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angelsforthenight · 6 months ago

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i could eat that girl for lunch… (ellie williams)

ways you can help gaza🇵🇸

summary: you post cute pictures on your story in the hopes of gaining a certain girl’s attention… luckily you get more than what you anticipated ;)

cw: mdni, fem!reader, texting, cunnilingus, desperate top!ellie, teasing sub!reader, cannibalistic metaphors, cursing, ellie is goofy lmao

you’re this close to screaming. the winged eyeliner on your left eye somehow keeps fucking up; either looking too splotchy or shorter than your right one. what’s pissing you off the most is the fact that you aren’t even going anywhere… getting all dolled up just to take it all off in 15 minutes, just to post cute little photos on your story and, of course, just to get her attention.

ellie williams. the name rolled off your tongue with such velvety sleek. every single one of your friends knows her name; has had to endure through your countless obsessive gushes.

you two had met during a party. having been in a drunken haze, you barely remember the first conversation that sparked such an interest, but you do remember her gin breath against your ear: asking/shouting, amidst the blaring music, if you had wanted to go somewhere a little more quieter. the night ended up in you being fingered in her car, before being driven back home by her. a freckle-faced angel in a leather jacket coated with small pins and badges. you were immediately hooked. but it’s been a week since then, and you two haven’t spoken. having achieved her number, you thought of messaging, but didn’t want to come across as desperate, even though you so are.

you thank instagram suggested for bringing you her account on a platter; being filled with niche, introverted posts of every cool-looking thing but her face. she doesn’t even have a “me” highlights! you can’t tell if her lack in posting her face is a blessing or a curse. so here you are, getting ready to post on your story since you followed her the day before. the skin around your eye is starting to sting by the amount of times you’ve been wiping and restarting your eyeliner. it needs to be perfect. you’ve orchestrated all this to be perfect. you take a deep breath and focus, striving to get the perfect wing.

“thank fuck.” you murmur under your breath once you finally get it right, before enveloping your lips in lipstick. you admire yourself in the mirror once done. you look fucking amazing.

since you spent way too long putting on your makeup, it wouldn’t be fair to yourself to only post one picture, so you post a couple. a mirror picture following up a layout of 4 images with the perfect song in the background. a little smile tugs at your lips as you replay the story two, three, four times before setting it on do not disturb and finding something else to do. your heart pounds at the thought of ellie seeing it, praying that she’ll interact. even a simple like will do.

after removing your makeup and getting into your pyjamas, you click on a movie to pass time, setting your phone on do not disturb. half an hour passes, and you’ve been neurotically checking your phone for a sign of ellie to appear on your notifications, but nothing. you check your story to see if she’s seen it but again, nothing. another hour passes, and you check for any sign of ellie. nada. look at my story, you freak! are the words etched in your head, words you wished you could telepathically scream at her. you remember you set your phone on do not disturb for a reason, so you place it far away and focus on finishing the film.

a while later, you’re slumped on your couch on the verge of falling asleep. the movie’s ended and it was so boring that you’re finding it hard to keep your eyes open. you decide to check your do not disturb notifications one last time before taking a nap, until your eyes fall on the name ‘ellie.’ you immediately jerk up, awake and alert: your thumb automatically pressing the notification centre so you can see what it reads.

seventeen minutes ago.

ellie liked your story

ellie replied to your story: doll face

ellie replied to your story: you need a seat? lemme volunteer 🙏🙏

a shit-eating grin lights up your face. fucking finally! not once but twice! you excitedly draw your knees up to your chest, eager fingers tapping away, ready to respond - regardless of how long you’d been waiting for her texts. play it cool….

y/n: hahaha thank u thank u <3

y/n: (replied) oh word?

you’re surprised and very happy when you see the ‘typing…’ your heart doing goddamn backflips.

ellie: wooooord

ellie: literally cannot stop replaying ur story… bring that over here 🙁

ellie: come over

!!! your heart sinks all the way down to your ass. the hell does she mean come over?

y/n: ur not serious lmaoaoaooa

ellie: i’m being deadass,,, come over.

you look at the time. it’s almost 1 in the morning.

y/n: idek where u live bru😭😭😭😭

y/n: if anything you should come over since you’ve driven me to my house b4

ellie: mmm nahhhh

you blink in disbelief when ellie sends her location over. she’s not kidding.

y/n: girl i look bummy… i don’t even have any makeup on anymore :< took it off

ellie: i really don’t care

ellie: plsplspsls come over

ellie: u won’t regret it……………. trust 🤓🤓

next thing you know you’re leaving your house in your plaid shorts and a silly graphic tee. thankfully, ellie only lives 10 minutes away, so you take a bus before walking up to her apartment.

y/n: i’m cominggg

ellie: LOL yeaa you will be coming real soon 😇😇😇

though you cringe at her text, your body betrays you; your stomach forming a deep pit. she’s so sultry and playful you don’t know even know what to think. and there goes your heart again, hastily beating away like there’s no tomorrow. you reach the door, a trembling hand raising up to knock.

“hi.” ellie beams, smiling like an idiot. her eyes seize you from head to toe, “nice fit.”

“told you i looked bummy...” you mumbled, trying your best not to seem nervous. ellie moves aside so you can come in. her apartment smells exactly like she does; that faint campfire scent, conjoined with a forest-ey musk. a forest fire you were more than willing to burn in.

“so…“ you begin, with nothing prepared to follow up after that.

“sooooooo….” ellie repeats blithely.

“it’s been a week since… you know…” you whisper, awkwardly shifting your legs.

“since…?” ellie blinks, furrowing her eyebrows. she’s taunting you, trying to play innocent when it’s pretty fucking obvious what you’re on about.

“the party.” you respond, entertaining her coyness for no reason.

“party?” ellie pretends to think, looking up at nothing. “oh!! yeah… jesse’s one.” she smirks.

you smirk back, furrowing your eyebrows in amusement. “you could do so much better at playing dumb, y’know…”

“you think so?” ellie narrows her eyes, tilting her head as she steps closer. the impish smirk on her face never leaves. she’s having fun. you both are.

“yup. for your own good, don’t choose acting as a career.”

“for my own good?”

“for your own good.” you haven’t even realised how close you two are to each other now, daring eyes locked with another pair of daring eyes. takes one to know one. a silence permeated with tension fills the room.

“c’mere…” ellie finally mumbles before cupping your face with both hands and bringing you in for a kiss. you’re quick to melt in her grasp, your hand finding it’s way to ellie’s hair, giving it a playful tight squeeze that elicits a quiet groan from her. her hands, those goddamn hands, then move to your waist, pulling you closer. you two don’t even waste time before you’re making out with such fervor. save the sweetness for later, it’s the hunger that’s on display for now. the memory of her lips were starting to slip away from your mind and you’re glad you’re here to reboot it.

once you pull away, ellie’s eyes drift to something behind you. you follow her gaze, only for your eyes to land on a chair in the middle of the goddamn living room. it’s so random that you can’t help but burst out laughing.

“why is there a chair?” you ask in the midst of your laughing fit. it’s not even that funny, but the laughing is helping with your nerves.

“it’s for you.” ellie giggles too, a light pink tint on her cheeks that’s hard to miss.

“me?” you blink rapidly, your gaze darting from the chair to ellie, “do i sit?” you ask stupidly.

“no, you stand.” sarcasm laces her tone, as she giggles a little more, “go sit.”

“don’t order me around like i’m your dog.” you respond playfully, but you do as she says. despite your ‘tough’ front, you’d do anything she’d tell you to. guess she was being literal about offering you a seat…

ellie grins down at you, angling your chin up so you’re looking at her. you can feel the heat start to prickle in your face, down your neck and pervading the rest of your body. her thumb traces along your bottom lip, slightly dragging it down. there’s that same darkened look she had back in her car, one that makes you feel so small.

“so cute… like a human deer.” she murmurs distractedly, almost like she’s talking to herself instead of you. your head grows fuzzy, blushing even more. you mindlessly squeeze your thighs together, trying to ease the growing heat in between. ellie notices.

“you doing okay?” she softly asks, unable to mask the smug look on her face. you nod quietly. with her eyes kept on you, she lowers down until she’s on her knees, her smile growing. she kisses the top of both your kneecaps in such a tender way it sends tingles down your spine.

“can i eat you?” she breathes, her voice hollow and needy. it takes a second for those words to register in your brain.

“you…” you trail off. ellie’s gaze is very, very distracting. so intense and intrusive. she patiently waits for your answer, resting her chin on top of your knees. how can someone look so adorable and intimidating at the same time?

“please?” she adds, and you smile. a realisation has just dawned on you: you like to make her wait.

“eat me?” you cock your head to the side in feigned confusion. now it’s your turn to play dumb.

“yeah… like, your pussy.” ellie mumbles, becoming so desperate that it’s funny. she needed to be humbled at least a little. “i want a taste…”

“yeah?” you mock, and ellie’s face warps into a frown. “stop teasing me.”

“it’s only payback.” you shrug.

“for what?” ellie whines.

“for taking a week to text me.”

ellie stares at you for a moment. “then let me make it up to you…” her eyes travel down to your clamped thighs, wanting to open them up so bad. truth is, you’d let her devour you. chew you up like a deranged creature and watch her greedily lick the blood from her fingers. but teasing her was just so damn fun.

“aren’t your knees getting tired?” you tease, cupping the side of her face as she stares up at you with puppy eyes. it’s getting hard to resist. ellie immediately shakes her head.

“for you? never.” she whispers. your grin broadens in satisfaction. such sweet words. meaningless? maybe, but cute nonetheless.

“fine…” you sigh, leaning back and gesturing for ellie to go forth. ellie’s face lights up like a bulb, eagerly parting your legs. the movement makes you shiver, as you can feel the heated moisture of your arousal seep through your underwear. despite your shorts still being on, ellie’s lips travel up, both hands gripping your sides as her lips leave fond, wet kisses along your inner thigh. her teeth clench around the hem of your shorts, letting out a muffled chuckle as she playfully pulls your shorts down with her teeth. she’s kidding around but that’s one of the hottest things you’ve ever seen in your life.

you adjust your knees so that your shorts can be pulled down. you’re so wet your underwear is fucking see-through. you just know she’s about to say something.

“someone’s real excited-“

“shut up and keep going.” you hastily cut her off out of embarrassment. ellie laughs, glancing at you one more time before leaning back down again, dragging her ardent tongue up your inner thigh. you gasp quietly, and that little noise influences her to do more, letting out a sigh of her own; the sort of sigh you do when relaxing in a hot bath, or when pissing after holding it in for so long… like she’s needed this. you’re startled when ellie drags her tongue right in the center of your clothed heat, your breath hitching. you want more.

ellie’s teasing is relentless and mean. she sucks your clit through your underwear, eyes on you; observing the way your hips are desperately buckling up, the way your thighs are twitching.

“so mean…” you whine as ellie flicks and rolls her tongue against your underwear.

“did you want something?” ellie blinks. again with the coyness. you scowl and ellie grins in return.

“you can’t outdo the do-er, babe.” she chirps, pulling the drenched underwear off your legs. she opens your legs wide, staring at your pussy like it’s the best piece of artwork she’s ever seen. you can practically see sparkles in her eyes. you shiver when you feel her fingers pry your cunt open.

“so fucking hungry for you…” she whispers, her breathing shallow and her eyes glazed-over. she gets to work immediately, a firm trail up your vulva before kissing it with her lips. a fleshed moan doesn’t fail to escape your own lips, as your eyes flutter shut. of course she’d be good at this.

ellie moans too, gripping your thighs and pulling you closer, burying her face in between your legs as she goes to town on you. she’s moving like she’s starving, like she hasn’t eaten for weeks and has been presented with a banquet.

her lips tug at your folds, your pussy slick with a mixture of your arousal and her spit. every single time her lips hit your clit it elicits yet another strong reaction from you. she’s so vigilant that she’s quick to notice that that’s your most delicate spot, so she abuses it; kissing it and pulling on it, her head shaking as she pleases you with her tongue. you nourish her with hushed praises: ones like “yes, yes…” or “you’re doing so good” to keep her going. it fuels ellie like no other, and drives her to go harder, a little faster.

her movements are so consistent and perfect that you could froth in the mouth right here and now. you grip her hair tightly, and ellie adores it: groaning happily when you squeeze too tight. you mindlessly push ellie’s head closer to your pussy, feeling the tip of her nose buried in. your moans begin to crescendo. you’re in fucking ecstasy.

“getting close, are we?” ellie pants, her thumb rubbing your clit in slow, teasing drags as she resumes sucking on your cunt.

“i’m gonna cum… i’m cumming… e-ellie…” you babble, tears threatening to pour; and it isn’t just the eye tears we’re talking about here…

“yeah? you gonna let yourself go?” ellie stares up at you, her voice a little higher and breathier. her face is warped into one of pleasure, like she’s the one being fucked.

“yeah… please ellie, i’m really close…” you whine: barely coherent, light tears streaming down your face. ellie chuckles at how adorable you look, taking a second to appreciate how good you look when needy. she dives back in, her nails digging into your thigh as her mouth moves with the perfect vigour to push you off the edge. and oh, you do.

one last strong lick gets you off: your spine bending backwards, same as your head as you let out a strangled scream. you grip her hair tightly, your eyes momentarily rolling to the back of your head as ellie purposely continues to extend the high a little bit. eventually, she pulls back. the both are you are completely out of breath - huffing and panting like dogs.

you slump back in your chair, completely out of it and in a daze. ellie smiles.

“you okay?” she murmurs, appreciating your cute, spent look. you nod quietly in response.

“fuck, my knees.” she mumbles, before sitting back and stretching them. you laugh a little.

“there was no need for the chair.” you reply.

“i know… but i wanted to. it was hot.”

“it was.” you smile. you’re glad you decided to get dolled up for your story tonight.

a/n: i’m back! i’ve been so caught up in school that i haven’t been able to post fics as much but i’ll try 2 be more active :33 i’m absolutely obsessed with billie’s lunch so i made an ellie fic based off of it. hope u enjoyed and if u have any requests leave them in the ask inbox !!!

#ellie williams smut #ellie williams #the last of us #tlou fanfiction #tlou2 #ellie the last of us #ellie tlou2 #ellie x fem reader #ellie x reader #ellie x y/n #tlou2 smut #lesbian #ellie williams fanfic #ellie x you #ellie williams x reader #smut #ellie smut #billie eilish #lesbian smut

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driverlando · 5 months ago

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✧.* BABY PIASTRI

synopsis - in which everyone speculates whether you and Oscar have had your baby or not (Oscar Piastri x Wife/Model!reader)

before you continue: pls reblog and follow if you enjoyed! my requests are open, pop in anytime <3

—

yourusername

liked by oscarpiastri, charles_leclerc and 113, 368 others

yourusername baby daddy 🤤

view all 1,598 comments

yourfan1 HAVE YOU HAD THE BABY???

↳ yourfan2 Right?!? We NEED Confirmation!!!

↳ oscarfan1 you don’t need anything. let them set their own pace

landonorris that smirk tho

↳ yourusername so hot right?

↳ landonorris the hottest

oscarfan2 the anticipation is killing me! is it a boy or a girl?

—

oscarpiastri

liked by yourusername, landonorris and 758,892 others

oscarpiastri baby mama 🥵

view all 2,456 comments

oscarfan3 she doesn’t look pregnant there 👀

↳ yourfan3 let’s not speculate on a woman’s body thanks

oscarfan4 what’s the baby’s name? 🥰

yourusername I love you!

↳ oscarpiastri I love you more 😘

↳ landonorris stop being so cute im going to throw up

yourfan5 name a prettier woman

↳ yourfan5 that’s right, you can’t

gigihadid pretty girl! 🫶

—

oscarpiastri

liked by yourusername, bellahadid and 924,668 others

oscarpiastri dad life 😎🐥

view all 3,456 comments

oscarfan5 babe wake up, we got confirmation on baby piastri!!

yourfan6 congratulations!! so happy for yall

charles_leclerc seems like a nice life

↳ oscarpiastri it’s the best, I recommend 😉

yourusername my sexy man 🤤

↳ yourfan7 y/ns ready for baby number 2 by the looks of it 😂

yourusername also THIS was your idea?

↳ oscarpiastri It did the job right? Everyone knows we’ve had the baby now 😃

↳ oscarfan7 I have a feeling y/n won’t be trusting Oscar with any future announcements anymore 😂

landonorris urm photo creds?

↳ yourusername I should’ve known you’d help him with his plan 😂

—

MODEL Y/N AND OSCAR PIASTRI ANNOUNCE BABY ARRIVAL IN HILARIOUS INSTAGRAM POST

The speculation is over! After weeks of swirling rumors and eager fan speculation, F1 sensation Oscar Piastri and supermodel Y/N have joyfully confirmed the arrival of their first child. The couple, known for their playful and private relationship, took to Instagram in true Oscar fashion with a post that left fans both laughing and overjoyed.

In a post that quickly went viral, Oscar Piastri shared a snapshot that epitomizes his unique sense of humor. The photo features Oscar reclining in an ice bath, looking every bit the doting father surrounded by a collection of bright yellow rubber ducks. The cheeky caption read, “Dad life 😎🐥”, a perfect blend of coolness and whimsy that fans have come to expect from the Australian racing star.

The image, posted late last night, immediately sparked a flurry of congratulatory messages from fans and fellow celebrities alike. Followers were quick to point out the cleverness of the reveal, with many applauding the couple’s decision to maintain their privacy while also sharing their joy in such a lighthearted manner.

Y/N, who has been relatively low-key on social media during the pregnancy, reposted the image on her own Instagram story, adding a heart emoji and the simple caption, “Our little duckling 🐥❤️”. The subtle, sweet addition was enough to melt hearts around the globe, cementing the couple’s place as one of the most adored pairs in the celebrity world.

The announcement comes after months of speculation, as eagle-eyed fans had been piecing together clues from Y/N’s and Oscar’s social media posts and public appearances. The couple, who are high school sweethearts and got married last year, have always been somewhat private about their personal lives, often dodging direct questions about their relationship in interviews. Their decision to keep the pregnancy under wraps until now has been met with a mix of curiosity and respect from the public.

The lighthearted and unconventional nature of their announcement has only endeared them further to their followers. “This is peak Oscar,” one fan commented. “Only he would announce becoming a dad with a bunch of rubber ducks. Love it!”

Fellow F1 drivers were also quick to react, with many taking to social media to congratulate their colleague. Lewis Hamilton posted a series of laughing emojis and the comment, “Mate, this is brilliant. Congrats!” Meanwhile, Sergio Pérez shared the post on his story, adding, “Welcome to the club, Oscar! So happy for you and Y/N.”

Y/N’s friends from the modeling world also chimed in with their well-wishes. Supermodel and close friend Gigi Hadid commented, “So happy for you both! Can’t wait to meet the little one 🐣❤️.” Other notable names like Kendall Jenner and Hailey Bieber also left congratulatory messages, highlighting the couple’s wide circle of supportive friends.

While details about the baby’s name and gender remain under wraps, sources close to the couple suggest that both mother and baby are healthy and doing well. It’s been reported that the couple is currently enjoying some much-needed family time away from the public eye, focusing on bonding with their new arrival.

Oscar Piastri’s journey to fatherhood marks another exciting chapter in his already impressive career. The 23-year-old has been making waves in the Formula 1 world, known for his fierce competitiveness and undeniable talent on the track. His personal life, however, has remained a refreshing blend of humor and humility, as evidenced by this recent announcement.

Y/N, who has graced the covers of countless fashion magazines and walked the runways for top designers, has also been balancing her career and personal life with grace and style. The couple’s shared values and mutual support have made them a power duo, both in their professional and personal lives.

As the news continues to spread, fans eagerly await more updates from the couple, hoping for a glimpse into their life as new parents. For now, the iconic ice bath photo with its playful rubber ducks will remain a delightful and heartwarming reminder of this special moment.

In a world often dominated by glitz and glamour, Oscar and Y/N’s announcement is a breath of fresh air, reminding everyone that sometimes, the simplest and silliest moments are the ones that matter the most.

Congratulations to the happy couple on their new adventure into parenthood!

