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bluelockmaniac · 5 months ago

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SPLASH .ᐟ

ft. itoshi sae, itoshi rin, michael kaiser, mikage reo, seishiro nagi, & meguru bachira (honourable mention) x fem!reader

synopsis. showering & bathing with your bllk husbands !

content warning. sfw !! suggestive but not really (?) but obviously lots of nakedness ノ pet names ノ mentions of menustral period, blood, & cramps in rin’s part ノ you scare the shit out of rin ノ itoshi brothers call you insults affectionately ノ you might have smacked sae’s butt ノgentleman reo ノ they’re all crazy rich men obsessed with you .

notes. 5.6k words (approx. 1k+ each) !

𝜗𝜚 𝐈𝐓𝐎𝐒𝐇𝐈 𝐒𝐀𝐄

“hmm, this should do it!” you mused, a pleased smile gracing your lips as you admired your reflection in the vanity mirror. you twirled left and right, the rose-gold satin robe flowing gracefully like liquid gold as you checked yourself from every angle.

the silk was a recent gift from sae, one he had brought back from spain, and its smooth fabric clung loosely to your body.

tonight would be like every other night when your husband was home— you were ready to indulge in your routine— taking a shower with sae. initially, you were never the clingy type, but that all changed early in your marriage;

you had accidentally walked in on him under the assumption he was still at football practice, only to be met with the sight of him under the shower, water streaming down his sculpted body. you were flashed. though startled at first, he recovered pretty quickly and nonchalantly asked you to join him as if it was the most natural thing in the world. after all, it wasn’t like it was the first time you’d seen him naked, right?

your eyes flickered to the digital display on your mirror, noting the time and cool temperature. an idea occurred to you, and you decided that maybe after the shower, you could suggest a quick dip in the pool. the weather was nice and it wasn’t too late, either.

excitedly, you rushed into the master bathroom and swung the door loudly. you caught sight of him standing beneath the showerhead in the large shower enclosure, the droplets trailing down his well-built chest, then to his toned thighs and calves, and then finally pooling at his feet. the elder itoshi’s gaze met yours and he sighed, unfazed by your entrance— this had become routine for him, too.

his eyes travelled over to the smooth robe you were wearing, immediately recognizing it as the one he had gifted you. “you look beautiful,” he said simply as he reached to turn off the water and slid open the glass door.

“thank you,” you smiled as you began to undress. the silky material slipped off your shoulders easily, bunching up at your feet on the tiled floor. he extended his hand out toward you, and you took it, stepping into the shower stall.

“careful, don’t slip,” he warned.

you rolled your eyes, giving him a light smack on his rear, which made him frown slightly– he was usually the one doing that to you, not the other way around. you slid the door closed and retorted with a cheeky grin, “please, who do you think i am?”

he flicked your forehead gently and turned the water back on. “you say that every time but somehow still manage to slip, stupid.”

as the cool water hit your skin, you looked up at sae with a pout. “baby, the water’s too cold. i’ve told you before, i’d love it if you warmed it up whenever i enter.”

“yeah, yeah, what a spoiled princess,” he muttered, shooting you a half-assed glare before adjusting the temperature to your liking. you couldn’t help but smirk. there’s something you and only you could know— sae loved to spoil you like crazy during your showers, and that is precisely why you allowed yourself to play the role of a spoiled brat, knowing he would not mind and rather entertain it.

you wrapped your arms around his waist, looking up at him and purposely fluttering your soft lashes. he grunted, recognizing the familiar look of expectation in your serene eyes. he looked up at the shelf that held various bottles of shampoo, conditioner, and body wash.

“which body wash do you want this time?” he asked, his hand hovering over the shelf, knowing you could be indecisive. “and no being picky.”

you tapped your finger against your lips, eyeing the different scents he had spoiled you with. “hmm, i want the coconut drift, pl–” before you could finish, he was already reaching for it, “actually, i want the raspberry dreamscape.”

he narrowed his teal eyes at you but complied anyway, grabbing your light blue loofah from the hook. he squirted the raspberry-scented body wash onto it, rubbing it until it lathered into a light pink foam. he sat down on the wide bench built into the wall, pulling you by the waist until you stood right between his legs.

you looked down at him with a gentle smile, sighing softly and resting your hands on his shoulders as he scrubbed from your neck down to your abdomen. he then turned you around to scrub your back.

“sae, i know you’re taking a peek,” you teased, glancing back at him over your shoulder.

“yeah, no shit. i’m scrubbing your pretty ass right now,” he replied casually, being particularly gentle on your cheeks.

smiling, you turned back around and reached for your cherry dew shampoo, pumping some into your hands. you lathered it up before sae stood up, holding your waist and lowering his head slightly so your fingers could reach his wet, reddish hair.

“smells like you,” he murmured as you massaged your shampoo into his scalp.

“good, you’ll think of me while you’re training.”

“i do that regardless.”

his words caught you off-guard, making you fumble slightly as you ruffled his hair. “r-right…” you stammered before quickly changing the subject. “—oh, i almost forgot, do you want to go outside? the weather’s nice.”

sae moved aside the damp strands of hair clinging to your skin and planted a light kiss on the side of your neck. “alright,”

as you followed him out of the enclosure, your wet foot accidentally slipped on the polished floor tiles. you panicked, squeezing your eyes shut, bracing yourself for the fall, but instead of hitting the solid floor, you felt a pair of strong hands catch you. sae steadied you and then handed you a towel to dry off.

“told you you’d manage to slip this time, too,” he added, slipping on his velvety, crimson robe with a smirk that only fueled your embarrassment.

“ugh…” you groaned as you wrapped yourself in your rose-gold robe. you looked up at him, then without a word, hugged him tightly. “carry me.”

he rolled his eyes, but you found yourself pressed up against his chest in less than a moment, his arms wrapped securely around you. your arms clung around his neck, and your legs linked tightly around his waist.

“why did i marry you, again?” he asked, pinching your side lightly.

you buried your face into the crook of his neck and he could feel you grin against his skin. “because you love me.”

“. . . unfortunately.”

𝜗𝜚 𝐈𝐓𝐎𝐒𝐇𝐈 𝐑𝐈𝐍

“i thought i told you to get up,” rin grumbled, looming over the bed where you were cuddled comfortably under the duvet. “you’re lucky i’m even taking time out of my day to help you.”

you burrowed yourself deeper into the bed, pulling the duvet over your head to avoid his gaze. “i don’t want to move!” you protested, and even that subtle movement sent a sharp pain through your abdomen, making you wince at your cramps’ unbearable pain. “and besides, that's the bare minim–”

unimpressed, rin rolled his eyes and yanked the blanket off your face, gently lifting you up into his arms. your legs dangled over his elbows as he held you close. “i’ve already prepared the bath.” he said softly.

you tried to resist, throwing weak punches at his chest with your fists, but it was no use. you gave up and fell limp against his chest. the pain was too much, too uncomfortable, and the idea of being spoiled by your husband, even for a little while, was pretty tempting.

still, you weren’t going to surrender completely without a fight. as you buried your face into his chest, an ominous smile tugged at your lips— a smile rin which knew all too well, one that made him visibly nervous. it was the kind of smile that meant you had something up your sleeve.

“i don’t know what you’re thinking of, but seriously, forget it,” he warned, eyeing you suspiciously. you responded by giving him an innocent kiss on the cheek, causing him to pause and narrow his turquoise eyes. “dammit.”

your husband set you down on the bathroom counter and began unbuttoning your floral pajama top, pulling it over your head. you gripped the edge of the counter for support, tipping your head back slightly as he leaned in to plant a soft kiss onto your neck.

while rin busied himself with discarding the rest of your clothes, you slyly reached out and grabbed the white, gold-rimmed bin filled up with lotions, moisturizers, essential oils, and various other bath products. pretty normal, nothing suspicious so far. you peered into it, a giggle escaping your lips as you spotted this evening’s target: a bath bomb.

but this time, its colour was red.

“stop giggling at nothing, you weirdo,” he chided, scooping you carefully into his arms. his expression softened as he noticed how tightly your fingers gripped onto him, and the way your eyes squeezed shut in discomfort. “sorry, did that hurt?”

“n-no, i’m fine,” you reassured him. rin nodded, lowering you gently into the large, pre-prepared bath. it was just the way you liked it during your painful time of the month— warm, bordering on hot, with medium-sized bubbles floating on the surface.

“i’ll bring your favourite chocolate in a bit,” he said, gently lapping the water toward you before attempting to withdraw and leave. “call my name if you need anything, i’ll be outs— shit.”

it happened too fast for him to react. before he could finish his sentence, you grabbed his arm with whatever strength you had left and pulled him into the bath with you. he fell into the water with a loud splash, soaking him completely. for a hot moment, the bathroom was filled with awkward silence and the sound of water settling around you.

rin sat there, his stretchy navy shirt and black, knee-high shorts clinging to his body, drenched and dripping. he closed his eyes, one hand covering his face like a visor as he tried to calm himself. his other hand rested on the slippery surface of the tub for support.

you bit your lip, struggling to stifle a giggle as you crawled through the water towards him, pushing his knees apart so you could sit on his lap.

“i think it’s unfair that you still have your clothes on while i’m… y’know,” you pouted.

he threw you a glare, his hands gripping your waist as he tried to push you away, but you wouldn’t budge. “i fucking knew there was something wrong with your sudden obedience,” he scoffed, throwing his head back against the rim of the tub in surrender. you took the opportunity to hook your legs under his thighs and peel the shirt over his head.

“i’ll leave your shorts on…” you paused, raising an eyebrow suggestively. “—unless?”

“no.”

“yeah– thought so.”

settling against his chest, you felt his large hands move to rub berry blossom body wash into his palms. he placed both hands on your waist, sliding them up and down your sides before his fingers began tracing lazily patterns along your back.

you softly sighed and rested your chin on his upper chest, looking as blissful as ever. rin was almost tempted to lean down and kiss you until you were gasping for air, but you beat him to it. linking your arms around his neck, you slotted your mouth against his. he reciprocated, but not before pinching your side lightly, just enough to squirm in his grasp.

unbeknownst to him, however, your arm had slithered around and rummaged quietly through the white bin until it found a soft, round object. you smiled against his mouth, then subtly dropped the red bath bomb into the water with a quiet splash.

“f-fuck…” you whimpered suddenly, breaking the kiss and clutching your stomach as your face contorted—eyes squinting—in feigned pain.

rin’s brows furrowed in confusion, and he instinctively adjusted his position to grip onto your shoulders in concern. “what’s wrong? you okay?”

you didn’t respond, instead blinking up at him with half-closed eyes once, then twice, before letting your eyelids slip shut and beginning to breathe softly.

“y/—” one could say his heart practically stopped beating at that moment, his eyes widening as he watched the water around you cloud with a sweet cherry red dye. it also definitely did not help that you decided it was a good idea to fall limp onto his chest, though you were clearly breathing normally.

was your monthly bleeding supposed to be this excessive?

“w-what the fuck!” he fretted in horror as he shook your shoulders forcefully, his hand trembling as he patted your cheek, trying to get you to meet his gaze. your eyes were bleary, yet they still had their usual shine. “is this fucking normal? are you going to bleed to death? should i call for help–??”

over the course of your marriage, you had never seen rin panic like this. in the ten-plus years of knowing him, this was the first time you’d witnessed him so completely consumed by worry for you. typically, rin kept his emotions under control, reacting subtly to any situation. but now, as the vivid colour surrounded you both, you could see the raw concern surfacing on his face.

of course, a large part of you felt guilty— wondering if maybe you’d gone a tad bit too far this time. the last thing you wanted was for him to fall ill or lose focus during his next game because of the stress you caused.

unable to hold it back any longer, you let out the laugh you’d been suppressing, and rin’s expression immediately shifted from panic to deadpan. like, literally. immediately. just that stupid giggle of yours was all it took for him to realize he had managed to fall for one of your traps yet again— this time, in the most ridiculous way possible.

he simply stood up without a word and kicked the lumpy, fizzing bath bomb away. then, with water dripping down his tight-to-skin shorts, he stepped out of the tub.

“wait, rin—” you called out from behind, your hands gripping the rim of the tub as you tried to sit up.

he glanced over his shoulder with an unreadable expression as he dried himself with a towel. you noticed the faint pink tint on his cheeks, likely from the lingering embarrassment and panic. after all, even if your bleeding had been heavy, there was no way the dye would’ve been that saturated in such a large tub.

“...i’m going to say this one more time,” he said calmly, “call me if you need anything or if you want to leave the tub so i can bathe you,” he walked slowly back to you, bending down until his face was close to yours.

“i’m sor–” you started to apologize, but he cut you off.

“and one more thing,” he added, cupping your face gently in his hands. “you scared me to death, you fool. i fucking love you. don’t do that again.”

before you could respond, he sealed his lips against yours. it was safe to say you decided then and there that you wouldn’t pull that particular prank again— at least, not without the promise that he’d shower with you as part of the deal, of course.

𝜗𝜚 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐋 𝐊𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐑

friday had finally arrived– the long-awaited end to an exhausting week. to you, it usually meant you had all the time in the world to pamper yourself and indulge in self-care. heavy emphasis on usually, because unfortunately, this wasn’t always the case when you had an extremely insufferable (but annoyingly loveable) husband.

if there was one thing kaiser excelled at— besides hurling terrifyingly creative insults at people he barely knew and dominating the football field— it was his nonstop teasing.

you stepped into your spacious master bathroom with a soft towel embroidered with delicate begonia patterns tucked snugly under your arm. your shoulders felt unbearably stiff, and your back throbbed with ache. the thought of dipping your leg into the hot, bubbly bath you had prepared earlier was quite literally the only thing keeping you upright.

finally, your body made contact with the euphoric warmth as you lowered yourself into the wide, glossy marble bathtub positioned near the window. the heat of the water instantly began to soothe your sore muscles, and you let out a content sigh, leaning back against the built-in backrest.

oh, it was going to be so relaxing. would have been, if kaiser hadn’t suddenly barged into the washroom without so much as a courtesy knock— though knowing him, you doubted he even considered such things. the sudden intrusion made you flinch and pulled you out of the comfortable state you’d just begun to enjoy.

“knock before you enter, stupid,” you snapped, shooting him a glare as you sank deeper into the frothy water until only the top half of your head peeked out.

kaiser shut the door behind him and stood there practically naked. your eyes trailed down the path of pearly beads of water that teasingly trickled down his toned chest with no shame. the white cotton towel that hung loosely around his waist threatened to unravel and reveal what’s hidden beneath with the slightest blow of the wind.

“you’re really soaking in here all by yourself after i told you i wanted to join you, prinzessin?” he rolled his eyes, but with no real irritation in his voice as he sauntered toward you. his fingers deftly unhooked the towel from his waist, nonchalantly tossing it into the hamper.

you pushed yourself back up, fingers gripping the edge of the bathtub for support before wiping your face with your palms, water droplets sliding down your cheeks. raising a brow, you asked, “mihya– are you seriously planning to get in even after you’ve clearly just showered?”

you watched as he slipped into the tub, settling in front of you. his head leaned back against the cool marble edge, arms casually draped along the sides of the bathtub.

“that was just the rinse i always take after football practice,” he explained lazily, “is it really so terrible to want to bathe with my beautiful wife?”

you let out an exaggerated sigh, trying to hide the smile that was tugging at the corners of your lips from his compliment– though he tended to throw that one your way frequently.

“you’re so annoying,” you laughed, slowly crawling across the slippery surface of the tub toward him. your hands settled on his broad shoulders as you guided yourself onto his bare lap. “now i don’t even have room to stretch my legs.”

his tattooed hand, adorned with the blue crown, came to rest on your waist. though, unfortunately, you were oblivious to the subtle movement of his other hand, instead nestling your head against his chest.

it felt so serene— until it wasn’t.

seriously, what could possibly go wrong while you’re comfortably straddling your husband’s lap, eyes sewn shut, head on his chest as you try to continue your weekly post-work relaxation session?

apparently, everything.

in an instant, a jolt of freezing cold water slammed onto your back, each drop hitting you like a small brick. your eyes flew open and a loud gasp was drawn from you as you shot upright, instinctively scrambling away from him. you nearly slipped on the slick surface in the process as you tried to escape the showerhead above you. who thought it was a good idea to combine a bathtub with a shower, anyway?

“michael!” you whined, seeking warmth under the foamy blanket of sea. “that was cruel…”

he grinned, reaching over to turn off the water, which had started to drench him, too.

“sorry, meine liebe,” he cooed, moving to your side and pressing a gentle, almost apologetic kiss to your trembling shoulders. “i heard cold water’s great for sore muscles.”

“you and i both know that’s not why you did it,” you shot back, narrowing your eyes at him.

he raised his hands in mock surrender, his grin widening as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you closer until your cheek pressed against his chest.

“hmm. well, you know, if i’m feeling generous, i might give you a life-changing massage or even treat you to your favourite food if y—”

“life-ending massage, you mean. you nearly crushed my bones last time– i literally felt my soul leaving my body.” you paused for emphasis before adding, “and i'm getting my food without any ‘ifs’.”

he chuckled and stood up with a smirk, the water sliding off his exposed body as he stepped out of the tub. he grabbed his simple towel and slung it over his shoulder before glancing back at you.

“fine, but i won’t order anything– i’ll cook.”

your heart sank. his cooking was nothing short of life-threatening.

“god, please, no!”

𝜗𝜚 𝐌𝐈𝐊𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐎

“sorry, sweetheart, let me just…” reo murmured, draping a silky, red fabric over your eyes, tying it securely behind your head. “there we go, baby. can you see anything?”

“no, reo,” you replied with a small shake of your head as your hand hovered uncertainly in the air, searching for his.

a soft laugh escaped his lips before reaching out to thread his fingers in your hand. you could only weakly map out every subtle turn in your mind as he led you somewhere in your mansion. finally, he came to a stop, causing you to bump into his firm back.

your toes flexed and unflexed, feeling the plush carpet beneath you. the texture was familiar, and you quickly recognized that he had brought you to the grand bathroom adjacent to the balcony on the upper level of your mansion.

