#the fear has gripped me but here i go fic | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

zyafics-recs · 3 days ago

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reblogging comment review from @zyafics

guess who has to be studying for another exam but instead she needs to catch up on this fic? (this girl) little annotations below ⬇️

Or the next. You couldn’t. Every time you picked up one of the stupid boxes, your heart would drop to the pits of hell and your hands would start sweating. You’d shove it back in the drawer like it could disappear if you just ignored it hard enough.

manifest it girlypop

What if it was positive? Then what? The thought of seeing his name pop up on your phone after you blocked him, or worse, hearing her voice if she picked up...you’d rather die. He didn't deserve to know.

i eat up any scenes where she wants nothing to do with him and he barges into her life and finds out all the things he's been missing out? the angst of not being able to go backward in time no matter how much you regret it

You heard that voice in your head, the one that sounded like your mom, at least what you remembered from watching old videos.

i would burst out in tears

Your younger cousin, Topper the bitching backstabber, had been born and raised in Los Angeles before he moved to Figure 8 when he was five.

i was like why r we bringing up topper's bitch ass here and then i realized it to put in a frame of reference that she couldn't possibly know topper's birth bc he moved to kildare later. i just thought reader needed to put in a quick jab about topper 😭

You weren’t exactly the picture of health. What if you weren’t strong enough? What if something went wrong, and you ended up in a hospital bed, alone, because Rafe sure as fuck wouldn’t be there. It was just you.

i love the spiral of madness. i'm reading (and analyzing) it and i'm so so amazed by how ur structure descends. it flows so smoothly - from one topic to the next - all at a great pace and with a lot of internal turmoil. it builds up to me feeling everything reader feels.

It hit you just how ironic this was. You were sitting here, freaking out about being possibly pregnant, scrolling through nightmare stories about abortion and pregnancy complications, while Lily was talking about a fundraiser for children’s health. Kids. It felt like some twisted repulsive joke the universe was playing on you.

ugh, i love the parallels between her being (potentially) pregnant and the idea that she has to wrap her life around this foundation for children.

The fucking nerve. To your gala. Your blood boiled instantly, your fingers gripping the phone so tight you almost cracked the screen.

i love her i feel like she inches closer to insanity every day and i, too, feel the same

If Rafe wanted to play games, you’d ruin his life if you had to. He thought he could fuck you over, leave you with all this—leave you with nothing? No. You weren’t going to let him have that power.

like i said

You were shaking now, but it almost felt good. Even if it was just a stupid guest list. Let him find out when he got there and there was no table for him. No seat. No fucking room.

BABES 😭 YOU'RE CARRYING HIS CHILD oh this is too good, the idea that she wants to erase him from her life and leave no space for him (mind), but her body is accommodating spacefor his child, making her reserve a permanent space for him in her life

Every year. He’d sit with you while you struggled through every word, telling you it was okay to take your time, reminding you that you didn’t have to do it if you didn’t want to. And when the gala came, he was always by your side, standing just off stage, waiting for you after the speech was done. You’d run into his arms, and he’d whisper that you 'did great baby', holding you until the room stopped spinning so much.

i fear i would crash out if i am currently stressed with the idea of being pregnant and remembering my ex bf and remembering my lost parents

If he thought you were weak, if he thought he could break you, if he thought you were the same girl who used to cling to him like he was the only thing keeping you together—he was wrong.You were going to do this without him.

my boss baby!!!

There was a sigh on the other end, the sound of him trying to not to lose his patentience, like he was the one in the right here. Typical Topper. Always wanting to smooth things over, play peacemaker between you and Rafe, like this was just another fight you’d get over.

topper, in the words of reader, a bitching BACKSTABBER

“Maybe what? That he could swoop in and save the day?” You let out a bitter laugh. “He’s not your golden boy, Top. He doesn’t fix anything. He ruins things.”

ugh i love ur dialogues sosososo much

You were having a meltdown, and he’d stepped in, like he always did when you went off the rails. That was the problem with him—he cared, even when you didn’t want him to. He was family, the only family you had left, and he was too loyal for his own good.

so fuck his parents then ig

You sat down, staring at the stick in your hand. This was insane. You were insane. Who the fuck took a pregnancy test ten minutes before they’re supposed to host a charity gala?

apparently me

There it was.

💌 — aaaaaaaaaa, i'm so glad i waited until after my exam to read this and truly experience the gift of ur writing. i love the juxtaposition and parallels in this scene! especially with her deleting rafe from the gala's list, erasing space from him in her life, but having his child grow inside of her. i love love how she has to have a gala for children—and crippling over the current dilemma of whether she has a child herself. and i love that she's very isolated in a sense, because it amplifies how this child can truly make or break her. topper was so enjoyable—especially their conversation. u always write dialogues so smoothly!! honestly, i thought this scene would end with rafe showing up unannounced at the gala, haha but ig we'll see in next chapter

LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - TWO

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: mentions of possible pregnancy, of abortion, of pregnancy risks & death. self-loathing. chapter one

You lied.

You didn’t take the tests the next day.

Once you knew, you knew.

There was no more pretending as if nothing happened.

No more pretending like you didn't care that Rafe moved on like he didn’t just dump you, with no real closure and ran to the next girl he found.

Fuck, why did he have to look so happy that night? He got to be carefree, living his perfect little life with her, and you were there, sitting on the bathroom floor, too scared to even pee on a stick.

He didn't deserve anything from you anymore.

You started googling abortion clinics before you even touched the tests. You could afford it. That wasn’t even the issue.

You had more money than you knew what to do with. Your inheritance was just sitting there. You could book a flight tomorrow, pay for whatever procedure, whatever it took—fly out of state, out of the country, if you had to.

But that wasn’t the point. It has never been about the money. It was the overwhelming shame. The fear. The realization that Rafe might have left you, but he was still there, stuck in your head, in your body, in your fucking life. Even when he wasn’t.

He didn’t have to worry about any of this. He was most likely out on the boat, not even thinking about you. Not thinking about what he did to you.

And you— you were left with this. Sitting on a bathroom floor for hours a day, trying to figure out how you were supposed to make a decision that changed everything.

You started looking up clinics again, scrolling through the options, but your mind was barely even there. It was legal in North Carolina for now, but you read something about the 12-week ban they passed in June, and suddenly you were spiraling one more time, wondering how much time you even had.

Could you wait? Could you put it off like you’d been putting off the tests, like if you waited long enough, maybe the problem would just... disappear? Shit, wouldn’t that be easier?

You heard that voice in your head, the one that sounded like your mom, at least what you remembered from watching old videos.

It was depressing how life didn’t let you hold tightly to your memories sometimes. She always reminded you of the kind of person you were supposed to be. The type of girl who had her shit together. The type of girl who didn’t get herself into situations like this, in the first place.

But instead, you were the girl who lost everything—the life you were supposed to have—and somehow, you’d still found a way to screw up what was left.

You kept scrolling like you couldn’t stop.

One page led to another, and soon you weren’t just looking up clinics—you were looking up everything.

What happened during the procedure, how long it took, the side effects, the complications. You read horror stories about infections, about women who thought it was over and then bled for weeks, about people who changed their minds too late.

You even looked up what could happen if you didn’t get an abortion—what pregnancy could do to your body. And that was a whole other rabbit hole you didn’t need to go down. Your body changing, your hormones going insane. You thought about your boobs getting sore, your stomach stretching, the possibility of throwing up every morning, and it felt like your body was already betraying you. And then you read the serious stuff—gestational diabetes, preeclampsia, all these words you didn’t even know existed before that night. There was a minefield of things that could go wrong, things that would go wrong.

Complications. Risks. Dangers.

You read about women who almost died in labor. About miscarriages and stillbirths and the trauma of carrying a baby for months, only to lose it. You never even thought about that, how pregnancy wasn’t just this smooth, magical process people make it out to be. It was brutal. But you’d been the little sister, you never saw your mother go through it, or anyone for that matter.

Your younger cousin, Topper the bitching backstabber, had been born and raised in Los Angeles before he moved to Figure 8 when he was five.

You were terrified—not just of being pregnant, but of what it meant to stay pregnant. Would your body even handle it? You’d always lived off coffee and takeout half the time. An unreasonable amout of parties. Too many drinks some nights.

For a second there, you thought you might pass out.

You’d thrown your phone across the room, it hit the wall with a thud, but it didn’t help. The anxiety was still there, vibrating under your skin, making you want to scream. You glanced at the bathroom drawer again, where the pregnancy tests were hidden like some cursed thing.

Maybe you should’ve just taken one.

Rip off the bandaid.

The stupid phone rang, like was having fun pissing you off, vibrating on the floor where you’d thrown it. You stared at it for a second, debating if you should even pick it up. You didn’t feel like dealing with anyone, especially not whoever was about to ask something from you.

But it kept ringing, and of course, it was a number you recognized—Lily, one of the coordinators from your dad’s foundation. Shit. You forgot about the gala. Again. The one that was happening in two freaking days, the one you haven’t even thought about preparing for.

You swiped to answer, “Yeah?”

“Hey, I didn’t want to bother you, but we need to go over the final details for the gala,” She greeted you, sounding way too perky for how you were feeling. “I really need your input on the seating arrangements, and the auction items, and—”

You blinked back into the conversation, realizing she still talking, and you hadn’t said a word. “Uh, yeah, sorry. I’ve been busy. Can you just handle it?” you muttered, feeling guilty but not enough to actually deal with any of it.

“I’ve already taken care of most things,” she said carefully, “but we really need your approval on the final guest list and the speech. You’re the face of the foundation, after all.”

The face of the foundation. The legacy your dad left you. It was supposed to be this huge responsibility. And it was. You’d always taken it seriously. The one thing in your life you never ruined. But this year, you hadn’t written the speech yet. Jesus, you forgot it was even happening. And the guest list? No clue.

You rubbed your forehead, “I’ll look at it later. Just send it over.”

Lily hesitated again, probably sensing that something was off, you'd always been a control freak. “Okay, I’ll email it to you. Just let me know by tomorrow, alright?”

“Yeah, sure.”

You hung up before she could add anything else, staring at the ceiling. One more thing. One more responsibility piled on top of everything else. You were drowning in all these expectations—being the good daughter to dead parents, the responsible one, the perfect kook girl who was supposed to have everything. You were supposed to be the girl who had the trust fund, the perfect life, the foundation that helped kids in need.

You earned to be her.

Your phone buzzed again, this time with an email notification. You rolled your eyes, already knowing it was from Lily. She’d sent over the guest list, and you groaned, thinking you’d skim it, give it a half-assed glance, and send it back. But as you scrolled down the names, you stopped.

Rafe Cameron.

Of course, he was going to be there. Why wouldn’t he? His family had been involved in your dad’s foundation for years. It was like you couldn’t escape him.

The fucking nerve. To your gala. Your blood boiled instantly, your fingers gripping the phone so tight you almost cracked the screen.

Fuck him.

If he thought he could just show up and rub his new life in your face, he had another thing coming. Without thinking twice, you deleted his name, erasing him like he didn’t even exist. And then, without checking another name, you sent the list back to Lily.

You didn’t give a shit if it was petty. You didn’t care if it wasn’t professional.

Not over this. Not over you.

You were shaking now, but it almost felt good. Even if it was just a stupid guest list. Let him find out when he got there and there was no table for him. No seat. No fucking room.

You still sat there staring at the screen with that stupid blinking cursor. The email from Lily sat open in front of you, and somewhere buried in the list of attachments was the speech. Blank.

Your speech—the one you were supposed to read at the gala in two days. The one you hadn’t even started writing.

This was always the hardest part. Writing it. Saying it. You used to cry every time. Standing in front of all those people, talking about your dad, your family, how the foundation was this beautiful way of keeping their memory alive. It was never just a speech—it was like ripping your heart out of your chest and letting everyone see it, year after year. It never got easier.

But Rafe, used to be there with you.

You could still hear his voice in your head sometimes, 'you’re stronger than you think'.

That’s what he always said, even when you didn’t believe it. He’d hold you, kiss your forehead, and make you feel like it was true, like you really could get through it. He was always so sure of you. But this year? He wasn’t going to be there. He’d stop believing the lies he fed you. You were angry. You were seething. You were utterly alone.

You’d been avoiding this moment—writing.

This time around, it wasn’t just about the speech. It was about the fact that when you walked out of that stage, you wouldn’t have him waiting for you.

You’d step down into nothingness, with no one to catch you.

Your fingers hovered over the screen, but they wouldn’t move. What were you even supposed to say this year? How were you supposed to stand up in front of all those people and talk about love and family and legacy when yours was shattered?

You hated looking at yourself in the mirror, feeling like you’d lost every single piece of who you used to be.

Fuck the speech. Fuck the gala. Fuck Rafe Cameron and his stupid lies, his stupid smile, his stupid promises that he never kept.

If he thought you were weak, if he thought he could break you, if he thought you were the same girl who used to cling to him like he was the only thing keeping you together—he was wrong.

You were going to do this without him.

You were going to stand up there and give that speech, no matter how much it hurt. And if it killed you, so be it. You’d still do it.

Because unlike him, you didn’t just walk away from the things that mattered. Even if it tore you apart. Even if it was killing you to keep pretending like you were fine. You weren’t fine. But you’d fake it. You’d fake it until the whole world believed it.

You’d barely hit send on the email when your phone rang again, and this time it wasn’t Lily.

It was Topper. You hadn’t talked to him since that night—the night. The party where you’d found out, where you’d seen Rafe and Sofia together for the first time. Where you realized that everyone knew.

How he’d called Rafe over, like you needed him to fix it, like he was still yours to rely on.

“What?”

“Hey…” Topper’s voice was cautious, “I, uh, I wanted to call and apologize for the other night.”

You snorted, leaning your head back against the wall. “Yeah? For what part? For calling Rafe like his little bitch or for getting in front of my car when I was trying to leave?”

“I didn’t mean to fuck things up. I was just trying to stop you from doing something stupid.”

“Like what?” you snapped. “Leaving the party? Getting out of there before I had to watch him with her for one more second? Yeah, Top, real dumb of me.”

“You almost ran me over,” Topper shot back, his voice rising just a little, like he was offended you hadn’t mentioned that part. “Kinda felt like maybe you weren’t thinking straight.”

“You jumped in front of the car you fucking idiot. What the hell did you expect me to do? Slam on the brakes and listen to whatever bullshit you and Rafe had to say? Because trust me, ’m all out of patience for either of you.”

He never really got it.

“Look,” Your cousin started, calmer this time, “I didn’t mean to call him. I just thought—”

“You always think calling him will fix things,” you cut in, “Like he’s the answer to every problem I have. He’s not. Not anymore.”

“I get that,” He added quickly, like he was afraid you’d hang up. “But I didn’t know what else to do! You were upset, and I thought maybe—”

“Maybe what? That he could swoop in and save the day?” You let out a bitter laugh. “He’s not your golden boy, Top. He doesn’t fix anything. He ruins things.”

Topper went quiet for a second, probably trying to figure out how to respond without setting you off on an angry rant again. “I get it,” he said finally, “You’re pissed at him. You have every right to be. But I didn’t call him to hurt you, okay? I was worried about you.”

You hated how genuine he sounded, hated that he meant well. He was a nuisance half of the time, sure, but he wasn’t malicious. He never was. He just had terrible judgment.

“Next time, don’t,” you muttered, rubbing a hand over your face. “I don’t need you playing little brother and calling him when things go wrong."

“I wasn’t trying to clean anything up,” Topper explained, a little defensive now. “I just didn’t want you driving like that. You were upset.”

You rolled your eyes. “Upset doesn’t mean I need you or Rafe deciding what’s best for me. I’m not a kid.”

“You’re not,” he agreed, “But you weren’t exactly in a great headspace, so yeah, I stopped you. I wasn’t gonna let you leave like that and end up in a ditch somewhere.”

It hurt like a bitch, because deep down, you knew Topper had a point.

“You could’ve told me,” you confessed what had been upsetting you, your voice losing some of its initial attitude. “About them. Instead of letting me walk into that party blind.”

Topper sighed again, “I should’ve,” he admitted. “I didn’t want you to find out like that. But it wasn’t my place to say anything. And I didn’t want to make things worse.”

Your hand instinctively moved to cup your stomach. You didn’t even realize you were doing it at first, but the second your fingers touched your shirt, the earlier panic welled up inside you again. If he only knew how bad things were. How bad they could get. You yanked your hand away like you’d been burned, heart hammering against your ribs most painfully. There was no way you could even begin to explain what was going on inside your head—or your body.

Not to Topper. Not to anyone. If he knew, he’d freak and you didn’t need that right now.

You clenched your jaw, pushing yourself to focus on the conversation, on Topper still yammering on about apologies and guilt You shook your head, a bitter smile tugging at your lips.

“Are you even listening?”

“Unfortunately,” You sounded apathetic even to yourself, fingers tapping against the phone, agitated. “Look, Top, I don’t have time for this right now. I’m busy.”

He sighed. “I know you’re pissed, okay? I get it. But the gala’s in, like, two days. You... you still going, right?”

“Of course I’m going,” you scowled, barely able to hide the bitterness in your voice. “I have to. It’s not like I can just dip out and pretend it’s not happening.”

Unlike some people, you thought, but you bit your tongue.

“Good, because I’ll be there too. And I—”

“Oh, joy,” you interrupted, “Another chance for you to babysit me and make sure I don’t make a scene? Can’t wait.”

“Jesus, I’m just trying to help!” Topper groaned. “I didn’t want to make things worse the other night. I—”

“Yeah. Whatever, I’ll see you at the gala.”

You hung up. You didn’t have the patience to deal with him right now.

The day of the gala came faster than you thought it would.

It was like you blinked, and suddenly, you were standing in the middle of the venue, walking through final checks with Lily, nodding along as she rattled off details you barely absorbed.

The room was all glitz and glamour, with chandeliers dripping from the ceiling, and everything draped in the foundation’s signature gold and white.

Crisp tablecloths. Flowers in perfect, elegant arrangements. Waiters in black-tie uniforms were circulating, making sure everything looked flawless. Flawless.

That word made you want to gag.

You moved through the space like a ghost, smiling at the right moments, giving half-hearted approvals when needed. You didn’t care. People were running around, asking for your opinion on this or that. You’d stayed at the venue longer than planned, making sure everything was in order, but your mind was stuck in that floating-place. You wanted to burn the whole thing down, if you were being honest.

You should’ve called your doctor. Days ago. Hell, maybe weeks ago.

Making smart choices wasn’t your thing lately, was it?

When you finally slipped into the room where they’d set up your glam team, you just wanted to sleep. The room itself was a suite off to the side of the venue, a private space meant to make you feel like royalty.

A massive mirror ran across one wall, surrounded by soft, glowing lights. A table was set up with everything—hair tools, makeup brushes, palettes, serums. Bottles of champagne sat chilled in the corner, the condensation dripping down the glass, untouched. It was the kind of place you were supposed to feel special in.

Normally you did. But this year you were numb.

The stylist worked quietly on your hair, soft curls falling into place as she tugged and pinned each section with meticulous care. The makeup artist was dabbing foundation onto your skin, blending and contouring until you didn’t even recognize yourself in the mirror. The dress hung behind you, a shimmering white gown, custom-designed by Versace for the occasion.

You looked like you were stepping into one of those perfect, glamorous lives. But on the inside, you felt like you were going to lose it at any second. You nodded along, giving tight-lipped smiles when they complimented you, and then they finally left.

The room was dead silent now, just you and your reflection. You stood in front of the mirror, staring at yourself, the perfect curls, the glowy skin, the gown waiting behind you. It all felt wrong. It felt fake. You didn’t bear a resemblance to yourself.

You looked like the version of you that the world expected—the untouchable girl. A doll.

Your rifled through your bag for your phone, but instead, your fingers brushed something else. Cold, hard.

You hadn’t even realized it was in there.

One of the pregnancy tests. You must’ve thrown it in without thinking earlier that morning when you were rushing out the door. You hadn’t even noticed it until now.

What the fuck were you doing?

You had a gala to host in less than an hour. People were going to be looking at you, waiting for you to give the speech, expecting you to hold everything together like always. And there you were, standing in a private dressing room, about to do something so monumentally stupid. Maybe it was the pressure of tonight, or maybe it was the anger you’d been shoving down for weeks, but suddenly, you didn’t care.

You were going to do it.

Without even thinking, you stormed into the bathroom. You were so fucking tired of avoiding this. Tired of pretending like everything was fine, like you were fine.

What the hell was fine about any of this? You tore open the box, hands trembling as you pulled out the test. The room was so quiet, you could hear every little sound—your breath still uneven, the rustle of your dress against the tiles, the click of the test cap as you flicked it off.

