreasonable drunk on a plain day. I shuddered to think of the lengths he might go to in tribute to his own nuptials.

Unease filled my gut.

But it wasn’t the vigil of my siblings that rendered me apprehensive.

As I drew close enough that I could make out the banners, I realized that these were no ordinary trading ships. In fact, these weren’t traders at all. I tugged at the reins and Vhagar gathered air beneath her leather and sprung up high, casting her mighty shadow atop the vessels. 

Memories consumed me like a bad aftertaste. The sigil-emblazoned sails draped across the masts below needed no introduction. The seahorse and the three-headed black dragon caught the wind. 

It could only mean one thing…

The thought got knocked right out of me as a bone-jarring impact to Vhagar’s thorax threw me off my saddle. Her earsplitting roar resounded across the blackwater, as I tumbled down her back. Instinctively, I snagged my wrist through a loop in her saddle ropes, dangling precariously until she steadied herself. I hauled myself back up, heart hammering in my chest, adrenaline pouring into my bloodstream. I scouted the skies for an attacker in a glassy bewilderment, growing acrimoniously aware of my disability. But the firmament was still and empty. 

What in the Seven Hells?

Another blow. It knocked me aslant, and I felt fury consuming me like poison. Gritting my teeth, I gripped the saddle horn and twisted the reins twice ‘round my forearm, and perceived every muscle of Vhagar’s back contracting beneath me, waiting to charge. 

Who would dare challenge me?

A flicker of movement caught my eye. A shape, shrouded beneath Vhagar’s wing membranes, was soaring alongside us. And when I turned to look, my eye met a stranger, masked and cloaked, stalking us on a dragon as black and swift as a raven. But the beast was miniscule in relation, just the age to breathe fire, and yet had nearly forced me to meet the gods. 

Humiliation morphed into a blinding rage that seethed through my veins and marred my vision with a red mist. “Ossēnagon, Vhagar!” Kill. I growled, and steered her toward the trespasser. But the figure crouched down in their saddle, and their dragon dove towards the city. 

Fucking craven.

We went after them. Their descent was swift and inaudible, while mine was slow and thunderous like a moving mountain. The pale orange rooftops of King’s Landing, bleached from the summer’s scorching sun, spread out like a vast rust beneath our darkening shadows. I pursued them to the Hill of Rhaenys, where we landed opposite each other outside the crypts of the dragonpit. 

Dismounting, I started towards them, each step a measured threat. The steel of my dagger sang its lethal warning as I drew it from my scabbard. But the stranger stood their ground, defiance flickering in their shadowed form. My anger, already a simmering cauldron, boiled over. I closed the distance between up, a growl ripping from my throat, raw and primal.

“You!” The word barely a breath before my blade bit their throat. A desperate struggle ensued, but my palm collared the nape of their neck, locking them to the steel. A Kingsguard’s alarming exclaims sounded in the distance, but the words faded underwater. 

“The Stranger requests an audience.” The contiguity drowned my voice into a whisper. I took pleasure in that I towered over them, and felt their hot, humid breath against me, hitching beneath the sharp edge.

“My prince!” Ser Harrold Westerling, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, came running towards us. His voice, booming like thunder, always sufficed in snapping the whole court to attention. But it wasn’t his timber which stirred me this time. “Let her go!” 

His words carried me out of my raging inferno.

Her?

I blinked through my apprehension and scavenged the stranger’s frame with my eye, as if I’d awoken from a dream and seen them for the first time. A tug, a rustle, and their hood fell back and settled around their shoulders. 

A wave of ice ran down my spine. 

It was like seeing a ghost. The protagonist of all my nightmares coming alive, ready to haunt me. 

Aylana Velaryon.

Her eyes, the color of sunlit amber flicked with gold, held mine with an unsettling intensity. She seemed to see right through me, demanding answers I could not provide. Then, a knowing smile played on her lips.

“Skoros iksos pirta, kepus?” What’s wrong, uncle? A sardonic edge laced her voice. “Gaomagon ao daor gīmigon issa?” Do you not remember me?

The words hit me like a physical blow. I swallowed, stunned by her High Valyrian.

For a moment, I believe I stood petrified, unable to tear my gaze from her, unable to utter a word.

A torrent of questions, accusations, apologies – years of unspoken turmoil – churned within me. But now, with her life literally in my hands, the words deserted me. My tongue, usually an agile weapon, felt like lead. This was the person who had haunted my every waking and sleeping thought for years, and all I could manage was a stunned silence. Perhaps my countenance spoke volumes where my voice failed.

She echoed the girl I remembered, but time had woven its changes. I had to take it all in. Her voice, saccharine and laced with a hint of mockery, was a stark contrast to the playful child I held in memory. Her once youthful features had sharpened, cheekbones higher, lips fuller. Then, my gaze, fell upon the one jarring element – a crimson scar that snaked across her left eyebrow, expressing a raw pink sheen beneath a shell of transparent skin. Years had passed, yet the wound looked fresh.

The accident.

My jaw tightened as venom seethed through my veins.

I could still see her crumpled, lifeless form in the dirt, her skull cracked open, every time I closed my eye.

And I was holding the bloody rock.

Shame coiled in my gut like a suffocating weight. I could not bear to look at her.

“Some things never change,” she said facetiously. “Don’t you agree, uncle?”

Shit.

I was still holding my knife to her throat. I recoiled with such force that the effort pushed her back as well. A bright seam of red welled up at the lip where my blade had kissed her and painted the length of her neck like dark fruit. 

I reviled myself. I had tried to kill her. Again. 

But she just smiled, a dimple flashing in her cheek. As if we were still kids and she had made a humorous jest.

I realized I had been holding my breath when a gasp escaped my lips and air rushed back into my lungs. The silence stretched on, thick and heavy.

“Aylana.” I spoke her name derisively without intending to, as I sheathed the knife at my waist where my gaze lingered a moment, dreading to meet hers. 

My stomach turned. I never used to call her that. It sounded so formal and distant on my tongue, just like ‘uncle’ on hers. But that’s what we were to each other now - our friendship no more than a distant memory. I no longer assumed myself worthy of her alias. I had lost that privilege. Just as I had lost my friend. 

The weight of the past pressed down on me, suffocating.

Agitation infiltrated my mind and my whole disposition must have come off as reticent and hostile. I watched her pull her gloves off finger by finger and release the clasp of her cloak. There was an attitude in her movements and a poise in her posture. Beneath she was dressed in sable flying leathers that clung tightly to her body. 

I averted my gaze. 

Frustration clawed at my chest, and whatever other feeling it was that made my mouth dry and my palms clammy. 

“You look well, nuncle,” she said. 

My eye met hers and I noted them briefly flicker across my eyepatch. Her scrutiny made the leather singe my skin with awareness. Growing diffident, I looked away. 

“Hmmph,” I said, my favorite expression of disdain. 

I knew what she was implying. That if I had only listened to her that night, instead of acting like an arrogant scoundrel, I wouldn’t be looking like a eunuch with one eye at present.

And she was right in mocking me. If her insults were the currency for my betrayal, I would gladly become a spendthrift.

My breathing shallowed as I gazed at the damage I’d caused. I had to get out of there. 

“I hope we did not frighten you earlier,” she said, interrupting my escape. “I only thought I might test the mettle of the largest dragon in the world. She truly is remarkable. A fair exchange, to be sure.” 

I turned to look at her, and I didn’t know what I must’ve looked like, because the playful smile that had been dancing between her lips our entire encounter, vanished. There it is, I thought. The realization. The Aemond you knew is gone. This is the monster you forged.

“Ser Harrold,” I said. “Escort the princess to the Red Keep. And make sure she does not test the mettle of anyone else in the city.”

“Certainly, my prince,” said Ser Harrold, the Lord Commander who was the very first person to see my face after the loss of my eye. This fact made him remarkably significant somehow.

I mounted Vhagar and took to the sky, watching Aylana and Nymax blur into mere specks on a canvas. 

This would be a celebration I was sure to remember…

More chapters

[kelcemenow]

Little Do They Know.

Pairing Travis Kelce x Reader

Words 1380

Warnings Strong language, smut and talks of casual sex.

It's another Anon request! I really loved this request but I did find it a bit difficult not to be too similar to As The Snow Falls but I think I did it! "I have a smut request 🫣 Travis X reader are secretly hooking up (none of their friends know) and they go on a friend trip or something where they have to be really quiet when they’re trying to have sex"

"But, do you not miss it?" Zoe asked, as she adjusted her swimsuit.

You squinted and shielded your eyes from the beating sun, "Miss what?"

"Sex!" She giggled, "I know I sure would. Come on, you've been single for almost 4 months now. How are you still surviving!"

"Some of us aren't obsessed with sex."

The sound of rushing water caused you to turn your head. Travis was exiting the pool and the bright rays shone against his tanned skin, highlighting his bulging muscles as he pulled himself up onto the side. You quickly looked back towards the book that was nestled in your lap, grabbing your sunglasses from the top of your head and pulling them down to cover your eyes.

"Hey." Zoe whispered, "Trav's single, right?"

You snorted a laugh, "Yeah, right."

"No, I'm serious! He's funny, successful...not to mention quite easy on the eye."

You rolled your eyes behind your shades.

"Come on! At least consider it?" Zoe said as she tipped her head to the side.

"What are we talking about?" Marcus asked as he approached the loungers, placing a gentle kiss on Zoe's forehead.

"Zoe-"

"The fact that Y/N and Trav should totally be getting it on." She interupted.

"Will you stop?"

Marcus laughed, "You know my girl is always trying to hook people up."

You glanced behind your shades at Travis as he walked into the beach house, his feet leaving wet prints onto the wooden decking.

"But, it's not a totally weird idea." Marcus said as he reached for his can of soda.

"See! I told you, I'm good at this shit." Zoe nodded.

You nervously chewed on your bottom lip for a second before turning a page in your book, "I need to focus on my career right now."

Zoe groaned and Marcus rolled his eyes, the pair showing their disappointment at your reluctance.

"Whatever, dinner and drinks at 7?" Marcus asked.

______________________________________________________________

You squeezed your eyed closed and tightly gripped at the sheets, balling a corner up in your fist. Travis loomed over you, his brow slick with sweat, the heat causing his cheeks to flush bright red.

He grunted above you, his hips thrusting harshly as his hard dick pounded into you, wetness pooling around your pussy.

You reached up and grabbed the back of his neck, shushing loudly.

He furrowed his brows, "What?"

"If I have to be quiet, so do you." You whispered.

His rhythm slowed slightly, "Sorry, I'm just not used to having to be quiet."

You giggled lightly as he lifted up and lay back next to you, his chest rising and falling quickly.

"What are we doing?" You asked, breathlessly.

"Well, I don't know about you but I was fucking the sexiest woman in the world."

You turned to look at him, beads of sweat dripping down his jawline, "You know what I mean." You steadied your breathing, "Zoe is trying to hook us up."

Travis grinned, "Little does she know."

"I know. I feel bad lying though."

Travis held his gaze on the ceiling, "You wanna stop?"

You pressed your lips together as you felt a tingle of energy coarse through your veins. Travis turned his head, his glassy eyes staring deeply into yours. The corners of his lips curled up slowly into a smile as the back of his hand grazed the sides of your thigh.

"Hell no." You said, quickly lifting yourself up and moving to straddle his waist.

Travis' hands roamed your body as you leaned down to kiss him passionately, his fingers leaving trails of shivers in their wake. You pulled away and gasped for air, placing your hands onto his solid stomach to aid in lifting your hips up. The tip of his cock glistened with pre-cum as it ran along your entrance, making your knees weak.

"Take it, babygirl." He groaned.

Without hesitation, you lowered down, allowing him to fill you entirely. Your mouth dropped open, a slow exhale of breath leaving your lips. Travis watched as your head fell back, his hands gripping at your waist to hold you steady.

You slowly began rocking your hips, grinding down on his dick. Travis' face was contorting with pleasure and you happily watched, your nails digging into his flesh. Your stomach fluttered and a tightness built up in your core, waves of electricity shooting to your pussy. You began to bounce up and down, your wet skin slapping against his. Travis looked down to observe your folds engulfing his hardened cock, a milky substance pooling at the base.

You removed your hands from his body and ran them through your hair, sitting up straight and angling your hips back so that he hit your g-spot better. Travis moved his hands around to your ass, kneading your soft, supple skin harshly. You hissed as his fingers dug in a little deeper, his grip sending sharp pains across your body. Your thighs were beginning to weaken so you leaned back a little further and held onto Travis' lower legs to steady yourself. Biting down on your bottom lip, you tried your hardest not to scream out, something Travis didn't seem to be concerned about, his grunting growing louder and louder with every thrust.

Your rhythm began to falter and your chest heaved, hot breaths escaping your lips. Travis could see that you were close, causing him to wrap his arms around your waist and pull you closer, your forehead hitting the pillow next to him. Travis dug his ankles into the bed and lifted his hips upwards, allowing him to deepen his fill. He held onto you tightly and thrusted fast and hard, your jaw falling open and tears building in your eyes.

You let out a small squeak which only made Travis quickly push your face into the pillow further to try to muffle your sounds. You clamped down onto the pillow with your teeth and rode out your orgasm, feeling moisture bursting from you and collecting onto Travis' torso. Travis groaned in pleasure as he pushed himself deeply into you with a few sluggish thrusts, his large hands splayed across your back.

After a few moments, you allowed your muscles to completely relax, your full body weight resting on Travis. He lazily ran his fingers up and down your spine, his gentle touch causing you to twitch occasionally. You could feel your eyes beginning to grow heavier so you lifted your head to face him, his hazy expression making you smile.

"I prefer it when I can be loud." You said softly.

He threw you a smirk, "I do too."

______________________________________________________________

"I don't think I could do the whole 'casual relationship' thing. A friend with benefits." Zoe said as she spread butter across her bread.

Marcus looked up from his plate, "I fucking hope not!"

"You know what I mean! I have to know where I stand with someone I'm sleeping with."

"Can we talk about anything other than sex for 5 minutes, please?" You said as you rolled your eyes.

Zoe pointed her bread towards you, "I bet Y/N agrees with me? Y/N...am I wrong? Sex is better when there is a relationship involved and having a friend that you fuck...like a booty call, if you will, just ends in disaster? Am I wrong?"

You chewed your chicken quietly, hoping for someone to interject.

Travis cleared his throat, "I don't know, I think in some situations it can work out okay for both people?"

"Maybe it's a girl thing?" Zoe shrugged her shoulders.

You looked up at Travis through your eyebrows, hoping no one would notice, his cheeks growing red.

"Is it a girl thing? Y/N, you're pretty quiet on the matter." Marcus raised an eyebrow.

"I don't know...maybe. I think I could do it." You said, intentionally indifferently.

Zoe's eyes grew wider, "Woah...okay. Well, now that you mention it...Travis?"

You shook your head as Travis wiped his mouth with his napkin, humming in ackowledgment.

"Y/N's available, you're available...how about it?"

"Zoe, you are the worst." You mumbled towards her.

Travis smirked, his eyes sparkling with mischief, "Sure, why not?"

