#so simple just one syllable but the look on his face every time

[trentcrimminallybeautiful]

i think ted has a million pet names and endearments for trent (ranging from sweetheart/darling/baby to his usual silly pun nicknames lol) and trent loves them all, they all make him smile and feel warm n fuzzy inside. and i think trent is the opposite; a majority of the time he just calls ted his name but he infuses it with such warmth and obvious love/admiration/adoration, so much warmth and affection packed into a single syllable, that it feels like an endearment all the same, and it makes ted glow anyway

[webism]

pornstar!choso has a curated look that throws off a lot of his costars. strong build, straight-set face, hands made to choke and tear… most of those he film with don’t expect to be doted on the entire time.

people joke that pornstar!choso falls a little bit in love with every costar he fucks or gets fucked by. that glossy look that always pulls at his face by the time a scene ends, how his lip trembles with a need to be kissed raw when he cums. he says it's just the bliss of his orgasm—that he gets emotional in the moment, but it doesn't mean anything. well, until he meets you.

pornstar!choso who looks you up before his shoot because your name sounded vaguely familiar when it left his agents lips. he could have sworn you'd fucked before, because when he rolls the syllables of your name on his tongue they're nostalgic and taste like the sweat and laboured breaths of a long night between satin sheets. had you shot a scene together before? or had it been a one night stand?

pornstar!choso who realises that no, he hadn't slept with you before. but the familiarity of your name isn't a coincidence—he's fucked his fist to your videos more times than he can count. your name hits him like lightning, he had typed it into his search bar late in the night, cock hard and in need of instant relief. it's almost scary how well he knows you, what sounds you make when you get close to cumming, how you often arch your back and try to run from the overwhelming pleasure, how your eyebrows knit together when you're feeling so good it almost hurts.

pornstar!choso who realises with a now-red face that you probably don't have a clue who he is, and yet he's cum in time with you for months now. he's pretty sure he's drained his wallet at least twice on your cam shows... what if you recognise his name and piece it together with his username that he donates under? he debates cancelling the shoot, faking covid to get some time at home to hate himself endlessly.

but pornstar!choso realises that this is his chance to get to know how you really feel. he's imagined it so many times, as he fucked fake pussies or his closed fist using spit or his own cum as lube. you'd be warmer, undoubtedly tighter... so much prettier. and he wants to know more: would you prefer to take control and turn him into the toys he so often pretends are you? would you lay back all pretty and let him ruin you on his cock? how deep could you take him he knows he's big but you seem so eager, would you take him to the base with ease or would he have to force it in? bully your pretty pussy until it stretches to his shape?

pornstar!choso who hates the fact that your first, and possibly only, time together would be in front of a production crew and under the unsympathetic lights of a porn set. but he'd fuck on a stage in front of thousands if it means a taste of you.

pornstar!choso who makes it to the shoot before you do, comes ten minutes early to settle his anxieties and get a feel for the scene ahead. the director tells him its a simple shoot, that choso is meant to let you ride him for a while until you pull off and suck his cock for a nice close-up facial shot. the way the director speaks so clinically about sex with you makes choso grimace, he feels pathetic for feeling like this. like he'll be a changed man after feeling you around his cock, which is already painfully hard.

pornstar!choso who hates himself for stumbling over his words when he meets you. he wishes he had never looked you up, though he doesn't doubt seeing your pretty face like this would have wrecked his confidence regardless. you're kind, greet him with a shy smile as if he isn't about to slip balls deep inside of you.

pornstar!choso who, once he has you sitting on top of him on that bed—cameras pointed dutifully as you start to play your role and hike your skirt up so you can sink down on his cock—he can't handle the thought of fucking you like it's nothing, like it's not been the crux of his fantasies in the dark hours at night.

pornstar!choso who, probably to the detriment of his career, pushes you backwards onto the bed and connects his lips to yours in a kiss that surpasses every single fantasy he's had in his mind. you taste good, and he wants more. he speaks against your lips, asks whines a question that makes your stomach coil. 'can i eat you out first? please?'

pornstar!choso who is chided by the production team as he gets his head under your skirt and laps at your pussy in the most desperate act of need he thinks he's ever displayed. those that claim he falls in love with each shoot would be wholly correct in this case: he is in love with the taste of you, with the way your legs trap him in and ask for more. he could eat you for hours, run his tongue from your clit to dip it inside of you in reverence of the goddess he believes you to be. and you laugh at the absurdity of his hunger, at the courage it takes to run off script, and the pure need in which he eats you out.

pornstar!choso who only stops once the director threatens to cut the scene entirely. his cock hurts with how hard it is though, and he thinks the redirection of blood has made him lightheaded, because when he's made to sit back and let you sink down onto his length he swears he meets god.

pornstar!choso who can't help his whines as you ride him, an addiction already laying down roots in his brain. he has to try and think of anything less godly than you to hold on to his orgasm though, because the combination of your body and having subconsciously trained himself to associate you with climaxing is all too strong, and he's a hairs breadth away from cumming prematurely and ruining the scene.

pornstar!choso who realises as you continue, however, that your moans arent the same as he's heard them before, though the speakers of his phone. you're more breathy with him, your moans are less honeyed, more raw—as if coming from your chest rather than your throat. he wonders for a moment if he's not good enough, if you're having to fake your pleasure to save face for the cameras. but you're soaked, and even above the sounds of your shared pleasure he can still hear the squelch of his cock rutting in and out of you.

but before pornstar!choso can question himself further, your eyes are widening and you're latching a hand onto his throat as your pace increases. he can feel the way you tighten impossibly around him, the way your hips stutter and your pupils blow out with lust—you're cumming. and of course he remembers his instructions, to let you climb off of him and take his load over your face... but you're not climbing off of him.

pornstar!choso who understands the pointed look you manage to give him, that it's your turn to bypass the scene direction. you want to be greedy, to feel him finish inside of you, even through the confines of a condom. your moans arent fake, they're the first real ones you've let sound on a porn set—and choso is pulling them from your lungs like a choir's conductor.

pornstar!choso who can't last a minute longer, now with the way you lean in and coax him to climax with your voice, the soft praise that leaves your lips is an aphrodisiac and all too powerful. he sees stars when he cums, full blown galaxies too complex to imagine. call it an out-of-body experience or not, but choso is lost in his orgasm for long enough to warrant you bringing him back down with a soft kiss to his lips. he looks sinful: his hairs come loose, messy and stuck to his forehead. his eyes, though, are what's going to be the subject of a few screenshots taken by his fans: he looks totally infatuated.

pornstar!choso who, after taking a few minutes to settle himself after the shoot, watches as you walk over to him, a very pretty smile pulling at the corner of your lips before you lean down and peck his lips goodbye. he assumes it's the last he'll see of you, that there's no way he's worthy of every tasting you again. that night, he's scared to brush his teeth, to lose the way you linger on his tongue.

pornstar!choso who debates fucking his fist to the memory of you in bed that night. he thinks you've ruined masturbation for him, or sex in general: nothing could quite be the same. and as if its a sign from god that he's done enough good in his life to deserve some positive karma, his phone dings.

a photo of you, a pretty vibrator laid over your stomach. your laptop open in the background, his porn playing on the screen.

attached, a message that makes the poor boy cum in his pyjama bottoms. 'lets meet up again. i want to tie you up and film how stupid you get with a vibe strapped to your cock—a movie just for us, though. no audience.'

pt 2 in the works :p

[loveindefinitely]

task force 141 with a controversially young civilian girlfriend.

-> mentions of large age-gaps, referenced sexual content, alcohol use. afab!fem!reader. minor dubcon (everyone's drunk.)

thinking that you're studying in uni. working on the side to try and afford rent and, if you're lucky, some noodles every other night. you don't really get seen compared to your friends, who go out clubbing and spend their spare time on dating apps.

one time, your friend drags you to a bar. not usually your scene, considering its clientele is more for tradies, and military-type men. not like the stuck-up blue collar boys at your uni.

cue you getting drunk off your ass, barely even standing, when you bump into one johhny mactavish.

he holds your elbows, your chest crashing into his. gentle with it, too -- kind and sweet and grounding.

"y'alright, lass?" he asks, a small smirk on his face, eyes darting across your frame greedily. he, in all fairness, looks nearly as drunk as you. he stumbles a little with your weight.

you giggle, tilting your head to look at him. say something stupid like, "you don't look like a student."

his brows raise, his dimples deepen. "aye, very smart, hen."

you preen with the compliment, a cheesy grin stuck to your face. you make no move to stand up and leave. you think your friend just left with a guy anyways.

johnny moves you, muscled arm around your waist as he takes you to a booth.

three other men sit in it, only one looking somewhere in a ten-year age bracket to you. they're all impossibly large, filling out the space with ease. your stomach swoops, but you easily blame the alcohol.

manoeuvring you so you sit in his lap, johnny's hand is a comforting weight on your waist. he huffs a laugh.

"didn't realise we were goin' for jailbait, soap," the youngest one chimes, dark features shining in the pub's dim light. his eyes trail your frame silkily.

you can't stop the roll of your eyes -- your inhibitions have made you senseless. "'m not, 'm completely," you drag out the syllables, "legal."

a hand on your thigh makes you jolt, and when you look over, a blonde man with a black medical mask raises an unimpressed brow. "got a problem, kid?"

you shoot him a weak glare. "not a kid. weirdo."

the arm around your waist tightens, as does the weirdo's hand encompassing your thigh.

"not scared of anythin', are you darl'?" the final man in the booth asks, hands folded together where they rest at the table. he looks at least double your age, and that simple fact along with his drawling words has your core tightening.

"what's there to be scared of?" you ask, stupidly. your head tilts to the side, unknowingly moving to rest on johnny's shoulder. he doesn't comment.

"miss bein' young and drunk," gaz sighs, hand softly gripping the gin sat on the table in front of him.

"you look young," your brows furrow, not understanding. how old could he really be, to act so nostalgic of your current predicament? "how old are you guys?"

it's an embarrassing question -- makes you feel like a child all over again. but your interest is quickly peaking, and your need for answers overpowers your need for decorum.

johnny's the one to answer, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers.

"gaz, the pretty one over there, he's twenty-eight," he murmurs, heat stirring low in your gut as you nod mindlessly, meeting gaz's eyes.

johnny stokes his thumb over the skin of your hip, and you curl into him further -- stranger be damned.

"i'm thirty," he hums, and god, he sounds so fucking sensual you're about to melt into his arms. if you aren't already.

"the guy in the mask?" said man's hand tightens impossibly against your skin, fingers just shy of grazing your aching pussy, "he's thirty-seven. got a lot of experience, aye?"

you shudder.

"what about you?" you end up voicing, shyly meeting the last man's gaze. he takes a slow sip of his whiskey.

he leans back into the cushion, eyeing you carefully.

"forty-three."

your thighs squeeze together, and fuck, if that's not a turn-on. no matter how unsafe you should feel, surrounded by four military-grade, older men, it only manages to have you wet beyond belief.

all you can manage is one question.

"take me home?"

[reidrum]

glory of the snow

note: the return of insecure!reader my beloved <3 i had a bunch of requests to bring her back so i hope we like it! this is really just a gentle reminder from spencer that we should be kinder to ourselves. also i wanted to have them actually fuck but it didn't seem right to fit that in here so ,,, part 2 question mark who is to say. anyways my inbox is always open for any thoughts, comments, questions, musings all of it! love y'all mwah

summary: you freak out when spencer walks in on you accidentally, and he just loves you too much to let it go

cw: smut 18+ minors dni, fingering, masturbation (r, just mentions), heavy petting/kissing, comfort, talks of intimacy issues, self-deprecating reader

wc: 3k

“Oh, sweet girl.”

Three words, maybe two and one syllable, that in any other instance would have had you melting into a puddle at the softness it reared. Words that have so easily turned you into a preening cat but are now aimed at you, albeit no judgement from his end, with no room for escape.

Spencer had come home after a long day of paperwork when he first heard it. He would have brushed it off if it didn’t happen again moments later, and louder. Concerned, he walks toward the bedroom, a flush rushing to his face as he comes to recognize what it is. A small crack of the door allowed him the glorious sight of you in the center of the bed, hand between your legs, eyes shut in ecstasy. You’re mesmerizing to him and he really can’t bring himself to look away, and he doesn’t notice himself subconsciously leaning on the door causing a faint creak that alarmed you to his presence. In that moment, however, he’s less worried about scaring you, and more about the overwashing look of shame on your face.

The soft creak of the door pulled you out of your daze, screaming when you saw the figure behind the door. Your eyes are bulging out of their sockets nearly, heartbeat still racing with adrenaline from when you haphazardly threw the blanket over yourself. You were conflicted, but getting caught doing something that is a common and completely normal instance in relationships really shouldn’t make you feel this guilty. Although you do know the guilt was created by a previous version of you where you had told Spencer that you wanted to take the pace of your relationship slowly, and had little to no desire to engage in such activities for the time being. Or so you said.

He cautiously steps closer, careful not to startle you further, “I’m not upset, or anything.”

You’re not upset either, you’re mortified. “I lied to you.”

“You did…but I don’t think you meant to, right?”

There had been a time where you were tangled all up in him, and poor Spencer, his hands were in the wrong place at the wrong time to no fault of his own and entirely yours, and your shutdown was unavoidable. The blood in your veins seized up like crystallizing water turning into ice, paralyzing both the physical and mental before you could realize.

Intimacy for you was a complicated concept. While it wasn’t novel or unwanted, physical intimacy was something you struggled to accept with open arms. Call it a consequence of your self perception, but it was hard to accept the soft touch of love when you felt like you didn’t deserve it. Spencer never minded, although his heart ached to make you see yourself the way he saw you, he was always more than willing to meet you where you were.

It almost pains you with how understanding Spencer was of the whole situation because you knew any other person would be deeply upset. Every other person was upset.

Spencer never was just any other person, you suppose.

“I don’t know how to explain this.” Another lie, you could easily explain the reason.

It’s not that you weren’t ready, it’s that you didn’t feel like you looked ready. The thought of subjecting Spencer to the one dark cornerstone of your being in the early days of being together seemed illogical and burdensome, and so it was more simple to play it off as wanting to take a slow pace.

But, as biology would see it you have needs and your boyfriend just happens to be so detrimentally attractive that the simplest act has been sending you into a hot fit as of late. The culprit this time was an innocent mirror picture of him at the store trying on new trousers. You had no chance.

You had found that your intimacy issues lie within extending it to others, and less with yourself. The solution of you finding release on your own quickly became a habit when you realized there was no fear on your own. There’s no one to let down if you’re alone.

Spencer perches at the foot of the bed, flat hand outstretched on the blanket towards you but keeping a comfortable distance, “You don’t have to explain anything, honey.”

“No I know, but—fuck—I should.” you bury your face, choosing to only speak to him from behind your hands for now, maybe forever.

He takes a moment to take inventory of your physical being—you don’t look in pain. Clearly you didn’t sound in pain. Your face is flushed, and though he’s sitting a little far from you, the heat radiating from your body hits him like a space heater.

“Sweetheart…I’m not upset.” he repeats, in hopes a reminder might provide reassurance.

It doesn’t. “You’re never upset at me, it’s concerning.” you mumble.

“You make it kind of hard to be upset at you, ever really.” Spencer braves and lays a hand on your leg.

You take a deep breath, the cold of his hand grounding you more and more. Spencer senses the calm it’s bringing you and rubs circles into your calf.

“Can you tell me what you’re feeling?” he asks gently.

What are you even feeling? You ponder for a moment—anxious, nervous, bad.

“Embarrassed.”

“Honey, there’s nothing embarrassing about masturbating. In fact, it’s more than healthy to do it to keep cortisol levels low,” he explains, “I just don’t know why you didn’t…want to tell me.”

The guilt swirls in your gut, hearing the twinge of hurt buried beneath the comfort he’s laid out for you. He just wants to help you, but you won’t let him in and that hurts him more.

“It’s more complicated than that.”

“How so?”

“It’s just…I…Look it’s…You’re just so hot—“ you slip out, clamping your hand over your mouth before leaking any more intrusive thoughts.

A faint smirk ghosts his face, “I’m…hot?”

“No—Well, yes. I just…ugh.”

“Okay, okay calm down,” he scoots closer and gently brings the hands covering your eyes to rest in your lap, “You don’t need to be all secretive, you know I’d never judge you.”

“I know,”

“I just thought you wanted to wait.”

“I do.”

“But, not with me? It’s okay if it's not with me.”

“Spence, I do. It’s not that.”

“Am I missing something?”

You gulp, “I just…it’s a personal problem. With me. Not you.”

His brows furrow, “Like what, baby? Do you need to see a doctor?”

“Yeah, if a doctor can fix my shoddy self esteem and make me like myself again.” you chuckle.

He doesn’t laugh. 

The pause he takes seems to be ages long before he speaks again, “Angel, how long have you been feeling like that?”

You’ve been caught red-handed, water filling up the tank faster than you can tread, “It’s nothing, I was just joking.”

“Hey,” he says with a rare firmness, “How. Long?”

You deflate under his hard gaze, “A…while…long enough… for it to feel like a…like a default setting, I guess.” you trail off.

Spencer couldn’t hide the hurt on his face if he tried. Not hurt from your lack of admission, hurt that you had felt like this for so long, dealt with this for so long on your own, and he didn’t even know.

All he ever hoped and wanted was for you to be happy, and if he could be the source of that he would ask for nothing more in life. So to hear about you struggling with this, that you felt like you had to keep it to yourself, was heartbreaking.

Spencer remains in his head a little too long as he’s broken out of it by your small voice, “Are you sure you’re not mad?”

He sighs and moves to sit next to you, making sure he stays above the blanket for your comfort. His back is against the headboard of the bed, and he raises his arm a little, gesturing for you to fill the you shaped crevice. You hesitantly move into the space, hating how you feel every move you’re making is calculated, but all of that goes away the second your head meets his chest and his hand comes up to comb through your hair, the other smoothing your arm down, and all you’re left with is him.

“I promise I’m not mad,” he whispers softly, “Just wish you told me. I would have helped you.” He’s intentional in his wording—would, and not could. Could implies he has a choice, a want to do or not do something. I could have helped you, or I could have not helped you. Would is finite, he is doing it because it is programmed in him that caring for you is a need. I would have helped you because it is the only thing I know to be certifiably true, that you deserve to be cared for.

“It sounds stupid out loud but I was afraid you wouldn’t like me the same if you saw me like…that. It seemed logical for me to remove that option altogether.”

His heart aches painfully, and he wishes he could take everyone who’s made you feel that way to target practice. “You are the most beautiful girl in the world. I would spend every day of my life proving that to you.” he utters with unequivocal resolve.

You sigh out shakily, “You’re too kind to me.”

“I’m always kind to you. You deserve kindness. You deserve a lot of things actually…” he trails off.

“Like what?” you ask.

“Well, did you um—” he trails. You look at him quizzically, he continues, “Like before I came in did you…finish?”

Oh. “Oh. I…I don’t think I did, actually. It’s okay though, no big deal.”

He stares at you intently, “Do you want to?”

Your eyes widen, “Spence oh, no it’s okay really you don’t have to do that.  

“You’re encouraged to say no if you feel even an ounce of doubt, but I’m offering because I love you and I want to show you that you can feel safe with me, even when you feel otherwise.”

The familiar sting returns to your eyes as the tears pool up. You’re not used to anyone putting this much effort and concern for your comfort, it’s a novel feeling but if Spencer is willing to handle you with as much care as he is, you’re ready to welcome that sentiment in with open arms.

“Yeah, yes.” you waver.

He grins and leans down, gingerly pressing his lips to yours. His hand ghosts from your calf to your knee, testing the water before moving more intent. An unwelcome yet familiar onset slowly rises, trying to break through to you, “Wait—“

He retracts his hand immediately, “You okay? We can stop if you need to.”

You shake your head. “No, no I’m fine. I just need a second.” you breath out, trying to self regulate. 

He pulls back his hand but you stop him, “No keep it there, it helps. I just…” You don’t know how to phrase it. You think it’s because you’re not in control. When you’re alone it’s only you at the helm calling the shots. But when it really comes down to it, the lack of control is nothing compared to the lack of predictability that comes with the former. Explaining that out loud was daunting to even think about.

Yet Spencer understands what you need, because he always knows what you need. His hand returns to your knee, giving it a soft squeeze, “You tell me to stop whenever you need to.”

He continues kissing you while smoothing his hand up your leg, making wide and sweeping motions across the plush of your thigh so you can feel where he is and where his hand is going. The gesture is comforting and makes you feel grounded, but your head is in a dreamy haze at how good Spencer’s hands feel on you.

The haze leaves through your lips as Spencer feels you sigh against him, feeling you relax more and more as the seconds go by. His hand reaches your upper thigh, fingers ghosting on the inside. “Is this okay?”

You nod, feeling your nerves idling like a distant wave in the ocean. But Spencer’s presence is a lighthouse shining through the fog and guiding you to his shores while the calm washes over you.