You sat down, staring at the stick in your hand. This was insane. You were insane. Who the fuck took a pregnancy test ten minutes before they’re supposed to host a charity gala?

You couldn’t get a proper breath out as you waited, heart pounding so hard it felt like it might rip your chest open. You leaned against the sink, gripping the edge. Your stomach churned, the nausea rising again, and you had to close your eyes to stop the floor from spinning.

What if it was positive? What if it wasn’t?

You stared at the test, willing the result to appear, but it didn’t. Not yet. The little window stayed blank, as if taunting you, making you feel like you were losing your mind. You knew you had to wait longer. You weren’t stupid. You’d read those instructions a million times by now, but you hated waiting.

Hated not knowing.

You couldn’t take your eyes off the stupid little piece of plastic. Just one line or two. That was all it came down to. One fucking line or two, and your entire life would either fall apart or what? Be fine?

You glanced at the mirror, catching another glimpse of yourself, and it almost startled you—your eyes were wild. Desperate. They were the eyes of someone who was just about ready to do anything to get this over with.

You tried to picture telling him again, but the idea alone made you sick. You thought of Sofia, of her perfect smile next to his, and bile rose in your throat. Your hands never stopped shaking. You wanted to run. You wanted to throw that thing in the garbage can and never stare at it again.

Your thoughts spun in circles, going nowhere, just making everything worse. The clock on your phone ticked louder and louder, and you knew—somewhere out there, everyone was getting ready. Guests were arriving. The gala would start soon, and they’d all be waiting for you. Watching you. Expecting you to be the poised, perfect version of yourself you’d spent your whole life pretending to be.

And you were in here, trying not to lose your fucking mind.

You peeked back at it. Still nothing.

No line. No answer.

It felt like you were suspended in time. You closed your eyes, gripping the sink harder, praying for it to end—something to happen, anything.

Then finally, you felt it in your chest—a heavy, sinking feeling, like the moment before a fall.

You opened your eyes.

There it was.

TAGLIST: @maybankslover @october-baby25 @haruvalentine4321 @hopelesslydevoted2paige @rafebb @rafesbbyy @whytheylosttheirminds

@zyafics @astarlights @bruher @nosebeers @carrerascameron @serrendiipty @sunny1616

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@stoned-writer @justafangirls-blog-deactivated2

@starkeygirlposts @enjoymyloves @ijustwanttoreadlols @icaqttt

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron series #rafe cameron (by @itneverendshere)

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fanfics4all · 21 hours ago

Text

What Best Friends Are For

Request: Yes / No

Don’t be shy, request things! <3 Have a nice day/night

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Word count: 1332

Warnings: Mentions of someone dead and being caught up in shady shit

Y/N: Your Name

Prompt(s): I did this based on this post!

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(Not my photo, credit to whoever made it!)

I stood in front of Spencer’s door, my heart pounding harder than it ever had. I could feel the cold creeping through my bones, but nothing compared to the chill of fear gripping me inside. I wasn’t sure he’d even recognize me after all this time, sure we talked all the time, but it’s still been so long since we’ve seen each other. But I had nowhere else to go. Nowhere safe, nowhere I trusted. Just Spencer.

When the door opened and I saw him standing there, I couldn’t help but see a rush of relief wash over me. His face softened and his familiar, warm eyes widened as he looked me over. I saw concern flicker there almost immediately, but he just stepped aside and invited me in.

The warmth of his apartment was a stark contrast to the icy night outside, but it couldn’t chase away the dread that had settled deep in my chest. I felt his presence at my side as he followed me to the couch. It took everything in me to not break down right then and there. Instead, I forced a small smile and sat, clasping my hand tightly in my lap.

“Do you remember when we were little, and I asked you if we’d always be friends?” I asked, looking up at him. Spencer smiled that gentle smile that I remembered so well. My heart ached as I waited for his response.

“I said you could murder someone, and I’d still be your friend.” The warmth of the memory was fleeting.

“How well has that aged?” I asked, trying to hide the shake in my voice, forcing a laugh that sounded more like a broken whisper. His smile disappeared and his eyes filled with concern as he searched my face.

“What happened?” I looked down at my hands, trying to gather the corsage to say it. It was the whole reason I came here, wasn’t it? To tell him. To ask for help. I just didn’t know if he’d still look at me the same way again.

“I… I didn’t know where else to go.” I managed, barely about to keep my voice steady.

“Something happened, Spence, something bad. And I’m… I’m scared.” His hand covered mine, his touch grounding me like it always had.

“You can tell me anything, Y/N.” He said and I felt his thumb brushing gently over my knuckles. I forced myself to look up at him and I could feel my throat tightening with the words I was about to say.

“It’s just… things got complicated. I made some bad choices, got mixed up with the wrong people…” I felt a tear slip down my cheek and I looked away, ashamed.

“And now… now someone’s dead because of me.”

The silence that followed felt like a thousand pounds on my shoulders. I couldn’t bring myself to look at him. I couldn’t bear to see disappointment or horror in his beautiful eyes. But instead, I felt his hand squeeze mine, pulling me out of my thoughts.

“Tell me everything, Y/N.” He whispered, his voice softer than I’d ever heard it.

“We’ll figure this out, together.” I felt another tear escape and this time, I didn’t hold back. I turned my hand under his, squeezing it. The tears came harder, all the fear and guilt I’d been holding back finally surfacing. But Spencer didn’t let go. He just kept his hand in mine. I took a shaky breath, trying to piece together where to even start.

“It was supposed to be simple…” My voice was barely above a whisper.

“A couple of new friends and I got caught up in this scheme, Spence. At first, it seemed harmless, a quick way to make some money. But things spiraled so fast…” I looked down ashamed.

“I didn’t know what they were really planning and by the time I realized… someone was already dead.” Spencer’s grip on my hand tightened. His gaze was fixed on me, his face still calm, but I could see the concern in his eyes deepening.

“Who are these people? Are you in danger?” I nodded, feeling my stomach twist.

“They know I want out now. I think they suspected I might talk, and I was scared to go to the police. I thought… maybe I could just come here. You’re the only person I trust.”

He took a deep breath and I could see him processing everything, analyzing every word I said. Spencer was a genius, that I knew. He’s probably already pieced together more than I could even say. Yet, he didn’t rush me. He let me speak at my own pace, his steady gaze holding me in place.

“You were right to come here.” He said softly.

“We’ll handle this. We can go to the police together and I’ll make sure they know you’re not involved the way they’ll think you are. You’re safe here, okay?” The certainty in his words made my heart ache differently. All I’d done was run to him, and yet, he was willing to risk everything just to help me.

“Thank you, Spence. I-I don’t deserve this kindness.”

“You don’t have to thank me, Y/N.” His tone was gentle, but firm.

“I’d do anything for you, I always have.” He brushed a strand of hair from my face. I noticed just how close he’d gotten. The world outside, the danger, faded away. It was just us, like when were were kids, the two of us finding safety and understanding in each other. I loved him then, in a way I didn’t fully understand, but now there was no denying what it was.

“Spencer…” I started, not knowing where to go with the words, but he seemed to understand, like always. He leaned closer, his voice barely a whisper.

“We can figure the rest out tomorrow, but tonight, just know I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.” I closed the space between us, pressing my forehead against his, feeling his warm breath fan my face.

“I love you…” I whispered, and before he could say anything, I pressed my lips against his. He didn’t hesitate to kiss me back.

“I love you too, Y/N…” He said when we pulled away.

“But, if you needed money, why didn’t you come to me?” He asked, his voice gentle but I could hear a bit of hurt. I opened my mouth to respond, but no words came out at first. Shame and guilt clawed at me, knowing I’d chosen the riskier, more dangerous path instead of just talking to him.

“Spencer…” I whispered, looking down. My fingers were fidgeting with the edge of my sleeve.

“I…I didn’t want you to think less of me. I didn’t want you to see me like this… Desperate, needing help. I was afraid you’d think I was weak.” He shook his head, squeezing my hand gently.

“That’s not true and you know it.” He said, a hint of frustration in his voice.

“I would never have thought less of you. I would have done anything to help you, make sure you didn’t have to go through this.” His voice softened.

“You’re my best friend, Y/N. That’s what I’m here for, to help you.” I felt a tear slide down my cheek, and he brushed it away.

“I thought I could fix it myself. I didn’t want to be a burden.” I admitted, my voice trembling again.

“You could never be a burden to me.” He said softly. A shaky breath escaped me, and I felt his arm slide around my shoulders, pulling me into a gentle embrace. I melted into his warmth, letting him calm me down.

“I’m sorry, Spence… I’m so sorry.” I muttered against his chest, feeling his heartbeat under my cheek. He held me tighter, his hand brushing through my hair.

“There’s nothing to apologize for. You’re here now and that’s all that matters. We’ll get through this together.” He whispered.

Tag list: @les-bio-lie @tashy-bear @ashwarren32 @hollie-blogs-blog1 @lover-of-books-and-tea @nerdygaloresposts @teenwolfbitches28 @kmc1989 @drw0301bieber @lady-of-lies @ravenmoore14 @ravenempress101 @cillianchamp @rowanthomasknapp @rachelxwayne @ready-4-fanfiction @madammarvellous-blog1 @pettyjayy @bruisedfists-and-splitlips @answer-the-sirens @andreasworlsboring101 @reidssmile @currentfangirl-futuremedexaminer @mggstyles @satans-0-spawn @emofairygay @thesoftestwarlock @liz-owl

#fanfic #prompt #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds spencer reid #spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer x reader #spencer x fem!reader

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tarabyte3 · 8 months ago

Text

The Fear Has Gripped Me, but Here I Go

(13.4k)

Fandom: The Accused (BBC)

Pairing: Liam Black/F!Reader

Summary: It was so easy to develop a crush on Liam Black. He's sweet, handsome, funny, and all of your conversations feel effortless. How could you not? Maybe it was too easy because you're starting to fall a little deeper and you can't stop calling him whenever you need a taxi.

Warnings: Explicit rating, sex, car sex, semi public sex, unprotected sex, adultery, cheating, lying, mutual pinning, romance, angst

A/N: This is a fic about the character Liam Black played by Andy Serkis in the BBC anthology show The Accused. In the show, he breaks into a woman's house, steals from her, stalks her, uses that information to get her to like him, interferes with her life, etc. None of that is shown or stated in this fic, but if you’ve watched the show, you can infer a LOT about their interactions. In the show, he also cheats on his wife and lies to both her and the other woman. That IS in this fic. Unfortunately, Liam Black is one of my poor little meow meows, so this story is also intended to be romantic. I do not condone cheating (obviously). This is fiction. It's just that Liam is a sympathetic creep, but also I want to kiss him. (Andy Serkis has rotted my brain.) | Work title is from “Breezeblocks” by alt-J.

Playlist | AO3

It's distressingly easy to get sucked into the gravity of Liam Black. The way he looks at you—stolen glances in the rearview mirror when he thinks you won't notice—makes you feel special. Beautiful.

Something worth marveling at.

That should be a red flag, but you can't remember the last time someone looked at you like that. It's more than being appreciated for your appearance or checked out by a stranger. It's as if your presence is a bright spot in his day. In the same way he might stop to appreciate the view of a valley brimming with flowers or a sunrise after a particularly long night. His expression, one of awe.

Every bit of conversation between the two of you feels so natural, too. Effortless. Like meeting up with an old friend only to pick up right where you left off years ago. And he makes you laugh in a way you haven't in so long, as if he knows the exact thing to say to get you to smile. Even when you've had a rotten day.

Especially when you've had a rotten day.

So you keep calling him when you need a ride.

After all, Liam gave you his number for that very reason, you tell yourself. It's much easier than arranging a taxi because you deal with him directly. You know it will be him showing up at your door, and he already knows where you live and is familiar with the drive. Why wouldn't you call him?

At least that's how it started. Weeks ago.

Eventually any small excuse became a reason to phone him instead of driving yourself. “Parking will be a nightmare.” “I'd rather not fight with traffic.” “What if I want to have a drink during dinner with my friends?” “I swear my car made a strange noise this morning. I shouldn't drive it until I can get it looked at, and the shop is booked out a week.”

Deep down you know it's because you want that connection. You want his attention on you. You want to catch those blue eyes in the mirror. To see the profile of his nose and warm smile from the backseat. The greying scruff of his beard. The casual flex of his arms on the steering wheel—far more muscular than you would have expected from a driver and deceptively so under his polos because the way the fabric stretches around his biceps is…enticing.

It's just a crush, you tell yourself. Nothing more than a passing fancy. It's nice to have something to indulge in. It's perfectly harmless.

But then one night, you're in Liam’s taxi because you're headed to meet some friends to see a play—your favorite play—only to discover it's his favorite play, too.

So the two of you talk enthusiastically about it the entire drive there, quoting lines and debating character motivations and themes. Once you arrive at the theater, you find that you're very disappointed to be getting out of the car. You were enjoying yourself so much that it went by too fast.

“If you need a ride home afterwards, just let me know, love.” He turns in his seat to smile at you, and the corners of his eyes crinkle in a way that's endearing. Earnest.

“It'll be awfully late.” You can't help but smile back, even as you wave off his suggestion. “I can just flag a taxi.”

“I'll already be out. It's no trouble, really,” he insists while holding up a placating hand. Then his expression softens. “A lovely woman like you shouldn't be waiting that late by yourself anyway. It's dangerous.”

You want to protest further. To say your friends will be there, too, and you'll hardly be alone. That you don't want to be a bother. But, god, he called you lovely and he looks so hopeful. Those blue eyes bore into yours and pierce your defenses. The words die on your lips.

You relent.

You'll text him from the lobby after the show, you agree. He'll come get you then.

You've never texted him before. Somehow that feels more intimate than calling him and hearing the rough timbre of his voice.

The play is wonderful.

Your favorite character was perfectly cast, and his delivery of a line makes you think of Liam—the way he quoted it from the driver's seat a mere hour before, the parody of a serious expression on his face that made you laugh. He smiled at you then, all unmasked adoration, and your heart flutters at the memory.

When it's over, you text him before you've even left your seat.

As you resist the urge to impatiently push your way through the throng of people heading for the lobby, you tell your friends you couldn't possibly go out for drinks afterwards. You're tired and you have an early morning, but you'll take that rain check! Next time, you promise. You'll even buy a round! And that seems to placate them enough that they're on their way without you.

Before they can see you getting into his cab. Before they can look too closely and see what you're trying so desperately to deny to yourself: That you're more excited to see him than you are at the thought of spending time with them.

That you want this thing you shouldn't want.

He must have been close because he's already idling in wait as you exit the building. Your expression brightens at the sight of him waving at you from the driver's window, his face bathed in the marquee lights. The bulbs reflect in his eyes, tiny pin pricks like stars, and it sets your heart racing.

Christ, he's handsome.

You briefly wonder if he stayed in the area just for you. You can't deny you like the thought, even as you try to bury it down. That's something you can dig back up and indulge in later. When you're alone.

“How was the play, love?” He asks back at you once you've settled in and closed the door. The sounds outside become muted, trapping an artificial intimacy in with you.

“Fantastic! Oh, you would have loved it,” you sigh as you buckle yourself in. “You really should get tickets while it's still going.”

“Maybe I should.” He glances one last time out the window at the people still spilling from the front doors before slowly pulling away from the curb. “I might fit in better with the matinee crowd, though.”

Your head snaps up towards him. “What does that mean?”

“Well, I'm just a lowly taxi driver. Not really night at the theater material.”

“Nonsense.” You furrow your brows at him, as though you're offended on his behalf. “You aren't just anything, and there's nothing lowly about being a taxi driver. Plus, there are no requirements for going to see a play. Art is for everyone.”

He smiles to himself, almost amused by your reaction. “It'd still be sad, yeah? A man going to the theater all by himself.”

“Not at all!” You try to ignore the thrill in your chest at the implication that he doesn't have a partner. It's something you've suspected based on past conversations, but refused to ask outright. That would have been too much like showing real interest. “I've gone by myself loads of times.”

“Really?” There's a note of disbelief in his voice, and he glances up at you in the mirror. “A beautiful woman like you, without a date?”

A heat creeps over your cheeks. You bite at your bottom lip and glance out the window to hide it. You're suddenly glad for the late hour so he can't see the bashfulness in your reflection.

“Now you sound like my mother,” you tease, trying to deflect the comment.

His laughter rings out through the car. “Oh god, I take it back!”

“Besides, it's not always easy to get a date last minute, romantic or platonic. Is it?” You raise your eyebrows at him in challenge. “Why don't you take one?”

This is the closest you've come to prying because, now that he's alluded to the fact that he's available, you can't help yourself. You have to know. Whether that's to satisfy some curiosity or because a part of you has a vested interest in his answer, you're not sure.

“If you can't get one last minute, then what hope does a washed up old driver like myself have?”

And now you know. Which actually makes all of this feel so much worse because, under the serene veil of passing street lights and quiet roads, the lines are beginning to blur.

You also want to open your mouth and say something stupid like, “Then they're idiots,” or “You’re far from washed up,” and maybe even “I’d go with you.” But you know the second that you do, it pushes this beyond the bounds of rides and cautious flirting.

You don't even know if Liam would want that. What if he's only being nice? You don't know how he talks to his other passengers. Maybe he finds the flirting fun and harmless, too, and he's not actually interested in anything more. Maybe he enjoys being your friend.

Or maybe you’re only projecting what you want to see because you're lonely and he’s easy to talk to—the first man to really pay attention to you in longer than you’d care to admit. You might just end up embarrassing yourself.

Instead, you scoff and say, “Well, it doesn't matter anyway because it's perfectly acceptable to go alone and have a lovely time.”

Regret pools in your stomach. You can't help but feel you missed an opportunity. It's too late now, though. As he chuckles warmly from the front seat and shifts his attention to the road, you know the moment has passed. Bringing it up again, saying those words out loud, will give you away.

There's a silence after that, which stretches on for several minutes. A few weeks ago it might have been comfortable, but now you can't stand it. You only get a few of these moments with him and you're nearly halfway home already. It might be a while before you see him again after this. You're wasting it!

“God, I wish I had walked the block to get a takeout after the show. I'm suddenly starving,” you blurt out, lacking anything else to say, but desperate for any chance at small talk to close the gap between you.

“Want me to stop off somewhere?” He glances up at you in the mirror.

“No!” You immediately protest, a little embarrassed. You had expected this to turn into a conversation about your favorite kinds of takeout or foods so you could learn more about him. You hadn't expected him to offer anything. “No, it's fine. It was just a terrible attempt at making conversation. I swear I'll live.”

“I can if you’d like.”

“It's already so late. Don't trouble yourself. Really!” You aren't even hungry.

When did this become so difficult? When did you go from enjoying his attention to craving it this much?

“I don't have another ride after this.” His voice lowers, barely audible now over the hum of the engine. “And I've already told you, love. For you it's never any trouble.”

Oh. The uncertainty gives way to a warmth in your chest. It settles deep into your ribs and wraps itself around your heart. How could you possibly say no now?

You also know the answer to your questions then: It became difficult when, somewhere along the way, this stopped being just a simple, harmless crush.

“Okay.” Then you hurry to add, “But only if you're sure!”

“Positive.” His profile shifts as he smiles at the road, pleased you’ve accepted his offer.

“There's Chinese on the way. Over by the old Tesco? The one that closed a few months ago?”

“I know it.”

“It's not the best, but it's open until eleven. I can order it now so you don't have to wait too long.” Then you get an idea. “Do you like noodles? Or maybe fried rice? My treat.” You hold up a finger at him when he opens his mouth to protest. “You’re nice enough to stop when you don't have to, it's the least I can do to say thank you.”

“Alright,” he sighs, his shoulders going slack with acceptance. There's something tender in his expression as his smile widens, which only makes your heart constrict further. “Yeah, I'd love some noodles.”

“Then noodles it is.” You place the order on your phone as a silence settles back over the car.

All that fuss and your attempt at conversation didn't even work.

At least you get to buy him dinner, technically speaking. But you're going to do everything you can not to dwell on that right now. Especially now that you’ve realized how far this has evolved.

A few minutes and a short detour later, and he's pulling alongside the curb once again.

“I'll be right back,” you promise before hurrying out into the night.

You feel oddly self conscious of every step as you cross the street because you can feel his eyes on you the entire way. Watching you.

He probably wants to make sure you don't get mugged or something, you tell yourself. He’s keeping an eye on you. That's all. There's no reason for your pulse to be this high.

And yet, if there's a bit more sway to your hips as you walk in the hopes it draws his gaze lower…that's just more fun, harmless flirting. Isn't it?

You're not sure anymore.

At this hour, so near to closing, the restaurant is empty. There's even someone taking down tables in the dining area. The sight of it makes you feel guilty as you give them a nod of greeting. Your disastrous attempt at small talk probably prevented the kitchen from being in the same half cleaned state as well. Just add it to the list of inconveniences, you think.