You couldn't hide your amusement when Zoe began clapping her hands wildly and squealing with excitement at Marcus, "See baby, I told you! I'm good at this shit!"

______________________________________________________________

I love a secret lovers story! This one was fun to do so I really hope you enjoyed it. I'm slowly working through my requests list but it was bigger than I thought it was! I'm aiming for 1/2 releases a week and hopefully I'll get to the end of it sooner rather than later so I can get my requests open again! If you want to be in my Taglist, just drop me a message!

Taglist @rd14 @dandelionwrites8 @keiva1000 @fantasywritersstuff @caelipartem @anacarangel @she-lives-in-her-dreams @kkrenae @kristencochefski1125 @countrygirl120983 @charmed2000 @nouis-bum @cixrosie @delicateearthquakellama @wordsaresimple-imnot @amylouwho9 @queenisa17 @talicat713 @luvvtrent @purecinnamonextract @savaneafricaine @caelipartem @beyxgrande @caitdaniels @ezgirl1108 @vir-tual @lightsoutstyles @macey234 @s294749w @kelcemesoftly @calirindo @livinginmyfantasies @bernelflo @secretmywritingfictionlawyer @killatravtramp @there-goes-thefighter @unicornblueberry @calirindo @tjkelce87 @kristinamae093 @kmc1989 @ajbird18 @triski73 @ctn26 @kgcaputo07 @abby-splace @bobthe-turmpetman29 @cedricbitch @jmamas92 @bellstwd @killatravsworld @marchmaiden @chimchimmarie @blackstabbath6 @fanficfanatic15 @jessiemariebarnes @mmb219

[mariasont]

Our Minds Entwined-----------------------

ch 1, ch 2, ch 3, ch 4, ch 5, ch 6, ch 7, ch 8, ch 9, ch 10, ch 11, ch 12

MDNI-----------------------------------------------------------------

pairings: aaron hotchner x oc x spencer reid

summary: in which jason gideon's daughter joins the fbi as the newest, youngest member

warnings: mentions of wet dream, fantasying of 2 guys, oral f receiving, praise, probably more im not sure

A/N: hope you beautiful humans enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing it <3

also requests are still open for aaron hotchner and spencer reid & i would love love to write more so shoot me something :)

haappppy readingggg!

chapter eleven:

With a weary slump of her shoulders, Evelyn followed in Hotch's wake, her feet dragging the ground as though shacked by invisible weights. Her eyelids were heavy, drooping in a slow cadence, fighting the lull of sleep that beckoned with each laboring blink. Her lips parted in a slow, drawn-out motion that mirrored the sluggishness of her body. The latte sat in her hand, a supposed ally against the drowsiness, but her yawns betrayed its ineffectiveness as her eyes grew heavier still. The trip had been a marathon of activity--packing, the airport, the plane--all leading to a touchdown in Somerville just as the sun began to rise.

On the way over, Hotch had briefed her on the details of the case. A couple weeks ago, a polyamorous couple--two older men, and their shared partner, a younger woman--were found dead. Then, two days ago another household with the same victimology were killed. The coincidence wasn't lost on Evelyn as her mind wandered to that god forsaken dream that had haunted her since.

And on top of that, throughout the trip, Hotch's silence was a wall between them, broken only by the case details. Despite herself, Evelyn tried to profile him knowing it was wrong. Evelyn replayed the hot tub scene in her mind, a pang of guilt twisting in her gut. She couldn't shake the feeling that she'd crossed a line, even if it was unintentional... right? Her head was a battlefield of jumbled thoughts and creeping doubts, all clamoring for attention. She blamed the fog in her brain on the lack of sleep.

 Evelyn, under the weight of Hotch's intent gaze, gave way to a yawn so extravagantly drawn out it seemed less a sign of fatigue and more a playful challenge to his enduring patience.

"Stop staring; it's too early for judgment," Evelyn murmured, her eyes slits of defiance as she ambled after him towards the station. "This is just my face before the caffeine kicks in. It gets better, I promise."

Hotch offered no reply, merely casting a glance over his shoulder at her. The warmth of their close encounter in the hot tub enveloped his thoughts, an unwelcome yet intoxicating recollection. He wrestled with the memory, a guilty pleasure, even as he held the door open for her. Yet, he steeled himself, shoving those dangerous reflections to the back of his mind, all too conscious of the professional boundaries that he dared not to cross.

"Okay, Hotch, I get it, we can't all be as chatty as me with zero sleep. But come on, give me a smile, or at least a grunt," Evelyn coaxed, her laughter not quite reaching her eyes. "Anything to show you're still with us."

There was a pause, a look from Hotch that cut through her words, heavy with unvoiced thoughts, before he turned and walked away, his back a silent command to keep up. Evelyn's expression dimmed, her lips curving into a faint frown as she trailed behind him. The team's warm welcomes echoed around them as they entered the conference room. Evelyn's smile spread across her face, skillfully painted on to mask the twinge of disappointment that Hotch had left.

The moment Spencer's eyes found Evelyn, a soft blush bloomed across her face, and she offered him a smile tinged with complicity, which he mirrored back, a small but significant lift to her mood. The brief contact of Spencer's hand grazing her shoulder as she passed was enough to deepen the shade on her cheeks as she fought to maintain composure. 

"How was Miami hot stuff?" Morgan questioned, as his arm sling around her shoulder with a teasing squeeze.

"Hot," Evelyn declared, her hand theatrically waving in front of her face in a mock fan, while her elbow lightly collided with Morgan's side. "Nearly had me seeing stars. Poor Hotch was this close to performing CPR," she said, her words a deliberate prod as her eyes sought out Hotch's, hoping for any form of reaction.

"I'd say it was less about the heat and more about you neglecting to eat properly," Hotch commented dryly, his words carrying a hint of reprimand, but hey at least he was talking.

"Well, we really shouldn't dwell on the past," Evelyn said with a dismissive wave of her hand.

"Speaking of meals," JJ added, sliding a blueberry muffin towards her with a knowing smile. 

"You're a saint, JJ," Evelyn said, her eyes lighting up at the sight of the food. "I'm this close to giving you a thank-you kiss."

"As tempting as that sounds, you can actually thank Hotch for this one," JJ laughed as she nudged her. "He made it clear--no breakfast for you means a mountain of paperwork duties for us."

Evelyn's tension eased a fraction as she shot Hotch a teasing smile, her heart fluttering at the gesture. "Well, sir, rest assured, I strictly adhere to the 'no kissing the boss' clause. It's somewhere in the fine print, right?"

Evelyn's cheeks took a shade of pink at her own words, hanging in the air, laden with the what-ifs she couldn't quite push aside. Hotch's eyes, sharp and discerning, momentarily betrayed him, darting to her lips before he caught himself.

"Agent," he cautioned, his voice low but clear. Evelyn quickly raised her hands, a silent truce, as Hotch redirected his attention to the team. "What do we have?"

"At this rate, they'll be naming the next HR workshop after you," Morgan murmured, barely containing his amusement. 

"What if the unsub is part of a group like this themselves and feels wronged by it?" Rossi muses out loud, his fingers tracing thoughtful patterns against the stubble of his chin as he stands, back pressed against the brick wall.

Reid paced slowly around the table, his fingertips grazing a file as he passed. "It's possible," he began, his voice a soft murmur, eyes narrowing slightly. "The specific targeting and overkill suggest a perceived slight or trauma associated with such relationships."

Prentiss gave a firm nod. "Let's not rule out the possibility of the unsub viewing these groups as a threat to their moral or social beliefs."

"The female-centric dynamic could be important too," Evelyn tossed out, her steps halting beside the pictures of the victims.

As she pondered aloud Spencer found himself focuses intently on her face, her nose scrunching ever so slightly in thought--a gesture that drew a fleeting smile from him as he cast his gaze downwards in hopes no one else noticed how he looked at her. 

"Maybe the unsub feels wronged by the idea of a woman being the main focus? Or it could be jealously. Someone who wanted into a group like this but was rejected," Evelyn continued. 

"Or the opposite," Hotch contemplates, his brow furrowed in thought. "Someone who was in a group and cast out." He pauses, hands clasped as he leaned forward. "Let's dig into the background of the victims and see if there's a common thread."

The conference room was steeped in the day's fatigue, the air heavy with the tang of frustration and the stale scent of coffee. The team had returned from their respective tasks--interviews, crime scenes, and calls--all roads leading to dead ends. 

The room's stillness is shattered by Garcia's voice emanating from the screen. "I've got something," she declares, the pixelated glow casting an ethereal light in the dim room. "Both triads belonged to an ultra-elite society known as 'The Labyrinth.' It's like Fort Knox meets Fight club--no one talks about it, and no one gets in without an invite. I mean, you don't even want to know the lengths I went to find this in the first place."

"I mean, if the society is as exclusive as P says," Evelyn begins, her hand sweeping through her hair in a fluid motion. "Then the unsub is likely also part of it or they have resources that could get them information on it."

Garcia's voice bursts through the speaker. "Prepare to be dazzled," she trills, the clatter of her keystrokes punctuating her excitement. "The Labyrinth is rolling out the red carpet for a gala tomorrow night at the old Whitmore Estate. And you, my darlings, are virtually invited to the ball."

Morgan hunches over the table. "So, we need a cover," he states, "We can't just show up at the doorstep and demand to look around; it'll spook the unsub."

"Evelyn and Reid could blend in," Prentiss nods. "They fit the profile of two of the victims. Maybe they can draw the unsub out." Evelyn's eyes widen as she glances towards Spencer.

JJ chimes in, "And maybe Morgan could--"

But Rossi interrupts, shaking his head. "No, the second male victim's profile is different--older, more experienced. It's more Hotch's profile."

A crease forms between Hotch's eyes, a shadow of concern etching his features as his protective instincts surge to the forefront, coupling with a deep-seated unease about the unfolding plan. A delicate warmth crept up Evelyn's cheeks, her pulse quickening at the thought. The idea of going undercover with Hotch and Reid, a scenario plucked straight from her wet dream, sends a shiver down her spine and her thoughts into a tailspin. She opens her mouth, to joke it off, but it dissolves into a muddled string of half-formed words, leaving her with a bashful silence.

Hotch's words falter, a rare hesitation flickering across his usually impassive features. "I'm not sure if this is the best course of action--," 

Emily interjected swiftly, her words slicing through Hotch's protest. "Hotch, we may not get another shot at this. Using you three as bait isn't ideal, but it might be the only way to corner our unsub."

Hotch's eyes settle on Spencer, who gives a firm nod. His gaze than shifts to Evelyn, and though he resists the urge to analyze, the rosy flush of her skin and the accelerated pace of her breath betray her feelings. It's a jarring contrast to the professional distance he's been striving for. Hotch's nod was there, almost imperceptible, but the frown that follows is deeply etched, a clear sign of his disapproval despite his acceptable. 

The room hums with a focused energy as the team pores over digital and paper archives alike, each article detailed events like this and of the couples who frequent. Garcia curates a comprehensive collection of profiles detailing the Labyrinth and its attendees, while JJ and Morgan sift through social media for the gala's guest list. In a corner, Spencer and Rossi huddled over a cluttered desk examining the blueprint of the Whitmore Estate.

Meanwhile, in a makeshift office provided by the local police chief, Hotch and Evelyn are deep in study. The walls, now a gallery of whiteboards, are dense with the scribbled complexities of polyamorous relationships and the backgrounds of the victims.

"I've come across open relationships in case studies, but an entire society? That's a statistical outlier if I ever heard one--Spence would have a field day with those odds." Evelyn says with a soft shake of her head.

A faint arch forms in Hotch's brow, a muted signal of surprise to the informal reference of Reid. Catching the lift of Hotch's brow, Evelyn quickly adds, "You know, Hotch, the silent treatment isn't going to work when we're undercover," she started with a tilt of her head. "You've going to have to convince everyone we're together soon, remember? So, you might want to start practicing liking me now."

"I'm not giving you the silent treatment, Evelyn." Hotch remarks, his countenance flat, eyes reflecting any readability. 

"Sure, if you say so," Evelyn replied, her eyes thin slits of skepticism. "But if you're not up for this, Rossi could step in. We need to be believable, or people could get hurt."

"That's not going to happen," Hotch assets, his gaze unwavering, the firm set of his jaw sending a flutter to Evelyn's core. "I've played the part before; I can do it again."

"Then what are you so worried about?"

"I just want you to remember boundaries, Evelyn." Hotch reminds. "The seriousness of this cannot be understated, and I need to know your focus will be on the right aspects of the plan."

Hotch could see the subtle crumble of her face, the faint twitch of hurt that flickered across her features. She masked it swiftly, her voice laced with feigned indifference. "Understood. I'll try to keep my inevitable swooning over your pretend affections to a minimum, sir." The lightness of her words contrasted sharply with the hurt in her eyes, and Hotch felt an immediate ache in his stomach for causing it.

"Evelyn, that's not--" Hotch's voice trailed off, the hardness in his eyes giving way to a rare vulnerability. His fingers twitched with the need to reach out, to smooth away the creases of pain from her expression, but the opportunity slipped away as Rossi emerged at the door.

"Hotch, can I see you for a second?" he asked, gesturing subtly with his head.

Hotch offered a silent nod, his gaze holding Evelyn's for a moment longer than necessary, his eyes etching a mental image of her--the tilt of her head, the unresolved tension in her shoulders, before he reluctantly turned to follow Rossi. Spencer, shadowing Rossi's steps, pauses at the threshold, his gaze fixed on the departing figures. With a soft click of the door closing, he turns, the hush of the room settling around him as he turns to Evelyn.

He steps behind her, his hands coming to rest gently upon her shoulders. Evelyn tips her head back, her eyes lifting to meet his. "You okay?" he asks, his voice low and soothing.

Evelyn's laughter bubbled up, slicing through the heavy air. "Had a moment with Hotch. Pretty sure he was subtly hinting that I keep my feelings in check as if I'm incapable of that."

Spencer's lips curled into a half-smile, amusement flickering in his eyes. "Hotch tends to get a bit tense with these high-stakes operations," he reasoned, his thumbs tracing soothing circles on her shoulders, easing the knots. 

Evelyn melts into the warmth of his hands. "That feels good," she sighs, her head gently reclining in contentment. "And tell me about. I'm the one who's going to be all up on my boss and coworker. Talk about awkward."

The thought of sharing Evelyn with Hotch sent an unbidden rush of blood straight to his cock, a visceral response that caught him off caught. He clears his throat, a subtle cover for the fleeting thought that, perhaps, the idea isn't as disconcerting as it should be.

"At least with you I don't have to pretend."

"I don't know, I think additional practice might be beneficial." Reid says, his fingers edging closer to the delicate skin of Evelyn's neck, prompting an involuntary hitch in her breath. "My room tonight? Purely for preparation purposes, of course."

"Dr. Reid, w-what are you suggesting?" Evelyn managed to tease out, despite the gentle pressure of his hand on her pulse point making her senses swim and her focus waver.

He leaned in, his head tilting to plant a gentle kiss in the hollow of her neck. "You're smart enough to deduce it," he murmured softly against her skin, the words almost a sigh, "missed you."