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#f1 fanfic #formula one smau #f1 x reader #formula one x reader #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri smau #oscar piastri social media au #oscar piastri smut #oscar piastri fluff #f1 smau

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nereidprinc3ss · 6 months ago

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do you believe me now? | 5

in which spencer reid and fem!reader are reunited, but the worst kind of sparks are flying. you meet a man named randall. derek morgan buys you a drink (sort of). it seems that some things can't be unsaid.

series masterlist

this series is 18+ warnings/tags: r goes to a bar but doesn't drink alcohol, gets hit on by weird men, dramatic, angst, sorry in advance a/n: surprise! i'll see myself out. love you! lmk your thoughts on this bad boy! i KNOW you'll have some! i'm locking all my doors and the cops are on speed dial after posting this. stay tuned for part six tho

You don’t call Spencer for four days.

Spencer doesn’t call you for four days.

It’s scary.

There’s some texting—mostly him giving you updates on how things are going and when he expects to be back. Mostly you giving the messages a thumbs up and saying nothing else.

Finally, on Thursday afternoon, his ringtone (the Bill Nye theme) makes you jump as you’re sitting on your bed staring into space.

His caller ID photo—which is simply his passport photo, because you’d thought it was adorable—stares at you. You stare back. Contemplate not picking up.

But you’re not quite there yet.

And you cannot keep listening to Bill Nye the Science Guy.

The answer button is cold under your thumb, but not as cold as your greeting.

“Hi.”

You barely recognize your own voice.

It seems to send Spencer for a loop as well, because his reply is halting.

“Hey! Hi, um—how are you? I feel like we’ve barely talked this week.”

That would be because you told me my feelings for you are stronger than your feelings for me and I don’t know how to stop making every single word I say secretly mean I love you. We can’t have a conversation without me loving you. It will always be in the room or on the phone with us. To ignore the presence of it is impossible, and I don’t know if I can ignore the absence of yours, either.

“Uh… yeah. I’m fine. What’s up?”

There’s a pause.

“We wrapped up this morning. We’re getting on the jet here in a few minutes, and, um—I know it’s not ideal, but we missed Derek’s birthday and Penelope is insisting we all go to his favorite bar tonight. And he told me that for his birthday he wants to meet you. So… would you be up for that?”

“You want… to take me to a bar?”

“No. I mean—I know it’s not really your thing, but we missed Derek’s birthday three years in a row, and—and I understand if you don’t want to meet him tonight, but we wouldn’t have to stay very long and I really, really shouldn’t skip it. Derek has saved my life on more than one occasion.”

“You could go without me.”

More silence. Every second hurts, but you don’t understand why he wants you to come meet his best friend if he thinks the two of you are in different places emotionally.

But maybe he’s not going to break up with you just yet. Maybe he’s going to keep inviting you to bars and foreign film festivals and bookshops. Maybe he’s going to treat you exactly the same as he always has but with this new added layer of knowledge that the way he treats you isn’t actually love, and it never was, and you’re not sure if it has the potential to ever become love. Because if it did—wouldn’t it have already? What more do you have to offer than what you’ve already given him?

Breakup or no breakup, you feel sick.

When he speaks his tone is similarly chilly. It’s welcome. You want him mad. If he can’t reciprocate your adoration, then the very least he can do is have the decency to reciprocate your reproach.

“I could. Is that what you want?”

No. I don’t want any of this. I need you to know me well enough to know that. And if you can’t love me then at least get angry. At least show me you feel something other than passive contentment.

“Yeah. Sure. I don’t know.”

A pause stretches so long your heart pounds. You watch the elapsed time of the call tick by, second by second, and you wait for the anticipation to crack under the weight of silence, to give way to some terrible jump scare or to give way at all.

But the words that end the conversation (if you can even call it that) aren’t any great relief. They’re just sad, and chalk full of defeat.

“Alright. I’ll… I’ll call you later.”

You feel like you’ve swallowed an ice cube. All the words you’d like to say are frozen in your stinging throat.

“Okay. Um… I’ll let you board now.”

“The jet’s not…” but he trails off. When he speaks again he sounds just as hurt as you’d wanted—and it doesn’t make you feel better at all. “Okay. Bye.”

“Bye.”

The line goes dead, and your face is burning as tears fill your eyes for the hundredth time this week. That call was terrible and poisonous and you don’t feel like yourself.

Things have gone so wrong so quickly, and all you know how to do is ice him out so he can’t do it to you first. But it’s not going to make this better. No matter how mean you are to him, at the root of it all you feel unloved and scared and alone and Spencer knows things about love and relationships that you don’t. He’s confusing you with all this talk of feeling differently about each other and I’ll be home tomorrow I miss you and things get complicated when one person likes the other more and let’s talk in person and will you come meet my best friend tonight. All of it leaves you motion sick and ugly crying in the fetal position.

All you have to get through this is who you’ve always been, a little of the person you’ve become, and the love you harbor for Spencer which rattles around in your chest like a nail in an empty toolbox. At the moment it hardly seems helpful. It mocks you, pointing out the pathetic hilarity of your paradox. The only person who can comfort you, the person you want more than anything, is the reason you’re so upset in the first place. But you can’t help being drawn to him.

Maybe the love you have for Spencer is more like a magnet in a compass.

Even if he doesn’t feel it for you, you do love Spencer. And that goes beyond just loving the parts of him that like you. To hide from that love would be a gross disservice to yourself and all the work you’ve done to get here. It’s not as if you suddenly know exactly what the answer is—but you’re sure that hiding is the most childish, cowardly thing you could do and the furthest you could get from a resolution. Even if you can’t make him love you back, you refuse to allow yourself to fizzle quietly out of his life. This relationship deserves something more than that.

So maybe you don’t have a plan when you wipe your eyes and pick up your phone. Maybe there’s no strategy behind your actions as you text Garcia for the bar location. But if you keep running from everything you’ll never get anywhere. All you can do is show up. It seems like the next best step.

------

The pub isn’t too crowded—but for a Thursday night, you suppose it’s a bit busy.

Boot heels hooked onto the metal foot-beam of the stool you’re sitting on, elbows resting on the polished mahogany surface of the bar, you’re staring into an untouched mixed drink. Then you glance down the bar to your right, at the man who’d bought it for you.

Maybe your ensemble gave him the wrong idea.

Coming to this gathering had required bravery, and you came armored. Your ensemble projects significantly more confidence than you’re currently feeling. It was intentional, a form of self-protection—but now you’re wondering if it’s projecting a little too much confidence.

All done up, clearly still a little rough around the edges, and sitting alone at a bar was bound to draw the wrong pairs of eyes.

“Hey, darlin’,” the gruff man says, approaching when you inadvertently catch his gaze. “Are you gonna drink that, or should I? Otherwise I’m lookin’ at eleven dollars right down the drain.”

You avert your eyes, scanning the groups dotted here and there.

“I’m waiting for friends.”

“Does that make a free drink less appealing?”

He takes the stool next to you, off-gassing the scent of cigarettes and leather.

“I’m not drinking.”

“Really? I’ve never seen a girl who looks as sad as you do come sit at the bar to stay sober.”

You frown, looking back up at the man next to you. He seems like the Hell’s Angels type—tattooed knuckles, leather jacket, grey beard, and a weathered face that’s clearly spent decades with the sun. Fifties, maybe younger and just looks more rugged. What does it say about how I look tonight that this is the kind of man I’m attracting, you wonder. Maybe you look desperate and just as lonely as you feel. As he claims you do.

“I’m not sad.”

“Alright. I’ll take your word for it. But a happier girl wouldn’t be all alone.”

“I’m waiting for friends,” you repeat, letting the words drip like venom from your tongue.

“I’m Randall. See? Now we're friends.”

“I don’t need more friends. I like the ones I have.”

Something catches Randall’s attention long enough to catch yours. He raises his bottle vaguely, gesturing beyond your shoulder.

“Are those angry lookin’ guys in the suits marching right over here the friends you’re talking about?”

You turn your head, brows furrowed, and immediately see the gentlemen to whom your new pal is pointing out.

Spencer is storming across the bar looking close to furious (which for him, means an expression so placid it gives you chills) followed by Derek Morgan—a man who you’ve only seen pictures of and is even more impressive in person.

You hate how your breath catches, how your heart is already beating a little faster than usual at the sight of him even though you’re not exactly pleased with each other right now.

Suddenly the bubbles in your cocktail are once again fascinating.

“Those are the ones.”

“And why are they dressed for church?”

Church?

“They’re FBI.”

“Ah. My lucky fuckin’ day.”

You almost snort.

“Hey,” Spencer says sternly, hand settling on your back as he partially fills the small space between you and the strange man. “Who’s this?”

You shrug, sit up a little straighter, and take a shallow breath—not because you’re scared of this man but because Spencer is suddenly so close to you and you can feel his warmth and the air bending around him and the scent of him is genuinely dizzying to you.

“Randall,” you exhale unenthusiastically. But the odd thing is that you’re rather grateful for Randall’s presence. Because now Spencer is here and you have no idea what you’re going to say to him.

“Oh,” Randall says, sipping his beer unhurriedly before using it to gesture to Spencer. “You’re the boyfriend. You know, that’s funny, because she didn’t mention a boyfriend.”

“I didn’t mention anything. We weren’t having a real conversation.”

Randy holds his hands up defensively, fingers still wrapped around the neck of a sweating bottle.

“I’m just saying it’s in-ter-esting. Not trying to start anything.” He stands, pauses for another sip—Spencer obviously isn’t sure what to make of this man because he says nothing. “But listen, man to man—you better buy her some flowers or a real pretty fuckin’ necklace or somethin’ because a happy girl in a happy relationship does not come pout at the bar all by herself.”

“Get out of here, man,” Derek finally speaks up.

“Yeah, yeah.” He sets his empty bottle down and fishes in his pocket for a cigarette, sticking it between his lips. “But—just for the record—I have a wife. I wasn’t gonna do anything weird. Sometimes when you’re my age you just gotta live a little. Buy a pretty girl a drink. Piss off some Mormons, or whatever the fuck you are.”

This guy sounds like a bad Bruce Springsteen song. But part of you would almost rather hang out with Randall than be forced into a conversation you’re not prepared for with Spencer.

And whose fault is that, you remind yourself. You decided to come be mature. Suck it up.

“Goodnight,” Derek emphasizes.

Spencer doesn’t say a word. You can feel his eyes boring smoking holes into the side of your face, and you look anywhere else.

“I’ll be here next week after physical therapy like clockwork,” the stranger waves as he ambles away—but not before pointing at you. “You enjoy that drink, friend. And don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

What a weird man.

There’s silence for a moment—in which Spencer refuses to stop watching you and you refuse to acknowledge that.

“And here I was thinking Spencer made you up.” Derek has a beautiful smile and a warm, charming cadence as he holds out his hand for you to shake. “I’m Derek.”

You take the proffered hand and shake, offering him a shy smile and introducing yourself in kind.

“Happy birthday, by the way. Sorry for crashing your party.”

Really, he’s stunning.

“Thank you, sweetheart. And you’re not crashing anything. I told pretty boy here I wanted to meet you the second he started talking about a friend. But nah, he just wanted to talk and talk and talk about you—”

“Alright,” Spencer mumbles, blushing, eyes finally torn from your profile. You smile slightly, brows knitting as Derek magically melts some of the terrible tension.

“Pretty boy?”

Before either of them can explain, someone shrieks in your general direction. You startle backward in your seat, and Spencer steps closer, hand sliding up your back as Penelope, JJ, and Emily join your little huddle. For only a second you allow yourself to shrink into him—before you’re straightening your posture like your spine is a metal rod and his touch burns. It’s a knee-jerk defensive reaction for which you have no explanation. You can’t see him, but you don’t feel his hand on you again.

“Oh my god! Look at this beautiful person who I love!” Penelope exclaims, pushing past Derek to grab your face and kiss both of your cheeks. “Oh my god,” she says again, wiping sticky lipgloss away with her thumbs, “I totally meant to ask before I did that. But your face is just so kissable. I’m so glad you decided to come!”

“Hi, Penelope,” you smile half-heartedly, incapable of reciprocating her cheery mood. Fortunately, she’s cheery enough for a standard commercial flight’s worth of people, and probably thinks of Derek’s birthday as a national holiday—so she doesn’t pick up on this.

Emily and JJ offer you tamer although perfectly kind greetings.

“Ooh, what are you drinking?” Emily asks, leaning closer to examine the forgotten beverage in front of you.

“Not that,” Spencer mutters, grabbing the glass and sliding it away from you. You give him an affronted look—and immediately wish you hadn’t, since you’re meeting his eyes for the first time since he left. His words stall for just a moment as his eyes dart between yours before he’s saying, “you shouldn’t accept a drink if you didn’t watch someone make it.”

The audacity of him to be acting protective makes you scoff.

“That guy didn’t spike my drink. He was harmless.”

“People thought Ted Bundy was harmless, too.”

It’s such a ridiculous thing to say that you don’t even have a response—your eyes simply narrow and you shake your head. A claustrophobic silence falls over the small group.

“Okay…” JJ murmurs. “Um, do you guys want to go check out the jukebox with me? We have to play all of the birthday boy’s favorites.”

Several enthusiastic yeses go around, but you’re too busy having a stand off with your boyfriend to take much notice.

Soon, it’s just the two of you.

“Controlling isn’t a good look for you,” you finally say, spinning to rest your elbows on the bar once more and studying the bottles of liquor on the shelves beyond.

“Evasive and avoidant isn’t particularly flattering, either. I was under the impression that you had no intention of coming after that phone call earlier.”

You scoff again as your blood heats. Already the conversation is going worse than you’d expected—and your expectations were not high.

“Do you think the cab driver was a serial killer, too? Or maybe the bartender?”

He’s still behind you and slightly to the side—but he leans down, resting his own fists on the bar right next to you and speaking lowly, directly over your shoulder.

“Why don’t you try speaking to me like we’re adults instead of starting meaningless arguments in order to get under my skin?”

From him, that hurts.

It’s a branch on the tree of your greatest insecurity—the fear that you’re too inexperienced with relationships and that makes you too immature and he’s been lying every time he says it’s not an issue. Because of course it’s an issue. It’s why you fell in love with him, it’s why you don’t know how to fix it, and it’s why you’re incapable of actually expressing any of your feelings to him.

“Why do you think I’m here right now?” you whisper—as sharp and stinging as a poison dart. “I’m trying to be a fucking adult. I don’t want to be here.”

Silence.

“Then why did you come?”

His voice is so calm it burns like dry ice.

“Because! Because you asked me to, because—”

You can’t bring yourself to say it aloud.

Because I’m obviously still in love with you and I can’t just turn that off. I tried to do the right thing.

Instead you bury your face in your hands and let it hang in the air, unspoken. You know he knows. You just don’t know why he’s acting like you’re so unreasonable for being upset.

“Let me make this very clear to you,” Spencer murmurs, brushing your hair away from your ear so tenderly, speaking so softly you could convince yourself that he’ll say something kind. It’s the closest he’s been in days and now that he’s here you feel how much you missed him in your bones. And even though you sense a trap, you can’t help but sit up straighter. You’ll be complicit in your own undoing if it means you can have him close. His breath shakes slightly as he inhales and you brace as best you can. “Nobody is forcing you to be here. You told me you weren’t coming and then you decided to show up. I was ready to give you the space that you were too scared to ask me for. But I can only take responsibility for so much of what is ultimately your bad behavior and your adolescent volatility. You can only blame so much of your bad behavior on inexperience before I run out of patience because I don’t find thoughtlessness and emotional immaturity compelling. I told you that if there is a disparity in the way we feel for each other, that was fine, and I meant it. But if you can’t cope with how I feel about you then don’t let me hold you back. I am not holding you hostage. You can leave whenever you want. So don’t waste your time punishing me because you don’t want to be here. And if you do want to be here, good. I want that too. But act like an adult and make a decision. My leniency has limits, even for you. I am asking that you do not push it any further than you already have.”

You don’t know how long it’s been since your last breath by the time he finishes his address.

Long enough that you’re dizzy when you push away from the bar and shoulder through the throng of patrons as quickly as you reasonably can without outright running.

Long enough that when you burst out the door into the biting-cold night air, and finally take a deep, gasping breath, it burns and stings and aches and so does your head and your eyes as they well with hot, furious, heartbroken tears.

You speed-walk to the end of the block, hand clamped over your mouth to muffle your cries and all the curse words you’d love to scream.

Part of you knows you walked away from the bar in case he decided to try and follow you—but when you look over your shoulder the sidewalk is empty. You should’ve known better than to think he’d follow you after that. But at least it means you can have your breakdown by the relative safety of the bar, leaning your back against the dirty brick facade next to the entrance alcove and sliding down until your butt hits the cold concrete and you don’t even care.

Who the fuck was that man in the bar who looked like Spencer and sounded like Spencer but spoke to you like this is all your fault, like it’s your fault you love him and he doesn’t love you back, like it’s ridiculous that you’d be upset, like you’re cruel and petty for having feelings about it, about him—for having any fucking feelings at all? And to think that was the man who you let know you more intimately than anyone ever has. Every insecurity you’d ever admitted to him was hurled back in your face like it was nothing. Hell—he even handed you the ones you’d never mentioned. He proved every terrible thought you’ve been having about yourself right.

How could he be so unabashedly mean to you?

Spencer doesn’t have to love you. It seems clearer now than ever that he doesn’t. But part of you wonders if he suffered some sort of traumatic brain injury because that’s the only explanation for why he could go from treating you how he did before to treating you like he doesn’t even like you.

You feel like you might throw up.

“Called it,” a rasping, grumbling voice says from a few feet away.

You look up, and spot fucking Randall standing under a street light ten feet away, still smoking.

You go back to studying the tar spots on the sidewalk through bleary eyes. Pebbles sting as they press into your palms. Another one of the universe’s terrible jokes, you suppose. Just earlier you’d thought that you’d rather talk to Randall than Spencer and now here you are and here he is.

“That kid as much of a dipshit punk as I thought he was?”

Hearing Spencer described as a kid and a dipshit punk is so jarring you almost stop crying.

“He’s not a dipshit,” you sniff, voice thick with tears as you find yourself explaining Spencer Reid to this stranger for no reason at all. “He has an IQ of 187. He’s a genius.”

“Ah,” he scoffs dismissively, flicking ash from his cigarette. “Dipshit-ism don’t discriminate. Anyone can be one. Even your genius punk boyfriend. As a recovering dipshit myself I know what the work of a fellow dipshit looks like. And this has dipshit written all over it.”

You sob harder.

Randall speaks calmly around his cigarette.

“You know, I’m sorry for whatever you got goin’ on. But I’ve never not been the asshole when I got a hysterical woman in front of me. It’s nice that I can confidently say this time it is not my fault.”

The bar door opens, letting a warm burst of jovial music and chatter into the otherwise still night. Steps that are too heavy to be Spencer’s hit the concrete next to you—you look to your left and see Derek Morgan before he looks down and sees you.

“Hey—you okay out here?”

“Why don’t you go ask your Jehovah’s Witness buddy? He did this.”

Derek makes a face, locating the source of this interjection.

“Sir, I asked you to leave her alone once and I don’t appreciate being made to repeat myself. Are we clear?”

“Yeah, whatever. Fuck me for making friendly conversation, I guess. Gonna have to call my wife and tell her to pick me up down the street. I don’t want her on the damn phone while she’s driving.”

Randall wanders away again, still muttering to himself and smoking. Derek watches him go, staring daggers into his back until he turns his gaze to you.

Goodbye, Randall, you think. Great. Now I have neither of them.

“Hey,” he softens, crouching down to your level. “You okay?”

You sniff, wiping your cheeks and attempting not to smudge your makeup. It’s impossible not to feel awkward—you just met this guy and now he’s here trying to do emotional labor for you on his birthday.

“Yeah, I’m fine. This is embarrassing.”

“You don’t look fine. Can I do anything for you? Do you want some food? A drink?”

“You really don’t have to—”

“I know, I know. But look—Reid is always talking about you. You’re important to him, and he’s important to me. I’ve never seen him this happy and I’ve known that kid a long time. It is in my best interest that someone maintain you, and if it’s not him, it’ll be me. Call it a favor to him, if that makes you feel better.” Derek is sporting a slightly more modest Cheshire grin again by the end of his sentence. Listening to him speak that way about Spencer speaking about you, it’s impossible not to feel a teeny bit lighter. Even if you’re not entirely sure where you stand on all things Spencer related at the moment. “So I’ll ask you again. Is there anything I can do for you?”

You sniff again.

“Sure. A ginger ale or something might be good.”

“Got it. I’ll be back. And come inside if Randall tries to run up on you again, okay?”

Despite yourself you manage a laugh at the way he says the name. His warm smile flickers warmer at this.

“Will do.”

When Derek returns a few minutes later, the plastic cup he’s holding looks decidedly not like ginger ale.