It only takes a few more minutes for your order to be finished, much to your relief. You’d hate to keep Liam waiting because it's already fourteen to eleven, and you don't want him to start regretting being nice. It also means you don't have time to stand there and start second guessing yourself either, which is the last thing you need right now.

When you exit the restaurant, you notice the air has shifted. It smells damp now, like it might rain. Even the night sky is quickly growing darker as the stars are swallowed by clouds, all the telltale signs of an encroaching late summer storm. So you jog back towards the cab, clutching the takeout bag and praying it holds off.

But as your fingers brush the door handle, you hesitate.

It's late and there's not another car or soul on the street. It's just the two of you, and you've gotten both of you food. It seems almost silly to sit in the backseat now, or to pretend there's much of a separation anymore. Even as friends.

That's what you tell yourself as you head to the passenger door instead.

Liam doesn't say anything. He just watches you climb into the front seat of his taxi. When you finally meet his eyes, you can see uncertainty on his face, but of what you're not sure.

“Is this okay?” You keep the door held open in doubt, giving yourself the option of escape. “I thought it would be easier...you know, with the food.”

“Yeah.” His voice is quiet, and the wary, low gravel of it matches his expression. He glances down at the steering wheel. “Yeah, it's fine.”

Far too late you wonder if you've made a mistake.

“I'm sorry,” you gasp as you move for the door. “I should have asked first. I can get in back.”

“Wait!” His hand shoots out as if he wants to grab your arm—to keep you there—but he stops just short of touching you, still keeping that distance. He lets it hover for a second, hesitant, before lowering it back to his seat, and you swear you see his fingers twitch. Your skin tingles at the near contact. “Stay. Please.”

You take a moment to study his face, to make sure it's actually what he wants. That he isn't just being polite now that you're already in, despite his own comfort.

The genuine plea you see there makes your heart ache.

“Okay,” you say softly.

You shut the door.

Then it's quiet once again except for the rustling of the bag as you settle it on your lap. Except now there's a tension in the air that's never been there before. It's as if you brought the storm into the cab with you and have just sealed it inside. Maybe you have made a mistake.

This had always been so easy.

When there was the clear separation of a car seat between you, you both knew where you stood. Liam up front, you in back. Driver and passenger. The physical distance kept things safe. Without that, you feel unsteady, too—unsure of how to act and unsure where this is going.

You think about that heavy scent of ozone and warm concrete on the breeze outside—about the possibility of rain—and suddenly you know what you want. You know why you got in front and what your heart has been telling you all night: You want to see your possibility. What this thing between you could be.

Despite your nerves, you want him. All you have to do is continue closing the distance.

You're pretty sure that you can't make things any more awkward than they already are, at the very least. Even if you somehow manage it, you doubt he’ll throw you out of his taxi. Why would he? He’s only ever been sweet to you. So the worst he can say is no, you think, as if that wouldn't break your heart.

“I don't know how you feel about food in your cab, but we could sit here and eat before it gets cold. Together. If you want.” You try to sound casual, but hope bleeds into your voice and betrays the truth of what you're really offering him: you. Something more.

You spent weeks being careful to never cross that line while telling yourself that's what you actually wanted. That you were fine simply having something to indulge in. But now that you've finally done it, you don't know why it took you so long or how you’ve been so blind. Because as you look at him, with his snug polo, trimmed hair and beard, his full lips, and his hooded blue eyes, you wouldn't take it back for anything.

Only…that uncertainty reappears on his face. An internal struggle which deepens the lines on his forehead, pinches his brow, and causes his mouth to thin into a frown. He knows agreeing to this would mean crossing that line with you and moving forward. Except where you have hope, he seems conflicted by the possibility.

You wonder if all the flirting and stolen glances felt harmless to him, too, because he never dreamed you’d want him back. And now that you do…

“You don't need to be getting home? It's late," he says helplessly. Half-heartedly. That's when you realize: he thinks he should tell you no, but he just can't bring himself to say it. So he's offering you an excuse instead, hoping that you’ll do it for him.

Of all the ways you saw this going, you never imagined this—that he would want you and still reject you.

You want so badly to ask why, to understand, but this hurts more than a simple no would, and the fear of what he might say stills your tongue. It could just be self-deprecation on his part, the ingrained belief that he's a washed up old driver…but what if the reason is you? Imagining the pity on his face as he tries to let you down gently turns your stomach.

Despite that, you find you can't say no either. Now that you've finally realized that you want this, how do you let it go? To be the one to end it before it's even begun. You don't have the strength.

You suppose that makes the both of you cowards.

“I've got nowhere to be tomorrow, but if you do, that's alright, Liam,” you offer instead. A lie the two of you can cling to. “I don't want to keep you any longer than I already have.”

He shakes his head. “That's not it.”

Oh.

“Either way, don't worry about it,” you quickly blurt out to stop him from saying anything more. “Forget I said—”

“No!” His voice breaks as he interrupts you, stunning you to silence. “No.”

He struggles for a moment to find the words while searching your face, as if he might find the answer there. As if you might make it easier for him somehow. He must find something because then he's staring at you with the determination of a man who's made a decision, consequences be damned, and you let out a shaky breath you didn't realize you’d been holding.

“There’s nowhere I’d rather be.”

Oh.

Your heart falters for a moment, lurching with violence against your ribcage, before it stutters with renewed hope.

There's a rumble of thunder outside—the sound of possibility shifting into inevitability.

“Me either,” you whisper.

“Then, yeah.” His face softens. And he’s back to looking at you in a way you’re used to, the way he secretly would in his rearview mirror, but something between you has shifted. There's a new intensity to his gaze that takes your breath away. “I’d love to.”

“I’m glad.” Feeling bold at that look in his eyes and desperate to ease some of the lingering tension, you add, “Besides, this is much better than eating reheated takeout alone in my apartment. The company is far better.”

You can tell it works when he relaxes further in his seat.

“Yeah?” A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as he raises his eyebrows at you.

“Yeah.”

“And I suppose it does smell really good, yeah? Be a shame to waste it.”

“It really does.” You huff out a laugh as you dig into the bag, relieved to have something to do with your hands that isn't clenching them uselessly in your lap. “Plus, now you don't have to listen to my stomach growl for the rest of the drive.”

He laughs along with you, but it quickly turns into a teasing grin. “Well, I’m glad I could save you the embarrassment.”

“My hero,” you say playfully, which finally earns you a full, real smile. The kind that crinkles the corners of his eyes and makes your heart skip a beat. Before you can get distracted staring at him, you pull out the disposable utensils and hold them up between you. “Now, fork or chopsticks?"

He sheepishly takes the fork, and it's your turn to give him a teasing grin.

You fall back into easy conversation as you both tuck into your takeout containers. The tension between you is gone now, having dissipated under the familiar—though it'll be impossible to forget just how close he is or the way he lingers in your field of vision no matter where you look.

You’ve positioned yourself in your seat so you're half facing him, and you notice he's removed his seatbelt and done the same. There's an intimacy to the way both of your knees are turned in towards each other, unable to touch but still seeking one another out.

There it is again, you think. The gravity of him, pulling you in. You bend to him like light.

While you eat, it begins to rain. Or rather, it begins to downpour, the drops thumping and echoing off the metal body of the taxi. They coat the windows in streaks, leaving the world outside blurred—a hazy refraction of streetlights and muted color.

The combination of darkness and being shut inside the car already made it feel like there was a barrier separating the two of you from the outside, but now you feel even more cocooned from the rest of the world. In fact, you’re finding it hard to remember anything else exists beyond the interior of this cab. This moment.

Him.

Another silence settles over you as you eat and listen to the rain, but this one is comforting. As though just existing next to each other is enough. It's easy in a way that makes your heart sing.

He breaks it by clearing his throat.

“Seriously, how do you use those? I’ve never gotten the hang of it.” He gestures to your hand holding the chopsticks.

You pause mid bite, your food frozen in the air as you look up at him. “Do you want me to show you?”

“You can try, but I should warn you, I'm all thumbs when it comes to that,” he laughs and looks away, self-conscious.

You’ve seen that expression on his face a few times now. Glimpses past the easy smiles and the effortless conversations into how he sees himself. You wonder again if that was the reason he hesitated earlier. Suddenly you want to show him the man you see. The one that’s attentive when you speak and makes you feel seen. Who always cheers you up with his presence and went out of his way when you said you were hungry. The man who's never said no to you, even when you’ve called him at the last minute and were certain he was busy.

You wish you could find the way to say all of that out loud.

Instead, you raise an eyebrow and stick the uneaten bite back into the container. “That sounds like a challenge.”

“It's really not,” he says with a helpless laugh, but you're determined now.

You get a fresh set for him. Then you go about demonstrating the placement in your hand and the way you use your fingers to manipulate the utensils to pick up your food. He copies you, though his own movements are stiff and awkward. There's also a vulnerability to the way he keeps glancing up at you to see if he's doing it correctly and looking for approval.

“You’ve almost got it! It just takes practice,” you reassure him. He gives you a small smile in return, his blue eyes full of gratitude. When he tries again, he’s more relaxed and confident, and the chopsticks move with far more ease.

It's a much better look on him, you think.

You also spend the entire time resisting the urge to reach out and shape his fingers around the thin pieces of wood. Because if you touched his hands, god help you, you might not be able to stop. The idea is so tempting, though, and it only gets worse the longer you focus on the curve and press of his thick fingers.

You imagine what it would be like to have them grazing over your cheek and down your neck, or dipping along your inner thigh and dragging against your slit. There's a sudden throb of need between your legs at the thought. Now the air of the cab feels stifling, electric with a different energy, but he's so focused on what he's doing, he doesn't seem to notice the way you squirm in your seat.

Instead, you offer tips to help him get it right—from a distance, where it's safe for the time being and you're less likely to do something brash, like grab him and kiss him.

After some more practice, he makes a few unsuccessful attempts to eat and has to stop to pick dropped noodles off of his shirt and lap with a sigh while you giggle next to him. Until, finally, an entire bite makes it from the takeout container to his mouth without spilling.

“I did it!” He beams proudly at you as he chews, those blue eyes now wide and lit up with excitement. And god, it's adorable…except there's a bit of noodle stuck in his beard. You press your lips together to keep from bursting into laughter at him in his moment of triumph. He catches on anyway, and his face falls slightly in confusion. "What?"

"You've got some noodle. Right here." You point at your own face.

He quickly runs a hand over his mouth to wipe it away, but all that does is push the noodle farther down his chin. "Did I get it?"

"No!" You snort out a sharp laugh at his look of panic. So he sets his takeout carton on the center console near the gearshift for a more serious attempt, but his palm scrapes uselessly at his face again. “It's lower now.”

“Glad you're enjoying this.” He tries to sound offended, but there's a twinkle of amusement in his eyes as he feels around for the elusive bit of food, betraying how much he’s enjoying this, too.

"Here." You set your takeout next to his. And then you don't think before you lean across the center console, your hand stretched out and reaching towards him. "It's right…"

You genuinely meant to help and put him out of his misery, but by the time you realize what you're doing, your fingertips are already brushing through the coarse hair of his beard, the why of it completely forgotten. Now you can no longer help yourself. You’ve finally touched him, and he feels so warm and alive beneath your hand.

Your fingers curl against his chin. Then, almost with a mind of their own, they inch towards his jaw, seeking more. You want to run them over his cheeks. His temple. His smile lines. Along the bridge of his nose. His lips. You want to feel out every bit of his face and commit it to memory.

You don't want to let go.

And you nearly don’t stop until a heavy exhale from him sends you crashing back to reality. The one where you're basically groping him instead of helping. You also notice the noodle bit has long since fallen away and landed somewhere unseen onto his lap.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry!" You gasp in horror. You start to pull away to search for it because, after that, you're too embarrassed to even look at him. But you’ve barely removed your hand when he grabs your wrist, firmly keeping you in place just inches from his face. Your eyes snap up to meet his.

Neither of you moves. Or speaks.

For several tense seconds, the only sound in the car is the rhythmic patter of rain and your heavy breathing as you stare at each other.

The moment stretches between you like a wire, thick and coiled taut, and you're terrified to pull away. Or push closer. As if doing so might snap the tension and ruin whatever this is. Instead, you sit there, frozen at the way his eyes become half-lidded, barely lessening the now undisguised longing in his gaze.

Just when you think it's become too much and you're going to break under the intensity of it all, his thumb brushes against the delicate skin of your wrist, directly over your pulse, sending a shiver through you. And that small touch alone is enough to make all of this profoundly, achingly, real. Distantly you wonder if he can feel the frantic drumming of your heart. Because by now it's pounding so hard with anticipation, your ribs flex with every beat.

He brings your hand back towards his face and rests it against his cheek. As he does, you're mortified to realize you're trembling in his grasp. He must notice as well because, without a word, he flattens his own hand over yours, anchoring and calming between beard and flesh. His eyes dip nearly closed at the sensation, and he nuzzles into your touch, letting the corner of his mouth graze your palm.

You watch as there's the slightest purse of his lips, a shade of a kiss onto your skin, and you suck in a gasp.

He reaches out for you, then. You think he's going to mimic the gesture and cup your face, but instead his knuckles graze along your cheek. He takes a moment to trace and explore the contour of your cheekbone in awe before continuing on, gliding past the shell of your ear, until he's cupping the back of your neck instead with his thumb resting on your jaw. His hand feels massive as it envelops you, the span of it completely covering your nape, making you feel bird-boned in his grasp. But everything about his touch is so tender, so affectionate, that it never occurs to you to feel vulnerable.

Quite the opposite. Combined with his captivated expression, which is so intense that it borders on grief, he's found a new way to make you feel special.

Wanted.

Gently, he begins to guide you towards him as he leans in and stares at your lips. There's no doubting his intentions.

You go willingly. Lead to him. Pulled to him. Sucked so far into that gravity, you’d still be moving even if he let go.

"Liam," you exhale into the shrinking space between you, finally giving voice to your desire.

His fingers flex against your neck at the sound of his name, but he still doesn't stop or speak. His hand continues to guide you closer. Slow and steady. As if he's giving you plenty of time to put an end to this. To pull away and tell him you don't want it. But you do. You want it so much that you almost forget to breathe.

As his lips ghost against yours, your eyes flutter shut. You instinctively push forward, trying to close the distance between you, but he moves away before you can fully capture his mouth. Then he goes back to brushing his lips over yours, cutting off your protest and taking in your sighs and quivers.

It's almost teasing, the way he's taking his time and savoring every step of this—of you—and there's a confidence to his movements you weren't expecting. As if, now that he's gotten you, he knows exactly what he wants to do with you while you're swept along in his wake.

Except you’ve thought about this moment so many times. Indulged in the fantasy of what it might feel like to have his lips against you as his tongue eagerly explores the heat of your mouth. Now you're so close to getting what you want, too, and the anticipation is building into an agonized yearning every second he’s just out of reach.

You're on the verge of whimpering or pleading when he finally, truly, kisses you.

Any thought you might have had is gone. The pressure of his lips, his mouth slotting against yours, his relieved exhale across your skin—the combination makes you dizzy with need. A moan is torn from your throat.

The sound breaks whatever gentle spell had a hold of him because, just like that, his arms are around you, and he's kissing you hungrily.

At first it's desperate. Nothing more than a messy searching of lips before you find your rhythm. Then every bit of it is better than you imagined—the scrape of his beard, his nose nudging into yours, a brief graze of his tongue along your bottom lip before it retreats, leaving you wanting more. And god, do you want more.

As if he knows what you're thinking—or maybe you've said it out loud—he tightens his hold around you and pulls you towards his seat, his mouth never leaving yours. But you don't have time to admire how strong he is as you scramble blindly to get your legs under you. In your haste, your knee hits one of the takeout containers, which sends it toppling over.

You break the kiss to gasp out, "I think it spilled."

"I don't care," he murmurs and captures your mouth again. This time his tongue lingers at the seam of your lips. As you open up to him and taste him for the first time, you decide you don't care either.

You finish climbing into his lap. Every movement is clumsy in the limited space, all groping hands and fumbling limbs. You have to squeeze past the steering wheel and keep your head low so you don't bump it into the roof of the cab. The position is also a bit awkward as you try to find enough purchase to settle your knees on either side of his hips. You even have to adjust your dress to keep it from getting in the way, which forces the hem mid thigh.

None of that matters once you're finally settled. Because, when you lower your weight into his lap, you find him rock hard beneath you. And the only thing separating your bare sex from that impressive bulge in his pants is a pair of lacy panties. You can almost feel the warmth of his cock radiating through the denim.

"Fuck, Liam," you hiss.

You can't start grinding onto him just yet, though, because he quickly reaches between you to adjust himself over his jeans. It's something so intimate and casual—something he has to do because of you—that it's devastatingly sexy. That alone is enough to make your cheeks and neck burn. But when his hand grips over the tented fabric and slides along his length, for a brief moment it sharpens the outline of his erection in his fist, and it sends heat racing between your thighs, leaving you aching. Your hips shift involuntarily at the sudden pressure.

“Better,” he sighs in relief. Then his hands squeeze around your waist to drag you down as his hips roll up to meet you, and you see stars.

Before you’ve even recovered, he draws you back in for another heated kiss. You're so fixated on his mouth, so ravenous for him, you don't notice when he blindly gropes between the seat and the door. So when the seat tilts back all the way without warning, you barely catch yourself with your hands at the last minute to stop from falling forward and smashing your face into his. The motion is such a jolt that you cry out in surprise against his lips. You feel his curl into a smile.

It doesn't last long. The new angle gives your hips the freedom of movement to slide over the full length of him, and the friction makes your arousal thrum with anticipation. His eyes roll shut with a groan.

While he’s distracted, you take a moment to appreciate him like this—the flutter of his eyelashes, his kiss swollen lips, and the way the rain dappled streetlight bathes over his flushed skin. When he opens his eyes again and catches you staring, his expression softens.

Your breath hitches at the sight. Christ, he’s so fucking handsome.

You suddenly realize you don't have to just look anymore. Despite the heat of this moment, you can finally satisfy the urge to run your fingers over his face. So, without hesitation, you reach out and touch his jaw again. Only this time, you don't stop. You gently map out all of his lines and wrinkles, relish the contrast in softness between his skin and beard, and trace along his lips—all while he stares up at you in half-lidded awe.

“God, you're amazing, love.” His voice is low and gravelly as he nuzzles up against your jaw. “The most amazing woman I’ve ever met in my life.”

Your eyes fall closed with a shiver, letting the vibrations of it wash over you, but you don't respond. How can you? What could you possibly say to that?

His thumb caresses over your cheek.

“Look at me,” he coaxes in a soft tone. You slowly open your eyes again to meet his. When you do, he gives you a gentle smile. “I mean it. I've wanted you from the moment you got into my cab.”

Oh.

“I want you, too, Liam,” you finally admit quietly, your own voice thick with emotion.

“I'm still trying to let that sink in.” He shakes his head. “That someone as incredible as you could want someone like me.”

“Of course I do. How could I not?” You sound defensive, but you can't help it. You feel that familiar need to make him see himself the way you do. “I think you're amazing, too.”

“Jesus.” He lets out a heavy sigh. Then he glances down between you, seemingly overwhelmed by your statement.

“Why do you think I kept calling you?” You chuckle breathlessly. “I’ve been making plans and finding any excuse I could just so I had a reason to see you and be in your cab. You had to have suspected I didn't actually need that many rides.”

“I hoped.” His eyes meet yours again and that intensity is back. The muscle in his jaw clenches, making your heart skip a beat. “God, did I hope.”

“It took me far too long to realize just how much.” You lean in to place a slightly heated kiss onto his lips. Then, in a husky voice, you add, “I should have done this ages ago.”

"I don't deserve this," he groans as his hand tightens with rekindling lust around your waist, “but I could never say no to you.”

"Don't I deserve it?" He sucks in a breath beneath you. You let the tip of your nose brush against his as you lower to a whisper. "No one's ever made me feel the way you do, Liam. So please…make me feel even better."

His arms engulf you to capture your lips, just as you start to move over him again.

You continue to kiss as you ride that bulge in his jeans, the stiffness and friction sending delicious sparks up through your core while desire pools between your legs. Every roll of your hips draws needy sounds from your throat and little grunts from his as he rocks up to meet you.

His hands never stop roaming. Up your thighs, a quick squeeze of your ass, and tracing the curve of your waist. Then flattening to drag across your back, stroking along your ribs, and teasing with uncertainty over the swell of your breasts before cupping your cheeks. He leaves flames in his wake.