“ready?” he asked, the double doors creaking softly as he opened them. he turned back to you, fingers curling around your wrist, pulling you in. “i’m taking your blindfold off, sweetheart.”

as the velvety fabric slipped off and fluttered noiselessly to the carpet, your eyes widened in awe. a gasp escaped past your parted, plump lips as you took in the almost surreal sight in front of you.

“baby, you didn’t have to…”

you entered the large, steamy room and the warmth of the automatically heated floor, immediately seeped into your feet. in the corner of the washroom, the jacuzzi tub was filled to the brim with fluffy clouds of white foam, and was decorated with delicate red rose petals scattered everywhere like confetti. and to make things even more romantic, vanilla-scented candles were lit on the flat edges of the tub.

your gaze shifted to a small glass table beside the tub, where a bubble machine quietly hummed classical music and released shimmering bubbles into the air.

“do you like it?” his voice interrupted your silent admiration, and you quickly turned around, a sheepish smile spreading across your face. you locked your arms around his neck, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

“i… i love it,” you whispered. your eyes wafted back toward the jacuzzi and you moved toward it. “thank you, reo.”

he smiled, a gentle curve of his lips that reached his eyes as he rested a reassuring hand on your shoulder. his fingers began to work from behind, unzipping the back of your fitted dress and pulling the delicate material down. “anything for my favourite lady.”

the cool air soon kissed your bare skin; dress and undergarments neatly folded by reo and set aside in the walk-in closet adjoining the bathroom. heat rose to your cheeks as you stood there, exposed. though he had seen you naked countless times before, it had always managed to leave you flustered.

your head hung low, eyes fixed down on the marble tiles beneath you as you crossed your arms over your chest, each hand on the opposite shoulder.

he noticed your bashful demeanor and chuckled softly. his hands found their place on your waist, and he bent down slightly to press slow, sweet kisses along your collarbone. you stared down at him lovingly, hands coming up to card through his soft, amethyst hair. the feeling of his lips trailing across your skin made your breath hitch, and when planted a singular, feather-light kiss on the bottom curve of your breast, your eyes fluttered shut. he straightened up to properly look at you, a grin playing at his lips.

“what, you nervous?” he teased, ruffling your hair affectionately. “smile for me, yeah? my beautiful angel.”

you opened your eyes, looking at him shyly. “stop it… you’re embarrassing me.”

he rolled his eyes playfully, his fingers reaching up to loosen his tie when you suddenly stopped him.

“i’m going to undress you.” you stated firmly, your fingers already skillfully loosening the silky tie and sliding it over his head before beginning to work on the black buttons of his suit.

“t-that’s…” his voice faltered, and he could not suppress the rosy pink tint from spreading across his pale cheeks. the sight of your focused expression– your squinted, dreamy eyes and the way your lips tucked under your teeth as you undid his clothing left him flustered.

it made his heart swell from the overwhelming realization of how much he loved you. how had he gotten so lucky, he wondered, to be with someone as lovely and gentle as you, let alone marry you?

“there, all done!” you exclaimed with a satisfied smile as you gave his firm abs a gentle pat.

“i’m going to make you undress me every single time now, no complaints,” he chuckled, grabbing your hand and helping you into the jacuzzi. the two of you settled beside each other, sinking into the rose-petal-littered, bubbly water.

reo pulled you in closer to him until your bodies were nuzzled together, aligned inch-to-inch. he let out a deep, relaxed sigh, about to throw his head back when he noticed you scooping up a handful of foamy water mixed with a few rose petals, the water seeping from between the gaps of your fingers.

you gave him a cheeky grin as you hovered your hands above his head and released the blooms, letting them fall delicately onto his hair.

he laughed and plucked a petal from his head, pressing it near your collarbone until it stuck. “sorry, gorgeous, but these petals look much better on you,”

he leaned in and pecked your soft lips. one by one, he began to pick up individual petals, carefully sticking each one all over your body, as if adorning you with pretty rubies. his lips followed each placement, planting a tender kiss on every petal he laid on your skin. the whole time, he maintained eye contact with you, those half-lidded orchid eyes making the blood rush rapidly to your cheeks.

satisfied, he reached over and picked up a nearby moveable silver-rimmed mirror and handed it to you, showing you your petal-covered body.

“see? aren’t you just the prettiest?”

𝜗𝜚 𝐒𝐄𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐎 𝐍𝐀𝐆𝐈

“sei, i’m serious— if you fall asleep one more time, i’ll leave you in the tub alone,” you warned almost seriously, patting his cheek gently to rouse him. his heavy eyelids fluttered, and you could see the sleep creeping back as he began to slip beneath the water again.

the giant of a man’s broad back was pressed firmly against your chest as your fingers worked their mystique across his fatigued muscles. you kneaded at his shoulders, and fisted at his back, pressing his muscles gently. it wasn’t that he was sore– no. this had become a habit, something he looked forward to after a draining football practice or game.

your massages were the best of the best, his personal heaven, the kind that always managed to lull him to the brink of sleep. he had tried numerous massages from professional masseuses before you two got married, but none could ever compare to the sorcery of your hands.

“noo, i’ll drownnn…” his voice was a whine slurred with sleep. he blinked his bleary eyes before lazily readjusting his position.

“then wake up! you’re heavier when you’re sleeping!” you scolded, poking at his shoulders.

“’kay…” he muttered, but you knew better. as expected, no sooner had he mumbled his agreement than his eyes clamped shut again, his head nodding forward. you grunted softly and wiggled out from under him, carefully removing his weight from your lap.

with some effort, you managed to move your husband, pulling him upright so he could be seated properly against the cool, black granite wall of the pool.

“hmph,” you huffed, shoving your hand underwater before splashing his sleepy face with a huge wave of water. he flinched awake and nearly lost his footing on the slippery pool floor, his hands shooting out to hold onto the edge to steady himself. “you asked for it, dummy.”

he groaned and rubbed his face with a grumpy expression. “y’play so unfairly, baby,” he muttered. his long arm reached out and, before you could react, grabbed your wrist, effortlessly pulling you against his chest. your hands were suddenly pressed against his sculpted abdomen. his large hands cupped your cheeks gently, tilting your head to the left, then the right, then back again as if inspecting you.

“hm, something’s different ‘bout you,” he mused, burying his nose into the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent with a satisfied hum. “ah. new shampoo…?” he leaned back slightly, comically raising his head to the crystal chandelier above, as if deep in thought. “strawberry elixir?”

your eyes widened in surprise. if there was one thing that amazed you about nagi, it was his uncanny observance despite his notorious laziness. you had bought the expensive shampoo just a few days ago and only today had you used it for the first time, when you showered before entering the bath.

it may be the sort of detail people would quickly notice but perhaps that was the special privilege he granted to the person he loved. for you, he gave you the rare gift of his focused attention.

you couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head in amusement. leaning in, you pressed a long kiss to his lips, which he lazily reciprocated. “that’s not going to make me forgive you, you know,” you murmured against his mouth, though your smile betrayed the truth.

he groaned, shifting his gaze to the scented oil bottles lined along the rim of the hot tub. without much thought, he blinked slowly and shrugged, reaching for the bottle labeled lavender dream. carelessly, he poured the entire contents into the water, the strong fragrance immediately filling the bathroom.

“nagi!” you cried, eyes wide in horror. “you don’t just add oil directly to water! they won’t mix!”

he paused, staring at the tiny droplets of oil floating on the surface before glancing down at the guilty-looking empty bottle in his hands. “oh. you’re right.”

“don’t just–!”

“uh… i have an idea,” he muttered, calmly ruffling your hair. you watched as he pushed himself up and out of the hot tub (you’re amazed he took the initiative to do something himself) and walked to the controller wall, completely unbothered by the fact he was butt-naked.

at the click of one rectangular button, the jets at the bottom of the tub immediately activated and powerful streams of water began to come from underneath, kneading at your muscles.

a delightful sigh left your lips as nagi slid back beside you, wrapping his muscular arms around your waist from behind and rested his chin on your shoulder.

“see, baby?” he murmured, trailing his fingers over the water, feeling the water ripple over his skin. “the oil’ll disappear sooner or later, m’kay?”

you nodded your head, slightly but not fully convinced. you turned around to hug him, closing your eyes. “sure… but i’ll just use one of the guest bathrooms if it doesn’t.”

“we’ll.”

he added too quickly for a man like him. he needed your massages after all– not the jets which, while comforting, did not come close enough to the way your hands worked.

you rolled your eyes playfully and smiled, “yes, yes, together.”

just then, the large television mounted on the porcelain-tiled wall turned on, drawing your attention. you turned your head to find nagi waving the remote with a subtle grin.

“wanna watch a movie and cuddle?”

𝗛𝗢𝗡𝗢𝗨𝗥𝗔𝗕𝗟𝗘 𝗠𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡

𝐌𝐄𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐀 and baths go so well together because they are so silly. you can always find him at the shower control panel, playing with the settings until the outline of the tub glowed in ethereal colours of topaz and quartz and emerald.

also, the bath would inevitably become a sea of yellow rubber duckies because he thinks they're cute and they match his hair! he does leave the cleanup to you, though :(

besides, this man would be so indecisive when it comes to water temperature. one minute it’s icy cold, the next it’s scorching hot, only to swing to cold again because, well, he felt like it! the two of you would end up dancing in the water like goofs, splashing and kicking at each other because no one is watching you in your private yard– but you’re sure he’d do it in front of many eyes anyway.

one of his favourite games is to try and carry you on his back as he swims around the tub. despite your repeated warnings that he’d sink under the combined weight, he’d insist on trying, each attempt failing worse than the previous.

but the best part? even though you’re both naked, baths and showers with him were about anything but sexual. he sees you naked– okay? lovely! let’s see who could hold their breath the longest underwater.

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bi-writes · 6 months ago

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i NEED to know how simon would react to his mail order bride getting all pretty one night.... like maybe the night of their wedding... and she's all nervous because she thinks he expects sex and she's so paranoid about offending him or making the wrong noises or just being a nuisance

mail-order bride

simon and mail order bride did not having a wedding; they are married before they meet. have a peek into their first evening together. (18+)

simon laid your suitcase down onto the floor of his bedroom. you look around anxiously, eyeing the bedroom that is supposed to be your own. there's a king-sized bed in the middle of the room, matching dark-wood nightstands on each side. there's one that's clearly being used, a phone charging there and a half-full glass of water.

there's a dresser on the far wall, littered with picture frames and small trinkets, seemingly from other countries. little russian dolls and different fabrics from different places, wooden elephants and small dishes of wonderful patterns. there's a few drawers open there, and when you make your way closer, you can see it's because they're empty. he must've emptied them out for you to use.

there's one picture frame that's face-down. you pick it up to peek at it, and you smile when you look at the picture there. it's simon and a few similarly-looking people. simon is in uniform, face clear of scars. there's an older woman on one side of him, and then on the other side is a little family of three, a sweet couple and a little toddler on the woman's hip. you put it back down facing up before turning back to your suitcase.

you were supposed to just put your pajamas on. simon had been cleaning up the kitchen, and you figure that meant it was time for bed. you rummage through your suitcase, going to reach for your pajamas when you see the little lingerie set you packed.

it still has the tags on it. it's a red pair of lace panties with a matching bra, complete with little crystal bows and lots of detail. you clutch the lace in your hands, looking towards the door. simon doesn't seem like the kind of man to ask you to do something you wouldn't want to do. but you don't know what his expectations might be. you don't know how he intends his wife to behave.

you stand and take the undergarments with you to the bathroom. you change into them, sliding the pieces on and adjusting them until they fit you nicely. you swallow hard as you look in the mirror, smoothing your hands over your body; your tummy, your thighs, over your breasts. you don't know if he'll even like what he sees. you don't know what he expected you to look like, if he got to choose, if he knows what you are underneath and wanted you because of it or in spite of it.

when you come out of the bathroom, simon is rummaging through one of his drawers. when he turns around to face you, he immediately turns back around.

"fuckin' christ--what the fuck are y'doin'?"

you flinch at the bite of his voice. you wrap your arms around yourself in an attempt to self-soothe, your eyes tearing immediately as you take in his reaction.

"i..." you stutter. "i...i-i thought--"

"you thought wot?" he snaps, and when he turns around to come closer, you panic, taking the straps in shaking hands and starting to pull them down your arms for him. "no, fuck, stop that--"

he puts his hands over yours before your breasts can spill out of the bra. he narrows his eyes at you, shaking his head, and you start to cry softly.

"s-simon, i'm sorry--i-i thought--"

"shhh," he shushes you. "just...quiet."

your bottom lip trembles as he takes the lace straps of your bra delicately and brings them back up, smoothing them back onto your shoulders. you close your eyes when he cups your cheeks, big thumbs wiping at your face as he soothes you silently.

when simon emerges in the bathroom, he tries to be subtle as he cups himself through his boxers, sighing deeply as he flicks the light on. he jumps a little as he steps back, the cat sitting on the edge of the sink and staring at him knowingly.

simon gives it the finger before shooing it back outside.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #ghost mwii #ghost x reader #cod #call of duty #order up

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typicalcommondandelion · 1 year ago

Text

youtube

Haiii guys the animation is finished. Do you ever think about these two. Because I sure do

#SPINNING AROUDN IN CIRCLES BITING MY HEAD OFF BUTING WOOD BITHING THROUGHT HE WALLS BITING THROUGH THE SUPPORT SHRGHRGRGRHGRGRHHR!!!#AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! HOYL FUCKING SHIT!!!!! OH MY FUCKING GOD HOLY SHIT OH MY FUCKING GOD SHOLY SHIT!?!?!?! AAAAAAAAAAA #decided to FINALLY watch this bc i've been in a bad mood these past few days and I DO NOT REGRTE IT #AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA?!?!?! AAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#OKAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! OKAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! OKAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! OKAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#THIS THING HAS MY HEART THIS THIGN HAS MY ENTIRE BRAIN THIS THING HAS ME .#TIME TO PRATTLE OFF ON MY FAVORUTIE MOMENTS #the transition from Heresy's environment to the cover of Cry for the Weeper was SO fucking smooth and seamless that shit was like water #couldnt tell where one thing ended and the other began oh my fucking god holy shit #THE GIANT VIEW OF CHARON'S SHOP RISING OUT OF THE WATER??????? HOLY FUCKING SHIT OH MY FUCKING GOD ABSOLUTELY STUNNING #THE RENDERING THE LIGHTING ON V1'S WINGS AND LANTERN THE SPOTLIGHT THAT CREATES THE WARM LIGHT VS DARK WATER #THE MOMENT WHERE V1 RETRIEVES THE ROCKETLAUNCHER AND IT AND V2 MIRROR THE DEEP BLUE COVER ART #SOMETHIGN SOMETHING 'It should have been me (V2)' SOMETHING SOMETHING 'Because I'm a part of you I have also done this'#HAUNTED!!!!! HAUNTED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#also something about choosing deep blue as a song and wrath as setting. aside from the fact wrath proceeds greed it's just......#wrath. of course. ghosts stick around when they have unfinished business. that includes vengence. poltergeists wraiths ect. ect.#EVERY MOMENT WHERE YOU SEE THE GHOST OF AN OPTIC ON V1'S BACK/WINGPACK. AUGH. AUGH. AUGH #MY HEART MY HERAT MY HEART MY HEART #also lovely shape for v1's wings. the elevator scene really exemplifies it.#THE HERESY WINDOW PART. WHERE V2 IS STARING AT V1 BUT V1 DOESN'T LOOK AT IT. POLTERGIEST!!!!#somethign something to v1 it's a bother. a nuisance. something on the long list of shit to survive and overcome #to v2 it is everything. it is its whole existence to obsess and hate v1 #the still shot just before the heresy window is also just STUNNING. all those overlapping wings like honey/-glass is just beautiful against #-the red #and finally. deep blue was a really good choice bc lining up the saxophone part with v2 clinging onto v1 felt so melancholic and SUPERB #auagagauahaggaugahgah. AUAUGAAHGAGUAGAAHGAHA! in love. in love. in love. in love. in love. in love. in love. in love. in love. in love. in #ultrakill #yurikill #videos

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suguann · 8 months ago

Text

LOVE IT WHEN YOU CALL ME LOVER—JJK MEN.

✎. jjk men showing you how much they love you. | wc. 2k+

tags. fem!reader, window sex, possessive behavior, mirror sex, oral sex, public sex, pregnancy, fingering, praise kink, size kink

featuring. gojo, nanami, geto

masterlist

↬ GOJO

He doesn’t think you’ve looked more breath-taking than you do right then, humming softly to the music on the radio while painting your toenails, the last stretch of daylight kissing your exposed knees through the window. You’re so lost in your own little world that you don’t notice him watching you.

The important emails on his phone go unanswered, saved for another day when you’re not there to distract him. You stretch your smooth legs to inspect your work and glance across the living room to give him one of those soft smiles that sends warmth through his middle.

“What do you think?” you ask, little sunflower yellow toes flexing on the coffee table.

“They’re pretty, baby.”

Another smile stretches across your face, that full lower lip caught between your teeth. “You think so?”

“Positive.” His phone lies forgotten on the cushion beside him, and he leans back to make room for you. “Come here.”

His eyes make a lazy trail up from your delicate ankle bone to the soft slope of your collarbone that peeks out from one of his t-shirts as you walk towards him, getting his fill until his fingers itch to touch and retrace the invisible path.

Gojo can’t help it. He’s struck by the sight of you.

He wishes he could trap the shocked and delighted sound you make when he pulls you into his lap, keep it tucked away in the untainted nooks and crannies for him to return to later. A little melody on repeat for the days he feels undeserving of such sweet things, how he treads the fine line of corrupting that wide-eyed innocence you have of the world.

Still. Still, the truth is, he’s a little greedy, and he doesn’t really care how bad of a person that makes him.

Everyone looks up to him in some way. Nobody ever called him a saint.

Gojo works out more of those soft sounds—pressing you against the chilly, tall windows in the living room, fist in your hair, and his mouth attached to the long column of your throat—that make his mouth go dry. Your back arches to ease the way he fucks up into you, tits brushing up against the glass, and he loves how the distant city lights below shimmer around you like a halo.