His fingers lightly trace the fabric of your panties, ones that you had slid back up your hips upon his entrance into the room. The motion causes you to jump and he pulls back to gauge your reaction. When he sees no fear in your eyes, more so stunned by your wide eyed gaze, his fingers move with more precision, adding more pressure to your clothed core.

A gentle gasp leaves you as he strokes up and down your slit. You’ve given up on continuing to kiss him, the feeling of his hands being too overwhelming to have both sensations at the same time. You tuck your head into the crook of his neck, your body involuntarily curving towards him as he draws symbols on you with his index. Your breathing gets heavier and faster the longer he goes, and soon small moans begin to escape you.

He drags his finger to the top of your panties and toys with the band, faintly asking, “You still with me, sweet girl?” You preen into the crevice of his neck as he keeps talking, “Want me to keep going?” 

He feels you nodding into him as you breathlessly whisper, “Please.”

His finger dips below the fabric and travels down to your entrance, gathering the slickness and spreading it all over you. “Fuck,” he curses softly, “Look how wet you are, baby.”

You whimper at his words and Spencer ascends to the heavens if there even is one, and if there is it’s the one where you sound like that for him. He circles back up to your clit, paying special attention to the bundle of nerves before sliding back your slit and repeating the whole sequence a few more times.

Your moans are coming out at a steady pace, and he’s been prodding around your entrance for some time now, teasing and edging you closer. “Gonna put a finger in now, okay? Doing so good for me, baby.” he murmurs.

The feeling of his finger entering you is satiating. But it’s not enough, and you need more. “Spence,” you manage to get out, “Can take another one, please.” His eyes shut tight as he revels in your desperation for him, and how cynical he must be to love having you at his mercy this much. He would confess the darkest of sins if you asked him in that tone, and he has no choice but to oblige. He stifles a groan at how easily the second finger slid in, his other hand moving up to play with your hair and cradle your head close to his chest as he works his ministrations.

The familar coil builds in your gut, but at an intensity you’ve never felt before. His fingers move in and out of you urgently, his thumb returning to your clit. He’s a man determined to get you there, and your moans and cries of his name only spur him on further. After a few minutes your moans and cries turn into whines and babbles, and he knows you’re close.

His head leans down to croon in your ear, “Shh, it’s okay. I got you, sweet girl. You can come, ‘m right here.”

It’s enough to push you over the edge and you come harder than you ever have on your own, the waves of your climax overtaking you completely. Spencer continues to pump his fingers through your orgasm, talking you the whole way down. Mutters of praises and kisses flow through your subconscious as the euphoria high takes its peak and you come back down to this realm.

His hand smoothes your hair back as you continue to pant against his chest, words unable to find you.

“You okay?”

You finally catch your breath, “That was—fuck—the most insane orgasm I have ever had.”

Spencer beams at this. For one, his obvious and impressive skills that have stunned you into oblivion. And two, because you look so relaxed. The stark difference of your anxiety filled face from when he first came into the room to the blissed out daze you have right now makes his heart swell five sizes up.

He hugs you closer and whispers, “I’m so proud of you, angel. Thank you for trusting me.”

Sleep is fighting you hard as you laugh airily and tuck yourself under his arm again, “I don’t know why I thought that would be scarier.”

He sighs, his smile faltering but still fond, “Past experiences and self perception complicate the anxiety around sex and intimacy. It’s a natural response based on your lived experiences.”

“Oh.” you mutter, slight deject in your tone.

“But we can work on it, if you want.” he adds, “It’s all up to you with what you’re comfortable with and how you want to do it. If you’ll allow me, I’d love to help you in any way I can, angel.”

You really don’t know how you got so lucky. Someone so kind, and patient, and willing to be with you as you navigate these things you normally would have kept to yourself. You feel grateful to be able to bare a piece of yourself to him, and know that he would receive it with open arms, wrapping it up and handling it with as much care as he can bear.

You cuddle closer, and mumble before your eyes succumb to sleep, “Love you. So much.”

Spencer looks down maybe two seconds later and you’re already out like a light. He chuckles softly to himself and whispers, “I love you more than you’ll ever know, sweet girl. Good night.”

[no-144444]

chapter two: driver no.4- ln4

summary: lando norris was a preppy asshole in secondary school, and you were the girl he despised. years later, you're a hot-shot sports lawyer rewriting the rules of the sport he calls home, and your paths cross, whether you want them to or not.

pairing: lando norris x fem! lawyer! reader

a/n: anything in orange and bold is the past

𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟𓆝

You stared at the floor as you waited for him to come out of the cool down room. God, it was strange. Everything that had surrounded you for the past year of your life had been his world. Motorsport. His sport. It was maddening. You hated how, at every corner, you saw his stupid fucking face. You hated how he was praised for being a whiny little bitch. You hated how he got special treatment from the British press (like all other British drivers). You hated his stupid smirking face, and unfortunate mullet. 

You hated how much you remembered from school, the most. 

He burst through the door, dripping champagne, trophy in one hand, bottle in the other, and a smug smile on his face. 

You continued looking down, this time taking out your notepad. 

“Congratulations,” you said, deadpanned, heading your page with ‘Driver No.4’. 

He stared at your page. “I think we’re past numbers,” he chuckled. You didn’t. 

“How was your race today?” you asked using your best customer service voice. He bit his lip to stop himself from laughing. 

“Good,” he nodded, and you scribbled something he couldn’t see on the page. Will walked in and closed the door behind him. 

“What happened to his brakes?” you questioned. 

“Well they just started-”

“I wasn’t asking you, No.4. I was asking Will,” you told him, your voice void of any and all judgement. Just simple and clear, I’m not talking to you. He scoffed, pulling off his boots as Will went into a long-winded explanation and you furiously wrote. He’d never understand how you wrote and typed so fast, it was like… magic. Next, he pulled off his shirt, and next his suit, leaving him only in his boxers. He snuck a glance at you as he changed, but you were busy writing. Writing, writing, writing. He wondered if you did anything else. He pulled on a new race suit, his own shoes, but kept the fireproof off, just wondering what you’d do. 

“No.4, do you feel that you were unfairly penalised by the FIA or stewards at any point during the race?” You asked, turning your attention to him.

He shook his head as Will left the room again. The calm atmosphere left with him. “No, for once.”

You nodded, continuing your writing. God, the sound of that pen against paper, it drove him crazy. “And did you feel that anyone else should’ve been penalised where they weren’t?” 

“Why won’t you look at me?” He questioned. 

“I don’t need to look at you to know who I’m talking to,” you answered diplomatically. “I know who’s room I walked into, and I know exactly who’s in front of me.”

“You know my voice that well?” He teased. Your grip on your pen tightened.  

“You seem to like the sound of your own voice, and I just so happen to be around to hear it often,” you said, your tone short. Subtle dig from you, but he smiled all the same.

“I think Charles should’ve been made to come in and change his wing,” he answered after thinking about it for a few seconds. More writing. 

“And why is that?” 

And he was silent, feeling the way your hidden disdain for him emanated from you with every syllable. He enjoyed this, getting under your skin. He just wished you got under his skin less. 

He wanted you to look at him, and Lando Norris got what he wanted. 

“I asked you a question, Driver 4,” you sighed. “If you need a few moments to yourself I can step outside-“

“I want you to look at me,” he repeated. “You haven’t looked at me once since you came in here.”

And the request was set. The tension in the air dissipated for a moment, but you huffed, and it was back. 

“I seem to need to repeat myself, Driver 4, I said that I didn’t need to look at you to know who I’m speaking to.” 

Driver 4. That stung coming from you. He had a name, a name you knew well. A name you used just days ago. 

“What do you call the team bosses?” He questioned. 

“Are you unable to answer my questions, Driver 4?” You shot back. Your voice was so plain, yet so cutting. He hit him deep in his chest that he was just another number to you, another statistic. He couldn’t be, not after your history. He refused to be.

“Can you answer mine?” 

“Only if your questions are relevant to the race today,”you explained everything like you thought he wasn’t smart enough. He knew he wasn’t smart enough for you, he’d always known. But he missed the pitying looks and offers of help. He missed when you cared that he was helpless. 

“Why won’t you look at me?” He demanded. 

“Is that information to do with your racing experience today-?”

He hated how easily you put on ‘the face’ for him. You were supposed to be finding this as difficult as he was. You were supposed to be suffering like he was. “Do you call Toto ‘Mercedes Petronas F1 Team Principal’?” He gritted out. You were quiet, just rolling your eyes (not that he could see). “What do you call Zak?” 

“What I call my other clients is none of your business No.4 -” 

He then slammed a hand down onto his desk. “You know my name!” He raised his voice. The power had shifted, you were in control. As always. “Y/n, you know my name.” 

You finally looked up from your notes, not because he’d asked you to. Not because you particularly wanted to either, but you knew how he’d react. You saw the way his eyes widened, the way he couldn’t look away. “I do. But all I care about is your racing experience, now please sit down, No.4,” you gestured to his seat, and he did what you asked. 

Not particularly because he wanted to. But because you asked. You asked him, and he did it without question. The way your eyes followed him made him gulp. Maybe he should’ve put his fireproof on. 

“Do I need to repeat my previous question?” You asked, your eyes blaring into his. 

He shook his head. “I think it was reckless to be driving with a broken front wing.”

“Is that all?” You questioned, going back to your notebook. 

“Yes,” he answered. 

“You do understand that while we will be taking your answer into account, we will also be extremely aware of the bias you carry when speaking about other drivers in the grid. We understand that it is your job to win, but we are wanting the most unbiased answers. If it had been you, would you have wanted to be penalised for driving a race with a broken front wing?”

“I wouldn’t want to be, but I’d understand if I was,” he explained, gripping onto the edge of his chair like his life depended on it. You were so… commanding. It entranced him.

You stood, gathering your things and his heart dropped. “Thank you for your time, No. 4. I’ll be in touch,” you shook his hand. 

And time stood still. 

Your hand in his, your eyes on his, and his entire body lit up. He could feel his hand burning where you’d touched him. He knew you felt the way his breath caught. He knew you pretended not to care. He was busy hoping it wasn’t pretend. 

“Congratulations on today,” you smiled briefly before leaving him in his empty driver’s room.

And he breathed properly for the first time since you’d walked in. 

𓆝 𓆟

“Where have you been?” Lando asked Oscar, who just walked out of his room, finally changed. Lando had been part of the celebrations for a whole 20 minutes since his interview ended. 

“The interview thing, with the lawyers,” he explained. “Did you forget?”

Lando frowned. “Why did it take so long?”

“She had like 40 questions dude, it was torture,” he sighed, flopping down beside him. 

“Y/n asked me like… 5, or something,” he shrugged, pretending it didn’t annoy him. 

“Yeah, I’m not shocked,” Sierra smiled, joining their conversation. “Gasly, LeClerc, and Hamilton might be disqualified, and she’s so busy with the quarterlies and the team bosses that she’s barely leaving the office nowadays,” she chuckled. “That woman works so hard.” 

Lando felt a sense of pride blossom in his chest. He wasn’t sure why, but hearing others praise you made him feel… good. Unless it was Liam. Fucking Liam. Lando had gone full FBI stalker (with the help of Max and Pietra) on Liam, and his entire instagram was full of pictures of you and the team. He seemed like any regular law bloke, so uninteresting and uninspired. You could do so much better. 

“Oh great, we have a meeting with all the drivers now,” Sierra announced, looking at her phone. “Follow me,” she smiled up at the men. 

Lando followed behind her as she led them to the briefing office, where you sat at the top of the room, Liam beside you as some FIA officials hovered over your shoulder. The room was set up like a courtroom. You were writing viciously as Liam read your points over your shoulder. Charles, Pierre, and Lewis’s buddies were all busy doing the same thing, looking slightly nervous as he realised what was going to happen. 

You turned to the drivers who were walking in. “Hello all, please take a seat,” you smiled pleasantly. “We know you’d all very much rather be on your way home now, but we wanted to show how our system would work, should the FIA choose to implement it,” you explained.  

Liam interjected, smiling beside you. “So please, just sit back, relax, and enjoy the show!”

You chuckled beside him, playfully nudging him. Lando scoffed. No need to be so obvious. 

What followed after was a fucking masterclass in sports law mediation, headed by you, of course. Lando watched in awe as you spoke, completely in your element. You won the case for the FIA on each driver (though LeClerc and Gasly were pretty easy, since they were actually underweight), while all of your trainees fumbled to argue against you. It was hot, though Lando wouldn’t ever admit it. 

Yet you still called him ‘Driver 4’ while you spoke to the room. Everyone else had a name. Everyone else held weight on your lips. But he was just a number. 

𓆝 𓆟

He ran to catch up with you as you were leaving the paddock, the sun setting on the day. 

“I don’t want it to be like this,” he admitted, breathless, as he grabbed onto your arm. You stared at him for a moment. 

“Be like what?” You scoffed, pulling your arm back. 

He did a double take. “What the fuck do you mean?” He cursed. “We used to be friends, Y/n. I want you to be fucking normal with me-“

“I’m being perfectly professional, Driver 4. If you have an issue with how your case is being conducted, you can go to our HR rep, Liam Davidson, or you can ask to switch buddy,” you rattled the words off as you walked, throwing them away as if they meant nothing. 

“I don’t want to switch buddy-“

“Then what’s your problem?” You asked. “Is it something I can help you with?” 

He stared at you for a moment, seeing nothing he recognised in your eyes. You looked cold. You looked strange. You looked wrong. He just wanted you to be normal. That girl he annoyed in Biology. The girl who’d never do anything to hurt him. 

That girl was gone. 

“No,” he answered, his voice coated in emotion. You dropped his hand. 

You looked him over again. You saw the way he wouldn’t look at you, and you saw that tiny kid you knew so well. “Congratulations again. You drove a brilliant race.” 

He nodded. Drove a brilliant race. He took a deep breath.

And he walked away.

𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟

twists and turns masterlist

navigation for my blog :)

[a-spes]

Hi! If you’re taking fic requests, may I request a story with fem!nerd reader whose a loner, paired with popular Wanda, Natasha, or both?

Their friends challenge them to a bet, daring them to make the reader fall for them. As time goes on, they unexpectedly develop real feelings for her. However, on the day the reader confesses to both of them, she discovers the truth, that it was all just a bet, while their friends are present. Reader distances herself, but Wanda and Natasha do everything they can to win her back. Angst and fluff please!

Of course, you don’t have to write this if you’re not comfortable, but thank you regardless! ☺️

A Penny for your Love. (W. M. x N. R. x R.) — Part one. (5.006 words.)

| Tags & Warning — Popular!Natasha Romanoff x Popular!Wanda Maximoff x Looser!Reader. University alternative universe, social anxiety, loneliness, spiralling thoughts, alcohol consumption (just a bit), insecurities (a lot, not gonna lie), cheating (not really), lies, manipulation (or at least not being honest), fluff, angst (a bit).

| A/N — my draft was very (very) long so there will be two parts (or maybe three, i will see). i hope you will enjoy this first part even if it is coming a bit late!

| MAIN MASTERLIST - REQUEST GUIDELINES. — next part.

You were sure that no one would notice if you were not here.

And this statement was not the result of dark thoughts, it was a fact. A conclusion so simple that the realization had been agonizing — how did you not realize this sooner? You always knew you were not outstanding, but you never thought you were so.. disposable.

People do not know your name, and those who see you every day barely remember your face. Yet, it has been almost three years. And even though you knew you could not blame them — how could you? You had never exchanged more than a few words with them — the heaviness this fact had placed on your chest was impossible to shake off.

It was your fault.

You were the one who put yourself in this situation. You were the only one who could be blamed for it and, at the same time, the only one who could get you out of it. But the realization came too late, you kept repeating yourself, at that time, the friendships were already made, and you were sure no one would need — or want — a new one.

You were sure no one was as lonely as you were. 

But that was nothing more than an excuse, a reason not to even try, because the truth was that you didn’t feel up to the task. It should be easy, to exchange a few words with the people you saw every day, for more than two years, but it was not. 

Every time you looked at them, you felt your insides knot up. Every time you thought of exchanging a few words with them, you were petrified, not to mention the few times life had forced you to do so. You had uttered a few words whose syllables had become jumbled, your voice trembling as you were saying the words you would regret for the next few years.

It is no surprise that you did not make any friends. 

You are a mess. 

The voice in your head whispers the same thing again, and again, until you can’t do anything but believe its poisonous words. Your fists clenched until your fingernails leave crescent-shaped marks in your palm, you try to push these thoughts away but, deep down, you know. 

There is some truth in these words. 

It was no coincidence that every one of your attempts at making friends had failed, and not just at university. It has always been that way. The loneliness and the yearning to be a part of their world, two feelings that had been tearing you apart since a very young age. 

But you were used to it by now, even enjoying the loneliness sometimes — It has its advantages. These were also words you kept repeating in a pitiful attempt to comfort yourself, more lies. I do not care, you were saying through gritted teeth but, as you were watching them, you could not ignore the jealousy that was creeping up.

And even though you should not, in these moments, you didn’t want anything more than being one of them. You wanted to be the one who laughs at the jokes one of her friends just told her, even if it was lame. To be the one who didn’t have time to finish her meal because she spent the lunch break chatting. The one who was courageous enough to speak up in class, ask the questions that bloom in her mind and give the answers, even when they were wrong. The one who would not have to worry about the group projects because she would already know who she was going to be with, their eyes meeting before the instructions were even given because it was just as obvious as the color of the sky that they would be a group. 

You yearned to be one of those that were brave enough to live, to exist.

But no matter how much you wanted it, you had never managed to get it. The invisible wall that separated you from them was far too thick to be broken that easily, and so you stayed there, watching them from the other side of what seemed to be a one-way mirror — You could see them, but they were unaware of your existence. 

And because wanting something was not enough to get it, you never managed to do more than touch your dreams with your fingertips. For every step you took forward, you felt like you were making three back afterwards.

You were not getting closer to your dream. 

You were moving away from it, drawing in your own mess. 

The few times you had had the impression of being a part of their world had only been illusions that never lasted long. It was nothing more than fragments of what it could be. 

And you wanted more than that.

More than snatches, what you really wanted was a permanent spot in this sweet universe that was theirs. A place where solitude would not be a constraint, but a choice, and yours. Not one that was made by others because they did not deem you worthy of their time.

But life is not a fairy tale. It is cruel, harsh, and the reality catches up with you faster than you would like when your language teacher announces a group project — In pairs.

You do not even look at your classmates, preferring to avoid their gaze by pretending you are writing something on your notebook — you are not, you are just scribbling circles. But the motion helps you to think about how you are going to formulate your request. This teacher is a bit of a boor, you thought, so there is little chance of her agreeing to you doing this project on your own but maybe, maybe with the right words you could change her mind.

The course is continuing, but you are not listening anymore, unable to think about anything other than this stupid assignment, than the conversation you will have at the end of the course. Your breathing has quickened, your hands have become clammy, but even though you keep telling yourself that everything is okay, you can’t calm down. At least not enough to be able to concentrate on the class. The teacher’s words seem far away, and they do not really reach you, as if cotton had been put in your ears.

It is a tap on the shoulder that eventually pulls you out of your thoughts, preventing you from falling further down the rabbit hole into which this whole story was dragging you in. When you turn your head, your eyes land on a pretty redhead — Natasha Romanoff. She is not in your class, being a bit older, so you do not see her much outside the language classes. 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” she murmured, and you must have looked surprised — perhaps even frightened — because she immediately moved her hand back in a gesture of appeasement. “I wanted to know if you would like to pair up with me?” She said, and you could not help but notice how soft her voice sounded as she was asking you to be her partner for the second time, the words not having reached your ears the first. 

“What?” You replied without thinking, but maybe you should have, it would have prevented you from saying the stupidest thing you could have. The instant the question escapes you, you bite your lip — she must think you are a complete idiot now, well done, you thought.

“For the group project,” she clarified, “would you like to work with me? If you are not already with someone else, of course,” she said, but it was only to sound polite. Despite what you may think, Natasha Romanoff knows you, and she knows that you are a lonely soul, never heard, hardly seen — You may be discreet, but not enough to escape her observant gaze.

Even though it was the third time she had asked the question, you detected no trace of impatience in her tone, no judgment in her eyes, just a certain.. expectation, but you could not tell for what reason.

“Ar-,” — you sure? You wanted to ask, but you swallow the words before you can say them, replacing them by a simple nod. “Yes,” you blurted out the word, your voice being so high-pitched that you winced with embarrassment for a moment. “I mean.. I do not have a partner yet, and I would love to work with you,” you clarified, trying to control your voice, but your excitement hadn’t gone unnoticed by the redhead, nor did the slight tremble of your hands, and she was now smirking — because you looked like you were about to explode, and maybe you were, for real. “My name is-” 

“I know,” she cut you off as she filled in the sheet that was being passed through the rows, writing your name without any hesitation, without a mistake. “Did I write it right?” She asked with feigned care. She already knew that she got it right, and she is not surprised when you nod — she could not say the same about you, though. 