Yours never stop either. You want to finally run your fingers through his hair. To feel the thickness of his neck and the way the tendons in his jaw flex as he kisses you before wandering lower. And god, those fucking polos do him no favors because underneath you can feel the hard muscle of his chest and shoulders. They've softened somewhat with age, especially at his belly, but it just makes him feel solid beneath you. Steady. Like something you could hold onto.

Every new part of him you touch only makes you want him more.

All of your heavy breathing is trapped inside the taxi, making the air feel thick with humidity. With nowhere to go, condensation is starting to gather on the windows and settle across any exposed skin. It's stifling. You have to keep reminding yourself that you're in a car to stop from ripping your dress off. A part of you still thinks it's a wonderful idea.

Another part reminds you that you don't need to take it off.

You break the kiss.

"I want you, Liam,” you lean in to whisper in his ear. “Right here. Right now."

He shudders with a groan. Then he gently guides you back by the shoulder so he can look into your face. “Right here? You're sure?”

You nod. “It's dark and I've waited long enough. I want you inside of me.”

“Fuck,” he whimpers, and his cock throbs beneath you. “I told you I could never say no to you.”

You gather the hem of your dress, pulling it back and out of the way so both of you can see the way you're pressed against his straining erection. Your need for him is liquid. It's been pouring from you. By now it's completely drenched your underwear, soaking them through. Only it didn't stop there because there's also a rather large damp spot on his jeans from all of your grinding. He groans helplessly again at the sight of it.

“See?” You purr down to him.

“Christ, love,” he chokes out. “Look at you.”

He grasps your bare thighs, kneading at your flesh before sliding them higher and making you shiver—until those large hands are framing your barely covered sex. He takes a second to admire you further through half-lidded eyes. Then he hooks a thumb into your panties and pulls them aside. When your arousal is exposed, a moan gets strangled in his throat, and his clothed hips buck towards you, desperate to bury himself in you already.

Your hands shoot to the fly of his jeans to fight with the button, eager to uncover him as well…just as a thumb brushes over your slit. Instead, your whole body jerks at the contact and you nearly collapse against him. Your grip goes slack.

His expression turns smug at your reaction. So he does it again—harder this time—and the tip of his thumb slips easily past your folds, making you cry out. Then he teases circles at your entrance, smearing through your slick, and you nearly sob into his shirt.

“You feel so good already.” He sounds distracted now, as though he's more focused on what he's doing than how you’re responding. He presses again, sinking until he's knuckle deep, and his lips part with a gasp, enthralled by the way his thumb vanishes inside of you. And, god, even the thickness of that leaves you breathless and writhing. Then he teases you some more at this depth, testing how your walls flutter greedily around him, before slowly drawing back out and dragging some of your fluids over your clit. Your hips pitch forward into his hand with a moan. “Can't wait to get my cock in you.”

“Please,” you beg. All of his teasing and petting has left you helpless, and your trembling fingers move uselessly over his fly, “I can't…”

That seems to get his attention.

He removes his hand and you whimper at the loss…until he takes over for you, making fast, if a bit fumbled, work of his button and zip. Then you're eager to have something even better buried inside of you. So you quickly make room for him as he lifts up and pushes his pants and underwear down to his knees.

When he settles, you finally get to have a look at what you’ve only felt up to this point, and the sight of him makes you feel weak. Because he’s sitting beneath you in his polo, and his hard cock is resting over the fabric still covering his belly.

He’s thick and uncut and twitching under your gaze, and you just know wrapping your hand around him would make you feel small by comparison. Your fingers itch to find out. You can also see a trail of hair disappearing under the hem of his shirt.

You're fighting with the urge to rip the offending piece of clothing up over his head to see just how far up it goes and whether or not it connects with that greying tuft of curls peeking out of the top when he wraps a hand around himself.

Your mind blanks.

You watch, dumbfound, as he begins stroking—working his length until the foreskin slides back to reveal the head, flushed and swollen and leaking in want of you.

The sudden stab of arousal in your core is dagger sharp, leaving you breathless.

“Fuck,” you rasp out, and it sounds as shaky as you feel, “I need you.”

His hand grasps at the base of his erection, keeping the foreskin drawn back and holding himself steady in invitation. When he meets your eyes, you see months of longing and need on his face. How he’s ached for this—would beg to have it if you asked.

You don't hesitate. You make sure your panties stay pulled to the side as you raise yourself to your knees. You wish you had taken them off, but you're far too impatient to stop now. How could you when he's right there, throbbing in his own fist and practically begging you to take him?

With one hand bunched in the fabric of your dress and one braced on his shoulder, you shift into position over him. His tip nudges against you, effortlessly gliding through your folds until he catches at your entrance. Exactly where you need him.

You lower onto him. There's a brief moment of resistance and adjustment at the unfamiliar angle. Then the head of his cock breeches your opening as you both let out twin gasps.

Slowly, you sink onto his length, your walls stretching around him as he fills you, inch by agonizing inch.

He makes it past the halfway point before his patience runs out. He grabs your hips, fingers and thumbs spearing into flesh, and pulls you the rest of the way down onto his cock.

The sound that leaves your mouth is almost as filthy as the one that leaves his.

He keeps you there, unmoving and fully sheathed while he twitches inside of you, and a sob of relief escapes his throat. His eyes are heavy lidded, those full lips are pouting and parted, and his brows are scrunched together in an expression akin to agony.

You're certain you’ll never forget the sight of him in that moment, undone by your cunt.

You drop the skirt of your dress so you can brace against his chest. The fabric falls back into place, hiding the evidence of where you're joined. It’s not unlike when you were just sitting in his lap, grinding over your clothes. Only this time you’re straddling his bare hips and stretched full of him.

You start to move.

The rain has stopped, but outside the drops still linger, glistening and clinging to every surface. Inside, the condensation is now fully coating the glass from your hot breath coming out in sharp pants as you ride his cock. It leaves the world beyond the cab opaque, only leaking through in the trails left by heavy beads of moisture.

He braces himself by planting his feet on the floor of the cab and leaning back against the headrest, using the pressure as extra leverage. Then he's lifting to meet your hips.

"I’ve dreamed of this," he moans as he ruts into you. He doesn't stop staring up into your face—taking in every expression and quiver and noise you make with those intense, blue eyes. His mouth falls open for a moment before he gasps out, “God, your cunt is so sweet.”

You’ve never felt so seen. Wanted. In that moment, you're so utterly sucked in by the gravity of him that you crash your lips against his, desperate to be closer.

His hands bite into your hips as he forces you to keep rocking onto him. You distantly realize the car is rocking with you—that anyone could see and know what's happening—but you can't bring yourself to care. Not when you have him whimpering and groaning into your mouth with his cock inside of you.

Everything about this is fast and messy, but the buildup alone has left both of you nearly frantic with need. You're not even sure how long you’ve been doing this. It's been hours since he kissed you. It's been minutes since he kissed you.

Your overworked thighs are burning, but you refuse to stop. Pressure is building and intensifying quickly inside your core, driving you on and beckoning you to keep moving until you find your release.

His grasp has gotten so tight that his fingers are nearly digging into bone, and he's no longer holding back every whimper or stutter that works its way to his throat. You know he's close, too.

A hand finds your thigh and disappears under the fabric of your dress. He clasps the bend of your hip, and then that thumb that drove you nearly mad earlier is rubbing circles over your clit. You're gutted by the sudden pleasure.

“Want you to come for me, love,” he murmurs up to you as he moves faster between your legs, his hips and thumb working together to destroy you. “Never wanted anything more.”

“Don't stop!” You gasp. You're trembling now. Your thighs are quivering against his hips and the movement has become hard to control, leaving your pace jerky and uneven as you rock over him. “Please!”

“Could never say no to you.” His voice is hoarse and strained as he struggles to hold himself back until you come undone first.

“Liam!” Your hands clutch at his shirt.

“That’s it. Let me see you.”

That last bit of friction is all you need to send warmth exploding through you, and then you’re coming on his cock. You throw your head back with a wail. It scrapes against the roof of the taxi, but you barely notice. Every part of you is consumed with that numbing relief. The way your stretched walls convulse around him. The sound that spills out of him.

If he wasn't holding you up and forcing you to keep moving out of desperation, you’d dissolve in his hands.

Every muscle in his body is taut, strained as he keeps driving into your still pulsing heat. There's ruin on his face when his hips begin to stutter beneath you. Then he slams you onto his cock with a moan and finally comes inside of you.

The throbbing warmth of it fills you with more than a physical gratification. Your heart skips a beat at the way he lethargically works through his orgasm, rocking deep within you. At how his face is now slackened with pleasure, that contentment only broken by the occasional hiss and a shudder from aftershocks—when the sensation of you becomes too much.

You could get addicted to this feeling.

Once both of you are spent and still, you sit there in his lap, gasping for air. His stomach rises and falls against yours while his thumb draws a mindless pattern near the bend in your hip. His touch is warm, even against the ambient heat of the taxi.

Sweat pools along your hairline and back and runs between your breasts. Your body is covered in it, and his skin is similarly glistening. As you’re watching, a drop rolls past the hollow of his throat before disappearing into that tantalizing mess of chest hair left uncovered by his undone top buttons. You wonder what it would be like to nuzzle into it and inhale the masculine scent of sweat and sex before dragging your tongue along his sternum to taste it.

“You okay?” He pants up at you, pulling you out of your daze.

You huff out a laugh as you nod. “Pretty fantastic, actually.”

“Yeah?” He smiles, still breathless.

“Yeah.”

You want to lay against him, snuggle your head under his chin, and stay like that for hours, relishing in this newfound connection. But now that the high is wearing off, you’re very aware you’ve just had sex in the driver's seat of a car. You didn't even move to the backseat or drive to a secluded parking lot! It's a position that’s not only quite public despite the opaque windows, but would require you to contort your body into an uncomfortable shape to do so. Which, regrettably, isn't very ideal for cuddling.

You hadn't been thinking that far ahead at the time.

You give him one last lingering kiss, reluctant to part from him, even as you know you have to at some point anyway. Then you lift yourself off of his lap while swallowing a whimper at both the loss and the surge of wetness between your legs now getting half caught in your askew underwear.

Climbing back into the passenger seat is a slow process because your legs are weak and wobbly, but he gives you a steady hand to lean into. One that engulfs your smaller hand as it wraps around you. You try not to imagine him holding you like this, fingers laced and palms kissing, or else you might not let go.

You both stop to laugh when you bump your head on the roof of the cab.

As you get settled and somewhat put back together, an awkward silence encompasses the taxi. It's not tense like when you got into the front seat. Rather, it's unsure in a different way. It's as if both of you want to say something, but you can't find the right words. Or maybe, without the haze of arousal, they don't come as easily despite the way they build and sit in the back of your throat.

Instead, you take a moment to survey the damage from your earlier fumbling. Thankfully, the takeout spill was minor with only a few of the noodles escaping the carton. He quickly picks them up, and you toss the containers back into the bag.

He rolls down the windows, letting the rain cooled air in to clear the fogged glass and the heavy musk of sex. It feels heavenly on your skin. You lean back in your seat, basking in the light breeze, the weightlessness in your chest, the burning in your thighs, and, most of all, the ache and damp between your legs.

You both still maintain that quiet the rest of the drive with only the low din of the radio in the background. None of the songs register, though, because your mind is too busy racing with thoughts of what happens next.

There's an unbidden hope blooming inside of you that this was more than just sex. You try to rein it in before it takes over and suffocates you with expectation because some part of you is still terrified you’ll end up heartbroken. But every time you glance over at him—take in the profile of his nose and lips, the strong curve of his jaw, the wisp of his eyelashes—you know it's far too late for that.

Instead, you sit there with your heart pounding, wishing you could read his mind and admiring the way the light dances across his face whenever you pass under a streetlight. You can tell when he catches you because he turns to give you a lopsided smile. One he used to shoot back at you in the reflection of his rearview mirror, and the full force of it makes your cheeks burn and your heart flutter before it's too much and you have to look away.

Each time that hope digs in a little more.

Eventually, he pulls the cab along the curb in front of your building. It's the same spot he’s parked in dozens of times, but it looks almost foreign now from the front seat. Or maybe it just feels that way because everything about this situation is so new.

He shuts off the engine, leaving the space in silence as he glances over at you.

This is where you usually part ways. Where you thank him for the ride and pay. Then you climb out, tell him you hope he has a lovely evening, and you leave.

None of that feels right, though. Not after what’s happened between you. More than that, you don't want to walk away as though nothing's changed. Because for you everything has.

So what do you do now? Do you thank him for the wonderful sex? Ask him to dinner? Do you kiss him goodnight and tell him you'll call him later? It's what you would do with anyone else, but with him it's not enough.

Now that you have him, you don't want to let go.

"Would you…" You trail off, suddenly timid. Even though your underwear and thighs are still smeared with this man's come, you know there's so much left unspoken between you. Things you want to give voice to so that the two of you can continue to move forward towards something more intimate and meaningful than car sex. However, doing so is another opportunity to get hurt if he doesn't feel the same way.

Except now you’ve opened your mouth and he's staring at you expectantly, waiting for you to continue. But more importantly: on his face you see that same look of hope reflected back at you.

He wants this, too.

Your anxiety evaporates.

"Would you like to come in?”

His smile is both relieved and tender. He nods.

That's how you end up in your bed with Liam on top of you, entrenched between your legs, cock buried inside of you, and taking you again.

It's different this time. Slower. While the fever and desperation are gone, there's a heavier need churning in their wake. Something between you that was left unsatisfied before.

Now you're wrapped up in each other—a calf tucked behind his knee, and your thigh gripping his hip where he's bent over you. One of his hands is stroking along your hair, and the other is squeezing your waist, holding you in place as his fingers dig divots into your flesh. Your own palms cradle his jaw, cupping him like water to your parched lips.

Through it all, his forehead is pressed to yours, and he gazes down into your eyes from beneath hungry lids. Even if you wanted to, you can't look away from that blue. You're held there, pinned to the bed from the weight of it because even the physical weight of him is nothing compared to the longing you see in those depths.

In the taxi, your closeness was a given. It was overwhelming in the small space, thick like the humidity of your breath, hanging in the air and pressing back in on you. Now it's suffocating in a different way. In the openness of your bedroom, it clings to you. Needy. Touch starved. Terrified that one of you will vanish at the slightest give.

The two of you are so close, you can feel his heavy breath on your face. You can hear the voiceless sounds he makes whenever he buries himself inside of you at just the right angle, each one right there and so loud in the silence.

It's different in that way, too: Neither of you has said a word since you took his hand and stumbled to your bedroom. No pleas or praise. Not when you tore each other's clothes off and finally saw what was waiting for you underneath—the hard panes and curves of him, tan lines and hair, a freckle on his chest, the way his cock hangs thick between his thighs and twitches in your hand. Not even when his fingers dragged over your still wet folds with a groan. Instead, your voices are replaced with sighs and moans and each slick press into your heat.

You don't think you could speak anyway.

He’s fucking you completely breathless. Not from the effort. Not from the way his core flexes and his back rounds every time he thrusts into you. Each steady plunge, a slide and drag of bodies—his chest hair across your nipples, his stomach against yours, his groin grinding into your clit in a maddening friction. No, it's the unmasked passion of it that leaves your heart pounding and your breath caught in your throat.

He fucks you like he watches you: with a sense of reverence. Like he can't believe he has the privilege.

Maybe fuck isn't the right word, then. Because the way his hand moves to cradle the back of your head, thumb grazing behind your ear, feels more like an act of worship than your desperate coupling in the driver's seat of his cab, takeout spilled across the center console.

You've never had sex like this before. Not even with the few people you've whispered I love yous to. The word for it hovers, nameless and heady in the inch of space between you. He breathes it out over your skin, and then you catch it and inhale it into your lungs. As it passes your lips, you can taste it on the tip of your tongue.

You're so close to figuring it out when he angles your head to the side, baring your neck to him and nuzzling his face into the exposed flesh, and your thoughts evaporate. He takes a moment to nose over your pulse, inhaling your scent and warmth with a moan. Then, finally, he’s placing hungry, open mouthed kisses along the column of your throat. It feels so much like he's trying to devour you, that you brace for a sinking of teeth which never comes.

Instead, the scratch of his beard sends a shiver through you, leaving you quivering and covered in goosebumps beneath him. It's too much—sensation, tension, emotion.

It's not enough.

You roll your hips to meet his rhythm, and he lets out a ragged groan—pain and pleasure spilling from his chest. His next plunge is deeper. Harder. Something sparks inside of you.

“Liam,” you gasp, breaking the silence.

Then he’s kissing you, his tongue chasing the sound of his own name into the wet heat of your mouth. So you offer it to him again, a plea for more.

He relents.

He grabs one of your legs and bends it towards your chest, folding you and opening you further to him. This new angle completely traps your clit in the friction of his thrusts.

You grasp at anything you can reach to ground yourself against the onslaught. One of your hands fists your sheet, bunching the fabric in a tight knuckled grip. The other curls through the trimmed hair at the base of his skull. But there isn't enough there to hold onto, and your fingers claw uselessly at his scalp.

The effect it has on him is immediate.

Your nails drag a moan and a full bodied shudder from him. Suddenly his pace becomes urgent, each thrust now punctuated by the joining of skin on skin and a slight shifting along the mattress.

You can feel how close he is from the way he’s tensing against the pleasure building inside of him. From the way he whimpers and clutches back at you, trying to hold on as well. To keep this going just a little longer.

Knowing that his loss of control, that sense of desperation, is because of you, sends you reeling. It isn't long before your legs are quaking against him and your chest is stuttering from your shallow gasps. Every rock of his hips coaxes you further from your control. You can feel your grasp of it slipping, pulling you off balance as you sink deeper into him.

You arch off the mattress—bending as if drawn to him—while every muscle in your body is locked in that moment between tension and release. Then one more moan from him as he rubs against your clit, and you finally break.

Your orgasm shatters white hot at your core, splintering up to churn in your gut and burn through your chest, before resonating outward along every one of your nerve endings, only to recede and start all over again.

As you come, the only thought in your lust fogged brain is him on top of you. Inside of you. The grip he has on your waist. So when your mouth falls open to suck air into your strangled lungs, on the exhale his name spills from your lips.

He looks wrecked by the sound. He buries himself into your fluttering cunt, needing to feel how your walls tighten and clench around him. You protest the sudden loss of friction before your body instinctively seeks it out. You mindlessly grind your hips up against him, riding out the last of your orgasm on his cock until he can't take it anymore.

He grabs you and fucks you, just as mindlessly grunting and rutting into you as he chases his own release. He stares down between you to where his body is joined with yours, watching the way his cock disappears into your folds, his expression stern with concentration. Under the light of the street lamp leaking through your window, sweat glistens on his forehead.

A deep rumble starts in his chest, something half caught between a growl and a whine. His pace quickly becomes erratic, and every time his hips meet yours, you can feel the way he's trembling. You know he's moments from letting go.

You bring your fingers to his chin and force his attention up until his eyes find yours. And god they're so blue, even unfocused in the dim streetlight. Though you're still dazed, you’ve never seen something so beautiful.

“Look at me, Liam,” you breathe out. “I want to see you.”

That's all it takes. His face crumples in agony, and he comes with a sob of relief. He manages a few final thrusts, shuddering and panting his way through each one, until he's finally spent. All the while, his cock twitches and throbs as he fills you for a second time.

You’ve done this once already tonight, but it was different then. The distance was still there while you untangled yourself from his lap, climbed back into the passenger seat, and adjusted your dress. In the way he quietly righted the container of noodles as you struggled to find the words to fill the silence.

This time you don't part.

Instead, he settles in close, pulls you to him, and lays his head on your shoulder with a sigh. In return, you kiss his hair, taking a moment to savor the scent of him—sweat and shampoo and lingering cigarette smoke—and the softness of the thick waves over your lips, before resting your cheek on the crown of his head.

There's nothing between you now. No car seat, no clothes, no more distance.

This is what was missing before in the taxi. This is what you both wanted—what you should have had instead—because this is so easy. As easy as laughter or smiles shared in his rearview mirror.

And it all feels so right. Even though you’ve made yourself vulnerable in his arms, the way he holds you and caresses your palm with his fingertips keeps any further uncertainty or doubt about what this is between you at bay. You know what this is.

You’ve spent months falling for this man, bit by bit. Every time you called him for a ride. Every glance, every simple gesture, every time he made you laugh or lean forward in your seat to find some way to be closer to him. It all sucked you in a little more each time, pulled you into depths you couldn't fathom—more than a crush or attraction or something as simple as affection—and it took you far too long to notice. Now your eyes and your chest burn with the realization.

As if he can sense what you're thinking, he pulls back to place a trail of feather light kisses along the side of your face. You close your eyes, letting the tenderness of it wash over you.

“Stay.” The wave of emotion chokes your voice to a whisper. It's a plea. A hope.