A high-pitched whimper, sharp breaths fogging over the window. “‘Toru people can see.”

He doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of how your soft and silky little cunt sucks him in—wrapped up all warm and wet around his cock—cursing under his breath when he tells you he doesn’t care. You’re his, anyway.

“Let them see,” he grunts into your neck, teeth catching along your skin before licking at the vulnerable spot above your pulse. “Let them see how I fuck you because they can’t have you.”

Gojo can barely control himself at the mere idea that anyone would ever think they could. He’ll be the last and only one to know how you turn into a fucking vice when he hits particularly deep—how you shake like a leaf, legs coltish, after he makes you cum hard.

↬ GETO

It feels like the epitome of terrible days: from the tomato stain on your skirt to your boss forcing deadlines down your throat and surprising Suguru at work only to find a pretty, willowy brunette sitting on the corner of his desk, her hand resting on a stack of graded papers, and fluttering her long lashes at him.

The final nail in the coffin (a stupid nail, but a hammered-down nail nonetheless) is how she laughs and touches his arm, and Suguru doesn’t brush her off. He actually laughs back, all perfectly straight teeth on display and eyes crinkling at the corners. One of those heart-stopping smiles stretching across his face that you foolishly thought were all yours.

Suddenly, you wonder if it was out of obligation that made him compliment you that morning in your dress—look at you, a kiss to your cheek, I’m going to fucking ruin you—a perfunctory greeting after being together so long (like making coffee or picking out paint), to make you feel better, or if he meant it—

A tap with sticky fingers to your cheek. “C’mon, watch.”

You feel like you’re looking from the outside in, a spectator with a front-row seat that has your breath catching in your throat at the sight of his spit-slick chin and cheeks resting against the crease where thigh meets hip. He gives you a syrupy grin that tightens something in your stomach like a screw.

“Not me,” he says, words laced with amusement.

Hesitantly, your gaze trails up from his to the floor-length mirror perched in front of the bed, and what you see has your fingers sinking into the sheets.

You can hardly pull your eyes away from how your leg looks draped across his broad, muscular back, making you look so small even though you sit above him. And it’s like Suguru knows what you’re seeing because his grin grows wider.

“See, look how perfect you are. That woman in the mirror is so fucking pretty, I can’t believe I get to tell everyone she’s mine.” His thumb parts you open for his mouth. “Why would you think you look otherwise, huh?”

“I…don’t know,” you whisper, head a fuzzy mess of weak excuses that evaporate before they even have a chance to make it onto your tongue.

“Hm, that’s not a good enough answer.”

Your hips twitch when he noses at your clit.

“Awe, I bet that feels good, huh? I’m gonna show you what happens when you talk bad about my pretty baby,” then he sucks it into his mouth, making you squeal.

He can’t blame you for squeezing your eyes shut at the slick, hot pressure dragging through your folds—shaky fingers tightening in Suguru’s long, dark hair. It feels equally like everything and not nearly enough until he suddenly pulls away, taking that jittery feeling in your belly with him.

“Why’d you—”

“If you look away, I stop.” He chuckles lightly at the little pout you give him before his lips suck at the tender spot near the crease of your thigh, “so watch.”

↬ NANAMI

After lunch, he drags you across the street where there’s a park for him to set up a picnic blanket under a tree. Kento rests his head on your lap, slipping an arm around your waist and rubbing the sore spot in your lower back from being on your feet for too long.

It’s all very innocent: him kissing your round pregnant belly, you running your fingers through his soft hair and talking about the latest work gossip.

You hum when you feel his fingers crawl up your thigh, slowly at first and with no destination, just soft, aimless circles here and there, until the calloused pad of his thumb skirts over the front of your underwear, making you jerk with a small squeak.

“Kento,” you giggle, fingers tightening in his hair.

He smiles at the scandalized look spreading across your face and leans forward to press another kiss against your stomach.

"Do you trust me?" he asks, hand pushing up your dress.

You glance around the park to see if anyone is paying attention to the two of you—an elderly couple feeding the ducks frozen peas by the pond, a mother and father playing with their giggling daughter in the grass, college kids throwing a frisbee, all far enough away to be out of earshot (but that’s not the real problem here)—before you look back at your husband.

“W-what?” you sputter, wide-eyed realization taking over.

He presses another open-mouthed kiss to your thigh. “Do you trust me?”

A soft whine slips past your teeth, the hand not in his hair curling into the blanket. “But everyone will notice because I’m—I’m—”

(A beached whale. An air balloon. A carnival-sized melon. You get the gist.)

“Gorgeous.” He smooths a hand over your bump, open-fondness radiating across his features, the subtle hint of possessiveness there making you shiver. “You look so fucking gorgeous with my baby growing inside you. Let me take care of you.”

“B-but—”

Everything else melts away to the pulsing heat between your legs and your husband groaning from the wetness he finds there. Your shaky thighs fall open wider when his fingers hook under the edge of your underwear (unflattering things worn for comfort over sexual appeal), pulling them aside to run his fingers through your slick seam.

Pregnancy brain clouds your judgment, and before you can think twice about your actions, how you definitely shouldn’t let Kento eat you out in the middle of a public park, you nod your head.

His lips ghost over the tender flesh of your upper thigh. "I need to hear you say it."

It’s a low and shaky yes that has his fingers finally sinking into you to the third knuckle, steadily pumping in and out of you. You buck down onto his hand, trying to bite back the moan threatening to alert everyone in the park of the head under your skirt.

“You’re going to cum for me, just like this,” Kento tells you, voice muffled by a layer of powder blue cotton. “Alright, darling?”

#gojo x reader #gojo smut #gojo x you #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #geto x you #geto smut #geto x reader #nanami x you #nanami smut #nanami x reader #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #.things i write

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sonarspace · 19 days ago

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✩ content. 18+, coworker! nanami x fem! reader, protected sex, office sex.

coworker!nanami wasn’t the type to rush things. he was careful, thoughtful in every move he made—like he had all the time in the world. you noticed it the first time he held the elevator door open for you, stepping aside to let you in first with that soft nod he always gave.

he wasn’t flashy or loud like some of the others in the office. no lingering stares or playful flirting. just small gestures—offering you the last coffee pod in the break room, pulling your chair out during meetings, and always walking you to your car when you worked late.

when he asked you out, it wasn’t over text or with some elaborate gesture. it was simple, catching you by surprise at the end of a long day. you were gathering your things, half-distracted, when his voice cut through the soft hum of the empty office.

“would you like to have dinner with me this weekend?”

the words hung in the air, calm but sure, making your heart stutter unexpectedly. you blinked up at him, thrown by how casual he made it sound, as if it wasn’t making your pulse flutter faster.

“i’d like that,” you answered, tucking your hair behind your ear.

he nodded, a faint pull at the corner of his mouth. “i’ll pick you up at seven.”

and he did—right on time, standing at your door with a bouquet of fresh flowers, not the kind you grab last minute at the store, but ones carefully picked out like he’d put thought into it.

dinner was easy. the conversation flowed, soft and unrushed, as if he was content just being there with you. he listened more than he spoke, asking questions in a way that made you feel like he really wanted to know you, not just pass the time.

when he walked you back to your apartment, he didn’t ask to come inside. instead, he paused at the door, leaning in to press a kiss to your cheek, soft and warm but not lingering.

“thank you for tonight,” he said, the weight of his hand brushing lightly against your arm before he stepped back.

the second date mirrored the first—calm, unhurried. but this time, when he kissed you, it was on the lips, soft and gentle, like he was testing the waters but not diving in. his lips lingered just enough to make you chase the taste of him with your tongue, even after he pulled away.

it left you touching your lips as you unlocked your door, feeling the ghost of his mouth long after he was gone.

what you didn’t know was how he spent the rest of that night thinking about it too—replaying the softness of your kiss, wondering if he should’ve stayed just a little longer.

it wasn’t until the third date that the pace shifted.

when he invited you over for dinner, his apartment was exactly what you expected—minimal, clean, but still warm, like the person who lived there took care to make it feel like home.

there was a faint smell of coffee lingering in the air, rich and earthy, as if he brewed it often enough for it to soak into the walls. a small stack of books sat neatly on his coffee table, their covers worn but well-loved. near the corner of the room was a collection of vinyl records, carefully arranged alongside a vintage turntable.

as he moved through the kitchen, pouring you a glass of wine, he pulled one of the records from the stack, setting it onto the turntable with the same careful ease he seemed to apply to everything he did.

the room filled with the low hum of music—something old, sensual and smooth, the kind of love song that felt like it belonged to another time. the soft crackle of the vinyl filled the spaces between your words as you ate, the melody winding around the edges of the room like a quiet invitation.

when his hand brushed your thigh, it felt natural, like the warmth of the song had melted the space between you.

later, when his lips pressed against yours, he left the record spinning, the music still drifting softly in the background as he kissed his way down your body.

as he sank between your legs, the song shifted to something slower—french, maybe, the words breathy and delicate, curling through the air like smoke.

he moved with the same rhythm, slow and unhurried, his mouth warm against you, every flick of his tongue drawing out the softest gasps as he held you down, savoring every sound you made.

when he finally slid inside you, the music swelled, the deep hum of the singer’s voice threading through the haze of your breathless moans, filling the room with something tender and electric.

nanami’s pace matched the song—steady, sensual, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered your name, his hands cradling your hips as if he didn’t want to miss a single moment.

the vinyl spun on, crackling softly beneath the weight of your shared breaths, grounding you both in the quiet intimacy that stretched between each note.

by the time monday came, the memory lingered, warm and heavy between you. the space between your desks felt smaller somehow, the air charged with something unspoken but understood.

nanami never acted any differently—still the epitome of professionalism, his touch light and fleeting whenever it crossed yours. but there were small moments where his gaze dipped lower, lingering a second too long on the way your skirt hugged your legs, the faintest twitch of his jaw when you brushed too close.

the tension simmered beneath the surface, winding tighter each day, like the faint static hum of a record waiting to skip.

you felt it most when his hand slid lightly against the small of your back as you leaned over the printer, his palm warm through the thin fabric of your blouse.

“you’ve been distracting me,” he murmured, just loud enough for you to hear, his lips hovering by your ear.

the words were calm, but the weight behind them made your stomach twist, heat coiling low in your abdomen.

you swallowed, straightening under his gaze as your eyes flickered to the glass walls of his office, thankful for the empty hallway.

it wasn’t until later, when the office thinned out and the sun dipped low behind the skyline, that the tension snapped.

you’d been passing by his office when his hand caught your wrist, thumb brushing lazily over your pulse.

“come in,” nanami said softly, guiding you into his office with that same steady calm that never seemed to waver.

the door clicked behind you, but you barely had a second to register it before he was pressing you back against the solid edge of his desk, his mouth hot and insistent against yours.

the kiss was slow, controlled—but there was something heavier beneath it, the faint groan vibrating in his chest as his hands skimmed the length of your thighs, pushing your skirt up until it bunched around your waist.

“you’ve been driving me insane all week,” he whispered, lips trailing along your jaw as his fingers slid beneath the lace of your panties, pulling them aside with ease.

your breath hitched as his hands gripped your hips, guiding you to bend over the desk with a softness that didn’t match the heat pooling in his gaze.

nanami took his time, as he always did—his touch careful, even as he freed himself from his slacks, the thick weight of him pressing hot against your entrance.

the stretch of him was dizzying, a soft gasp spilling from your lips as he pushed inside inch by inch, his hand steadying against the small of your back as he bottomed out.

“fuck—” the word rasped against your skin, his forehead dropping to the curve of your shoulder, his hips pulling back just enough to snap forward again.

the desk creaked beneath the weight of his movements, his pace unrelenting, the quiet hum of the empty office amplifying every soft moan that slipped from your mouth.

by the time he pulled out, breath ragged and forehead damp, nanami was already tugging your skirt back down, smoothing out the creases with careful hands.

he helped you clean up, his thumb brushing against your cheek as he pressed a soft kiss to your temple, tucking you beneath his arm as he led you to the door.

as the elevator doors slid open, nanami’s thumb traced the inside of your wrist, grounding but teasing.

“i should soundproof my office,” he murmured, voice low and amused.

your breath hitched, heat blooming in your cheeks. “i wasn’t that loud.”

nanami’s brow arched, lips ghosting your ear. “you were.”

the elevator chimed softly. he lingered close, smirking as he pulled back just enough to meet your eyes.

“i didn’t mind,” he added, his palm warm against the small of your back. “but let’s see how much louder you can get next time.”

#luna✮lover #nanami smut #nanami fluff #nanami x reader #jjk x reader #jjk x you #nanami x you #jjk drabbles #anime smut #jjk #nanami #jjk smut #jjk nanami #nanami kento x you #nanami kento x reader #nanami drabbles #kento nanami #nanami kento #divider by strangergraphics

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sourcherryandsprinkles · 19 days ago

Note

Can I get petite reader x rafe with size difference and some holiday vibes?

Warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected p + v, raunchy humor,

Do not let the banner fool you into thinking this is Rafe x OC — it’s not. I just likes the aesthetic of Sabrina’s pictures and her little dress

—

Ipad in hand and hair rollers on, you went over everything in the house, making sure all the preparations for tonight were done. It was your first time hosting a Christmas dinner, and you wanted it to be perfect, knowing Rose would nitpick on the smallest things. You wanted your father to ask for a second serving of turkey, and your mother to compliment the wrapping paper under your massive Christmas tree. For Sarah to tell you how delicious your Grinch cookies were—

‘’The wine! Can you ask Sarah if she got the wine your father likes? I thought we had a bottle left, but I can’t find any,’’ you asked Rafe, who was coming down the stairs after his shower, freshly shaved and smelling strongly on the cologne you loved.

He hummed, pulling out his phone and sending his sister a quick text. ‘’Anything else, baby?’’

Eyes still on the list, most of the dots were checked. ‘’Can you get the fancy wine glasses down from the top cabinet? I can’t reach them.’’

‘’Can’t reach very high when you’re three apples tall,’’ Rafe teased, an amused smirk at the corner of his lips.

You glared at him. ‘’I’m not three apples tall! I’m regular sized.’’

It wasn’t true, and you both knew it. You were just about Wheezie’s height — who was thirteen years old.

Rafe chuckled at your reaction and went to the kitchen for the wine glasses. He reached the top cabinet and grabbed the glasses with ease, handing the first four to you. He brought the other fours to the counter where you had placed the wine opener.

Then, you disappeared back to the living room and up the stairs to finish your hair, seeing as there was only an hour before your parents would arrive. Rafe followed and watched you standing in front of the mirror of your ensuite bathroom in your small red and white festive dress, which was driving him crazy. The way it hugged your body and made you look like a little doll in a Christmas outfit. He didn’t think he would love that childish looking dress when he saw it on the hanger — he compared it to one of Sarah’s when she was little —, but now he wanted nothing more than to flip the skirt up and take you right there.

‘’At what time is it acceptable to kick everyone out?’’ he asked, already looking forward to being alone with you.

‘’Don’t be a Grinch, Rafe. No one has arrived yet,’’ you warned as you took out another one of the rollers. Your hair was so bouncy and pretty. You’ll need to ask Sarah to take nice pictures of you and Rafe so you can hang them in the house.

Rafe shook his head. ‘’I’m not being a Grinch. I just really want to fuck you in that dress,’’ he said casually, making a smile bloom across your lips. His smirk grew into a cocky grin, and he continued. ‘’I was thinking under the tree?’’ he began, his voice low and full of desire. ‘’So you can be my little present that I get to unwrap. Or, in front of the fireplace like they do in movies. What do you think?’’

You put down your last roller, and grabbed the hairspray and brush to smooth everything a little. ‘’I think…that you should get dressed. Can’t welcome our guests in sweatpants.’’

Although you moved into this house last November, you and Rafe had yet to host a holiday dinner. The Camerons rented a nice cabin last Christmas — as they did every year. You went skiing, and ice skating with Sarah and Wheezie. And Thanksgiving was spent at your parents’ — your mother loved Thanksgiving.

‘’Alright,’’ Rafe replied, eyeing his clean pants and a crisp button up you had priorly set nicely on the bed.

He was perfectly capable of picking his clothes and dressing nicely, but the nerves of hosting had you searching through his closet and picking what he would wear for tonight.

When you were both ready, you went back downstairs. Your father had called saying he was going to run a little late due to a closed road and traffic. Moving to Charleston after college had been difficult for them. They assumed that you would come back home, and instead you bought a house seven hours away from them.

‘’Rafe, I said no,’’ you repeated, avoiding Rafe’s grasp.

He was faster than you, quickly catching you when you walked by the couch. He wrapped his arms around your hips and pulled you closer to him, leaning down to nuzzle his face in the crook of your neck. ‘’But you said your parents would be late. Come on, baby. Just a quick one?’’

You shook your head, dodging his kisses. ‘’Rafe…’’

The offer was tempting. It didn’t help that he smelled good and looked so damn hot in his white button up.

‘’You're not being fair,’’ he retorted, chuckling darkly. ‘’Walking around in that tiny dress. Look what you did to me,’’ Rafe pressed his tented pants to your ass. ‘’I can’t welcome your parents with this rock hard beast in my pants. How inappropriate would that be?’’

You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out as he pressed the evidence of his arousal against you. ‘’That’s your problem.’’

He grinned, leaning down to steal a kiss, his lips brushing your glossy ones just enough to send a shiver down your spine. ‘’Not my fault you look so damn good in that dress.’’

‘’Horn-dog,’’ you muttered, trying to hide your smile.

‘’Around you? Always.’’

You laughed again, but it was cut short by a squeal when your feet left the floor and Rafe threw you over his shoulder in one fluid motion. Your skirt rode up, exposing even more of your thighs as you wriggled awkwardly over his shoulder. Rafe chuckled, his hand coming to smack your exposed ass cheek.

Rafe set you down on the divan, which turned out to be one of your favorite furniture purchases. Who would have thought that a couch could be convenient for so many different sex positions?

''You gonna fill my stocking?'' you asked, looking up at Rafe with sparkling eyes and glossy lips. For the sake of being naughty, you lifted the skirt of your dress, flashing your red panties. They were small, and not hiding much.