You may belong to two completely different worlds in appearance, one barely existing, always in her sole company, the other always surrounded, her presence hard to ignore. And yet, from the very first lessons, Natasha had found something endearing about you, waiting for the opportunity to approach you without frightening you — and she knew she was not the only one whose gaze you caught.

⊱ ⋆ ⊰

Before that evening, the two women had never spoken of you — nor had they ever spoken to you — and you were like a half-confessed secret floating between them, because despite their respective silence, they knew each other too well to not know the truth.

Wanda could see the smile on Natasha’s lips whenever she was coming out of her language classes that, as luck would have it, you had chosen too. And Natasha for sure noticed the sparke in Wanda’s eyes when they landed on you in the corridors, always lingering a little longer than they should on your silhouette.

But they had never been brave enough to put into words what they were feeling, and this desire continued to grow little by little in their hearts. Out of respect, they told themselves, to not admit that it was out of fear — that they would mess everything up.

You were from a very different world. The two women were popular, and all it took was a smile and a few pretty words to get any girl into their bed. Girls who did not care about being a one-night stand, who lived for it, but they could tell that you were not one of them. You were reserved, and solitary, and by the way your fingers trembled and your words tangled at the slightest conversation, they guessed you took things too personally to be satisfied with a one-night stand — you needed time, and attachment.

But they were not sure they would be able to give you what you needed. Their relationship was complicated, messy, it was in their image and that suited them — or almost. And then, out of fear of ruining their chances by taking the first step too soon, or doing things the wrong way, they kept their desires a secret, observing you from afar, pretending it satisfied them. 

Until that night.

From the moment they were dared by their friends to choose a target for their twisted game, your name had been on their minds — it has been evident. And so, despite the initial desire not to disturb your tranquility, they made you their prey. Their judgment had probably been impaired by the few — many — drinks they already had that night, but the cheers of their friends quickly cleared their doubts.

They could have chosen someone else — they should have — there were so many girls who envied them, who wouldn’t have minded being the object of a bet — but where was the fun in that? You were different, you were unreachable, always slipping through their fingers, never exchanging more than a few hesitant words with them, or the others. 

You always left class the instant the bell rang, never leaving your headphones, and music quickly became your only company to the point where it discouraged any of your classmates from trying to bond with you. 

If the women did not know any better, they would have assumed that you were content with your situation, but they had never missed the hint of sadness — and jealousy — that clouded your gaze whenever your eyes landed on the others — nor they had missed the desire in it when you were watching them, thinking they would not notice.

But they always did.

Something in your attitude made them want to wrap their arms around you, to protect you — and to love you — even though they barely know who you are. It is a foreign feeling they had never felt before, not even with each other, their love taking on something completely different, something rougher. 

And maybe that is why the two women did not think about the harm this little game could cause, because for a few hours, under the effects of alcohol, they had forgotten how different your world was from theirs, how much more fragile. 

⊱ ⋆ ⊰

It is only a few days after you first met the redhead that you eventually came across the second one, Wanda, and for a long time you thought that your meeting had been nothing more than a happy — very happy — coincidence.

At that moment, you were at the library working on some of your assignments, or more realistically regretting some of your materials choices — How could a Sokovian language class for beginners be so complicated? A few months ago, it had sounded like an interesting choice, and you had then been thrilled by the possibility of learning a new language. But you soon understood why so few people chose this class; while it sounded appealing on paper, it was nothing less than a nightmare to study.

Despite trying your best, you were piling up the difficulties, falling behind, and you were not sure you would ever be able to catch up, even if they gave you years to do so. The letters and their sounds, the words and their meanings, everything was mixed in your mind, forming an indecipherable mass of information.

You were so caught up in your own thoughts that you didn't even notice when she approached your table. At this point, it was not about studying the material or getting your exercises done anymore, it was about pushing these thoughts away, those which attempted to drag you down, to encourage you to give up — because what is even the point of putting so much energy into something you are going to fail, as everything else you do? 

It is only when she waved her hand in front of your eyes that you noticed her presence, and it took you a few long seconds before you recognized her face.

“Y- yeah?” You stuttered, scrambling to remove your headphones.

“May I sit there? All the seats are taken,” she explained softly, a disappointed pout spreading across her face as she talks. And, unable to refuse — and certainly not wanting to — you hurriedly retrieve your belongings to make room for the brunette. 

What you ignored is that her words were not completely true. While most of the tables were in fact taken, Wanda was not actually looking for a seat. She was already on her way out when she saw you, but it was an opportunity she couldn’t pass up — Especially since Natasha had already taken the lead in their little game, and she hated to lose. 

But maybe you should have said no, because from the moment she sat down, you have been unable to concentrate on your work. All your thoughts were directed to the woman, especially since you could feel her gaze on you as she watched what you were doing.

If her gaze was filled with curiosity, you could not help but imagine judgment in it — What would she think of you if you wrote something really wrong and really stupid? Suddenly, your breathing was a little faster, your hands clammy, forcing you to readjust your grip on your pen several times, and your mind too foggy to be able to do more than pretending to be thinking.

Why did you say yes, already? 

Partially because you didn’t know how to say no, mainly because you were so delirious that a part of you was hoping to become friends with the woman, exactly like in fiction where the most beautiful relationships were starting with insignificant, unexpected encounters. It was stupid, and you were perfectly aware of that, already regretting your choice — You should have lied, it wouldn't have been that hard, would it? But the words came too late to your mind, and you were now stuck with that girl until one of you decided to leave.

The minutes stretched until they seemed interminable, as if the seconds had stopped ticking. None of you were doing anything, and she hadn’t even bothered to — or at least pretend to — mind her own business, never taking out her notebooks, never letting her eyes leave your worksheets for a minute. 

When she finally spoke, you looked at her with a mixture of surprise and embarrassment. If you didn’t understand the meaning behind her words, you could still recognize them as Sokovian — And by the way she pointed to your sheet while talking, you guessed she had seen every one of your mistakes. 

But she had not been mean about it, and even the smirk she wore was not mischievous, just very frustrating as you would learn later. The girl — Wanda, as she will let you know in a few minutes — even kindly offered you a little help, probably out of pity, which you tried to refuse. But your lies were not very convincing. 

“That’s nice, but I am doing just fine,” you replied, your words sounding a little harsher than they did in your head. Fortunately, she didn’t seem to mind, her smile not faltering. 

“Are you sure?” She asked back, tilting her head slightly to the side. But she already knew the answer, you both did, and it was no surprise that you eventually admitted that you in fact needed a little help with your lessons. 

“Actually, no,” you conceded, and the chuckle that escaped her lips was so infectious that you forgot your own embarrassment for a moment, a soft laugh escaping yours too.

And if at first you felt bad about accepting her help, that feeling quickly faded as a routine set in. At least twice a week, the two of you would meet at the library so she could help with your language lessons — And damn, you really needed this help. Surprisingly, the woman never lost her patience, and even when you thought she would hate you for making her repeat the same thing dozens of times, she did not, always remaining benevolent.

You appreciated these moments more than you would admit it. Wanda’s presence was breaking your loneliness a bit, even though you were not sure if you two could be considered as friends since you’ve never met outside of the library’s walls.

“Why does it have to be so difficult?” You mumble, and these are the words that usually conclude your sessions, marking the moment when you despair overcomes your determination. Most of the time, they are accompanied by a groan as you lean dramatically on the table, knowing it would make her laugh. A sound you loved to hear because it made your heart beat like never before. A sweet, warm feeling that spreads through your whole being. 

At that point, she always whispers the same words that you can’t understand. And whenever you ask her about their meaning, she refuses to give you the answer. “It will give you a reason to study,” is the response she gives you every time. And as she talks, there is that unnerving smirk dancing at the corner of her lips. 

⊱ ⋆ ⊰

Since you have met the women, something has shifted in your attitude. It was nothing obvious, but it was still enough for them to notice. You were a bit more confident, sometimes even initiating contact with them instead of dodging their eyes. and you let in a glimpse of yourself you'd usually kept hidden. More relaxed, less withdrawn.

And you felt it too, this change.  

The past few weeks, the fear that used to knot your insides had been replaced by a kind of enthusiasm. It was driven by the fact that you knew you would see them whenever you were at university, and even though you were not talking much with them outside of your work sessions, you were looking forward to crossing their paths. The women always had a smile or a lingering hand to spare, and these small gestures meant everything to you as they never failed to make your days much better than they were.

Honestly, if you haven’t yet seen any of them outside university, it was mainly your fault. Despite how great everything was going, there was still this lingering fear you couldn’t get rid off — It was this voice. The one that never failed to remind you how much people must hate you, how much you hated yourself. And it was always here to remind you that the women will dump you at your first mistake, because it is sure you will end up making one. You always do, ending up ruining all the good things you were given. 

Studying at the library with Wanda, or working on your group project in a coffee shop with Natasha, it was easy, familiar and you knew how to do it without messing it up. So every time they have tried to propose something different — and damn, they have tried so many times — you’ve come up with an excuse, always being too busy to do anything else than studying.

In reality, the only thing you have been busy with was drowning in your own thoughts. Despite how well things were going with them, you were still not sure if you could really be friends, let alone being more, as your delusional mind liked to hope sometimes.  

They are popular, and so are their friends. They go to parties every Thursday, where they probably drink and smoke. They do not worry about everything, and are not scared by everyone. They are pretty, funny, and confident. In other words, these people were everything you were not. They knew how to live, something you did not, and you knew they would notice that you weren’t like them the moment you would meet — And what if they judge you for that? What if they do not like you? Or worse, what if they talk about it with Wanda and Natasha, and the women eventually realize how lame you are ? 

But tonight had been different, because this time you had said yes to them — more specifically to the redhead. When she told you she was having a party at her place, you were ready to decline before she even got a chance to finish her sentence. Yet, this time, Natasha had refused to take no for an answer, and after several long minutes of trying to convince — and reassure — you, you eventually agreed. But it was only after she told you — multiple times — that it wasn’t really a party, only a small gathering with a few friends to celebrate the end of the exams.

A choice you were now regretting. 

You have never felt so out of place than the moment you walked through that door, entering a universe that was foreign to you — Natasha and you definitely didn’t have the same definition of a “small gathering.” When you didn’t immediately see the redhead, the thought of leaving crossed your mind because it suddenly felt impossible. Until then, you knew the steps you had to follow perfectly — choosing an outfit, coming there, not too late but not too early, bringing a little something — but now? 

Now, you were not sure, and this uncertainty was already gnawing at you — Should you send her a message? But what if she forgot about you, or doesn’t want to stay with you all night? Should you get yourself a drink? 

The weight on your chest grew heavier with each passing second, but the moment your eyes met hers, it was gone. You weren’t aware of it, but she saw you the moment you entered the room. You had this ability to absorb all her concentration, to the point where she wasn’t listening to the conversation she was engaged in anymore.

You hadn’t planned what happened in the following hours. It just happened, one event after another, and you just let it happen. At the same time, after a drink, or two — or maybe three — you weren't really able to think anymore. This too, you didn’t foresee. But you have been unable to refuse the glasses that some people kept handing you, a part of your actions being driven by the desire to be like them, or at least pretend to be for one night.

“I think you had more than enough for tonight, malyshka,” she intervened at some point, fetching the drink someone was handing you before you could grab it.

“Noo,” you whined in response. The redhead may was right, but the action still felt really unfair in the moment, and you couldn’t help but pout as you witnessed your drink being taken away. “Please, just one last more, I promise I am perfectly fine,” you tried to argue, but nothing you could say would change her mind, and you understood it when the only answer she gave you was a negative nod of the head. “You are not fair!” You grumbled. 

“Life never is,” she replied, a smirk dancing on her lips — One that was frustrating but terribly endearing at the same time. One that was atrociously close to Wanda’s, the two women having more in common than they might admit. “Come on,” she eventually added, grabbing your arm as she was talking.

“Where?” You immediately asked, refusing to follow the woman, almost fighting her grip. “I don’t wanna leave,” you whined, and this time her eyes went up to the sky — You may be adorable, but you were also being damn annoying when drunk.

“We are not leaving, I promise,” she sighed, “I have something I wanna show you,... a secret,” she added, lowering her voice. The woman knew exactly what words to use to convince you to follow. 

Throughout the walk, one of her hands rested on your lower back, probably because she didn’t want you to get lost — Or to run away. A thought that was really tempting right now. And it was a good thing that she was there to catch you when you got your feet caught. not because of the drinks, but because you were too focused on her than where you were walking. 

You could not help but stare, but observe every detail of her face. Your eyes traveled up her jawline, lingering on her lips for a moment too long before tracing the bridge of her nose to these eyes, topped by slightly frowning eyebrows, an expression she often wore when she was focused on something. 

“I wanna kiss you,” you blurted out at some point, the words coming out of your mouth before you could even realize it. By the time you do, it is already too late to take them back, and you can’t help but blush under the redhead’s gaze. Fierce, and full of something you couldn’t name — Hunger, desire. Things no one has ever felt towards you in the past.

In reality, the look of surprise on Natasha’s face was — at least partly — feigned. The women already knew about your attraction to her, you weren’t exactly as discreet as you had imagined. Yet, she hadn’t expected you to be so direct about it when you would eventually reveal your feelings for her, you who were usually so reserved, and shy. But the alcohol probably helped loosen your tongue. 

“Do you?” She asked, but she already knows the answer, and before you can even nod or mutter some excuses, you are pushed against the corridor walls. 

The music from the party was still playing loudly but you could barely hear it, the sound covered by the one of your heart pounding in your ears. You had expected the woman to react in a lot of different ways, but never this one. In the thousands of scenarios that had been created by your mind, never one had involved anything other than rejection — Instant, and disgusted. 

The possibility that she might feel the same way you do seemed unreal. You were too used to being invisible, not enough to being seen, and desired. It was something new and foreign, and it made you feel like you were about to die on the spot — But at the same time it was the best thing you had ever felt.

“Then I must give you what you want, printsessa,” she whispered, and even before she leaned in so her lips could meet yours, she was so closed that you could feel her breath brushing against your face.

God, she has waited so long for this moment, unable to take the first step because she was afraid she would mess everything up, afraid that the relationship she has built with you over the past weeks would crumble — Because kissing you means that the bait is over, and she is not sure she wants it to be. Because it has never truly been about this stupid game.

| MAIN MASTERLIST - REQUEST GUIDELINES. — next part.

| Tag list —

[bbyg4rl]

maybe.. jj with a breeding kink?

make you a real mama

cw: bf!jj x reader, established relationship, smut !

summary: you joke about having a food baby, so JJ gives you a real baby. Inspired by request ! MDNI.

< oral f. receiving, little slap on thighs, unprotected piv, creampie, breeding kink, praise >

a/n: sry this took so long anon! hope you like it <3

“Ugh, it’s like I have a food baby” you joked to Sarah, grinning as she chuckled in response. It was meant to be nothing more than a lighthearted comment, just a silly remark about overeating. But little did you know, that one simple joke would change everything.

Your words reached JJ’s ears, pulling his attention away from whatever conversation he was having with Pope. The moment you referred to yourself as a mother, even if it was just to a “food baby,” something in him shifted.

The idea of you pregnant, carrying his baby, sent a wave of arousal through him. His mind spiraled, suddenly consumed by images of you swollen with his child, glowing, utterly his. He swallowed hard, shifting in his seat as he tried to focus on anything else—but it was too late. The thought had taken root, and there was no pushing it away now.

By the time you both had retreated to his room at the Chateau, the tension in his pants was unbearable. Every brush of your skin against his, every glance exchanged had only fueled the fire burning inside him. He could hardly think straight, overpowered with the need to have you.

The moment the door shut behind you, his restraint shattered. He couldn’t wait any longer. All he wanted was to push you onto the bed and fuck a baby into you. “Fuckin' got me losing my mind all day” he whispered, his voice low and rough. His arms wrap around you, pulling you in as he buried himself in the crook of your neck.

“Oh?” You giggled at the sudden attention, but the amusement faded the moment he lifted his head and locked eyes with you.

His baby-blue irises were blown wide with desire, dark and hungry, sending a shiver down your spine. The look on his face was almost terrifying—pure, unfiltered need etched into every feature, the kind of look that sent heat pooling in your stomach.

“Want me to make you a real mama, baby?” he coos, his voice soft yet laced with something darker, something possessive.

His hands slide down to your stomach, fingertips pressing gently into your abdomen. The touch is subtle but deliberate, sending a shiver through you. When he applies the slightest pressure, a soft moan escapes your lips. His eyes darken even more at the sound, a slow smirk tugging at his lips as he watches you squirm beneath his touch.

His hands find your hips, guiding you backward until the back of your knees hit the edge of the bed. The air between you is thick with tension, every step making your pulse race. With an effortless motion, he roughly pushes you down onto the mattress, following closely as he climbs over you. His hands fall down to your thighs, gripping them as he pulls your legs around his waist. He trails slow, teasing nips from your lips down to your navel, undressing you along the way, his touch teasing and unhurried.

“Jay, please” you whine, squirming beneath him as his hands hover over your pussy, barely touching—just enough to drive you crazy. A low chuckle rumbles from his chest, clearly enjoying how easily he has you begging.

“So pretty” he whispers as his mouth finds purpose in between your legs, he licks a long stripe along your slit. Making you moan loudly at the sensation. He slides his thick fingers into your sobbing cunt, curling them just the right amount to send ripples of pleasure through you at every thrust. Pride blooms in his chest as you come undone around his fingers.

“Pretty, pretty pussy” he murmurs, his voice low and rough. The vibrations from his voice send a wave of heat through your body, every syllable sinking deep into your nerves.

A gasp slips from your lips as he blows cold air onto your clit before circling his tongue around your pulsing, swollen bud. He latches his lips onto it as he sucks, making your back arch from the feeling. You can practically feel the pride smirk he has on, Sucking and licking as he moves his head side to side.

The combined feel of his fingers thrusting into you and his attention on your clit has an orgasm bubbling through you in no time. A sharp, loud moan leaves your mouth as you reach your high.

“Such a good pussy eh? beggin' me to fill it up” he murmurs, the filth he's spewing shoots straight through you, sending a shiver down your spine. Your thighs instinctively tighten around his head, your body trembles from the overwhelming pleasure.

He finally pushes himself up, his movements slow and deliberate as he climbs on top of you again. His shark tooth necklace hovers over your face, the warmth of his skin radiating against you as his face inches closer. He lifts your legs up, hooking them over his shoulders.

His strong arms hold your legs up as he leans down to kiss you, folding you in half in the process. He reaches one hand down, index and middle finger on either side of your folds, stretching your sticky hole as he bullies himself in, inch by inch.

Your back is arched like a bow string drawn too tight, your walls pulsing, struggling to adjust to the intrusion. He doesn't let you adjust fully, he needs you now. He pulls out, only to thrust back in quickly, setting in an unrelenting, almost punishing pace. His arms flex around your legs, tasty biceps tense around you as he pushes your legs up even higher, making space for his dick.

“Gonna fuck a kid into you, mama” he whispers, his breath hot against your skin, each word laced with intent. He gives your ankles a kiss as his thrusts grow harder and harder. pulling out until only the tip is in you, only to slam back in with full force. He's splitting you open as if you were a pistachio. His dick twitches in you with every moan that slips out of your mouth.

“You gonna have my kids?” he rasps between heavy breaths, his voice low and teasing. You nod at his words but you're quickly met with a smack on your thigh as response. “Use your words” He orders, rubbing a soothing hand over the skin he had just smacked.

“Y-yes, I'm gonna have your kids” You stammer out as your brain threatens to turn into mush, the pleasure flooding your senses.

He gives you a kiss on your forehead as his thrusts grow needier. His pace is frantic as he nears his release. “So good f'me” He says against your forehead as his hand reaches in betwen the tangled mess of limbs to find your clit.

He rubs tight circles on your bud, putting enough pressure to make your eyes roll back into your head and push your hips up in need for more. “Have all my babies, darlin” He pants, “Wanna see this belly all full” his grip tightens on your legs as a lazy smirk tugs at his lips, eyes locked onto how your face twists in pleasure.

His whispers are enough to push you to orgasm again, your walls clench and spasm around him as your release hits you, your vision turning spotty as he fucks you through it, chasing his own release.

A loud moan erupts from JJ's throat, “Take all of it- Fuck” he whimpers, burying himself as deep as he could go, filling you up with spurts of his sticky cum. Thick, hot ropes of sperm shoot so deep into your womb that you could swear you felt in your stomach.

He pulls out slowly, the loss of warmth leaving a shiver in its wake, before pushing himself off the bed. His movements are hurried as he runs a hand through his messy hair, glancing around the room. Spotting your scattered clothes, he picks up your panties, tossing them onto the bed with a smirk.

He strides toward you with slow, deliberate steps, his gaze locked onto you like a predator closing in on its prey. He takes your lacy panties and shoves them into your sensitive, leaking cunt. The unexpected feeling making you whimper.

He laps up all of his cum that had already leaked out with his fingers, smearing it around your pussy.