“Penelope insisted that this is what you would want. I don’t even know.”

You smile slightly as you take the cup, full to the brim with bubbles and thick red syrup. A cherry bobs underneath the layer of cubed ice.

“Shirley temple,” you chuckle. “I’ll take it. Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome,” he says, flashing that brilliant smile again, and you look into your cup as you drink. Maybe your face warms just a bit. You’re still shy around men, you realize. Especially attractive ones. And Derek Morgan definitely qualifies as attractive.

“So,” he begins, and to your surprise, crouches down in front of you. “I have to be honest—I came out here in the first place because Reid sent me to check on you. But now I’m wondering what the hell he did.”

Spencer sent him. A considerate action that would theoretically signal his care for your feelings. You take another sip, staring into space and trying to digest this information, but it only jumbles with the rest to confuse you more.

Of course, you don’t know how to convey this to Derek in a way that’s not overly-familiar for just having met the man, so you go with an old standby.

“I’m probably just overreacting.”

“Uh-huh. I have sisters. I know what an overreaction looks like and if you were overreacting you wouldn’t be out here hiding. What’d he do?”

You can only keep up the facade of emotional stability for so long. Your chin wobbles in a horribly embarrassing way and you look down again.

“I’m not sure—I’m not sure if he really did anything or if I’m just being dramatic and I don’t want to make him seem—”

“Why don’t you stop defending him and just tell me what he did?” Derek urges. “Trust me—I love that kid to death. But I also know he can be a dick sometimes. You don’t need to worry about making him look bad in front of me.”

Part of you is glad Spencer has such a good friend on his side. And Derek is right—Spencer is an adult. You don’t need to worry about besmirching his reputation. So you take a shuddering sigh, staring into the red of your drink.

“He just doesn’t like me as much as I like him. Which isn’t his fault, like I said, but—he’s being such an asshole about it.”

Derek pulls a face, strong eyebrows making an impression as they knit.

“Did he tell you that?”

“Over the phone,” you nod emphatically. “And just now he gave me this whole fucking speech about how immature and horrible I am for not being 100% happy about it. And maybe he’s partially right, I mean—I know people feel things differently and maybe he just was asking for more time. I worry I fucked it up so bad because I couldn’t handle that—but at the same time he didn’t say he wanted more time. He was really fucking unclear and vague about what he wanted, and he asked me to come to this bar like it was nothing when I’ve been worried he was going to break up with me all week. So yeah, I guess he’s right and I have been a bitch about it because I was upset that he didn’t… like me as much. And I wanted him to feel bad because I was so embarrassed, and I also didn’t want to act like everything was normal if he was just going to dump me, I��” you realize you’ve been hardcore rambling and your face heats. “I don’t know.”

There’s a pause, and you worry you’ve done exactly the thing you didn’t want to, which was overshare to this man who seems like he’s significantly more normal and well-adjusted than you. You drink deeply, swallowing sugar and the rest of your words.

“That’s… bizarre. I don’t mean to invalidate your feelings, but… that just doesn’t make any sense.”

“Yeah,” you scoff, projecting annoyance so you won’t start crying again. “I was confused too. I thought he really liked me.”

“No, sweetheart, I’m saying—that doesn’t make sense because he does really like you. Really, really likes you, more than I’ve ever seen him like someone before. I mean, last week I finally finished that Tesla biography he’s been on my ass about for months and when I told him, all he wanted to do was talk about your thoughts on it. And then it wasn’t even about the book anymore. I have never, ever seen Reid pass up an opportunity to talk about Nikola Tesla. I’m talking never in my life. He finds a way to make every conversation about you. I can’t even follow the connections sometimes but he always finds a way.”

Your nose wrinkles.

“Sorry you’ve had to hear so much about me,” you mumble. Though you’re not really sorry. It feels good. A twinge of joy in all the murk.

“I’m not. Like I said, I’ve known Spencer for a long time and I’ve never seen him this happy. I’m not about to let him fuck it up.”

“If I make him so happy then why did he tell me we don’t feel the same?” you whisper, reaching into the puddle of syrup and ice at the bottom of your now empty cup.

“Is that exactly what he said?” Derek asks, after a long pause. You bite the maraschino cherry off the stem and nod morosely, grinding a long-gone stranger’s cigarette butt with your boot just to crush something. There’s another beat of silence. “Alright. You know what I think?”

You raise your head to meet his gaze, your own wide-eyed and expectant.

“I think you two need to have an honest conversation. You’re both confused and hurting—I promise Spencer is feeling it too. If you talk to him he won’t be unkind to you.”

“He already was,” you admit.

“I apologize if I’m out of line here, but you just told me you’ve been icing him out all week because you want him to feel bad. I’m willing to bet you don’t realize how sharp these claws are.” Derek grabs your hand as he says it and you marvel at how much he is the opposite of you. Everything he does and says seems so natural and reasonable and charming even if it would piss you off from anyone else—and you just met the guy. You can see why Spencer and Penelope speak so highly of him. “I think you’ve probably both had your moments these past few days. But that doesn’t mean neither of you deserve any more chances.”

He puts your hand back on your knee and pats it.

“Besides, Spencer‘s not good at mean. I bet he’s inside worrying himself sick over whatever dumb shit he said to you. He’s probably hyperventilating as we speak.”

“It was really out of character for him,” you concede.

“Yeah. He’ll be apologizing for a long while. It will get annoying. But he sure as hell won’t be doing it again, I can tell you that much. If he does, let me know. Emily and I will whoop his ass and call it a fitness evaluation.”

“I think that’ll be unnecessary,” you laugh thickly, pulling your sleeve over your hand and wiping away the few tears that haven’t quite dried. “But thank you.”

“Anytime. Now, it’s my birthday, and as a grown man I should not be getting involved in someone else’s relationship drama. I was supposed to be on the dance floor a while ago.” His tone is so warm and sugary by the time he finishes it could rot his perfect grin. It’s futile to hide the way your mouth twists into a reluctant smile as you look down and fix your hair—praying he can’t tell how fazed you are by his kindness. “You’re going to talk to him, right?”

“I’ll—yeah. Right,” you say quietly. But the sinking feeling in your stomach knows it’s a thing easier said than done.

“Good,” Derek grunts, taking your empty cup before pushing himself back up to his feet and offering you a hand. “Do you want me to send him out here or do you want to come find him inside?”

You balk.

“Like—right now? I have to talk to him now?”

Before he can give you an answer you think you’d rather not have, the bar door is opening. From your spot you can’t see who it is right away, but Derek turns over his shoulder and does a double take before looking back at you.

Spencer steps out onto the sidewalk, eyes scanning for until he realizes you’re a few feet shorter than usual. Sitting on a filthy public walkway is probably his worst nightmare, you realize, as you scramble to your feet and dust the crumbs of concrete from your palms against the back of your cold jeans. He begins to say your name, and it sounds like relief and regret, but you stop him.

“I have to go wash my hands.”

It’s monotonous and mumbled and comes out too quickly but you don’t have time to worry about that as you brush past both of the men on your way back into the bar, making an immediate beeline for the bathroom.

Your face burns with anxiety as you shut the door behind you, immediately drowning in the yellowish lighting which is so harsh but seems to illuminate almost nothing. Who paints a bathroom red? It’s suffocating. You feel like you’re inside an aorta.

Water runs cool over your hands as you sniffle, rinsing the bits of dirt from red indents made by pebbles and things, and the soap is too floral and powdery but you wash twice anyway. Maybe you’ll just stay in here and wash your hands forever.

There’s a light knock on the shiny wooden door and it makes you jump. Your name is muffled from the other side.

“You in there?”

Quickly you wipe under your reddened eyes in the mirror, trying to fix the slightly smudged makeup.

The door opens when you don’t respond, and there’s Spencer, looking weary and tense all at once. Is that your fault?

“Hey,” you sniff, trying to effect casualness, but it comes out too quickly and your posture is too stiff. Under his all-seeing gaze you cross and uncross your arms, look at him and look away. Your hands end up in your pockets. He’d say crossed arms are a sign of self-soothing.

“Hey.” His is more measured, and of course makes you feel embarrassed in comparison. The door swings shut behind him as he enters the small room and makes it feel that much smaller. “Are you… hiding from me in here?”

Yes.

The graffitied toilet stalls to your left suddenly look fascinating.

“Nope. Just washing my hands.”

This is not what Derek told you to do, you scold yourself internally. Stop being so scared. Be honest with him.

Silence rings. All the brutally honest things you’d like to say choke you until your throat hurts and your eyes get hot. Yet again you feel like a stupid little girl who’s too emotional to communicate.

You cross your arms. It’s an indulgence you feel you’re owed.

Spencer says your name again and it’s too much. He never says it this often. When he does it feels good but now it’s too formal, makes you too aware of your own inadequacy, and how he must be seeing you—a wraith of a girl in a dingy bar bathroom with clammy hands and smudged eyeliner, practically shaking with fear under an unforgiving light. Someone who is too scared and much too sensitive.

Spencer attempts to speak again.

“What I said before, it was—”

“Can you just take me home?”

It comes out on one exhalation and seems to stall him with all the effectiveness of a slap to the face.

You don’t know where it comes from, either.

Easier said than done, you’d thought a few moments ago. All the bravery Derek had tried to instill in you is gone, swallowed down the drain like soap scum. And now you’re choosing to let your fear win—because at least that’s a known quantity. The fear will never reject you. It will always be waiting with open arms.

Too scared.

The end feels imminent. You try to press yourself back together, fingernails biting into palms, trying to make something feel more tangible than the terrible knowingness that you’re careening toward an end which was supposed to be a beginning. It’s stifling and you wonder if Spencer is breathing it too.

You can’t look at his face, but you watch him pocket his hands in his pants and there is so much impossible space between you in such a tiny room.

“Yeah. I can.”

Something breaks. It’s small, and without fanfare. But it feels final.

It’s just a ride home. Just a ride home.

That’s all you have left, and you don’t know how you know it but you do.

Something so important is being left in this stupid, dingy bathroom. Something that was at one point beautiful and shiny and so arrogant in its newness that it seemed it would never become ugly. And now you’re abandoning it without dignity on the chipped tile floor and in the cobwebs on the walls. It was bigger than you, it was you—and now it’s going to be nothing.

A vehicle honks on the street. A boisterous group laugh explodes somewhere beyond the door. Water drips from a faucet.

“I’ll… I’ll bring my car around.”

“Okay.”

But he just stands there for another moment. Like he can’t get himself to move.

If only time would freeze before he could walk away.

But it doesn’t.

He sucks in a decisive breath.

“Okay,” he murmurs.

It’s that fucking phone call all over again.

Then he spins on his heels and leaves you there.

Your time is up.

part 5.5

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine

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butterfliesandwendigos · 20 days ago

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𖥔 ࣪ ᥫ᭡ꗃ⋆࣪. BEFORE PT.2 — Josh Washington

SUMMARY — after you discover josh mid-psycho prank, he prevents you from watching his wrongdoings. he takes you, passed out and unconscious, to a secluded cabin on the mountain, convinced he’s keeping you away from his plan. the wendigos strike, leaving you trapped until rescue arrives. you reunite, sparking intense feelings between you two.

W/C — 8.9k.

NOTES — lots of until dawn lore, slow-buildup, set in both present and post until dawn, themes of drugging, mania, filthy smut (i think this one might be more smutty than the first😏).

PART ONE | PART TWO

You stir in the warmth of Josh’s lodge bedroom, the lingering scent of cedar and woodsmoke wrapping around you like a blanket. The walls are adorned with framed photos, capturing memories of happier times before tragedy cast a long shadow over the Washington family’s lives. A fire crackles softly, one that you don’t remember lighting, it's flickering flames lulling you more profoundly into sleep, away from the tension that hung in the lodge since the fateful night the group reunited.

But all that changes with a piercing scream.

You bolt upright, heart racing as the echoes of panic fill the air. Your friends—you recognise their voices even through the disorienting haze of sleep. Swinging your legs off the bed, you feel the chill of the wooden floor against your bare feet. Anxiety coils in your stomach as you pull on your sweater and leggings, the familiar scent of Josh lingering in the fabric.

“Josh?” you call softly, but the room is silent, except for the shouts. With a sinking feeling, you reach the door, the foreboding weight pressing down on you.

The lodge is dark, with shadows looming as you navigate through the narrow hallway. Each scream grows louder as you descend the staircase, your breath quickening with each step. You can feel the oppressive atmosphere thickening around you, almost suffocating.

You reach the bottom of the stairs and hesitate, the basement door slightly ajar. The screams have ceased, replaced by an eerie silence that makes your skin crawl. Mustering your courage, you open the door and descend into the dimly lit basement.

The air is cold and heavy, suffocating in tension, wrapping around you like a vice and making your stomach churn. Flickering lights cast chaotic shadows against the stone walls, and as you step deeper into the space, you spot a figure standing in the centre—a silhouette you recognise all too well. It’s Josh and he’s wearing… dirty, old overalls?

“Josh!” you call out, your voice echoing off the walls. But something is dreadfully off. He doesn’t turn, doesn’t acknowledge your presence. He stands motionless, his back to you, staring at something unseen, his posture rigid and unyielding.

“Y/N,” he finally speaks, his voice low and unsettlingly calm, as if the warmth of human connection has slipped away. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“What’s going on?” you ask, unease creeping into your voice. “Where are the others? I heard screaming.”

He turns slowly, and you recoil at the emptiness in his eyes as if he’s lost somewhere far beyond reach. “You don’t need to worry your pretty little head. I’m not letting you be a part of this. You shouldn’t even be here; you should be upstairs sleeping! I even set a fire for you to help you sleep better.”

“Well, it’s kind of hard to sleep when I hear people screaming bloody murder,” you shoot back, your pulse quickening, fear gnawing at your insides. “What the hell is going on?”

“Nothing! Nothing is going on! Would you drop it already?” he snaps, his frustration boiling over, a wildness flickering in his eyes, sending chills racing down your spine.

“Why are you acting like this?!” you demand, stepping closer, your anger igniting the air between you. You catch sight of his hands trembling, fingers twitching as if desperately trying to suppress something dangerous.

“Because I’ve done something terrible and sadistic, and none of the others are ever going to have anything to do with me again! That’s why you cannot be a part of this!” he exclaims, his voice rising, an unsettling mania building in his frightening and heartbreaking tone.

“What did you do, Josh?” you ask, your heart pounding as fear and anger collide, a storm within you.

“Please, just go upstairs and stop asking questions,” he pleads, his voice strained, panic threading through his words, twisting your stomach in knots.

“Josh, this is insane! You can’t just—” you start, but he interrupts, urgency threading through his tone.

“No! You don’t understand! I can’t let you see this,” he insists, his eyes darting around the room as if haunted by unseen phantoms. “It won’t be pretty, and I don’t want you to get caught up in it. I can’t lose you too. Please, you have to go back upstairs.”

Your heart drops as you approach him cautiously, studying how his shoulders are tense, poised on the brink of collapse. “Josh, please, talk to me,” you plead, stepping closer. “We can figure this out together.”

In a sudden, frantic motion, Josh steps back, shaking his head vehemently, a manic energy radiating from him that makes you instinctively recoil. “I don’t need your help! I don’t need anyone!”

You grab his arm, your grip firm as you prevent him from retreating. “Are you serious? Was this trip your way of getting into my pants? Because you sure find it easy to drop me straight after sleeping with me!”

His eyes widen in shock, the hurt flashing across his face, but you’re too consumed by anger to back down. “You think this is easy for me?” he retorts, his voice trembling. “I’m trying to protect you from this mess!”

“By shutting me out?” you fire back, your heart racing with fear and fury. “By walking away? That’s not protection; it’s selfishness.”

He stares at you, his expression shifting from defiance to despair. “Y/N, please…” His voice cracks, and for a brief moment, you catch a glimpse of the boy you fell for—the one who would never turn away from you, no matter the circumstances.

“You don’t know what they did,” he murmurs, a haunting smile ghosting across his lips. “You weren’t there. They took everything from me.”

Conflict swirls in his gaze, and for a heartbeat, the fight within him begins to waver. “I don’t want you to see me like this,” he finally admits, his voice breaking under the weight of his anguish.

He hesitates, and you see the pain etched deep in his expression. “I’m giving them what they deserve,” he replies, the weight of his words heavy and dark. “They took everything from me, and I won’t let them take you away too. Please, go back upstairs.”

The moment's intensity hangs between you like a taut wire, the darkness closing in. You stare at Josh, grappling with the dichotomy of the man you love and the stranger he’s become. “What do you mean, ‘giving them what they deserve’? Who are you talking about?”

He clenches his jaw, refusing to answer, the inner turmoil evident in his strained features. You step closer, desperate to bridge the chasm between you. “Josh, you can’t just shut me out like this. I’m not afraid of you. I’m afraid of losing you.”

The flickering light casts eerie shadows across his face, and in that moment, you see the pain that’s etched into his features. “You don’t understand,” he whispers, voices low and raw. “You can’t understand what they did. It’s not just about me anymore. I have to finish this.”

“Finish what?” you press, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside. “What’s going on down here? If you’re in danger, I want to help you. We can face it together.”

He shakes his head violently, tears brimming in his eyes, an unsettling fear radiating from him. “You think it’s that simple? They’re not just people; they’re monsters. They took everything from me, and now it’s my turn to make them pay. I won’t let you be a part of this. You deserve better.”

“I don’t care about what I deserve! I care about you, Josh!” Your voice rises, echoing off the cold stone walls, desperation lacing your words. “Don’t push me away. If you think isolating yourself will keep me safe, you’re mistaken. It’ll only push me further away.”

The tension in his shoulders eases for a moment, and you see a flicker of hope in his eyes. “Y/N…” he starts, but then he falters, the wall around him hardening again. “I can’t let you get involved in this. You don’t know what I’m capable of. You don’t know what they’re capable of.”

You take a deep breath, grounding yourself in the gravity of the situation. “Then let me help you figure it out. You can’t do this alone, Josh. You’re not alone anymore.”

He turns his back to you again, and your heart sinks, a wave of despair crashing over you. You want to scream, shake, and make him see reason, but instead, you take a step back, trying to breathe through the rising panic. “Josh, please, I’m begging you. Talk to me. Tell me what’s going on. If this is about revenge, then it’s going to consume you. It’s not worth it.”

His silence is deafening, the shadows creeping closer, wrapping around him like a noose. You inch forward again, unwilling to let the distance grow. “What did they take from you?” you ask gently, your voice barely above a whisper, hoping to pierce the dark veil enveloping him.

He hesitates, and you see the battle raging in his mind. “They took… they took my sisters,” he finally admits, his voice cracking under the strain. “They took my family, and I wasn’t there to protect them.”

Your heart aches for him, the depth of his pain crashing over you like a tidal wave. “I’m so sorry, Josh,” you murmur, tears stinging your eyes. “But this isn’t the way to make it right. This won’t bring them back.”

“I don’t want them back,” he snaps, but the anger is undercut with sorrow, the edges fraying. “I just want them to pay for what they did. I want to feel something—anything but this empty rage inside me.”

You take another step closer, heart racing as you reach out, your hand brushing against his arm. “Then let me help you. Don’t let this rage destroy you. You’re stronger than this. We can find another way to honour their memory.”

He turns to face you, his eyes glistening with unshed tears, the turmoil within him still raging but beginning to soften. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispers, vulnerability etching across his features, deepening the ache in your heart.

“You won’t,” you promise, stepping closer, your voice resolute. “We’ll find a way through this. Together.”

For a heartbeat, it feels like the walls around him might crumble, but then he pulls away, shaking his head. “No, I can’t risk it. I won’t let you be part of this darkness.”

You take a deep breath, the cold air filling your lungs as you try to steady yourself against the gravity of it all. “Then what? You’ll just shut me out? You’ll go through this alone?”

For a heartbeat, it feels like the walls around him might crumble, but then he jerks away, shaking his head with wild desperation. “No, I can’t risk it. I won’t let you be part of this darkness.”

You take a deep breath, the cold air filling your lungs as dread settles in your chest. “Then what? You’ll just shut me out? You’ll go through this alone?”

His eyes are wild, flickering with an inner conflict that twists your gut. “I don’t know how to just… let it go.”

“Then don’t let it go alone,” you plead, reaching out to cup his face in your trembling hands, your heart racing in the thick, oppressive air. “You can’t do this alone, Josh. We can face it together. You don’t have to carry this weight by yourself. Let me be with you.”