That made Rafe groan, his gaze roamed your body with a hungry gleam in his eyes that made it clear how much he wanted you. ''Fuck,'' he mumbled in a low, gruff voice, hurriedly unbuckling his belt and undoing his pants. ‘’You been walking around like that all this time?’’

You grinned in response. ‘’I’m on the naughty list, aren’t I?’’

‘’Top of the fucking naughty list, yeah,’’ Rafe agreed, rubbing himself over his tight boxers. His eyes caught the gold ‘R’ around your neck, glistening from the twinkling lights of the tree. He had never seen anything more beautiful.

You lowered your eyes to his crotch, knowing what was underneath. ''Boy, I think that package is too big to gift wrap.''

Rafe chuckled at your comment, a cocky smile playing on his lips. Your raunchy sense of humor being one of his favorite things about you — spontaneous, sharp, and just the right balance of cheeky and bold without crossing into vulgarity. It kept him on his toes, always guessing what you'd say next, and he loved every second of it.

You shuddered when Rafe’s cock entered you, squeezing through your tight walls and filling you up. He had one knee on the divan, right between yours, and gripped your hips as he pounded into you, panties pulled to the side. Your red fingernails were digging into the back of his biceps and shoulder, anchoring you to him.

A quick fuck, he said.

Your head lulled as your arousal built, your orgasm threatening to come as sounds of pleasure left your lips. Rafe’s hips picked up the pace, reaching between your bodies to toy with your clit. The ‘magic button’, as he called it.

As if Santa was watching and purposely unleashed a curse of Christmas on you and Rafe, the doorbell went off, echoing through the house just as you came around Rafe’s cock with a cry that must have been heard on the other side of the front door. On top of you, Rafe growled into your neck as he released ropes of cum inside you.

The doorbell echoed again, and Rafe laughed.

‘’Oh my god,’’ you panicked, trying to catch your breath.

You flipped back the bottom of your dress and stood, quickly closing and clenching your legs when you felt something dripping between your thighs. You couldn’t welcome the guests like that…

You glared at Rafe, who was tucking himself back into his boxers and pants, and very much amused by the situation. ‘’This is exactly why I didn’t want to do this.’’

—

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missarchive · 28 days ago

Text

guys my age - spencer reid

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

who? professor spencer reid x student fem!reader

category: slow burn, forbidden love.

content warnings: NSFW MDNI! age gap! (spencer is in his 40s, reader is in her 20s). dubious content. freakish obsessed reader, freakish obsessed spencer. dom!spencer, but reader is pretty controlling. borderline stalking. unprotected p in v. forbidden love. power dynamics. smut. spencer cums inside :]

word count: around 8k

a/n: hi all!! this is my first post, i used to write wayyy back in the day but after a long three years and finally finishing my degree, i now have all the time in the world to write again. feedback is greatly appreciated <3

The lecture hall was alive with murmurs, but you couldn’t hear them. All you could focus on was the moment that door would open, the instant he would walk in. Dr. Spencer Reid. His name consumed you, whispered endlessly in the back of your mind, an invocation that made your pulse quicken. You had done your research long before the semester began—his credentials, his publications, the infamous cases he’d worked. He wasn’t just brilliant. He was untouchable. But not to you.

You sat deliberately in the middle row, far enough back to observe him fully, close enough to feel like he was speaking directly to you. The moment he entered, time seemed to slow. His presence was overwhelming, his voice a melody that wrapped around you, dragging you under. Every movement he made—the way his fingers toyed with the edge of his lecture notes, the slight adjustment of his glasses—was a spectacle.

“Good morning, everyone. Welcome to Advanced Criminology. I’m Dr. Spencer Reid.” His voice was smooth and confident, with an underlying warmth that immediately put you at ease.

For the next hour, you sat transfixed as he delved into the complexities of criminal behavior, weaving together case studies and theories with an ease that only someone with his expertise could manage. He had a way of making even the most intricate concepts accessible, his passion for the subject evident in every word. By the end of the lecture, you were utterly captivated—not just by the material, but by the man who delivered it.

Perfectly ironed white shirt, sleeves rolled up his forearms. The same black suit pants you’d seen countless times when you closed your eyes. Unruly curls lay in a perfect mess, somehow each strand just fit. His eyes held knowledge, they commanded attention. They looked at you with such an intensity, you wondered if he could see right through you. Sure, he wasn’t blind. Dr. Spencer Reid was a genius, after all. But, as he walks around his classic oak desk, fingers grazing against the wood as he leans up against it, you wonder if he knows the effect he has on you… On everyone.

Your old professor had resigned, much to your dismay. However, that was quickly resolved once you learnt of the new, much younger professor who was assigned to take his place. Spencer Reid, a name that seemed like a curse every time it was spoken. You’d just have to settle for admiring from afar, for now.

He was perfect. No, he was more than that. He was yours.

In those first weeks, it became routine to linger after class, pretending to ask questions about criminological theories when all you wanted was his attention. You started tracking his habits: the exact time he arrived on campus, where he grabbed his coffee, the path he took to his office. It wasn’t enough to listen to him during lectures. You needed to know him. Needed to understand every nuance of his life.

Your notebooks filled slowly. Not just with his words, but with sketches of his hands, his profile, even the way the light hit his hair during evening lectures. You memorized his mannerisms and read every book he recommended—not just to excel but to mirror his thoughts, to create a bond he couldn’t ignore.

Each interaction became a drug, a fleeting high that left you craving more. The way his eyes lingered on yours during class wasn’t a coincidence. You were sure of it. The moments his voice softened when addressing you were evidence of something deeper. He felt it too—he had to.

Dr. Reid, for his part, seemed to enjoy your curiosity. He would patiently answer your questions, occasionally sharing anecdotes from his time in the field. There was a depth to him that intrigued you, a sense of vulnerability hidden beneath his intellect. You couldn’t help but feel a growing admiration for him—one that you knew was dangerous to entertain.

It happened on a rainy Friday afternoon. You had stayed behind after class to discuss a particularly challenging case study, and the conversation had spilled into his office. The rain pattered against the window as you sat across from him, your notes spread out on the desk between you.

“I’m impressed with your analysis,” he said, his eyes meeting yours. “You have a natural aptitude for this field.”

The compliment sent a flush of warmth through you, but you quickly pushed it aside. “Thank you, Dr. Reid. That means a lot coming from you.”

For a moment, the air between you shifted, the professional boundary wavering ever so slightly. He seemed to sense it too, clearing his throat and looking away. “Well, uh, keep up the good work. I’m looking forward to seeing your perspective on the next assignment.”

As you gathered your things and prepared to leave, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something unspoken lingered between you. It was subtle, like the faintest trace of electricity in the air, but it was there. And it terrified you.

The weeks turned into months, and the connection between you and Dr. Reid continued to deepen. It wasn’t intentional—at least, that’s what you told yourself. You simply couldn’t help the way your conversations seemed to flow effortlessly or the way his insights resonated with you on a level that felt personal.

There were moments when you caught him watching you during lectures, his gaze lingering a fraction longer than necessary. And then there were the times when his praise felt almost... intimate, as if he saw something in you that went beyond your academic abilities.

You knew it was wrong. He was your professor, and the power dynamic alone made any kind of relationship inappropriate. But the more you tried to suppress your feelings, the stronger they seemed to grow. You found yourself yearning for his company, for the way his mind worked, for the rare glimpses of vulnerability he shared.

And you weren’t entirely sure he was immune to it, either.

It was during a late-night office visit that everything came to a head. You had been working on your final paper and were struggling with a particular section. Dr. Reid had offered to review it, and you had jumped at the chance, grateful for his guidance.

As you sat across from him, discussing your ideas, the tension that had been building between you finally reached its breaking point. There was a moment of silence as he leaned back in his chair, his eyes searching yours.

“You’re incredibly talented,” he said softly. “I hope you know that.”

The vulnerability in his voice caught you off guard, and before you could stop yourself, you replied, “It’s easy to feel that way when someone like you believes in me.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. He looked at you, his expression a mixture of conflict and longing. “This...” he began, his voice barely above a whisper. “This can’t happen. I won’t elaborate further, but you’re a smart girl… I know you know what I'm talking about.”

You nodded, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “I know.”

But even as you said it, neither of you moved to leave. All you received was a curt nod. The pull between you was undeniable, and in that moment, it felt as though the world had narrowed to just the two of you.

The night of the gala was your chance. You spent hours perfecting your appearance, knowing he would notice you in a way he never had before. And when he did, when his eyes locked onto you with that unreadable expression, it was like the entire world fell away.

When he led you to the corner of the room, your heart pounded, not with fear, but with anticipation. His frustration, his struggle to maintain control, only proved how deeply you had affected him.

“What are you doing?” He demanded, his voice low and sharp.

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “I don’t know what you mean, Dr. Reid.”

His jaw clenched, his composure slipping. “You know exactly what I mean. You’ve been crossing lines all semester.”

You stepped closer, the scent of his cologne intoxicating. “And what if I have?”

His gaze burned into yours, his control fraying with each passing second. “This has to stop.” He said, though his tone lacked conviction.

But you knew better. You had studied him, unraveled him piece by piece. He wasn’t as strong as he pretended to be. And neither were you.

“Maybe I don’t want it to.” You whispered, your voice trembling with both fear and desire.

For a moment, his eyes softened, as if seeing the truth of your obsession for the first time. “Obsession is a dangerous game.” he murmured, more to himself than to you.

You would burn the whole world down if it meant keeping him close.

The world outside of Dr. Reid’s orbit ceased to matter. Friends became an afterthought. Classes, even the ones you’d once excelled in, were nothing more than obligations. Every moment not spent in his presence felt wasted. His words were etched into your memory, his voice a constant echo in your mind.

You found excuses to linger near his office, pretending to read in the hallway or jotting down notes on topics that had long ceased to matter. Sometimes you’d see him through the small window of his door, head bowed over papers, fingers absently running through his tousled hair. Those moments were sacred.

And then there were the nights.

Your dreams became a battleground, the lines between fantasy and reality blurring. You would see him, hear him, feel the phantom weight of his gaze. Waking up was a cruel joke, pulling you from a world where he was already yours. More than once, you had the fleeting urge to knock on his door late at night, under the pretense of needing help.

But you stopped yourself. Barely.

For now.

When he praised you in class, it felt personal, intimate. You lived for those moments. The way he would say your name, how his eyes would flicker with something unreadable—those seconds were your lifeline. But it wasn’t enough. You wanted more. You needed more.

You started keeping track of the little details. The brand of pens he used. The scuff on his leather satchel. The faint hint of lavender in his cologne. You’d bought the same scent, spraying it on your pillow just to feel closer to him at night.

One evening, you followed him. It wasn’t intentional, not at first. He left the lecture hall as you lingered, and without thinking, you gathered your things and trailed behind him. He walked briskly, head down, weaving through the near-empty campus. You stayed far enough back to avoid suspicion but close enough to study him.

He stopped at the local bookstore, his long fingers running over the spines of books with a reverence that made your chest tighten. You hid behind a display, watching him as he browsed. When he left, you waited a few moments before approaching the same section. He had lingered near the true crime section, and you traced the path of his fingers, touching the same books he had touched.

It became a ritual after that. You discovered his favorite haunts: the coffee shop where he always ordered black coffee with two sugars, the quiet corner of the library where he would sometimes sit and read, the park where he walked on Sunday mornings. You were careful, meticulous, ensuring he never saw you. But you saw him.

Every time you caught a glimpse of him, it felt like a secret, a moment that belonged solely to you.

The gala had been your boldest move yet, and the way his gaze lingered on you that night had only fueled the fire. His warning echoed in your mind, but you dismissed it. He said you were crossing boundaries, but you knew better. He was simply scared. Scared of what this meant. Scared of what you meant.

You decided to leave him something. A token, something small enough to avoid suspicion but personal enough that he would know it was from you. A first edition of one of the books he had mentioned in class. You placed it on his desk after everyone had left, your heart racing as you imagined his reaction.

The next day, you waited, anticipation coiling in your stomach like a serpent. When he walked into class, the book was in his hand. His eyes scanned the room, lingering on you for a moment too long before he placed it in his bag without a word.

It was a victory.

But victories, you realized, were fleeting.

One evening, as you left the library, you spotted him walking toward his car. The parking lot was empty, save for the two of you, and for the first time, you didn’t bother to stay hidden. You followed him openly, your footsteps echoing against the pavement.

He stopped abruptly, turning to face you.

“Why are you following me?” He asked, his voice sharp but not unkind. His eyes held a mixture of curiosity and something darker, something you couldn’t quite place.

Your breath caught, but you forced a smile. “I wasn’t following you, Dr. Reid. I just happened to be walking this way.”

His gaze didn’t waver. “This isn’t the first time, is it?”

The accusation hung in the air, and for a moment, you thought about denying it. But then, something inside you snapped.

“No.” You admitted, your voice trembling. “It’s not.”

His expression shifted—confusion, disbelief, and something else flickered across his face. “Why?”

The word was a whisper, barely audible, but it was enough to unravel you.

“Because I can’t stop thinking about you,” you said, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I can’t eat, I can’t sleep—I can’t focus on anything but you. You’re brilliant, and kind, and perfect, and I—”

“Stop,” he interrupted, his voice firm. “This isn’t healthy.”

You took a step closer, desperation clawing at your chest. “But it’s real. You know it is. I see the way you look at me. Don’t pretend you don’t feel it too.”

He took a step back, shaking his head. “This has to end…now. Do you understand me?”

But you didn’t believe him. Not really. Because you had seen the way his hands trembled when you were near, the way his voice softened when he spoke to you. He was scared, yes, but not of you. He was scared of himself.

And that, you realized, was all the encouragement you needed.

Dr. Reid’s words echoed in your mind for days after the encounter in the parking lot. This has to end. But the way he said it, the way his voice wavered ever so slightly, betrayed him. It wasn’t conviction; it was fear. Fear of what you had awakened in him.

You were sure of it now. He wasn’t immune to you. Not entirely.

The proof came in small, fleeting moments—too subtle for anyone else to notice, but to you, they were glaring signs. The way his eyes lingered on you during lectures, his gaze softening before he quickly looked away. The way he adjusted his tie when you walked into the room, as if suddenly self-conscious. And then there were the compliments, so carefully worded that they might seem innocent to others, but to you, they felt personal. Intimate.

Still, he kept his distance. Even when you sought him out after class, he kept the conversations brief, his tone polite but clipped. It was maddening, the way he seemed to hold himself back.

But then, there were cracks.

One afternoon, you arrived at his office under the guise of needing help with a research topic. He hesitated before letting you in, his hand lingering on the doorknob as if debating whether this was a mistake.

Once inside, the air between you was charged. He sat across from you, his hands folded on the desk, but his gaze flickered to your lips more than once as you spoke.

When you handed him a stack of notes, your fingers brushed, and he pulled back quickly, too quickly.

“Sorry.” He murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

You smiled, leaning forward just enough to close the space between you. “It’s okay.”

For a moment, his composure faltered. His eyes locked onto yours, and the tension was unbearable. You could see it in his face—the war he was waging within himself.

Then, just as quickly, he stood, turning his back to you as he busied himself with a stack of papers on the shelf. “Your analysis is impressive,” he said, his tone suddenly distant. “You’re clearly passionate about the subject.”

The shift was jarring, but it only solidified your resolve. He wasn’t rejecting you. He was protecting himself.

That evening, you stayed late in the library, poring over the materials he had assigned. As you packed up to leave, you noticed a familiar figure in the far corner. He was seated at a table, his long fingers flipping through a thick volume, his expression distant.

You froze, your heart pounding. He hadn’t noticed you yet. For a moment, you considered leaving, but the pull was too strong.

You approached slowly, the sound of your footsteps drawing his attention. When he looked up, his eyes widened slightly, a flicker of something unguarded crossing his face before he composed himself.

“Staying late?” He asked, his voice calm, but his fingers tightened on the edge of the book.

You nodded, setting your bag down on the table. “I could ask you the same thing.”

He gave a faint smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I find the library... peaceful.”

“Me too.” You said softly, taking a seat across from him.

The silence that followed was heavy, filled with the unspoken tension that had been building for months. His eyes flicked to yours, then away, as if he couldn’t decide whether to meet your gaze or avoid it entirely.

Finally, he cleared his throat. “You should be careful, you know. Spending so much time in my office, lingering after class—it’s not... appropriate.”

Your heart twisted at the words, but his tone was anything but stern. It sounded like a warning, but it felt like a confession.

“Do you want me to stop?” You asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he looked down at his hands, his fingers flexing as if resisting the urge to reach for something—or someone.

“It’s not about what I want.” He said finally, his voice strained.

But it was. You could see it in the way his shoulders tensed, in the way his gaze lingered on you when he thought you weren’t looking. He wanted you just as much as you wanted him. He was just better at pretending otherwise.

The next day, during his lecture, you felt his eyes on you more than usual. He paced the room as he spoke, his hands gesturing animatedly, but every so often, his gaze would drift to you, his words faltering for the briefest moment before he recovered.

It was intoxicating, knowing you could unravel him like this.

After class, as the other students filtered out, you stayed behind, your heart racing as you approached his desk.

“Dr. Reid,” you began, your voice steady despite the storm brewing inside you.

He looked up, his expression unreadable. “Yes?”

You hesitated, searching for the right words, but before you could speak, he sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“You’re relentless.” He said softly, almost to himself.

The words sent a shiver down your spine.

“I just want to understand you.” You said, stepping closer.

He shook his head, a faint, almost bitter smile playing on his lips. “You already understand too much.”

For a moment, neither of you moved. The space between you felt impossibly small, the air thick with tension. You could see the struggle in his eyes, the way he fought to maintain control, but you also saw the flicker of something darker, something he couldn’t quite suppress.

And in that moment, you knew: this wasn’t over.

It was only just beginning.

It started innocently enough—at least, that’s what you told yourself.

The male student, a classmate you barely knew, had approached you after lecture to ask about the upcoming project. His name was Ethan, and while he was polite and charming, you couldn’t muster much interest in the conversation. Still, you smiled and nodded at his jokes, your polite laughter echoing in the near-empty hall.