“Can’t let anything go to waste” he chuckles, slipping back into bed beside you. His arms wrap around you, pulling you close, his fingers reach back to rub circles on your clit. With a satisfied sigh, he presses his face into your neck, giving you featherlight kisses along the sensitive expanse of skin. He wasn't done yet.

check out my other works ! masterlist

tags : : @maybejj @glitterybombshell

[auragasmics]

HE LOVES IT WHEN I...

∞ ₒ ˚ ° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂♡ ° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ° ˚ ₒ synopsis! sugar daddies have a sweet tooth for all their sugar babies. but for you, these rich dilfs are ready to spoil you rotten for all your cute quirks!

∞ ₒ ˚ ° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂♡ ° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂° ˚ ₒ pairings! sugar daddy bokuto koutarou, ushijima waktoshi, and akaashi keiji x fem! reader

∞ ₒ ˚ ° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂♡ ° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂° ˚ ₒ cw! 1.7k, drabble + headcannon format, age gap (hq men are early 40s, reader is late 20s), car sex, oral ( m -> f), daddy kink, backshots, fingering, mirror sex, teasing, slight degrading, use of petnames

∞ ₒ ˚ ° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ ° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂° ˚ ₒ xoxo, chris! sigh...i love bokuto sm! he can eat me 25/8. ushi can too!

pt.1

Sugardaddy!Bokuto loves it when you say thank you.

It turns him on to unbelievable lengths. It follows the same old routine, one he doesn’t plan to change anytime soon. Each time you accepted yet another bag filled with your latest hauls, you turned to the doting man, his hand eagerly waiting to catch your own. 

With a faint smile present on your lips, the soft coos of your voice rose to Bokuto’s ear, coaxing for his copal hues to widen. The pair of words were simple mannerisms, instilled from a young age for all. But whenever it rolled off your tongue, the porcelain shades of Bokuto’s skin couldn’t hold back the innocent hues of red from surfacing. 

All he needed to hear was your pretty mouth say it one more time that day, just once more. 

“Aht, don’t push my head away. That’s just mean,” Bokuto pouted, the pads of his fingers digging into the limp plush of your calves. He’s got all his weigh on you, pushing you down onto the backseat of his car. You winced mindlessly, your hazy eyes flickering among the space Bokuto occupied between your legs. Your fingers lazily carded through his locks, strength dwindling by the second.

 “B-Bo…I can’t take anymore,” you slurred, resting your head along the sleek platinum headboard. You couldn’t begin to comprehend what snapped inside Bokuto, his insistence leading to you gasping for a lick of air. He didn’t give you time to slip from the citrine dress you wore, only to be bunched around your bucking hips. 

“‘M so sorry, Princess. You just looked so good today, I wanted a piece of you,” he mumbled incoherently, his busy lips latching onto the twitching bud of your clit. He's relentless, working the slicked muscles to paint sticky strokes along the bud.  

He’d been tucked away in his own heaven, relishing in every drop of your essence that spilled into his mouth. He pulled at least three orgasms from you this way, each one slower than the last. 

“Wait–I can’t cum again, Bokuto please!” you sobbed, your back forcing out a harsh arch. You frantically nudged yourself deeper into Bokuto’s hold, your hips swiping at whatever could be caught. 

Sharing in your urgency, Bokuto kept his tongue pressed into your folds, the voids of his eyes taking in the sight before him. He always did love when you chased after your own high, using him however you saw fit. 

He pulled his hindering grip from your legs, allowing for your thighs to smother him in a swift close. Not another syllable had to be uttered as you approached your high, both hands grasping handfuls of Bokuto’s hair. 

A bubbling fit of words fled from your lips, Bokuto giggling at the view. He drew himself from your cunt, placing a final kiss onto the exposed bundle of nerves. He rested back onto his haunches, keeping his hunkering figure hovered above your own. 

As he swiped the pad of his thumb along the spit-ridden mess of your lips, he whispered to your dazed visage gently. “Be nice and use your words. Now, what do you say fr’ me, Baby?”

Through your heavy lashes, you mustered the bits of energy to respond, granting a satisfied smirk to creep onto Bokuto’s face.

“Thank you, Daddy.”

Sugardaddy!Ushijima loves it when you spend his money.

God, does he love it? The swipes of his card, the sifting through the thick bills tucked away in his wallet, Ushijima was addicted to it all. He didn’t even have to say a word, your hand already reaching for whatever mode of payment he had for the day. 

You weren’t aware of it, but there was a special glint that illuminated the olive hues of his eyes. Maybe it was how you twirled the thin sheet of plastic between your fingers, whistling some tune to pass the moments of processing. 

He was obsessed with the fact that every heel beneath the soles of your feet, every ring that hugged your finger, and every dress that clung to your body was all his doing, all stemming from the fruits of his labor. 

When that gratifying giggle rang from your throat, it was enough to fuel a flame within Ushijima’s belly—something he knew would be extinguished soon.

“I can’t hear you, Sweetheart,” Ushijima groaned, his hand prying from your stuttering hips. You lifted your head from the tear-stained pillow, pulling the swell of your lip through your teeth. “It’s so fucking good, Toshi! I w-want more,” you keened, eyes rolling to the back of your skull. 

Ushijima returned to the sight laid before him, the plump curves of your ass pressed against his tensed abdomen. Tracing down the arch of your spine, he was met with the glassy voids of your lidded eyes, spools of drool decorating your lips. 

Taking a provoking turn, he drew his hips from their post, dragging his length from your walls. He chuckled at the sound of your cries, the sadist whims surfacing to the forefront of Ushijima’s mind.

“C’mon Baby, you gotta work for all those bags you got today,” he surmised, landing a playful smack on your ass. The mewling whimpers from your lungs came to a sudden halt once you noticed what Ushijima held in the palm of his hand.

The hefty stack of blue bills sat snug in his hand, waving them to your gawking glance. “If you can make me cum just like this, I’ll add everything in my hand to your allowance,” Ushijima wagered snarkily. “Deal?”

With a sheepish nod, you agreed to take on Ushijima’s bet, planting your weakened knees into the mattress. A heavy breath brewed inside your lungs, acting as encouragement for your newly placed endeavors. Ushijima knew all too well how big he was, considering he was always so insistent on taking charge. 

Yet watching his pretty girl struggle to take him was just one of his favorite pastimes as of late.

With the single dive of your hips, your walls enveloped Ushijima’s cock in the viscid warmth once more. A stout arch coaxed itself into your spine as a keening sob sang from your lips. An overwhelming euphoria was placed upon your weary body, stemming from fullness residing within your cunt. Your digits dug into the cotton plush of the pillow, barely grounding your mind.

“Fuck–you must really want it, don’t you Baby?” Ushijima chuckled raggedly, the faint patterns of stars clouding his vision. He hadn’t anticipated your eagerness, the swift drops of your hips resting against his flexed abdomen. He felt everything, every twitch of your walls, every roll of your hips, even every kiss the head of his cock pressed into your cervix. 

The explicit clash of skin began the soft comforting tunes to Ushijima’s ears, hiding his blissful whimpers behind the music. His eyes were trained to the unfolding scene, from tracing the slick sheen of sweat dusting the curve of your back to catching each wave that passed through the supple skin of your ass. Reminding of something that of a fever dream, Ushijima melded into the amorous aura, quickly forgetting the bet he’d made with you. 

Giving in to his fading sense of self, Ushijima drizzled the stack of bills along your body, each one drifting to cover the sheets beneath you both. With his hand now free, Ushijima reached out to you, cupping your chin as he presented you with a single rhetorical question. 

“Who’s my rich little slut?”

Sugardaddy! Akaashi loves it when you flaunt your new clothes.

He finds it to be the highlight of his day. It’s even become his sense of downtime from the frantic day, hopping from shop to shop all across the city. He’ll sit in his favorite leather armchair with a cup of the richest brandy in hand, watching your giddy reflection paraded about through the mirror. 

“Don’t you look pretty? Told you this color suits you best, Sweetheart,” Akaashi cooed, his chin nuzzled within the crook of your neck. You couldn’t bother to respond to his compliment, not with his thick digits drawing relaxed circles along the supple bud of your clit. You clawed at his forearm in protest, the silk fabric of his dress shirt catching each scratch of your nails.

Perched atop his lap, Akaashi kept your thighs parted for his entertainment, his eyes pinned to the mirror’s reflection. He admired it all, the staggering rises and falls of your chest, your trembling lips, and the spilling streams of spit lining your chin. He only wished you could revel in the same vision he bore witness to. 

At his tender handling, your body melted into Akaashi’s hold. From the frantic beats of your heart, the nerves beneath your skin prickling with need, and the hot pants warming the air, it was all for him. Your back arched against his chest, squirming amidst the mind-numbing solace Akaashi delivered. 

“Look at that, making such a mess on my fingers,” he hummed, the tips of his digits ghosting the fluttering slit of your cunt. He allowed for a single finger to graze past your entrance, the lewd squelching spurring you on. “P-Please Keiji…don’t tease me like that. Just–” you sobbed, your hips bucking to meet his fleeting touch. 

“Sorry, baby. Not until you tell me how pretty you are,” he whispered, painting your limped jaw with lingering pecks. Drifting down to the pulse of your throat, Akaashi nipped at the skin, leaving the slightest hints of marks in his stead. 

His calming tone flew to your ear, earning your hazed attention. “Look in the mirror and repeat after me,” he instructed softly. You nodded concurringly, the lids of your eyes prying from their screwed hold. 

You were met with Akaashi’s narrowed glare, the darkened hues of his eyes pinned on you. Embarrassment rang through you, eyes glazing over your pitiful state. What caught your immediate attention was the ruby dress he’d just purchased sitting around your waist. 

Not to mention the pornographic sight of your cunt on full display for him, inducing for a merciful whimper to creep out your lungs. 

Yet for Akaashi, his own concern was hearing that voice of your repeat every word that soon left from his mouth. “I’m Akaashi’s…” he began, waiting for your frail reply.

“I’m Akaashi’s…” you uttered shyly, the inescapable heat swarming beneath your cheeks. He noticed your resistance, matching it with lingering swipes of his digits between your glossed folds. 

“Pretty Girl. I’m Akaashi’s pretty girl,” he compiled together, shifting back into his seat patiently. You swallowed the lump sitting in your throat, bundling the bits of energy to comply with his wishes. 

“I-I’m Akaashi’s pretty girl,” you whimpered out at last, granting a smile to spread along his lips.

“That’s my good girl. I think you deserve a reward, don’t you?”

[uzurakis]

hi again!! (ik I just sent in a request I just had another one LMFAOOO) im back bc I got another request/idea!! jjk men (..yuta n Megumi 🙏 n whoever else u want :3) who got into a nasty argument (could be from ur argument post but it doesn’t have to be connected to that post!!) and then gets really injured on a mission right after the argument! it’s up to you if reader + jjk men end up making up, or it could end on a angsty route of them anxiously waiting for reader to wake up while trying to think to ways to apologize with regret; doesn’t rlly matter!! do what you want 😛😛

HEY, WAKE UP . . PLEASE?

featuring: fushiguro megumi. gojo satoru. yuuta okkotsu.

n. first, i apologize this one took a very long time because i wanted to carefully hit the right spots and nail the each character. second, i only make 3 characters this time ‘cause each one of them is long enough to read. third, i wanna make you guys suffer <3 enjoy !!

FUSHIGURO MEGUMI

megumi’s fingers trembled as he reached out to touch your hand, the memory of his harsh words replaying in his mind. “why didn’t i see it coming?” he muttered to himself, voice hardly above a whisper. the guilt was suffocating, the feeling that he had failed you as a partner, both in life and on the field, gnawing at him relentlessly.

he hadn’t slept since you were brought in, eyes red and heavy, his emerald pupils weren’t evident anymore with the dark circles underneath a testament to his vigil. every beep of the monitors felt like a countdown, each passing second a reminder of how fragile everything was. he kept running through what he could have done differently, how he could have prevented this from happening.

“i’m sorry,” he whispered, voice cracking with emotion, repeating the words tremendously. “i’m sorry, i’m sorry, i’m sorry—“

“i’m so sorry. i never meant for this to happen. i never wanted to hurt you.”

his mind was filled with images of your smile, your laughter, and the way your eyes would light up when you were happy. he wanted nothing more than to see you open your eyes, to hear your voice, to have the chance to make things right.

the silence in the room was oppressive, broken only by the rhythmic beeping of the machines. megumi’s thoughts were a chaotic jumble of fear and determination. he knew he had to find a way to apologize, to show you that he cared more than he had ever managed to express. but how could he make up for the pain he had caused? how could he prove to you that he was truly sorry?

he squeezed your hand gently, as if the simple touch could convey all the words he struggled to find. “please wake up,” he pleaded softly. “i need to tell you how much you mean to me. i need to show you that i can do better. that i will do better. please, just wake up.”

as the hours dragged on, megumi’s resolve only strengthened. he would make things right, no matter what it took. the door to your room opened, but megumi didn’t look up. his focus was entirely on you, silently willing you to open your eyes. he wouldn’t leave your side until you did. he couldn’t. the weight of his regret was too heavy, his love for you too deep.

“please,” he whispered again, each syllable filled with desperation. “come back to me.”

GOJO SATORU

“you’re always so damn reckless!” gojo had shouted, his voice echoing in the small office.

“maybe if you weren’t so arrogant all the time, you’d understand why!” you had snapped back, feeling the sting of his words cut deep.

now, the same guy sat by your hospital bed, his usually confident demeanor shattered. his fists were clenched so tightly that his knuckles had turned white, blood seeping from where his nails dug into his palms. the sight of you lying there, pale and unmoving, tore at his heart. he cursed himself repeatedly, the words tumbling out in a desperate, angry whisper.

“fuck, fuck, fuck!” he muttered, voice breaking. “why the hell did this have to happen? why couldn’t i fucking save you?”

he stared at your face, willing you to wake up, to give him some sign that you were still there with him. the argument replayed in his mind, each harsh word a dagger in his chest. he wanted to take it all back, to tell you how much he loved you and needed you.

“shit,” he hissed, slamming his fist into the armrest of the chair. “i’m supposed to be the strongest, but what the hell does that mean if i can’t even protect you?”

a hollow aching threatened to eat away at his chest, a gnawing remorse. tears blurred his vision as he looked at you, voice a broken whisper. “wake up. i want to apologize. i want you to know how sorry i am.”

the room was silent except for the steady beep of the heart monitor. gojo’s thoughts were a chaotic swirl of guilt, also his helplessness. he had faced countless curses and enemies without flinching, but this, seeing you like this, was unbearable.

he cursed again, the words raw and filled with pain. “damn it, why didn’t i stop you? why didn’t i fucking do something?”

his mind raced, trying to think of ways to make it right, to fix what had been broken. but all he could do was wait and hope. he reached out, gently taking your hand in his, his grip trembling.

“i’m so sorry,” he whispered, voice cracking. “i love you. please, just wake up. i don’t know what i’ll do if you don’t.”

YUUTA OKKOTSU

yuta, who was normally expressive, was pale and drawn as he sat beside your bed. his voice was crushed by the weight of his remorse, and he was unable to speak. he was completely broken by the sight of you there, so still and vulnerable, in ways he never imagined. his fingers barely touched yours as he extended a shaking hand, fearing that the slightest touch could break you.

memories of the argument replayed in his mind, each moment seared into his consciousness. your angry words echoed in his ears, mingling with his own harsh retorts. he remembered the flash of hurt in your eyes, the way your voice had cracked when you told him you were done talking. he had let you walk away, his anger blinding him to the danger you were about to face.

tears welled up in yuta’s eyes, but he couldn’t let them fall. he had to be strong for you, even though you couldn’t sense a thing. the guilt gnawed at him, a relentless beast that whispered of his failures. he had promised to protect you, to be there for you, and yet here you were, injured and unresponsive, because he had let his anger get the better of him.

“it’s all my fault,” he grumbled, voice barely audible in the sterile room. “i should have stopped you. i should have been there.”

he stared at your face, willing you to wake up, to open your eyes and tell him it was okay. but you remained still, your breathing steady but shallow. yuta’s mind was a storm of regret and self-recrimination. he blamed himself for everything, convinced that his failure to resolve things before you left had led to this. if only he had followed you, things might have been different.

“wake up, please,” he begged, voice breaking. “you can’t do this to me..”

he felt a sob rising in his throat, but he swallowed it down, determined not to break in front of you. he had to be strong, even if it felt like he was falling apart inside. the thought of losing you was unbearable, a gap that threatened to swallow him whole.

“why did i let you go?” he murmured, his fingers tightening around yours. “why didn’t i fight for us?”

the minutes stretched into hours, each one an eternity as yuta sat by your side, his heart heavy with guilt and fear. he couldn’t imagine a life without you, couldn’t bear the thought that he might have lost you because of his own stubbornness.

“i’m sorry,” he whispered again, voice choked with emotion. he stayed there, silent and unmoving, the weight of his regret a constant presence. all he could do was wait and hope, praying that you would wake up and give him the chance to apologize, to tell you how much you meant to him. until then, he would sit by your side, holding on to the hope that you would come back to him.

“i love you. please, just give me a chance to make things right.”

@uzurakis

[peachversace]

[ nsfw ] — smut (18+) ; bakugou katsuki x reader

Bakugou Katsuki is not one for hesitation. 

His approach to most things—whether it’s fighting villains, cooking up the perfect dinner, or tearing you apart in bed—is always intense, always deliberate, always so him. And tonight? Tonight is no different, though something about him feels even more charged, more relentless.

It's been two weeks since you moved in together, and the sex is good—always good—but tonight Katsuki seems almost unhinged. There’s a hunger in his every movement, like he’s got something to prove, like he’s aiming for perfection.

You’re on your back, thighs pressed flush against your ears as he holds your calves with an iron grip. His hands are big, and calloused from years of training, and the way his fingers curl into your skin is possessive, and grounding. He pounds into you with a rhythm that’s utterly merciless—hard, short, precise thrusts that leave no room for doubt. The stretch has your body trembling, your hands scrambling against the sheets as if they might anchor you to reality. But there’s no escape from him tonight.

Your voice comes out loud, almost a wail, as you struggle to keep up with him. It’s not like you’re trying to keep quiet—Katsuki would hate that—but every sound he pulls from you feels raw, involuntary, like your body is reacting without your permission. And he? He’s gone, too, muttering through gritted teeth, every word rough and unfiltered.

“F-fuck,” he growls, his voice low and strained, breaking over each syllable. His red eyes, narrowed and fierce, flicker down to where you’re taking him, watching with an almost predatory focus as he wrecks you. “Creamin’ all over this dick, ain’t ya? Shit—fuckin’ good—”

The way he says it, so rough and unpolished, sends heat rolling through you. It’s not just the words—it’s the conviction behind them, the way Katsuki always seems to mean every single thing he says. It’s the way he’s completely consumed by you, by this moment, by the slick, desperate sound of your bodies meeting over and over again.

And God, he’s so beautiful like this. His blond hair is damp with sweat, sticking to his forehead as his jaw clenches in concentration. The veins in his forearms stand out as he grips you tighter, holding you in place like he’s afraid you might slip away. His body is taut, muscles rippling with each thrust, and his expression—flushed, intense, somewhere between pain and pleasure—makes your chest ache.

You’re drunk on him. On the way he feels, on the way he looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters in the entire world. And in the haze of it all, you blurt it out—three simple words that come tumbling from your lips before you can even think to stop them.

“I love you.”

The moment the words leave your mouth, everything happens at once. Katsuki’s thrusts falter, and for a split second, his whole body freezes, like his brain has short-circuited. His red eyes widen, just barely, and then a deep flush creeps up his neck, spreading to his cheeks so fast you can almost feel the heat radiating off of him.

And then—oh.

You feel him tense up, his grip on your legs tightening as he lets out a sharp, almost wounded sound, somewhere between a growl and a groan. His hips jerk forward one last time, and you feel the rush of his release as his body shudders violently against yours.

He comes—hard. So hard, in fact, that you almost laugh in disbelief. It’s sudden and overwhelming, like your confession has lit a fuse inside him he didn’t even know existed. But Katsuki? Katsuki looks absolutely mortified.

“F-fuck,” he mutters, voice cracking slightly. He lets go of your legs, almost dropping them in his rush to bury his face in the crook of your neck. His breaths are ragged, his body still trembling, but it’s the way he curls into himself that gets you.

He’s embarrassed. Bakugou Katsuki, of all people, is embarrassed.

“Shut up,” he snaps preemptively, voice muffled against your skin. He’s avoiding your eyes entirely, and the heat radiating from his face tells you just how much he’s spiraling internally. “Don’t say a fuckin’ word.”

You’re grinning now, unable to help yourself. It’s not just that he came so quickly—it’s why. He’s flustered because you told him you loved him, because those three little words completely unraveled him in a way that even he didn’t see coming.

“Aw, Katsuki,” you tease, your voice light, though there’s real warmth behind it. You trail your fingers lazily through his hair, delighting in the way he stiffens against you. “You okay? You seemed, uh, really excited about what I said.”