A giggle escaped Evelyn, and she nimbly evaded his grasp. "Spencer, we're practically inviting an audience at this rate."

"Which is precisely why I'm saving it for later, just wanted you to give you a preview, sweetheart."

The remainder of the day unfolded without incident, with Evelyn buried under a towering pile of research papers, its weight causing a dull throb behind her eyes. Every detail was meticulously arranged for tomorrow--the tickets secured, the outfits chose, the escape routes mapped. However, no degree of preparation could quell the fluttering feeling in the pit of her stomach. This is precisely what led Evelyn to Spencer's hotel door, perched anxiously, her knocks rapid and insistent, her gaze sweeping the corridor for onlookers.

The door finally creaked open, and Evelyn breezed inside, her voice a soft tease, "Took you long enough." Spencer, with a quick glance over his shoulder, closed the door with a silent snap.

Spencer's laughter echoed through the room, a carefree sound that made Evelyn pause. "Sorry, I was in the shower," he said, a sheepish grin on his face. 

It was then that Evelyn really looked at him--his hair damp and tousled, clinging to his forehead, chest bare, skin dotted with water beads that caught the light, the soft material of his pajama pants hanging from his hips. Her eyes lingered, almost hypnotized by the sight, and rendered mute. 

Evelyn's lips parted, ready to unleash a clever comeback, yet only a soft, airy giggle escaped. Without thinking, her arms encircled him, her heart thudding erratically from the sheer nearness of him.

His fingers tenderly framed her face, his laughter a comforting hum. "Evelyn, you're going to get all wet," he teased, thumb softly grazing her cheek.

"That's what I'm counting on," Evelyn replies, a coy smile on her lips as she lets her hands wander down his chest, her fingers flirting with the edge of his pants. "I believe I was promise there would be a rehearsal on the agenda this evening."

"Mmm, is that what you want baby?" He questioned teasingly, his hand guiding her gaze to his with a soft tug at her locks. "Be the good girl I know you are, get undressed, and get on the bed."

Evelyn's eyes sparkled with anticipation, her feet barely touching the ground as she hurried to the bed. Her gaze locked with his and with deliberate care, she pinched the hem of her shirt, swiftly gathering the fabric and sending is flying across the room in a fluid motion before she attended to her pants. His eyes followed her every move as he inhaled a sharp breath, his thumb brushing against his bottom lip. Her gaze followed down to his pajama pants and the tent that was growing within them, excitement growing in her chest. 

She carefully turned her back towards him as she hooked her thumbs around her pants and underwear letting them drop to the floor. She crawled on to the bed, arching her back in an exaggerated motion, giving Spencer a full glance at her glistening pussy. She turned quickly, resting on her elbows as she smiled sweetly at Spence who was all but drooling at the sight.

"You're so good sweetheart," Spencer exhaled, each step towards the bed measured, the corners of his mouth lifting at her eagerness, "so pretty."

Evelyn's legs instinctively clasped together in a silent plea for relief as a wave of warmth surged through her cheeks and pussy.

"Take this off, baby," Spencer commanded, the sound of his tongue clicking in disapproval as his fingers drummed a soft rhythm against the material of her bra, "Wanna see all of my beautiful girl."

She quickly complied, sitting up just enough to unclasp the pesky thing. His large hands splayed over the expanse of her thighs, coaxing them open as he settled between them, his gaze penetrating as her tits bounced out of the cups of the bra. "God, you're so pretty sweetheart."

A soft moan escaped Evelyn's lips as she squirmed on the mattress, "Spencer, need you."

Spencer let out a soft chuckle, his hand moving closer to her heat, fingers tracing back and forth in a tantalizing motion. "Gonna take such good care of you baby."

His thumb began to rub slow circles on her swollen clit, Evelyn's breath hitched, her hands frantically searching for something to grasp on to, landing on his wet curls. He teased her slowly, his fingers moving across her soaked folds. Evelyn felt as though she could see stars as she watched Spencer begin to plant soft kisses up her thighs, getting closer and closer to where she wanted him. 

She jutted her hips off the mattress, her fingers curling around his hair as if to move him towards her throbbing cunt. "Evelyn, patience teaches us to regulate our emotions. Neurologically speaking, it's linked to serotonin levels in the brain, did you know that pretty girl?"

"Spencer, please, baby put that good mouth to use."

Spencer let out a soft laugh before placing his mouth to her clit, sucking as if it were his full-time job. The moan that released from her was loud and unrestrained, her body thrusting against his mouth. His tongue curled into her, eating her out like it was his last meal on earth.

"Need you to be quiet, baby. Hotch is on the other side of this wall, don't want him hearing you, do you?" Spencer asked, his voice muffled. "Or maybe you do? Is that what you want? You want Hotch to know how I treat this pussy?"

Evelyn's body trembled with pleasure, her hands grasping against the cool sheets as if to steady herself. His hands wrapped around her thighs, pulling her closer as if to suffocate himself between them. "I-I,"

His tongue lapped greedily through Evelyn's folds, her cunt trembling against the pressure as broken moans escaped her lips. He met her eyes, peering up from his position devouring her aching pussy. 

"Spencer I-oh, fuck, I'm so close," Evelyn moaned out, her eyes rolling to the back of her head as she humped against his face, his nose brushing against her clit every so often. "I can't, I'm gonna-"

A knock at the door caused Spencer's motion to freeze, a panicked gasp releasing from Evelyn's lips as her orgasm dissipated into thin air.

"Reid, are you up?" Hotch's voice, firm and unexpected, pierced the silence. Evelyn's mind was a whirlwind of foggy thoughts, her body reacting before her brain could catch up. Beside her, Spencer's limbs flailed in a hasty attempt to feign alertness, both like deer caught in headlights.

"Oh my god," Evelyn hissed, her hands flying to shield herself. She leaped from the bed, her eyes darting desperately around the room for her scattered clothes.

"Just a second!" Spencer called to Hotch. Meanwhile, Evelyn snatched the nearest shirt, one of Spencer's and yanked it over her head. It was a clumsy dance, one that nearly ended with her sprawled on the floor, tripping over the bulky obstacle of his go-bag. "Get under the bed."

"Under the bed?" Evelyn's voice was a hushed blend of disbelief and urgency. Spencer returned her gaze with an unwavering stare. "God, you're lucky you're so good with that scholarly mouth of yours."

"Radio waves... they're the longest wavelengths in the electromagnetic spectrum," Spencer began, his voice a low hum as he paced the confines of the room. "First predicted by Maxwell in 1864," he continued, more to himself than to Evelyn. Her brow furrowed in confusion. "And they--"

He was cut off as Evelyn interjected. "Spencer, why are you giving me a physics lesson right now?"

"I'm trying to, uh... calm down."

Evelyn's gaze traced the path of Spencer's, her eyes light up at the sight of the tent still evident in his pants. A soft giggle escaped her lips, a delicate sound in the quiet room. Their eyes met once more, and she exhaled a prolonged, "Oh," the syllable stretching out as brought a hand to her mouth.

"Just get under the bed."

Evelyn's laughter was a soft echo, quickly muffled as she deftly maneuvered herself under the bed. Her breath caught in her throat, the only sound the creak of the door swinging open.

Spencer was met by Hotch, his figure framed by the hallway's dim light. "Reid, can I come in?"

With a subtle clearing of his throat, Spencer managed a casual tone, "Uh, yeah, sure, of course."

He swung the door fully open, his expression carefully schooled into one of practiced composure. Hotch stepped over the threshold, his eyes sweeping over the room. Spencer's gaze flitted after his, a silent prayer of gratitude that the room bore no trace of Evelyn's clothes. 

"I just wanted to talk to you about tomorrow," Hotch stated, his voice betraying none of the scrutiny his eyes had just performed. 

"Sure, what's up?" Spencer asked, the words slightly pinched at the edges, his voice climbing a register.

Hotch's arms locked across his chest like a barrier. "This undercover operation is delicate, and we can't afford any... complications."

Spencer swallows hard, his eyes darting to the bed for a fleeting second. "Of course, I understand."

With a casual lean against the desk, Hotch's features relaxed just perceptibly. "I know you understand, but it's not just about the operation. It's about perception too. Evelyn's already under a bit of scrutiny."

An awkward cough escaped Spencer, a clumsy veil over the tension he felt, knowing well that Evelyn hung on every word. "Right," he responded, an unspoken understanding that they were discussing her father.

"Gideon set a high bar, and it's clear Evelyn is rising to meet it," Hotch begins, his voice steady, a tinge of pride in his tone. "She's carved out her own space on this team, a fact we all recognize. But rumors don't always favor the truth, and any suggestion of her involvement with another agent could be damaging..."

"There's nothing unprofessional going on, Hotch," Spencer quickly countered, his voice a swift defense. 

Hotch raised a hand, a gesture of pause and consideration. "I'm not accusing you of anything," he clarified, his voice firm yet fair. "I'm just asking you to exercise caution," he articulated. "For her sake. She has a bright future, and it shouldn't be jeopardized by baseless chatter."

Under the bed, Evelyn's brain was in overdrive, dissecting every word, her mouth suddenly dry. 

"I understand."

"Good," Hotch affirmed with a supportive squeeze on Spencer's shoulder. "Goodnight, Reid."

"Yeah, you too."

next

taglist: @aceofspades190 @nonamevenus @lukesaprince @doigettokeepyou @tequilya @carley12041 @satellitelh @greatdinosaursalad @malewife-cas

[cmdrfupa]

Furtive

Suguru x Reader

mdni

a/n: 6.5k words of a sugu fwb gone crumby lmao. Do enjoy and thank you for reading ✨✨

The conference room hummed with quiet conversations, the air thick with the clinking of mugs, pens clicking and shuffling of papers as instructors and auxiliary staff settled in for another routine meeting. Geto leaned back into the couch, fingers tapping idly against the couch's arm. His expression was as composed as ever, betraying none of the thoughts running beneath the surface.

Across the room, there you sat at the long table with your gaze focused on the agenda, brow furrowed in concentration. There was something in the way your fingers glided across the paper, making notes—something so ordinary, yet Suguru found it captivating. You were so close, yet so far, surrounded by the others who had no idea about the morning you two shared a few days prior.

You’d woken up early together in his bed. Legs lost under the sheets as he engulfed your whimpers and moans from you before the sun could even rise. “I love you.”

Your eyes shot open.

“You what..” the look in your eyes sends a feeling of worry through his body. “You love me?”

Suguru shifted slightly in his seat, his eyes flicking to you once more, lingering on the curve of your neck, the way you raked through your hair before resting your hand on your collarbone. There was a brief moment—just a second—where your eyes almost met, but you remained oblivious, still absorbed in the words Yaga spoke. He suppressed a sigh, feeling that familiar tug of longing pull at him. 

“I’m sorry. Not the right time.” Suguru stilled himself, his breathing slowing down as he pushed his loose hair from his face. 

You sat up on your elbows, hyper aware of your bare chest against his. “What do you mean you love me? Suguru… You said no feelings.”

“I..” Suguru slowly pulled away without another word, rolling out of bed and hastily walking to the bathroom.

The sound of someone clearing their throat brought him back, and he quickly tore his gaze away, straightening as Nanami spoke up. But the words floated past him, meaningless as his mind wandered back to you. He couldn’t help himself. His eyes found you again, tracing the outline of your lips as you quietly murmured something to Shoko who fell into a quiet laugh.

This time, he lingered too long.

“Geto?”

The deep voice snapped him back to reality, his heart skipping a beat. Suguru blinked, meeting the eyes of his boss at the head of the table, who was eyeing him expectantly. The room had gone quiet, all eyes turned towards him. 

“Did you have something to add?” Yaga asked, raising an eyebrow.

Suguru masked his surprise with a smooth chuckle, leaning forward as if nothing had happened. “No, I think everything that needed to be said has been,” he replied, his voice calm and unbothered, though his pulse raced beneath his cool exterior. “But I’d like to get a bit of help on the upcoming scouting trip.”

“We can make that happen. If anyone wants to volunteer, let me know so we can make sure you have the proper accommodations. For those of you who don’t know: it will likely be a 3-4 day trip to a neighboring village.” Yaga gave a nod of self approval before moving on.

Out of the corner of his eye, Suguru caught you looking at him this time, a faint look of apprehension at your lips. You knew. You always knew.

______________________________

The rhythmic hum of the train moving along the tracks filled the air, a steady background to the quiet chatter of passengers. Suguru sat across from Satoru, his elbow resting casually on the armrest, staring out the window at the blur of passing scenery. The mission ahead was routine enough, but the company for this trip made things anything but simple.

Satoru, leaning back with his arms crossed, a smirk tugging at his lips, eyed Suguru with amusement. His sunglasses sat perched on the tip of his nose, leaving his eyes exposed—too perceptive for Suguru’s liking today. 

Your detective of a mutual friend pieced together the little tryst Suguru and you had going on months ago. And rather than be his confidant, he knew what must be done.

“So,” Satoru started, drawing out the word like it was a question and an accusation all at once. “Are we gonna talk about it?”

Suguru frowned slightly, his gaze not shifting from the window. “Talk about what?”

“Oh, come on,” Satoru said, a chuckle slipping out. “The fact that you’re suddenly turning into a lovesick puppy. It’s cute, really.”

Suguru’s fingers tightened just slightly on the armrest, but his expression remained calm, betraying nothing. He finally turned to look at Satoru, raising an eyebrow. “You’re imagining things.”

“Am I?” Satoru leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, eyes glinting with mischief. “Because I’m pretty sure this whole ‘friends with benefits’ thing you have going isn’t cutting it anymore. And now, we’re headed to a mission where you get to stay in the same hotel. Convenient, isn’t it?”

Suguru’s jaw clenched, “You’re overthinking it.” he forced a small, dry smile. “And you and I are sharing a room.” 

Satoru shrugged, clearly enjoying himself. “Maybe. But you haven’t taken your eyes off her since we left the school and got on this train.”

At that, Suguru flicked his eyes towards your seat on the opposite side of the car, where you sat a few rows in front of them, laughing quietly with Shoko. Your voice drifted toward him in soft waves, and he hated how just the sound of it tugged at something deep inside him. He looked away quickly, but not quickly enough for Satoru.

“You’re in deep, aren’t you?” Satoru said, grinning wide now. “Suguru Geto, the man with no attachments, falling for his coworker. This is gold.”

“I’m not falling for anyone,” Suguru said quietly, a hint of frustration slipping into his tone. “It’s… complicated.”

Satoru raised an eyebrow, his smile softening just a bit, though the teasing didn’t leave his voice. “Complicated? No strings shouldn’t be complicated, baby boy. You just finally admitting to yourself that you’re in love.”

Suguru didn’t respond right away, his gaze distant for a moment. It had been easier when it was just the two of you, something secret and undefined, something he could walk away from whenever he wanted. A simple text letting him know you’d like a little company, a drunken night leading to the nastiest sex imagined back at his.

But now, when you laughed with him, or when your hand brushed his, it felt different. He felt different.

“I don’t expect you to understand,” Suguru finally stuttered, his voice low.

Satoru’s smirk faded into a more genuine expression of curiosity, and maybe even a bit of sympathy. “You know, if you want more, you should probably figure that out soon. Hotel rooms tend to complicate things too. I could always give you a few hours for company.”