Unbeknownst to you, Dr. Reid had lingered behind, tidying up his desk and organizing his papers. His sharp ears caught the sound of your laughter, a melody he had grown far too familiar with—and possessive of.

He looked up to see you standing near the doorway, your body language relaxed as Ethan leaned in slightly, his tone conspiratorial. Spencer’s grip on the edge of the desk tightened.

Ethan’s laugh was loud, too loud, as if he wanted to broadcast how much he enjoyed your company. Spencer’s jaw clenched. He knew this was ridiculous. He was your professor, and it wasn’t his place to interfere with your social life. But the sight of another man so close to you, taking liberties he couldn’t, made his blood boil.

When you glanced back into the classroom, likely to gather your things, your eyes met Spencer’s. For a fleeting moment, his mask slipped, and you saw something dark and raw flicker across his face. It was gone just as quickly, replaced by his usual calm demeanor, but the image stayed with you.

“Everything alright, Dr. Reid?” You asked, stepping inside and leaving Ethan to wait by the door.

Spencer straightened, clearing his throat. “Yes. Just... finishing up.”

Ethan peeked his head in. “Ready to go?” He asked, his tone casual but his presence invasive.

Spencer’s eyes darted to Ethan, then back to you. “You should be careful with your time,” he said, his voice quiet but pointed. “The project deadline isn’t as far off as it seems.”

You frowned, confused by the sudden shift in his tone. “I’ll make sure to stay on top of it.”

His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, as if debating whether to say more. Instead, he turned his attention back to his desk, his movements stiff and deliberate.

The next few days were marked by a subtle shift in Spencer’s behavior. During lectures, his eyes seemed to find you more often, but they were no longer soft or conflicted. There was an intensity to his gaze now, a quiet possessiveness that sent shivers down your spine.

When Ethan approached you again after class, Spencer’s reaction was immediate.

“Miss L/N.” He called out, his voice carrying across the room.

You turned, surprised to see him still at his desk. “Yes, Dr. Reid?”

“Could you stay for a moment? I’d like to discuss your recent paper.”

Ethan hesitated, clearly waiting for you, but Spencer’s sharp gaze left no room for argument. “I won’t keep her long.” He said smoothly, though his smile didn’t reach his eyes.

Ethan nodded reluctantly. “I’ll catch you later.”

As soon as the door closed behind him, Spencer’s demeanor shifted. He stood, his tall frame looming as he approached you.

“Is he bothering you?” He asked, his tone casual but his eyes anything but.

“Ethan? No, not at all. Why would you think that?”

Spencer’s lips pressed into a thin line. “He seems... persistent. I just want to make sure you’re not feeling pressured.”

You couldn’t help but smile, amused by his sudden protectiveness. “I’m fine, Dr. Reid. Really.”

He nodded, but his expression didn’t soften. “Good. I’d hate to see someone distract you from your potential.”

The words were innocent enough, but the way he said them—the way his eyes lingered on yours—made your breath catch.

It wasn’t long before his jealousy became harder to hide.

During a group discussion, Ethan made a point of sitting next to you, his arm brushing against yours as he leaned over to share his notes. Spencer’s gaze locked onto the interaction, his hand tightening around the marker in his grip until his knuckles turned white.

When Ethan made a joke and you laughed, Spencer interrupted sharply. “Let’s stay on topic, please. This isn’t a social hour.”

The class fell silent, startled by his uncharacteristic tone. You glanced at him, surprised by the edge in his voice. He avoided your gaze, turning back to the whiteboard with rigid movements.

After class, as students filtered out, he called your name again.

“I wanted to apologize,” he said, his voice softer now. “I was... out of line earlier.”

“It’s okay.” You replied, though you couldn’t hide your confusion.

He hesitated, his eyes scanning your face as if searching for something. “You have to understand,” he began, his voice dropping lower, “that I only want what’s best for you. Not everyone has your best interests at heart.”

“Are you talking about Ethan?”

Spencer’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t answer directly. “Just... be careful who you trust.”

The weight of his words hung heavy between you, and for the first time, you wondered if his concern was more than professional.

Later that evening, you found yourself thinking about him again, replaying the moments when his composure slipped, when his obsession peeked through the cracks. You didn’t know whether to be scared or thrilled.

But one thing was certain: Spencer Reid was unraveling, and you were the one pulling the thread.

The days that followed were an intricate dance of tension, each interaction with Dr. Reid pulling you closer to a dangerous edge. His jealousy, once simmering beneath the surface, began to bleed into every corner of your academic life, coloring the way he spoke to you, the way he looked at you, the way he made his presence impossible to ignore.

It started small.

Ethan asked you to partner up for a case study project, and though you agreed, the arrangement didn’t go unnoticed. During the next lecture, Spencer called on you repeatedly, his questions increasingly challenging, as if testing your limits. The rest of the class shifted uncomfortably, sensing the deliberate scrutiny, but you met his gaze head-on, refusing to falter.

Afterward, he lingered at the podium, watching as Ethan hovered near your seat, leaning down to talk to you. The sight made his stomach churn. He didn’t like how Ethan’s hand rested casually on the back of your chair, how his laughter seemed designed to draw your attention.

“Miss L/N, a word?” Spencer’s voice cut through the air, sharp and commanding.

“What’s this about?” You asked, crossing your arms.

He tilted his head, his gaze piercing. “I noticed you and Ethan are working together.”

“We are,” you said carefully. “Is there a problem?”

His jaw clenched. “No... as long as you’re confident he’ll contribute equally. He strikes me as the type to let others carry the weight of the work.”

You frowned. “That’s not fair. He’s been helpful so far.”

Spencer leaned in slightly, his voice lowering. “Helpful isn’t always the same as trustworthy. Just keep that in mind.”

You stared at him, the intensity in his tone sending a shiver down your spine. He wasn’t just warning you—he was staking a claim, subtle but unmistakable.

The breaking point came during a departmental mixer, an event meant to encourage networking among students and faculty.

You had hesitated to attend, but Ethan insisted, offering to walk you there. Spencer spotted you as soon as you entered, his sharp eyes narrowing when he saw Ethan’s hand at the small of your back, guiding you through the crowd.

He approached you moments later, his movements precise and deliberate. “Miss L/N, a pleasure to see you here.”

“Dr. Reid.” You greeted, your smile nervous under the weight of his gaze.

“And Ethan,” Spencer added, his tone clipped. “Enjoying the event?”

“Yeah, it’s great,” Ethan replied, oblivious to the tension. “I was just telling Y/N about a conference coming up in D.C. She’s thinking about attending.”

“Is she?” Spencer asked, his eyes locking on yours.

Ethan nodded. “I might go too. We could share accommodations to save on costs.”

The suggestion made Spencer’s blood run cold. His mind spiraled with images of you and Ethan alone, the boundaries he fought so hard to maintain crumbling under the weight of his jealousy.

“That won’t be necessary.” Spencer said abruptly.

Both you and Ethan blinked in surprise.

“I mean,” he added, forcing a smile, “it’s likely the university will have funding options available for individual accommodations. I’d be happy to look into it for you, Miss L/N.”

“Thank you, Dr. Reid.” You said slowly, sensing the undercurrent of his words.

Ethan opened his mouth to protest, but Spencer cut him off with a glance so sharp it left no room for argument.

Later that evening, Spencer’s restraint finally snapped.

You stayed behind after the mixer to gather your things, only to find him waiting for you outside the building. The night air was cool, but the tension between you burned hot.

“You didn’t have to wait.” You said, pulling your jacket tighter around you.

“I wanted to.” He replied, his voice low and steady.

You walked in silence for a moment, the quiet punctuated by the rhythmic click of your heels against the pavement.

“Why do you do it?” He asked suddenly.

“Do what?”

“Let him follow you around like that. Laugh at his jokes. Entertain his attention.”

You stopped in your tracks, turning to face him. “Ethan’s my classmate. I don’t see how that’s any of your concern.”

“It is my concern.” He said, stepping closer. “You don’t see the way he looks at you. The way he talks to you.”

“And how do you look at me, Dr. Reid?” The question slipped out before you could stop it, your voice trembling.

His breath hitched, his carefully constructed walls beginning to crumble. “You know how I look at you,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “You’ve known all along.”

The admission hung in the air, dangerous and electrifying. You stared at him, your heart pounding as he took another step closer, his presence overwhelming.

“This can’t happen.” He said, though his words lacked conviction.

“Then why are you here?”

He didn’t answer, but the intensity in his gaze spoke volumes. His hand twitched at his side, as if he was fighting the urge to reach for you. The distance between you felt razor-thin, and for the first time, you wondered who would break first.

The silence stretched between you, taut and electrifying. Spencer’s jaw tightened, and his hand briefly raked through his hair—a telltale sign of his internal struggle. He was balancing on the edge of control, teetering between his professionalism and the unrelenting pull you had on him.

“You should go home.” He finally said, his voice low but strained, as if forcing the words out against his own desires.

You didn’t move. Instead, you tilted your head, studying him with a boldness that matched his intensity. “Is that what you want?”

His sharp intake of breath gave him away. “What I want doesn’t matter.” He said, but his eyes betrayed him, dark with longing.

You stepped closer, drawn to the crack in his carefully curated armor. “It matters to me.”

“Don’t.” He warned, but the word lacked strength, a faint plea wrapped in desperation.

You hesitated, caught between the thrill of provoking him and the awareness of the risk you were taking. Still, the magnetic pull between you was undeniable. “If you really wanted me to stop, you wouldn’t be here right now.”

Spencer’s restraint snapped, just for a moment. He reached out, his hand hovering near your arm before he jerked it back as if burned. His expression twisted in frustration, his usual composure unraveling.

“You think this is a game?” He hissed, his voice harsh. “You don’t understand what you’re doing.”

“I’m not the only one doing it,” you shot back, emboldened by the fire in his eyes. “You can’t stand it when anyone else gets too close to me. Admit it.”

His silence was deafening, his jaw clenched so tightly you could see the faint twitch in his cheek.

“I see the way you look at me,” you continued, your voice softer now, almost coaxing. “It’s not just admiration, Dr. Reid. It’s something more.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He muttered, turning away, but you caught the tremble in his voice.

“Then prove me wrong.” You challenged.

Spencer turned back to you, and this time, there was no mistaking the raw emotion in his gaze. “You want the truth?” He said, his voice dangerously soft.

You nodded, your pulse quickening.

“I think about you more than I should. I notice every detail—every time you laugh, every time you tuck your hair behind your ear. And when I see him talking to you...” He broke off, shaking his head. “It takes everything in me not to...”

“Not to what?” You pressed, your heart pounding.

His lips parted, but he seemed to catch himself, stepping back as if the space between you might restore his self-control. “Not to cross a line I can’t uncross…” He finally said, his tone heavy with regret.

But the heat in his gaze told a different story—a story of a man on the verge of losing himself to the very thing he’d been trying to resist.

The tension between you didn’t dissipate. If anything, it grew, seeping into every interaction like an unstoppable tide.

In class, his gaze lingered on you longer than was appropriate, his voice faltering slightly when he called on you. During office hours, his questions delved deeper, as if searching for something he couldn’t articulate.

But it was during a casual seminar that the cracks in his professionalism began to widen.

You had arrived early, taking a seat in the front row. As you flipped through your notes, Spencer entered the room, his eyes immediately seeking you out. He paused, visibly unsettled, before making his way to the podium.

As other students filtered in, Ethan arrived and, to your surprise, took the seat beside you. He leaned in, his tone light and teasing as he made some comment about the seminar topic.

Spencer’s expression darkened. He began the session, but his usual measured tone was tinged with an edge that made the room feel heavier. His eyes kept drifting to where you sat, his words sharper whenever he addressed you or Ethan.

When the seminar ended, Spencer was quick to dismiss the class.

The classroom emptied, leaving the two of you alone. Spencer stood behind the podium, his hands gripping its edges.

“What was that?” He asked, his voice tight.

“What was what?” You replied, feigning innocence.

“You know exactly what I mean.” His gaze pinned you in place. “Him. Sitting next to you. Acting like he—” He broke off, shaking his head as if trying to compose himself.

“Acting like what?” You pressed, stepping closer.

“Like he has the right to your attention,” Spencer snapped, his professionalism unraveling further. “He doesn’t. Not the way I...”

He stopped himself, his chest rising and falling with restrained emotion.

“Not the way you what?” You asked softly, your voice carrying a mix of curiosity and challenge.

His eyes burned with an intensity that made your breath catch. For a moment, you thought he might close the distance between you, shattering the boundaries he’d been clinging to.

Instead, he exhaled shakily and stepped back, running a hand through his hair. “This needs to stop.” He muttered, though the words seemed directed more at himself than at you.

But even as he said it, the tension between you was palpable, an invisible thread pulling you closer despite the chaos it threatened to unleash.

The air between you felt suffocating, charged with a tension that had been building for weeks. Spencer stood before you, his normally composed demeanor unraveling with every passing second. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, his jaw tight as he tried to steady his breathing.

“I’ve tried,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve tried to keep this professional. To keep my distance. But you...” He looked at you then, his gaze piercing and raw. “You make it impossible.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, a mix of exhilaration and fear coursing through your veins. “What are you saying?” You asked, your voice trembling.

“I’m saying that I can’t pretend anymore,” he admitted, his voice low and filled with something dark and desperate. “Every time I see you with him, every time I see you smile at someone else... I can’t stand it.”

You took a step closer, emboldened by the vulnerability in his confession. “Then don’t pretend.”

Spencer’s eyes darkened, his restraint crumbling as he closed the distance between you in an instant. His hands cupped your face, his touch firm but reverent, as though he’d been starving for this moment.

“You don’t know what you’re doing to me…” He murmured, his voice shaky with need.

“Then show me.” you whispered, your breath ghosting against his lips.

That was all it took. Spencer’s mouth claimed yours in a kiss that was as fierce as it was desperate. His hands tangled in your hair, pulling you closer as though he needed you to breathe. The kiss was everything—pent-up frustration, unspoken desire, and a need that had been simmering beneath the surface for far too long.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath ragged. “This is wrong.” He muttered, though his hands still gripped your waist, unwilling to let you go.

“We don’t have to tell anyone.” You countered, your voice soft but insistent.

Spencer’s eyes searched yours, and for a moment, you thought he might pull away. But then his resolve broke entirely. His lips found yours again, this time slower, more deliberate. It wasn’t just a kiss—it was a claiming, a declaration that you were his, consequences be damned.

Without a word, he guided you backward until you felt the edge of his desk against your hips. His hands roamed your sides, skimming over your curves with a possessiveness that sent shivers down your spine.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this,” he admitted between kisses, his voice hoarse. “How many nights I’ve stayed awake, thinking about you. How hard it’s been to stay professional when all I want is to make you mine.”

“Then stop holding back.” You urged, your fingers clutching at his shirt as though afraid he might pull away.

Spencer’s response was immediate. His hands gripped your thighs, lifting you onto the desk with ease. His touch was everywhere—your hips, your back, your neck—each movement filled with a hunger that bordered on obsession.

“Tell me you want this.” He said, his voice low and commanding as his lips brushed against your ear.

“I want this,” you breathed, your hands tangling in his hair. “I want you.”

His eyes locked onto yours, dark and intense. “You have me,” he promised, his voice rough with emotion. “You’ve always had me.”

In that moment, the world outside ceased to exist. There were no rules, no boundaries—only the two of you, finally giving in to the undeniable pull that had been drawing you together all along.

He is the first to break the silence, his voice low and husky.

"Tell me what you want."

You hesitate for a moment, the words stuck in your throat. Then, quietly, you say, "I want you, Spencer."

He moves closer, his gaze never leaving yours. "Tell me exactly what you want."

You swallow, feeling your heart rate quicken. "I want you to touch me, Spencer."

"Where do you want me to touch you?" He murmurs.

"Everywhere." You whisper, leaning into his touch.

He traces his fingers down your neck, his touch featherlight. "Here?"

You nod, your breath hitching as his fingers ghost over your collarbone.

He moves his hands down further, trailing his fingers across your chest. "I need words, sweet girl."

"Yes," You breathe, feeling your arousal growing.

He hums in approval, hands moving lower still, caressing the curve of your breasts. "And here?"

"Yes…" You repeat, arching into his touch.

He cups your breasts through your shirt, squeezing gently. "What about here?"

"Please…" You whimper, your voice barely audible.

He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear. "What else do you want, Y/N? Tell me."

You can feel your face flushing, but you can't stop the words from tumbling out of your mouth. "I want you to take my clothes off, Spencer. I want you to touch me everywhere."

He lets out a soft groan, his hands moving to unbutton your shirt. "God, Y/N. I've wanted you for so long."

Your shirt falls to the floor, leaving you exposed. His eyes roam over your body, hungrily taking in every inch of bare skin.

"You're so fucking beautiful." He murmurs, his fingers tracing patterns across your stomach.

You gasp as he leans in and presses a kiss to your neck, his tongue darting out to taste your skin. His hands move lower, dipping below the waistband of your jeans.

"Spencer…" You moan, your hips bucking against his touch.

"Yeah, baby? What is it, sweet girl? Tell me what you need." He breathes, his fingers dancing along your inner thigh.

"I need you." You whimper, desperate for more contact.

He pulls away from you, his hands moving to undo his belt. He pulls his pants down, his hard cock springing free. Tip flushed pink, the same shade as his swollen kiss-bruised lips. He grabs your hips and lifts you onto the desk, his body pressed against yours.

"Is this what you want?" He asks, his voice rough with desire.

"Yes." You gasp, wrapping your legs around his waist.

He pushes his cock against your entrance, his eyes locked on yours. "Say it, Y/N. Say you want me."

"I want you, Spencer." You moan, feeling him slide into you.

"Fuck, Y/N," he groans, thrusting into you. "You're so tight."

You cling to him, your nails digging into his back as he drives into you, again and again.

"Feels s’good." You babble, feeling the tip of his cock deep in your cervix, his hand coming down to rub calculated circles on your clit.

Spencer was a man of logic, of knowledge. But nothing could have prepared you for how skillful his hands could be in such a sinful context, hands you’d spent hours marking into the pages of your notebooks.