“Shut up,” he snaps again, pulling back just enough to glare at you. His cheeks are still bright red, and the scowl on his face only makes him look more endearing. “I’ll kill ya, I swear to God.”

But there’s no real heat behind his words, and you know it. Katsuki may be brash, loud, and perpetually angry at the world, but he’s terrible at hiding his feelings. You can see the way his ears are still burning, the way his gaze flickers down to your lips before darting away again.

“You’re cute when you’re embarrassed,” you say, grinning at him, and he groans, dropping his head back into the crook of your neck like he’s trying to disappear.

“Don’t fuckin’ start,” he mutters, but there’s a softness to his voice now, a vulnerability that makes your heart ache. His arms wrap around you, holding you close like he’s afraid you might take it back. Like he’s still trying to wrap his head around the fact that you love him.

It’s not the first time you’ve told Katsuki you love him, and it sure as hell won’t be the last. But it is the first time you’ve said it during sex, and the weight of that makes it hit differently. It wasn’t a calculated decision—it just spilled out of you, raw and unfiltered, because when Katsuki looks at you like that, when he makes you feel like this, holding it back feels impossible.

And now, with him buried in your neck, cheeks burning, and every muscle in his body locked up in embarrassment, you can’t help the soft giggle that escapes you. It’s light, teasing, but also full of affection, because watching him—Mr. Unshakable Dynamight himself—fall apart over three little words is a sight you’ll be replaying in your head for weeks.

“Oi,” he growls, but it’s muffled against your skin, more a plea than a threat. “What the hell are you laughin’ at, hah? You think this is funny?”

You press your lips together, trying to stifle the sound, but it doesn’t work. Another giggle bubbles up, and you feel the way his arms tighten around you, the heat of his flush practically searing against your neck. His grip is firm, almost desperate, like he’s holding you close to shield himself from the weight of what just happened.

“Katsuki,” you breathe, still grinning, running your fingers soothingly through his hair. His spikes are damp with sweat, softer than usual, and you can’t resist the urge to rake your nails gently over his scalp. He groans, a low, almost involuntary sound, and it makes your heart squeeze. “Relax. You don’t have to act so shy about it.”

“‘M not fuckin’ shy,” he snaps, finally lifting his head to glare at you. His face is still flushed, and his red eyes dart away the moment they meet yours. He’s scowling, his expression sharp as ever, but there’s something undeniably soft in the way he looks at you—like he’s trying to reconcile his usual bravado with the fact that he just lost it over you saying I love you.

You grin wider, leaning in to kiss the corner of his mouth. He freezes for a moment, his jaw tight, and then lets out a huff of air, like he’s trying to get himself under control. But he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he lets you kiss him, lets you soothe the lingering tension in his shoulders as your lips trail from his mouth to his jaw.

“It’s not a big deal,” you murmur, voice low and teasing, though your words are weighted with sincerity. “I’ve said it before, haven’t I? What’s one more time?”

Katsuki bristles immediately, his scowl deepening, but there’s no hiding the way his ears turn bright red. “S’different,” he mutters, barely audible, like admitting it aloud might kill him.

Your heart skips at his words. He’s not wrong. Saying I love you during sex, in a moment so vulnerable and raw, is different. It’s intimate in a way that catches even you off guard, and from the way Katsuki reacted, it clearly means something to him.

“You’re so damn cute,” you tease softly, your voice light, but the way you look at him is anything but. You mean it, every word, and he knows it. He scowls harder, which only makes you want to laugh again.

“Shut up,” he grits out, his tone rough but lacking bite. He looks at you then, really looks, and for a moment, he seems to hesitate, his sharp features softening ever so slightly. “You’re a pain in the ass, y’know that?”

You can’t help but smile. “Yeah, but you love me for it.”

Katsuki’s eyes narrow, and for a second, you think he might try to deny it, but instead, he groans, dragging a hand down his face as if the weight of his feelings for you is physically exhausting. “Dumbass.”

But there’s no heat in his words. If anything, there’s something almost tender in the way he looks at you after. Vulnerability doesn’t come easy to him—it’s a fight every time—but in moments like this, you can feel it, raw and unguarded. And it makes your chest ache, knowing that even when Katsuki struggles to say the words, he doesn’t have to. You see it in everything he does, in the way he holds you like you’re something precious, in the way he fights not to meet your gaze because he knows it’ll betray him.

“I love you too, idiot,” he mutters under his breath, and it’s so quiet you almost miss it. But you hear him. And in the warmth of that moment, you can’t help but feel like you’ve won something—something big, something you’ve always wanted but didn’t dare expect from someone like him.

“Say it again,” you tease, even though you’re grinning like a fool.

He growls, shifting his weight on top of you like he’s gearing up to smother you with his body. “Over my dead fuckin’ body.”

But there’s no hiding the way his lips twitch, threatening a smile he’s trying desperately to fight.

You can’t resist. He’s just too easy to rile up, especially when he’s like this—flustered, red-faced, and trying so hard to cling to his pride when he’s clearly out of his depth. Running your fingers lazily along his sweat-slick back, you lean in close, letting your lips brush against the shell of his ear as you purr, “I love you so much, my big, bad, buff Pro Hero.”

It’s meant to tease him, to needle at his embarrassment, and you expect him to explode—maybe snap back with one of his trademark insults, or bury his face in the crook of your neck again to hide his embarrassment. What you don’t expect is the subtle twitch of his cock against your thigh, the unmistakable weight of him stirring back to life.

Your eyes widen, and you can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of you, equal parts amused and incredulous. “Katsuki,” you say, raising an eyebrow as you tilt your head to look at him. “Really?”

His reaction is immediate and utterly predictable. “Shut up,” he snaps, his voice rough and defensive as he turns his face away from yours. His cheeks are practically glowing, the flush spreading down his neck and to his chest, but there’s no hiding the way his hips shift slightly, like he’s trying to get comfortable—and failing miserably.

You can’t stop grinning now, your own embarrassment forgotten in the face of his. “I mean, I didn’t even try to turn you on again,” you tease, your tone dripping with mock innocence. “What’s the deal, huh? Got something you wanna tell me?”

His red eyes flick back to yours, sharp and irritated, though the heat in his gaze betrays him. “You didn’t fuckin’ come yet, that’s why,” he bites out, the words rushed and defensive. “What, you think I’m just gonna leave you hangin’? I’m not a goddamn amateur.”

The excuse is so Katsuki it almost makes you laugh again. Because of course, he’d turn this into some kind of pride-fueled argument, as if the fact that he’s hard again is purely about your unfinished orgasm and not the fact that he’s just completely whipped for you.

“Oh, is that what it is?” you ask, your grin widening as you trail a finger down his chest, letting it rest just above his abdomen. “You’re just that dedicated to your job, huh? Nothing to do with me saying I love you, right?”

His jaw clenches, and you can see the way his hands flex at his sides, like he’s trying to decide whether he wants to throttle you or kiss you into silence. “You’re such a fuckin’ pain,” he growls, leaning down so that his face is just inches from yours. “I’m gonna shut you up, and then we’ll see who’s laughin’, yeah?”

The challenge in his voice sends a thrill through you, and before you can even think to respond, he’s moving—one hand sliding down to cup the back of your knee, spreading you open again as he rolls his hips forward to press the length of his cock against you. He’s still flushed, still grumbling under his breath about how insufferable you are, but the heat in his gaze is unmistakable now, raw and smoldering and entirely focused on you.

And when he dips his head to capture your lips in a bruising, breathless kiss, you know you’ve pushed him just far enough.

[dollfacefantasy]

NOT A TOY! ♡

pairing: rick grimes x fem!reader

summary: you and rick play around with the piece holstered to his belt

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, gun play (humping it), praise/degradation

wc: 1.4k

a/n: um sorry gang i wanted this to be longer but my brain wasn't working when i wrote it and it lowkey still is not 😔 based on this ask tho which i loved. i hope you guys like it. reblogs, comments, and asks are appreciated.

kinktober slot: day 22 - gun play

"You like this?" he asks, feigned disgust dripping from each syllable, "Dirty fuckin' girl."

"It feels good," you whimper in defense of yourself.

He chuckles at that, the sound coming out raspy and low. It's accompanied by the smirk on his face. The nearby light of the lantern makes his eyes look as though they're flickering with amusement at the position you're in.

The two of you were on watch for the night shift. While the sun set behind the tree line, you each climbed up into the tower that sat along the wall. Both of you started off focused on the task at hand. You kept your eyes forward, scanning the horizon for any signs of trouble, walker or human.

But as had been the norm for your time in Alexandria so far, nothing happened. No staggering figures emerged from the woods, nor did any cars creep down the road. You sat in the two chairs perched up there and talked back and forth about different things. You vented about different people in the group, shared stories about your lives in the old world, just normal stuff.

As the hours stretched on, you grew tired and migrated into Rick's lap. He let you settle in against his chest, expecting you to rest there for the remaining time. But like it normally went for the two of you, being so close meant you couldn't keep your hands off each other.

It started with simple making out. Your lips moved with one anothers in slow, open-mouthed kisses. His hands swept over your figure, stopping every so often to grope at your thighs or hips. He spun you around on his lap after a while to get you situated in a position to ride him.

In doing so, he went to move his gun out of its holster. The cool wooden finish of the grip brushed over your thigh, and the sensation sent a visible shudder through your body. 

His brows had raised with curiosity. Testing the idea, he dragged the weapon up your leg, and you shivered again.

"Feel somethin' good, sweetheart?" he asked.

Your eyes darted up to meet his, timidity gleaming over the small spheres. You responded with a little nod, and that was how you ended up here. The gun lodged between your thighs, the smooth grip pressed right up against your damp panties. 

You rut on the weapon like a puppy in heat - back and forth, back and forth. You're not sure if it's the thrill of using something so inherently dangerous as an object of pleasure or just something about the even curve of it that has you even more whiny than usual.

Your fingers clutch at his shoulders, dragging the fabric of his shirt up between them. His free hand not keeping the gun secure holds your chin. You want to drop your head back so bad. Your eyes are already so droopy with lust. You want to just melt and let loose, but he keeps you locked in this moment with him.

"Look at you. So desperate. You'll rub up on anything if it gets you off, huh?" he whispers.

Your head bobbles in his grasp, nodding yes.

"Mhm. As long as it feels good you don't care," he tuts. He boosts one of his legs to knock you closer. You topple forward further into his chest and stay there, accepting the warm expanse as refuge from the stimulation down below.

"Not my fault," you whimper, "Just feels so good."

"I bet it does," he chuckles.

Carefully, he angles the firearm upwards a bit more, letting your clit bump on the end of the grip. A sharp whine shoots from your lips, so he knows it was the right move.

You don't worry about anything right now. In this moment, it's just you and him. There's nothing to think about but humping the object below you like your life depends on it. You don't even worry about your own speed or force or anything. If there's anyone in this world you'd trust to do this with, it's Rick.

Rick who's intensely familiar with guns from his years on the force before this. Rick who's piece stays attached to his hip at all times. Rick who looks at you like you're the most precious being on earth, but who also can't get enough of reminding you what a little slut you can be. He's the only one who gets you to this level of depravity.

"Harder, baby. I know you can do better than this," he teases near your ear. You feel his breath tickle your skin, the sensation sending chills all across your heated flesh.

You try to follow what he says and press yourself down with more force. The smooth handle slots between your folds. You whine as you feel the increase in pressure, so close against you the contact almost feels direct.

His hands around back knead your ass. He gives it a small smack, beckoning you to keep up the pace.

"Want you to make yourself cum all over it. Get it all messy for me," he breathes, "I know those cute little panties are already soaked."

Your eyes flit down as if you didn't know that. His gaze follows in suit, a small laugh coming out of him. The more you rut on top of him, the darker the wet patch on the front of the delicate garment becomes. The sticky fabric adds to the friction though, making your release approach faster.

"F-fuck," you whimper. Your body tightens up at the impending sensation. The edge is right there. You don't think you could stop now if you wanted to.

"That's right, sweetheart. Making me proud. You're actin' like the perfect whore for me. Keep it up," he mumbles, each word only spurring you on.

You keep bucking your hips. Your grasp on him tightens. Your chest puffs in smaller intervals as you feel yourself racing towards the finish line. When you finally crest the peak, your back arches. You let out a strangled cry. Your body continues to rock brokenly on top of the object.

He grabs your chin again and pulls your face from where it'd been smooshed against his chest. His fingers direct you upward, forcing you to look at him.

"Look in my eyes while you cum, darlin'. Look at who's making you feel this good," he says.

Your cheeks fill with heat at the intensity of his gaze. Despite your instinct to look away, you keep your pupils locked on his blue irises, taking in all of the desire swirling there. Everything hits you harder. You tremble even more as the thing between your legs continues bringing you pleasure.

He chuckles and  drops his hand from your face. Once you're beginning the downward slope, he rubs your back, soothing you through it.

"Good girl. Let it all out. I've got you," he murmurs.

He keeps a firm hold on you, ensuring you don't fall off his lap. You continue on shuddering and riding out the rest of the high, but soon enough your body begins to settle. It feels like you're melting down into his chest. Every part of you loosens. You let out a deep sigh. And your eyes flutter.

His hand slithers down between the two of you to carefully extract his gun from the junction of your legs. He slides it out, briefly admiring the small sheen coating it. You scoot closer to be further in his arms as you hear him set the weapon on the table beside you.

He holds you there for a moment, letting you calm down. It's dark out now. Everything's quiet except for the sound of your breathing. His fingers massage the nape of your neck while he looks out at the pitch black expanse outside the walls.

Even though his attention resides elsewhere for the moment, when you shift around, you feel his bulge nudging the plush underside of your thighs. Reaching down, your fingers toy with the button on his jeans.

That same smug expression from earlier returns to his face as his eyes find yours again.

"You want more already?" he teases.

"That was just the warm up. I want the real thing," you say with a tiny smile.

"The real thing, huh? Greedy girl," he tuts playfully. But he adjusts his position a little in a way that you know you're gonna get what you want. "Let's see if you can handle the real thing without waking everybody up."

[yuquinzel]

— flowerthief.

feat. itoshi rin. fluff <3 short drabble. rin doesn’t greet you without flowers.

itoshi rin shows up at your house at exactly 9:38 pm — standing in all his glory — drenched in sweat and a mess of shattered breaths. you know he ran all the way here, which you can’t find the reason for when you check the time twice to make sure your eyes weren’t deceiving you.

you would’ve said something like rin what the hell it’s so late or maybe just cross your arms and peer down at him with a look that says well? to what do I owe the pleasure except it’s only sarcasm.

you would say all that if the first thing he did as you opened the door wasn’t shoving the HUGE bouquet of flowers in your face.

you have no idea where this is going.

it takes 10 seconds for you to realise he’s not going to move from his spot unless you accept the flowers and get them out of your face.

“uhm... what?” is all you can say.

“flowers.” he replies. only now allowing himself to relax and lean against the wall.

“i can see that, but why now?” you bring your fingers to trace the petals. rin is aware of all your favorites, so you’re not surprised to find them sweetly tucked together.

in fact this isn’t the first time he’s given you flowers.

ever since three months ago at the start of your relationship, when you had mindlessly told him you’ve never been given flowers— rin had made it his life’s mission to bring you flowers every. single. day. it’s sometimes a bouquet of blooming colors, sometimes it’s just a small flower he could’ve found anywhere on the roadside.

rin doesn’t greet you without flowers.

“i was so busy with practice today, i couldn’t come earlier.” he says in a somewhat hurried tone, each word cut off by the next.

you think of the hurried text he’d sent you earlier — practice’ll drag out today. i can’t come. sorry. — it was simple, and you knew he was busy so you weren’t upset over it either.

“i thought you couldn’t come?”

“but i wanted to.”

that explains the impromptu visit past 9 pm, the disheveled hair and the beads of sweat collecting on his forehead saying he ran like there was no tomorrow.

“that’s okay rinnie. you give me flowers everyday. it’s okay if you were too busy.” your fingers trace the soft petals. rin holds his breath.

“no, it’s not. i give you flowers everyday. why should today be any different?”

a smile tugs at your lips. you feel giddy and warm. the thought that he’d rushed out of practice and took the time to get you a bouquet of your favourites just to come see you even though he must be exhausted — why he goes out of his way to make you feel special — it sort of steals your breath and make your heart ricochet like bullets in your ribcage.

so when you take your hand to brush his cheeks, the warmth lingering in your hands, rin takes a hold of it in a firm grip. his own hand resting on top of yours to keep it there.

his shoulders relax, “do you like them?” he asks, like always, eyes shining with a glimmer you only ever see around you.

“i love them.” you say, all your love for him and his flowers safely wrapped up in the syllables.

rin lets a small smile play at his lips, “...and?”

you laugh at this, knowing exactly what he means. “and i love you.”

“i love you too.” rin mirrors your laugh, a sputter of low breaths throughout the air.

© yuquinzel2024 [ plagiarism is a violation of moral rights ! ]

one less draft. woohoo. fellas i present to you, rin, the epitome of “if he wanted to, he would.”

[mattysprincess]

Love me like it’s the last thing you’ll do.

This is the prequel to this Drabble

SMUT! MDNI!!

It’s not proofread so if you find any mistakes don’t be shy to DM me!! And I’m always open for criticism and tips!

You and Mattheo had been dating for around 1 month, you kept your relationship Private for now because as much as he loved you… he was still scared of others viewing him as weak for actually having feelings, for being in love.

For the record, Mattheo Riddle has never been in a relationship nor romantically involved with any girl ever, it was all hookups and one night stands and so you understood that he wanted to take it slow, understanding his worries and fears.

The problem with that however is that you can’t show affection to eachother in public, leading to others thinking you’re single and free to hit on… which Mattheo can’t seem to handle very well.

Mattheo shoots you a quick text after some overly confident Gryffindor tried flirting with you.

‘My dorm. Now.’

That doesn’t sound too good… You immediately make your way to his dorm, not bothering to knock, as always, you slowly push the door open revealing a frowning Mattheo pacing in his room. “Why were you so close to him?” He immediately shoots and his tone confirms your bad feeling. “Mattheo-“ “Why the fuck were you even with him? Did he make you laugh? Is he better? Did you flirt with him-?!” “Mattheo.”

Your firm voice cuts through his questions and he looks at you as you step closer, standing right infront of him now. “Will you let me speak?’’ He runs a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated but nods. “Thank you.. no, I did not flirt with him, no he didn’t make me laugh and no he isn’t better than you. He came up to me and tried to flirt but I told him I’m not interested and to use his awful flirting skills with someone else.” You cup his cheeks, rubbing your thumb back and forth gently. “You know you’re the only one I allow to flirt with me…”

Mattheos expression soften at your words and touch, feeling guilty for even thinking you would. “I’m sorry I just- I don’t know… I hate when guys think they can flirt with you and have a chance with you.” He lifts one hand to cup yours that’s on his cheek, squeezing lightly. You smile at his little gesture and apology, letting out a soft breath.

“It’s okay Matty… just next time let me speak first, yeah?” you chuckle softly, leaning up to press a soft kiss to the tip of his nose, making him let out a chuckle under his breath.

“I don’t deserve you…” he mutters lowly, looking at you like you’re the most precious living and breathing thing. You feel a light pink dust your cheeks, yet a frown finds its way to your lips. “Matty… you do deserve me.” you say softly, voice barely above a whisper and he just shakes his head. “Baby… you’re everything I never will be. You’re soft, delicate, sweet… you’re like a ray of sunshine wherever you go. You make people happy just by smiling at them, your voice brings others comfort and warmth. You’re every good thing bundled up into a person and I'm-" he sighs and sits down at the edge of his bed, looking down "and I’m me.” he murmurs.

The frown on your face stays as you walk up to stand between his legs, cupping his cheeks to coax him to look up at you. “look at me please my love..” you say softly, so much warmth in your tone that he can’t help the way his heart flutters, the way he looks up at you so willingly. He’d do anything if you’d just asked with that sweet voice of yours, one word, a simple syllable is enough to make him forget about everything else. “Mattheo you’re you and that’s what makes you so special.” you whisper, like sharing a secret with him “you say you’re not sweet, kind nor soft… but when you touch me it’s like I’m made out of the finest porcelain, when you talk to me I feel like I’m floating, you go out of your way to do anything that might make me crack a smile and you always help me with everything even if I keep telling you I can do it myself.” You smile at him, stroking his cheek and he smiles back lightly “I know you can do it yourself.. but I’m your boyfriend, I want to do it for you. You shouldn’t have to lift a finger when I’m around.” He takes one of your hands that’s on his cheek and brings it to his mouth, brushing his lips against your knuckles. “This is why you deserve me Mattheo… me and so much more.” You whisper, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his lips.