The tension in his frame wavers for a moment, and you catch a glimpse of hope igniting in his gaze. “I wish I could just go back to being normal… to being happy,” he murmurs, his voice tinged with regret and a hint of mania.

“Then let’s work on that together,” you urge, your hand still on his face, your fingers brushing against the stubble of his jaw. “You don’t have to lose yourself in this darkness. Let me help you find your way back.”

The silence stretches between you like a taut wire, the world's weight pressing down. As you stand there, staring into his eyes, you see the flicker of a fragile spark amidst the storm of his despair.

“Okay,” he finally says, his voice breaking slightly, urgency threading through his words. “But you have to promise me one thing.”

“Anything,” you reply, heart pounding.

“Promise me you won’t give up on me, no matter how far I fall,” he whispers, the vulnerability in his eyes cutting straight through to your heart, the weight of his desperation almost palpable.

“I promise,” you say, tears welling up. “We’ll get through this together, Josh. I won’t let you go.”

He nods, a single tear escaping down his cheek, but the spark of hope quickly dims. “I’m scared,” he admits, his voice trembling, the manic edge returning, his eyes darting around as if haunted by unseen horrors.

“I know,” you reply softly, wiping the tear away with your thumb. “But we’ll face that fear together. You don’t have to do this alone anymore.”

The tension crackles in the air, thick and charged, as Josh’s vulnerability battles with something darker within him—your heart races as you stare into his conflicted eyes, desperate to bridge the chasm between you. Without thinking, you close the gap, your breath mingling with his.

At that moment, something shifts within Josh. He hesitates, then, without warning, he pulls you into his arms, enveloping you in warmth and safety. The weight of the world slips away as you lean into him, seeking solace in the embrace.

But then you sense the urgency in his movements, the frantic energy surging beneath the surface. The outside world fades, and all you can feel is the moment's intensity. Without even realising it, your lips find his. The kiss is tentative at first, exploring the vulnerability you both share. But as the heat between you builds, it transforms into something urgent and desperate—a frantic plea for connection that speaks to the chaos swirling around you.

You melt against him, feeling him respond as he deepens the kiss, pouring everything he thinks into that moment. His lips are warm and inviting, igniting a fire inside you, and you lose yourself in him. Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as if trying to erase the distance between you.

But just as abruptly, he pulls away, breathless, his forehead resting against yours. “Y/N,” he whispers, his eyes filled with a manic intensity that makes your heart race. “I’m sorry, but I can’t let you in now. Not with this. After is a different story; I’ll tell you everything.”

The chill of his words slices through you, and reality crashes back in. “Josh—”

Before you can finish, he reaches into his pocket, confusion turning to dread as you see him pull out a small cloth. Your stomach drops, panic surging through you like icy water.

“Josh, what are you doing?” you ask, your voice shaking, a sense of dread coiling tightly around your chest.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, anguish etched across his face, his eyes wide and frantic. “I have to protect you.”

Without warning, he lunges forward, pressing the cloth against your mouth and nose. Instinctively, you struggle, fear coursing through your veins as the suffocating scent of chloroform envelops you. You claw at his hands, desperation surging, but your body betrays you as darkness seeps into your vision.

“Josh, no!” you gasp, but your words dissolve into silence, swallowed by the overwhelming haze. The frantic look in his eyes pierces through the fog, revealing the chaos of his spiralling mind.

“Just for a moment,” he murmurs, his voice distant and strained, tinged with a frantic urgency that sets your heart racing. “Don’t be scared; I’ll take care of you. I’ll make it right, I promise. I need time—just a little time to fix this.”

And then, with a final, shuddering breath, everything fades to black.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

The soft crackle of firewood breaks through the heavy silence, pulling you from unconsciousness. Your eyelids flutter open, and it takes a moment for your surroundings to come into focus. The flickering flames dimly lit the small cabin, casting dancing shadows on the wooden walls. You sit up, disoriented, your muscles stiff and aching as you take in the cozy but foreign space.

You glance down to find yourself wrapped in a thick blanket, and underneath it, you’re dressed in an oversized jacket that smells faintly of Josh—woodsy and warm. It swallows you whole, the weight of it grounding you as you scan the room.

An array of snacks is laid out on a small table nearby: bags of chips, a few granola bars, and a thermos of hot cocoa, steam rising in lazy curls. The sight is strangely comforting but does little to quell the unease gnawing at your insides. Where are you? What happened?

As your mind clears, you push the blanket aside and swing your legs over the bed's edge, feeling the cabin floor's coolness against your feet. You spot a piece of paper propped against a half-burned log in the fireplace. The neatly typed letters starkly contrast the rustic chaos around you, and you rise to retrieve it, your heart pounding in your chest.

You unfold the letter, your eyes scanning the words with growing anxiety:

Y/N,

If you’re reading this, you’re awake. I know you’re confused and maybe even scared. I’m so sorry for what I did to you. I couldn’t think of any other way to protect you. I had to get you away from everything.

I’ve spent so long planning this, and I know it sounds wild—because it is. I wanted to pull a prank on my friends. I wanted them to be scared, to experience that heart-pounding rush of fear that comes when you think your life is in danger, but I never wanted them to be hurt. I didn’t want them to suffer like my family did. I wanted to make a point, to show them how fragile life can be, but they didn’t see it that way.

So, I dressed up as a killer—in those overalls you saw me in. I spent weeks piecing together the costumes, researching horror movies for inspiration, and trying to channel the terror that would haunt their dreams. I used fake blood, a mask, and everything to make it feel authentic without crossing the line.

When I saw the genuine fear in their eyes, it twisted something inside me. It was as if I had become the monster I was pretending to be. I realised then that I had pushed things too far. I lost sight of the line between fun and horror, and once you cross that line, there’s no going back.

When I saw what they did to my sisters, how could I resist this? How could I let them go on living their lives while mine was shattered? So, I created a nightmare for them, a taste of the horror that took everything from me. But now I realise it’s too late for regrets.

I know I’ve gone too far and can’t undo what I’ve done. I didn’t want you to be part of this madness, Y/N. You deserve better than this chaos.

You are my light in the darkness, and I can’t bear to lose you too. I just needed time to figure things out, to find a way to make things right.

Please forgive me. I’ll be back as soon as I can.

Love,

Josh.

You read the letter twice, each word slicing through you like ice. Shock gives way to anger, fear, and overwhelming sadness. Josh’s intentions may have stemmed from a place of love, but his actions were reckless and dangerous. He had crossed a line, dragging you into the depths of his madness.

Setting the letter aside, you wrap the jacket tighter around yourself, feeling its weight as if it holds pieces of him—his warmth, scent, and shared memories. But now, those memories feel tainted, overshadowed by what he’s done.

You pace the small cabin, anxiety bubbling up as the reality of your situation sinks in. You’re alone on Blackwood Mountain, isolated from the world, and he’s somewhere out there—lost in his turmoil.

Your heart races as you wonder: How far has he gone? You approach the window, peering into the darkened woods surrounding the cabin. The trees loom like sentinels, shadows creeping ominously in the dying light.

You can’t just wait here. You have to find him. You have to make him see reason, to pull him back from the brink before he loses himself entirely to the darkness. Gathering your resolve, you take a deep breath, trying to steady your shaking hands.

With newfound determination, you head toward the door, knowing you must find Josh and confront him about his choices—before it’s too late.

You take a deep breath, heart pounding as you inch toward the cabin door. The stillness of the night is oppressive, a suffocating blanket that wraps around you, making every instinct scream for you to turn back. But you push through, determined to find Josh, to confront him about the madness he has unleashed.

As you swing the door open, the icy air hits you, and the moonlight spills into the cabin, illuminating the expanse of snow-covered ground outside. You step out, every nerve in your body on high alert. The forest looms around you, shadows twisting in the pale light.

Suddenly, a chilling howl echoes through the trees, sending a shiver down your spine. You freeze, straining to see through the darkness. That’s when you glimpse it—a creature, grotesque and otherworldly, its long limbs twisted and elongated, eyes glowing like embers in the night.

Panic surges through you, an instinctual fight-or-flight response kicking in as the creature turns its head, locking its eyes on you. In that moment, all rational thought vanishes. You stumble backward, heart racing, and slam the door shut behind you. Adrenaline propels you into the small cabin as you dart toward the nearest hiding place—the bed.

You drop to the floor and scramble beneath it, your breath quick and shallow. The world around you blurs into a haze of terror, and you press your back against the wooden frame, curling into a ball as the sound of the monster’s snarling fills your ears. You feel utterly powerless, trapped in the darkness of your hiding place, time stretching endlessly as the creature stalks outside.

Hours pass, each minute feeling like an eternity. The monster’s guttural growls echo through the night, haunting you with the promise of violence. You clutch the blanket around you, trying to drown out the sound, waiting for dawn with a desperation that gnaws at your insides.

Finally, a faint light seeps through the cracks in the cabin walls, signalling the arrival of dawn. You let out a shaky breath, still too terrified to move. But just as the first rays of sunlight touch the ground, a loud explosion rips through the silence. The ground shakes, and the monster’s screams suddenly fall silent.

You stay hidden, frozen in place, unable to comprehend what happened. The panic tightens around you, and even though the creature is gone, you can’t bring yourself to leave the safety of your hiding spot. What if it comes back? What if there are more?

The hours go on, and the sun climbs higher in the sky. You hear distant voices, the sound of people calling out, but fear keeps you rooted beneath the bed. You don’t want to face the outside world after what you’ve just seen.

Finally, the door creaks open, and you hold your breath, heart racing as footsteps approach. “Y/N?” a voice calls out, but it feels distant, like a dream. “Are you in here?”

Others join the voice, and the panic swirling inside you melts into a fragile hope. You wait, listening as they search the cabin, calling your name, until one of them finally crouches down beside the bed.

“There you are,” It’s a search team member, their face a mix of relief and concern. “You’re safe now. Come on out.”

With trembling limbs, you crawl out from your hiding spot, feeling the sun on your face for the first time since the nightmare began. You’re enveloped in the warmth of a rescue team member, the world flooding back into focus, but your mind is still reeling.

“Where’s Josh?” you ask, your voice shaky.

“We’ll take you to him,” the rescuer replies, helping you to your feet. “He was found in the mines. He’s hurt, but he’s alive.”

“The mines? What mines?” You ask the rescuer, beyond confused.

“Your friend ended up down the mines. All of your other friends are saying some monster attacked them,” the rescuer replies.

“I saw it, too,” You whisper.

The relief floods through you, but it’s tinged with a deep sense of foreboding. It was real; the monster was real. You weren’t going crazy.

As you’re escorted back through the snow, the reality of the night’s horrors sinks in. You catch glimpses of the chaos left behind—the aftermath of the explosion, the remnants of the monsters. When you finally reach the makeshift medical station set up for the search team, you scan the area, your heart racing as you spot Josh sitting on a cot, looking dishevelled and lost. He’s staring blankly ahead, his eyes hollow, as if he’s not truly present.

“Josh!” you call, your heart in your throat as you rush forward.

He snaps his gaze to you, confusion clouding his expression, and for a moment, you fear he won’t recognise you. “Y/N?” he whispers, his voice trembling. “Is that you?”

“Yeah, it’s me! I’m okay!” you reply, urgency threading through your words as you reach him.

He stands abruptly, eyes wide as he takes a few hesitant steps toward you, as if afraid you might vanish again. “I thought… I thought I lost you,” he murmurs, his voice breaking as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you into an embrace that feels both desperate and protective.

“I was so scared, Josh,” you admit, tears spilling down your cheeks. “I saw this thing, and it was right outside the cabin. I thought I’d never get out.”

His grip tightens around you, his breath hitching as he pulls back just enough to look into your eyes. “I was worried about you. I thought they’d get you. I’m so sorry for leaving you there.”

“You saved my life by leaving me there. I had a place to hide,” You tell him, giving him a scared smile.

His eyes search yours, wild and frantic. “Are you here, or is it all in my head? I’ve been in this hell for so long, I can’t tell what’s real anymore.”

“I’m real, Josh,” you assure him, cupping his face in your hands. “I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

As the weight of your words settles between you, you see a flicker of clarity return to his gaze. “You have no idea how much that means to me,” he breathes, and without warning, he scoops you up into his arms, spinning you around as relief washes over him.

“Josh!” you exclaim, laughing and crying at once, overwhelmed by the mixed emotions. “Put me down!”

But he holds you tightly, his expression fierce with affection. “No, I won’t let you go. Not again. I was so worried about you and those things out there. I can’t— I can’t lose you like I lost them.”

You pull back from the embrace, searching Josh's eyes for anything that reflects the boy you knew before this nightmare began. “What about everyone else?” you ask, your voice steady despite the uncertainty. “What happened with the others?”

His expression darkens, the shadows of grief and guilt flickering across his features. “They tied me up after I confronted them,” he admits, running a shaky hand through his hair. “I was… This thing took me, and my sisters were there and—“

You nod slowly, recalling Josh’s note, where he dressed up as a killer to scare his friends during a camping trip. “Josh, they’re gone. They couldn’t have been there,” you remind him gently.

“No, Hannah was there. She was one of those things,” he replies, his voice thick with remorse. “It’s my fault that everyone is here… I could’ve gotten everyone killed.”

“Josh, you didn’t know,” you reassure him, brushing your thumb across his cheek. “What happened with those monsters wasn’t your fault. How were you supposed to know what would happen?”

He looks away, his gaze distant, haunted by the memories. “It’s still my fault. I led everyone here. When I saw those things… I was terrified and left you all alone to face them.”

“You didn’t leave me behind on purpose. You thought you were protecting me,” you say softly, trying to keep his gaze locked onto yours. “But you need to understand that you need help, Josh. I know what you did was because you’re grieving, but seriously… drugging me? You could have just told me what you were doing. I understand why you did it.”

He nods, tears pooling in his eyes. “I know. I’m so lost right now. I can’t even tell what’s real anymore. I’m scared that if I close my eyes, I’ll see them again—my sisters, the monsters. It’s all jumbled in my head.”

“Then we’ll get through this together,” you assure him, your voice strong. “But you have to let people in. You need to talk to someone who can help.”

Just then, a medical team approaches, their expressions severe but sympathetic. “Josh, Y/N,” one of the paramedics says, his voice steady. “We need to take you both for a check-up. It’s protocol after what you’ve been through.”

You nod, your heart racing as you follow Josh’s lead toward the makeshift medical station. “Do you think the others will be okay?” you ask him, glancing back at the chaos surrounding you—the remnants of the explosion, the hushed voices of searchers, and the growing concern etched into their faces.

“I hope so,” he replies, his voice wavering. “But I don’t know. I was down in the mines for so long. I don’t even know if they knew I was gone.”

As the medical team checks you both over, the atmosphere shifts slightly, tinged with relief and anxiety. They examine your injuries and ensure you’re both stable, then refer you to a hospital for a more thorough check-up. After an eternity of tests and questions, you finally get the green light to leave.

“Hey,” Josh says as you both stand outside the hospital, the sunlight peeking through the trees. “You okay?”

“I think so,” you reply, giving him a tentative smile. “Just… still processing everything.”

He nods, his expression solemn but determined. “I just called a taxi… do you wanna return to mine?”

“Sure, I’d like that,” you agree, feeling a slight weight lift as you follow him. The drive is quiet, each of you lost in thought, but the familiar contours of his neighbourhood provide a strange sense of comfort.

When you finally reach Josh’s home, he hesitates at the door, his hand resting on the knob. “Are you sure you want to come in? I understand if you changed your mind.”

“I want to be here,” you say, your heart pounding as you step closer.

He nods, opening the door and stepping inside, the familiar scent of home washing over you. As he closes the door behind you, the world's weight outside feels slightly lighter, if only for a moment.

“I’ve been thinking about many things,” he says quietly as you sit on the couch. “About the prank and my sisters and how I could have responded to everything better.”

He sits beside you, leaning against the couch as he stares at the floor. “But I just don’t know how to move forward. Everything feels so twisted and wrong.”

“We’ll figure it out together,” you promise, reaching for his hand and intertwining your fingers. “One step at a time.”

Josh looks up, a flicker of hope igniting in his eyes. “Thank you, Y/N. For being here. I don’t deserve it, but it means everything to me.”

“You deserve it,” you insist, squeezing his hand. “We all deserve a second chance.”

The two of you sit in comfortable silence, and while the shadows of the past still loom over you, the warmth of each other’s presence offers a flicker of light in the darkness.

The sun dipped low in the sky, casting long shadows across Josh’s living room. The chaos of the past few days still lingered in the air, but it felt different here—more intimate and safe. As you sat on the couch, your fingers intertwined with Josh’s, you couldn’t help but glance around at the familiar yet altered space.

“I can’t believe you wore those ugly overalls last night,” you teased, breaking the silence. “They made you look like a redneck farmer.”

Josh chuckled, his mood lifting slightly as he recalled the memory. “Hey, they were fashionable! At least for a psycho prank gone wrong,” he replied, a smirk on his lips.

“Fashionable? Really?” You grinned at him, teasingly nudging his shoulder.

“Okay, fair enough. But I thought the whole ‘creepy psycho in overalls’ thing was semi-accurate for a crazed killer,” he defended, rolling his eyes but unable to suppress a smile.

“It was not giving psycho killer,” You laugh, hitting him lightly on the shoulder. As you both shared a moment of laughter, Josh’s playful demeanour took on a different edge. He leaned in closer, mischief sparking in his eyes. “You know, you might think you know what a psycho looks like,” he said, his voice low and teasing, “but I could show you what it looks like.”

Before you could fully process his words, he playfully reached for your neck, his fingers wrapping gently around it, creating a tension that sent shivers down your spine. “Just a little squeeze,” he whispered, a smirk on his lips.

Your heart raced, caught between the thrill of his teasing and the underlying intensity in his gaze. “Josh…,” you breathed, half-laughing, half-breathless, the playful edge of his words tinged with something more profound.

As you gazed into his eyes, a strange heat surged through you, an undeniable thrill that coursed through your veins. You found yourself leaning slightly into his grip, an instinctual reaction that did not go unnoticed. A flicker of realisation crossed Josh's face—a mix of surprise and intrigue.

“You like this, don’t you?” he asked, his voice dropping an octave, the teasing lilt now laced with something more intense. The corner of his mouth curled into a knowing smirk as he subtly tightened his grip just enough to draw a soft gasp from you.

Your heart raced, and the realisation hit you hard. The thrill of danger mingled with an unexpected desire, and you couldn’t deny the rush it gave you. “Maybe I do,” you admitted your voice barely above a whisper, challenging him even as your breath hitched.

Josh’s eyes darkened, a spark of excitement igniting between you. “You’re going to have to be careful with that,” he murmured, leaning in closer, his breath warm against your skin. “You never know how far I’ll take it.”

Josh leaned in and kissed your neck, his tongue tracing the curve of your jaw and sending shivers down your spine. His hands found their way to your body, touching you in all the right places and sending more shivers through you. He sucked on your neck, his teeth lightly grazing your skin and making you moan softly.

His eyes bore into yours, dark and intense, as he slowly lowered himself to his knees before you. The atmosphere around you seemed to fade away; the only sounds now were the rustle of leaves and the distant call of wind, all background noise to the thrumming tension between you two.

"Lie back," he commanded softly, but there was no mistaking the authority in his voice. You obeyed without hesitation, your heart pounding as you stretched out on the soft, mossy ground. The coolness of the earth seeped into your skin, a stark contrast to the heat building inside you.

Josh positioned himself between your legs, his gaze never leaving yours. He ran his hands up your thighs, his touch firm yet deliberate, sending electric jolts through your body. A predatory smile spread across his lips as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against your inner thighs.

He began with gentle kisses, trailing them up your thighs, each one sending delicious tingles through your core. His fingers moved expertly, tracing patterns on your sensitive skin, teasing you with their nearness but not entirely granting you the relief you craved. He knew exactly how to build the anticipation and keep you on the edge.

Josh's eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he pulled your leggings off, revealing you clad in your panties. He pulls them to the side, gently running his fingertips above your hole, admiring the shine his actions elicit.

He lowers his face slowly, wrapping his lips around your clit, his tongue flicking over the sensitive nub with expert precision. You quietly cried out, the sensation overwhelming, a perfect blend of pleasure and pain. He worked you with relentless intensity, his mouth and tongue creating a symphony of sensations that left you breathless.

"Fuck, Josh," you moaned, your fingers digging into the moss beneath you. "That feels so good."