He fucks you harder, his pace frantic. "Such a pretty pussy, Y/N." He groans, dipping his head into your neck to nip at your skin.”My pretty pussy.” He delivers a quick slap to your pussy, sending a shock of pleasure through you, clit throbbing painfully.

"Oh, god, Spencer…" You cry, your orgasm quickly approaching, unable to stop it no matter how much you want to prolong the feeling.

“You wanna cum for me, baby? Cum all over my cock?” He stares down at you with a look you know will be ingrained in your mind for as long as you breathe.

It doesn’t take long before your orgasm crashes over you, pulsing through you in waves, back arching off the bed as you reach out for anything to ground yourself. Hands finding the back of his head, pulling him into your chest.

He follows soon after, his cock pulsing inside you as he empties himself into you, collapsing on top of you, his chest heaving.

You look up at him, your eyes bright with satisfaction. "Do you think it was worth it?"

He smiles, stroking your hair. "I’d do it all again if it meant I could have you this way just one more time."

The first rays of dawn filtered through the blinds of Spencer’s apartment, casting faint golden stripes across the room. You stirred slightly in his arms, your body cocooned in the warmth of his embrace. Spencer had always been a light sleeper, but he hadn’t moved all night. His arms remained securely around you, as if even in sleep, he was afraid to let go.

For a moment, the world was still, the only sound was the gentle hum of the city waking up outside. In the quiet, you allowed yourself to revel in the stolen tranquility. These moments were fleeting, precious—time you carved out in secret, hidden from the eyes of the world.

“You’re awake.” He murmured, his voice low and rough with sleep.

You tilted your head back to look at him, a smile tugging at your lips. “So are you.”

“I don’t think I slept much,” he admitted, his fingers brushing idly along your arm. “It’s hard to sleep when I know every moment with you has to be hidden.”

You frowned slightly, guilt tugging at you. “I hate it too,” you said softly. “I hate that we have to pretend in class, that I can’t just... be with you without worrying who might see.”

His hand tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his eyes. They were warm, but behind the softness lay a steel determination. “It’s not forever,” he promised. “The semester is almost over. Once you’re no longer my student, no one can question us. No one can tell me it’s wrong to feel this way about you.”

You leaned into his touch, comforted by his words but still anxious about the risks. “Do you ever think about what would happen if someone found out?”

“Every day,” he admitted without hesitation. “But I think about losing you more. And that’s a risk I can’t take.”

The weight of his confession settled over you, heavy and grounding. You reached for his hand, lacing your fingers with his. “I’d risk it all for you, Spencer. You know that, right?”

He nodded, his expression softening as he brought your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles. “I know. And I’d do the same for you. But until it’s safe, we have to be careful.”

The reminder of the outside world, of the boundaries you had to navigate, was sobering. Yet it didn’t dampen the connection between you. If anything, it strengthened your resolve.

Days in class were an intricate dance of restraint and subtlety. You sat in your usual spot, taking notes diligently as Spencer lectured at the front of the room. His demeanor was calm, professional, every word deliberate. To the untrained eye, he was simply your professor, and you, his attentive student.

But beneath the surface, every glance, every fleeting moment of eye contact held a world of unspoken words. When he paused to scan the room, his gaze lingered on you a fraction too long. When he walked past your desk, the faintest brush of his presence sent a shiver down your spine.

After class, you remained behind under the pretense of asking a question. The other students filed out, their chatter fading as the door closed behind them.

Spencer glanced at you, his professional mask slipping slightly as he leaned against the desk. “Is this about the assignment?” He asked, his tone neutral but his eyes betraying a flicker of warmth.

“No,” you admitted, lowering your voice. “I just... I wanted to see you.”

His lips curved into the faintest hint of a smile, and he nodded toward the door. “Wait for me outside. I’ll finish here and meet you in the library.”

The library had become your haven, a place where the world’s watchful eyes couldn’t reach you. Tucked away in the farthest corner, surrounded by shelves of dusty books, you found refuge in each other’s company.

Spencer sat across from you, his hand resting lightly over yours on the table. “You know,” he said quietly, his voice barely audible over the hum of the library, “this hiding... it’s maddening. But there’s something exhilarating about it too.”

You raised a brow, your lips quirking into a teasing smile. “Oh? Dr. Reid enjoys breaking the rules?”

A low chuckle escaped him, his fingers brushing against yours. “When it comes to you? I’ll break every rule there is.”

The weight of his words settled over you, and for a moment, you simply looked at him, your heart swelling with a mix of love and longing. “One more month,” you whispered. “Then no more hiding.”

“One more month,” he echoed, his voice filled with quiet determination. “And then I’ll make sure everyone knows you’re mine.”

Until then, you would continue this delicate balancing act, cherishing the stolen moments and weathering the secrecy together. Because in the end, he was worth it. And you knew that no matter how many rules you had to break, how many boundaries you had to navigate, you would never let him go.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds x reader #bau x reader #spencer reid smut x reader #missarchive

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rafescvntyclubgf · 1 month ago

Text

𝓻𝓪𝓯𝓮𝔂𝓼𝓬𝓾𝓻𝓽𝓪𝓲𝓷𝓫𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓼

𝙽𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚢 𝙻𝚒𝚜𝚝 | 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬

𝔻𝕒𝕪 𝕋𝕖𝕟: 𝔸 ℕ𝕠𝕟𝕤𝕖𝕟𝕤𝕖 ℂ𝕙𝕣𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕞𝕒𝕤

𝙱𝚘𝚍𝚢𝚐𝚞𝚊𝚛𝚍!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝙿𝚘𝚙𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

warnings: pet names, swearing, reader gets cornered on an elevator by a random man, rafe flashes his gun, threats, physical violence against the guy, mirror sex, wall sex, dirty talk, kissing, unprotected p in v, angst, fingering, spanking, praise, finger sucking, cum tasting, rough sex, cream pie, older!rafe

📖 I got the idea for this story after watching Sabrina Carpenter’s Christmas Special! ♥️ The premise is a popstar!reader who wants the attention of her handsome bodyguard, who seemingly has one interest: keeping her safe.

Masterlist

Reader’s POV:

The stage is shining, the crowd alive with holiday cheer as you belt out the final notes of A Nonsense Christmas. The applause roars around you, their energy washing over you like a wave.

You smile, waving to the audience, but your gaze quickly floats over to the stage's edge as it has been all night… as it had been for weeks when you closed out the final song.

There he is. Rafe Cameron.

He stands tall, commanding, calm, and professional in a suit. His piercing gaze sweeps the room, assessing every face and every movement for threats, but never to you.

You poured every ounce of charm into that performance, thinking it might be enough to catch his eye. A wink here, a playful smile there, all subtle gestures to draw his attention—yet, nothing. His stoic expression doesn’t budge. His demeanor’s like trying to melt a glacier with a single match.

By the time the show’s over, the emptiness gnaws at you. The Netflix special had been perfect, yet you could only focus on how Rafe never even cracked a smile. None of the jokes landed… Not a single song was heard, it seemed. It was like he was listening to white noise.

The wrap party’s filled with people from the industry and familiar celebrity guests from the special. Your manager taps you on the shoulder throughout the night, making it impossible to get away: candid interviews, photos for the press, people vying for a moment of your time.

You float through the crowd in a Bob Mackie dress, dodging your manager as you see her walking toward you again. You smooth out the satin and fluff your hair nervously, searching for him. There he is. Your heart flutters as your eyes match his; your red dress shifts with each step, hugging every curve just right. Compliments come in every direction, yet your focus is drawn to the beautiful man at the bar…

He’s the definition of composure, sipping his water and scanning the room. Since the show, he’s popped a single button at the top of his white button-down shirt. Even that subtlety, just a taste of his tanned skin, sends butterflies swirling in your stomach. He glances away, his jawline sharp enough to cut glass.

Your heart beats faster, knees wobbling in your sky-high heels—a wavering you didn't even have during your performance. Your feet click along the marble floor, each step fueled by courage and desperation. The sound draws his eye to you.

"Hi," you say gently, feeling the heat of embarrassment pool in your cheeks as his jaw flexes. His nostrils flare as he draws a deep breath, looking almost annoyed.

Rafe looks down, his blue eyes locking on yours briefly, making your stomach fall. Your eyes widen, realizing that you don’t even think he’s ever truly done that before—constantly looking through you, around you, at your person, but never into your eyes.

“Ms. l/n,” he greets you, his tone polite but detached. The moment of attention you had has faded and gone.

"Call me y/n," I say, trying to bridge the chasm between you, craving that brief moment you had when his eyes were on you again.

He gives you a slight nod as he glances into the crowd. “What can I do for you?"

"Have a drink with me?" You ask fast, surprised that he even wanted to know, given his body language.

His lips press into two thin lines. “I’m working,” he replies, firm but not unkind. "It was a great show, y/n. You should enjoy the party. I'll be close by if you need me."

You bite your lips, eyes fluttering as he dismisses you before your gaze falls to the floor. The reaction was a cold slap to the face.

“Have a good night,” you whisper fast, giving him a small smile as your pride tatters. You turn around on your heels, your embarrassment weighing heavily on your chest as you push through the crowd, knowing you’re never quite out of his sight, needing to be far enough away that he doesn’t realize how deeply that cut.

By the party's end, you’re exhausted and mentally drained. Reaching for your coat, you head out into the night with your team and Rafe.

It’s a short walk, only a block from the venue to the hotel. Snow falls from the dim, sparkling in the streetlights as it dances to the ground below. You wrap your arms around your waist, holding yourself tight, trying to keep warm, feeling the heat of Rafe’s gaze on you still, just a few feet behind you.

You look over your shoulder, matching his eyes. He doesn’t flinch; his smile doesn’t brighten like yours when you see him. He looks away, turning his attention toward the busy street, surveying the scene as always. You scrunch your nose as heat burns behind your eyes, mortified that you’re letting yourself get so hurt by someone who couldn’t care less about you.

The hotel lobby is still except for the soft hum of Christmas music pouring from the piano. You walk quickly, your head down, desperate to be unaided; the sting of Rafe’s rejection, still piercing.

If he doesn’t want anything to do with me… I want to be alone. It’s clearly what you want. Isn’t it? You seethe as you walk a little faster, wanting to put space between you and everyone else.

“Miss. l/n,” you hear Rafe’s voice echo through the lobby as he moves a little quicker. You step inside the elevator, pressing the close button as your team closes in; Rafe shoves past the lot of them with a horrified look as the elevator door glides shut, closing you off from the rest.

You were so focused on getting yourself alone that you barely noticed the man who followed you in. It wasn't until the doors shut that you heard him shift next to you, looking down at you with a smile.

"Oh, shit… You're y/n, right?" The man asks, his voice far too casual.

"Mhmm," you hum, giving him a small, cautious smile as your hands start to sweat, the hair on the back of your neck standing straight.

"You're even prettier in person," he croons as he steps closer.

“Thanks-”

"How about a drink? Just you and me?"

You cross one leg over the other, stepping to the side as your eyes stay locked on the metal door in front of you. "No, thank you,” you respond as confidently as possible.

He smirks and chuckles darkly, rubbing his hand over his mouth as he turns toward you. "Oh, don't be shy, honey. I saw your concert at Madison Square Garden. I know what kind of woman you are," he mumbles—his breath, warm on your neck. The creep’s thick cologne radiates off his designer suit. He rests his hand on your lower back, drawing you in as the elevator dings.

The door glides open, but Rafe’s already pushing through, his broad chest heaving from sprinting up the stairs.

He looks at you, catching the worry in your eyes, nodding, letting you know you’ll be okay. His eyes lock onto the man, his stare dark and dangerous. “She’s not interested,” Rafe says, his presence lethal as he steps inside, placing himself between you and the stranger as he quickly ushers you out.

Rafe hangs back, stepping toe to toe with the businessman, whose eyes widen. The man chuckles nervously as he raises his trembling hands in mock surrender. “Just making conversation-”

“Don’t,” Rafe growls, his tone cutting with no room for argument as he slams his fist against the “hold” button, locking the door open.

“Hey, man. I don't want any trouble,” the guy croaks.

“This your floor?” Rafe asks. The man shakes his head ‘no’ fast. A smirk tugs on Rafe’s lips as he steps even closer, sweeping his black suit jacket to the side, showing off the handle of his gun, making the blood drain from your face and the man’s. The guy’s eyes lock on Rafe’s weapon, and he stumbles back, grabbing onto the handrail to keep from falling, looking up at your bodyguard in horror. “I asked you a fuckin’ question, bitch,” Rafe voice bellows, making the man cower in fear.

“No… Jesus. Calm the fuck down. I told you I’m not. Alright?” He rambles as he reaches around Rafe, going for the hold button. Rafe grabs the man’s suit jacket, slamming him back, his head ricocheting off the wall.

“Nah, you didn’t say shit. If I catch you on this floor. I’ll fuckin’ kill you. Understand?” The guy nods, but Rafe bangs him against the wall again. “Use your fuckin’ words, man. I’m sure you had plenty to say to her. Ain’t that right?” He asks as he steps even closer, getting in his face. The guy shuts his eyes, turning his cheek in fear.

“I understand,” he mumbles weakly.

Rafe shoves him into the elevator, smacking the hold button before grabbing your hand.

You look over your shoulder, watching the man scramble to the front of the elevator, pushing his finger repeatedly against the buttons.

Rafe’s hand tightens in yours, pulling you past your room and moving deeper into the hall. “You’re coming with me.”

Rafe reaches into his back pocket as his eyes dart around, pulling out his key card. His face, a storm of emotions.

He leads you inside, shutting the door quick before twisting and latching multiple locks. Rafe turns around, his fingers gliding through his hair nervously, pushing it back while his eyes flicker around the room.

“Why am I here?” You ask feebly.

"Because it's safer," he says shortly. “You’re safer with me. You know that!” Rafe raises his voice, quickly pushing out a deep, slow breath as he sees you flinch. “You’re—fuck. I’m sorry. You’re safer with me. Alright?” He walks past you, pulling a bottle of scotch from the wet bar.

Rafe pops off the top, mumbling in annoyance as he pours a drink. His hand trembles, making the glass click against each other. “Drink?” He asks, his voice dry and hoarse, tossing back one before you can respond, draining another in the tumbler as you give him a soft ‘yes.’ He mutters something again in frustration as he pours yours.

“What?” You ask curiously as you step closer.

”I said, ‘What the fuck were you thinking?’” He asks annoyedly as his eyes shift to yours, keeping your focus longer than two seconds.

"Why do you care, Rafe?” You counter before you can even think it through.

His jaw clenches, and he clutches the glasses in his big hands. His grip is so hard you’re waiting for it to pop.

“What do you mean, ‘why do I care?’” He asks, his eyes tightening in disbelief. “It’s my goddamn job to care. Are you fuckin’ serious?”

“It’s your job to keep me safe. It’s not your job to care about me ‘cause if it was, you’d be fuckin’ awful at in.”

"You don’t think I care?” He asks as he steps face to face with you, making your heart race.

“No. I don’t,” you stand firm.

“Do you think I don’t notice you, princess? ‘Cause I fuckin’ do,” he snaps. “Y/n, you’re all I see—every damn second of the day. But I can’t let myself think about you that way. Not when it’s my job to protect you. Not when it’s my job to keep you safe!”

"Why not?" You challenge, your voice shattering with emotion as you look up at him.

“Because if I let myself feel… if I let myself want you the way I do, I'll lose focus. And if I lose focus, you get hurt. And that's somethin’ I can't live with."

"Rafe…” You whisper, seeing the emotion all over his face.

"I see you, sweetheart," he says, his voice cracking. "Every time you smile, sing, and look at me with those eyes like I'm the only one in the room. Do you know how hard it is to pretend I don't feel it? To pretend I don't—"

You close the space between the two of you, stealing the words off his tongue, your lips pressing against his in a passionate kiss. He stands there for a moment, completely frozen, as your hands wrap around the back of his neck. You gasp against his lips as his arms comes around you, yanking your body into his, returning your kiss with a fire that takes the air out of your lungs.

Before you can get your feet underneath you, your back hits the wall—Rafe’s wet kisses stippling over your collarbone, trailing up your neck as his big hands squeeze and caress your curves.

“Rafe,” you moan as you pull him closer, his rich cologne mixing with his crisp drink on his breath, numbing your tongue and making your head spin. “I need you,” you whimper.

“You need me?” He groans hungrily like it’s all he’s ever wanted to hear.

”Please…” You whisper needily. “Do you need me-”

“Yes. Fuck… Of course, I need you,” he rasps as your hand presses against his stiff cock; his bulge is throbbing in his dress pants. He paws for the bottom of your dress, lifting it hastily to get at you.

You moan for him, melting into his touches as his fingers press against your soaked panties. He smiles against your lips between panting breaths, pushing your thong to the side. Your head falls against the wall as his fingers trace your slick folds, drenching his digits—your tongue swirling with his.

“I need you so fuckin’ bad,” he sighs as his fingers draw away; the man quickly fights himself out of his suit jacket as you pinch the zipper of your dress—the two of you stealing kisses as you strip bare.

Rafe dives for your lips again, his rough, ringed hands finding your cheeks, pulling your face to his as he walks you back to his bed.

Before you can reach it, he spins you around, pulling your back to his chest as you reach for a breath. His face nuzzles into your neck, his five-o’clock shadow scratching roughly against your soft skin as he peers out, admiring you in the floor-length mirror.

Your body heats up under his gaze as you watch his hands trace your figure through the glass. His gold watch catches the light as he twists his hand, his fingers disappearing between your thighs, making your head fall back on his broad chest.

Rafe’s rough fingers brush through your soaked pussy as he kisses along your neck, teeth scraping over the shell of your ear. “You don’t think I see you?” He asks, his voice husky and low, sending chills down your spine. “You don’t think I see how fuckin’ perfect you are, princess?” He groans as his other hand cups your tit, kneading your skin as you moan for him.

Rafe licks a line up the column of your neck, biting your skin, marking you with his teeth, making you whimper—your cunt throbbing with need.