The kiss, supposed to be sweet, quickly gets deeper as he tangles one of his hands in your hair and his other pulls you onto his lap, pressing you flush against him. He nudges his tongue against your bottom lip, asking for entrance that you grant him so willingly. He pushes his tongue into your mouth, tasting you, exploring you like he’s done countless of times yet it still feels different. Softer, gentler, more passionate and like he’s pouring all of his love and affection into a single kiss. It’s making both your heart swell with love as well as make your pussy throb with excitement and desire and you know Mattheos feeling the same because the second you grind your hips down onto his you feel his bulge pressing flush against you, the only thing separating you being his pants and your panties.

“Fuck… baby I need you.” He murmur against your lips, his hands slipping beneath the fabric of your shirt, thumbs striking the undersides of your breasts as his mouth moves down to press hot opened mouthed kisses from your jaw down to the column of your throat.

“Then take me, Matty… I’m only yours to take.” You breathe out, Mattheos eyes darkening as the words leave your mouth. “That’s right… mine.” He murmurs against your skin and lifts your shirt up and over your head, leaning back to admire you. “Merlin… you’re beautiful. My beautiful, beautiful girl.. all mine baby.” He says under his breath, more to himself than to you.

His hands roam your body, squeezing and caressing whatever he can, all the while whispering sweet nothings against your skin. You let him, sitting in his lap all soft and pliant and patient, just letting him feel you and worship you however he wants. His hands reach your thighs, going up and under your skirt, his fingers playing with the hem of your panties. “You gonna be a good girl and let me worship your pretty little body, baby?” He murmurs against your neck and all you can do is nod as your stomach flutters in the best way possible. “So perfect, such a perfect girl for me hm?” He grins, pulling your panties down your legs and patting your thigh, silently telling you to stand so you do. He pulls them down completely, then slowly unzips your skirt, letting it drop and pool at your feet. You stand before him, bare as he finally unclasps your bra and removes the last piece of clothing that’s preventing him from seeing all of you. He stands, towering above you as he grabs your waist and lays you down on the bed. “You’re beautiful… fuck you’re so perfect, baby, I could look at you forever and never get bored of it.” He whispers under his breath, looking at you with soft eyes yet you see the hunger behind them, the simmering heat of desire he’s only ever had for you. You reach up, fingers tangling in his curls before coming down to cup his cheeks “I wanna see you too, Matty… please.” The second you utter please, whatever it is, Mattheo will always give you. So he leans down to peck your lips, a lingering kiss, before leaning back and taking off his shirt. Now it’s your eyes roaming over his body, unashamed desire on full display as well as admiration for his trained and scarred body. His hands go down his belt, undoing it quickly and then unzipping his pants, kicking them off and leaning back over you. “That needs to go too.” You whisper with a smile and point to his black boxers, he grins back at you amusedly “someone’s impatient.” You raise a brow at him “as if you want to wait any longer?” He chuckles at that, pressing kisses from your forehead to your cheek and then finally to your lips “I wanna take my time with you tonight, Angel. Let me show you I love you… how much you mean to me.” Your lips part slightly as you look up at him, he sounds so vulnerable and genuine… you could never deny him anything, not that you wanted to anyways so you nod, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek. “I’m yours, Mattheo. Tonight, tomorrow, always.” He closes his eyes for a moment, heart beating dangerously fast and a smile graces his lips “and I’m yours, Angel. Tonight, tomorrow, always.”

With that he starts pressing open mouthed kisses down your body, taking a nipple between his lips as he reaches your breasts, making you moan as he swirls his tongue around it, sucking, licking and kissing while his hand is caressing the other bud. Your hands tangle in his unruly curls, tugging slightly as he gently bites you, not being able to resist it. He releases your right nipple with a pop, blowing cool air on the wet bud and making goosebumps raise on your entire body. He moves to the other, giving it the same attention before moving further down to your stomach, kissing and licking whatever he can. When he gets down to your hips, he sucks a hickey right above where your panties would be.

He moves lower and lower but right past where you need him most, making your squirm slightly and he smirks. “Be patient, baby… I’ll give you what you want, just be good a little longer.” He murmur against the inside of your thighs, biting you there gently and making you yelp slightly and tug at his hair. His tongue goes over the spot he bit gently, soothing the sting and saying sorry. He litters your thighs in hickeys and bite marks until your legs are clenching and trembling from the heat that’s pooled right between your legs. “Matty please…” he chuckles slightly, looking up from between your legs “such good manners for me…” he licks a long stripe up your pussy, making you moan out as your head drops back against the pillow.

He eats you out like a man starved, his tongue reaching whatever it can. He lifts your legs over his shoulders, his arms wrapping around your hips, one hand sprawled over your stomach possessively. Moans and whimpers tumble from your lips, his name on your tongue like a prayer as he devours you whole. The only thing on his mind is your pleasure, how to make you feel good… how he wants to be the only one to ever see you or make you feel this way, driven by those thoughts the dives in with even more fervour “I can feel you clench angel… cum for me, right on my tongue like a good girl.”

Those words push you over the edge, your whole body tensing up as you clench your thighs around his head and he swears he’s in heaven. He laps up your release, making you twitch and only when he’s made sure he’s got every last drop he lifts his head, crawling back over you and licking his lips “I might just need to give you a new nickname… you taste so sweet, fuck I’d give up every meal on this planet if it meant I got to eat you for the rest of my life,” he murmurs with a smile and you look up at him, chest heaving with pants, small smile on your lips “so what will you call me?” He grins at that “I think sweetness would fit you quite well, wouldn’t it?” That tears a small giggle from your lips, making Mattheo grin wider.

After calming down a bit, you tense up again as you feel his dick prodding at your entrance “oh you didn’t think we’re done, did you?” He grins “I’d be disappointed if we were, Matty.” And with that he slowly pushes in, making sure you feel every inch of his rock hard cock as he splits you open. You gasp, clawing at his back, it was always difficult to take him but with his gentle words and soft coos it somehow seems so much more intense then all the times before.

“Shhh I’ve got you angel, I’ve got you… relax for me, can you do that? Can you be a good girl and relax for me?” He coos softly on your ear, making you want to do whatever he asks without question so you try your best to relax for him. He feels your walls unclench the slightest bit and smiles, peppering soft kisses along your face and jaw once’s he’s fully inside you. “So good for me… you’re doing so good, I’m so proud of you.” He whispers against your skin and you can’t help but clench around him again, making him groan.

He lets you adjust for a couple seconds before he pulls back until only his tip remains and pushes back in, making you let out a loud moan. He grins and does it again, setting a slow rhythm, each thrust hard and deep, you swore you could feel him in your stomach. He grunts above you, small hisses and pants leaving his lips and it’s the hottest things you’ve ever experienced.

He slowly picks up the pace, grabbing your hips with one hand while the other goes to your neck, squeezing lightly which oddly brings you comfort. “Matty..!” Your breathless voice rings out and Mattheo cant help but go harder, almost pounding into you before pulling out completely, a whine slipping from your lips. But before you could get any word of protest out he grabs you and turns you around, hands and knees digging into the mattress as he slips back inside on one long thrust. “I’m gonna take you like this and you’re gonna love it, okay?” He leans down, his chest pressing against your back as his one hand slips down to press against your stomach while he moves in and out of you. “F-fuck… Mattheo oh my god..!” You feel him deep inside you, so much more intensely then before and your face drops into the sheets as he pounds into you from behind.

“Fuck you’re amazing… I love you much, can you feel how deep I’m inside you? No one will ever get that deep because You. Are. Mine.” Each word is punctuated with a hard thrust, your eyes roll back and in that moment all you think about is him, how he makes you feel and how you’ll only ever be his for the rest of your life. The hand on your stomach reaches down, playing with your clit as he pounds into you impossibly faster “come with me, sweetness. Come on my cock while I come inside you.” He breathes into your ear and you all but comply, clenching around him tightly and coming for the second time that night with a loud moan of his name.

He rides out your orgasm, his thrusts growing sloppy and with a few more his body jerks and he sheaths himself deep inside you, filling you up with his hot cum as you twitch from the feeling. You fall onto the mattress and he rolls you over onto your back before collapsing on top of you, his head buried in your neck as you both try to catch your breaths.

“I love you…”

Im so sorry for being inactive guys, I’ve been a bit stressed lately. Take this as an apology and happy New years! Love all of you <3

~Princess

Taglist: @revesephemeres @ur-local-wizard

[pellucid-constellations]

If It All Fell (10)

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: If it all fell apart—if you forgot who you were—would you love him again? Would the bond guide you back? Azriel doesn't know if that uncertainty is one he can bear.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: Angst, pining

a/n: As always, thank you so much for reading :) You guys have really been in it for the long haul with this fic and I adore you for it. My brain only lets me write it about once a month. I hope you love it and I love you!!! Please let me know what you think!!! ❤️

Series Masterlist (all parts ♡)

~~

The syllables of your name echoed, bouncing off the stark chamber of your mind that was now sullied by a beautiful memory with no context. You’d grown used to the quietness, the emptiness—however temporary that was to be. The new memory chafed. 

Pressure remained constant along the back of your neck and you felt the awkward angle of your back as it rested against something sharp. Your body shifted. Another pained croak of your name vibrated in the air. 

“Please, please.” Azriel, you determined, his voice restrained and tight. “Not again. Please, not again. I thought—I thought it would’ve been okay. It didn’t seem—” 

He cut himself off, choking on the words and leaning down until you felt his face press into your shoulder. You wanted to open your eyes, but nothing made sense enough for you to do so. The memory of your laughter and joy lingered in your mind still, creating a dull ache that battled with the present. 

“You wouldn’t have had to find me. I never would have left your side.”

Azriel had said that. This Azriel—right? 

“I love you. I love you and I’m sorry, y/n,” you heard the words mumbled against your skin. “I’m so sorry. I knew I shouldn’t have pushed it. I knew—” 

Was this the same Azriel who avoided the threshold of your bedroom for days after your return to Velaris? The one that refused a simple lunch with you and struggled to look you in the eye? Was this the Azriel you had seen in that memory? 

He spoke as if he were—held you with a reverence that seemed to connect each and every discrepancy. 

You let out a shaky breath, fighting for full consciousness. When your eyes finally caught up with your brain, Azriel was there, hovering over you with damp cheeks and a harrowed expression. 

Last time—you thought, connecting dots as you blinked away the ache behind your eyes—you probably hadn’t woken up. Last time, Azriel had most likely approached this with much less delicacy and you had paid the price. Everyone said you were in too much pain to hear about your past. 

Last time, last time, last time. 

“Are you okay?” Azriel asked, his broken words a testament to your assumptions. 

But you weren’t thinking about last time anymore. 

Azriel was your mate.

You were Azriel’s mate. 

And he had said—

“You said you wouldn’t leave my side,” you whispered. You were clutching at his arms with a white-knuckle grip, the action barely registering in your mind. “You said—” 

“When, baby?” Azriel rushed, the endearment passing through his lips like a desperate prayer. His fingers made their way to your cheeks, brushing along your skin just as desperately. 

“When we were married. You said… the first time… you wouldn’t have left my side if I never remembered you.” 

Azriel’s expression widened. “When we were… Did you—” 

His breath came out in quick huffs. He blinked, as if to clear the image of you in his arms, and then moved to sit you up in his lap. His shadows were a mess alongside you, wrapping and twining into odd shapes as they sought to ease the tension on the balcony. 

When you were finally situated against him, your body still shaking with the events of the evening, Azriel licked his lips and spoke. “Did you remember something?” 

“Yes,” you whispered, your gaze fixated on your fingers as they rested in your lap. You observed your tremors with an unnecessary acuity. “I think so. We were… in bed. After our wedding, I think. You said we were mates, right?” 

You tilted your head up to catch his eye in a question, feeling no embarrassment at your question. Something had shifted after his admission. After your memory. 

You felt more empowered with just a taste of your life. 

“Are,” Azriel clarified. “We are mates. Now and always.” 

“You said something similar in my memory.” You turned back down to your fingers. “How long ago was that?” 

“If you remembered our wedding, that was 267 years ago. After we got you back from Day Court we had a ceremony—a public one. It was around a year after you were healed.” 

“267 is very specific.” 

“I could never forget the day I married you.” 

You locked your fingers together and squeezed your hands until it hurt. 

“Are you okay?” Azriel asked again. His tone was lower this time, almost scared. 

You furrowed your brows and released your fingers. The shaking had stopped. You hadn't tried to remove yourself from Azriel’s lap and he hadn’t commented on how you nestled into his chest as if it were your right. 

Because, apparently, it was your right to touch him in this way. You had been fighting that instinct for weeks, but right now you were confused and conflicted and although everything was becoming clear, it also felt as if your world was toppled once again. So you didn’t move from the one thing that made you feel sane. And Azriel did not move you.

“I think so,” you answered.

“Are you… angry with me?” 

The furrow of your brow deepened. “Should I be?” 

“Yes.” His answer was instantaneous. You turned your face up to inspect the guilt lacing his tone and found it in the clench of his jaw—in the wetness still evident in his waterline. “I have failed you, y/n. I have failed you twice and, this time, I have broken more than one promise.” 

“Azriel—” you began, ready to reassure something you had no understanding of, but the shadowsinger hung his head and refused to let you stumble through your words. 

“I do not deserve your forgiveness—not now. I told you I would stay beside you and then I ran in cowardice. I brought you to this,” he gestured with his shoulders. “To this confusion and isolation. I am supposed to be your mate, y/n. I know that doesn't mean much to you now, but it will. And you will be disgusted by me.” 

“Azriel, that can’t be true,” you argued. “I know this has been so hard and I don’t blame you for your actions. I was angry before—I am still angry—but not at your fear.” 

Azriel’s teeth came together even harder, grinding as his wings coiled tightly at his shoulders. He took a long breath and released it through his nose, frustration emanating from him in waves. But not towards you, you gathered, as he finally looked down to meet your gaze and his eyes softened to match the dried tears on his face. 

You wanted to reach up and soothe some of the torture written across his expression, but Azriel gave you a sad smile that stopped you in your tracks. 

He rested his hand on your cheek. “Always too good for me,” he whispered, a too-quiet preface to his next declaration. “I’m going to take you back to your room. Your body and mind must be exhausted. We can talk in the morning.” 

“But Azriel—” 

“I’m not going anywhere,” he assured. “Tomorrow.” 

~~

You lasted about two hours in your room. 

Calling it “your” room was a bit of a stretch. You had confirmed your suspicions that something had been off about the space after learning of your mate. There was no way you lived in this room alone when you had a relationship like that. 

You began pacing after Azriel had left you at the door. He had placed a lingering hand on your shoulder and waited until you shut the door behind you to leave. So, still fraught with confusion and pent-up frustration and newfound hope, you started pacing. 

Azriel had told you to rest, a futile recommendation with so much battling within your mind. But above it all, you were thinking about him—about the memory and his words and him being your mate.

You had meant what you said on the balcony. You were still angry at the way everyone treated you like glass. There was still much that needed to be said and feelings that needed to be revealed, but you felt no ill will toward Azriel. Not in the way he expected you to. 

Still, part of you felt a sense of betrayal. The Azriel from your memory had seemed so devoted to you, so sure that he would stop at nothing to rectify any distance between the two of you. And you had seen glimpses of that Azriel in this strange state you were in now, but some of that was missing. 

You were having a hard time balancing his fear with his love, but more signs pointed towards love. 

Didn’t they? 

It didn’t help that you were contemplating this alone in an empty room, leaving tracks in the carpet and stringing your body so tight a soreness had begun creeping up your heels. You huffed and sat on the bed instead, biting your nails. 

Azriel was your mate. 

He loved you. 

You’d heard him say it multiple times now, in more ways than just the explicit words. 

Hadn’t you? 

“Our souls are linked—mates I mean.” 

“Fuck, I miss you.” 

“Yes, my love?”

“You’re okay, angel. You’re okay.” 

“Y/n, spending time with you—being around you—it’s as natural as breathing for me.”

“You are the one sure thing in my life.”

You rose from the bed abruptly, your body making a decision before your mind. You flung the door open to “your” bedroom and walked approximately six steps to the next room. You had assumed Azriel was staying close after spotting his shadows beneath the door a few weeks back, and there was no denying it now. 

You rapt your knuckles against the wood three times, his door flinging open before you could go for a fourth. 

The shadowsinger looked frazzled, his hair askew and his sweats haphazardly thrown on. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?” 

You ignored the clear panic in his tone as you asked, “Do you love me?” 

“What?” 

Taking advantage of the confusion and shock rendering him vulnerable, you swept under Azriel’s arm on the door and stood your ground in his room. You crossed your arms and bit the inside of your cheek as Azriel robotically shut the door and turned around to face you. 

“I asked if you love me,” you repeated. “I only have one memory back and you say we’re mates. I… I’m inclined to believe that you do. I think I’ve heard you say it but only when you think I can’t hear you and—” 

“I do,” Azriel hurriedly replied, remaining rooted by the door. “I do love you. I love you so much that I haven’t been able to help myself in those moments. You have heard me say it. I’ve been saying it to your back for weeks.” 

Your chest heaved, emotion weighing it down. “Were you only staying away out of fear?” 

“Yes,” Azriel confirmed. “And it hurt—being around you. I was a fool.” 

Shadows swirled beneath your feet. 

“This is just hard for me. I don’t really understand where I fit in here. I have this memory of you saying one thing and then—” 

“I know. I’m so sorry, my love.” 

You blinked at the unabashed way he addressed you.

Azriel did not flinch. 

Gnawing at your bottom lip, you unleashed the question that had been plaguing you since you began pacing two hours ago. 

“Do you love me when I’m like this? Even now?” 

Azriel deflated, the panic extinguishing from his body and his expression falling. He took two long strides to meet you across the room, his hands hovering over your arms for a moment before he shook his head and touched you—perhaps despite his better judgment, his fear. 

“I will love you until the day I die, y/n. Even if you cast me aside. Even if you have no idea who I am.” He winced and shut his eyes, giving into instinct and pressing his forehead to yours. “I love you and it hurts. And I would take that pain to the grave if it meant I still had the privilege of belonging to you in some way.” 

You brushed your hands up to wrap your fingers around his wrists, your eyes open while his remained shut—like it pained him to even speak the words.

You wanted to say something back—a reassurance, a reciprocation, anything. But everything that would come out of your mouth would be a half-truth. You loved him, but did you? Did you really love him yet, or did you just love the way he spoke to you and how he made you feel? Did you know enough about him in the context of your life to love him? And if you couldn’t say it back right now would he—

“Hey,” Azriel’s slow tone brought you back to the present, his gaze now soft upon yours. “I can feel your panic. It’s okay, y/n. You don’t need to say anything.” 

Your lips parted. “You can feel it? Like my power?”

“Not quite. Do you trust me?” 

“Of course I do.” 

A familiar jolt invaded your ribs, making you gasp at its resurgence. You didn’t feel it often, but it was always jarring when it happened. And it always seemed to happen most when you were scared or hurt or in danger. Putting the pieces together now…

“That’s you?” you gaped, rubbing below your ribs. Azriel leaned back, giving you some space with a small smile on his lips. 

“It is. You can do it back if you know where to find it.” 

“Even with my magic blocked? Right now I can't even sense anything. Not like I could earlier.”

“Try,” Azriel encouraged with a small nod. 

And so you did, closing your eyes and searching within you for something to pull on—anything to grasp. There was a lot of empty space, some areas overflowing with the new memories you’d made, but in a far corner, dim and dull, was a glowing thread. 

You reached for it and yanked, the action sparking a more fluorescent gold. 

Azriel let out a small gasp. The beautiful flow of his laughter followed, a melody of relief and joy intertwined. Your mate stared back at you, his eyes crinkled at the corners and allowed his smile to overtake his face. 

“It has been so long since I’ve felt you. The bond has been there, but it hasn’t felt alive. It hasn’t felt like you.” 

You let out a small giggle at the ridiculous-sounding notion. “What has it felt like?” 

“I get your most heightened emotions, but they feel dull. They’ve been missing something.” 

“You feel my emotions?” you marveled, looking inward once more to inspect the link between you. “Why don’t I feel yours?” 

“I believe you have a few times,” Azriel admitted. His wings had begun to unfurl from their uncomfortable cinch at his back. “I’ve tried to keep them closed off during all of this. I didn’t want you trying to wade through someone else’s feelings when you were already confused.” 

“Could you…open them back up?” 

Azriel shot you a dubious look, knocking his head to the side before he passed you to sit on the side of the bed. “I don’t know, y/n. I’ve been… feeling a lot. I don’t want to put that on you.” 

“I’ve been feeling a lot,” you shot back, coming to stand in front of his bent knees. “And you’ve been taking all of it.” 

“I’m used to feeling you. I welcome it.” 

You crossed your arms and raised a brow. “Didn’t we discuss this? I want to get used to feeling you, Azriel. I want my life back, memories or not.”

Azriel let out a sigh, pressing his fingers together between his knees. He bowed his head for a moment before staring back up at you with a defeated expression. His wings lay bare and open along the bed behind him. “I’m not going to win this one, am I?” 

“Do you want to?” 

Another small, defeated chuckle from your mate, and then something came alive within you, that golden thread singing, finally living up to its full potential. You had to brace yourself at the full force of it, your hand landing on Azriel’s bicep as you stumbled. He placed a hand on your back and your eyes fluttered as you parsed through this new feeling. 