Before Suguru could reply, Shoko’s voice drifted from behind them. “What are you two whispering about?”

Suguru stiffened as he heard the soft footsteps approaching, his eyes flicking to the aisle. He barely had time to compose himself.

Shoko grinned, leaning against the seat across from Suguru. “Are you guys conspiring over something?”

Satoru leaned back, flashing his usual wide grin. “Oh, nothing important. Just some friendly advice for Suguru here.”

Suguru shot Satoru a warning glance before looking up at her, forcing a casual smile. “Nothing you need to worry about.”

Shoko tilted her head, her eyes lingering on him for a moment, before she gave a small shrug and turned back toward her seat. There was something in her gaze, something that made Suguru feel like she saw more than she let on. As she walked back to her seat , Suguru exhaled, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

Satoru let out a low whistle. “You’re in so much trouble, man.”

Suguru didn’t answer, staring after her with a mix of longing and uncertainty. The hotel was going to be complicated, indeed.

🪷

The streets were quiet, bathed in the glow of street lamps and passing cars as you and Suguru moved in sync down a narrow alleyway. Your mission was straightforward: investigate a series of strange occurrences in the city and keep tabs over the next few days. Satoru, of course, had gone off on his own after everyone checked into the hotel, giving some half-hearted excuse about covering more ground. But Suguru knew better—this was Satoru’s way of leaving him alone with you.

Now, with only the sound of footsteps filling the silence, Suguru felt the weight of everything he hadn’t said pressing down on him. He hadn’t planned on talking about it—not tonight, not in the middle of a mission—but the memory of your last time together clung to him, making his pulse quicken with every glance.

You stopped beside him, crouching near the entrance of a run-down building. You examined the faint remnants of cursed energy lingering in the air, focus sharp and steady. Suguru stood behind you, keeping watch, though his mind wasn’t entirely on the mission.

“There's definitely something here,” you spoke quietly, standing up and brushing off your hands. “We should check inside.”

Suguru nodded, but his response was delayed, distracted by the way your glossed lips caught the light, the way your presence filled the small space between them. He cleared his throat, trying to gather his thoughts. “Yeah, let’s go.”

You moved inside, the building creaking under the steps as you swept through the first floor, checking for any clues. Suguru could feel the tension building inside him.

He finally couldn’t take it anymore.

“A few days ago,” he started, his voice quiet but steady, catching her attention as they paused in the shadowed hallway. “Before work.”

You didn’t turn to face him. You instead continued to look ahead. “What about it?”

Suguru felt his heart race, though his face remained impassive. He’d replayed the moment over and over since it happened—when the heat of their bodies had cooled, and the words had slipped from his lips before he could stop them. He hadn’t meant to say it, not like that, not without thinking, but it had felt so real in the moment.

“I said something,” he continued, his gaze flicking away from her as his hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. “Something I didn’t plan on saying.”

You stared at him, eyes searching his face. “You mean when you said you loved me?”

The bluntness of your words hit him harder than he expected. He forced himself to meet your gaze, the weight of those three words hanging in the air. He nodded, swallowing thickly.

“Yeah,” he admitted softly, his voice losing some of its usual confidence. “I didn’t mean to say it like that. But I—” He hesitated, his pulse thundering in his ears. “It was in the moment but I meant it then.”

 Your composure slipping for a moment. You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out at first. It was rare for Suguru to falter like this, to drop the shield he so often carried, and you could feel the gravity of the moment.

“Why didn’t you say anything afterward?” You finally asked, voice barely above a whisper. “You just… rolled off the bed and went about the morning like nothing happened.”

Suguru exhaled slowly, the regret pooling in his chest. “I panicked. It felt too real, too fast. I wasn’t sure if I was ready for that, for what it would mean between us.”

Staring at him for a moment, the intensity of his confession made your pulse quicken. The mission, the scouting, everything around you faded into the background as you took a step closer, eyes never leaving his. 

“And now? How do you feel now. Do you love me?”

“I don’t know.”

You blinked, expression softening as the words settled between you. For a second, neither of you moved, the air lingering charged with emotion and uncertainty. He fucked up.

Before either of you could speak again, the faint hum of cursed energy rippled through the building, jolting you both back to reality. You tensed, turning your head toward the source of the disturbance, but the weight of Suguru’s confession lingered in the air like an unspoken promise.

Your hand briefly brushed his arm as you moved ahead, all your focus shifting back to the mission at hand.

Suguru watched you, his heart still pounding in his chest. He followed you closely, determined to face whatever lay ahead—both in the mission and relationship.

_______________

The ride back to the hotel was far more unpleasant than you wanted it to be. Satoru sat between you and Suguru, buzzing and begging for answers that he truly didn’t want. 

You wasted no time getting out of the cab once you arrived back, leaving Satoru confused and Suguru helpless. 

“You didn’t talk did you? I left specifically so you could. You are hopeless my dear Geto.” Satoru wrapped his arm around Suguru slumped shoulders as they walked through the hotel's lobby and to their shared room. “Did you even try? I’m not understanding what else could’ve taken precedence over you talking.”

The look Suguru gave was riddled with wonder. “Well the curse we had to deal with. The very reason we’re here?” 

“Oh that was a 3 minute side quest. The talk! That was what you really needed to get through!”

_________

Suguru stood in front of the bathroom mirror, his reflection blurred by the steam rising from the hot water. He’d barely exchanged a word with Satoru after they returned from their scouting mission, slipping away with a muttered excuse about needing a shower. 

Satoru had already caught on to what had happened, but he didn’t need that right now, he couldn’t deal with the inevitable teasing or the knowing smirks. Not when his mind was already spinning.

He stripped off his clothes and stepped into the shower, letting the hot water pour over him. The heat eased some of the tension in his muscles, but it did nothing to calm the storm in his chest. He braced his hands against the wall, staring down as water ran over his face, and let out a slow breath.

How had he let it get this far?

It was supposed to be simple. A night of drunken sex led to the mutual agreement of no strings attached, no complications. He’s the one who even set the boundary. If either of you fell, the agreement was null and you walk away. Keep everything neat and easy. 

Situationships were safe—they gave him just enough to feel something without getting attached. But now,  it was different.

I’ve fallen in love with her.

The thought hit him like a punch to the gut, and he cursed under his breath, running a hand through his wet hair. He hadn’t meant for this to happen. He was careful, always careful. But somewhere between the stolen glances, the quiet conversations, and the nights they spent tangled together after sex, something had changed.

You had gotten under his skin.

Suguru squeezed his eyes shut, feeling the heaviness of it all pressing down on him. He had told himself it was just physical—that he could walk away any time. But every time he looked at you, every time you smiled at him or laughed, it was like gravity pulled him closer, and he didn’t know how to stop it.

“What am I doing?” he huffed, frustration gnawing at him. “I told them I loved them, and I didn’t even know if I meant it in the moment.”

But he knew now. He meant it. He meant every word, and that terrified him.

Suguru leaned his forehead against the tile wall, letting the water cascade down his back. He couldn’t keep pretending this was just another fling. You deserved more than that. You deserved the truth, no matter how much it scared him.

And he couldn’t keep running from it anymore.

“I have to talk to her.”

The decision settled over him with a strange sense of calm. No more avoiding it. No more hiding behind casual encounters or brushing off his feelings. He was going to tell you—everything. If it ended badly, then so be it. But at least he wouldn’t be trapped in this limbo anymore, stuck between wanting more and being too afraid to ask for it.

Suguru turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, grabbing a towel and roughly drying off. His reflection stared back at him in the mirror, clearer now, more certain. He ran a hand through his damp hair, his mind set.

It was time to be honest.

He grabbed his phone from the vanity and sent a text to Shoko:

meet me out at the pavilion in 5. Need to talk

🪷

Suguru stood at the edge of the pavilion, hands stuffed into the pockets of his pants as the cool night air swirled around him. The soft glow of lanterns created serene lighting across the empty courtyard, his gaze fixed art and lanterns fixed around the courtyard waiting for Shoko to arrive.

He hadn’t been sure if texting her was a good idea. But after the shower, his thoughts had been too tangled, too heavy. He needed to talk to someone who knew the both of you well enough to give him some kind of perspective. Shoko was blunt—sometimes too blunt—but he trusted her judgment.

The sound of approaching footsteps made him turn. Shoko appeared, her posture relaxed as always, though her eyes narrowed with curiosity when she spotted him standing alone. She slipped her hands into her jacket and pulled out her cigarettes and lighter as she walked up to him, raising an eyebrow.

“You look like hell,” she said by way of greeting, though her tone wasn’t unkind. “What’s going on?”

Suguru exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck as he leaned against the pavilion railing. “I needed to talk to you. About… them.”

Shoko didn’t need clarification. “I figured,” she said, coming to stand beside him taking a deep drag of the fragrant cigarette. “So, what’s the deal? You’ve been acting weird all day, and they’ve been a little off too. Did something happen during your scouting?”

Suguru hesitated, the words catching in his throat. He wasn’t used to this—talking about feelings, exposing the parts of himself he usually kept buried. But if he wanted to fix things, he had to start somewhere.

“I told her I loved her,” he said, his voice quiet but steady.

Shoko blinked, clearly surprised. “You? Love? That’s new.”

He shot her a sideways look, but there was no malice behind it. She wasn’t mocking him, just stating the facts. She knew him better than most, and she knew how rare it was for him to get involved with anyone on a serious level.

“I didn’t mean to,” he admitted, looking down at his feet. “It just… slipped out. We were having sex a few days ago and I wasn’t even sure I meant it at first. But now I do. I really do.”

Shoko studied him for a long moment, her usual casual demeanor fading as she crossed her arms. “First. Didn’t need to know that. Second, does she know that?” she asked pointedly. “Because if you’re leading them on, Suguru, you need to fix that. She’s not the kind of person who you just toy with.”

Her words hit him with more force than expected, and Suguru clenched his jaw. “I’m not toying with her,” he said, his tone sharper than he intended. “I don’t… I don’t do relationships. You know that. But this is different. She’s different.”

Shoko raised an eyebrow, still not entirely convinced. “You’ve never been in a real relationship before. You’ve never let anyone get that close. So what makes this different, huh? How do you know you’re not just chasing after something because it feels new?”

Suguru’s gaze hardened as he met her eyes, his voice firm. “Because I’ve tried to keep it casual. I even went to that fucking club trying to find a one night stand but she was just in my head. I’ve tried to treat it like it’s nothing. But it’s not. She’s not some fling, Shoko. I care about her. More than I think I’ve ever cared about anyone.”

Shoko held his gaze, her expression unreadable for a moment before she sighed, her stance softening just a fraction. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Suguru nodded, his voice low but resolute. “I am.”

Shoko studied him for a beat longer, then shook her head with a soft, dry laugh. “Well, shit. I never thought I’d see the day where Suguru Geto falls for someone.”

Suguru looked away, feeling a strange mix of relief and frustration. “Has she… talked to you about any of this? About me?”

Shoko’s gaze flickered with something close to sympathy. “She did mention not being sure about you and your little arrangement anymore. Just that something feels different between you and doesn’t know where she stands”

Suguru’s heart sank a little at that. He hadn’t realized how much uncertainty he had been causing you by holding back. “I need to talk to her. Clear things up.”

“Yeah, you do,” Shoko agreed, though her tone softened. “Look, Suguru, if you’re serious about this—and I mean really serious—then fine. I’ll stay out of it. But if you screw this up, if you hurt them because you can’t figure out what you want, then I’m stepping in. She’s my friend, and she deserves better than to be jerked around.”

“I’m not going to hurt her,” Suguru said quietly, the weight of his words settling in his chest. “I promise.”

Shoko gave him a long look, then finally nodded, a small smirk tugging at her lips as the cigarette hung from her lips. “Alright, lover boy. I guess you’ve got my blessing, for whatever that’s worth.”

Suguru let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, a small wave of relief washing over him. He wasn’t sure if he was ready for what came next, but at least now he wasn’t walking into it completely blind. Shoko’s bluntness had a way of grounding him, and for that, he was grateful.

“Thanks, Shoko,” he said, his voice more sincere than usual.

She waved him off with a casual shrug. “Don’t thank me yet. Just make sure you don’t screw this up.”

“Is she still up?”

“Yeah. Just writing or something. But I’ll make myself scarce for awhile. Maybe grab dinner with Satoru. Take your time.”

Suguru gave Shoko a quick hug before walking back in. His heart was beating so hard he could hear it in his ears.

🪷

Suguru stood outside your hotel room door, the hallway eerily quiet around him. His hand hovered over the door for a moment, hesitant. The knot of nerves in his stomach tightened as he thought back to the last time he had been with you just a few hours ago. He hadn’t even let the words settle between them before leaving, and now he was here to face the consequences.

With a deep breath, he went to knock but as he did, you came out.

“Oh shit.”

There was a long pause as you looked up to see that who you bumped into was Suguru. Suguru to consider turning around and walking away. You stood there, eyes guarded, expression unreadable.

“Suguru,” you uttered, tone neutral, though he could feel the tension between you both. “Shoko is gone and I’m heading to get dinner.”

He swallowed hard, nodding. “I passed her on my way here. She said she’ll grab dinner since shes out.”

“I see.”

“Can I come in?”

For a moment, it looked like you were going to say no. You hesitated, glancing away, your fingers tightening on the door handle. Suguru’s chest ached at the sight of your uncertainty. He had caused that—made you doubt him, doubt them. He had to fix it.

Finally, you stepped aside, allowing him to enter. The door clicked shut behind you, but the silence remained heavy. Suguru stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, unsure of where to start. You didn’t sit, didn’t even move, just stood by the door with your arms crossed, waiting.

“I… I know I messed up,” Suguru began, his voice rough. “I shouldn’t have left like that after what I said.”

Your expression didn’t change, but there was a flicker of something—hurt, maybe—behind your eyes. “You said you loved me, Suguru,” you hesitated, your voice steady, but laced with emotion. “And then you left. What was I supposed to think?”

Suguru’s heart clenched. “I know,” he whispered, taking a step toward you, though you didn’t move. “I didn’t handle it right. I’m sorry.”

You shook your head, your arms tightening around yourself. “I don’t understand. You’ve always said we shouldn’t complicate things. And then not only do you say you love me. But you leave me to not only overthink, but then you couldn’t even say anything to me on campus. You avoided me for almost a week. That’s bullshit, Suguru.”

Suguru sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I know. I told myself the same thing—that it was better to keep things simple. I thought that was all I wanted. But somewhere along the way, I stopped being able to pretend that was enough.”

Your eyes softened, but the walls were still up. “Then why didn’t you stay? Why didn’t you talk to me?”

“Because I was scared,” Suguru admitted, his voice low, raw. “I’ve never been in a real relationship before. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how to handle feeling something more, something real.”

The lump in your throat didn’t allow you to say anything, but your gaze locked on his, searching for the truth behind his words.