He swirls his fingers over your puffy clit, pulling out moan after moan from your pillowy lips, your legs shaky and weak from his touch. “You don’t think I look at you and imagine what you look like when you cum?” He asks, the corners of his lips curling upwards at his words. “You don’t think I don’t think about how beautiful you’d look taking my dick, baby?” Rafe lifts his hand, turning your face so your lips find him again. “Never thought you’d be this wet, y/n. All for me…”

“All for you,” you echo through a breathy sigh as your lips brush over the top of his.

“I’m going to keep you safe. I’m going to take care of you,” he mumbles as he pushes two thick fingers in your soaked cunt, pumping them a few times as you grab his forearm for support, nails clawing into his skin. “Bend over for me, pretty.”

“Yes, Daddy,” you whisper.

Rafe sucks off your bottom lip before pulling back, guiding you to bend over in front of the mirror. You rest your hand on the edge, watching as he takes his fingers between his lips, sucking your taste off, letting his eyes roll back as his other hand squeezes your hip.

His hand falls lower, his lip bitten as he grabs his cock in his fist, gliding through your drenched slit before sinking in with a rough thrust. Your wide eyes match his before they roll back—Rafe’s fat cock stretching you wide.

He takes his time, letting you adjust to his size. His biceps flex as he pulls you as close as he can get, making you shudder and whine; your manicured fingers wrap around the mirror’s frame so hard your knuckles ghost white.

"Fuck, baby," he breathes.

Rafe’s toned hips pull back before he shoves them forward, eyes locked on your body, watching the way your breasts bounce with each thrust.

Your messy pussy wets his balls, dripping ever so slightly onto the hardwood floor. “Goddamn, baby,” Rafe hums, seeing it too, the two of you listening to the sounds of your slick cunt squelch as his thrusts crescendo.

“Feels so good,” you whine, arching your back, body clenching as his throbbing tip hits your g-spot again and again.

”Feels good? Fuck, princess. You like that?” He asks as his arm snakes around your hip, fingers finding your clit, swirling fast. Rafe shifts a little nearer, pushing you closer to the glass, your warm breath fogging up the mirror with each panting breath.

”I’m close…” You whine, making him groan. He pistons his hips into you, fingers dancing on your clit as your body comes undone, pussy pulsing around his thick length as he pounds you through your orgasm.

Rafe doesn’t stop fucking you through it, grabbing your shoulders, pulling you back, coaching you to bounce your ass back on his cock; your warm wet pussy meeting him thrust for thrust.

Rafe tugs you back to his heaving chest, pounding into you from behind as his strong arm wraps around your throat, the other dressing around your waist, holding you tight.

“Cum for me, baby,” he whispers against your neck with his eyes locked on you. “Wanna watch my pretty girl get off on my cock again.”

Your eyes roll back at his filthy words, teeth driving into his bicep, dampening your cries of pleasure; heavy eyes locked on his as you cum again. Rafe’s climax claims him as well, squeezing you tight as you ride out your pleasure together.

You gasp as he pulls out far too fast, the two of you looking in the mirror as his throbbing cock pulses between your thighs. You whimper as Rafe’s thick load drips out of your fluttering hole, landing his dick. “Look at that, huh?” He rasps before shoving himself in again, making your eyes pinch shut. “You’re even prettier when I drippin’ out of you, princess.”

He kisses your forehead, lingering for a moment as you giggle dizzily. “Fuck, Rafe,” you sigh in bliss, letting your body relax in his.

“Yeah? Felt good, baby?” He mumbles before kissing you tenderly.

“So fucking good,” you whisper.

The two of you walk to the shower—Rafe’s hand never leaving yours. He lifts you onto the counter as the water warms, slotting himself between your thighs, tilting into the counter as he smiles sweetly at you.

Your eyes rest on his… The most beautiful blue, and unlike before, his attention never leaves. You cup his cheeks in your hands, brushing his stubble gently before you move in for a kiss.

Rafe pulls away from your lips, resting his forehead against yours, breathing softly with you. “Princess…�� He hums, his voice soft and serious.

“Yes, baby…”

Rafe smiles as that name leaves your lips, taking a laborious breath before continuing. “I’ll keep you safe in public, no matter what… That’s my job.”

”I know,” you whisper.

“I’ll do everything I’ve gotta do... But in private, we can take care of each other. That’s what I can offer you. It’s not perfect, but it’s real. And I’m hoping you’ll say ‘yes’.”

A slow smile spreads on your lips, the pressure lifting off your chest. “I guess I can live with that,” you whisper as your heart races with excitement. “But I’m warnin’ you, I’m needy. You might have to deal with me demanding your attention all the time,” you tease. Rafe chuckles warmly, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you to the counter's edge.

“Sweetheart, you have my attention. Every second. Of every day. Whether you think I’m watchin’ or not…” You lift your chin up, meeting his lips, feeling him smile against yours. “But, I’m lookin’ forward to moments like this the most.”

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shirtless-internet-boys · 4 months ago

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#alex sampson #hairstyle #cute guy #smooth guy #shirtless guy #tattoos #mirror selfie #cute smile #snapchat #smirk #singer #male singer #alex sampson shirtless #glasses #guy in glasses #fit guy #gym

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monstersholygrail · 2 months ago

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Imagine being an Bartender in the free use city, customers giving double the tip *wink*

Working as a Bartender in the Free Use City was never really that bad of a gig. Sure, you got hit on more than the usual bartender and sometimes the lines got backed up because you were busy fucking someone, but all in all it wasn’t that bad.

One would think the night life in a Free Use City would get even more wild compared to the day life. But during your time here you quickly found it to be the opposite. As the sun set it seemed like the people began to calm. Probably growing tired from a busy day of fucking. But there were always a handful of monsters whose appetites were never quite filled…

A knock rings on the bar counter, immediately catching your attention. You wipe down a glass and put it away, turning toward the counter to see a Tentacle Monster waiting, an easy grin on his face.

“Can I just have a shot of tequila, sweet thing?” He asks, voice as smooth as silk and his tone dripping with the promise that he definitely doesn’t just want a shot.

You raise a brow at him but nod anyway. He was hot as fucking hell. If he wanted more than a shot you sure weren’t going to be the one to shoot him down. Your lips quirk to the side, mirroring his expression.

“Sure thing,” you murmur as you pour the drink.

The whole thing takes about three seconds of you pouring the drink and two seconds for you to pass it. Tentacle Monster doesn’t look away from your gaze as he picks up the glass and downs it with a single gulp. He puts it back down and the clang of glass on wood has you jumping, your every nerve aware of him.

His eyes simmer with lust and yours are just as dark with need. His tentacles shift restlessly. You notice the way they crawl toward you before they fall back as if they have a mind of their own and he has to restrain them.

“You know, you have provided me with such wonderful service. You deserve more than just a tip,” he rasps, leaning in closer to you.

It’s like you’re under his spell as you lean forward too. Neither of you stopping until you can smell the alcohol he just drank on his breath. For some reason it only turns you on further. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips and you can practically taste his drink.

“Like a double tip?”

Tentacle Monster chuckles, his smirk only widening as his eyes flicker over your features. Catching every little expression you make. Seeing the need written all over your face.

You cry out loudly, bucking wildly on the Tentacle Monster’s tentacles in the storage closet of the bar. Your eyes roll back as three of his slick lengths pump their way inside your holes, stretching you further than you thought you could take.

“T-this is definitely more than a double t-t-tip,” you stammer, the jostling of his tentacles breaking up your speech.

More of them curl around your waist and your arms, helping to slam you back down on his sensitive tentacles. He chuckles darkly, getting a deep satisfaction watching you become a mess on him.

“More than a double and more than the tip,” he growls out, picking up the pace.

You throw your head back, releasing a strangled scream of pleasure. You try and keep up with his frantic pace as much as you can but your body starts to shake as you grow closer to the edge. All you can do is sag against him and let him take you for the ride of your life. His tentacles reaching further inside of you than any monster in this city ever has before.

He makes a mess of your mind and your body, fucking you dumb and boneless. His tentacles are the only keeping your plush form upward as they tighten around your body and piston deep inside your tight heat. The second his tentacles suction onto your walls, stimulating your nerves in a way you swear nearly sends you to heaven, you’re coming all over him. Your body explodes in a euphoric haze of bliss and weak moans spill from your lips.

Tentacle Monster continues to thrust his tentacles deep within your core. Your hole clenches around his tentacles as he slips a few more smaller ones inside of you, body so sensitive but so eager. His movements grow more sloppy as you do and a second later he’s shooting his cum as far inside of you as his tentacles can reach. You moan as he fills you up even more, even spurt of cum has you twitching around him.

A lazy fucked out smile rests on your face. Even as Tentacle Monster loosens his hold and you smack down against his chest. Light airy giggles leave you and it takes all your strength to lift up a hand and wave.

“Hope you enjoyed my service here with you today, come again soon,” you mumble in your practiced customer service voice.

His tentacles pulse inside of you and you gasp, your body prickling with the desire that seems to grow in the room once more. You feel his tentacles tease at your skin and curl inside of you, turning you on all over again.

“Cum again you say?”

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be4chywritez · 4 months ago

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sweet like honey | max verstappen

max verstappen x fem!reader

"you're to sweet for me."

Max doesn't like how nice you are towards him.

beachy’s masterlist🐚

prompt list

Max isn't sure why he doesn’t like you. You’ve never wronged him, never talked bad about him, or been rude in any way. But for some odd reason, Max hates you.

Maybe it’s the Verstappen genes kicking in, that innate tendency to be an asshole. Or maybe it’s bred into him to keep sweet things like you at a distance. So, you can imagine his shock and horror when he sees you perched on the couch, flipping through a book in his friend’s Italian villa.

Your eyes meet his, and a smile graces your lips. You place the book in your lap, and he watches as your eyes brighten at the sight of him, the same way they might light up at the sight of a pretty flower.

Your small yellow sundress barely covers your upper thighs, and Max can’t help but stare before quickly looking down at his phone, not wanting to be too obvious about his boyish gawking.

“Max,” you say softly, your voice warm and rich like honey, drawing his attention whether he wants it or not.

He hears you, of course, but pretends to focus on his phone. His thumb moves slowly over the screen, though nothing he sees holds his interest. It’s the way you say his name that sticks in his mind, making it impossible to ignore.

“It’s nice to see you,” you continue, your tone sincere as if you mean it more than you should. You settle back into the cushions, your dress slipping a little higher on your thighs, and he catches himself glancing before looking away again.

Max lets out a quiet huff, his eyes still fixed on his phone, but his attention is all on you now. “Didn’t know you’d be here,” he murmurs, his voice lower than usual, almost guarded.

You shift, crossing your legs under you, the air feeling warmer, closer. “A surprise, I guess,” you reply, a faint smile tugging at your lips, the kind that lingers, soft and effortless.

Max clenches his jaw, forcing himself to look back at his phone. Still, he’s hyper-aware of your presence, of the subtle scent of your perfume lingering in the room. He swallows hard, trying to steady himself, even as his chest tightens.

“Yeah,” he mutters, almost under his breath, like he’s afraid to say anything else, and you let the moment settle, content with the quiet between you.

Just then, his best friend Jamie stumbles in, holding a glass of chardonnay. “Maxie,” he coos, squishing Max’s cheeks together, making his lips pucker. Close behind comes your best friend, Mila—Jamie’s girlfriend.

A few others join the group, a mix of Jamie and Mila’s friends, and Max’s brow furrows as he realizes that they’re all couples. He internally groans, watching your eyes flit around like a lost puppy.

“Alright, everyone,” Mila announces with a clap of her hands, “time to head up. We’ve got a long day ahead tomorrow.”

One by one, the group starts dispersing, grabbing their things and heading upstairs. Max lingers, scrolling aimlessly through his phone, but he’s acutely aware of you standing up from the couch, smoothing down the hem of your dress.

You move with an easy grace, slipping past him with a soft, “Goodnight, Max.” There’s no sarcasm, no bite—just genuine kindness that he doesn’t understand. You flash him a small smile before heading toward the stairs.

Max’s jaw tightens as he watches you go. You’re far too calm, far too kind for his liking. It makes him uncomfortable, like you’re holding a mirror up to the way he behaves, forcing him to see the stark contrast between you.

He takes a deep breath, tucking his phone into his pocket, and follows behind the group. The villa is beautiful, the soft glow of the lights casting long shadows across the walls as everyone makes their way to their respective rooms. His room is at the far end of the hall, and as he reaches it, he notices you standing just outside the door next to his.

“Looks like we’re neighbors,” you say lightly, your voice warm and soft. You hold your toothbrush and a towel, your yellow sundress replaced by pale pink silky pajamas, and there’s something almost disarming about how comfortable you seem.

Max nods, his expression neutral. “Yeah.”

You don’t push the conversation, only smile again as you step into your room. “Sleep well, Max,” you say over your shoulder, as if you mean it.

He huffs quietly, more out of habit than frustration, and slips into his own room. The door closes with a soft click, and he leans back against it, rubbing a hand over his face.

For a moment, he stands there, in the silence of the room, staring at nothing in particular. He doesn’t know why your kindness unsettles him so much. It’s not like you’ve done anything wrong, but that’s exactly the problem. You’re too nice. Too understanding. And for some reason, it gets under his skin.

Max changes into a T-shirt and shorts, moving about the room on autopilot. He keeps hearing your voice, soft and sweet, lingering in his thoughts.

Finally, he pulls back the covers and slides into bed, trying to shut everything out. But it’s quiet now—too quiet. And even though you’re just on the other side of the wall, he can’t stop thinking about you.

In the middle of the night, he’s still awake, tossing and turning, when there’s a soft knock on his door. Max sits up, frowning slightly, wondering who it could be at this hour.

He swings his legs over the side of the bed and pads across the room, opening the door just a crack. It’s you, standing there, a little sheepish, your arms crossed lightly over your chest.

“Sorry,” you whisper, barely audible, “I didn’t mean to bother you. It’s just… my room's really hot. I think the AC is broken.”

Max blinks, unsure of what to say at first. Part of him wants to tell you to deal with it yourself, but another part of him can’t ignore it.

His eyes linger on you more than he’d admit—your hair sticking to your neck from sweat, your cheeks flushed, and you nibble your lip nervously. Your tank top has ridden up, a sliver of your hip exposed, and Max does everything in his power to push those thoughts away.

“Uh… you could just crack open a window,” he suggests, his voice a bit rough from sleep. He knows the words sound hollow even to him. He doesn’t want you in his space, yet part of him doesn’t want you sweating alone either.

You fidget slightly, your gaze dropping to the floor. “I tried, but it didn’t help. I just thought… maybe I could crash in here?” The words hang in the air, hopeful yet tentative.

Max’s heart races at the idea. The prospect of sharing the bed makes his palms sweat. It’s one thing to be in the same room, but sharing a bed? He hesitates, biting the inside of his cheek as he weighs his options.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” he asks, trying to sound casual, but there’s a hint of something deeper in his tone. The image of you curled up beside him—too close for comfort—sends a shiver down his spine.

“Yeah, no, you’re right,” you offer a nervous smile, clearly not wanting to invade his space, so you back away, ducking into your room. He watches you until the door is shut behind you.

Max stands in the doorway, his heart racing as he processes the moment. He’s not sure why he feels such a strong urge to call you back, to insist that it’s okay, but the words remain stuck in his throat. He runs a hand through his hair, feeling a mix of irritation and something else—something he’s not ready to name.

As he paces back to his bed, he tries to shake off the lingering image of you standing there, your flushed cheeks and nervous smile. He lies down again, staring at the ceiling, trying to focus on anything but the fact that you’re just a wall away.

A few moments pass before he hears a soft, muffled noise from your room—a sniffle, maybe? It makes his chest tighten at the thought of you crying because you're uncomfortable.

“Damn it,” he mutters to himself, tossing an arm over his eyes. He’s not going to sleep if he keeps thinking about you like this.

After what feels like an eternity of tossing and turning, he finally sits up, his decision made. He stands up, his heart pounding in his chest, and makes his way to your door. He raises his hand to knock but hesitates, uncertainty flooding in.

“Why the hell am I doing this?” he mutters, his self-doubt creeping back in. But the thought of you feeling uncomfortable alone is enough to push him through. He knocks softly, the sound barely more than a tap.

“Hey,” you call from inside, and he can hear the surprise in your voice. “Is everything okay?”

“Uh, yeah,” he replies, his voice worse than he intended. “I… just thought maybe you could come back. It’s probably not that hot here.”

There’s a brief silence, and he can imagine the look on your face—surprised and perhaps a little hopeful. “Really?” you ask, and he can’t help the slight smile tugging at his lips despite himself.

The door swings open, revealing you still in your silk-clad pajamas. He rips his gaze away, feeling a tightness in his throat. He doesn't utter a word, just turns around, walking to his room. He can hear your feet padding behind him, and you close the door behind the both of you.

Max keeps his back to you as you quietly follow him into the room, closing the door behind you with a soft click. The air feels heavier now, thick with unspoken tension as you stand there in the dim light, waiting for him to say something. But Max doesn’t. Instead, he heads straight for the bed, pulling back the covers on one side, his movements stiff and a little too deliberate.

“You can take the right side,” he mutters, not looking at you, as he slides under the covers on the left. His heart is pounding, though he tries to act like everything is fine.

You hesitate for a moment, unsure whether to thank him or just keep quiet. Deciding not to push it, you simply nod, even though he isn’t looking at you. You cross the room and slip into the bed beside him, careful not to make any sudden movements.

The mattress dips slightly under your weight, and for a brief moment, you wonder if he can feel the same tension thrumming between you that you do. The bed feels impossibly small now, the space between you a thin sliver of air that crackles with awkwardness.

You lie still, facing away from him, but you can feel his presence—so close and yet so distant. The sound of his steady breathing fills the room, and you wonder if he’s doing the same as you, staring at the ceiling, trying to will himself to sleep.

Minutes stretch on, and the silence between you is deafening. Every creak of the bed, every shift in the sheets seems louder in the stillness of the night. You take a deep breath, trying to calm your racing thoughts.

“Thank you,” you whisper, your voice so soft it barely breaks the silence. You don’t expect a reply, and for a few moments, there’s nothing but the sound of your own breathing.