You felt him. 

His fear, anger, and frustration; he was filled with so much sadness and longing, and the pain lingering in undertones was dull yet overwhelming at the same time. Each emotion fought for dominance. But there was something else pulsing down the bond, something intentionally sent. 

Adoration, love, devotion—you weren’t sure what to label it but it undermined all else. 

You laughed in disbelief, bringing your free hand up to cover your mouth. You felt the warmness of your face as you went. This was indescribable. 

“How is it?” Azriel asked. His thumb was rubbing circles into your spine. “Too much?” 

“No,” you were quick to reply. “No, Az, this is—wow, you weren’t kidding when you described mating bonds to me.” 

“I’m glad you approve,” he teased. “Tell me if you want me to close it.” 

The thought of losing this connection seemed unreasonably terrible. You shook your head and pressed closer to your mate, slotting your body in between his legs. 

You remained in comfortable silence for several minutes, relishing in the bond tethering you to each other. Eventually, you migrated to lean against his thigh as you fiddled with the material of his shirt, and the position felt the same as the one on the balcony—like it was yours to take.

“I’m going to ask you something and you have every right to say no,” Azriel said, breaking the silence that had blanketed the room. You nodded for him to continue. “Would you stay with me tonight? In here?” 

“To sleep?” you asked, surprise evident in your raised voice. 

Azriel huffed out a laugh, lightly nudging his nose against your cheek. “To sleep,” he confirmed. “Just, with the bond open like this, I would feel better if you were near me. If you aren’t comfortable with that, I completely understand. I can—” 

“Yes.” 

[stadiumbleachers]

Trophy Wife:

Spencer Reid x Reader

Blurb: Reader is ,unknowingly, the wife of a criminal. Spencer Reid is tasked with unfolding the web of lies her husband has placed her in. Somewhere along the way, the lines get blurred.

Content: Sexually explicit. MDNI

Word count: 5.3K

When Spencer Reid first invaded your carefully coordinated life, you were swirling a glass of Pinot noir and contemplating how you would use your husband’s platinum card to make up for another missed date.

“Is this seat taken?” he asked, already reaching for the stool on your right.

“No, go ahead” you mumbled, barely taking your eyes from the counter. Then you smelled his cologne, something dark and musky. Taking a sip of your wine, you glanced at the stranger beside you.

He looked nothing like the men your husband associated with. He had a head of shaggy hair and an almost innocent look you hadn’t seen in years. Best of all, he stared directly into your eyes.

You raised a perfectly manicured brow at him. You weren’t stupid. Nowadays,only men who wanted business with your husband or wanted in on his secrets would dare to approach you.

“I don’t usually come to places like this,” he admitted, his slender fingers drumming against the bar. His voice was smooth and slow, like he was weighing every syllable before he let it leave his lips.

You finally turned your body slightly toward him. “And yet, here you are.”

A small, almost sheepish smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah. Here I am.”

The bartender slid a drink in front of him—something neat and simple. You took the chance to really analyze the man beside you. He wore a crisp white button down shirt with pristine black slacks. No flashy jewelry- he didn’t seem to be in the business of men like your husband.

“I’m Spencer, by the way, forgive me if I’m being impolite”

You took his outstretched hand and watched as he placed a ghost of a kiss on your knuckles, but his eyes were looking past you at the mostly empty bar. You waited until he finished scanning the room to tell him your name.

Spencer wrapped his fingers around the glass but didn’t take a sip.

You leaned in, intrigued despite yourself. “So, what brings you here? Business or pleasure?”

A quick look at his waist revealed a subtle bulge under his belt. A gun. Maybe he’s law enforcement.

He hesitated, but just barely. “A little of both.”

There was something about the way he said it, the way his gaze flickered across your face like he was already reading you. Like he already knew why you were here - alone, swirling expensive wine in a designer dress bought with dirty money.

You should have turned back to your drink. You should have finished it, and gone home to the penthouse where your husband wouldn’t be waiting for you.

Instead, you met Spencer Reid’s eyes and asked, “And which one am I, detective?”

Shock flashed across his face but he quickly schooled his features. “Observant,” he murmured, squinting his eyes slightly like he was reevaluating you. “But I’m not a detective.”

You hummed, wrapping a finger around a stray coil that escaped from your puff. “CIA then? No…FBI?”

His lips pressed together, neither confirming nor denying, but that was answer enough.

“You must know who my husband is.” It wasn’t a question.

Sadly, you thought you knew who your husband was until a year ago when all those lucrative business deals came to light for the fraud they were. Now he was busy covering his tracks and had no time for you.

Spencer exhaled, his fingers tapping against his untouched drink. “I do.” He waited for a beat. “How much do you know?”

You let out a soft laugh, taking a slow sip of your wine. “I know why a man like you might be looking for him, but the details are all hidden from me.”

Spencer studied you, waiting, as if he didn’t know whether to believe you.

You swirled the deep red liquid in your glass before setting it down. “If you’re wondering whether I love him, that’s hardly relevant.”

He shuffled a hair closer, voice barely above a whisper “And if I’m asking whether you’re willing to help me?”

Your pulse jumped, but you didn’t let it show. You weren’t naive enough to blindly trust this man.

Instead, you studied your French manicure, gleaming against your brown skin.

“That depends,” you mused, “Help you with what, exactly?”

Spencer reached into his pocket, producing a card. He slid it across the bar, his fingers brushing yours- warm, steady, but deliberate.

“Call me any time, night or day,” he said simply.

You lifted the card between two fingers, turning it over. Then you tucked it into your clutch, and snapped it shut.

You picked up your glass, taking one last slow sip before standing. “Have a good night, Agent.”

…

Weeks after meeting you, Special Agent Spencer Reid was dozing off on a jet somewhere over America when his phone rang.

“Hello?” He grumbled, forgotten documents fell from his lap as he shifted.

“I’m sorry. This is stupid, there’s just no one else I can call that he hasn’t blocked out of my life and he’s a complete psycho-”

“Hold on.. let me just…slow down and tell me what happened”. He sat up straighter.

You swallowed hard around the ball in your throat, then opened your mouth to speak but nothing came out.

“Okay, you don’t have to talk. Just breathe with me. Deep breath in…” he filled his lungs up loud enough for you to hear and draw a shaky inhale.

“And out…”

You followed his lead and more warm salty tears flowed down your face but your throat hurt just a little less.

“He-he put a knife to my throat,” you finally whispered, your voice strained. “I thought he was finally going to snap and kill me”

A sharp inhale from the other end of the line

“But he didn’t,” Spencer said, his voice softer now, deeply aware of how delicate your situation was, “You’re safe for now?”

You glanced around the dimly lit bathroom where you had locked yourself, gripping the edge of the marble counter. You caught a glimpse of the bags under your eyes. The result of sleepless nights looking over your shoulder.

“For now,” you murmured.

Spencer sighed in relief “You did the right thing calling me.”

A bitter laugh almost slipped past your lips. “I don’t know about that.”

“I do,” he said firmly. “You’re stronger than you think. And you’re going to get through this,I can help you”

Something warm unfurled in your chest at the certainty in his voice. You weren’t used to someone speaking to you like that. It had been a while since you felt like you had any control over your own life.

“I need you to listen carefully, okay?” Spencer continued, his tone turning more focused. “We need intel on his next move; who he’s meeting, what deals are happening, anything you can get.”

You sucked in a breath. “He keeps all that locked up; passwords, secured files. I don’t even know where to start.”

“You don’t have to,” Spencer assured you. “Just get close enough to hear. Watch where he keeps his phone, his laptop. If you can get access to his schedule, that’s even better.”

“You’re asking me to hand over my husband to you on a silver platter. What do I get?”

Spencer didn’t hesitate. “I’m asking you to help put an end to this. To protect yourself. What you get is freedom, a whole new life away from the mess that man has put you in”

You should have been terrified. Maybe you were. But there was something else, too. The way he spoke to you, the way he guided you through your panic, it did something to you.

“I’ll do it,” you whispered.

“Good girl,” he murmured.

You felt your face heat up and fought the small smile creeping onto your features.

You shouldn’t have liked the way that felt. But you did.

…

From that point on you were your husband’s shadow. You were dutiful and doting and willing to comply to his every whim if it meant you were close enough to hear his plans.

When it was safe, you and Spencer would talk on the phone or he would send notes through the officers assigned to watch your house, some more personal and sweet than you would expect.

After sitting in on a lunch meeting at the office, you learnt that there were “assets” to be received four weeks from now. But that’s all you knew because your husband and his partners would talk in code around you.

Using your secret second phone you texted Spencer to meet you urgently at your favorite place - the library.

The library was quiet, the scent of old books thick in the air as you traced your fingers along a random spine, pretending to read while you waited.

You felt him before you saw him—Spencer moved quietly, but there was the feeling of his eyes on you. Then, suddenly, a hand wrapped around your wrist, tugging you between two tall shelves.

“You’re reading Alice in Wonderland?” he asked,, amusement lacing his voice as his eyes flickered to the book in your hand.

You smirked, slamming it shut. “I had to pick something to look busy.”

His lips twitched. “Did you know the writer, Lewis Caroll, had a neurological disorder that caused strange hallucinations and affected the size of visual objects, which can make the sufferer feel bigger or smaller than they are. So in a way he was Alice”

You blinked at him, momentarily distracted from the danger of your situation. “Wait, really?”

He nodded, and the corners of your mouth curled slightly. “That’s kind of… interesting.”

He looked surprised. “You think so?”

You shrugged. “I just didn’t expect a criminal profiler to be into children’s literature”

“I didn’t expect a trophy wife to be into it either,” he shot back with a small grin.

You gasped at his attempt at a joke but before you could reply, the sound of footsteps made you tense. Spencer’s hand pressed against your lower back, guiding you swiftly into a small, dark broom closet.

It was tiny, barely enough room for the two of you, and suddenly, you were much too aware of how close you stood. His breath was warm against your cheek, his chest barely an inch from yours.

“Tell me what you found out,” he murmured, his voice low.

You swallowed, trying to ignore how fast your heart was beating. “At the meeting, the hospital CEO, Daniel Grant, was there. So was one of my husband’s finance partners.”

Spencer’s expression darkened. “Which partner?”

You told him the name, and he went completely still. “He was in the news a few months ago. His niece has kidney failure and she’s on the transplant list.”

The pieces snapped together in your mind, but Spencer was already moving, pulling out his phone. “Garcia, I need a location trace on my suspect and Mr. Daniel Grant. See if they’ve traveled together recently.”

There was a pause, then a muffled response from his tech analyst. Spencer’s brows pulled together. “Three cities. All places where people have gone missing in the past two months.”

Your stomach churned. “Oh my God.”

He met your eyes, his own filled with something determination. “It’s organ trafficking. That’s what they’re shipping. Your husband is harvesting organs and selling them to the highest bidder.”

You took a shaky breath. You knew he was a criminal, but this was something else.

Spencer reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, discreet recording device. “You need to get him talking. Try to get a direct admission of what he’s doing.”

You hesitated. “If he catches me, I might be up for auction by the end of the week”

“He won’t.” Spencer’s voice was steady, reassuring. “You’re smarter than he thinks. Just slip this into his office, somewhere he won’t notice. I’ll handle the rest.”

You nodded slowly, taking the device and slipping it into your pocket.

Spencer’s eyes lingered on you, something unreadable in them. Then, before you could process it, he leaned down and pressed a soft, fleeting kiss to your cheek.

The warmth of it spread through you, and when he pulled back, he looked just as stunned as you felt.

“Shit. I don’t know why I did that,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

You studied the tiles under your feet. “I don’t know why I liked it.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched. “Look, before this goes any further, you gotta know I’m no more good for you than your husband is,” he said quietly. “What I do is dangerous in a whole other way. You don’t want me.”

Your throat tightened, but you forced yourself to step back. To nod.

And then you turned and left, even as the ghost of his kiss lingered.

…

“How do you feel about balls?” You asked with your phone tucked between your ear and shoulder.

“Excuse me?” Spencer was busy squeezing water out of his hair from his early morning shower when you called.

You giggled and sprinkled more flour onto the rolling pin you were using to prepare cinnamon rolls.

“He’s having a gala this Friday. It's masquerade themed. We do it every year as a charity event for the hospital”

The ‘he’ in question was in the office finishing up plans.

Spencer hummed, “And you think that would be the right time to apprehend him? Is he showing signs of running off?”

“Well, we usually go a on a trip out of the country after the gala, so he’s probably been using the event as a cover up for-”

“Yes!” Spencer exclaimed around his toothbrush, pausing to spit out toothpaste, “Didn’t he give away like 500 bicycles last year? What’s the big gift this year?”

You carefully cut the cinnamon roll into the desired pieces and placed them on the baking tray while you thought.

“Um…I think I heard them saying anatomy sets”

Spencer went silent on the other end of the line.

You frowned, wiping your flour-dusted hands on a towel. “Spencer?”

“Anatomy sets,” he repeated slowly. You could practically hear the gears turning in his head. “As in, like… models of organs?”

“Yeah, like those little fake kidney models they give to med students.” You shrugged, unaware of the shift in his tone. “It’s a whole thing about education and inspiration for future doctors. Why?”

Spencer felt himself getting excited. “Because our inside man just confirmed that an ambulance will be at the gala for a technology demonstration. And according to your husband’s latest conversation with his finance associate, the one you recorded, his ‘special gift’ is being dropped off in that ambulance before it gets taken to the hospital.”

Your stomach dropped. “Don’t tell me he’s putting a real kidney in the boxes…”

Spencer’s voice was thrumming with energy. “Yes, you brilliant woman. Then they’ll claim it’s from an accident victim or something to make it look like a perfectly legal organ donation - so it can go directly to his partner’s niece without raising suspicion.”

You pressed a hand to your forehead, heart racing. It made perfect sense. The hospital had a long waitlist for transplants, and donors had to go through an extensive screening process. But if an organ miraculously became available at just the right time that was just the right match, no one would question it. They’d think it was a stroke of luck.

“This is why he’s been so calm,” you whispered. “Even knowing I’m watching him, he still thinks he’s untouchable.”

“Not for long,” Spencer said darkly.

You swallowed, gripping the edge of the counter. “So what do we do?”

“We let them follow through with the drop.” He explained steadily. “We let them put the organ in the ambulance. That’s when we strike before any of them had a chance to run, and before he can run off with you.”

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you. “We’ll need people inside.”

“The team will be there,” Spencer assured you. “It’s a masquerade, which means we can blend in. No one will suspect a thing.”

You closed your eyes, inhaling deeply.

This was it. The final move.

For the first time, you felt a spark of hope that this nightmare would soon end.

“You’re going to be okay,” Spencer said quietly. “We’re almost there and it’s all because of you”

You gripped the phone tighter, his voice grounding you.

“I don’t think I can take all the credit” you smiled to yourself, “wait…what are you gonna wear?”

“…It’s a surprise”

“Oh, come on. Please?” You pouted

There was a pause, then you could swear you heard the smirk in his voice, “I’ll save you a dance”, then the click of the call ending.

…

The masquerade gala was dazzling and the air was thick with laughter and music. Your husband moved through the crowd like a king holding court, completely unaware that his empire was about to crumble.

The tiny recording device felt like it was burning a hole through your dress. You had it. Proof of everything—the meetings, the payments, the horrifying logistics of how the “assets” were acquired and shipped.

Your palms were damp, nerves threatening to consume you as you stood at the edge of the ballroom, watching, waiting for your moment. You ran your hands down your black satin that hugged your figure perfectly.

Then, you felt it.

A familiar presence behind you, the faintest brush of warmth near your shoulder. And then his scent; dark, musky cologne that made you feel warm all over.

You turned before he could speak, your heart slamming against your ribs as you looked up into deep brown eyes beneath a sleek black mask.

He tilted his head slightly. “Dance with me?”

You nodded, afraid that if you spoke you might accidentally confess your feelings for him.

Your fingers slipped into his, and he pulled you effortlessly onto the floor, one hand settling at the small of your back, guiding you through a slow, intoxicating rhythm.

The room blurred, the noise fading as he pressed closer, his lips barely brushing your ear.

“Do you have it?” he murmured.

Your heart pounded as you reached between you, slipping the recorder from your pocket and tucking it against his palm, fingers lingering just a second too long.

His grip tightened, a silent reassurance. “You did good,” he whispered.

A shiver ran through you. You shouldn’t have cared what he thought. But you did.

You swayed together, bodies pressed closer than necessary, moving in perfect sync. Every brush of his fingertips against your waist sent heat curling through you. Every glance, every shift, felt electric, like the entire room had disappeared and it was just the two of you.

Then an icy chill poured over you at the sound of an unwanted voice.

“Darling.”

The word snapped through the air like a whip.

Your husband.

Spencer pulled back immediately, his grip loosening, though his eyes stayed locked onto yours.

Your husband extended a hand, waiting. “Come now.”

You exhaled shakily, slipping your fingers from Spencer’s grasp, stepping back into the life you were about to leave behind.

But not for long, at least that’s what Spencer promised you.

Your husband led you up to a podium and removed his mask. He told the guests about the gifts they had chosen this year and invited everyone to head outside to see the newly renovated ambulance he was also donating.

Your hand was held tightly in his as he led you to the parking lot. With the cool night air flowing through your neatly braided hair, you took one last look at the people around you.

“I need the restroom,” you murmured, your voice even.

Your husband barely nodded, already turning back to the awe of onlookers.

You didn’t look back as you walked away. Even with the sound of undercover officers drawing their weapons and shouting instructions.

Tears blurred your vision but you kept walking until you came around the other side of the event venue, face to face with Spencer Reid standing with one hand on his gun. Behind him was a getaway car to take you to a safe house.

You collapsed into him, and let yourself cry. He wrapped one arm around you, and used the other to open the back door and place you in the car.

“I got you, sweet girl. It’s all over” he whispered to you, rubbing your back in soothing circles. He slid in beside you and shut the door.

When you finally calmed down enough to look him in the eyes, you almost couldn’t bear the open and concerned expression that stared back at you.

He slowly lifted a hand and wiped away a rogue tear.

“Okay let’s get you out here” he smiled softly and reached for the door but you grabbed his hand

The words spewed out before you could stop them,

“Wait. I know you’ve been so caring towards me because it’s your job. You put bad people away and I appreciate it but if this is the last time I see you I have to tell you-”

Soft, warm lips molded to yours and silenced your racing thoughts. The world went fuzzy, all that existed was the smell of his breath as you inhaled and the feeling of his large hands on the sides of your face.

Spencer pulled back slightly and rested his forehead on yours, shallow breath tickling your cheek.

“Me too,” he said.

He took your hand and placed it on his tie, using your fingers to pull it open, all while he stared into your eyes. He let the unspoken words linger for a beat.

“Are you sure you want this?” He asked finally

“Yes… please” you whispered, afraid to break the bubble around you two

Spencer pulled you back in by the side of your neck and kissed you again, slower this time. You savored the feeling of his lips, titling your head to let him in deeper. He curled his tongue into your mouth, taking the breath from you. He used his thumb to pull your mouth open more then took your tongue between his lips and tongue to suck it.

Arousal pooled deep in your belly, and your toes curled in your heels.

With a wet smack he released your tongue and turned your head to the side. He rubbed his nose over the side of your neck, deeply inhaling your perfume.

“Smell so good” he mumbled into your skin. He pushed the strap off one shoulder then kissed from behind your ear to your collarbone. He made his way back up, sucking and biting this time, then soothing the abused skin with a blow of cool air.

You arched your back against the seat, sweat pricking at your brow. A soft moan escaped your lips that made Spencer smile against your skin.

He made his way to the other side of your neck and lavished it with the same attention. Your dress now hung precariously low, your nipples almost on display.

When he found a spot behind your ear that made you let out a long breathy moan, he grinned deviously,

“Right there, huh?”

You hummed in response but Spencer wasn’t satisfied, he pushed down the top of your dress and exposed your nipples. He gently grazed the palm of his calloused hand over one and you flinched at the shockwave warm pleasure spreading from your chest.

“Oh…you’d rather me touch you here?”

He moved over to the other nipple and just barely kissed it, “Or here?”

But you were distracted. Eyes screwed tight and writhing in your seat, that just wouldn’t do. He immediately stopped touching you and leaned back to started undressing himself.

Confused at the sudden pause you opened your eyes to see Spencer taking his shirt off.

“W-why’d you stop?” You panted, squeezing your thighs together.

“I thought you didn’t like it. You never answered my question” he put on an air of nonchalance while unbuckling his belt. You were paying rapt attention to the bulge under his zipper.

“I did like it, it just felt…”

Spencer put a finger under your chin and forced you to look into his eyes, “Felt what?”

“Too good” you admitted.

He sighed softly and took your hand in his, raised it to kiss the inside of your wrist, “There, that’s what I wanna hear…” Spencer kicked off his pants, leaving him in just boxers. “Now come sit here”

He grabbed your waist and helped you to straddle his lap. The change in angle forced you to look down into his heavily lidded eyes.