“I meant it,” Suguru said, his voice quieter now, but no less certain. “When I said I love you, I meant it.” He stepped closer, only a foot between you both as he spilled his emotions. “It wasn’t just something I said in the heat of the moment. It’s the truth. I’ve been falling for you for and it scares the hell out of me. But I can’t keep pretending like I don’t feel this way.”

Your walls started to crack, just a little, but there was still hesitation in your eyes. “And what if I let you in, Suguru?” you sputtered out, your waterline threatened to spill the tears you tried to hold back. “What happens when you get scared again?”

Suguru closed the distance between you, his hand reaching out to gently take yours. “I don’t want to run anymore,” his voice steady, filled with conviction. “I want to be with you. Really be with you. No more hiding, no more pretending to not need you in my life more permanently. I’m done with that. I’m all in, if you’ll have me.”

You stared at him for a long moment, your fingers trembling slightly in his hand. Suguru held his breath, waiting for your answer, his heart pounding in his chest.

Slowly, your walls crumbled, and you stepped closer to him, your gaze softening as your eyes met his deep looked up at him. “If you hurt me Suguru, I will quite literally never forgive you.” a barely audible whisper spilled from your lips. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” he whispered back, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. “I’m not going anywhere this time. I’ve never felt so sure about something in my life. I promise.”

A small, tentative smile tugging at your lips as you let the last of your defenses fall. “Okay,” you whispered “The first sign of you pulling away, you won’t be given another chance.”

Suguru pulled your into his arms, holding you close, his lips brushed gently against yours. “May lightning strike me down if I do something as heinous as that.”

The kiss felt real. Emotional. It struck your heart with bubbling intensity as he brought you close. ‘So never had a girlfriend huh? All that attention back in high school gone to waste.”

He chuckled and kissed your knuckles. “Wasn’t for nothing. I had my fair share of hot nights.” Suguru gazed into your eyes. “But I think first and only girlfriend is a great title to hold.”

He pulled you towards the nearby bed.

“This is Shoko’s bed, baby.”

“We’ll switch rooms,” He sat on the edge of the queen sized bed, spreading his legs and bringing you between them by the hips. “She’ll understand the urgency of our sudden change.”

He kissed right at your belly button, then between your breast. His cold lips made you shudder as his firm touch brought you back to the sense of sensual belonging you shared. “You have a lot of making up to do, Suguru Geto.”

His hands roam your body greedily, mapping out every curve and dip as he slowly removes your clothing piece by piece. He takes his time, savoring the reveal of each new expanse of skin, peppering kisses across your flesh as it's bared to him. “Then I need to get started as soon as fucking possible.”

He takes a moment to simply admire you, drinking in the sight of your naked form with hungry eyes "You're so beautiful. I don't deserve you." He breathes reverently, trailing a finger down your sternum to circle your navel before you switched positions. He sat you down, eyes never leaving yours before beginning to strip down for you.

Leaning down, he places open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone, teeth grazing the sensitive skin as he works his way lower. His tongue swirls around one dusky nipple before he sucks it into his mouth, lavishing the hardened peak with attention.

His free hand slides between your thighs, fingers delving into your slick heat as he groans in approval "So wet for me already, princess." He praises, working you with skilled fingers, tending to the flames that are burning hot within.

“Fuck,” you groan, spreading your thighs instinctively to let him in. “Yes, please, Sugu..”

His eyes darken with lust at your wanton display, a feral grin spreading across his face as he takes in your spread legs and glistening folds "Thank you, baby. Opening up for me, letting me taste this sweet cunt."

He settles between your thighs, nudging them further apart with his broad shoulders. Leaning in, he drags the flat of his tongue along your slit, groaning at the taste of your arousal. The feeling of his wide tongue sends electricity up your spine as you moan out his name in pleasure.

He seals his lips around your clit, suckling the sensitive bundle of nerves as he thrusts two fingers deep inside your tightness. His fingers pump in and out, curling to hit that special spot within you as his tongue continues its relentless assault on your clit.

He can feel your walls starting to flutter around his digits, knowing you're getting close. He doubles his efforts, alternating between flicking and sucking your clit, his fingers pistoning in and out at a rapid pace "Cum for me, baby. Soak my face with it. I wanna feel you fall apart on my tongue."

His words are muffled against your flesh, vibrating deliciously as he works you closer and closer to the edge, determined to send you flying over it with his mouth alone.

“Nngh fuck..” your mouth gaped as you felt your body tensing, your thighs beginning to tremble around his head as he drives you closer to the brink. He doubles his efforts, sucking hard on your clit as his fingers pound into your dripping cunt.

"That's it, baby. Cum for me. Let go and give it to me." He growls against your flesh, the vibrations sending shock waves through your core. With a final flick of his tongue, he sends you careening over the edge

"Fuck yes, just like that! Cum all over my face!" He groans as your release hits, your pussy clenching around his fingers as you gush your essence all over his chin and mouth. He laps it up greedily, continuing to rub your clit as he helps you ride out the intense waves of pleasure

When the last aftershocks subside, he releases your sensitive nub with a wet pop, crawling up your body to capture your lips in a deep kiss. You can taste yourself on his tongue as he plunders your mouth, unbuckling his pants with haste.

"Mmm, you always sound like heaven when you cum for me." He praises breathlessly, grinding his hard, clothed erection against your thigh "But I'm not done with you yet, princess. I'm going to fill you up until you're screaming my name."

Reaching down, freeing his rigid cock, he gripped himself at the base, he notches the swollen head at your entrance, rubbing it teasingly through your slick folds.

“Suguru please. Fuck me. I need all of you. Pretty please.” Your begging made his cock twitch and his eyes rolled back in bliss from your sweet pleas.

He notches the thick head of his erection against your fluttering entrance once more, teasing you with the promise of what's to come. With agonizing slowness, he sinks into your welcoming heat, inch by delicious inch until he's fully sheathed inside you.

He whimpers shamelessly, watching as your eyes widen from his welcome intrusion. “Look at you, beautiful. You’re so wet for me.”

He praises, giving you a moment to adjust to his size. When he feels your walls start to flutter around him, he pulls back slowly before snapping his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth thrust.

He sets a steady rhythm, pulling out only to slam back in, his heavy balls slapping against your ass with each powerful thrust. The headboard creaks in protest as he fucks into you with wild abandon, the room filling with the obscene sounds of skin slapping against skin and your wanton moans. Every time you stuttered his name, only whimpers and unintelligible groans flew from your lips.

He groans, relishing the feeling of your silken walls gripping him like a vice. He gives you a moment to adjust one more time before pulling back slowly, only to snap his hips forward again, setting a hard, fast pace.

He notices your eyes fluttering closed and brings his face to yours. “You’re doing so good baby. Taking all of me,” Suguru presses a gentle kiss to your temple before pressing on to your lips while he angled his hips to that rigid sensitive spot in you. “I love you so much. I don’t want you to ever think for a second I don’t.”

He babbles, each thrust driving you further up the bed. His fingers dig into the flesh of your hips hard enough to bruise as he uses them for leverage.

He bottoms out, grinding against your clit with each stroke until you began to arch off the bed. “Right there, fuck fuck fuck..” words slurring and jaw slacked, He can feel you starting to tighten around him, signaling your impending orgasm.

He leans down to capture a nipple between his teeth, biting down just hard enough to send a jolt of pleasure-pain straight to your core "Cum with me, pretty. I wanna feel this greedy cunt milking my cock. Please cum for me, please give it to me.”

Suguru snarls in primal satisfaction as he feels your pussy clamp down around him like a vice, your body convulsing beneath him as your orgasm crashes over you. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, biting down on the sensitive skin as he pounds into you with reckless abandon

"Youre gonna milk me dry baby, fuck." He growls, his words punctuated by harsh grunts and groans as he fucks you through your climax, drawing out your pleasure. “so fucking tight. So fucking perfect, pussy made for just me..”

With a final, brutal thrust, he buries himself to the hilt inside you, his cock pulsing as he finds his own release. Thick, hot ropes of cum paint your inner walls as he empties himself inside you, grunting as he endured each drop went where it belonged.

He collapses on top of you, both of you gasping for breath as you come down from your high. He peppers your face with soft kisses, praising you between each one. “I love you so fucking much. You are my everything, My angel.”

After a few moments of basking in the afterglow, he carefully pulls out of you, rolling to the side and gathering you into his arms. He holds you close, one hand stroking soothing patterns on your back as he kept you close. “You still with me, pretty bird? Need anything?”

You smiled, still unsure of how to formulate many words without sounding like a lush “Water. And maybe food. Once I can move that is.”

Suguru smiled back, kissing you as if you were the most delicate artifact on the planet. “i’ll go get some ice so its cold. I’ll be right back.”

You kissed his chest before he rolled out of bed, pulling on his pants from off the floor and undershirt. “How do you feel about thai? I think Satoru mentioned going to someplace. I’ll have him grab something or we can go once we rest.”

“We can go in a bit. I want water and a nap with you first.”

Leaning down to kiss you again, he combed his fingers through your soft curls and caressed your cheek. “Then I’ll be quick.”

Sliding on his sandals, Suguru walked out of the hotel room and turned right until he heard someone clear their throat.

“Finally! I told Shoko you guys would finish eventually! I got enough food for us all!” Satoru cheesed as he sat up against the wall but popped up once Suguru noticed him. “

“Satoru.” Suguru pinched the bridge of his nose and grabbed his friends shoulder as his voice deepened. “Did you sit out here the entire time we were in there?”

Almost offended by the accusation, Satoru adjusted his glasses and smiled. “No idiot, I’m not some perv.” He wrapped his arm around Suguru’s shoulder as they walked to the ice machine. “Only towards the end. Where you were whimpering like a puppy.”

“Satoru..”

“You really are whipped!”

“Satoru. Gojo.” Suguru’s sternness almost stopped him, but there wasn’t any fun in that.

“Were you crying?” Satoru smirks as Suguru pushes him away, laughing as he caught up to him. “Come on! Its okay! We all cry from hot, wet-”

“Satoru!”

[keeponquinning]

Imagine being Joseph's girlfriend and feeling awkward and insecure about all the attention he's getting. now imagine the sweet nothings he'd whisper in her ear, the endearing 'I love you's while buried between her legs and little marks left on her skin so she always knows...

Guys, never stop sending me stuff like this.

Good lord. Here we go. 18+ adult rpf stuff ahead, scram kiddos

It'd be difficult not to feel insecure, the attention he gets is so constant, and part of you can't blame them. You've always known how amazing and talented he was. And he cares so much of his fans, part of it being of pure amazement and never expecting this attention. You're proud of him, so proud of him... and yet...

He just seems to shine so much brighter than he used to, brighter than you. He's being cast in these major productions, getting more in the spotlight and rising higher and higher and part of you can't help but think you're holding him back. That one day he'll leave you behind, in the dust of what you two used to be. There's models, actresses that would fit better with Joseph and you can't help but feel you don't measure up. Soon, he'll see you as an anchor that's keeping him in one place and not sail towards the sun.

But Joseph doesn't see that. When he looks at you, he sees the one person keeping him afloat in the storm of this madness he found himself in. Oh, it's fun, it's exciting, and he's getting opportunities he was sure he'd never had a chance to get before Eddie Munson, but it's so mad sometimes. He'd lose himself if it weren't for you. The calm in the storm. He cherishes every moment with you, something as simple as holding his hand is like a lifeline to him. Your smile brightens his day, your laugh makes his heart feel full. You're everything to him. He wouldn't know what to do with himself without you.

The night before he has to leave you for a shoot, he tells you as such, his cock filling you deep. Every thrust of his hips is hard, quick, his hand curled around your throat as his body presses against you, in his bed. One of your legs curled high on his waist, making you look at him in his eyes. He felt a man possessed, wanting every second of this burned into his memory. The sound of your panting moans and desperate cries, making his cock twitch, pulse as the walls of your cunt clench around him so tight it drives him absolutely mad with desire.

Towering over you, his whole body covers you, his hands moving the grasp your hair and pull your head back. His lips dancing along the curve of your neck, his own little grunts and groans beating down on you with heated breath. His body moves on his own, chasing the pleasure you give him, his hips pounding into you harder and harder — yet with every quickened breath, every desperate "Oh, god, oh yes, god, right there, please, please..." he forces himself not to follow through, to ease off, though it makes his body shudder, driving him absolutely fucking mad. His teeth biting into your neck, hard and unforgiving. He knows his cock is leaking, so desperate to cum, but the sounds of your desperate cries is too cute for him.

"...do you know how much I love you?" he asked, stilling inside you, cock pulsing, desperate. But he keeps still, tongue licking where he just bit you, imagining the bruise it'll bring. "Do you?"

You're dazed, but even in such a state, the doubts, the insecurity comes out. "...you say that..."

"Because I mean it. I love you. I love you so... So fucking much..." Starting to move his hips again, slow and deep as he lets out a groan. "I'm going to be — so mad — without you. Absolutely useless, just fucking... I'm gonna miss you..." his voice deep, whispering into your ear with each thrust quickening each time. "Going to miss — going to miss every part of you. Like a fucking — a fucking phantom limb I'll feel — but know isn't there... Fuck," he let out, feeling your pussy clench his cock at that. "Oh, you wanna get praised, do you? Mmm. Easily done, love, my fucking love of my life..."

And he tells you, over and over into your ear. Words of praise mingled with breathy moans and pants from his lips. Accompanied with love bites along your neck, jaw, shoulder as his hips thrust in and out of you with wild abandon. He isn't holding back anymore. His words becoming feverish, mixes of I love you, my fuckin' darling and cunt was made for me, y o u were made for me. Heated utterances of how beautiful you are. Your laugh, your smile, the sound of your voice a bright light in any dull instance his new found fame gave him. Because you weren't part of the fame monster, you were real, technicolor in a grey scale industry and he needed you like he needed air. To feel like himself, the old Joseph Quinn and he needed that, he needed you, so desperately did you have any idea of how much he needs you?

You both cum the hardest and most intense you've both ever felt. You drench his cock in your release and Joseph? He cums inside you, deep and plentiful, thick ropes of his cum painting your walls, coating, drenching them with his cum. He moves, still, body jerking into your body, milking the orgasm out of you both. You could feel him, how much he filled you with his cum, filling you to the brim and more than you two had before. His body feels limp as the last spills inside you.

You both feel light, heavenly, and you feel the rumble of his chuckle as he kisses the flesh of your neck, up to your cheek. "I won't be here," he says, a cheeky grin on his face as he traced his lips along your jaw, toward your lips, "But fuck, you'll be dripping of me for weeks... I hope that'll do until I come back to you." He furrowed his brow, "I hope you know... There's only you. There will always be you."

The sincerity of his words, the way his brown eyes are soft, how sweet his lips feels against yours, the feel of his cock pulsing so deep inside you... Yes... You know. Wrapping your arms around him and you taste his love off his tongue and to your own, the insecurities, the jealousy, the fears melt away and you smile so helplessly, in love with this man.

And he was so helplessly in love with you.

And nothing else mattered.