He didn't respond verbally, but his actions spoke volumes. His fingers joined the assault, slipping inside you with ease, filling you just as thoroughly as his mouth was devouring you. The dual stimulation was almost too much to bear, and you could feel yourself teetering on the edge, the orgasm building like a tidal wave within you.

But just as you were about to crest, he pulled back, his fingers retreating from your aching pussy. You whimpered in protest, your body trembling with need. "No, please," you begged, your voice raw with desperation.

"Not yet," he said, his voice a deep growl. He kissed his way up your body, his lips leaving a trail of fire in their wake. When he reached your neck, he bit down gently, a sharp bite that made you gasp. "I'm going to make you wait, make you ache for it," he whispered, his breath hot against your skin.

His hand returned to your centre, his fingers sliding back inside you with a needy groan. He played you like an instrument, his touch both rough and tender, pushing you right to the brink but never allowing you to fall over. "Look at you," he murmured, his voice dripping with approval. "So desperate, so needy. I love it."

The humiliation, mixed with the arousal fueling your desire even further. "Josh, please," you pleaded, your voice breaking.

"Not yet," he growled, pulling his fingers free again. "We're not done here."

He shifted position, his mouth descending on your clit again, but this time with a ferocity that left you gasping for breath. His tongue worked relentlessly, driving you mad with need, while his fingers teased your entrance. The combination was maddening, a whirlwind of sensations that had you repeatedly crying out his name.

"Please, Josh, let me come," you begged, your body tensing as the orgasm loomed large.

"Go ahead," he challenged, his tongue flicking over your clit in rapid, staccato bursts.

You couldn't hold back any longer. With a cry of release, you came hard, your body convulsing beneath him as waves of ecstasy washed over you. He didn't stop, his mouth and fingers working in unison to draw out every last drop of your climax until you were left quivering and spent, your breaths coming in ragged gasps.

The first orgasm started to wash over you like a wave in the ocean, and you let out a soft moan. But Josh didn't stop. He didn't stop sucking your clit.

Josh’s lips lingered on your clit, his tongue flicking rhythmically as he drove you deeper into a haze of pleasure and pain. The sensation was overwhelming, a tidal wave crashing against your senses, leaving you breathless and desperate for release. His fingers dug into your thighs, holding you firmly in place as he devoured you with relentless intensity.

“Josh, please… I can’t…” you whimpered, your voice trembling with a mixture of pleading and ecstasy. Your hands moved instinctively to push him away, but his grip only tightened, his eyes locking onto yours with an unyielding ferocity that sent shivers down your spine.

His tongue pressed harder, circling your clit with expert precision, drawing out every gasp and moan from deep within you. The pleasure was so intense it bordered on torture, each stroke of his tongue sending electric shocks through your body.

With one final flick of his tongue, he drew out a strangled cry from your throat, the orgasm hovering just out of reach. Your body trembled with the effort of holding back, every muscle straining against the overwhelming pleasure.

You watched as his eyes darkened with lust, the predator in him coming to the surface as he took what he wanted from you.

His mouth never leaves your clit, sucking harder, his teeth grazing lightly against your sensitive nub, the sharp sting mixing with the pleasure to create a heady cocktail of sensations.

You cried out as the orgasm tore through you, a blinding wave of pleasure that left you gasping for breath. Your legs shook uncontrollably, your muscles spasming as the aftershocks rippled.

Josh didn’t stop. He kept his mouth locked onto your clit, milking every ounce of pleasure from your shuddering form. You could feel your juices flowing, coating his chin and dripping onto your thighs, a sticky testament to your surrender.

Your mind reeled, the sheer intensity of the experience pushing you to the edge of sanity. But there was no escaping him, no way to deny the primal pull of his dominance. You found yourself arching against him, desperate for more, even as your body screamed for rest.

“Josh… please… too much…” you moaned, your voice barely coherent. The overstimulation was becoming too much, the constant barrage of pleasure threatening to overwhelm you completely.

And then he was there again, his tongue finding your clit once more, the pressure perfect as he guided you toward another peak. Each flick of his tongue, each suck of his lips, brought you closer to the edge until you were teetering on the brink again, helpless to resist.

With a strangled cry, you came again, your body convulsing as the orgasm ripped through you like wildfire. Your pussy clenched around his tongue, pulsing with the force of your release.

But Josh wasn’t satisfied with just three. He kept going, his mouth relentless as he pushed you toward yet another orgasm. The world narrowed down to the sensation of his mouth, the taste of your arousal, and the sound of your cries filling the air.

Your mind blanked, lost in the sea of pleasure he had created. All thought fled as you obeyed, riding the wave of sensation until you were thrown into another explosive orgasm. Your body jerked and twitched, your cries echoing through the room as you shattered yet again.

Your vision blurred, your body trembling with exhaustion and pleasure. You could feel the sticky mess of your juices coating his face, dripping down onto your thighs.

“Josh… please… no more…” you begged, your voice weak and strained. The constant onslaught of pleasure had left you drained, every muscle quivering with the aftermath of your multiple climaxes.

Before you could protest, his mouth was back on your clit, his tongue flicking mercilessly as he drove you toward yet another orgasm. The sensation was almost too much, the sheer intensity of it pushing you to the edge of comprehension.

“Josh… please… stop…” you pleaded, your voice breaking as you reached the limit of your endurance. The overstimulation was too much, the constant barrage of pleasure threatening to break you apart completely.

But Josh was relentless. He held your gaze as he drove you to the edge, his eyes burning with a dark fire that refused to be quenched.

“Okay,” Josh says, pulling his mouth away from you. He gets off his knees, stands up and walks to the other side of the room, sitting on a single-person couch.

“Why are you sitting there?” You ask him, your voice weak and quiet.

“You told me to stop, so I did. If you can’t handle me, I’m happy to let you rest,” He teases, defiantly sitting with his arms crossed. You could tell he was playing games with you, wanting to bring you to the edge and beyond over and over again.

He’s still sitting there, and you’re still lying on the couch. You haven’t moved, not even a little bit. Your whole body is quivering from the overstimulation and pleasure he put you through. And now he’s sitting on the other side of the room, teasing you and playing games with your body.

“I didn’t want you to stop,” You say, finally finding the energy to speak.

“Then why did you tell me to stop?” He asks, looking at you with a raised brow.

“I… I… I don’t know,” You whimper.

“Are you sure you’re ready for more?” He asks, standing up now and walking back to the couch.

“I’m sure,” You say. You’re begging to have him inside of you. You’re begging for more. You’re begging for anything and everything he’ll give you.

He reaches out and grabs your thighs, pulling you to the edge of the bed and standing in front of you. Your legs fall to the sides as he bends down to kiss you, his hand trailing down your thigh to your pussy.

He pushes two fingers in you, curling them upwards and rubbing against your g-spot. You feel yourself building up to another climax that’s different from the others.

“Josh,” You moan.

“Yes, baby,” He replies.

“You’re going to make me cum again,” You say to him.

“That’s the plan,” He says, his voice soft as he speaks.

You feel the wave wash over you, building up and then letting go. You feel a flood of fluid flowing from your pussy as the climax washes over you, making Josh’s fingers slide out of you with extreme ease.

“Fuck, Y/N,” He whispers. He pulls his fingers out and smears the juices around his mouth and lips, tasting you and swallowing the liquid gold down his throat.

He pulls your legs towards him, spreading you apart so he can fit his body between them. He leans down and kisses you again, your juices still on his lips and tongue. Josh removes his clothing, displaying his toned body and thick cock.

“Come here, Y/N,” He says, sitting down and patting his thighs. He lifts you slightly, sitting you in his lap, making you straddle his cock with your legs. He slides his cock into your pussy and starts to bounce you up and down on his lap.

You lean forward and kiss him, feeling another orgasm building in your lower belly, but it’s different from the other ones, your tolerance to orgasms building up higher than you thought possible.

“Oh god,” You say. “Oh my god.”

“Just a little longer,” He says. Your eyes widen, and your mouth opens in a silent scream as you come again.

“Good girl,” He says. He smiles at you and starts to rub your back. “I want to see you cum more.”

You’re so weak you can barely hold yourself up, but that doesn’t stop him. He holds you up for you, fucking you hard and deep. You feel another climax coming on and let out a loud moan as it hits you. Josh grunts in your ear.

“Cum for me,” He says. “Cum all over my cock.”

You feel the heat wash over you, and you clench around him. He picks up the pace, fucking you so hard your juices are flowing down his cock and onto his lap. You feel like you’ve cummed too much that you can’t take anymore.

But he doesn’t care. He just keeps going, fucking you harder and more profound than you thought possible. He’s still holding you up, not letting you rest.

“Cum again,” He grunts. “Cum for me.”

You do as he says, cumming again and clenching around his cock. His breathing gets faster and heavier.

Josh’s grip on your hips tightened, his fingers digging into your flesh as he thrust more profoundly and more complexly. The rough, dominant manner in which he was taking you sent a thrill through your body, making your skin tingle with anticipation. His breath was hot against your ear, his voice low and commanding. “You’re mine,” he growled, each word punctuated by another powerful thrust. “And I’m going to fill you up so good, you’ll feel me for days.”

Your body responded involuntarily, clenching around him as he continued to pump into you. The sensation was overwhelming, waves of pleasure crashing over you with each of his movements. You could feel the strain in your muscles, the way your legs trembled slightly from the intensity of it all. Your breaths came in short, ragged gasps, and you could hear the slick sounds of your bodies sliding together, mingling with the occasional grunt or moan that escaped Josh’s lips.

He captures your mouth in a bruising kiss, his tongue invading your mouth as forcefully as he invaded your body. His taste, mixed with the salty sweat of exertion, was intoxicating. You could feel his hardness pressing against the walls of your pussy, every part of his cock rubbing against you in just the right way to drive you wild.

The smell of sex filled the air, a heady mix of sweat, arousal, and the earthy scent of the forest. It was intoxicating, making your head swim with desire. The sound of your moans and his grunts echoed around you, the noises blending into a symphony of pleasure.

Josh’s pace began to change, becoming more erratic as his control started slipping. You could feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles bunched and flexed with each movement. His thrusts became less controlled, more primal, as he drove himself into you with abandon.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he growled, his voice strained. “So tight, so wet… I can’t hold back much longer.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, the knowledge that he was so close to releasing sending a fresh wave of excitement through you.

“Do it, Josh,” you whispered, your voice trembling with need. “Fill me up… please.”

“I’m cumming,” He grunts out. He leans back on the couch and pulls you down onto his cock, fucking you from beneath. He feels so good. Your muscles are too weak to hold yourself up, so he does it for you, pulling you up and down on him.

He let out a guttural groan, his body tensing as he began to come undone. With one final, brutal thrust, he buried himself deep inside you, his hips slamming against yours as he came hard. You could feel the warmth of his release filling you, his cum flooding your insides as he held you tightly, his grip almost painfully strong on your hips.

The sensation was overwhelming, the feeling of being full, of having him inside you in such a possessive, consuming way. You could feel every pulse of his orgasm, the way his cock twitched and throbbed within you. The heat of his seed spread through you, making you gasp at the intensity of it all.

Josh’s breathing was heavy, his chest heaving as he continued to hold you down, his body pressed tightly against yours. You could feel the sweat dripping from his brow and his heart pounding against your back. The aftermath of their intense coupling left you both breathless, the world seeming to spin around you.

“God, that was… incredible,” Josh murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. He loosened his grip on your hips slightly but still kept you pinned beneath him, unwilling to let you go just yet. “You took that so well… so perfectly.”

You could feel the remnants of his orgasm still pulsing inside you, the warm, sticky sensation making you squirm slightly. The feeling of being filled, of having him so deep within you, was intoxicating. You wanted to stay like this forever, wrapped in his arms, connected to him in the most intimate way possible.

“Josh…” you whispered, your voice shaky with emotion. “That was…”

“Shh,” he interrupted, pressing a finger to your lips. “Just enjoy it while you can. I’ll be filling you up again by the end of tonight.”

His words sent a thrill through you, the promise of more making your heart race. You could feel the beginnings of arousal stirring within you again, the aftershocks of their previous climax still lingering.

He wraps his arms around your waist and holds you tight. You lean back into his embrace and let his body envelop you. He presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“I never want this to end,” he says.

“I don’t either,” You reply.

He kisses the top of your head again, and you both relax, basking in each other’s presence. You’re so happy like you’ve never been happier in your life. You know this is where you’re meant to be, and you’ll never want it to end.

You lean back on his shoulder and close your eyes, letting the world wash over you. You know he’ll never leave your side and protect you from all harm. You love him with all your heart.

And you know he loves you, too.

#until dawn #until dawn fanfiction #josh washington #josh washington x reader #until dawn josh #josh washington smut #josh until dawn smut

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somejazzinthemorning · 7 months ago

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snapshot.

Carlos Sainz x Reader [Warnings: overuse of pet names because i'm a romantic, masturbation, mentions of sex. not beta-d so sorry for typos or mistakes ] - Word Count: 1K

you capture a candid photo of your boyfriend sleeping. little do you know, this innocent act sparks some ideas in his mind.

(i needed to do something after i saw him in boyfriend mode taking photos of his girl. hope this is a good way to make my comeback. soon i'll post about the little break I took. love you all. hope you enjoy) 🫶🏼

The morning sun pours its golden rays through the curtains. You wake up with its gentle kiss. The warm glow envelops you, seeming to prickling your naked skin. You find yourself nestled in its embrace, entangled in a sleepy haze, locked in the limbo between dreams and wakefulness.

You sigh as you open your eyes.

The gentle glow of the light dances around you, creating a peaceful ambiance that centers on the man lying next to you. Carlos. His head rests on the pillow; hair falling in disarray over his forehead.

Owning the image before you, your eyes don’t shy away from taking in the whole scene—the slightly parted lips, the shadow of his long eyebrows, the naked chest rising and falling with the rhythm of his slow breaths. There’s a serene vulnerability about him in that morning light, a beauty that begs to be immortalized.

And you know you can’t trust your mind for that. You can’t afford to have time tarnish it.

So you shift in bed and reach for the nightstand where your phone rests, and you aim the camera at Carlos. For a second, it seems a crime to so casually steal that image of beauty and serenity with something as mundane as a touch on a screen. Beauty like that deserves more effort.

Carlos stirs slightly, a fragment of a smile playing on his lips as he mumbles, with his eyes still closed,

“What are you doing?” There’s drowsiness in his voice, laced with a hint of amusement.

“Nothing,” you whisper softly. “You just looked so pretty.”

He smirks and runs his hands over his face. “I should feel violated,” he teases, extending his hands towards you, “My turn, now.”

Handing him the phone, you watch him. His gaze shifts to you with a different glint. You’re sitting on your knees in bed, the sheets around your legs, and nothing but your hair covering your chest. Reclining in bed, he points the camera at you. Instinctively, you cover your chest with your hands, the modesty you still hold translated into something similar to a pose.

Carlos lets out a soft groan. “No, no,” he protests, “you can’t hide those from me.”

“You want a photo of my boobs?”

“Sí, to have it as a keepsake in my wallet.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes and giggle at the sight of him. The sleepy eyes. The messy hair. The ridiculously overly feminine case on your iPhone that looks absurdly small in his big hairy hands. And all of this bathed in the soft glow of morning light and the memories of last night when you loved each other to sleep... God, you feel so lucky to have found this man.

Tilting your head to the photo, a faint smile grazes your lips as your gaze lingers on him, disregarding the phone pointing at you.

“The hair,” he directs.

This time, without even noticing, you were already obeying. You sweep your hair back, leaving the strands to cascade down your back. The soft sound of the clicks locks this moment into eternity. Looking down, you see the streaks of light cutting through your chest, drawing parallel lines over your naked bosom. You pass your fingers over it. Click. You take a deep breath and look in the direction of the light. Click. Your arms stretch over your head, in a casual stretch like you've done any morning, without a camera aiming at you. Click.

When you look back at your boyfriend, he’s smirking.

A mischievous twinkle awakens in his eyes. He’s enjoying this. Probably way more than you.

You let your fingers rest over your lips. Click. And then they hover over your jawline and your neck, which is still sore and probably painted with small hickeys. Click. Patiently, they glide over the curves of your chest with a fatherly touch, a tease enough to make your skin erupt into goosebumps. Before you dare to touch yourself, you look up.

“Do you like this?” His voice cuts the silence. And God, it’s so much deeper than before. “Tell me, love. Do you like having me here… watching you?” You nod. “Go ahead then. Play with them.”

You obey his command, gently pressing your fingertips against the buds on your chest and grazing over your nipples. Without realizing it, you squeeze your legs together. Carlos probably notices it because he moves in his place. When you look up, his hand is cradling his cock over the blanket. The power of his words and the sight of his hand on his cock are enough to make your breath hitch. You intensify your touch, tracing circles around your nipples, feeling them harden under your touch. Click. Your eyes never leave him as you continue to play with yourself, knowing you're putting on a show for him. The thought sends shivers down your spine and makes you wetter than before.

His hand doesn’t move too much, almost like he’s saving himself for you. You can see the tension building in him, the way his muscles are tense and his jaw clenched. It's a game of self-control, and you both know it.

"Spread your legs," he commands in a low voice. You obey without hesitation, spreading your legs wider and giving him a full view of your body. Click. "Fuck," he mutters through gritted teeth. "I want to be inside you."

The mattress shifts, and as you look in his direction, you can see him crawl towards you. His eyes are dark with desire, and there’s a hunger in his gaze that makes your heart race. Reaching for your chest, he kisses the spot your fingers are still pinching. He circles his tongue around your hard nipple, making you shiver, as if an electric current is flowing between the both of you. You arch into his touch, wanting more.

And then his teeth graze over your chest, ever so slightly, before he bites into it, making you gasp and whimper. The combination of pleasure and pain has you gripping the sheets tightly as he continues to tease and torment your sensitive nipples.

His hot breath is fanning over your face as he looks down at you, panting and begging for more. A smirk plays on his lips, knowing he has you right where he wants you. “Such a good girl,” he praises, before leaning in to kiss you again. This time, his tongue is demanding and forceful, exploring every inch of your mouth. You moan into the kiss, your hands reaching up to tangle in his hair as you desperately try to deepen the connection.

His fingers trail down from your chest to your stomach and then lower, slipping between your legs. The other hand keeps holding the phone, registering it. You take a couple of seconds to notice it, but you’re shaking. Burning.

“You’re so wet for me, baby,” he growls, before abruptly pulling away from you and returning to his seat. Arousal is dripping down your thighs as you watch him recline against the headboard. “Go ahead. Touch yourself.”

The memory of his lips and teeth seem to feed your body and arousal. You’re burning. The feeling of the sun on your skin only feeds that feeling. A warm tingling spreads through your chest and down to your core. You slide your fingers down. And God, you’re truly wet. You didn’t realize how hot this little game had turned you. You push your knees further apart, which earns a satisfied groan from your boyfriend.

"Do you want a photo of that too?" he asks.

You nod eagerly, feeling the heat radiating off your body. Without losing eye contact with him, you slide your fingers down to your throbbing center, spreading your folds and teasing yourself with light touches. His eyes are dark and intense as he watches you pleasure yourself under his gaze.

"Fuck," he groans, snapping another photo of your hand between your legs. You moan at the sound of his voice. "I love watching you, baby. You look so pretty."

Carlos repositions the phone to make you be right at the center. It’s a masterpiece. Your body fits perfectly within the frame of the phone. Your skin taken by the streaks of light, golden sunshine gilding your naked body almost like blessing the pleasure you're implying on yourself. You’d later learn that you looked unreal in those photos—something pulled out of a painting, shadows and light in perfect harmony. But in that moment, you just felt needy and desperate.

"Can I move?" You ask, your voice shaking with need.

"You can do what the fuck you want, baby," Carlos replies, his eyes never leaving you as he slides out of bed. You feel a surge of confidence and power as you take his spot, spreading your legs wide.

Your fingers slide over your wet lips, teasing yourself with light touches. Carlos sits at the end of the bed, watching intently. The sunlight streaming through the window catches on your juices and they sparkle in the light.

Your eyes meet his, and he nods encouragingly. You let out a breathy moan as you start to move your fingers in circles over your clit. The pleasure builds quickly within you, and you hear Carlos let out a low growl.

You slide two fingers inside of yourself, the wetness making it easy for them to slip in. You let out a loud moan around your fingers, imagining they're Carlos' instead. The thought of him filling you up makes your walls clench around your fingers.

You can feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, but you want Carlos with you. "Carlos," you cry out his name, hoping he'll join in and take over where your fingers are currently working.