He leaned in and nuzzled his nose between your breasts, licking the skin there.

While his hand worked your dress further down your body, he slowly kissed a circle around your nipples, careful not to touch it directly. You whined at the lack of attention where you needed it most

He hummed thoughtfully and spoke directly to your right nipple, “Is this perfect little nipple perking up just for me?”

It took all your remaining brain cells to answer him, “Yes it’s just for you, Spence”

Finally, he slid his warm, wet mouth over your nipple and sucked hungrily. With one hand he cupped your other breast and rubbed your nipple gently with his thumb.

Heat erupted over your chest, you felt your heartbeat between your legs with every lap of his tongue.

Then he switched to the other side, leaving a dark purple hickey on the underside of your breast.

Your hips moved on their own, grinding down your eager cunt onto his clothes bulge. He grinded up, meeting your movements with groans around your tender nipple.

When he was satisfied, he released it slowly between his teeth and the sensation had you teetering on the edge of overstimulation.

Spencer took your lips between his to distract you while he tore your gown open, revealing your lace panties underneath. You gasped at the sound and tried to cover yourself but he was quicker than you. He held your thighs apart on his lap and looked down, licking his lips like a lion about to devour prey.

He used a single finger to touch the outside of your panties where they were damp with arousal. You sighed softly and he pressed his fingertip over where your clit was nestled and your legs trembled in anticipation.

Spencer looked back up into to her eyes and wrapped a hand loosely around your neck, “Can I taste her?”

You nodded frantically. He squeezed his hand just a bit tighter, “I need words,sweet girl”

“Yes, you can have whatever you want” you told him

He grinned at that and pecked your lips one more time before he turned sideways then pushed you back until your upper body was lying on the seat. Your legs remained in his lap and he pulled up your groin to meet his face, leaving you almost upside down with your head pressed on the door.

Spencer pulled your panty to the side and marveled at the sight of your cunt on display to him.

“So pretty” he whispered to your labia before he placed a gentle kiss there. Slowly he started lapping up the wetness there. His tongue sliding between the lips to massage the throbbing walls inside. He barely stopped to take a breath. Switching between stroking you inside with his tongue and sucking on your clit, he had you crying out loudly, your toes curling and back arching impossible further up.

While your eyes rolled back he slid a finger into your tight heat, twisting and curling until he found the spot that made you shake.

He slowly increased to three fingers curling up into that rough spot inside while rubbing circles around your clit with the tip of his tongue. The sound of your pussy slobbering over his hand was drowned out by your cries of pleasure.

With one last expert stroke on that perfect spot inside Spencer switched to sucking right below your clit like a straw. Stars burst behind your eyes and your thighs locked up while you jerked against the pleasure. With big gulping breaths you rode out your orgasm, finally opening your eyes to see Spencer’s satisfied and wet face.

He put down your legs and repositioned himself to crawl above you, held up by his elbows on either side of your face.

“Was that good baby? Think you’ve had enough?”

Your blissed out smile almost faded when you felt the ghost of his clothed cock brush on your leg.

“Nooo, I want it” you wedged your hand between your bodies to grab hold of it.

He chuckled at your eagerness. “Alright, you can have it” He sat up briefly to remove the last of his clothing and it sprang free. His long creamy dick with a pink fat mushroom tip stared back at you and your mouth watered.

Wasting no time, Spencer nestled back between your legs, pressing your thighs as far apart as he could in the enclosed space. He held his dick in his hand, swiping along your slit and catching the hood of your clit on each swipe.

“Spencer please, I need it-”

You were cut off by your own moan when he pushed the tip past your entrance while he groaned at the squeeze of your walls around him.

“Biiiiig stretch” he talked you through it as he pushed inch after inch inside. The tight grip pushed his skin back but he kept going, hungry for more of you.

“Ah- ah-, it’s deep” you mewled while staring up through hooded eyes.

He pushed the very last bit inside, the tip bullying your cervix with each shallow rock of his hips.

“I know baby, you’ve got a perfect little pussy but I gotta make it fit, okay?” He leaned in close, putting his chest on yours and meeting your open panting mouth with delicate kisses.

Gradually, he started longer and deeper thrusts, drawing out pornographic sounds from you. Your head rocked against the inside of the car door but you didn’t care.

With a tilt of his hips, Spencer found that spot inside you and massaged it over and over with his hard dick, until your eyes were screwed shut and your kisses turned into moaning into each others’ open mouths.

Spencer sat up slightly, grabbing the underside of your knees and pushing your legs up to your chest. Looking down at your puffy cunt and spat on it, then used the spit to rub your clit with the same speed as his thrusts.

He used his body weight to fold you even further, hitting you spot deep and hard with a hand wedged between you pinching and rubbing your clit.

“That’s it, let it go for me,” he commanded you.

Shaking from the immense heat coiling inside you, you thrashed your head side to side and finally released a noiseless scream as your orgasm took over.

Your visions blacked out and your hips pounded from the rush of blood. You reached around Spencer’s sweat slick back and held tight while he chased his own release.

“So good…so perfect…” he grunted into your neck.

When he finally came inside you, his teeth clamped down on your neck.

After a few minutes of lying there in blissful silence, Spencer pulled out slowly. He was satisfied to see his cum leaking out of you.

“Are you okay?” He asked while he helped you put your dress back on.

“Yeah, I’m great…” you said while you looked around for your panties “It’s too bad this will never happen again.”

Spencer smiled to himself. He would let you believe that for now but deep inside he knew now that he had a taste of you, he could never let you go.

…

[velmalav]

The Giver - Frank Langdon pt. VI

masterlist

day one // night one // day two // night two // day three

synopsis: being the selfless person you are, you agree to travel to a 3-day conference with your biggest competition - dr. langdon. sixth and final part.

excited to be wrapping this one up! I'm open to requests for Langdon, Robby, and Santos!

warnings: 18+ SMUT, cursing, oops there's only one bed, enemies to lovers

night three - f.l.

Animosity is a strange thing. Sometimes, it’s white hot, clarity driven. Other times, passive, indirect aggression. And so much more in between that. One minute, you can be singing praises about someone, the next screaming at each other over something as simple as which kind of bread to get at the store. Or, in my case, stomping on a fellow intern’s foot only for four years of resentment to dissipate into him feeling me up in an elevator.

This lust between us has been brewing for days. Every moment, big or small, imprinted in my mind as permanent as the laws of gravity. Without realizing, I’d been wanting this for longer than I’ve allowed myself to believe. On the walk home, all I could think about was Langdon’s hands, but now I’m thinking about everything all at once.

His mouth is on my neck, hands on my hips. Don’t get me wrong, it feels good, but there’s something bothering me. After so much time for this kind of contemplation at the conference, it’s frustrating to be having this problem now. I stare up at the ceiling of the elevator, tracing patterns on the marble, trying to bring myself back down to reality. I should be relishing this. I should be letting it all go.

“You okay?” I turn my face down. Langdon’s staring at me, eyes full of concern. A look I’ve seen many times, but never because of me.

I bow my eyebrows and then nod quickly. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

His concern deepens, palm pressed against the elevator behind me, his other still resting on my waist. “Bullshit, what is it?”

There’s a flicker of panic that shoots through me. I feel like I’m interrupting a long-awaited moment, and I can’t even identify why. The thoughts are so loud and he’s studying me too hard. I break eye contact, shaking my head.

“I don’t know,” I murmur, pushing the hair from my eyes. “I just can’t shut my brain off. Something feels wrong.”

Langdon drops his head for a moment. Contemplating. When he looks back up, his concerned expression remains, but something else lingers there. “You know, we don’t have to do this. If you’re uncomfortable or having doubts.”

“I know,” I say simply, finally looking at him. Really looking at him. Before either of us can say anything else, the elevator door opens to our floor. Silently, we walk to the room and enter, a heaviness loitering in the air.

Langdon takes his suit jacket off, tossing it on the tv stand. I sit at the edge of the bed, fidgeting with the rings on my fingers. “This whole trip, I don’t think we’ve had one honest conversation.”

Taking off his bracelets, he huffs out what sounds like a laugh. “If you don’t count the brutally honest talk we had last night.”

“Did you mean what you said about me?”

It’s not a question I’d been actively stirring over, but I didn’t realize how much it’s been weighing on me until now. Every syllable still swimming around in my mind, Because all you’ve ever done is think about yourself, and it’s just fucking gross.

“I was feeling so shitty that night, I don’t even really remember what I said,” he murmurs, and though his bracelets are free from his wrist, he continues to stare down at them. Shame laces his voice.

“You…you called me selfish,” every word feels painful to say. Too vulnerable to especially say to him. “You actually said I was so selfish it disgusted you.”

Langdon glances at me, blinking. I don’t know what my face is telling him, and it scares me. But I have realized why this all feels wrong. This is new territory for both of us. We aren’t playing games anymore, this is real. Every experience with each other up until this point has been either conflict or teasing, neither of which involves connecting on a deep level.

“Well, I don’t think that,” he says. “I’ve never thought that. It’s actually more of the opposite.”

“Then why did you even say it?”

“To hurt you,” his voice is just above a whisper now, and I can tell this conversation is hard for him, too. He doesn’t strike me as the kind of person to talk things out, just avoid and bottle and keep trekking. Or at least that’s all I’ve seen these past few years. “I was jealous, yeah. And pissed about not waking me up. But it was more than that for me.”

I swallow hard. Langdon tosses the bracelets in the same place as his suit jacket and takes a seat beside me. Our thighs and shoulders touch. He clasps his hands in between his knees, then rejoins our eyes.

“Ever since I got in trouble, my confidence has been…” he searches in my eyes for the words but gives up. “I don’t know. And ever since we got here, I’ve just been reminded of it over and over. The people, the pamphlets, the talks about patient care. You.”

Taken aback, I fumble for words, “You…m-me?”

Langdon nods. He seems…sad. As vulnerable as I’ve ever seen him.

“For as long as I’ve known you, I’ve felt like I’ve had to prove myself a lot more,” he breathes, shifting uncomfortably. “You’re good. With the medicine, with the patients, with our coworkers. I said ‘brutally honest’ about our fight not because I was being honest. What you said, about you having what I don’t, you were right. And instead of learning from you, I’ve been trying to tear you down.”

The confession is not what I expected from this conversation at all. I said what I did to hurt him, too, and that’s it. Up until now, I didn’t think I had the capability to truly rattle him. Langdon’s always seemed so resilient, confident. Like a brick wall.

I gingerly rest my hand on his thigh. “You’re a good doctor, Frank. I’ve spent the entire four years I’ve known you trying to keep up with you. Because…I thought I was the one who needed to prove myself.”

He searches in my eyes for something. Maybe for honesty, maybe for the reassurance I’m trying to show in my words. “So you’re telling me we’ve both had it out for each other for the same reason.”

The tension in the room shifts into something lighter. Our eyes both brighten just a little. “I guess so,” I reply, fighting back a smile.

Langdon breaks first, a strained laugh leaving his mouth before he can stop it. And then I’m laughing, too. We sit there, giggling like school children for God knows how long, leaning into each other’s shoulders. Until we have tears in our eyes, faces bright red.

“This is ridiculous,” I finally say, wiping the tears before they can fall. “And kind of pathetic.”

“And don’t forget it took four fucking years,” Langdon responds, and we both double over again, feeling a little loopy at this point.

Once the moment dies down, we remain there, both in our own heads. I feel steadier now, comforted now that I know my nemesis turned out to be one of the only people who understands the frustration and insecurity I’ve felt this whole time. Resting my head on his shoulder, I intertwine our fingers, feeling the calmness between us. This is the real truce, the burst of solace I now know we’ve both been craving.

“Why did you volunteer to come with me?” Langdon suddenly asks, head resting on mine. “I know it wasn’t for this.”

“Definitely not,” I laugh. I feel his chest rumble against me, and it brings comfort. “I felt bad no one else wanted to. It was a self-sacrifice type of thing.”

“Noble of you,” he jokes, turning his head to put his lips on my forehead.

“Yeah, so please never call me selfish again. I’m the reason this happened,” I bite back, the words laced with amusement. Langdon laughs again, and it makes me realize I like making him laugh.

“You know I really didn’t mean that, right? As frustrating as you can be, I’ve always known you’ll put anything and everything before yourself,” he whispers against my hair. “I always thought if I was ever forced to say something nice about you at work, that’s what I’d say.”

I sit up at that to see his face, confused. “When would you ever need to do that?”

“Oh, c’mon. We were two shifts away from being forced into a mediation exercise. Had to come prepared,” Langdon says, as if that’s not an insane thing to think. It reminds me of myself, of all the conspiracies about him and our games I’ve made up.

“You’re insane,” I say, my grin showing him it’s not a dig.

“Insanely hot, maybe,” he quips without hesitation. “Or at least you think so.”

Fighting back the urge not to fall into familiarity and argue with him for the sake of arguing, I instead lean towards him, inches from his face, “Yeah, I do.”

Langdon smiles so wide it reaches his eyes. For once, I backed down willingly. His response is to close the space between us, hand running through my hair immediately. I giggle against his mouth, moving until I’m straddling his lap. Cupping his cheeks in my hands, I deepen the kiss.

Now that we’ve settled our differences, the nagging feeling I had earlier has evaporated. I allow myself to let go, to let Langdon take whatever he wants from me. For the first time, I’m okay with him calling the shots as long as his hands are on me. I trust him.

He grabs hold of my arms and lifts them so he can slide off my blouse, our mouths only separating in the time it takes for us both to remove our tops. Then my arms are thrown around his shoulders, fingers making impressions on his shoulder blades. It’s like I’m studying every part of him I can as if he’s going to evaporate, too.

Langdon relocates his mouth from mine down my throat, stopping in the space where my neck meets my shoulder. Sucking and nipping, leaving marks wherever he can. I tilt my head back, lips parted, imagining all the other places he can touch me like this.

I interrupt him by pushing my weight onto him until he’s flush against the bed. It’s like a choreographed dance the way flips me so I’m the one on my back, calculated and effortless. He slips my skirt off, leaving me only in my bra and panties.

“You’re fast,” I’m breathless, tracing the fresh bruises on my neck as I stare down at him.

As a way of responding, Langdon smirks before he plants his lips just below my sternum. He peppers them lower, lower, until he reaches my panties. He makes sure to keep our eyes locked as he takes them off. Despite how lewd this is, his stare adds a layer of vulnerability I wasn’t prepared for. It’s like he can see right through me.

I feel the need to say something to squirm from this feeling, but before I can find the words, he’s buried between my legs, lips surrounding my clit. Suddenly there are no words, just bliss muddying my vision. Langdon sucks, tongue finding a rhythm as I fall back onto the bed, moan ripping out of my throat. “Shit,” I breathe, fingers locking into his hair.

He hums into me and then pulls back. “I want you to look at me,” he utters matter-of-factly. I prop myself on my elbows to see his eyes boring into me, mouth hovering just above my clit. I give him a very unconfident nod.

As soon as he makes contact again, I fight to stay upright. But the way he looks at me is so intense that I stay put. I focus on the strand of hair framing his forehead until another wave of pleasure hits me and my head is tilted back to the ceiling. “Fuck, just like that.”

Langdon places one hand on my hip to hold me down as I squirm around him. He makes a point by using his other hand to grab mine and relocate it back into his hair. He must be into that, then.

With newfound confidence, I wrap my fingers in his hair and tug in the same way I do the bed sheets. He moans into me, and it feels so good I can’t help the string of curses that leave my mouth. Just when I think I’m on the brink, Langdon slides two fingers in as he makes work of my clit, and I completely lose my grip, falling back onto the bed and straight into my high.

“I’m cu—” I can’t even get it out, legs trembling, body writhing. There’s no point in trying to hold back the ridiculously dirty moans I’ve been stifling, so I let them go as I ride it out.

Breathing hard, I slowly start to return to reality. Langdon climbs up to kiss me hard, tongue dominating mine, and I can taste myself on him. He pulls back to lick his lips, sliding his thumb past my lips. “I didn’t get to see your face,” he murmurs, eyes flickering from my eyes to my lips. “I need to see it this time.”

“Okay,” I reply, grazing my teeth on the tip of his thumb. The corner of his mouth twitches at the sight of me nipping at him. “God, you’re so fucking hot.”

I hum in response, unbuckling his belt without breaking eye contact. Once he’s undressed, he reaches underneath my back to unclasp my bra and chucks it somewhere on the floor. We stare at each other, fully naked, faces flushed, eyes needy. “I’ve been waiting long enough,” I whisper, tracing patterns down his throat, reveling in the ridges and slopes I feel beneath my fingers.

“Impatient,” Langdon huffs, sloping down to bite just above my left breast. I gasp, smacking the side of his head. He laughs. God, I love the sound of it.

He grabs the condom he fished out of his pants moments before and tears it open with his teeth. To make a point, I watch his every move, hoping he can feel my eyes on him. Then he’s lining himself up, one hand above my head, and just before he pushes himself inside, his eyes flicker to mine.

Our moans harmonize as he begins to thrust, and I notice he’s finding it hard now not to break eye contact. Eyes half-lidded, full of want, but fighting to stay open. I wind a finger around his one strand, yanking it gently to tug him closer. His hot breath mingles with mine, moans growing louder as he picks up his pace. “Fuck, I’m so wet for you,” I rasp out in between moans.

“Shit,” Langdon growls, nose tapping mine in rhythm to match his pace. Beads of sweat glisten at his hairline, his lip between his teeth. “I’ve thought about having you like this so many times – fuck – you don’t even know.”

Every word he says just makes me more crazed, my moans slurring into whimpers. He slows his pace, but his thrusts become harder, his stare becoming more concentrated. He watches every subtly on my face, every shift at his movements, as if he’s studying for some kind of test. Fingers materialize on my clit, causing me to throw my head back with a gasp.

“Oh my god,” I hiss. Langdon pushes into me faster, and faster, and then his hand is gripping my chin and tugging it towards him.

“Look at me,” he commands softly, thumb resting on my chin.

Ecstasy begins to fog my vision again, but I force it down to stay focused on him. He murmurs praises as I keep eye contact, which just gets me worked up even more. “Doing so good,” he says, tracing my jaw. Then his mouth is on mine again. It’s feverish and sloppy.

Choking down moans, I lean into the kiss. I can tell he’s holding back, too, and then all of the focus starts to fade and we’re just there, fumbling to get as close as possible, movements becoming careless and frantic. All of the holding back is gone; we’re moaning and cussing and gnashing teeth, not a single care in the world.

I feel myself approaching the edge, head twitching back on the bed. I reopen my eyes to lock back onto Langdon’s, and if the circles on my clit and the ridiculously fast pacing of his thrusts weren’t enough to do it, the defenseless look in his eyes sends me into my orgasm like a tidal wave. I cry out his name, my walls clenching around him, and I manage to do the one thing he asked of me; keep my eyes directly on his.

And that’s what ultimately unravels him. He lets out a grunt, whimpers my name, and lets go. We ride it out together, his thrusts slowing down, but through it all, we never break eye contact. It’s intimate, the most intimate moment I’ve ever shared with anyone. And of all people – Langdon.

Once we’ve both come down, he collapses beside me, shoulder to shoulder. He’s quick to grab my hand, placing a soft kiss on it and then resting it on my chest. I graze the sweaty skin with my finger, gazing over at him.

There are no words to describe what I feel when I look at him. He’s like an old painting, lines messy and haphazard, but comes together to be something beautiful. Hard to believe I’ve ever not seen him like this.

“How did we take so long to figure it out?” it’s almost as if he’s read my mind.

“No idea,” I murmur, brushing the strands of hair from his forehead. Langdon leans into my touch, softly, expression much of the same. “But I’m glad we did.”

I roll toward him so we’re both on our sides, facing each other. This moment, this feeling, I want it to keep going forever. It’s what I’ve been chasing. There’s a prodding fear that it can’t possibly last forever, but I push the thought away. Because we’re here now. Black sky out the window fading into an early morning, grey, bed sheets ruffled beneath us, the docile understanding between us, the smooth skin under my fingertips.

“You’re so beautiful,” Langdon whispers, kissing my hand as it pulls from his hair. He grabs it, fiddling with my fingers, and then jerks my entire arm so I’m right up against him. He kisses me, one, twice, then three times.

“I could get used to this,” I joke into his mouth, earning yet another wonderful laugh from him. “Much better than the constant bickering and tension we’re used to.”

He smiles, pecking my lips again. “I agree. We’ll make sure the next time we argue, we save that tension for the bedroom.”

I laugh, nudging his shoulder. “You know it’s a foolproof plan,” he adds.

“Whatever you say,” I concede.

Langdon fidgets with the necklace around my throat with a look on his face I’m all too familiar with. “You know, I’m already missing our games a little. It was kinda hot.”

“They’ll be back. Give it a couple shifts,” I deadpan, but my eyes are full of amusement.

“Good, because I’m already imagining all the super-hot hate sex we’re gonna have.”

“I’ll be counting on that.”