“There's nowhere I'd rather be, love,” he whispers back against your temple. Then he hugs you tight, and there's nowhere you’d rather be either than there in his arms, lulled to sleep by his steady heartbeat and his even breaths across your skin.

It's when he thinks you're asleep that Liam untangles himself, and then sneaks out of your bed and steps into the hallway, carefully shutting the door behind him.

At first you think he's gone to use the bathroom and doesn't want to wake you. Which is sweet! In fact, you're smiling over just how sweet and considerate he is—how content and blissful he’s made you feel—when you hear his voice from down the hall.

It sounds as if he's having a hushed conversation with someone, but that's impossible. There's no one else here. Is he talking to himself then?

You’ve never heard his voice sound like this before, either. He’s frustrated. Annoyed, almost. Nothing like the man that smiles at you from the front seat and asks about your day.

You nearly sit up and call out to him in confusion when—Oh. Wait. No. He’s on the phone, you realize.

At nearly half one in the morning.

He's being quiet enough that, if you were asleep, you probably would have slept through it. On top of that, his words are muffled by the door. So, even though you strain to listen, you don't catch everything he says.

You still hear plenty.

He makes up a story about driving someone…somewhere outside of the city. A request he couldn't say no to, apparently, but you miss his explanation as to why. It's not a big deal, he insists. It's not.

At the end of the call, he says he'll be home in the morning. That you catch.

Then silence falls over you once again.

None of that is true. Obviously. He’s standing naked in your hall, and he’s going to spend the night in your bed, decidedly not driving anywhere.

Which means he was lying on the phone.

You quickly piece together that means he lied to you, too. And the only reason he would have to lie at all, to keep you a secret, is if he isn't actually single. Which also means—

He made you the other woman.

Suddenly, the way he struggled with all of this makes perfect, horrible sense. It was never about you. He always wanted you. It was about his decision to say yes, to give in to what he wanted, despite the consequences and what it would mean.

You're still letting that sink in when he slips back into the room, and you have no idea what to do about it. You need a minute to fucking think. So you try to appear exactly as he left you: undisturbed, curled on your side, and facing the wall. Asleep.

On the inside, however, your heart is breaking.

It happens slowly. At first you're so numb from the shock, and the ache in your chest is so sharp, that the pain takes a moment to register. Like slicing your palm open with a knife and waiting for the wound to bleed. When it finally does, the agony leaves you breathless. You can feel it twisting in your gut, searing through your fingers, and clawing its way up your throat until you're choking on it. Your eyes sting from the pain.

Through it all, you focus on keeping your breathing deep and even to calm your frantic nerves and the trembling of your bottom lip.

He crawls quietly back into bed behind you, clearly believing you're still asleep and trying not to wake you. You try not to stiffen in response.

You're not even sure why you're faking anymore. Perhaps you're still working to get over the shock from the hurt and betrayal. Maybe you want to believe you misunderstood the conversation, even though you know you didn't. Or maybe you’re still trying to figure out what to even say to him.

He lied to you.

Worse, you thought you found something real and lasting with a man that made you smile and feel special—one you felt a connection to. In retrospect, you should have known it was too good to be true, but you wanted it to be. You wanted that so badly. Wanted him.

You feel like such an idiot.

What was this, then? Did he just use you for sex? Were all of those glances and smiles over the course of months faked just for this? How could he have faked even a moment of what you just experienced? The way he looked into your eyes as he… God, even remembering it causes your heart to flutter and heat to pool in your stomach, despite your emotional anguish. You swallow down a sob.

Instead of tucking back into bed, though, he sits there and watches you sleep. You can feel his heavy gaze on the side of your face and the way it lingers before trailing down the outline of your body under the blanket, oblivious to your inner grief or how you lay there bleeding. It lasts several long minutes—longer than you would have thought was possible to watch someone sleep. But it's as if he’s content at the sight of you.

Just when you're finally ready to open your eyes and confront him, to demand the truth, his hand reaches out to stroke over your temple and your cheek. His touch is delicate. He’s still being careful not to wake you as his fingertips ghost across your skin. Then he sighs and it sounds like your name. You didn't think a single breath could carry so much awe and longing.

You didn't think your name could ever sound like that.

He continues to explore and caress you further, gently mapping out the curve of your jaw and the shell of your ear…all while he thinks you're still sleeping. When you couldn't possibly know what he's doing and there's no need for a performance.

Which means he's doing it because he wants to touch you like this.

And every second of it is far more gentle than his voice was the entire time he was on the phone. The voice he didn't say “I love you” in before he hung up, you realize. You're not sure what it means, but it feels important to note.

Because maybe…maybe he wasn't faking anything. Not about how he feels, at least. Not about you.

As your thoughts race, you realize he never actually said he was single either, just that he couldn't get a date to the play or would have to go alone. Sure, the implication was there, and it was a fair assumption to make, but he never said the words out loud. You also wonder what else that means for the state of his relationship, and whether or not it makes any difference. Assuming he was telling the truth at all. Though something about the way he said it makes you believe that part, at least, wasn't a lie.

What are you doing? You know your mental gymnastics and excuses are pathetic. You should have some self respect! Hell, you should kick him out of your apartment and your life for what he's done! But…you just can't bring yourself to do it.

Despite everything, you're still caught in the gravity of him.

Finally, he lays down in the bed and wraps an arm around you, curling himself against your back. His hand splays across your belly, keeping you held to him as he scoots in closer. He's warm and solid, and you can't help but melt into him, skin on skin, as he snuggles into your neck. You love the way his nose instinctively finds all of the sensitive spots that make you gasp, as if he's done this before. As if he knows you.

You fit together perfectly.

You want to stay there, surrounded by him—to let him alleviate the pain he’s caused you and fall asleep for real. Instead, you roll over in his arms.

Your eyes are open now so you can look at him. After all of this, you need to see him in this new light and face the truth of him. You have to know if you can.

When your eyes meet his, there's an expression of yearning and hope on his face that's so profound, your heart aches again, but for a much different reason.

He’s looking at you as though he's a damned man and you're his salvation.

“Sorry if I woke you, love,” he whispers. He cups your jaw in his hand, and his thumb soothes over your cheek in apology.

It's not the apology you need. Not yet. You’ll get that in the morning. Then, afterwards, you’ll have the talk about where you go from here and how he's going to fix this.

Because, as he leans forward to kiss your forehead, his contented sigh warm on your skin, you realize you’ve already made a decision.

“It's okay, Liam,” you reply in a whisper. “I don't care, just as long as you come back to me.”

A/N: I left the play vague for Reader Insert/Choose Your Own Adventure purposes, but the one I had in mind for ME, because it's my absolute favorite, is The Importance of Being Earnest by Oscar Wilde (it was actually, in a strange way, also one of my inspirations while writing this). Which is about a man that leads a double life and pretends to be someone he isn't, only to discover at the end of the play that he essentially IS the man he's been pretending to be and has been all along without knowing. There are parts of Liam that are real and earnest, he just doesn't believe they're enough. He despises his life and the man he's become so much, is so desperate to escape them, that he can't imagine anyone else not feeling the same way about the real him. Except, in this story with this slightly different version of Liam (who's been removed from the events of the episode), that connection IS real. He never needed to lie to get Reader to laugh and fall for him or see a glimmer of the real him. But Liam is a sad, wet, desperate little shit of a man and does anyway. (He’s lucky he's hot.) Fingers crossed that he, too, learns the vital importance of being earnest. Also Earnest's eyes are blue. 😌

#liam black #liam black x reader #liam black x f!reader #x reader #the fear has gripped me but here i go fic #the accused #the accused (bbc)#andy serkis #fanfiction

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tarabyte3 · 2 months ago

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I am still reeling from this. My fics are in a physical book that I own. I frequently pick it up off my coffee table and flip through it, to feel it in my hands, just because I can. I cannot tell you how honored I am to have been included in such a beautiful labor of love and work of art (because you're so damn talented, Jess, that's exactly what it is!!! Like look at it!! 🥺😍) with so many incredible writers. Or how much it means to me to even have something like this at all. It's a gift without compare. Just thinking about it makes me weepy like a hysterical Victorian woman longing for the sea.

Thank you again for all the hard work and time and creativity and brilliance and love that you put into this project. 💖 I cannot wrap my mind around the enormity of it (like just the steps you list blow my mind). I will forever be in awe of you, and this is now one of my most cherished possessions.

I think it's important to share something you're proud of (especially when your friends are the reason that you're so proud of it!), so - ta-da!! this is the hard work of some very beloved mutuals (along with several months of personal trial and error). every single one of these stories are a comfort fic for me, and they so kindly allowed me to make an anthology of their works!

the anthology contains 14 stories (348 pages and 111k words!!!! 💖), which were then designed/typeset/hand-bound by myself from start to finish (with permission, and individual copies mailed out to them as keepsakes).

it is so exciting to have a physical copy of some of my very favorite fics, made by such wonderful people! 💕 And I can’t wait to learn more and grow with this hobby!

#EVERYONE LOOK AT THIS #it's so beautiful 😭#my friends are so talented #tnbf #jess #fic binding #fanfiction #the fear has gripped me but here i go fic #wants needs and clerical errors fic #i still cannot believe this #i'm gonna throw up #MY EMOTIONS #kino loy #liam black

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lillypad910 · 1 month ago

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Such a Good Girl

Dom! Eddie Munson x Sub! Girly! Reader

Warnings: (not pre-read well, apologize for some errors, I wrote his half awake) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! smut, fingering, oral (f & m receiving), piv, unprotected sex (wrap before you tap), bit of fluff, reader is an "innocent" slut (I'm not sorry about it), pet names (Bunny, Baby), Kinks (breeding, sub/dom relationship, reader has a pile of stuffed animal that he literally fucks her on, have fun lol)

Summary: Eddie sneaks into your window to find you getting ready for bed. But he was other plans for your evening.

A/n: I wrote this half asleep and it is pure filth. I haven't written smut in a HOT minute and this was me kind of getting a practice run to write the smut for a later fic with a certain character reader I fear people are BEGGING from this blog. Enjoy!

If you wanna be tagged when I post ask or comment telling me so!

All Pics from Pinterest!

Eddie parks his car down the road, not wanting to alarm your parents with his van sitting outside. He walks all the way up to your house, jumping your white picket fence and making his way towards the backyard. He knows which window is yours, having snuck in a few times before. He climbs up the lattice on the side of the brick wall of your house, making his way up to your window. He places his feet firmly on the roof that sticks out, looking into your window.

There you are, his beautiful sweet girl, brushing your hair at your vanity. Your cute flowy nightgown makes you look like you stepped right out of a 1960’s magazine. Your window is open a bit, letting in the cool air of the night.

He knocks on the glass, startling you a bit and almost making your drop your hair brush. You turn and immediately smile at him. You walk over and open the window more, letting the rocker inside. “Hi, Eddie.” You giggle as he stumbles in, nearly tripping over your lace curtains. “Hi, sweetheart.” He straightens himself out before closing the window, “you look cute.” Your cheeks flush a bit at the compliment. You aren’t used to compliments yet, but Eddie is determined to make sure you know your worth.

“I’m sorry for coming so late, were you about to go to bed?” He asks, glancing over at the pink comforter with multiple stuffed animals on it. You shake your head, climbing onto the bed and grabbing one of the plushies, holding them close to your heart. It was one he got you, a little bunny with big floppy ears, Mr Flospy is what you named him.

Eddie sits on the edge of the bed, reaching over and pushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I don’t wanna keep you up, Princess, you need your beauty sleep.” You look up at him, your eyes glistening a bit in the light from your bedside lamp. “But you just got here…” Eddie smiles and holds out his arms, and you immediately tackle him in a hug, Mr Flopsy still in your arms. “I don’t want you to go, please stay.” You nuzzle your nose into his neck, and he hums, enjoying the feeling. “Bunny,” the nickname earns a whimper from you, it’s your favorite, “you said you want me to stay?” He clarifies, leaning you back into your stuffies. You nod, holding Mr Flopsy to your chest.

“Bunny,” Eddie leans over you and kisses your forehead, “have you been a good girl?” You nod again, your thighs pressing together. “Use your words, sweetheart.” “Y-Yes… I’ve been a good girl…!” Eddie loves these moments, your cheeks flushed and beautiful eyes blown. “Hmm,” he leans down and kisses your soft pink lips, he can tell you have on a cherry chapstick. He kisses you a few times, earning little whimpers from you, before moving down your jaw and neck.

“E-Eddie…” you grip at his vest, legs already getting shaky and he hasn’t even done anything other than kiss you. “Bunny, relax, you’re working yourself up.” He runs his palms over your thighs, securing his hips in between them. “Such a pretty girl,” he nibbles a bit at your collarbone, earning a gasp from you, “Quiet, sweetheart, don’t want your parents hearing their little girl being a total slut, do you?” You glance away from him, the blush on your cheeks expanding out to your ears. He knows what you like, what you need.

He lifts your nightgown a little rubbing his ringed fingers over your panties. You grip his arm, not wanting him to pull away. His fingers dip under the fabric, beginning to rub circles over your clit. You swear he can do what ever he wants to you, you’d obey everything he told you to do gladly if this was the reward.

Eddie sighs into you ear, watching you twitch at the attention he’s giving your most sensitive place. His hot breath on your skin makes you shiver, along with the soft but firm circles his fingers dance over your clit. You feel your breath catch, a knot already forming in your stomach. “E-Eddie…”

“God, you’re so easy…” Eddie moves his hand a little lower into your underwear, slowly inserting two fingers in see to you. You grip his arm tighter, a soft gasp leaving your lips that makes him smirk. “What? What is it, Baby…? Fuck, are you drooling?” He places his free hand under your chin and whips away the bit of saliva that leaks from the corner of your mouth, watching you begin to pant a bit just from his fingers curling inside you.

You moan, your hand smacking against your mouth to muffle it. Eddie only smiles wider at this, removing his hand from your underwear, getting you to pout. He’s quick to remove the garment, sliding it down your legs then dropping it over the side of your bed. He places his hands on your thighs, spreading your legs so he can see all of you.

“Fuck, Bunny, you’re dripping.” He lowers himself down, leaving soft kisses down on your abdomen. “So needy,” he kisses lower and lower, before leaving one right on your clit, earning another moan from you.

You reach down and tangle your fingers in his hair as he finally places his mouth to your cunt. God the feeling…

“E-Eddie…!” One hand moves to shove two fingers back inside you as his tongue laps around. He’s learned your body, what you like, and how to work it.

He buries his head into your cunt, sucking on your clit as his fingers pump inside you. You wreath at the feeling, lifting your hips off your bed from the pleasure. He takes this as encouragement, wrapping his other arm under you and moving his fingers faster.

It doesn’t take long before you’re shaking, oozing all over his face. He pulls away and pushes your legs up as he gets closer once more, pressing his clothed crotch to your soaked cunt.

“Fuck, you feel that, Bunny?” Of course you do, his large, hard cock fighting to get out of his pants as he grinds against you. “Do you want me to fuck you?” His question is rhetorical but you still answer anyways. “Please… E-Eddie, please…”

He unbuttons his pants, yanking them down and tossing them away, then the same with his boxers. His cock springs free, earning a soft gasp from you.

God, it looks so good…

“You’re drooling again, Bunny.” But this time he doesn’t wipe away the spit, instead he pulls away from you all together. “Do you wanna suck it?”

You don’t even hesitate as you push yourself out of the pile of stuffed animals, crawling onto your stomach in front of him. You grab his cock, immediately shoving your face into his crotch. He groans as you lick up his shaft, your nose taking in the musky scent. “That’s it, Bunny.”

You take the tip of his dick in your mouth, not wanting to wait anymore. You have to open your mouth a bit wider to fit him, but you love to do so. Eddie combs his fingers into your hair before gripping a chunk, “come on, Bunny, you can do better than that.” He slowly pushes your head down, which you happily take.

Before long your nose is brushing into his hair, his cock deep in your throat as it twitches. You’re drooling so much. You moan, sucking his cock as you hollow your cheeks. You move your tongue skillfully, just like he trained you.

“You’re doing so good, Bunny. Just like that. Such a good girl.” He moved his hips back before thrusting forward, earning a throaty moan from you. You try not to gag, angling yourself just right to where he’s not agitating it.

He thrusts into your mouth again, making your thighs press together. You begin to bob your head with his thrusts, pairing it perfectly so that when he slams back in, you push your head against him too. He gets a bit rough, beginning to thrust faster and harder until you can control the angle anymore. You gag, but don’t pull away, honestly you can’t. His hand holds your head down as he uses your throat like a toy.

And then he yanks you off, your throat sore as you try to catch your breath. He shoves you back into your stuffed animals, before grabbing your legs and lifting them up to your head. You blush, embarrassed at this position. But you don’t have long to think about it before he’s climbing on top of you and rubbing his dick along you.

“Eds…” you moan out as you feel his tip press to your cunt. He wraps his arms around you, locking you in place, before thrusting his hips forward, his cock going deep inside you.

You gasp, your mind blanking as he begins to thrust hard and faster, using your cunt for his own pleasure. You moan, your bed squeaking as you take his cock. “Look at you, taking my cock so well.” He mumbles into your ear.

You pant as you feel him twitch inside you, your cunt already becoming sore from the abusive thrusts. But you don’t care, how could you? Your pussy is being used for what it was made for.

You cum hard on his cock, squeezing around him until you see stars but he doesn’t stop. If anything he’s thrusting harder, pounding you in as you become a panting, moaning mess.

He’s fucking you stupid.

“Such a good girl, taking my dick so deep.” His cock pistons in and out of you, your mind foggy as you just take it. You have to be good and just take it, or you won’t get your reward.

He groans as his thrusts get sloppy, hitting certain angles that’s has you wreathing. “Eddie!”

He’s quick to silence you, one hand quickly wrapping around your throat and giving a good solid squeeze that has you coming undone on his cock again. “I’m gonna fucking breed you.” He groans into your ear. “Gonna fill you up just how you want, fuck you full.”

You’re gasping for air as you cum on his cock again, but this time, he thrusts a few more times before he finally thrusts deep inside you one last time. You feel the warmth of his cum gush inside you, moaning at the feeling. You need him, you need him to fucking ruin you. Imagine what people would say if he got you pregnant? Your family would be furious…

You hope he did.

You both sit there for a while, basking in the post sex glow. He’s collapsed on top of you, pinning you still to your bed. You don’t mind, your arms wrapped around him as his cock is still buried inside you.

He kisses you lovingly, smothering you in them as you giggle. “You’re so pretty,” his voice is horse, but you understand him well enough.

You snuggle into his neck, still a bit dazed. “I love you.” The words slip out so effortlessly, but of course they do. It’s Eddie.

“I love you,” he smiles into your hair, nuzzling into the strands.

Then you hear a door down the hall open. The hall light flicks on. Eddie scurries off you, grabbing his clothes off the floor and hiding behind the door. You wobbly get up from the bed, but you don’t have time to put on your underwear before a knock comes from your door.

“Sweetie? You alright?” Your dad calls from the other side. You take a deep breath, straightening your 60’s nightgown so it’s just covering you. You open the door just enough to pop your head out. “Yes, Dad?” You smile at the older man, trying to put on this innocent look.

“Are you alright?” He goes to lift his hand, placing it against your forehead, “You feel warm, are you catching a fever?” “Oh, no, I…” you try to think of something quick, “I just had a nightmare. Sorry if I woke you.”

You feel Eddie’s cum starting to drip out of your used cunt, and you try to press your legs together a bit to stop it.

“Are you sure? Do you need some water?” He looks over your face once more. “No, no, really, I’m good. Go back to bed, Dad. I’ll see you in the morning.” You give him a smile and he nods before walking off again. You shut your door slowly, hearing it click into the hold.

“Well,” Eddie comes up behind you and wraps his arms around you, “You need to be more quiet next time.” You go to turn around but he stops you, holding you in place in front of him. “Oh, Bunny,” he trails his hand down your front, “you’re letting too much out, we can’t have that.”

Oh tonight’s on a be a long night.

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#stranger things #eddie munson #x reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x fem!reader fluff #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson smut #x girly girl! reader #Eddie munson x reader smut #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader smut

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peachesofteal · 5 months ago

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Through Me (The Flood) - secret baby fic Simon Riley / female reader - warnings: panic attack, PPD

"Does tomorrow morning work? I'll be heading to base immediately after. Want to make sure I have enough time to say goodbye."

"Yeah, we'll see you then."

Simon goes to bed early that night.

He's good at clearing his mind and willing himself to sleep, hovering just barely there on the surface, never dipping too deep, and has done it for years. It enables his ability to rest in even some of the most uncomfortable circumstances (and that includes Johnny's snoring). It's compartmentalizing at it's finest, something he's tried to impress upon the sergeants too, over time.