But he doesn't move from his spot at the end of the bed. He continues to watch you with dark eyes, his hand still hovering over his erection but not touching it.

You can see the longing in his gaze and it only fuels your desire further. You want him desperately, to be taken by him until all sense is lost.

You call out to him again, pleading for his presence and touch. You long for him. His hand tightens around his erection as he struggles to hold onto control. Your eyes lock with his, and he lets out a small laugh of helplessness.

"Use your words, baby," he grunts. "Tell me what you want."

"Please, come here."

"Not yet."

"Can I?... Please? Can I cum?"

"Yes. Go ahead. Give in for me."

You comply, arching your back and pushing your hips forward. Your fingers glide in and out of your body at a rapid pace, your breaths becoming shallow and erratic. Carlos' gaze never wavers from you, and the sound of his gentle moans fills the room.

Climax is imminent.

You can feel it building, a searing warmth spreading through your veins, threatening to consume you completely. You know you're on the edge, but you want to prolong this moment, revel in the pleasure of it all.

When you open your eyes, he's standing by your side. The camera is focused on your face, but his eyes? His eyes are fixed on yours. All his attention is on you.

"I'm—," you gasp, meeting his gaze, your voice barely audible. “I'm so close.”

“I know, my love,” he whispers. Click. “Let yourself go for me.”

As the words leave his lips, you feel yourself start to unravel. Your body trembles with ecstasy as your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave. You let out a guttural moan, your fingers still working their magic on your slick folds. It hits you like a wave, stealing your breath and lifting you higher, as you cry out his name and arch your back, almost like being pulled towards him by an invisible force. The camera continues to click as your body convulses, capturing every bit of your ecstasy, your face twisting into a mix of pain and pleasure.

As you come down from your high, you're aware of Carlos moving around the room. The bed dips slightly, and then he's beside you, his hand reaching out to touch your sweat-damp skin.

“Can you take me now?,” your voice low. “Please?”

Had this one in my mind all day so I just needed to sit down and write it down before it would vanish. I know I've been MIA, but I see all the support you keep giving me. You're all incredible. Hope you enjoyed this one silly thing. As always, all feedback is appreciated. 🫶

#Carlos Sainz #Carlos Sainz Jr #Carlos Sainz x Reader #Carlos Sainz x You #Carlos Sainz Smut #Carlos Sainz Fanfic #Carlos Sainz Imagine #Formula 1 x Reader #Formula 1 x You #F1 x Reader #F1 x You #F1 Imagine #F1 One Shot #Driver x Reader #F1 Driver x Reader #Driver x You #F1 Driver x You #F1 Fanfic #FanF1ction

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pineapplefulfillseveryneed · 7 months ago

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The Revenge Of Two Hands One Mouth - O2 Academy Bristol (November 27, 2013) by Adam Gasson

#right so I missed out on the Ron photos in that post I made because getty was set to only show pictures Russell was tagged in #but Ron deserves his own post anyway so it all worked out for the best. Look at him. (I am going insane.)#as an avid Ron-sider at gigs for the last decade I forgot how absolutely relentless the gaze was. especially when it's just the two of them #20-something year old me was like 'oh hell yeah I am going to look this man in the eyes' (call it the naivety of youth)#this man has outgazed people for DECADES. (What was I thinking.) ((zero regrets - time of my life.))#Russell 'misspoke' a few times during the tour calling Ron 'the hardest man in show business'. It's all 100% true facts.#so I am sure some of you will enjoy these photos a lot (there's more when you follow the link)#ron mael #sparks #sparks (band)#the revenge of two hands one mouth #trothom #november 27 2013 #2013 #10's #bristol #I guess I won't be done talking about this show/tour for a while as it seems I can't focus on anything else (but I think that's right)#(p.s. I realized I got a few things wrong in that other post so I fixed that)

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mellowdracwitch · 24 days ago

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Recommended tips for research as a beginner witch/practioner:

Research as a beginner can at times feel stressful if you don't know credibilties or anything about the craft really. So, I'm going to share some tips I use in my practice and would recommend when researching witchcraft.

Research what interests you. If research begins to feel like a task instead of genuine interest or fun, there will be problems down the line with researching thoroughly. That isn't to say don't research things that bore you, it means that you should take what resonates with you and from there you can begin to build the framework for your personal craft.

Does the source align with your moral standing and personal beliefs? If the answer is no, time to find a new source. For example, if a source is fully against any harm towards another person and tries to push that narrative on the reader/viewer (or vice versa) and it's not something you personally align with, find another source. The most important example of this is many authors are bigots, terfs or cultural appropriaters. Remember to research the author and their practice before trusting what they have to say.

What may work for some people will not work for you. Do not feel inclined to do everything a certain way as said by a certain practioner. The point of witchcraft is to develop your own habits and outlooks. Crystals and astrology may work best for someone, but you may have an inclination towards herbs and palmistry for example. You do not need to practice every form of witchcraft out there. So circling back to the first point, pay mind to what sparks joy and what aligns with your abilities.

Take everything with a grain of salt. Learn to question what you learn. As witchcraft and spirituality have been practiced in many cultures for many years, things have evolved and been taken from one context to the next. Research various practices and rituals as well as the authors and cultures who promoted said practices

Use multiple sources. Blindly believing one post can be harmful, especially when concerning topics that can be a manner of physical safety (fire hazards, dressing candles, consumption and burning of herbs) or spiritual safety (spirit work, baneful work, trickster spirits). The more research the better, as it solidifies understanding too.

Do not rely solely on social media, but use it as a crutch to what you already know. Many content creators care more about views or aesthetics than educating. But many creators also DO care about what they're putting out there and have genuinely good tips and tricks for various practices. Just be wary.

Don't worry about aesthetics or perfection when you're just learning. Don't let pinterest photos of altars downplay your own craft and beauty. Right now, you're learning new topics and there's plenty of time later to find pretty altar tools or to neatly scribe in a leather journal. Don't let it distract you from research, and ultimately, the goal is to grow.

Have fun with it! There are so many research topics, and it can be as expansive or specific as you make it. Remember this isn't supposed to be stressful, it's supposed to be rewarding.

(Please add your own tips too if you'd like!)

#witch #witch community #witchcraft #beginner witch #witch tips #research #spirituality #deity work #crystals #herbs #practice #grimoire #book of shadows #spiritual journey #spirit work

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petermorwood · 7 months ago

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More on pre-electricity lighting.

Interesting to see this one pop up again after nearly two years - courtesy of @dduane, too! :->

*****

After experiencing a couple more storm-related power cuts since my original post, as well as a couple of after-dark garden BBQs, I've come to the conclusion that C.J. Cherryh puts far too much emphasis on "how dark things were pre-electric light".

For one thing eyes adjust, dilating in dim light to gather whatever illumination is available. Okay, if there's none, there's none - but if there's some, human eyes can make use of it, some better or just faster than others. They're the ones with "good night vision".

Think, for instance, of how little you can see of your unlit bedroom just after you've turned off the lights, and how much more of it you can see if you wake up a couple of hours later.

There's also that business of feeling your way around, risking breaking your neck etc. People get used to their surroundings and, after a while, can feel their way around a familiar location even in total darkness with a fair amount of confidence.

Problems arise when Things Aren't Where They Should Be (or when New Things Arrive) and is when most trips, stumbles, hacked shins and stubbed toes happen, but usually - Lego bricks and upturned UK plugs aside - non-light domestic navigation is incident-free.

*****

Here are a couple of pics from one of those BBQs: one candle and a firepit early on, then the candle, firepit and an oil lamp much later, all much more obvious than DD's iPad screen.

Though I remain surprised at how well my phonecam was handling this low light, my own unassisted eyes were doing far better. For instance, that area between the table and the firepit wasn't such an impenetrable pool of darkness as it appears in the photo.

I see (hah!) no reason why those same Accustomed Eyes would have any more difficulty with candles or oil lamps as interior lighting, even without the mirrors or reflectors in my previous post.

With those, and with white interior walls, things would be even brighter. There's a reason why so many reconstructed period buildings in Folk Museums etc. are (authentically) whitewashed not just outside but inside as well. It was cheap, had disinfectant qualities, and was a reflective surface. Win, win and win.

*****

All right, there were no switches to turn on a light. But there was no need for what C.J. describes as stumbling about to reach the fire, because there were tinderboxes and, for many centuries before them, flint and steel. Since "firesteels" have been heraldic charges since the 1100s, the actual tool must have been in use for even longer.

Tinderboxes were fire-starter sets with flint, steel and "tinder" all packed into (surprise!) a box. The tinder was easily lit ignition material, often "charcloth", fabric baked in an airtight jar or tin which would now start to glow just from a spark.

They're mentioned in both "The Hobbit" and "The Lord of the Rings". Oddly enough, "Hobbit" mentions matches in a couple of places, but I suspect that's a carry-over from when it was just a children's story, not part of the main Legendarium.

Tinderboxes could be simple, just a basic flint-and-steel kit with some tinder for the sparks to fall on...

...or elaborate like this one, with a fancy striker, charcloth, kindling material and even wooden "spills" (long splinters) to transfer flame to a candle or the kindling...

This tinderbox even doubles as a candlestick, complete with a snuffer which would have been inside along with everything else.

Here's a close-up of the striker box with its inner and outer lids open:

What looks like a short pencil with an eraser is actually the striker. A bit of tinder or charcloth would have been pulled through that small hole in the outer lid, which was then closed.

There was a rough steel surface on the lid, and the striker was scraped along it, like so:

This was done for a TV show or film, so the tinder was probably made more flammable with, possibly, lighter fuel. That would be thoroughly appropriate, since a Zippo or similar lighter works on exactly the same principle.

A real-life version of any tinderbox would usually just produce glowing embers needing blown on to make a flame, which is shown sometimes in movies - especially as a will-it-light-or-won't-it? tension build - but is usually a bit slow and non-visual for screen work.

*****

There were even flintlock tinderboxes which worked with the same mechanism as those on firearms. Here's a pocket version:

Here are a couple of bedside versions, once again complete with a candlestick:

And here are three (for home defence?) with a spotlight candle lantern on one side and a double-trigger pistol on the other.

Pull one trigger to light the candle, pull the other trigger to fire the gun.

What could possibly go wrong? :-P

*****

Those pistol lanterns, magnified by lenses, weren't just to let their owner see what they were shooting at: they would also have dazzled whatever miscreant was sneaking around in the dark, irises dilated to make best use of available glimmer.

Swordsmen both good and bad knew this trick too, and various fight manuals taught how to manage a thumb-shuttered lamp encountered suddenly in a dark alley.

There's a sword-and-lantern combat in the 1973 "Three Musketeers" between Michael York (D'Artagnan) and Christopher Lee (Rochefort), which was a great idea.

Unfortunately it failed in execution because the "Hollywood Darkness" which let viewers see the action, wasn't dark enough to emphasise the hazards / advantages of snapping the lamps open and shut.

This TV screencap (can't get a better one, the DVD won't run in a computer drive) shows what I mean.

In fact, like the photos of the BBQ, this image - and entire fight - looks even brighter through "real eyes" than with the phonecam. Just as there can be too much dark in a night scene, there can also be too much light.

*****

One last thing I found when assembling pics for the post were Folding Candle-lanterns.

They were used from about the mid-1700s to the later 20th century (Swiss Army ca. 1978) as travel accessories and emergency equipment, and IMO - I've Made A Note - they'd fit right into a fantasy world whose tech level was able to make them.

The first and last are reproductions: this one is real, from about 1830.

The clear part was mica - a transparent mineral which can be split into thin flexible sheets - while others use horn / parchment, though both of these are translucent rather than transparent. Regardless, all were far less likely to break than glass.

One or two inner surfaces were usually tin, giving the lantern its own built-in reflector, and tech-level-wise, tin as a shiny or decorative finish has been used since Roman times.

I'm pretty sure that top-of-the-line models could also have been finished with their own matching, maybe even built-in, tinderboxes.

And if real ones didn't, fictional ones certainly could. :->

*****

Yet more period lighting stuff here, including flintlock alarm clocks (!)

#period lighting #tinderbox #too light too dark #social history #writer notes #research #period tech #sword vs lantern #c. j. cherryh

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littlelamy · 24 days ago

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victoria'ssecret!model!reader

a/n: i have a victoria'ssecret!angel!reader for rafe but since the victoria secret show is happening today i was inspired to do character for mr.drew starkey!

the scholar beauty – she’s not just a victoria’s secret model with a stunning runway presence; she’s also studying psychology and dreams of making an impact beyond the fashion world. her brains are just as impressive as her beauty, and she’s fiercely dedicated to her studies. drew loves bragging about how she balances her demanding career with hitting the books. not only does she ace exams, but she’s also already talking about future plans that go way beyond modeling.

movie night queen – one of her favorite ways to unwind is cozying up to watch movies, especially ones with drew in them. she’s his biggest fan, always hyping up his roles and being the first to support his projects. whether it’s a rom-com or an action film, she knows every line he delivers and always makes sure they have popcorn ready for a perfect movie night in.

first to like and first to gift – whenever drew posts a new photo, she’s the first to like it—always leaving a cute comment to remind him how proud she is. and when he lands a new role, she’s the first to celebrate. whether it’s a thoughtful gift or just showing up with his favorite snack, she always knows how to make him feel special and appreciated.

their first big public appearance – their debut as a couple was at the queer premiere in venice, turning heads on the red carpet. she looked flawless in a sleek dress, and drew couldn’t stop smiling the entire night. it was the first time they really went public with their relationship, and they’ve been the “it” couple ever since. the world got a taste of their undeniable chemistry that night, and they’ve been inseparable ever since.

where it all began – they met at madelyn cline’s birthday party, and sparks flew immediately. neither of them could take their eyes off each other, and from that night on, they’ve been glued together. despite both their busy schedules, they’ve made it work, making time for each other no matter what. from that first meeting, they knew something special was brewing.

age is just a number – being younger than drew stirred up some media buzz, but they don’t let the noise bother them. she’s confident in their love, and her sweet nature won people over quickly. despite some of the controversy around their age gap, she’s become a fan favorite with her down-to-earth personality and how she’s always lifting drew up.

taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0

#outerbanks rafe #rafe outer banks #drew starkey x y/n #drew starkey x you #Dre #drew obx #drew starkey imagine #drew x reader #drew venice #drew queer #drew #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey #drew starkey x younger!reader #drew starkey smut #drew starkey queer #drew starkey x female reader #drew st

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romugh · 26 days ago

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CINEMATIC SEDUCTION- BS

ROMUGH’S KINKTOBER

october 12th — humiliation, filming, spanking, sensory deprivation

DAY EIGHT || kinktober masterlist || 2024.

pairing- barbara sugarman x fem!reader

cw- 18+!!; top!reader, bottom!barbara, sight humiliation, filming, photographing?, eating out (from behind!! cheeeers), strappie (b rcv), blowie (r rcv), slight daddy kink if you squint? but like, dont blink or you'll miss it...

wc- 9.973k :) enjoy!

a/n- barbaraaaa is heeereee!! criminally underrated and not written about enough- i'm here to start that change *proud*!! honestly one of my fave characters, been wanting to write her for quite some time now :D i'm planning on turning this into a universe on its own, regularly writing bout these two :) sorry for the late post, got called into work 15hrs ago. i'm till here...)

synopsis- after an accidental photo reveals a hidden desire, Barbara and you dive headfirst into a wild night of passionate exploration that blurs the lines of boundaries. what had begun as a playful mistake quickly transforms into revealing your deepest fantasies and desires.

taglist?- @lost-mortemanghel ♥︎, @idkwhatever580, @elliecoochieeater, @left-and-right-up-and-down, @deadlesbianwitches - comment or dm to be added :)

You’re sitting on your bed, smirking as you stare at the screen of your phone.

The picture you’re about to send to Barbara is bold—no, it’s downright filthy. It shows her spread out across the sheets, her legs open as your fingers disappear inside of her. The shot was taken accidentally, hence the blurriness, a moment captured without you even realising it until you scrolled through your photos earlier. Her hair is tousled, her face just out of view, but the angle captures the raw intimacy of the moment, the lightning highlighting the wetness glistening on your knuckles.

The memory rushes back to you—the way she moaned softly, her voice breaking into gentle gasps as she clenched around you. You can’t help but grin, knowing Barbara will be flustered when she sees it. You know she has a strong ‘disdain’ for porn, yet she can't resist the enticing photos of yourself you occasionally send her, and this new territory—one of herself— is bound to spark something inside her.

You send it off without a second thought, revelling in the anticipation as you watch the two arrows appear on the screen. They turn blue almost instantly, and you can’t help but chuckle, biting your lip in excitement. You wait a moment, letting the tension build before typing out a teasing message to accompany the photo. You can almost picture the flustered and shocked expression on her face as she processes what she just received. Finally, with a playful smirk, you press send on your follow-up message;

“B, I think my phone accidentally snapped a picture yesterday”

Barbara’s response to that is almost instant—three dots appearing on the screen, then disappearing just as quickly. You can picture the exact look on her face, the way her cheeks must be burning, her lips parted in surprise. She’s probably somewhere busy, maybe at the salon, trying to hide the flush creeping up her neck as she reads the message again and again.

A minute passes, then another. No reply. You chuckle to yourself, imagining how flustered she must be. She’s always been the kind of person who prides herself on being classy, the one who scoffs at the idea of porn being anything but trashy and degrading. Yet here she is, confronted with an image of herself in a way that she would never admit to finding erotic—at least, not out loud.

Meanwhile, on Barbara's end, the scene unfolds exactly as you imagined. She’s standing at her station, comb in one hand and her phone in the other, her heart pounding in her ears. She quickly glances around to see if anyone noticed her reaction, but the other stylists and clients are busy with their own chatter. It’s just her, staring down at that picture and the implications it carries.

She scrolls up, looking at it once more, and feels a rush of heat spreading between her legs, her body betraying her. It's not just the image itself that affects her—it’s also the realisation that the moment had been captured without her knowing. It’s the exposure, the rawness of it all that makes her feel vulnerable and a little (a lot) ashamed. And yet, that shame blends with something deeper, an unfamiliar twinge of excitement.

You wait a bit longer, then type out another message.

“I can almost hear your soft moans just by looking at it, baby. You look so beautiful, so gorgeous, so pretty, so mine. See you this weekend?”

She reads your new text, a mix of frustration and desire flickering across her features as she bites her lower lip. You can almost feel the tension radiating from her through the screen, and while she still doesn’t reply, you can tell the effect your words are having. You’ve witnessed how her body responds when she’s aroused—the subtle way her breath quickens, the tension in her shoulders as she tries to maintain her composure. Barbara has always preferred to keep things simple and vanilla, finding comfort in the intimacy of being eaten out and fingered gently, as if anything more adventurous would feel too overwhelming. Yet, you know her well enough to sense that it won’t be long before her carefully built walls begin to crack, and the ache of her desire pulls her closer to you, urging her to reach out.

The days pass in a frustrating blur for Barbara. She tries to keep herself busy, throwing herself into her work at the salon, chatting with clients, and catching up on errands. But no matter how hard she tries to push the image from her mind, it keeps creeping back in—the memory of your fingers, the slick heat of her own arousal, and that damn picture that sits, unsaved, in the depths of her phone.

She’s gone back to it more times than she’d like to admit. Late at night, when she’s finally alone, she finds herself unlocking her phone, her thumb hovering over the photo, wishing you were there with her. Every time she scrolls up to look at it, she feels a mix of shame and excitement curling deep in her belly. Her hand slides between her thighs almost instinctively, rubbing herself through her panties as she relives the sensation of you touching her just like that.

But then she’ll snap her phone shut with a frustrated sigh, tossing it onto the bed as if that could somehow help her regain control. Barbara isn’t used to feeling this way—needy, distracted, horny in a way that’s hard to ignore. She’s always prided herself on not being “one of those girls,” who fixate on sex the way she always thought men did. But now, there’s this nagging ache that won’t go away, an unfulfilled desire that makes her restless during the quiet moments.

At the salon, she fumbles with her tools more than once, zoning out when she should be listening to her client’s chatter. One afternoon, as she’s washing a customer’s hair, she catches herself daydreaming about the pressure of your fingers pushing inside her again, the sudden burst of warmth between her legs snapping her back to reality. She nearly drops the bottle of shampoo, cursing herself under her breath for letting her thoughts wander there of all places.