[pomefioredove]

Noble Bell ; Book One, Part II ; The King of Truands

what if you were sent to Noble Bell College instead?

type of post: series characters: rollo, original characters (pierrot, bou, phoenix, clo!) additional info: reader is gender neutral, this is mostly my own vision, influenced by Disney's Hunchback, the 1939 movie, and the original novel word count: 3.4k

prologue | the king of truands, 1 | the king of truands, 2 |

Chapter Nine

The stairs are narrow and slippery, wet with what you can only hope is rainwater. The further you go, the less sure you are of that. 

You and Hugo, who has been eerily quiet so far, descend into a large, tall chamber, much wider than the halls you’d been wandering in earlier. The floor is hidden under a shallow covering of grimy water, and the walls are…

“What were you saying about cadavers, earlier?”

Thousands of eyeless sockets watch the two of you descend into the earth, not unlike themselves. If not for the delicate arches of the stonework, you would have thought the entire passage was made of bone. 

“Is this the Miracle Court?” you ask, looking from side to side as a thousand toothy grins smile back. 

Hugo bleats and shakes the murky water off his coat. “I’d say it’s more like the court of ankle-deep sewage,”

“Cheerful place,” you murmur. 

“I remember hearing about the ancient tunnels under the city, but…” Hugo pauses, side-eyeing an armor-clad skeleton, crumpled in a dark corner. 

“...This isn’t what I was picturing.”

Condensation on the arched ceiling drips into the ankle-deep waters below, conducting an orchestra of plops. You can’t help but feel grateful for the noise. 

You can’t imagine what it would be like if the only sound were your footsteps. 

“We must be under the river,” you say, looking overhead. “It’s so…”

“Disgusting?”

“I was going to say damp, but yes,” 

You can feel the stone floor dipping into the earth below your feet, and you give Hugo an anxious glance. You’re going deeper. 

Each slosh, each wet footstep, every drip of river water from the ceiling echoes off the stone walls, making a melody out of the tedious journey towards the center of the earth, or Hell, you’re still not quite sure yet. 

And, even with Hugo, even with the river, the water, the thousands of smiles surrounding you, this is, perhaps, the first time since you'd arrived that you felt truly alone. 

It’s scary how comforting the feeling is. 

In the absence of the looming dread that had been following you since this morning, you could have a moment to breathe, and to think. How long this day had felt…

Something, then, stops you in your tracks. 

Hugo takes a few more steps before turning. “Whatsit?”

Your eyes widen. “There’s…”

There’s a little sun, a breath of warmth, a faint, teasing orange glow, like the light at dawn, like the flames of a candle, just behind you and to your left. You had caught it as you passed it by, and, within that millisecond, it consumed your entire being. 

Hugo seems to notice it, too. Or maybe not. “...You think there’s people down there?”

You don't respond. It calls to you. It cuts through the sound of water, breathing, and Hugo’s voice, parting it like the sea, and beckoning you into its depths. The longer you stare, the warmer it becomes, its edges red, its light racing to you like fingers, and-

The illusion of loneliness is shattered into pieces, the sound of laughter filling the cracks. You and Hugo share a careful look, and then move towards the cheers, leaving the glow behind as you drag your feet through the murky water. 

Then, there's light. 

The floor rises from under your feet, the passage narrows, the water becomes lower and lower until you’re walking on dry stone, the smell of mildew becomes bread and fire, and, suddenly, there’s an opening in the wall, from which the sounds and smells and yellow light are coming. 

“We have good noose tonight, everybody!”

Your steps slow, and you hold a finger to your lips, shushing Hugo. 

Peering over the high threshold of the carved door, it’s as if you’re looking into an entirely different place. 

Over the threshold, the catacombs expand into a wide, vaulted hall, lined with fine furniture, cushions, pillows, tapestries and blankets of every color and pattern hanging from the walls and ceilings, garlands of flowers and vine, candles suspended in air and in alcoves in the walls showering the chamber in warm, inviting light. 

Unlike the mossy and mildewed stone of the passage, the walls, floor, and ceilings are impeccably well-kept and clean. The smell of something baking is enough for you to imagine more rooms, more passages, beyond. 

What concerns you is not the state of the hall, though, nor is it the dozen-or-so students, dressed in a variety of colors, from a variety of backgrounds, each speaking their own language…

On the contrary, it is the drably-dressed rather boring boy on a gallows at one end of the hall. He’s sickly pale, and seems to be in a heated argument with a man in an executioner’s outfit beside him. 

“Pierrot,” you whisper to Hugo. He coughs. 

“Again!” Pierrot says, eyes wide. “You know me! I am the author, Pierrot Gregoire!”

The boy beside him adjusts his black cap, checks himself in the reflection of a guillotine blade beside them, and then hums. 

“Hmhmhm… No, doesn’t ring a bell,”

“Clodio! We have drama club together! I saw you less than two hours ago!”

He rolls his eyes. “That’s what they all say,”

The crowd that had gathered beneath the gallows laughs and claps along. You and Hugo share a glance, and when you look back, the boy- Clodio- is dressed in a long robe, not unlike the Noble Bell uniform, is wearing a wide-brimmed hat, and holding a puppet…

You narrow your eyes. “How did he-” 

“Now that we have seen all the evidence- wait, I object!” says the puppet, “Overruled! But I object! Quiet!”

Hugo makes a face, and you share the look. When you look back, Clodio is dressed as an executioner… again. 

“Ahem. Now that we’ve seen all the evidence, we find you completely and utterly normal… which is the worst crime of all! Thou shalt be hanged!”

“Wait!” 

You gasp, stumbling out of the opening in the wall and into the warm, well-lit chamber. Pierrot sighs in relief, “There you are-”

Clodio shushes him, and turns to you. “Ah… how timely! We were wondering when you would come!”

You climb the ladder to the gallows, noting the good condition of it, and hurry to Pierrot’s side. 

“Your friend?” Clodio asks, grinning and leaning against the lever that would have sent Pierrot to his… is that plastic?

Pierrot’s eyes turn to you. 

“...Yes,” you finally say, throwing the noose off of him. He sighs, and his knees give out. 

“How unfortunate…” Clodio says, rubbing his chin. “But, I dare say, that was my best performance yet!”

The little group of bystanders hoots and hollers, and he gives a bow. When he stands upright, his outfit has, again, changed entirely. Now, he’s dressed in a dark blue, pinstripe shirt, with a lavender vest and a large, almost obnoxiously so, golden-hued bowtie. He snaps a pair of white gloves over his hands, and bows to you. 

“Welcome to our court. You are permitted, with the highest honor, to call me by the name of Clo, Clodio Lefou, or, should it agree with you, the King of Truands. Now, make yourself comfortable- have you eaten yet?”

You give him an odd look. “Um…”

Clo stands. His bowtie is now a white straight tie. Matching bows and magenta feathers in his hair, which is dark, and pulled into a short, messy ponytail, and a single golden earring have also accented his person. 

“No, of course not… Well, let’s eat. Can’t have you going hungry, now, can I? What sort of leader would I be, hm? Come along- you can bring your friend, too,” 

You glance towards Pierrot, who’s just now getting off the floor. A single bleat, muffled by the tapestries on the stone, comes from behind, and Hugo leaps over the opening and into the hall. 

“Ah, and your goat,” Clo says. “Don’t worry, I get along well with kids. Pets, too.”

Hugo nips at him. “Who’re you calling a pet?”

“Ah, my deepest apologies. Now, come along,”

---

You follow the self-proclaimed “King of Truands” into another hall of the Miracle Court, a smaller room with a single, long, scuffed table going down the belly of it. On it- bread, butter, meats and cheeses of every kind, grapes and apples…

The group of students sits around it, passing plates and chatting amongst themselves. Pierrot’s hands are still shaking as he accepts a platter of cured meats. 

“I’m afraid you caught us in the middle of a rehearsal,” Clo says, piling your plate with bread and cheese before you can refuse. 

“Awfully realistic…” Pierrot murmurs, wrapping his hand around his neck with a sickened expression.

“Thank you!”

You glance between the two. 

“...What is this place…?”

Clo spreads a thin layer of goat cheese over a slice of bread for you, and sets it on your plate.

“Ah, I suppose you wouldn’t know the story. You’re in our Miracle Court… well… something of it. Long ago, during the time of the Righteous Judge, there was a safe haven for all outcasts under the streets of Fleur City, a home where they could seek sanctuary, community…

…Its original place remains somewhat of a mystery. What you see is only an abandoned waterway under Noble Bell College. What we have made it…”

As he speaks, you’re drawn to the people sitting around the table. They’re all quite different, from their appearances to their accents to their mannerisms. Some boys, some girls, some are older, some younger, some you’re not even sure are students at all…

“Consider us a… fourth dorm, if you will,” Clo says. 

“Outcasted, rejected, by the upstanding man, the scholar of Noble Bell-” he says, puffing out his chest for emphasis, his outfit changing back to the uniform you’d become so accustomed to, and then back to his suit. 

“-We’ve become a family of our own.”

“That’s what I was trying to tell you,” Pierrot says, narrowing his eyes. “-I’m just as much of an outcast as any of you! I also lost my scholarship! I was also thrown from my dorm! I’ve been living in the old cemetery all year, and half of last!”

Clo wags his finger. “Nonsense. Just this morning, as I was method acting, I saw you in the dining hall, your plate stacked to the roof!”

Pierrot’s mouth gapes, and then he shuts it. 

You lean into the conversation, separating the two. “...That may have been my fault. I let him have my breakfast,”

“Ahh… now, that would make sense. I didn’t see you eat a thing,” Clo hums. “Why didn’t you say so?”

“I did say so!”

Now, another thought is occurring to you, one that sends a shiver of hope up your spine. You can't help but- “It was you who was following me all day,” 

Both Hugo and Pierrot give you a questioning look, but you don't have the mind to answer them now. Clo hums. 

“...I suppose I was. I had to be sure of you, of course- an invitation to our little court of miracles is special,”

It was only him.

You let go of yourself, exhaling, losing your tension, sedated with a powerful dose of relief. Of course, of course. You had worried yourself about nothing. 

The uneasy feeling lingers, though. You tell yourself it's only stress.

“...I appreciate it. But if anyone deserves a spot in your court, it’s Pierrot. He’s rather unlucky,”

Pierrot hangs his head, as if purposefully looking for sympathy. “It’s true…”

Clo glances between the pathetic sight, and yourself, his eyes narrowing.

“Don’t excuse yourself so soon. Scholarship or not, you are an outcast. You may not think so yet, but Noble Bell has a way of reminding you when you don’t belong…”

Pierrot glares at him, and then turns to you, his voice softening. “Don’t listen to him. He’s an actor,”

“Says the poet!”

“AND PROUD OF IT!”

Clo bursts into a fit of giggles, clearly enjoying the company. Someone passes him a bottle and he pours more grape juice into your glass. 

“If you would like to join my court, you ought to be nicer to me. I am the king, after all,”

You tilt your head. “What does that mean? The King of Truands?”

“Well,” he says, rubbing his gloved hands together. “It is my part. That is to say, my role, my muse, my character! I wrote the part myself, too-”

Pierrot rolls his eyes. 

“-Based on the legendary king of beggars himself, who ruled the Court of Miracles, just as the Righteous Judge watched over The City, the Knight of the Sun protected The Ville, and The Curious Scholar led L'Universite…”

You glance towards Hugo, sitting under the table at your feet, and he mouths "explain later."

“Yes, yes, we’ve all heard the story,” Pierrot grumbles, crossing his arms and pouting like a child. 

“You never play any of my characters with such enthusiasm.”

“Your heroes are lukewarm and your villains are predictable- and I do bore of playing villains…” Clo sighs. 

“...But, putting aside our artistic differences, I see it only right to invite you to join our dorm, in the spirit of the King himself. And you-” he smiles at you. “...Should you ever need it, our doors remain open to you.”

Pierrot sighs, but accepts the offer with a little nod. You follow suit.

“It beats having to sleep in a grave,” Hugo grumbles. “Where’d you get all this stuff, anyway?”

“Made, donated, shared…” Clo shrugs. “The food comes from the flour mill outside of town- the miller is a sympathetic man.”

“Most ‘a the people in this city are,” the goat says. “I cut it good here. All I have to do is walk around a market looking all cute and sad until someone feels bad and tosses me their scraps.”

“Funny, I do the same thing,” Pierrot says through a mouthful. 

Clo laughs, and even you smile. 

You know you can’t stay here.

You’ll just end up attracting more attention than you already have, and by the looks of this room- the rejected would-be-students, the eccentric theatre actor, the rebellious writer- standing out at Noble Bell is anything but good. 

You’ll go back to the bell tower. You have to. 

Before that…

“Oh, right,” you say, taking something out of your pocket and holding it up to the light. “This was on the back of the letter you sent. But I have no idea what it means.”

Clo blinks at the sparkly pendant, and then grins. 

“It’s a popular emblem of Fleur City. Consider it a symbol of our acceptance,” he says. 

“But what does it mean?”

He shrugs. “No one truly knows. Nothing, probably- but there is a saying that goes along with it, though. When you wear this woven band, you hold the city in your hand. Fun, no?”

An inexplicable sense of disappointment makes itself a home in you, and you hold the pendant closer to yourself, cradling it in your palm. 

The sounds of the conversation around you become distant. You run your fingers over the twine, the many colors of it, the small cross in the middle, and the smaller stone at its heart. Strange...

Against all reason, it’s caught your interest between its woven bands, and you can’t help but feel that it means something. 

“It’s getting late,” you say, excusing yourself from the table, and the conversation, which had turned to Pierrot and Clo bickering about the realism of the prop gallows.  

Pierrot looks up. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay? At least for the night- it’s much cleaner here than it is in the bell tower,”

You shake your head, and Clo abruptly jumps from the seat beside you, pointing a finger directly at Pierrot. 

“Speaking of! Let’s hose him down- he smells!”

The students cheer, chanting "he smells! he smells!", and Pierrot goes pale as his chair is lifted and he’s carried off. You wave goodbye, and turn to leave from the way you came. 

Chapter Ten

Alone. 

Without Hugo, the passage back to the school feels thrice as dark, and much tighter. Besides the way from which you came, every door you pass, every opening, even the windows in the walls are guarded by thick iron bars. Yet, still, you can’t help but wonder what lies beyond…

At least it makes finding your way back easy enough. 

Noble Bell has a way of telling you that you don’t belong…

Clo’s words dance around your thoughts, haunting you, leading you deeper into the abyssal pits. 

The water is up to your knees now. The river must rise and fall like the tide… perhaps it’s raining. The thought offers little comfort. 

You turn a corner, and then hesitate. To your right, now, is the thin passage where the orange glow had come from. The sun, the flame, the dawn. How you wished you could have cupped it in your hands…

You peer through the wrought-iron bars of the opening. 

No light. No glow. The water is thinner here, though no less dark. There’s only a thin, black stem reaching out of the depths, though it appears as if its flower had been torn off. 

By what, you wonder.

it doesn't matter. The glow is gone. You are alone again. 

Then...

“Hey! What are you doing down here?” 

Again, the door to your prison of mind is thrown open, and you whirl around to see…

“You again?” you ask, taking a step back through the inky water. How strange. You didn’t even feel him coming. 

Phoenix puts his hands on his hips. “I thought I’d told you. It’s unsafe down here. You’re really not supposed to be…”

“Did you follow me?” 