Learn how to do this. It may save your life.

The pendulum swing keeps him somewhat aware, connected to a very small piece still tethered to the conscious world.

It's how he hears his phone ring at twenty hundred.

The caller ID flashes your name and he picks up immediately, sitting straight up. "Hey-"

"Hi, um..." You're crying. He flips himself out of bed, already partially dress, and manages to locate his shoes in a millisecond.

"What's wrong?"

"Can you... can you c-come- take the baby for a little while?" Your exhale whistles through the phone sharply. "P-please. I know you- you're leaving tomorrow but I-"

"It's alright, I'm on my way. I'll be there in a minute. Are you okay?"

"I- I... don't know wh-what to do." You're hyperventilating, caught in the grip of something, scared and alone. The sidewalk stretches for miles, his lungs burning as the oxygen stays trapped in his chest from the weight of his fear, and the line goes quiet, call ending as he makes it to the lobby of your building and up the stairs.

The copy of your key he never returned gets him inside, and the first thing he notices, or realizes, is Orion's screaming. He calls your name, yells it, beelining for the nursery where the baby lays on his back, hands and feet wriggling wildly in the air, tears coursing down his cheeks as he wails. "Alright, Ry, alright. C'mere, I've got you." You're not in here, not anywhere in sight, and his stomach flips.

You have to be here. He just talked to you.

But you wouldn't know how to signal him if something was really wrong, would you? He didn't prepare you. If something happened, how would you tell him?

He tucks Orion into his arms, cradles him to his chest, and bounces him gently. "Hey, you're okay, you're okay. What's all this crying about, hmm? What is it? Where's your mama?" The crying gentles, barely, and Simon holds him at a distance, quickly, checking him over. He's not overheated, he doesn't seem to be hurt, he's freshly bathed and in a clean onesie. His nappy is new and doesn't need to be changed. "Mama took good care of you, huh? You're all clean, fresh nappy, ready for bed, aren't you bub? Yeah." Simon paces in a circle, trying to settle his cries, before lowering him back into the crib. "You stay right here, little man, alright? Close your eyes. Daddy's gonna find mama and he'll be right back."

You're not in the living room, and he finds your bedroom dark when he opens the door. For a very brief moment, his panic blooms into paralyzation, before he spots the light from your bathroom.

His heart breaks when he opens the door.

You're on the floor, back against the vanity, sobbing with your palms covering your ears. You look like you haven't showered in days, and your light blue t shirt is soaked, slicked to your breasts and belly.

There's no distance between the two of you in this moment, no barriers, no time, no need for space. He kneels, and you look up, tearful eyes telling him all he needs to know. "I'm here, mama. I've got you."

You go into his arms willingly, diaphragm heaving with tiny hiccups and sobs, unable to catch your breath. Your entire body shakes, and wraps himself around you, holding you tight where you've buried your face in his chest. "I- I'm s-sorry." You're hoarse, voice cracked and broken. "He w-won't stop."

"Shhh, don't worry about that right now, just take a deep breath." You shake your head.

"I can't."

"Yes you can." You're frozen, panicked, and he smoothes his hand over your head. "You can do it, honey. Try f'me." The baby is still crying, and with the bathroom door slightly ajar, it bounces off the tile, all around you. Simon grimaces.

He's fine, he's safe. He's in his crib.

Simon shuts the door.

"Breathe with me, alright?" he maneuvers you so that you're in his arms, laying on his chest, face tipped back to his. "Just follow me," he pulls the hand that's gripping onto his forearm like rebar away and places it over his heart, "like this." You try and try to sync your breathing with his, and once you finally get there, evening out slowly, he kisses your hair. "There you go, good girl."

Simon keeps you close, happy to hold you, even if it was in these circumstances. It's so selfish, so wrong, but he can't find it in himself to let you go, waiting long past the point when you've calmed down to finally speak again. "Can you tell me what happened?"

"He... he wouldn't stop crying. For hours and I... I tried everything, but I felt like I couldn't breathe and I felt... dizzy, and when I went to feed him he didn't want me and I was crying too, but I felt so- so mad at the same time, and I didn't know what to do so I j-just put him in his crib and came in here and c-called you. I don't kn-know what I did wrong-" your breathing slips into shallow territory again, and he rubs your back.

"You didn't do anything wrong. He's okay, he's safe. He's even got a fresh nappy on. You made sure you took care of him, which is all you need to do, okay?"

"I feel awful," you whisper, drenched in shame, "he needs to eat, and I just- I abandoned him."

"No, you did the right thing and took a break. There's nothing wrong with taking a break." You sniffle, pulling the sopping shirt away from your body, shivering with discomfort. "Do you want to try again? See if it goes any better?" You give him a frightened look, unsure and nervous. "I'll be right here with you."

"Okay."

"Let's go see your mama." Orion has worked himself into a state, and it tears Simon to pieces, guilt about leaving him in here ripping through his heart.

He feels responsible. He is responsible, at the end of the day. If he had been upfront with you from the beginning, this might have never happened. He would have been here. You would have the support you need.

He was supposed to take care of you, but all he did was make it worse.

He kisses Orion gently. It helps quell the anxiety growing like a plague inside him, worry and fear about leaving you on your own for weeks, or more, chipping away at his resolve. He tells himself you'll be okay, that you did it on your own before he came along, and that you can do it again, but the admission of another dizzy spell doesn't make him feel any better in the long run.

"Don't worry, she's okay now. She loves you so much, you know that? She takes such good care of you, all the time. Even when she doesn't feel good, doesn't she?" He doesn't turn the lights on to your bedroom, and finds you on the bed, sitting up, wet shirt discarded on the floor. He doesn't rush it, doesn't push you, even though the baby cries at the top of his lungs in Simon's arms.

Finally, you hold your hands out. He helps get Orion settled, stroking his cheek over and over until he starts to instinctually seek you out, latching after a few long minutes.

Your eyes slip closed at the silence and you lean to the side, nestling into Simon's chest.

He holds you. You hold his baby.

How it was always meant to be.

He whispers above your ear, working his fingers into the knots of your neck, your shoulders. "You're doing great, mama." You hum but stay quiet, head down, fingers stroking over Ry's cheek, again and again.

"Thank you... for being here. I know things are complicated but it means a lot that you would come. I'm sorry I freaked out, about your job. I just... it's a lot to take in. I don't really know how to feel. I need some time." That's good, he thinks. Better than last week, when you asked him to leave with tears in your eyes. There's hope. He can fix this.

"You can have all the time you want sweetheart, but... I need to ask you a favor." Orion's body full relaxes, little fist clenched in the swell of your breast falling away, and you sigh.

"What is it?"

"When I'm away... I can turn my phone on every now and then, in specific places. D'you think you could send me some pictures? Or maybe I could call, when I'm able?"

"Of course."

He stays most of the night, until the sun comes up. Gets Ry back down, stands watch while you're in shower, helps you get settled in bed. There's a special place in his heart for you when you're soft and sweet and sleepy, a tiny kitten, curling up in the palm of his hand, purring. His moon. His everything.

"You be good for your mama, okay? I expect a good report when I get home. And try not to grow too much, alright little man?" He kisses his head, holding it there, walking around in the kitchen with Ry in his arms. "I love you, Orion. You and your mama. I'll be home real soon."

You turn the corner, something clenched in your hands, what, he can't tell, and you smile sadly. "I uh... I have something for you." He cocks, his head, shifting the baby to one arm, and you hold your fist out. "It's kind of dumb, honestly, but I thought you might... I don't know. I thought you might like it. I made it myself." It's a small fabric square, embroidered with a constellation, Orion's, he recognizes now, and a compass. "It's so you can always find it in the night sky. If you're in the northern hemisphere it should be south west, and if you're in the southern, it's in the north west. I didn't know like, what you could take with you but I figured this is small enough..." You look embarrassed, and all he wants to do is pull you into his arms and kiss you.

But he can't. He can only whisper your name, thick with emotion.

"It's great. I'll use it every night. Thank you." You blink, eyes wet, and then nod. He glances at his watch.

"Time to go?"

"Yeah," he hands you the baby, and picks up his duffle, the weight foreign now but still familiar. "Take care of yourself, alright?"

"I will."

"Promise me." He's stern, pushing a little bit of lieutenant into it, and you agree again, quickly.

"I will." You follow him to the door, holding Orion up for him to kiss one last time, and then he presses his mouth to your forehead, pleased when you don't pull away. He's dragging it out, the reluctance too ripe, and finally hangs his head in defeat after the too short minutes tick away.

"I'll see you soon." He gives you one last look, memorizing your face, Orion's, as much as he can, before heading down the hall.

"Simon," you call, turning him on a dime, "be careful, okay? Make sure... make sure you come home." Home.

"I will. I promise."

#peaches writes #through me (the flood)#simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #this writer abuses ellipses

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seresinhangmanjake · 2 months ago

Text

His and Yours

Summary: When you're told your pregnancy could cost you your life, Feyd demands you do whatever necessary to keep yourself alive. When you decide to have the baby anyway, it creates a rift in your relationship. Only when you go into labor, does Feyd show himself for who he really is.

Warnings/ Notes: Very angsty, but ends on a happy note. Very sensitive topics about pregnancy, abortion, and conversations about potential death. It’s Feyd here people, and we can imagine how he’d be with sensitive topics. Please only read if you understand this. Requested by @tgmreader

**While it is not necessary to read my other work to read this fic, this works also as another part to my "His" series. However, (even though it ends on a happy note) if this content makes you uncomfortable, it is not necessary to read in order to understand any future parts in the series. I know people love them together and that this is a difficult issue, so do not feel obligated.**

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist / Main Masterlist / Tag list

Words: 2950

“Feyd…” you sigh as you watch him pace back and forth. He doesn’t so much as acknowledge you until you attempt to get up from your seat to go to him.

With an outstretched arm and a finger pointed directly at you, he says in a harsh tone—harsher than you’ve heard in a long time, “Don’t you move a fucking inch!”

You plop back into your seat. “We have to talk about this.”

“No!” he snaps. He descends upon you with rushed stomps, his hands gripping the armrests of your chair. You have to tilt your head back to meet his fiery gaze. “There will be no talking about this,” he grits out through clenched teeth. “No discussion. No negotiations. No weighing the pros and cons.” You swallow as a tear builds in the corner of your eye. Feyd groans and pushes away from the chair. “Stop crying.”

“What do you expect from me?”

“To not die!” he shouts, his voice echoing through the vast, empty room. “I expect my wife to do whatever she has to in order to keep me happy! That’s your job!”

You glance down. Your hand runs over the slightly bulbous shape of your stomach. A tear creates a dark patch on the fabric of your dress. A dress he picked out for you. He’d been so enthusiastic about every element related to your pregnancy, including dressing his wife in new gowns as you grew with the passing months. This is one of the first he’d chosen.

“I thought my job was to provide you with an heir,” you say.

“Not at the cost of your life!”

He had almost missed the appointment for more professional matters. Now you wish he had. When the doctor told you that you might not survive giving birth, he gave you a choice: risk having the child anyway or drink a tonic that will terminate your pregnancy while it’s still safe. You knew Feyd’s mind was made up in that very moment. But yours wasn’t. This is your child, a perfect combination of you and the only man you’ve ever loved, and yet, your questioning of what is best has your husband looking at you like you’ve lost your damn mind; like you’re a fool with a knack for selfishness.

“I’m the na-Baron,” he says. “You’re under my authority. I decide for the both of us.”

You shake your head. “That’s not fair.”

“I don’t care if it’s fair! We can make a hundred heirs, but there isn’t another you!” he screams. You wonder if the rest of the Harkonnen fortress hears—the soldiers, the servants. You wonder if they fear for their lives because of an outburst that has nothing to do with them. They should. Your husband is likely to go on a rampage throughout the place the moment this conversation ends, should it ever.

When you shrivel in your chair, a crease dents the center of his brow. Feyd returns to you, his warm palms cupping your cheeks, his forehead resting against yours. “You can’t ask me to let you do this,” he says with a subtle whimper. “I won’t ever forgive you.”

“What about my forgiveness of you?”

Feyd jerks back. The pain in his eyes shrinks under darkness. “You have nothing to forgive me for.”

Finally, you stand. “You want me to give up our baby,” you argue. “You don’t think I deserve to–”

“No!” You jump. “I care about you! I love you! Not some thing that wants to take you away from me!”

“Feyd–”

“I refuse to continue this conversation,” he says. “I’ve made the decision. It’s done.”

—

He’d tried everything. He had meal preparers mix it in with your usual dinner drink until the nasty sludge color disappeared. He attempted to have your maidservants slip it into your morning tea, your evening glass of warm milk, and, even more desperately, into your bathwater. However, the only servants close enough to you that he could demand such a task from became primarily loyal to you after your marriage six months prior, and as a result, each one informed you of his plans. Five servants fell to your husband's blade before he surrendered that tactic to attempt anew. But with his final effort, what died between you was nothing other than what had been keeping you together—affection.

With your feelings numb, there was little foundation for your relationship to stand upon. When he took you and made you his concubine, Feyd kept you safe. He did the physical work to protect you in a newly twisted relationship while you did all of the emotional work. You broke down the walls he’d built, got him to open up, showed him that caring for you wouldn’t be the end of the world. Convincing you to get rid of your baby was the hardest he’d ever emotionally worked for you, and since failure was not a thing he had known, nothing was going to stop him.

He didn’t understand that kissing you with the tonic filling his mouth was too far, even for what he’d already done. He didn’t understand that he had already lost so much of your trust with his deceit and that that kiss was enough to scorch the rest of it. You might have left him had you not been able to wash the substance from your mouth before it could do its damage.

When you first turned him away, he threw his fits. He screamed at you and for you every day until you made it clear you weren’t coming to him, but even then, he didn’t allow you to neglect the expectations he had for you. In front of others, you were to act as his wife—stand by his side, attend meetings in silence, kiss him goodbye before his trips to Arrakis—but the larger your belly grew, the less he was willing to have you near.

You don’t sleep in the same bed now. You don’t take your meals together or bathe together or, frankly, see one another. He looks the other way when he crosses your path. His fists clench like he wants to touch you, his Adam’s apple bobs like he’s holding back from kissing you, but his eyes refuse to meet yours, and he won’t go near you.

You know he's preparing himself to lose his wife. Anger, while present, hasn’t been the dominant fuel for his behavior for a while, and neither is it yours. You were furious, but with your baby due in a month, you struggle to bear the loneliness, and the longer he continues to treat you like you’re a plague, the more you miss him, and the more you fear for your child. Who will love it if you are not here? Who will protect it and teach it and nourish it? Certainly not the one who should and once promised he would. And as the days close in, you wonder if he was right. If you made a mistake.

—

I need him—that’s all you can think as your baby fights to leave your body. You need your husband here, and the reasons are far too overwhelming, but you can’t focus on anything else. You miss him. You can’t do this alone. And if you die today, you have to say goodbye. You have to tell him you love him and make him swear to protect your child, or it was all for nothing.

“I need him,” you screech through your teeth with the contraction that hits you.

“My Lady–” one of the nurses begins. Her voice is shaky, worried eyes flicking back and forth between yours and the doctor between your legs who has just reached for another clean rag after discarding a blood-soaked one. “My Lady, the na-Baron–”

“I don’t care! I need him!”

He must’ve been there, listening, because Feyd’s through the door in an instant, and as his eyes lock on to yours, everything else—all the pain and lies—is shoved behind you. He takes a step forward but pauses, momentarily distracted by the wear on your body, before he blinks and continues forward, shoving people aside to get to you. He falls to his knees by your bed and when your hand reaches out, he clutches it tightly in both of his. Too tightly. You can feel your pulse throbbing harder from the pressure on your veins, but you don’t care.

“Feyd, I–”

“Don’t do this to me,” he mutters as tears well in his eyes. The first you’ve ever seen. He didn’t so much as shed a tear on your wedding day or when you told him you were pregnant, but as the first one falls down his cheek, you realize he’s about to make up for every missed opportunity.

You can’t respond. You don’t have it in you to tell him that you won’t do anything to him, that you won’t hurt him, that you’ll be fine, and that you’ll be a family. You’re too exhausted to lie. He seems to know it because he doesn’t make the request again. Instead, he kisses your fingers over and over, repeating words of love that are not often said.

“My Lady, I know it hurts, but if you can shift downwards a bit,” the doctor starts. “At this angle, we might be able to–”

Feyd wipes his eyes and shoots to his feet. “You can save her?”

“There might be a better chance.”

You groan as you maneuver your body. Feyd does what he can to assist, but it doesn’t ease the searing, stabbing feeling at your core.

“That’s better,” the doctor praises.

“She’s your priority,” Feyd says sternly.

You gasp. “N-No…”

Your husband’s head whips back to you. “I’m not watching you die,” he growls.

“For…our baby,” you say to Feyd’s hardened features. You cry harder for the pain of realizing that out of you and your baby, he would still choose you. You don’t know why you expected any different. In the five minutes of his presence, he gave no indication of a change of heart, but it’s disappointing all the same. “P-Please.”

The doctor doesn’t look up from the task at hand but listens for further instruction. “My Lord?”

Feyd stares at you for a long while, his expression unchanged. He doesn’t squeeze your hand or kiss your forehead or brush away the damp hair from your forehead with your next contraction. He doesn’t flinch at your joining shriek. He’s gone, lost in the world of his thoughts until he decides to come back. His eyes close. He grinds his back teeth. His brow pinches and he shakes his head.

“The baby,” Feyd struggles to get out. He pauses before he says, “And then my wife.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

The next half-hour is white-hot, blinding agony. You can no longer move—a statue as the doctor slices pieces of you open to accommodate your child’s position. He doesn’t want to come out. He doesn’t want to leave his mother. You can’t blame him. If you had the same fate awaiting you upon joining the world, you might not rush to leave the confines of comfort either. He has no reason to separate himself from everything he’s known to fall into the hands of a man who does not love him. But his unwillingness to leave you is what will eventually take you from him.

You can feel it. The draining. Of blood. Of life. Your energy is long gone and at this point, you can’t imagine lasting long enough to be saved, even if you survive just in time to hear your baby’s first cry.

“We’re almost there,” the doctor says. His words are hazy as your brain drifts, struggling to keep you conscious. But then you feel a release of pressure, a missing weight. Emptiness. Solitude.

“Save my wife!” you hear in the aftermath, but you’re not worried about that. You need to know he’s ok and perfect and that he has all of his fingers and toes. You need to know if he has a dusting of hair on his head, or if he’s like your husband. Does he more resemble his father? Complexion and eyes and lips poutier than yours? You need to know these things about your son.

But you suppose you never will. Your vision is too blurry to make out his tiny form, but among Feyd’s shouts, you hear a beautiful little wail as your eyelids flutter closed. And that’s enough.

—

The last thing you heard upon your death is the first thing you hear when you wake. And it terrifies you. Surely, you should not be hearing that sound. If you can hear him, then he’s with you, and he can’t be with you because you’re not here. Not really. You don’t exist on the plane he should be existing on. You exist in darkness now, and he was only ever meant to see the light. That’s what you saved him for. That’s what you used every remaining ounce of your will and soul and heart to do. You left so he could stay. So how could he be with you?

“Can you hear him?”

Yes. You cannot see him, but you can hear him. He sounds so much like you remember. His coos are not the wails, but the noises are brothers. You part your lips to call his name only to realize you never got the chance to give him one.

“He’s perfect,” the voice says. “Everything about him.” A tear trickles down your cheek. “I need you to meet him. He wants to see his mother.”

You want to see him, too, so badly, and as you feel the desire, a flash of light shoots across your vision. One flash, and then another. Another flash, and then one more. Brightness obscures every image as your eyes shift, attempting to take in your surroundings. You’re not sure this is better. In the darkness, you can rest. This is simply torturous, and your baby is not even here.

Heat from a heavy, shaky sigh hits your skin. Relief. Lips land on yours for a long beat before finding your forehead. A skull presses to your skull. The breath is taken from your lungs by another kiss. A droplet splashes onto your cheek.

“You don’t ever do this to us again.” When your vision adjusts, your husband is there. “Do you understand me?”

You nod before you can think not to, before you can think that Feyd is not meant to be here, either. But if he is here, then why does he look so happy? Would he really rather the three of you be gone forever than to raise your baby without you? You scold your idiocy. Of course, he would.

“You were out for three days,” he says. “Longest three days of my life.”

Out. Not dead. Not gone.

Feyd helps you sit up. He disappears and then returns with a bundle of fabric. “Look,” he says, smiling, sniffling, and then smiling again. Two of his fingers gently nudge a section of the blanket aside to reveal a tiny face. Tiny nose, tiny lips, tiny eyes. Lashes that rest on tiny cheeks. A much smaller spitting image of your husband. “He’s got your eyes, I promise,” Feyd says, and your son proves it when his eyelids flutter open.