Every night of the week, she thinks about texting you—maybe to tease you back, maybe to demand that you come over and put an end to this torturous build-up. But pride keeps her from doing it. The most she manages is scrolling through the old messages, replaying your teasing words: “I can almost hear you moaning just looking at it again. Remember how you felt?”

It’s driving her mad, and you know it. You don’t usually go a full week without texting each other, sending each other little updates throughout the day or sending pictures and memes with a little “this made me think of you”-attachment.

Finally, when the weekend rolls around, you decide it’s time to check in on her. You send a simple text: “B, honey, I’m free all weekend. Want me to come over? Just finished my last uni class of the week.”

Her response is faster than you expected, and it’s almost breathless in its tone: “Yes, ofc. Got some spare clothes here already, come fast pls XX.”

When you arrive, the shift in her demeanour is immediately obvious. Barbara has always held herself with a confident, polished air, but tonight there’s a different energy to her—something desperate, like she’s been wound up too tight for too long. You can see it in the way she’s fidgeting, the way her eyes keep drifting toward your hands, like she’s already imagining what you’ll do to her.

You step closer, leaning in to whisper near her ear. “You seem... happy,” you say, a teasing lilt in your voice. “Miss me that much?”

Her cheeks flush, and she bites her lip, but there’s a spark of defiance in her eyes. “Just get inside,” she snaps, her voice breathless, but that familiar edge is there. She’s still trying to hold onto that composure, even as she takes your hand in hers, her movements just a bit too hurried to hide her impatience.

Barbara’s grip on your hand tightens as she pulls you over the threshold, but you play it cool, letting her urgency go unremarked. She’s breathless, eyes locked on yours with a hunger that’s barely masked by her usual composure.

“Something on your mind, B?” you ask casually, tilting your head with a faint smile. You keep your tone light and innocent, as if you’re genuinely oblivious to the tension radiating from her.

She huffs, an almost frustrated sound, and glances away for a moment before facing you again. “Just… come inside already,” she says, the words tumbling out in a rush. There’s a flush on her cheeks, and you know she’s been thinking about that picture for days.

You step inside her apartment, still keeping that same easy, nonchalant demeanour. “Come inside of you, or the apartment?” you tease with a playful grin.

She rolls her eyes, but the way she bites her bottom lip again betrays her arousal. “You know what I mean,” she mutters, dragging you toward her living room.

Once you’re there, you take a slow look around, giving her a moment to compose herself. You act as if nothing’s out of the ordinary, keeping your movements casual. “Nice place,” you say, glancing at her like this is just another ordinary visit—which it is, technically—when you can feel the heat emanating from her skin.

She stands there, her frustration mounting. Her breaths are short and quick, and you can see the tension in her posture. When she catches your eye again, it’s like she’s daring you to break the pretence and admit you know exactly what’s going on.

But you don’t. Not yet, at least.

“Are you okay, Barbs?” you ask, the innocent tone lacing your words as you step closer, reaching out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “You look a little flushed. Long day at the salon?”

She huffs, a touch of irritation breaking through her composure. “You could say that,” she murmurs, but there’s something else in her voice—a raw edge that slips through despite her best efforts.

You watch as Barbara fidgets in the living room, her fingers playing nervously at the hem of her dress. The tension between you is palpable, and you can feel it hanging thick in the air, even if she’s trying to pretend there’s nothing to it. It’s almost amusing—her stubborn determination to act like she thinks this is just another evening, like she didn’t spend the past few days with that picture etched into her mind, lingering in the space between her thoughts.

She’s always kept things so composed, so proper, and it’s rare for you to see her this wound up. Usually, she’d have already found a way to distract herself, a way to brush off the blush creeping up her neck. But today, it’s different. You know it, and deep down, she does too.

You raise an eyebrow, letting your hand trail down her arm with a touch that’s light, almost tender. “You sure you’re alright?” you press, your voice dipping into that familiar note of concern, though there’s a hint of playfulness underneath it. “You’re acting a little… weird.”

The corners of your mouth curl up as she tries to keep her composure, but the way her breath hitches when your fingers brush her skin tells you everything you need to know. She’s unravelling bit by bit, even if she’s not ready to admit it. You step back, giving her some much needed space as you turn toward the kitchen. “Why don’t we get started on dinner?” you suggest casually, as if you hadn’t noticed the tension at all.

She hesitates for a moment before following you, her eyes lingering on you as you pull ingredients from the fridge and set them on the counter. As you move around the kitchen, the two of you slip into a familiar rhythm, chopping vegetables and prepping sweet potato fries. The garlic aioli is coming together, the smell of freshly crushed garlic and lemon juice filling the room. You can’t help but notice how Barbara keeps stealing glances at you, her eyes lingering on the flex of your biceps each time you slice into the garlic or mix the dressing.

She keeps telling herself it’s just because you look good—better than usual, maybe, with the way your shirt fits just right, hugging your shoulders and arms. It has to be that… not the way her mind keeps drifting back to that picture, not the idea of those strong hands holding her down or gripping her throat, not the thought of how easily you could make her melt with just a touch. Her breath catches in her throat as she tries to push those thoughts away, a darker blush creeping up her neck.

Barbara’s always been the “sex is special” kind of girl. To her, intimacy was sweet and gentle, much more romantic than it was raw. She never thought of herself as someone who could get off on something as simple as watching you cook. But lately, especially this week, something’s been shifting between you two, and she can’t help but feel her body reacting to your deliberate touches, your casual brush against her back as you reach for another knife, or the way your hand lingers a little too long on her waist when you squeeze past her to get to the fridge. It’s a slow burn that has her thighs clenching together each time you draw near, her heart racing with a blend of embarrassment and something darker, something deeper.

You notice, of course—how could you not? Every little tremble in her voice when she speaks, the slight hitch in her breath whenever you touch her, no matter how innocent it may seem. It’s intoxicating, seeing the effect you have on her, watching her struggle to maintain her composure. She’s been growing more responsive over the past few weeks, her desire simmering just beneath the surface, and you’ve loved every second of teasing it out. This past week—even if it was silent—might have been your favourite week of your life, even.

As you work together on the salad, you can’t resist trailing your hand along her lower back, letting your fingertips brush against her hip as you step closer. "Pass me the olive oil?" you ask casually, your voice low and soft in her ear. She shivers at the nearness of your voice, her pulse quickening.

“Y-yeah,” she murmurs, reaching for the bottle, but her hand is shaky as she places it into yours.

“Thanks, beautiful,” you say with a knowing smile, your eyes meeting hers for a split second longer than necessary.

It’s becoming clear that she’s barely holding herself together, every touch from you sending sparks through her. Her mind flits back to that picture and the feeling of your fingers buried inside her. She feels that familiar heat pooling low in her belly, her arousal sneaking up on her even as she tries to keep her focus on the task at hand.

After cooking, you plate everything, arranging the food just the way she likes it. As you move to carry the plates to the couch, you catch her eye again, a playful glint in your gaze. She swallows hard, trying to tell herself that it’s just dinner with you—that there’s nothing going on. But with every step you take beside her, she feels herself unravelling a little more, the boundaries she clings to slipping away inch by inch.

You settle in on the couch with Barbara, the plates balanced on your laps. That’s a rare occasion—usually, you insist on eating at the table, but tonight, you decide to let it slide. She seems like she needs the break, and besides, there’s something about the relaxed intimacy of sharing a meal here that makes it feel special.

You sit close—closer than usual, purposefully, your thigh firmly pushed against hers as you get comfortable. Barbara’s cheeks are still tinged with a light pink, the warmth in the room seeming to mirror the heat spreading through her body. As the daily documentary about an architect—this time Tadao Ando—begins, you glance at her, noticing how she squirms slightly at your proximity.

“You kept all the episodes I missed?” you ask, a hint of surprise in your voice, though the gesture warms your heart.

Barbara nods, her eyes fixed on the screen, but there’s a small smile tugging at her lips. “Figured we’d catch up on them together when you had the time,” she replies softly.

Her cheeks flush even more when she feels your breath near her ear. As you casually lean in, reaching over her for the remote to adjust the volume, your arm presses against hers, and she bites her lip. You pretend not to notice the subtle shift in her breathing, the way she keeps stealing glances at your hands whenever she can. It’s becoming harder for her to convince herself that this fluttering in her stomach is simply because of you—or the comfort of having you near.

But you remain composed, every movement deliberately measured, as if unaware of the way her body reacts. When you brush a stray hair behind her ear or your fingertips graze the inside of her wrist or thigh, Barbara stiffens for just a moment before she forces herself to relax. It’s almost like a game now, one that only one of you acknowledges, but both play nonetheless. The closeness is driving her wild, and she can barely focus on the screen in front of her.

As the documentary draws to a close, Barbara shifts beside you, her breath uneven, and you can feel the tension in the air thickening with every second. You’ve spent the last hour teasing her with every subtle touch, every whispered word, and it’s as if she’s barely holding herself together. You can sense that something is about to give.

Without a word, she moves, straddling your lap in one swift motion. Her hands cup your face as her lips crash into yours, the kiss fueled by pent-up frustration and longing. You feel her urgency, the way her body melts against yours as she leans in closer, her hips grinding down on your thigh with a needy rhythm. You can't help but grin into the kiss, feeling the heat and desperation radiating off her.

Barbara pulls back just enough to catch her breath, her cheeks flushed a deep pink as she glares at you, her eyes dark with desire. "Shut up, don’t talk," she whispers, her voice breathy and strained as she tugs at your hair, not waiting for a response before diving back in, her lips capturing yours once more with even more intensity.

Your hands roam over her body, tracing the curves of her waist before slipping under the hem of the dress she's wearing. The fabric rides up higher as you slide your fingers along her thighs, drawing a shiver from her with each touch. The kiss deepens, and you can feel her hands trembling slightly as they work to undo your belt, her fingers fumbling with the buckle in her eagerness.

Somehow, amidst the fevered exchange of kisses and frantic touches, her dress has ended up discarded on the floor, leaving her in nothing but her lacy undergarments. She sits atop you, her skin warm and soft beneath your hands, her breathing ragged as she looks down at you, her pupils blown wide with lust.

You can’t resist teasing her, your fingers slipping beneath the band of her panties to graze her bare skin. “Couldn’t wait, huh?” you murmur against her lips, your voice a low rumble that makes her squirm.

She lets out a frustrated whine, her nails digging into your shoulders as she grinds herself down harder on your thigh, seeking friction. “Just shut up and kiss me,” she demands, and there’s a desperation in her tone that sends a surge of heat through you.

You capture her mouth again, your kiss rougher this time, your hands gripping her hips and guiding her movements as she rocks against you. Her moans grow louder, the sound vibrating against your lips, and you can feel the wetness seeping through the thin fabric of her panties onto your trousers. Your hands explore her body with purpose now, tracing the line of her spine, slipping beneath the clasp of her bra as you tug her closer.

Barbara’s fingers finally manage to free your belt, and with a triumphant little noise, she starts working on the button of your pants. She pulls back just enough to look at you, her chest heaving as she takes in the sight of you beneath her. There’s a wildness in her eyes now, a hunger that matches your own.

Before you can say anything, she leans in close, her voice a low, needy whisper against your ear. “Please take me,” she breathes, her hands slipping beneath the waistband of your pants, brushing against your skin as she starts to tug them down.

The words send a thrill coursing through you, and with a swift motion, you pull her flush against you, your mouth finding hers once more. You can feel her smile against your lips, the kiss turning heated and messy as the last remnants of restraint slip away.

The air is thick with heat and the taste of Barbara’s kisses lingers on your lips as you pull back slightly, your forehead pressed against hers. She’s panting softly, her skin flushed a lovely pink that spreads down her neck. As you gaze into her eyes, you can’t resist the temptation to tease her.

“Can’t believe all it took was that one little picture,” you say, a playful glint in your eye, “to turn you into a sinful needy lesbian. What would your parents think?”

Barbara’s breath hitches, and for a moment, there’s a flash of embarrassment in her eyes. But then she bites her bottom lip, a boldness shining through as she meets your gaze. “I’m fine with sinning,” she murmurs, her voice low and husky, “as long as it’s with you.”

The admission sends a spark of desire racing through you, and you tilt your head, raising an eyebrow. “So… if that’s the case,” you say, your tone taking on a teasing lilt, “does that mean I’m allowed to film you?” You let the words hang in the air for a beat, watching as her cheeks flush even deeper. “Or maybe just take a little picture for my lock screen?”

You start off joking, but the way Barbara’s pupils dilate and her breath catches tells you there’s more than just humour in your suggestion. Her reaction is almost involuntary—her lips part slightly, her gaze locked on yours as if the very idea has unravelled something inside her.

No words are needed; the look in her eyes is all the answer you need. A slow, wicked grin spreads across your lips as you lean in to kiss her, this time softer, letting the moment linger. The kiss feels different—like a promise, a shared secret, a step into territory neither of you had planned to cross but find yourselves diving into headfirst.

Without breaking the kiss, you stand up, scooping Barbara into your arms with ease. Her legs instinctively wrap around your waist, her arms clutching your shoulders as you hold her close. She lets out a breathy sigh, burying her face in your neck as you carry her down the hall, her body pressed tight against yours.

The feeling of her warmth, the way she clings to you, it’s like carrying something fragile and precious—yet burning with a fire that matches your own. There’s no rush in your steps; you take your time, savouring the way her breath tickles your skin, the slight tremor in her grip.

As you set Barbara down gently on the bed, your gaze sweeps over her, taking in every detail. Her hair falls in soft waves around her face, the rosy hue of her cheeks radiates warmth, and the glimmer of excitement mixed with uncertainty in her eyes ignites a spark in you.

“Sit on the edge for me,” you instruct playfully, your heart racing at the sight of her eager nod. The anticipation in the air thickens, making you feel giddy with excitement and a hint of mischief.

You grab your phone, holding it up to capture the moment. “Just one second,” you murmur, feeling the thrill of what’s about to unfold.

“Okay, just breathe,” you reassure her, noticing the way her chest rises and falls with a slight tremor. You start with a close-up of her kiss-swollen lips, glistening slightly. “God, you’re so pretty,” you murmur, snapping the picture. The way her eyes widen with embarrassment makes you grin, but you continue, sensing her desire to please despite her shyness.

“Now, this one,” you say, positioning the camera to focus on her breasts, the lacy red lingerie clinging to her curves beautifully. You notice the way she bites her lip, a mix of vulnerability and thrill in her expression. “You look so good in this,” you reassure her, snapping the picture and enjoying the way her cheeks darken to match the colour of the set she's wearing.

Next, you direct the lens down to her tummy, the slight rolls soft and inviting. “Don’t hide any of this,” you tell her gently, trying to coax a smile from her as you take another photo. “You’re perfect just the way you are.” She glances away, her embarrassment palpable, but the hint of a smile breaks through.

Your gaze shifts to her thighs, slightly reddened from where you gripped her during your earlier heated moments together. “Can’t forget this,” you tease lightly, capturing the evidence of your earlier intimacy with a quick snap, feeling a thrill of excitement run through you.

“Now, this one,” you say, your thumb ghosting over her lips as she watches you through half-lidded eyes. You take the photo, your heart racing at the intimate display, and you can see her battling between shyness and wanting to please you. The vulnerability in her expression is endearing, but you can see the worry flicker across her face. “What if my parents see?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper, anxiety lacing her words.

You chuckle softly, shaking your head. “They won’t. No one will see these, I promise,” you assure her, leaning in closer, your breath warm against her ear. “It’s just for me. Just for me to enjoy.”

As if caught in a moment of daring, Barbara leans closer, taking your thumb between her lips, looking straight at the camera with a mixture of boldness and uncertainty. Your breath catches at the sight, the image almost too perfect to capture. Click.

“Us. For us,” she says softly, her voice thick with desire.

A groan escapes your lips at her words, and you feel a rush of heat flood your body. You can’t resist her any longer; the sight of her like this ignites something primal inside you. You turn her around on her stomach, adjusting her position to display her perfect form.

You hear the distinct click of your phone as you snap a picture of her ass, barely covered by the lacy red thong. The fabric clings to her curves, and the way her skin glows with a soft sheen makes your heart race. Barbara hides her face in the sheets, embarrassment flooding her features.

“Oh, my pretty slut shouldn’t feel ashamed,” you murmur, your tone low and commanding. “You’re so beautiful for me, baby.” With that, you deliver a firm spank to her exposed skin, the sound echoing in the room.

Each spank sends heat radiating through you, and you snap a picture after each one, watching her cheeks grow redder with every strike. You can feel the way her body responds, soft gasps escaping her lips as you squeeze her cheeks, relishing the sensation of her warmth beneath your hands.

Around the seventeenth spank, a soft, involuntary “daddy” slips from her lips, and you feel a thrill at the sound. You recognize the vulnerability behind it but choose not to comment, focusing instead on her flushed face, now streaked with mascara from her earlier tears.

“Look at me, Barbara,” you say, gently turning her back around to face you. Her eyes are wide, filled with a mixture of embarrassment and something deeper. You snap a picture of her pretty face, capturing the way her cheeks glow and her eyes shimmer with shed tears.

Barbara glances at the phone, a flicker of confidence crossing her features as she takes it from you. She presses the film button, and you’re surprised by the sudden shift in her demeanour. She begins filming, her hands moving to caress her own body, focusing the lens on her curves.

You watch, mesmerised, as her hands glide over her soft tummy rolls, revealing the gentle stretch marks that decorate her skin like art. Her abs peek through too, hinting at the strength beneath her softness. The way her fingers dance across her body is intoxicating, and you can feel your heart race with every movement.

As she starts to tremble, a soft whine spilling from her mouth, you take over the filming, determined to capture her in all her glory. You start by framing her lovely face, the way her features contort with pleasure and vulnerability, and then you let the camera travel down her body.

Your eyes capture every detail—her soft, beautiful tummy rolls, the gentle curves that invite you in, and the way her skin glows under the soft light. You continue down, admiring the delicate lines that tell her story and the way her thighs form a perfect silhouette.

As you focus on her core, the camera angles just right, framing the way her body quivers under your gaze. Each breath she takes, every slight shift in her body, drives you wild with desire. The moment feels electric, raw, and utterly intimate, and you can’t help but feel a surge of protectiveness and pride as you film the beauty before you.

With the heat of the moment igniting something wild within you, you shift your focus back to Barbara. “Turn around,” you command softly, and she hesitates for just a second, uncertainty flickering in her eyes. But the eagerness to please overpowers her hesitance, and she complies, getting onto all fours at the edge of the bed.

The sight is breathtaking. Her body is a tantalising mix of strength and softness, the lacy red lingerie clinging to her curves in all the right places. You can’t help but admire the way her back arches, the gentle curve of her spine leading down to the roundness of her backside. A thrill shoots through you, and with a teasing smirk, you deliver another gentle slap to her backside. She jumps slightly, a soft gasp escaping her lips, and you relish the sound. “Move up. I want to see all of you.”

With a mix of excitement and trepidation, she crawls further onto the bed, her movements slow and deliberate as if she’s savouring each moment. You watch the way her breath quickens, the way her cheeks flush a deeper shade of crimson. You can sense her vulnerability, see it even, but also her willingness to step out of her comfort zone for you (and herself. God she really needs you to just fuck her within an inch of her life.).

“Hold on to this for me,” you say, passing her the phone. As she grips it, her eyes dart to the screen, where her exposed form is displayed in a vulnerable, yet undeniably sexy light. The sight sends another wave of heat rushing through her, and you can see the mix of embarrassment and thrill reflected in her gaze. She bites her lip, glancing up at you as you make your way to the side of the bed, opening your self-proclaimed side of her wardrobe, the tension palpable.

“Just look at how pretty you are,” you murmur, your voice dripping with admiration. “You’re so gorgeous, you know that?”

Then, with a predatory glint in your eye, you turn around with silk ropes and a strap in your hands. The soft fabric of the ropes is inviting while the strap makes Barbara’s eyes widen, a promise of what’s to come. You approach her, feeling the thrill of anticipation coursing through both of you. “Trust me?” you ask, your tone gentle but firm.

Barbara nods, her breath hitching as you bind one of her hands to the headboard, the silk wrapping snugly around her wrist. You take your time, making sure she feels secure but not constrained. The sight of her like this—vulnerable yet trusting—fuels your desire, and you can’t help but admire the way her body responds to each touch.

“Now, I want you to film for me,” you instruct, your eyes gleaming with mischief. She does as you say, positioning it in between her legs, giving the camera a clear view of her dripping pussy, glistening with arousal. You lean in closer, your breath warm against her skin, the anticipation thick in the air.