He hesitates, his brow turning up, the stern expression on his face becoming confused. “I was going to ask if you had followed me. I’m on student council business,”

“Under the school,” you say. “...Again?”

“I was given orders. No one is to be in the waterways unattended,”

Your rational mind, the one that had, unfortunately, come with you when you woke up in this strange place, wants you to explain. Your gut resists. 

Some things are just better off as secrets, after all. 

“I got… lost again,”

For a moment, it seems as if Phoenix has something stuck in his throat. Then, he coughs, then, he laughs. 

“Oh, right. You’re pretty ditzy, aren’t you? Here, let me take you back,”

You grimace. You don’t appreciate his choice of words, but… he bought the excuse. Perhaps you’d picked up a thing or two about acting from Clodio Lefou. 

You still have much to learn.

Chapter Eleven

Phoenix blazes ahead, cutting a path through the sewer with the confidence of a man much wiser than him. 

You keep to yourself. It’s a long walk back to the surface, and you’re not in the mood to chat. You’re tired, wet, smell of sewage, and have been going in circles about what turned out to be a curious theater kid all day. 

Silly, silly… 

You scold yourself. This place will drive you mad if you’re not careful…

You’ve had enough of secrets and mysteries for a lifetime, and it’s only been a day. 

Phoenix is some ways ahead of you, talking to himself about some silly thing or another, answering his own echo. As if you’re not even there. 

People here seldom look at you. 

And yet, you can’t help but-

...

Your feet suddenly refuse to move. 

You stop in place, letting Phoenix’s voice get further and further from you, until you can’t hear him at all. Just the drip, drip, drip of the catacombs, the sound of your heart...

And the footsteps behind you. 

You want to believe it’s Clo, it's someone from the court, the one you’d left behind some time ago, but you know it isn’t. You always knew it wasn't.

It’s coming from one of the iron-guarded gates. You can feel eyes on your back. Behind you, to your left. 

It breathes. 

This time, you can’t even shout. 

“Hey,” the light returns to you, Phoenix and his flashlight.

“You okay?”

His tone is soft. Gentle, almost, which is strange for him, and must mean you look as scared as you feel. 

He comes over to you, loops your arm around his, and continues walking you out of the catacomb, practically dragging you behind him. The feeling of being watched, the lingering, sticky, suffocating fear, vanishes behind you. 

But you know it’ll be back. 

Phoenix brings you to the surface, lifting you from perdition with a strength you couldn’t have guessed from his height and soft features. 

“Alllmost there,” he keeps saying that, quietly, all the way up to the bell tower, as if reassuring you.

It works… a little. 

He says good night, and leaves you there.

There are very few things you understand about this world, its people, its history,

Its magic. 

But as the door to the bell tower closes, trapping you inside, just as much a prisoner as you were before, alone but safe, you understand this:

There is a monster inside Noble Bell College. 

And only you know it's there.

[pastryleclerc]

je vais t'aimer

requested: yes/no

pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader (one shot)

warnings: slow burn smut (the act itself is about two pages long, it's also my first!!), my bad english (and possibly bad writing), language, established bf/gf relationship, some fluff of charles and the reader making music together and being domestic towards the end, lots of text in between the lyrics - please imagine yourself singing in one go, reader is described to have brunette hair and blue eyes, mentions of death and dying, oral (fem and male receiving), p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, kids!) but reader is said to be on the pill, cock warming if you squint, also slight breeding kink towards the end, please comment if you find anything else and i'll add it to the list

word count: 4.846 words (with lyrics), 4.352 words (without lyrics)

a/n: hello guys 🥰 finally it's here - my first fic! i truly can't believe that i wrote an almost seven page long one shot but here we are. 🤩 the inspiration for the fic was "je vais t'aimer" by louane from the movie "la famille bélier" (the original was sung by michel sardou) - go and give the song a listen if you can :) i've proofread the text but i'm sure there will be a few mistakes, especially when it comes to grammar and commas, since english is not my first language. also, i feel like the ending is a bit rushed. 😅 feel free to let me know what you think as feedback and constructive criticism is always welcome 🙏 if you can find the symbolism used in this, i'll give you a cookie 🍪 in addition to that there's a hint to one of my favorite shows - leave a comment if you know what it is 😉 (italics = lyrics, brackets = translations) - here we go, i hope you enjoy this :) | *"Tonnerre de Dieu" is an idiom meaning something like "Bloody hell!"

🔎 directions | 🔎 masterlist

The cool summer breeze coming through the window – which was left open after last night’s activities – softly grazed her skin. The warm sunrays that rested upon her eyelids awakened her slowly. It was an early Sunday morning in the Monégasque summer – almost too early for her liking – so she blinked a few times but ultimately decided to close her eyes again, hoping to get a few more hours of sleep. Trying to escape the rising sun she turned towards where she thought her lover would be laying, hoping to snuggle up to him while enjoying the last day of their free weekend. But when she reached out her warm, delicate hands, all she could feel were empty sheets that had started to become cold already, indicating that her boyfriend had been out of their shared bed for a while now. So much for staying in bed.

Slowly Y/N sat up, letting out a yawn while stretching her arms above her head. By doing so, her own sheets slipped down her body, uncovering her very naked breasts. She sighed to herself, memories of the previous night came flashing back shortly, making her miss the brunette boy even more. Her heart yearned for him, thinking about the love and intimacy they shared. So the young woman made it her mission to find her other half. She swung her legs over the edge of their shared bed – her warm feet meeting the cold floor – and walked into her adjacent closet, fishing a fresh pair of panties out of the drawer. Forgoing putting on any more clothes, she went back into the bedroom and picked up the shirt her boyfriend wore yesterday and slipped it on. She tried to open the door as silent as possible, already hearing the faint sounds of a piano, and went to the top step of the staircase. From there the young woman could see her boyfriends bare back as he played the keys with his delicate fingers. Y/N noticed how the muscles of his back, moved with the rhythm he created, absolutely mesmerizing her. She couldn’t believe how such a beautiful man was truly hers and decided to watch him a little longer before making her way downstairs with the softest steps she could possibly muster as to not make him aware of her presence.

Charles Leclerc was up early. He didn’t understand why, as it was his weekend off and he had stayed up late the night before – he should be exhausted. Looking to his left, he saw his girlfriend and smiled at her sleeping form. His heart tugged at it’s strings at how filled it was with love for Y/N. His mind remembering the events of the night before. The look in her eyes gave her own love for him away, as he deeply stared into them while making sweet love to her. Their foreheads stuck together as they exchaged words of affection, some more dirty than others. For a second the young racing driver thought about waking the woman beside him up to take care of his now throbbing member but ultimately decided to not disturb her peaceful slumber. The brunette leaned over and gave his girlfriend a soft kiss on the forehead before he slowly, as careful as possible, sat up in bed and let out a yawn. He started to look for his boxers that should have been left somewhere in the room. When the Monégasque had found them he stood up and tip toed to the piece of clothing, which was laying by the bed post, and put it on. Before Charles left the room, he turned around once more and took one last look at the sleeping woman in their shared bed – half smiling at the sight – and made his way downstairs to work on his music.

Long arms snaked around his torso and a kiss was pressed to his neck. „Good morning, mon amour,“ his girlfriend whispered sweetly in his ear. If he didn’t know what music sounded like, he’d probably say this might have been it – the angelic voice of the woman he loved. Charles body automatically leaned back in her arms and he rested his head on her shoulder. „Morning, mon cœur.“ he smirked at her, squinting his eyes while he looked at her. She kissed his stubbly cheek, her left arm moved to lay over his exposed chest: „Why are you awake already? I’ve missed you.“ The older man shook his head slightly and he was able to smell his girlfriends hair: „Couldn’t sleep anymore I guess.“ Y/N hummed in response. „So you decided to leave me all alone and replaced me with your piano?“ She mumbled in her lovers neck and left a hickey. Charles hissed. „You found me after all, didn’t you? How about you join me?“ He slid to the left and patted the now free space on the bench. The woman behind him grinned and wrapped her fragile fingers around his firm chin, turning his head to look up at her. Their eyes met, completely enamoured with one another. Slowly both started to lean in until their lips finally touched for their first official good morning kiss on this early Sunday morning. The drivers hand moved to lay on her neck, deepening the kiss as both of them let out a sigh. He took it as his opportunity to slip his tongue between his girlfriends parted lips, making out with her some more, until she pushed him back slightly by his chin. „I thought you had asked if I wanted to join you?“ Y/N smirked at Charles and got the biggest smile out in response, showing off his beautiful teeth. „That I did!“ His opposite giggled and gave him on last kiss on the cheek.

She moved away from him and sat on the bench to his right hand side. Turning his head to look at her, he asked her: „Would you like to sing for me?“, knowing she had the most beautiful singing voice in the world (but don’t tell George he said that, he’d fight him for his life trying to defend Lewis). Her head now turned to look at him too: „I’d love that. Can I make a wish.“ Charles heart skipped a beat at her question and he stared at her as if she hung the moon, the sun and all of his stars. „You don’t even have to ask, you know I’d fulfill you all your wishes without a second thought.“ The young womans eyes got teary hearing those words from her lover of two years, knowing he loved her as much as she loved him. „Je vais t’aimer, mon beau.“ Her boyfriends wrinkled as his lips spread out into a smile: „Toi aussi, ma belle.“ „No, idiot, the song from ‚La famille Bélier‘.“ She laughed loudly, infecting the other Monégasque with it’s brightness and who soon joined her, shaking his head. „I knew that of course.“ Smirking, Y/N rolled her eyes, knowing full well he didn’t. Charles eyed her from the side and cleared his throat while cracking his knuckles, before his warm fingers touched the cold piano tiles again to form the opening notes oft he 1976 tune.

À faire pâlir tous les Marquis de Sade (To make all the Marquis de Sade pale)

À faire rougir les putains de la rade (To make the whores blush in the harbor)

À faire crier grâce à tous les échos (To be shouted through all the echoes)

À faire trembler les murs de Jéricho (To shake the walls of Jericho)

Je vais t′aimer (I will love you)

Y/N tried not to look at Charles while singing the all too familiar song but she couldn’t help it. He was just so gorgeous. The way his fingers moved across the tiles amazed her, watching his forearms flex while doing so. A simple yet so effective move, which – in a dangerous mix with the obscene lyrics coming out of her mouth - went straight down to her core.

À faire flamber des enfers dans tes yeux (To make hell blaze in your eyes)

À faire jurer tous les tonnerres de Dieu (To make all the thunders of God swear*)

À faire dresser tes seins et tous les Saints (To have your breasts and all the saints raise)

À faire prier et supplier nos mains, je vais t'aimer (To make us pray and beg our hands I will love you)

His cheeks reddened hearing her sing those lewd words which were meant to be for him only at this very moment. Her hand touched his biceps, moving up and down, and it sent cold shivers down his back straight to his dick. He loved sharing such intimate moments with her, just the two of them – sometimes they watched a movie, other times, like today, they made some music together – but as soon as her long fingers moved across his naked skin, he always knew he was gone for and there was only one way this would end. And she knew it too.

Je vais t′aimer comme on ne t'a jamais aimée (I’m going to love you like you’ve never been before)

Je vais t'aimer plus loin que tes rêves ont imaginé (I’m going to love you further than your dreams have imagined)

Je vais t′aimer, je vais t′aimer (I’m going to love you, I’m going to love you)

Je vais t'aimer comme personne n′a osé t'aimer (I will love you like no one has dared to love you)

Je vais t′aimer comme j'aurai tellement aimé être aimé (I will love you as I would have loved to be loved)

Je vais t′aimer, je vais t'aimer (I’m going to love you, I’m going to love you)

The young woman put her head on her boyfriends shoulder while singing, as she moved the hand – which was wrapped around his biceps – to the veins on his forearm and finally landing on his right thigh. Slowly she caressed the exposed skin, making the bulge in his underwear grow. The air between the two lovers became thicker with sexual tension second by second. Charles just really wanted to hear her sweet voice sing but now he was about to hear even better sounds coming out of her mouth and her teasing showed just how close she was to giving him herself all over again. And he loved every bit of it.

À faire vieillir, à faire blanchir la nuit (To age, to whiten the night)

À faire brûler la lumière jusqu'au jour (Burning the light until the day)

À la passion et jusqu′à la folie (To passion and to the point of madness)

Je vais t′aimer, je vais t'aimer d′amour (I will love you, I will love you with love)

À faire cerner, à faire fermer nos yeux (To be identified, to close our eyes)

À faire souffrir, à faire mourir nos corps (To make us suffer, to kill our bodies)

À faire voler nos âmes aux septièmes cieux (To make our bodies fly into seventh heaven)

À se croire morts et faire l'amour encore, je vais t′aimer (To think you’re dead and make love again, I’m going to love you)

The words sung perfectly described the love they shared for one another. They were each other light in the darkness of this world, especially Y/N for Charles. She was his anchor and saving grace whenever he had a bad race and she was there for him through it all – the ups and downs of racing ever since they had been kids, the deaths of his father and Jules, the travelling, the distance, the winning, the losing and everything in between. Everytime they had sex it felt like the very first time. And everytime they finished it felt like they had died and gone to heaven. He was excited to feel this way again and he knew she felt the same way. Their passion for one another almost exceeding the point of madness where they couldn’t go long without seeing, touching and talking to each other and not turning crazy about it. Charles and Y/N burned for each other- their love a blazing flame that never seemed to die – they were the bane of each others existence and the objects of all their desires and wildest dreams. For the last chorus the young woman let all of those feelings out and every word was meant only for her Monégasque lovers ears – the one man she ever wanted to spend her forever and beyond with.

Je vais t'aimer comme on ne t′a jamais aimée (I’m going to love you like you’ve never been loved)

Je vais t'aimer plus loin que tes rêves ont imaginé (I’m going to love you further than your dreams have imagined)

Je vais t'aimer, je vais t′aimer (I’m going to love you, I’m going to love you)

Je vais t′aimer comme personne n'a osé t′aimer (I will love you like no one has dared to love you)

Je vais t'aimer comme j′aurai tellement aimé être aimé (I will love you as I would have loved to be loved)

Je vais t'aimer, je vais t′aimer (I’m going to love you, I’m going to love you)

Charles fingers lingered on the piano, finishing the final note. They stayed silent for a little longer, letting the past few minutes catch up to them, the only sound being heard were their breaths that were in sync with each other – mirroring the rapid beating of their hearts. The woman moved her right hand from her boyfriends thigh and placed it upon his chest. „I love you, mon amour, thank you for letting me share this moment with you,“ she whispered in his ear and left a kiss right below it. The racing driver next to her turned slightly and put his hand on her cheek, his thumb caressing the warm skin. „Anytime again, ma belle.“ His dimples showed due to the soft smile that made it’s way to his face. And also his girlfriend couldn’t help but reach out for him, letting her hand linger on the side of his neck. The two of them knew what was about to happen, so Charles put his arm around Y/Ns waist, pulling her even closer (if that was possible) and their lips radiated towards each other, as if they were two magnets, finally reuniting in a breathtaking kiss.