“Do you think you’ve got the strength to hold him?”

You nod again. “Y-Yes,” you say, like it’s your first word.

Feyd uncurls his arms from the baby and settles him into your awaiting ones. He’s lighter than you expected—probably to do with coming a little early—but the weight of him snaps the bits of you that were lagging behind in the unconscious world to the present. You gasp.

You’re alive. Your baby is alive. Your husband is here. They’re both beautiful. “I’m alive.”

Feyd sits back down in the chair that is pulled up to the side of your bed. He swallows. “Yes. Barely, for a moment, but…yes.”

You cuddle your baby to your chest and run your finger down his nose. He’s softer than the blanket that snuggles him. Soft like you rather than his father. He’ll grow strong like the man you can’t help loving, but he’ll have more heart, and that balance will make him a great Baron one day. A great man.

“Do you hate me?” Feyd asks. “For what I did?”

Your head hurts and you still feel groggy, but you’re aware enough to know that you don’t hate him. You can’t hate him. It shocks you that he doesn’t know that, but then again, he’d never done anything like what he did before, and if you’re honest with yourself, you don’t know that he wouldn’t do it again should you fall pregnant with another child. You don’t trust him right now, and there’s only one thing that could ever convince you to attempt repairing that trust.

“Do you love him?” you say as you gently rock your baby.

Feyd glances down at your son. There’s no contemplation. “More than anything.”

“You’ll protect him?”

His eyes flick back up to yours. “With my life,” he says. And you believe him.

You became a mother the second you felt that little life growing inside of you, but you can accept that upon looking at your son, spending time with him, your husband learned to become a father. Had you died, you don’t know what would have happened, but you can’t dwell on that and hope to keep your family together at the same time. He loves the child you made together, and that’s all you ever wanted.

“Then, no,” you tell him. “I don’t hate you.”

#feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha x you #feyd rautha harkonnen #austin butler #feyd rautha fic #dune 2

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draconic-desire · 7 months ago

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Gosh i just loved your Sunday fic.. 😫

Im wondering what about a naive type darling? With so much isolation, it has made darling insecure. Darling thinks Sunday deserves a better woman and just ups and leaves Sunday when he isnt home. But ofc is soon found not long after 😋

ohhhh so personally i imagine this happening after sunday uses the harmony one too many times on poor reader…you never saw it coming, never would have thought sunday would hurt you despite being isolated for so long. any thoughts you had about escaping, even going outside to see friends, are obliterated. sunday becomes your whole world.

Yan!Sunday x Naive!Gn!Reader

You’ve been standing in front of Sunday’s door, fist raised and poised to knock, for twenty minutes now.

For what feels like the millionth time, you lower your hand, worrying your lip.

He’s been in there all day. Sunday is a busy man, his schedule constantly filled with meetings and Family affairs, but never too occupied that he would ignore you for an entire day.

Your mind fears the worst; even those initial days of being drowned in the Harmony, before you realized Sunday was trying to help you adjust to your life with him, is preferable to this. Did you do something wrong? Who is he in there with? Is he ignoring you?

Has he…grown tired of you?

The mere thought chills your heart and fills your veins with ice as you take a step back, inhaling sharply.

The wooden door before you is polished to a fault, bright enough that you can see your faint outline. It bitterly reminds you of how inferior you are compared to him, a mere speck of dust, a fleeting shadow on the wall.

You start to spiral. Surely Sunday, the most handsome and sought after man in Penacony, could have his pick of anyone—so why would he settle on you? Why did he bring you here, trap you in this mansion, keep you by his side, if only to throw you away in the end?

Did he never love you?

Why does that thought hurt you so much?

Heart pounding and tears blurring your vision, you quickly turn and flee, your knock forgotten.

~*~

It has long grown dark on the streets of the Golden Hour.

The normally bustling city is slumbering, the only light provided by the plethora of flashing billboards that never sleep. The few individuals you have passed are either drunks stumbling home or the stray Intellitron. You’ve been walking aimlessly for hours, wiping away tears and fruitlessly searching for a way to escape to reality.

After all your time mulling in your sadness and insecurities, you have come to the conclusion that you should relieve Sunday of his care of you. He’s much better off without you, or rather with a better individual than you. He should be dating royalty, a celebrity, an angel. The type of person who would have knocked on that door, would have strutted confidently into his office and sat directly into his lap to—

Another pair of footsteps echo behind you.

You almost don’t hear them at first, but you most definitely see the haloed shadow on the wall in front of you.

“And where do you think you’re going, (Y/n)?”

You immediately freeze, your breathing becoming erratic and shallow. His voice sends little butterflies pounding against your chest, begging to fly to him.

“Do you really think this pathetic attempt to escape would succeed?” A hand wraps around your waist, spinning you around to meet golden eyes rimmed in violet. You expect them to be filled with anger, perhaps even loathing, but you’re shocked to discover they are brimming with nothing but thinly veiled panic.

His grip tightens when you don’t respond immediately. “Answer me, (Y/n).” His voice cracks as he says your name again. “Where have you been?”

Words clog in your throat. “I—I thought—you were—you didn’t want—”

“I’ve been searching everywhere for you. You weren’t thinking. I believed we had moved beyond your futile attempts to leave, that you understood that you are mine—”

“But what if I don’t deserve to be yours!”

The two of you freeze in the wake of your outburst. His breath hitches as you lower your head and whisper softly, “I thought you stopped loving me the same as I love you.”

For once, you’ve caught Sunday off guard. His beautiful gaze widens in shock as he truly takes in your form—shivering, tears rolling down your cheeks, nails digging into your palms—and realizes his mistake.

You left because you thought he didn’t want you.

The mere idea baffles him. Standing before him is the most beautiful individual he has ever seen. Every fiber of his being screams for him to lock you in a birdcage and throw away the key—you are a precious treasure, meant to sing only for him. He has created you to be the perfect devotee in his very image.

And all of his efforts have succeeded, because you said you loved him.

His anger and fear immediately melt into softness as he holds your face between both hands, his forehead lowered to press against yours. “Oh, darling, no. You cannot fathom the adoration I harbor for you, the multitude of praises I wish to preach each day in your name.”

His voice takes on a nearly holy reverence, but his eyes shine with an untamed desire. “There is nowhere you belong except for by my side. Finding you missing this evening nearly tore my heart out. You must never venture out again, do you understand, my precious dove?”

You sniff and lean into his touch, a smile parting the river of your tears. Yes, that’s right. That’s what the Harmony said before, too: your purpose is to please Sunday, to serve Sunday, to live for Sunday.

Why would you ever doubt his love?

Why would you ever want to leave him? What a silly idea.

You think you feel a tiny pull at the back of your mind, a hook that wants to tether you to reality. But a quick slash of a knife severs the line, leaving you floating in a sea of multicolored bliss.

“I’ll never doubt you again, Sunday. I love you.”

Sunday’s lips curl into a smirk as he lifts your chin and examines the rainbows dancing in your eyes. “I love you, too, (Y/n).”

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eevees-hobbies · 5 months ago

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Don't Threaten Me With a Good Time!

This is a response to this anon request: Hii can i request wind breaker boys : bofurin and shishitoren with a reader that love to flirt and hard to flustered although they tried to do it back? Thank you

Author’s Note: Thank you, Anon, for being my first Wind Breaker request! I feel like we were on the same wavelength because I was planning on doing a flirt fic/headcanon, but you beat me to it! Unshy and bold is how I like to write my readers, too!

Content Warning: Fem!Reader x Characters. Not smut but highly suggestive in some parts. Use of the word slut in the beginning background piece, a brief examination of the word and scenarios in which it’s weaponized. If you’re not into that, feel free to skip that part. But I’ve seen what some of you all are into and seen some of those reblogs—you know who you are, so spare me. You’re also a major flirt. Like, you’re at a 10 on the flirt scale. Go, you! Nothing too explicit, but here’s what we’re working with: mention of panties in Sakura’s. Kaji needs to learn to keep items inside of his mouth…unless? Suo intends to punish you so pick a god and pray. Hiragi needs you to chill out…but say more, please. Umemiya is too shy to ask you to call him Daddy (please call him Daddy). Togame tells you what you’ll be sitting on by the end of the night (also mention of alcohol in his). Nirei is a cute little bean <3. Minors Don’t Interact.

As always, I appreciate comments, reblogs, and likes. Requests are as open as my legs are for Haruka Sakura’s dick.

Word Count: 2.8K

Dividers by Saradika. Story banner by me.

Background: How You Got Here

You’ve always hated the word ‘slut’

It’s not that you wouldn’t personally consider yourself one. Depending on your ideologies, reclaiming the word can feel liberating and you find that to be true for yourself.

You consider yourself to be naturally flirty, sexy, bold, and charismatic. You can also be a bit of a tease and have slut-like-tendancies in the bedroom, so, sure, a slut. And for the right person or people, if you’re feelin’ nasty, you’re willing to be whatever they want you to be.

You’ve just grown to hate the word because slut is often used to mischaracterize a woman that men often can’t understand.

They can’t, or choose not to, understand a woman who is vocal about who she wants and how she wants it.

They call women sluts who do the chasing.

They call women sluts who fuck on the first date.

They call women sluts who don’t fuck on the first date.

The word slut has lost all meaning.

Patriarchy issues aside, this wouldn’t be a problem if you didn’t also have a mouth on you. So when some low-life-loser cat calls you from across the street, asking if you got a man and then calling you a slut because you chose not to answer in front of his five loser friends, you turn around and yell, “Sorry, buddy! Experiencing disappointing sexual experiences isn’t on my bingo card for tonight!”

“What the FUCK did you just say to me?”

And contrary to what some may say, you aren’t fucking stupid. You know what happens to women when a man hates them and decides that you’re the object of their rage.

So, you often find yourself running in situations like this. Running until your lungs are about to explode and the only thing keeping you going is adrenaline and the fear that that word—and your mouth—might get you snuffed out.

You’re looking over your shoulder as your assailants close the distance, painfully aware that this can’t go on for too much longer when you collide with someone’s chest. Strong hands grip your arms, anchoring you in place.

You look up, expecting to see one of the men from the group but you’re instead taken aback by the stranger in front of you. He seems like the kind of boy you’d let call you a slut—-his close-mouthed smile disarms you, and even though it doesn’t reach his eyes, you’re almost certain he’s someone you can trust. You don’t have too many options right now, anyway!

His tassel earrings swing as he raises his head from looking down at you, and his eyes follow the sound of running feet emerging from the alley.

“Oh? You look like you could use some help. Stand over there for me?” He tilts his head when asking you the question, but part of you feels like he’s not really asking, so you nod and watch with bated breath as the young man methodically mows down every one of the men.

Afterward, he turns to you, pristine and perfect, “I can’t let you walk home alone after that.”

“Sure,” you say, taking his outstretched hand. What’s your name? I have to know the name of the person who just saved me.”

“Oh, I guess that’s a fair point. My name is Hayato Suo. It’s nice to meet you despite the circumstances.”

It’s not long after that event that you fall into the protection of the Bofurin & Shishitoren men; your natural charisma quickly gets you in their good graces and earns you a special spot among their ranks. You give off mascot vibes—if mascots were cute and didn’t have gigantic, scary bodies!

Hanging out with them means being yourself without experiencing judgment or retribution. Your laid-back persona and flirting are met with laughs, blushes, and even sometimes flirtation in return. You’ve never felt more at home than with them.

Haruka Sakura

Flirting with Haruka Sakura is like flirting with a brick wall; either he notices and chooses to ignore the situation as his face turns a crimson red, or he’ll yell at you for being a pervert in public. And both of those reactions are equally cute, so when one day you’re sitting at a booth at Cafe Pothos—-with Sakura, Suo & Nirei—-you decide that this is the perfect environment to get him riled up.

You gently knock your shoe against Sakura’s, which earns you an eyebrow twitch as he continues to shovel food into his mouth. Oblivious as always.

You do it again to prove that it wasn’t an accidental nudge. Sakura’s eyes shoot up to yours, frantic because this is something you would do. His eyes are met with your innocent smile and subtle shoulder shrug.

As you all continue eating (excluding Suo, who enjoys a cup of tea), you gradually move your foot up his leg until it rests between his thighs. Sakura is trembling like a leaf, eyes darting between the faces of your friends, who could very well notice that you’re trying to get him to play footsie under the table. What if they notice?

The meal concludes; Suo and Nirei exit the restaurant, and you and Sakura linger for a bit. Part of you hopes that he’ll call out your behavior, but he’s doing his best eye-avoidant routine. As you rise to leave, Sakura stops you, grabbing you by the hem of your sleeve and pushing you into the last booth at the back of the restaurant, where the line of sight is blocked.

Sakura climbs on top of you, your bodies crammed into the leather booths in a way that feels deliciously intimate. His hands are holding your arms at your sides, and his knee settles in between your thighs—and you are now more than ever painfully aware of how high your skirt has bunched up as his knee is dangerously close to brushing up against the seat of your panties.

“Y-you can’t control yourself in public, can you!?” Sakura practically spits out. He’d sound angry to anyone else, but that’s not what you see in his eyes.

You look up at him, mesmerized by his vulnerability and the proximity of his well-placed knee. "Do you want me to stop, Haruka?”

He again avoids eye contact with you, but the way he bites his lip gives him away, “No, I-i didn’t say that.”

Akihiko Nirei

“Have you added anyone else to that book of yours, Nirei?”

Nirei beams at you. You’re one of the few people who takes an interest in the compendium of facts and stats he’s collected about the others. He flips through the pages and starts pointing out information he’s added since you’ve last spoken.

You nod along, taking a genuine interest in what he says; you barely notice your hand moving up to brush away a strand of hair that had fallen out of place. His cheeks tinge pink, and he stutters as he continues to read to you.

After he’s done hyper-fixating, a comfortable silence sits between you.

“What do you have about me?” you say, leaning closer to him. You’re teasing him; you don’t exchange blows like the subjects in his journals, so there’s no practical reason for him to collect information on you. That’s what you think until he reaches into his back pocket and brandishes a small notebook with your name on the front.

“I-i uh have the basic demographics, but uh…still need the more personal things like your favorite color and food.”

“What about my bra size?”

“B-bra….” The pencil in his hand snaps, and he looks everywhere but at you. “I uh… s-sure! I’ll take that if you’d like me to!”

You laugh; you genuinely find him endearing. “I’m kidding! We haven’t even had our first date yet, Nirei!”

He looks at you, pulling out a new pencil from seemingly nowhere. “Well, once I find out what food you like, I’ll add the anniversary date of our first date here, too.”

Ren Kaji

Flirting with Kaji feels dangerous, but you do you, friend. You, as an individual, and the way compliments flow easily from your lips makes Kaji uncomfortable, and he admittedly doesn’t understand why someone as gorgeous as you gives him the time of day. It isn’t until you somehow become closer that the absence of your flirting with him sets off blaring alarm bells.

Are you ok?

Who did this to you?

Who does he have to kill?!

As you thumb through the vinyl at your local record store, you feel a bump against your shoulder. You look up and see your favorite platinum blond guard dog; his headphones are settled around his neck, heavy metal pouring from the earphones. His piercing gaze is a clear indication that you might be in trouble. Oops.

“You mad at me or somethin’?”

You raise an eyebrow at him, “Mad? Why do you think that?”

“You haven’t been pestering me lately, and it feels…odd.”

You can see him chewing on the inside of his cheek, even with the round sucker placed snugly in his mouth.

“Ohhhhhh, no, Kaji! I was giving you a break, but if you insist on flirting, how about-”

“Shut up,” he pulls the sucker out of his mouth and presses it against your lips, watching as you purse your glossed lips and kiss the candy. Neither of you breaks eye contact; an unspoken threat between you dares the other to yield first. His eyes narrow as you poke your tongue out and stroke the sides with intentional, slow licks.

“Tch!” he turns quickly, marching away from you. Despite his back being turned, you can tell by the way his arm raises that he’s now placing that saliva-soaked sucker in his mouth.

Hayato Suo

Suo might be one of two people on this list who might be a worthy opponent for you. How do you flirt with someone who is perpetually unbothered? Good question! I see your flirting as back-and-forth quips, playful jabs at one another that get increasingly sexual and oddly specific throughout the day.

If you meet up with the group and one strand of your hair is out of place, Suo chirps, “Bedhead, huh? What were YOU doing last night?”

If you see Suo break a sweat after an intense fight, “Wow, Suo! You really need to work on your stamina. I can imagine a few ways to help with that.”

Sure, it’s all in good fun, but there’s a sexual undertone to it all; between the smiles and sarcastic comments, you’re both participating in your special version of foreplay, and you have never been more turned on.

Everyone around you thinks you should get a room, and as sunset approaches, you two do exactly that.

“Ready to work on that stamina, Suo?” you chide as you push him against the wall in your apartment. You know you’ll pay for man-handling him later, but that’s part of the fun, isn’t it?

His earrings sway back and forth from the force, but he gazes down at you with smoldering ruby-toned eyes. Every smart-mouthed remark you’ve said that day replays in his head, contributing to his desire to make you atone for your brattiness.

“Yes, Y/N and I promise I won’t let you out of bed with your hair a mess like I did this morning.”

Hajime Umemiya

The complexity of Hajime Umemiya should be a case study. You’ve witnessed his laid-back nature as he jokes with friends, and you’ve seen the scary side of him that bubbles over when anyone threatens those he’s closest to.

You’re truly attracted to both sides, but when it comes to you and the way you tease him, running manicured nails through his gelled hair and scratching gently at his scalp, he’s putty in your hands.

One of your favorite ways to experience Umemiya is meeting him in his element: his garden. It allows you to bond with him, and he often shares information about his life. Somewhere, Sugishita is biting his fist.

“Big brother,” you whine as you plant okra, “am I doing this right?”

Umemiya’s eyes widen, and he looks at you across the garden. In what feels like seconds, he’s kneeling in front of you, your hands cupped in his own. “Y-you can’t call me that!”

You blink, confused, “you tell everyone to call you that.”

“I don’t want YOU to call me that.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s weird when someone you…like…calls you big brother. It’s worse than being called a friend!”

You snort, but when you meet his eyes, you quickly straighten. Oh! He’s serious!

“So, not into me calling you big brother even during our ‘private moments?’ What about ‘Daddy?’ How do you feel about that?”

He laughs loudly—not because he thinks that was especially hilarious—but because you just make him nervous.

“You can call me Hajime or…’my boyfriend?’ Yeah, let's stick with my boyfriend!”

“Not Daddy?”

“I won’t stop you! Now, how about that okra???”

Toma Hiragi

“You’re a pain in my ass.”

Hiragi’s simultaneously rubbing a knot out of his neck while chastising you. You found yourself in an all too familiar situation, running errands when a drunken man approached you and began to hurl “that word” in your direction when he didn’t find your reaction to his advances to be appropriate: same shit, different day.

As you were looking for an escape route, Hiragi rounded the corner and snatched the man by the collar—it was almost comical to see the drunkard's feet dangle feverishly off the ground. With a scowl and a threat from Hiragi, he was stumbling off.

You sigh, “I don’t mean to be a burden, Hiragi. But something on my forehead must read, ‘fuck with me’ because this is becoming a common occurrence.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he grumbles, “I just find myself worrying about you too much. Might give you my jacket to keep these creeps at bay.”

Before the last syllable leaves his lips, he’s stuttering and trying to walk the statement back, “I mean uh…or any Bofurin jacket! We have boxes of these somewhere! Not mine, per se.”

You smile, placing a hand on his toned bicep. “I’d love to wear my protector's jacket.”

You need not say more. He removes his oversized jacket and places it over your shoulders. The smell of him and the warmth he left behind makes your heart flutter. You give him your best grin, “you know you’re never getting this back, right?”

“See? A pain in my ass. With a mouth like that, I’m goin’ to have to teach you how to fight.”

You lean into his arm, “With a mouth like this, you might have to teach me more than how to fight.”

“Jesus.”

Jo Togame

Jo Togame is the other person on this list who’ll give you a run for your money when trying to flirt. He may seem turtle-adjacent, but his rebuttals to your flirtation attempts are quick.

You’ve been shooting Togame smoldering glances for the entirety of the night, and even though Shishitoren men surround him, he’ll catch you looking, give you a lopsided grin, and then turn his attention back to the group,

You lick your lips. The draw of his signature sweatpants, black, loose-fitting tee, and Shishitoren jacket is doing something to you.

And maybe it’s because you’re on your fifth shot of mystery concoction, and the music they’re playing at the house party makes you feel bold and think that what you’re about to do is a good idea.

With all the courage you can muster, you walk up to Togame. He tilts his head in your direction, but you can see amusement in his jade-colored eyes.