Then, finally, Max shifts slightly beside you. “Yeah, whatever,” he grumbles, his voice low and rough, but there’s something different in it now. Something that isn’t as cold as before.

You can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips. Maybe he isn’t as indifferent as he wants you to think. You curl up a little more, trying to make yourself comfortable, even as the tension lingers in the air between you.

As the night drags on, you begin to drift in and out of sleep. The heat from the earlier part of the night is gone now, replaced by a cooler breeze that drifts in through the open window. The sheets are soft, and for the first time since you entered Max’s room, you start to relax.

Just as you’re on the edge of sleep, you feel something shift again. Max turns slightly, the mattress dipping as he moves closer—just barely, but enough for you to notice. His arm brushes against yours, and the warmth of his skin sends a small jolt through you.

You stay perfectly still, wondering if he did it on purpose or if he’s just restless. Either way, you don’t move, afraid to disturb the delicate balance between you.

Your mind races—what if you roll over onto him in your sleep? What if you start snoring?—and the nerves bubble up, spilling out before you can stop yourself.

“So… I haven’t slept in a guy’s bed in ages,” you blurt out, staring at the ceiling. Max barely reacts, his only acknowledgment a low, noncommittal “Mhm,” but it doesn’t stop you from talking.

“Yeah, it’s been, like… a long time. I’m more of a 'sleep with a thousand pillows' kind of person, you know? Gotta have the right setup.” You laugh a little, mostly to yourself, feeling the need to fill the quiet. Max doesn’t respond, but you keep going, too nervous to stop. “Oh, and I’m really bad with directions, like, I get lost in grocery stores. Once, I ended up in the freezer aisle for thirty minutes just trying to find the cereal.”

“Mhm.”

His replies are half-hearted at best, but you don’t mind. If anything, the sound of his quiet indifference weirdly helps soothe your nerves.

“Oh! And I can’t swim,” you say with a laugh, thinking it’s just another random fact to throw out there. But this time, Max’s head snaps toward you.

“You came to the amalfi coast, and you can’t swim?” he asks, his voice sharper than before, with a hint of amusement. His eyes narrow slightly, and you can’t help but grin.

“Yeah,” you reply, shrugging like it’s no big deal. “Figured I’d just, you know… stay on the shore.”

He scoffs, shaking his head. “That’s stupid.”

“Maybe,” you say, laughing softly, your nerves easing a bit. “But I’m good at other things. Like… did you know I can recite the entire script of Finding Nemo? Well, mostly.”

Max rolls his eyes, but there’s a hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “Great skill.”

You keep talking, the words flowing easier now. Your voice fills the room, soft and rhythmic, and even though Max doesn’t say much, you can feel the tension in the air start to shift. His body relaxes slightly, the space between you feeling a little less awkward.

“And another thing, I’m a terrible cook. Burnt spaghetti once. Didn’t even think that was possible. It’s water and noodles, right?” You laugh again, and this time Max lets out a quiet huff—almost like a chuckle, though he’d never admit it.

Your voice is like a steady hum, lulling the room into a gentle calm. You talk about everything and nothing, the words spilling out in a quiet stream. Max listens, his responses becoming softer, almost inaudible, but it doesn’t matter. His breathing slows, his eyes fluttering shut as your voice washes over him.

You don’t notice when he finally drifts off, his chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm. But somehow, you feel it—the way the energy in the room has shifted, his earlier sharpness melted away into something softer, more relaxed.

The next morning, sunlight spills through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the room. You stir first, the warmth of the bed enveloping you, your body reluctant to wake. For a moment, you forget where you are, and then it hits you—Max’s bed, Max’s room. You blink your eyes open slowly, turning your head slightly to see him still there, asleep.

He’s lying on his back now, the sheets tangled around his waist, his chest rising and falling with each slow breath. His face is serene, the harsh lines you’ve come to associate with him softened by sleep. His hair is slightly tousled, giving him an almost boyish look, something so different from the hard-edged man who usually glares at you.

You feel a strange flutter in your chest as you look at him, this version of Max—unguarded, vulnerable. It’s a side of him you never thought you’d see, and it’s almost too intimate, too close. You shift a little, trying not to make any noise, but the bed creaks softly under your weight.

Max stirs, his brows furrowing slightly as he slowly wakes up. His eyes open halfway, still hazy with sleep, and for a brief moment, he looks at you without the usual edge in his gaze. It’s like he’s forgotten for a second who you are, where he is.

Then, reality seems to settle back in, and his eyes narrow ever so slightly, though there’s no real malice there. Just a kind of gruff annoyance.

“Mornin’,” he mutters, his voice rough and low, thick with sleep.

“Good morning,” you reply softly, offering a tentative smile.

He shifts, pushing himself up on his elbows, the sheet falling further down his waist, revealing more of his toned torso. You can’t help but glance, quickly averting your eyes when you realize you’re staring.

Max runs a hand through his messy hair, yawning as he glances at you. “You talk a lot in your sleep too, or is that just when you’re awake?” he asks, a hint of that familiar sarcasm creeping back into his tone, though there’s no real bite behind it.

You chuckle lightly, relaxing a little. “Only when I’m awake, I promise.”

He grunts, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and sitting up. For a moment, neither of you says anything, the silence between you less awkward than you would’ve expected. It’s almost… comfortable.

Max stretches, his muscles flexing slightly as he does, and you try not to let your eyes linger too long. You feel a blush creeping up your cheeks, and you’re grateful when he doesn’t seem to notice.

“So,” you say, breaking the silence, “how’d you sleep?”

He glances back at you, his expression unreadable for a moment before he shrugs. “Fine, I guess.” There’s a pause, and then he adds, almost begrudgingly, “Didn’t mind all the talking.”

Your heart skips a beat at that, the small admission catching you off guard. You smile, warmth spreading through you. “Glad to know I didn’t annoy you too much.”

Max doesn’t respond, just grabs his phone from the nightstand and checks the time. But you catch the faintest hint of a smirk playing on his lips before he turns away.

He stands, pulling on a shirt and running a hand through his hair again before heading toward the door. “We’re leaving for breakfast soon,” he mutters. “Don’t take too long.”

He steps out before poking his head back in his face serious, “Don’t tell anyone about this,” he says gesturing a finger around towards you and him, right asshole Max is alive and well.

“Right.” you deflate, but none the less walk to your room. You notice the AC now works.

The warmth of the Italian sun is already starting to filter in through your window as you slip into your pale yellow babydoll dress. The soft fabric feels light against your skin, perfect for the warm weather and the laid-back vibes of the villa.

When you finally make your way downstairs, the smell of fresh coffee and pastries fills the air, and you can hear the familiar hum of laughter and chatter. The villa’s terrace is bathed in sunlight, with everyone seated around the large outdoor table, enjoying breakfast.

Max is already seated, of course, his usual stoic expression in place. He’s leaning back in his chair, sunglasses on, making it impossible to tell if he’s even noticed you.

An array of colorful fruits and pastries litters the table, couples chatting and laughing as you offer everyone a warm smile while taking a seat next to Mila, who returns the gesture. “How was the room, darling?” she asks, taking a sip of her tea. You can feel a pair of laser beams on your face, as if Max is staring into your soul.

“Oh, it was truly nice,” you reply, feeling the tips of your ears heat up with nerves. Mila seems to buy it and turns to address the entire group.

“So, guys, today we’re going to take the yacht around,” she announces, eliciting a few excited hoots from your friends. Your stomach tightens at the thought of being stuck on a yacht, but you brush the anxiety aside.

As the chatter around the breakfast table grows, the knot in your stomach tightens at the mention of the yacht. You toy with the edge of your napkin, trying to suppress the wave of nerves that accompanies the idea of being out on the water, especially since you can’t swim.

Max, still leaning back in his chair, tilts his head slightly in your direction, as if he senses the unease radiating off you. His sunglasses shield his eyes, but you swear you can feel his gaze tracing over you. A small smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, and you can almost hear his voice echoing in your mind: “You came to the Amalfi Coast, and you can’t swim?”

You swallow hard, forcing a smile as you join in on the group's excitement, even though the thought of being surrounded by water sends a shiver down your spine. Mila stands, gathering everyone’s attention, and starts guiding the group toward the dock.

The villa’s outdoor space spills into a sprawling garden, leading to a private path that takes you to where the yacht is docked. The sunlight glints off the water, almost blinding in its brightness, as you walk with the others toward the sleek, luxurious yacht. Everyone seems thrilled—laughing and talking about the views they’ll see—while you stay quieter than usual, taking deep breaths to calm your nerves.

You tug at the sleeves of your oversized polo, the fabric bunching slightly in your grip as you focus on steadying your breath. The path to the dock feels longer than it actually is, the sounds of the group’s lively chatter fading into the background. You glance at the shimmering blue water ahead and bite the inside of your cheek.

Max lingers just a few steps behind, and you can feel the weight of his presence even without looking. His footsteps are slow and deliberate, as if he’s watching you closely, waiting for any sign of weakness. You try not to dwell on it, though the image of him smirking at your fear lingers in the back of your mind.

As the group finally boards the yacht, you become hyper-aware of the water surrounding you. The boat rocks gently as everyone gets settled, and you grip the railing tightly, trying to hide your discomfort. Max watches you for a moment before walking past you, his shoulder brushing lightly against yours.

“Relax,” he mutters under his breath, not even looking at you, but there’s something almost reassuring in his tone. You exhale slowly, forcing yourself to take a seat with the others, letting the warmth of the sun and the sound of conversation distract you from the vast ocean around you.

As the yacht pulls away from the dock, you try to focus on the scenery. The Amalfi Coast is breathtaking—cliffs draped in greenery, colorful villas dotting the shoreline, and the ocean sparkling beneath the golden sunlight. Everyone around you laughs and soaks up the beauty of the day, but your hands remain clenched in your lap, your mind preoccupied with the endless expanse of water.

Despite your nervousness, you find yourself stealing glances at Max. He’s sitting at the back of the yacht, one arm draped casually over the side, sunglasses shielding his eyes as he stares out at the water. He looks so at ease, completely unaffected by the swaying of the boat or the openness of the sea.

The breeze picks up, ruffling your hair, and as you turn your attention back to the group, you feel the yacht slow down. Mila claps her hands, announcing that they’ve anchored near a beautiful cove, perfect for swimming.

Your stomach drops.

Everyone begins shedding layers, excitement buzzing through the group as they prepare to jump into the water. You stay seated, gripping the edge of your chair as they leap overboard, laughter echoing around you.

Max stands, pulling off his shirt and revealing the defined muscles of his back and shoulders. Your eyes linger for a moment longer than you intend. He catches your gaze just before he moves toward the edge of the yacht, that same smirk playing on his lips.

“You coming in?” he asks, his voice low, almost challenging.

You shake your head quickly, offering a small laugh. “No, I think I’ll just… stay here and enjoy the sun.”

Max arches an eyebrow, clearly not buying your excuse, but he doesn’t push it. He gives you one last look, his smirk still in place, before diving effortlessly into the water.

You watch as your friends giggle and enjoy themselves. Mila waves up at you, and you give her a fake salute. She giggles and goes back to swimming. A few minutes later, several members of the group come up to take a break, Max among them. You hate to admit it, but you watch the water droplets roll off him, his cheeks flushed from the sun, and a tight feeling blooms in your core as you force yourself to look away.

The group is lively, and at one point, Jamie, always the instigator, starts playfully shoving friends toward the edge of the boat, teasing and laughing. You stand at the back, watching, hoping to stay out of the chaos.

But in a moment of playful exuberance, Jamie swings his arm and accidentally nudges you forward. Time seems to slow as you lose your balance, and before you can even process what’s happening, you tumble over the side of the yacht. The water crashes around you, and as you hit the surface, the cold rush envelops you, sending panic gripping your chest. Instinctively, you kick your legs, but the water pulls you under, and you flail in confusion. The world above disappears, and the muffled sounds of laughter and splashing fade into silence.

Just as you start to lose hope, a strong arm wraps around your waist, pulling you back to the surface. You gasp for air, blinking the water from your eyes, and find yourself face-to-face with Max. His expression is intense, irritation etched on his features.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he snaps, though his grip is steady and reassuring as he keeps you afloat.

You can’t help but laugh nervously, trying to shake off the fear. “I didn’t want to go in!” you manage to sputter, still clinging to him for dear life.

Max rolls his eyes, the frown returning, though it’s softer this time. “You need to stop thrashing around,” he says, his voice lower now.

As he helps you back onto the yacht, the warmth of the sun hits your damp skin once more. Laughter and cheers erupt from the group as they realize you’re okay, but Max’s presence is the only thing that matters to you in this moment. He doesn’t say anything; his expression remains unreadable as he sets you down.

You catch your breath, water dripping from your hair and running down your arms. “Thanks, Max,” you say, trying to brush off the embarrassment. His usual smirk is absent, and for a split second, you wonder if maybe—just maybe—he cares.

But as soon as you’re on the boat, he steps back, leaving you with the others. “Try not to drown next time,” he says, his tone flat as he pulls his shirt back on, the fabric clinging to his damp skin. It feels more like a reflex than a genuine jab, but you let it slide, laughing it off. “I’ll try my best.”

He turns away, and you can’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment. You shake your head, trying to focus on the laughter around you as Jamie and Mila check to make sure you’re okay. “Really, I’m fine,” you assure them, even as your heart races from the close call.

Just like that, everyone goes back to normal. Lunch is served, and as the yacht heads back to the dock under the fading light, you’re the first one off, eager to touch solid ground once more. You don’t bid anyone goodnight; you’re all too tired for that. You head upstairs to your room, closing the door behind you and shrugging off your damp polo and swimsuit. You hop in the shower, rinsing the salt water off your skin.

After your shower, the soft sound of knocking pulls you from your thoughts. You wrap yourself in a towel and open the door to find Mila standing there, concern etched across her features.

“Hey, just wanted to check on you,” she says, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. Her eyes scan your face, searching for any signs of distress. “That fall looked pretty rough.”

You chuckle softly, waving it off. “I’m fine, really. Just a little embarrassed.”

Mila raises an eyebrow, a sly smile creeping onto her face. “You sure it’s not because of Max? I saw the way he pulled you out of the water. It looked pretty… intimate.”

The mention of Max sends a warmth flooding through you, one that you quickly dismiss. “Oh, please. He was just being a jerk, as usual.”

She smirks, crossing her arms. “Or maybe he just likes the attention.”

“Yeah, right,” you scoff, but a small part of you can’t help but wonder if there’s more to it. “He’s just… Max. You know how he is.”

Mila studies you for a moment, trying to read between the lines. “Well, just think about it. He’s not always the way he acts, you know?”

With that, she leaves, and you find yourself lost in thought, her words echoing in your mind. What if Max really did care?

Later that night, curiosity gets the better of you. You stand in front of Max’s door, your heart racing as you knock softly.

“Come in,” he calls, and you push the door open cautiously. He’s lounging on his bed, scrolling through his phone, and for a moment, you’re struck by how at home he looks.

“Hey,” you say, your voice soft. “I just wanted to thank you… for earlier.”

Max looks up, a flicker of something in his gaze before he masks it with indifference. “You mean for saving your ass?” he quips, his smirk returning. “Don’t mention it.”

You roll your eyes, stepping further into the room. “You know, for someone who supposedly doesn’t care, you sure have a funny way of showing it.”

His expression shifts, annoyance flickering across his features. “What do you want me to do? Throw you a parade for not drowning?”

“Maybe just a little acknowledgment would be nice,” you counter, crossing your arms defensively.

He stands, taking a step closer, and the air between you crackles with tension. “I don’t like how sweet you are,” he says, his tone sharp. “It’s annoying.”

“Annoying?” you challenge, feeling a rush of defiance. “Is that really all you’ve got? Because it sounds like you’re just scared of someone actually caring.”

Max’s eyes darken, and for a moment, you think he might snap back. But instead, he steps even closer, invading your personal space. “You think you’re so great, don’t you? All sunshine and rainbows, but it doesn’t work with me.”

Before you can respond, he closes the distance, and suddenly, his lips are on yours—fervent and demanding. His warmth envelops you, slightly chapped against your own, igniting a spark that sends a thrill coursing through your entire body. You’re caught off guard at first, but your instincts take over, and you melt into the kiss, feeling his hands slide around your waist, pulling you closer.

As the kiss deepens, you wrap your arms around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair. He presses you against the door, his body firm and solid against yours, radiating heat that makes your pulse quicken. The kiss is intoxicating; every second stretches into eternity—his lips moving against yours in a dance that feels both wild and tender.

When you finally pull away, breathless, your heart races as you search his eyes. “Wait… Max—”

He leans in again, his breath mingling with yours, heavy with longing. “You taste sweet,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky, a smirk tugging at his lips.

A rush of warmth floods your cheeks at his words. “Is that all you have to say?” you tease, a smile breaking through your fluster.

Max steps back slightly, his hands still resting on your hips as he watches you intently. “What do you want me to say? That I’m an asshole who can’t help but want you?”

The air between you buzzes with unspoken tension—a mix of frustration and attraction. You feel exhilarated yet confused, unable to ignore the thrill of being this close to him, the chemistry crackling like electricity.

“Maybe you could start by admitting you actually care,” you challenge softly, a playful glint in your eyes.

“Maybe,” he replies, a hint of seriousness in his tone before leaning in again, capturing your lips with his. This time, it’s even more intense; his hands grip your waist as he deepens the kiss, pulling you impossibly closer, as if he can’t get enough of you.

But as the moment stretches on, you pull back slightly, breathless. “Max—”

He leans in again, and you find yourself needing to physically stop him, your hands resting on his chest. “Wait, we can’t just—”

“Why not?” he presses, his voice low and needy, his eyes dark with desire. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.”

You’re both panting, caught in an electric moment. “You’re infuriating, you know that?” you say, a smile creeping onto your lips despite the chaos swirling around you.

Max smirks, his expression softening just a fraction. “Yeah, but you like it.” He crashes his lips against yours once more, and as he pulls away, he runs his tongue along his lower lip, a boyish smirk breaking through. “Sweet like honey,” he teases, prompting you to laugh and tilt your head back. Without thinking, you pull him down by his shirt collar, kissing him again, lost in the moment.

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