When they broke apart, Y/N took the initiative and took her sweet time kissing down his body, leaving a few hickeys on the way – from his cheek, to his neck and his abs, until she ended up on her knees in front of the piano, facing Charles‘ crotch. Looking down on his girlfriend, he moaned her name: „Touches moi, s’il te plaît…“ Smirking at that, Y/N let her hands glid up his thigh. „Of course, baby boy, let me take care of you.“ Slowly she caressed his bulge while maintaining eye contact before dropping her head to leave some more kisses on his thighs. Then she moved her hand into his shorts and boxers to free his semi-hard dick. Charles shuddered when her cold fingers touched his warm dick and he bit his lip to keep in the moan he so badly wanted to let out. „Don’t hold back, baby, I wanna hear you. Show me how good I can make you feel.“ The girl encouraged him while stroking his hardening length. „Mon dieu…“, Charles whispered under his breath and threw his head back. At that she smirked and stuck out her tongue in order to lick a long stripe up the underside of her boyfriends dick, sucking on his tip where she left another kiss. The brunette driver locked eyes with his girlfriend who just swallowed his precum and continued to watch her as her mouth wrapped around his length again and went further and further to take him in fully. „Oh.“ His moan spurred her on and she started bobbing her head up and down, as her hand went to massage his balls. Charles so desperately wanted to keep focused on the woman in front of him but he ultimately lost control and fisted his hand in her hair, in order to form a makeshift ponytail and started pushing her head down on his dick harder. „Chérie - I’m gonna…“ His breathy voice got cut off by a groan he couldn’t hold back. As if his girlfriend could sense it, she had moaned on his dick and stroked his thick thighs, silently telling him to come in her mouth. A few seconds later Y/N heard Charles let out an especially loud moan and felt his sweet cum shoot down her throat. The young woman released his dick from her luscious lips with a loud „popp“ and opened her mouth to show Charles that she had swallowed it all. With hazy eyes he smirked down at his girlfriend and wrapped his hand around her chin, his thumb lightly stroking her cheek. „Good girl.“ He leaned down to leave a kiss on her forehead, then helped her stand on her two feet again. „Let me return the favor, amour.“

Charles stood up and deeply stared into his girlfriends eyes while slowly taking steps forward, backing her up into the piano. „Cha…“ Y/Ns voice was desperate and she closed her eyes as he reached out his hands. She waited for his touch, which never came. He closed the lid of the piano, then returned his attention to the smaller woman, his eyes so full of lust for her. His head bent down and he feverishly kissed her which she easily returned, their tongues exploring each others mouths, as if it was the first time they made out. The racing driver put his hands on her butt and softly kneaded the skin there, before leaving a slap on her right ass cheek, making her gasp loudly. „Jump.“ He said with his signature wink. Y/N did as she was told and wrapped her legs around his torso, as he sat her on top of the piano. „You look so good in my shirt. Much better than I ever did, ma jolie.“ His girlfriend giggled and his hands glid along her curves taking them all in. Charles kneeled down until his eyes were lined up with her ankles. He left the lightest kisses up her legs, alternating between the left and right one, while moving his hands up their sides. When his eyes were on the same level as her core he pulled her crotch closer to his face by her hips. „Ahh!“ A squeal left the girls lips as Charles took her by suprise. The latter laughed slighty. „Excuse-moi, Chérie.“ All was forgotten though when he kissed her cunt through her panties before he pulled them down. The excitement rose in his chest and he licked his lips, whereas his girlfriend felt a certain anticipation, wating for him to continue. Moving his face closer to her already dripping core he left a longing kiss on her clit, as his right hand came up to assist him – one of his fingers went in between her folds collecting her juices. „So wet for me already, bébé.“ He then wrapped his lips around his own finger, tasting her. „And so sweet.“ Y/N was in a state of pure bliss already, humming approvingly. „All for you, ma vie.“ Charles nodded. „Yes, all mine.“ The Monégasque started sucking on her clit again, acting as if his life essence is made up of the sweet sounds that escaped her throat. One of his fingers finally entered her, moving in and out in a steady rhythm that coordinated with the way his tongue moved along her clit. It felt as though she was his instrument: His fingers moved delicately inside of her, playing out a tune of moans mixing with the breathy calles of her name, truly showing his artistic skills aside from the piano. Two of his fingers were inside of her now, preparing the young woman for later, as he alternated between scissoring her hole and stroking her g-spot.

As Y/N felt her orgasm approach, her hands flew to her boyfriends fluffy hair, pulling on the loose curls. „Charlie, ne t’arrête pas!“ She moaned, feeling the tight knot in her lower stomach starting to loosen up. Spurred on by the soft massaging of her hands he moaned onto her clit. That was the last note missing in their steamy melody pulling the girl over the edge as she came with a loud scream of his name, squirting her juices into his mouth. He lapped at her lower lips, trying to collect all the juices he could get, before rising from his kneeling position. Her uneven breaths started to calm down again as she noticed the state of his chin through half-lidded eyes and let out a shaky laugh. „I’m so sorry, mon Chéri.“ Charles slightly leaned over her, moving his hand to her back, as he wrapped her right leg around his waist to pick her up and get her into a standing position in between him and the piano again. „No need to be sorry, mon ange. I enjoyed every second of it.“ At the second sentence his voice lowered an octave, accentuating every word into her ear. He nibbled on her earlobe moving down her neck, leaving a small hickey there. „Should we move this to the sofa for the big climax of our wonderful duet?“ He asked into her neck, knowing the couch was closer. „Yes, please.“ She breathed out, her head still thrown to the side, letting Charles have his access to her skin.

He took her hand in his and lead her to the other part of their living room. There, she regained some control when he turned around in order to kiss her, and she put her hand on his chest instead, pushing him back into the soft pillows. Charles smirked as he was under her spell once more. He patted his thighs and his girlfriend smiled, placing herself in her favorite seat, facing him. Once more the two lovers found themselves lost in each others eyes, before slowly leaning in, their lips meeting in a loving kiss, much softer than the ones before. Y/N moved her hands along his abs once more, moving over his bare chest to his toned shoulders. His own hands found their way to her wast, moving towards the hem of her – no, his – shirt, slowly lifting it above her head and throwing it somewhere behind him. The sudden cold air made her nipples harden, sending a shiver down her back. Charles smiled up at her – taking in all of her naked glory – and licked his lips in anticipation. His right hand moved to her breast, his lips latched around the other. „Ohh, Char…“ The young woman moaned and watched him suck on her tits. The fingers of his right hand fumbled with the small bud before he went to switch sides. Wanting to feel more of him, Y/N rubbed her body along his legs. Smirking, he removed himself from her boobs. „So impatient, ma jolie.“ His girlfriend laughed. „I mean, can you blame me? Everything about you turns me on immensly. Mon dieu, je t’aime tellement.“ The heat of her bare core meeting the cold skin of his thigh – he had already forgotten that her panties still layed somewhere by his piano – reminding him about the truthfulness of her statement. „Je t’aime aussi, mon cœur.“ The two stared lovingly at each other once more before the woman moved her hands down to the waistband of her boyfriends boxers – the only article of clothing left to separate their most intimate parts – and she couldn’t stand his advantage at all. „Take them off, baby.“ He smirked and tapped his hands on his girlfriends waist to signal her that she would have to get off him first. Y/N lifted her butt so that he could pull the garment down, letting them hang by his knees.

With his underwear out of the way, the woman above him slowly sunk down on his dick, stabilizing herself by putting her hands on his shoulders. At the feeling of Charles length entering her wet hole, they both let out long moans. „Putain!“ Y/N placed one of her hands on his cheek, making him look into her eyes – then she started to move. Slowly she lifted herself off him and sunk back down. The two lovers found a steady rhythm, their bodies creating a sweet melody once more. Charles hands wandered to his girlfriends ass, leaving a slap there before he kneaded the soft skin, soothing it in the process. His love let out a yelp and started to bounce on top of him faster. Her hands now rested on his waist, as she let her head fall to his neck, making her body lean on his. The new angle made both of them feel the movements more intensly – their breathy moans and husky groans filling the already sinful aria of skin slapping on skin to it’s full extent. „Chérie…“ the driver moaned into her ear, kissing his girlfriends shoulder. „Regarde-moi.“ Y/N lifted her head look at her boyfriend, who moved on of his hands to the back of her head, pulling her closer and locking their lips in a desperate and messy kiss. As they pulled away for air, both could feel their orgasms approaching. With his hand, Charles kept the woman close to him, the sweat on their foreheads mixing. „I’m so close.“ She deeply stared into his eyes, nodding frantically. „Moi aussi, Char.“ Then he steard to trust his hips up into hers, supporting her sloppier movements. Suddenly all the different components became too much for her to handle – from his hands on her body, his dick filling her wet core, to their erratic breaths conjoining in lazy, open-mouthed kisses - her body overstimulating as it reached it’s climax. The relieving wave washed over her and she came with a loud, high-pitched scream of her boyfriends name. Her walls clenched around his dick, sending Charles over the edge too, who let out a deep growl followed by a hitched cry of her nickname. The driver still held her body close as she collapsed on top of him and he started stroking her back in order to calm her down.

It felt like minutes before either of them moved again – the Monégasque just enjoying the feeling of her naked breasts on his skin, his partner listening to the sound of his beating heart. Charles even thought about taking her again, but that’s a thing that could wait until later. Right now, all he wanted to do was staying right here with her in his arms. But his girlfriend had other plans, as she was the first to sit up again. At the feeling of Charles dick still inside her both let out a groan, before laughing. „Merde, I almost forgot about that.“ Y/Ns hands caressed his cheeks as she dipped her head to leave a short but sweet kiss on his lips before she tried to lift herself off his length. She hissed at the feeling of the cold air of the living room hitting her warm entrance and noticed the way Charles cum dripped out of her hole. „Mmh, I love seeing that.“ The man in question stood up and pulled up his boxers before he stepped closer to his still very naked girlfriend again and held her close. „Can’t wait for when you don’t take the pill anymore. Gonna fill you up all nicely until you’re pregnant with our child, mon amour.“ He whispered seductively in her ear. The woman tried hard to keep her composure at his words, but the goosebumps on her skin gave her away. She wanted to have a child with him, as much as he wanted it, but only after they had gotten married. Leaving a last kiss on his lips before going off to search the shirt she was wearing earlier, she switched the topic while looking around the room with Charles following her around. „I’m starving, how about breakfast?“ Y/N smiled softly at Charles before putting on the piece of clothing, having found it laying behind the couch. „Oh yeah, let me help!“ The driver beamed as his girlfriend passed by the piano, picking up her panties, turning around afterwards to face her boyfriend – laughing at him. „Surely, ma vie, I’ll let you cut some veggies but that’s it, idiot.“ Charles jokingly rolled his eyes. „I’ll do anything, as long as it’s with you.“ She blushed at his words, softly hitting his chest with a wink. „Sweet.“ The two of them pulled back the curtains and opened the windows on the first floor of the apartment in order to let some fresh air in, before going to the kitchen to fix their brunch.

The two lovers spent the rest of their day cuddling on the couch, watching some movies and just enjoying each others company before ordering some takeout in the evening.

disclaimer: all work posted on here with this disclaimer was written by me. i do not consent this work to be published or translated on other sites than my own (@pastryleclerc on tumblr or wattpad). picture credits to their rightful owners

copyright: ©️ 2023 pastryleclerc on tumblr, all rights reserved

[importantangels]

Part 2 of Farewell kiss?

Ask and you shall receive 💕

It's Over, isn't it? (Farewell kiss part 2)

Word Count: 774

Remy Lebeau x Reader

Summary: The morning after Remy's departure

The light from the rising sun filtered through the sheer curtains in the kitchen, bathing it in a pretty gold that makes it look almost unrealistic. It was something Y/N loved about this part of the house, one of the reasons she wanted it. Her thoughts are paused by the shuffling of little feet against the hardwood floors. Riley and Rose, still rubbing sleep from their eyes, stumbled into the kitchen, mouths open mid-yawn. Y/N stands flipping pancakes, and lets her gaze drift to the girls before going back to the food.

"Mommy, are you making bunny-shaped pancakes again?" Riley questioned as she pulled herself up into a chair. Y/N moves to put Rose in a chair as well before going to the stove and flipping a pancake. "I sure am, honey." She answered after swallowing thickly, afraid she might cry in front of them if they asked about last night or Remy in general. The air in the house felt almost uncomfortable to her, but she ignored it as much as she could and grabbed plates for the girls pancakes before setting both plates on the table in front of them and moving to grab cups that she filled with orange juice. This was the quietest she had been in years, especially since having Riley and Rose.

"Mommy, where's Daddy?" Rose was always observant and had already caught on to something being wrong the moment her father hadn't appeared when the pancakes were done, like he always had. Y/N freezes like she has been caught committing a crime and stops before she could move the frying pan to the sink. "Daddy had to go out last night, sweetheart." Her heart clenched at the mention of Remy. "He'll be back soon." She added that, trying to reassure them, though uncertainty lingered in her voice, she turned to face the girls, who stared at her with wide eyes that looked full of questions.

Riley was next to speak up, her lower lip quivering and her eyes starting to water. "But why did he have to go?" Her voice wavered, mirroring the anxiety that Y/N felt in her own heart. Y/N moved closer to the table, kneeling down to be level with both girls. She sucked in a breath and wiped her own eyes, trying to gather the strength to answer their question. "Daddy had to go help some people who needed him, just like he always does. But he loves us very much, and he'll come back as soon as he can." Her words were slow as she looked for the right words to say to explain it to the girls.

Riley's brows furrowed in confusion. "But he's always home for pancakes." She spoke in almost a whisper, clearly upset by his disappearance. Rose looks out towards the living room, almost like she was patiently waiting for her father to walk in, but Y/N knew she would be waiting awhile if that were true. "Can we call him?" Riley questioned her eyes, searching Y/N's for reassurance. Y/N smiled softly and nodded before speaking. "Of course we can." Y/N knew he wouldn't answer while he was gone, he never did, but that didn't stop her from leaving voicemail.

Y/N stands to find her phone, which was almost always lost when she was home. Finding it, she scrolls until she finds Remy's contact and brings the phone to the girls as it rings. After a minute, they are met with the automated voice saying to leave a message after the beep, which Y/N let the girls take over most of the recording. "

Hi daddy! You're missing the bunny pancakes today, but I think Mommy can save some for you. Oh, and it's Riley!" She exclaimed, saying her name like her father wouldn't know her voice. Y/N turned the phone towards Rose, who spoke quietly. "Hi daddy, I miss you, but I know when you come home you'll stay for even longer, so it's okay." Y/N's heart hurt at her youngest daughter's words.

Y/N ended the voicemail. "Hey Remy, the girls just wanted to talk to you. I hope you can call me whenever you get a chance. The girls would like to hear your voice, and I wouldn't mind either. Love you." She hangs up with a sigh before smiling at the kids. "Okay girls, finish eating before your food is all cold." She goes to start the dishes.

Y/N wished he picked up the phone just this one time, but the kids were satisfied with leaving a voicemail. But somewhere far from their pretty little house, Remy laid on a battlefield, never hearing any voicemail.

Part 3