“Just like that, B, nice job,” you coax her, your voice low and sultry. “Look at how beautiful you are.”

With a teasing grin, you gently spread her folds, revealing the slickness that’s pooled there, evidence of her arousal. She shivers under your touch, her body trembling as you toy with her, pushing her boundaries. You relish the sound of her gasps and moans, feeling a surge of power knowing you’re the one bringing her this pleasure.

“Let me show you something special,” you say, your voice dripping with seduction. Leaning in, you spit on her folds, watching as the warm fluid streams down her soft skin. The sight is primal, a raw display of desire that sends a jolt of excitement through both of you.

“Look at that,” you murmur, your gaze drifting up to admire the way her back arches even further. “This is all for you, baby.” The way she shakes her head gently and gasps sends a thrill through you, knowing how much she’s enjoying this. You can practically hear her heart racing, her trust in you making her bolder, and you decide to keep pushing.

“You’re so beautiful when you’re vulnerable,” you whisper, spreading her folds wider for the camera, letting it capture every detail.

With the phone still capturing every moment, you return your attention to Barbara’s folds, relishing in the way they glisten under the soft light. The way she’s positioned, with her back arched and her free hand gripping the sheets, amplifies her vulnerability. It’s intoxicating. You press your thumb against her wetness, teasingly pushing through her folds, the slickness making it easy to glide along her sensitive skin.

“Look at you,” you murmur, your voice low and sultry. “You’re absolutely breathtaking.” You can see her shiver at the compliment, her body responding instinctively to your touch. Her breath hitches, and a low whine escapes her lips as you continue to tease her, your thumb drawing lazy circles around her clit.

“Please,” she gasps, her voice a mix of desperation and pleasure. “I need more.”

You flash a wicked grin, loving how eager she is, yet you want to take your time. “Oh, we’re just getting started, baby.”

With a teasing flick of your thumb, you send her spiralling into whines and grunts, pushing her just a little closer to the edge. You feel a thrill at the way her body reacts, the way she instinctively moves back against your touch, searching for more. She’s absolutely captivating, and every whimper, every gasp fuels your desire to take her further.

Deciding it’s time to explore this new territory, you position yourself comfortably behind her, moving your face closer to her. The anticipation hangs thick in the air, a mix of excitement and a hint of trepidation. You lean in, your breath warm against her slick folds, and then you dive in, your tongue lapping at her entrance.

The sensation is exquisite. Barbara gasps, her entire body tensing at the new feeling, and you can hear her breath hitch as you explore her softness with your tongue. The warmth of her skin against your mouth sends a thrill through you, and you can’t help but savour the taste of her. She’s never been eaten out like this, never this spread open for you, but the sensations are electric.

“Just... oh God,” she breathes out, her voice thick with need as you continue to feast on her.

You hum in agreement, sending vibrations through her as you continue to explore, relishing the sounds of her pleasure. With each flick of your tongue, you explore her folds, tasting the sweet nectar that drips from her. You’re careful and attentive, making sure she feels comfortable while also pushing her into a whirlwind of sensations.

Feeling a rush of excitement, you film a close-up of your actions, switching the camera to your left hand and positioning it to capture the view of Barbara's dripping pussy as you lick her. The knowledge of your phone capturing the sight of her glistening folds, pulsing with need, fills you with exhilaration. The sound of your tongue slurping against her, mingling with the wetness, creates a melody of pleasure that fuels your desire.

As you shift your focus from the camera back to your girlfriend, you can see her body quaking with pleasure. She seems to realise what exactly you’re doing, and it drives her to the edge of her limits. Her breath quickens, and you can see the flush creeping up her cheeks, making her even more intoxicating.

“More,” she gasps, her voice trembling with desperation. “Please, don’t stop.”

The intensity of her request sends a thrill through you, and you dive back in, your tongue exploring deeper, savouring every taste. As you continue to eat her out, you can feel her getting closer, her body responding more vocally than ever before, whines and grunts spilling from her lips as you edge her closer to release.

With each flick of your tongue, she becomes louder, her moans spilling out like sweet music, and you find yourself getting even more excited. Hearing her this vocal is intoxicating; the sounds escaping her lips are pure ecstasy. “Oh my God, yes!” she cries, the volume of her voice echoing through the room.

You can feel the heat pooling in your stomach at the sight and sound of her, and you angle the camera to capture her folds as they pulse and quiver around your tongue, her pleasure evident in every movement.

“Look at you,” you murmur, not wanting to break the rhythm, the words just for her present and future ears as you tease her with your tongue. “So beautiful, so needy.”

“Please… don’t stop,” she begs, her body rolling back against your mouth as she gasps and whines, her fingers tightening around the sheets.

You continue to explore her with your tongue, alternating between teasing licks and deeper plunges, capturing the entire moment on camera. Every slurp, every moan, every shudder from you fuels Barbara’ desire further, and you push her closer to the edge, absolutely savouring the intoxicating blend of vulnerability and pleasure radiating from her.

As your tongue works its magic, you can feel the tension in Barbara’s body coiling tighter by the second, each flick and swirl of your tongue pushing her even closer to the edge. Her moans grow more frantic, each sound spilling out of her like a sweet confession. “I can’t... I’m so close,” she whimpers, her breath hitching as you continue your delicious torment.

You position the camera to capture the way her body arches in response to your touch again. Every sound she makes fills you with pride, knowing you’re the only one bringing her this pleasure. “Let go, Barbs,” you encourage softly, your voice laced with desire. “I’ve got you.”

With one final flick of your tongue, you push her over the edge. “Oh, God!” she cries out, her voice breaking as she shudders, her body tensing before releasing into a wave of ecstasy. The sight of her climax is breathtaking; her muscles quiver around your tongue as her moans fill the room, and you can’t help but capture every second of it, the camera trained on her dripping core.

As she rides the waves of pleasure, you pull back slightly, allowing her to bask in the aftermath of her orgasm. Barbara collapses onto the sheets, breathless and blissed out, a soft smile forming on her lips as she turns her head slightly to meet your gaze. You can’t help but smile back, your heart swelling with affection for the girl before you.

“You’re so beautiful,” you murmur, your fingers brushing against her back, your other hand still gripping the phone. “You okay?”

Barbara nods, her voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah... just... wow.” Her cheeks are still flushed, and you can see the way her body relaxes as the tension melts away.

You take a moment to enjoy this soft connection, your heart racing at the intimacy of it all. “You did so good, baby.”

Slowly, you pull back, reaching for the strap, the sight of it making Barbara gasp and smile softly as she watches you. You can see the excitement dancing in her eyes, mixed with a hint of shyness that pulls at your heart.

“I, um...” she starts, hesitating. “I’ve been wanting to ask you about that.”

You smile softly, moving closer. “This one?” You hold it up, your voice teasing. “I bought it not too long ago, but I wasn’t going to use it unless you asked for it.”

“Please,” Barbara begs, a hint of desperation in her voice that makes your heart race. “I need it.”

“Need it, huh?” you tease, your grin widening. “Okay, B.”

You slide it on, and Barbara’s breath quickens. “You ready?” you ask, caressing her very red and lightly blue backside, wanting to ensure she feels comfortable and cherished.

“Yeah,” she breathes, her voice a mix of excitement and nerves. “I—Please.”

With a gentle pull, you guide her to get back to her previous position, her body trembling slightly as she settles into it. You admire the sight, her form curving beautifully, the silk rope binding her hand to the headboard just adding to her allure.

“Just breathe for me,” you murmur, your hands gently running over her back. You take a moment to savour the sight before you, the way her body glistens in the soft light, the anticipation hanging heavy in the air. You position yourself behind her, the strap-on pressed against her slick folds. “This is going to feel a little different, okay? Tell me if you need a breather, baby”

Barbara nods, her breath coming in quick bursts as she pushes her hips back, trying to get you to slip inside. You tease the tip of the strap-on against her entrance, seeing her slickness envelop you. She gasps, a mix of excitement and nervousness flooding her system.

As you push in slowly, you can feel the resistance at first, the pressure against her entrance making your heart race. You lean forward slightly, planting kisses along her back, whispering soft reassurances as you gradually push inside her. “You’re okay, you’re doing so good.”

With a gentle but firm push, you breach that initial resistance, and you gasp at the sight as Barbara gaps at the sensation. The way her core pulls you in is intoxicating, each inch of your strap pushing deeper eliciting a mixture of pleasure and sweetness between you. “Oh, fuck,” you groan, the sight of you filling her overwhelming.

You keep the camera steady, focused on the way she looks back at you, her eyes wide with a blend of excitement and disbelief. The moment is intimate and raw, yet filled with an underlying edge of excitement. Each thrust is deliberate, capturing the way her body responds to you, the heat radiating from her as you push deeper.

“More,” she breathes, her voice thick with need. “Please, I need more.”

You give her what she asks for, the rhythm of your thrusts gradually becoming more intense. You relish the sounds of her pleasure, the soft gasps and moans spilling from her lips, and you can’t help but tease her with a light spank to her ass.

“Such a good girl,” you murmur, watching her cheeks flush as the sound reverberates through the room. “You love this, don’t you?”

“Yes!” she cries, the mixture of your words and the sensation sending her spiralling further into pleasure. You can see her body tightening around you, and with each thrust, you push deeper, the strap-on stretching her just right.

As you continue to thrust into her, the sounds of skin slapping against skin fill the air, mingling with her moans. You keep filming every moment, capturing the way her body moves with each thrust, the intensity of the connection between you.

Barbara's head falls forward, resting on her free arm as she surrenders to the sensations coursing through her. Her back arches, tilting her hips up in a way that makes you slip even deeper inside her. The sudden change in depth makes her loud moans catch in her throat, turning into silent gasps as the strap reaches places that send jolts of pleasure through her entire body.

Not wanting to let her escape the intensity, you reach forward, grabbing a handful of her hair and pulling her head up, her soft strands wrapping around your fingers. "Uh-uh, don’t hide from me," you whisper, your voice rough with desire as you lift her enough to grab her free arm, pulling it behind her back. The position gives you leverage, letting you thrust even deeper, and the way she cries out makes your pulse race.

You hold the camera steady, capturing the way Barbara’s body reacts—her ass bouncing with every thrust, her skin glistening with a light sheen of sweat. You zoom in, adoring the sight of her juices collecting at the base of the strap, slick and glistening. The camera catches the way her folds stretch around it, her body trembling with every deep, demanding thrust.

The moment you push in even harder, Barbara's voice breaks free, filling the room with even louder, more desperate moans that border on pornographic. The sound sends a thrill of excitement through you, your own breath coming in ragged gasps as you keep thrusting, keeping up the intense pace."That's it, baby," you pant, tightening your grip on her hair and pulling just a bit harder. The increased tension causes her to clench tighter around the strap, making each thrust require a bit more effort. "Let it out," you urge, your voice rough with desire and need. "I want to hear you."

Barbara's entire body trembles, her moans becoming higher-pitched, turning into needy whimpers as she chases the peak of her pleasure. The combination of being restrained, hair pulled, and filled so deeply pushes her to the edge in a way that’s overwhelming.

She releases a loud, primal cry as her orgasm crashes over her, her walls clenching tightly around the strap. The filthy sounds of your thrusts fill the air, each wet slap echoing the intensity of the moment. Her body trembles, and you can feel the heat radiating off her skin, the sheer ecstasy painting her flushed cheeks and neck a deeper shade. Her thighs shake uncontrollably, her body arching even more as waves of pleasure crash over her, the intensity drawing sobs from her throat. “Oh, God, yes—” she babbles, tears welling up as she completely loses herself to the sensations.

You keep filming, capturing every moment of her climax, the way her body spasms, her back arching beautifully, her juices dripping down her thighs. Your heart swells with a mixture of love and raw desire, knowing that you’re the one bringing her to this state of complete bliss.

After helping her ride out her orgasm, you pull out slowly, savouring the way Barbara’s trembling body shudders one last time at the withdrawal. The sight of leaving her warmth feels like an exhale, a gentle release of everything that’s built up. You flop down on the bed next to her, the camera momentarily forgotten in your hand, capturing nothing more than blurred glimpses of movement and crumpled sheets.

Barbara stays sprawled on her stomach, her breathing still heavy and unsteady. You gently tug at the silk ropes, releasing the knot that had kept one of her hands bound. As you free her, she lets out a sigh of relief, her body finally able to relax after the intensity of the experience. Her fingers clench and unclench against the sheets, a subtle reminder of the vulnerability she just embraced, her knuckles pale from the force of her grip. Her other hand, the one you had pulled behind her back, lays limp by her side, too exhausted to do anything but rest.

You turn onto your side, reaching out to her. Your fingers brush against her cheek, gently tracing the flushed skin there as you tenderly caress her face. Her eyes flutter open, still glazed with the aftershocks of pleasure, and you can see the quiet vulnerability that lingers.

“Hey,” you murmur, your thumb stroking softly over her cheekbone. “You did so, so well. You have no idea how proud I am of you.” The words come out softly, filled with nothing but adoration and reassurance. “I love you, Barbs. More than anything.”

She leans into your touch, a tired but genuine smile spreading across her lips. Her breaths come slower now, more even, as she clings to the tenderness in your voice. The intensity may have passed, but the connection between you both is undeniable, still electric in the air around you.

The three words hang in the air for a moment, and you can see the shift in Barbara's expression as she processes them, her eyes widening, a mixture of surprise and something deeper, more vulnerable. It's the first time you’ve said it—I love you. The words had slipped out easily, yet they carried the weight of everything you’d felt for so long but hadn’t voiced.

Before any doubt can creep in, you continue, your gaze locked on hers. “Not because of this,” you clarify softly, your fingers tracing a tender path along her jaw. “It’s not just the heat of the moment. I love you for you—for everything you are, what you mean to me.” The honesty in your voice seems to ground the confession, a reassurance that it’s about her as a person, not just the intensity of your shared desire.

Barbara's eyes glisten with emotion, and she takes a steadying breath before pushing herself up slightly, still trembling from the aftershocks. Her hand comes to your side, nudging you with a gentle insistence until you roll onto your back. The strap is still attached to your hips, standing tall and glistening with her arousal. The sight of it sends a new flush across her cheeks, but there’s a spark in her eyes as she meets your gaze.

Leaning down, she kisses you deeply, pouring all the affection and passion she can muster into the touch of her lips. It’s a kiss that feels like an answer, a silent acknowledgment of the words you spoke, and a promise of everything she wants to give back. As she pulls away, her lips curve into a small, almost mischievous smile. Slowly, she begins to trail kisses down your body, her breath warming your skin with every inch she covers.

When she reaches your hips, she hesitates just for a moment, then glances up at you with a glint of determination. “Let me clean up the mess I made,” she murmurs, her voice still a little shaky but filled with intent. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, her gaze fixed on the strap before her. She looks back up at you, a smile curling at the corners of her mouth.

“Will you film it?” she asks, the boldness in her voice tempered by a hint of nervousness. “I want you to have something to look at, too.” Her eyes flicker with a need to please, a want to give you something special, something tangible to remember this moment by.

The way Barbara’s lips wrap around the strap has your breath catching in your throat. Her movements are tentative at first, her tongue tracing a careful path along the length of it, and the sight alone is enough to send a thrill coursing through you. Even though there’s no physical sensation, the visual—watching her willingly pleasure the toy, her eyes flicking up to yours as she goes—is intoxicating. It’s the vulnerability in her gaze, the way her mouth works the strap with a softness that’s almost reverent, that has your pulse racing.

You film her with trembling hands, capturing the way her tongue darts out to lick along the shaft, her spit adding a glistening sheen that catches the light. When she takes more of the toy into her mouth, her cheeks hollowing, the camera shakes slightly in your grasp. You can’t stop the quiet gasp that slips out, the sight of Barbara—so willing and intent on giving herself to this—making your skin prickle with warmth.

Barbara keeps her eyes locked on you, as if reading the effect she’s having. Her hands grip your thighs and stomach for support, and the soft sounds she makes—quiet moans and soft hums—add to the heady mix of sight and sound. Each time she bobs her head forward, taking the toy deeper, the camera shakes a little more. It’s hard to hold steady when your whole body is trembling, overwhelmed by the sight of her devotion.

Eventually, Barbara notices the way your phone wavers, the way your breath comes in shallow bursts. She pulls off with a quiet pop, her lips shining with her own saliva, and she gives you a soft, reassuring smile. Reaching out, she gently takes the phone from your hands. “Let me,” she whispers, her voice low and breathless.

She turns the camera on herself, focusing on the way the strap glistens with her spit and arousal. She runs her tongue along the length of the toy again, as if savouring the taste of what remains there. Her lips part to take it back into her mouth, and she films the way her cheeks hollow with each movement, her throat working to accommodate the toy as she takes it deeper. There’s a mix of concentration and quiet yearning on her face, a desire to show you just how much she’s willing to give, how much this moment means.

Barbara's hands tremble slightly as she adjusts the angle, capturing close-ups of the toy as it slides between her lips. She lingers on the way it glistens, her own spit and slick making it gleam. The camera captures the wet sounds of her mouth working the strap, the quiet hum of pleasure she lets out as she leans in closer, her tongue swirling around the base. It's soft, vulnerable, and undeniably intimate, a tender moment that speaks volumes about her trust and the depth of her feelings.

As she continues, you find yourself mesmerised by her every move, the way her tongue swirls and teases, the way she takes the toy deeper as if trying to reach some unspoken depth of devotion. Watching her is a pleasure in itself, a sensation that doesn’t come from physical touch but from the sheer beauty of seeing Barbara let herself go, giving herself over to this moment, to you.

As Barbara continues to work the strap with her mouth, she shifts the camera’s angle to focus on your face. Her eyes flicker with a quiet intensity, a need to capture this moment—the flush of your cheeks, the way your lips part with a gasp, the way your eyes flutter shut as the heat builds inside you. Even though she’s not physically touching you, the pure sight of her, the knowledge of what she’s doing for you, brings you closer to the edge.

Barbara slowly pulls off the strap, her lips leaving it with a soft pop, and she starts making her way up your body. She trails kisses along your skin, each one deliberate, leaving faint marks as she goes. Her tongue flicks out to soothe the love bites she leaves behind, a trail of tender hickeys that travels up your stomach, across your chest, and along your collarbone.

When she reaches your face, Barbara turns the camera on you one last time, capturing your expression as you come undone, a mix of bliss and vulnerability that she commits to memory with a soft click. She tosses the camera aside, not caring where it lands now, and leans in to kiss you deeply. “I love you too,” she murmurs against your lips, her voice tender and breathless.

Her words sink in, wrapping around your heart as she sighs into the kiss, letting her body melt against yours. The weight of her feels grounding, warm, like a blanket of comfort and devotion. You sink further into the moment, wrapping your arms around her, feeling the steady rhythm of her breathing as her chest presses against yours. There’s a quiet understanding in the way she nuzzles into you, in the way she fits so perfectly against your side.

You reach down to pull the strap off, casting it aside without a second thought. It lands somewhere near the foot of the bed, to be dealt with in the morning. For now, the only thing that matters is the soft glow in Barbara's eyes, the quiet hum of her breath against your skin, and the feeling of love settling between the two of you—a love that was there long before this night, but one that has now been spoken aloud, shared in whispered words and quiet sighs.

As the warmth of the moment settles around you both, you feel Barbara’s breathing begin to slow, her body softening and relaxing into yours. She curls up closer, her head resting against your chest, one arm draped lazily across your waist. You can’t help but trace gentle patterns along her back, your fingers following the soft curve of her spine.

Barbara murmurs quietly in her sleep, her body nestling even closer. You draw the covers up over her shoulders, shielding her from the cool night air, and feel the weight of her leg tangle with yours. The calm of the room, the subtle glow of the moonlight casting faint shadows on the walls, creates a peaceful backdrop for the two of you.

With Barbara’s steady breaths against your skin and the warmth of her body pressing into yours, you find yourself drifting too, the sensation of your hand still lightly caressing her side.

It’s as if even in sleep, you can’t stop touching her—can’t help but hold her close, protectively, lovingly. Even in sleep, your touch is instinctive, a tender gesture of affection that doesn’t cease.

The way her body fits against yours feels like home, like a place you could stay in forever.

As sleep pulls you both under, your fingers continue their gentle caress along her skin, even in the deep calm of slumber. Barbara’s soft sigh escapes her lips, her body unconsciously leaning further into you, seeking your warmth. Together, you lie curled up, bodies entwined in a silent promise, as the night carries you into a shared dream.

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