“Took you long enough. Thought you were never gonna get tired of starin’ at me.”

“Dance with me!” you yell over the music. You can feel everyone in the group sizing you up and waiting to hear how Togame responds.

He puts his beer down and takes your hand. You pull him to the center of the room, where a makeshift dance floor has been constructed. You allow the music to move you before you can talk yourself out of whatever is happening. Togame puts his hand on your waist and allows you to grind against him and to the beat.

“You like the idea of making me nervous, huh?”

You stand on the tips of your toes to get as close to his ear as possible, “You caught me! Is it working?”

He chuckles and shakes his head, “No because I know exactly how this night is going to end.”

Your heart picks up a bit as his hands slide down from your waist and rest above your ass.

“How?” You squeak.

“With you grinding just like this on my dick.”

You open your mouth to respond, but he presses his lips against yours, his kiss hot and hungry.

Your eyes flutter closed, and you agree that this night will likely end how he prophesized.

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widowlyy · 13 days ago

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ON THE RUN ⌣⌣⋟ 🍒

analysis. Natasha is on the run; while you're running from everything. Well, now with you tied up in the back of her corvette you can't run. Stuck with the woman who has been hunting you down, you can't help but push her limits. pairing. natasha romanoff x reader smut. dark!nat, bratty!r. non-con(?), strap on use (r receiving), fingering, oral, top!nat and bottom!reader. choking, bondage, gagging. daddy kink, degrading (puppy, mutt, and slut used). alluded to stockholm syndrome. word count. 1.5k

authors note. I understand I have two other fics going but why not add in on kinktober with just one fic 😏 — holy shit i jst realized this is like the first time I actually wrote smut other than my drabbles ☹️ ⌣⌣⋟

You heard the tires screech as the corvette had rolled into the abandoned parking lot. Eyes wide, hands tied behind your back as you had the gag spit out of your mouth as you fixated your glare on Natasha. Nose scrunching, before hissing out, “This isn’t following regulation! You’re going to get in more trouble!”

You questioned why Natasha hadn’t tightened the gag, as if the redhead was asking for you to be annoying, which you were. Having the threats of ‘if you don’t keep that gag in then you won’t like the consequences to come’ and yet you kept pushing your limits everytime thinking Natasha wasn’t going to do anything too drastic. It wasn’t until her head whipped back with a dark glare pinpointed at you as she snapped out.

“We’re both on the run from the government, I’m doing a brat like you a favor. I don’t trust you stabbing me in the back both ways, I’m so close to losing my temper with you,” Her words were cold, and you knew that it was nothing but the truth. You had swallowed thickly before opening your mouth to have argument with the redhead words as she cut you off, “If you spit out that gag one more time I might as well find something else to occupy your mouth with,”

The pool of heat that seeped through your panties had you thinking a little bit, the way Natasha had been looking at you couldn’t help but want to test out the waters. Sifting your body a bit in the seat with your restraints before speaking out, “so why don’t you come back here and try me?”

The car was put into park, Natasha had eased off of the brake to lift her foot. Which isn’t what she’s about to do with you, no plans on having it ease as she hissed out, “Such a pathetic mutt, doesn’t know when to stop pouring too much spice to the mix,”

She crawled into the back seat, and it wasn’t without a doubt a cool hand had grasped your cheek and pressed you into the window of the corvette. It wasn’t even hard, taking a small pocket knife to tear through the clothing as she fondled your breasts. With you know bare in her leather seats, her eyes fell to the soaked panties before letting out a mocking taunt, “such a little slut, we work against each other but you still can’t help but get wet for me,”

You had released a whimper as her fingers found your nipples and pulled harshly. Your body had moved back, hips pressing into her pelvic bone as you felt your mind daze enough to allow the redhead to maneuver you about. Putty in her hands and you felt her pull back already, sexual frustration beating the fear of her cruelty you spat out, “Natasha if you don’t put your hands back I might as well stab you in the back,”

A hand had found your scalp, gripping the roots of your hair before pushing your face into the leather seats of her corvette. Her other hand had squeezed your ass, fingers gently trailing down to swipe through your folds and watching your arousal stick to the pads of her fingers, “Listen here you stupid mutt, you think you’re so mighty but I know that when daddy puts her hands on you all you become is a needy little puppy,”

You whined, wiggling your hips back before Natasha pushed your hips back down. Her hand lowered from your ass to cup your core, thumb pressing down on your clit as you moaned out loudly into the thick air of tension that resided in the vehicle. Her eyes darkened as she hummed, clearly thinking.

“Now what should I do with you? Hmm? Maybe train the poor little puppy to learn that she can’t get what she wants,” She taunted, pressing her lips to your ear as you let out a soft cry. Wrists shifting from behind your back against the ropes as they uncomfortably rubbed against your skin which is bound to be red and burning when they—if—they come off. As much as you were against having to be edged and not allowed to cum, you still felt more needy than you realized, crying out.

“Daddy please, I’ll be good,” Her grip released on your hair for a split second before her hand snaked around and gripped your throat and lightly squeezed as the hand between your legs had plunged two fingers into your needy hole as her nails gently scraped down your velvety walls which gave you a feeling of paradise you haven’t felt in a long time, “Hmm? Please what puppy? Daddy doesn’t read minds,”

You let out a soft babble, not able to utter anything out as your attention was on your restricted air and the fingers of the assassin inside you. Her pads were rough, calloused from so many fights and training, eyes watering a bit as Natasha started to steadily thrust into you as she watched how your cunt accepted it all. When your body shook and your walls squeezed her roughly, she ripped her hand out from your core and you cried out pitifully into the air. Tears had swelled in your ducts, and they were threatening to dribble down your cheeks as Natasha mockingly cooed.

“Poor puppy, my poor little mutt was so close wasn’t she?” And you nodded so quickly, desperately, feeling her hand on your throat leave as fabric was heard being pulled down her body behind you until you felt silicone press against your thigh. You were already a sopping wet mess, and she took that advantage to plunge her fake cock into your desperate cunt.

“You need to learn your manners, ask daddy to cum when you need to cum or when I take you to my safehouse I’m going to edge you all night and make you warm my cock,” She threatened harshly until she steadily set her pace of thrusting into you. She started off slow and tauntingly, which had your knuckles white before her hands found your hips to steady herself. Without warning her pace quickened and the sound of skin slapping was heard throughout the car. The sound of wetness squelching as she pounded into your pussy was heard over the faint radio in the background of reporters looking for Natasha and the other avenger on the run.

You felt insane pleasure, blissful already as you whimpered out. Her thumb pressed against your clit as you panted against the leather of her seats, a mocking sentence left her lips again, “such a little slut, is puppy so desperate to get fucked that she lets her enemies pound into her from behind in a car?”

You moaned out loudly, mewls had left your throat as you felt your lungs shrivel up as your voice was heard throughout the vehicle. Brows furrowing as you tried to hold onto that coil in your stomach, and you completely forgot. Without a warning your orgasm washed through, feeling the stickiness gush out of your cunt and stick to yours and Natasha’s thighs. You felt silence go through the car, even the radio stopped. The shared movements between the both of you had come to a pause before Natasha’s strap was pulled out of your hole.

“That was a bad puppy,” her teeth grit, and the irritation in Natasha’s voice was clearly heard as she lowered herself onto all fours, hands ripping your thighs apart to bring her tongue to your folds to get a final taste of your arousal and essence. She was addicted already, lavishing your cunt but never giving you the friction you needed. When you tried to grind down on her face she pulled back and left you on edge, listening to you let out a sob as she gave a slap to your ass.

“You’re gonna have to wait until we get to the safehouse mutt, because I’m certainly not done with you. Especially with how you already broke one of daddy’s rules. Gonna warm my cock all night while I play with your pretty tits and clit, going to ensure that I’m all you’re gonna need puppy,” She had pulled her pants back up as she tucked her strap back into her pants, leaving you face down in the seat with no move to sit you upright.

She took your gag off of your neck where you had previously spit it out, wet with your salvias. She left your body bare as she rolled up your panties and shoved it into your mouth to gag you properly, eyes falling on how your eyes fluttered shut to hide how aroused you were. She slid back up to the front seat of the car, eyes dark as she went back to drive on the road to the familiar route of the safehouse. Tuning the radio up before she quietly announced to you.

“You better prepare yourself puppy, because daddy doesn’t plan on letting you go anytime soon,” Her eyes met yours in the rearview mirror as your eyes drooped. Listening to the raspy chuckle of the runaway avenger, before your mind went blank. Vision going black as you passed out with the burning ache in your stomach for desperate release that you weren’t going to get anytime soon. A poor little mutt that got picked up off of the streets, oh how did you end up like this.

#🐦‍⬛ ON THE RUN #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff x reader #smut #marvel #sapphic #widowlyy’s writing

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luveline · 9 months ago

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hiiiiiiiii jade! <3

would you be willing to write a fic about girl dad!spencer x bombshell!reader? i can only imagine what an adorable riot their daughter would be!!!

tysm!

ty for requesting!! mom!reader

Spencer always thought you were too beautiful for him. Too funny, too brave, too confident. For years he feared he’d never be anyone you could love; he was the opposite of all your best parts, he talked too much about the wrong things, he went red whenever you so much as looked at him, and he couldn’t flirt back, not for anything.

But it’s been a very long time since he felt that way. What good is a father who doesn’t believe in being yourself? Amanda deserved to be loved from the moment she drew breath, and he shouldn’t have been any different.

Now, though, he’s wondering if he shouldn’t be so accepting of all her whims. “I am not wearing that, daddy,” she says.

She’s just old enough to put together sentences but young enough that the individual words sound like building blocks, chunky and clumsy on her little mouth. Her lips are yours, her smiles and frowns one hundred percent you. (Though you argue with him often that the quizzical pout she does is all his.)

“What do you mean, angel?” he asks, bent over her sock drawer looking for a matching pair.

“This is pink, and this is purple.” She points.

“Yes, and you like pink and purple!”

“I like pink… and I like purple,” she says.

“But not together?” he asks knowingly. “You want them at different times, is that it?”

She runs for his legs, hugging them tightly. “Thank you.”

“You’re so much like your mommy it’s scary,” he whispers playfully, leaning down to pat her small back. “Okay, angel. I’ll find you a different dress to wear. Or maybe the dungarees!”

She lifts her chin up to smile at him. “Y’okay.”

“Spencer, Amy!” you call, voice carrying from the kitchen. “Are you guys ready? We have to go soon and you haven’t even eaten!”

Spencer used to sit at his desk daydreaming about you. He’d drink five cups of tea a day to get to walk past you for the kitchenette, hoping you’d be making a coffee, that you’d flirt with him over corporate rewarded donuts. Now you’re making him breakfast as he persuades your daughter into jelly shoes because she wants tall shoes like mommy. They compromise —Any will wear the wrong shoes if Spencer agrees to carry her to the kitchen table.

“Sorry,” Spencer says as he pushes open the door into the kitchen. He's trying to be the best dad he can be all the time, but he doesn’t have a knack for the mornings like you do. “We won’t be late.”

“That depends on how agreeable my lovely girl is feeling today.” You pick up the pink plastic plate you’ve filled with eggs, toast, and a mix of washed berries. “What do you think, Amy? Looks nummy?”

“Chocolate chip?” she asks, eyes already widening.

“It’s breakfast, honey,” you say, scooping her out of Spencer’s arm to carry her to the table. “Chocolate chips are for dinner.”

“Please?”

“If you promise to be really super duper good at Uncle Derek’s, then yes, you can have some chocolate chips,” you say, tucking her chair in, and kissing her chubby cheek. “You want me to make you milk or juice, mm?”

Spencer spots the two plates you’ve made up for you and him on the counter and quickly brings them to the table, sliding yours in front of you with a long-pronged fork, his hand on your shoulder to keep you in your seat. “I’ll get it,” he says, ducking down to kiss you on the side of the mouth.

You turn to Amy. “See that, sweetheart? See how nice and kind your daddy is to me? He’s soooo nice. This is why we love him so much, and we appreciate him so much.”

Amy nods emphatically, blueberries tumbling off of her plastic fork. “So much,” she echoes, her voice like melting sugar.

He has a weird moment by the fridge where he has to grip the handle. “You know I used to dream about making you a cup of coffee in the mornings?” he asks.

“Spencer, come over here and kiss me again, please,” you say, sympathetic and fond.

“Me too!” Amy says through fruit. “Me first.”

“Oh, gosh, this is one of the hardest decisions of my life,” he says, sweeping in to dot your cheeks with kisses, hers then yours, three apiece.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction

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ambrosiagoldfish · 9 months ago

Note

Can you write more Adam fics plz there so freaking good

Benefit of the Doubt PT.2

Adam x 3rd Spouse! Reader

Viewer discretion is advised

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff to Angst to comfort, General Adam TW’s, Reader lowkey-highkey has a complex about being loved, Panic attack (I’m not even sure if this is correct term or not), Adam is afraid of heights (makes sense in story) This is set way before the show, and Gn! Reader (Y/n is once again not used lol)

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4

Request Box: Open

Word count: 3136

A/N: Hi! I’d like to Thank you all for the love and support on Part 1! It means a lot that you all enjoyed it as I loved writing it! I’d also like to apologize for this being a week late, I honestly had 0 idea on how to start this one and then a bunch of stuff in my life happened, so it was a mess.

So as an apology I tried to make this one longer than the first! (I seemed to go a little overboard but it’s fine)

Anyways I hope you all enjoy part 2 to ‘Benefit of the doubt’ and as always, if you do, please tell me if want another part in replies/requests/DM’s!

Proofread but of course could have missed something

Tags: @tired-of-life-86

To think love could feel this good.

You were made for it, to give it, receive it… You’ve waited your entire existence for this love, This closeness. It doesn’t even feel real now, even as you’re walking down the golden lined streets of heaven with his arm wrapped around you, all while you’ve been showing him around. The best places to eat, entertainment, or just a nice park. You made sure to show him all of it.

He kept his wings tucked to his sides, the gold contrasting with the white of his robe. The feathers at first glance looked sharp, but now, being so close to him, you could see each of them individually and how soft they must be.

“Hey Sweetcheeks, my eyes are up here”

You jump slightly “Sorry… Adam.” You avert your eyes away from him and focus them in front of you.

Adam laughed “I didn’t say you had to fuxkin’ to stop”

His wings truly were beautiful. It was hard to keep your eyes off them. Adam had only got to heaven recently, it made you wonder if he had the chance to use them yet. You remember when you were first created, wings took forever to get used to. You crashed and fell so many times before you figured out how to use them

Properly.

“Ok seriously, you keep staring, what the fxck is up with you?”

“It’s nothing, just…. Have you tried out your wings yet?”

“Uh, yeah totally, they’re rad as hell” Adam’s voice drifted off, the LED eyes of his mask looking away from you as you both walked. Was he… lying? Why would he lie?

You quickly walked in front of Adam, leaving his warm embrace, gently you took his hands as your wings picked you off the ground. The gust of wind with each flap softly blew around you.

“Well, come on, it will be faster than walking.” Your voice was soft and airy. Slowly, so very slowly, you lifted yourself higher from the ground, Adam’s hands locked firmly in yours, as he was pulled with you in the air.

“W-Wait a- shit- Wait a- motherfuxking second“ Adam yelled strand after strand of curses as you both lifted further and further into the air. His body flailed and his legs kicked against nothing. You pull him to you, his arms quickly snake around your waist, holding on for his dear After-life.

“Adam… did you lie to me?” Your voice was still so soft, so calm, so sweet.

“Fuck- yes I lied, I’m sorry, so put me the fuck down you crazy asshole-“ Vulgar as ever, his voice had fear in it, the LED eyes were forced shut and his grip around you was getting tighter and tighter.

Your arms wrapped around Adam’s head as you laid back, letting The wind breeze from the air pull and push you along its path with your wings soaring through the clouds..

“Adam, it’s ok, I promise you’re fine, all you have to do is open your eyes.”

You pet the back of his neck trying to sooth him which seemed to work after a few seconds. Adam didn’t want to, he really didn’t want to open his eyes. But the longer he kept them close, the more you would whisper soft words of encouragement to him. Eventually, his eyes slowly but surely opened.

“See? There is nothing to be scared of. I’ve got you.”

You hold him closer in your embrace. Adam looked below, the white vastness of heaven’s clouds beneath you both felt unreal, but as amazing a sight it was, Adam’s grip on you didn’t loosen.

“So… I’m guessing you don’t know how to fly yet?” You laugh a little, rubbing a spot on his back, just between his wings comfortingly.

Adam huffed and looked away “oh! I couldn’t fxcking see that!”

You held him close to you. The embrace seemed never ending, and you loved every second of it. Feeling the warmth of his plump body next to you was like a dream come true.

“Here let me just…”

You moved your hands slowly down his arms, caressing the soft flesh as they moved to eventually be at his hands behind you. You began to leisurely undo the grip he had around you.

“What do you think you're doing-“

“Shhh, relax, just trust me, ok?”

With each finger being removed from you, the grip lessened bit by bit, until eventually his hands were fully in yours. Your face leaned closer to his,

“Come on, just give your wings a good flap, trust me.”

“Ugh…. Fine but I swear to god if you let go-“

“I won’t.” Your voice was firm, yet still remained reassuring.

Adam didn’t want to do this. He really didn’t want to. But what other choice did he have? He gruffs and extends his wings from his body. The wind brushed and tickled at his feathers. The way the light hit them caused a glare of gold to be cast from them, enveloping you both. Then, he gave two hard flaps of his wings, he lifted up slightly before quickly falling back to where he was.

“There you go! Now keep doing that.”

Adam continued, his wings slowly pushing him up and up before being sent back down when he stopped. This repeated for a few minutes until he finally got a grip on it. The entire time, you were laughing. Pure unadulterated laughs of joy.

Truly, to think love could feel this good?

“See? You're a natural!”

“Of course I am! I’m the Original Dick, obviously I’d… be good at this… flying… shit.” With all the parading he was doing he kept forgetting to use his wings causing him to fall. ‘A natural’ may have been an overstatement on your part, but hey? At least he hasn’t fallen flat on his face yet!

Gently, you led him through air, giving him reassurance every few feet you flew, never letting go. Seconds turned to minutes, minutes to hours. Before you knew it a brisk orange sunset encased you both with its hue. That’s when you realized just how long you both had been flying.

“You must be tired with sightseeing all day… I think it’s time we go home and rest, yeah?”

“Home?” Adam’s voice sounded for a moment genuinely confused. Had he not been told he’d have a place to live in heaven? As much respect you had for Sera, you’ll have to file a complaint to avoid this with future souls.

You gripped his hand and opened your wings letting the wind lead you through the clouds and above the city. The angels below look like ants at the height you both were. It was peaceful, the flight back home. But it did seem… off? So… quiet? You couldn’t put it together, at least not at the moment, But Adam hadn’t spoken a word since you both left.

Adam, while yes, he was initially confused, it made sense to him, why wouldn’t heaven have a place for its people, a place for each of them to relax, to feel safe, happy, at home.

Home was such a weird word for Adam. Has he ever felt like a place was his ‘home’? The closest thing to it was the Garden of Eden but even that proved to be anything but a home for him. Ever since that snake entered his garden.

No. He can’t think about that now. He doesn’t want to have to think about that again. But oh-do thoughts love to worm their way back into your mind when you least want them to. He’s snaps out of his thoughts when your voice picks up

“Ok, we’re here! Just get yourself settled in and I’ll go make us something to eat. I didn't really know what food you’d like so I mainly just have junk food… I hope that's ok.”

Adam nods his head nonchalantly

You smile, waking him over to the small, plush couch in the living room and handing him a blanket and some pillows. Telling him to wait a second as you fetch some food, leaving him alone.

Adam thought your house seemed welcoming enough, ‘well… our house’ Adam thought. The living room was dark aside from a few luminous lights around the room as well as the small blue gleam from the windows from the night sky.

The couch was comfortable and the pillows just as much. And the blanket you gave him was soft and warm. This really was heaven, huh?

His thoughts are, once again, interrupted by your voice, “Ok here we go, I’ve got snacks and some soda” you say, handing him some of the many food you ravaged from your fridge and sitting beside him, wrapping yourself in the shared blanket.

Grabbing the remote lying next to you, you flick on the TV flipping through the channel before ending on a cheesy sitcom, you keep the volume low wanting to enjoy any conversation with Adam. Except… he never started one. So that’s what felt off.

The entire time you flew back home, got snacks and found something to watch. He hadn't said a word. You may not have known him long but even you had already picked up that he was an advid talker in a conversation.

“Is… everything ok Adam?” You whispered, not want to scare him with your random words.

“What kind of question is that, I’m fxcking fine… I’m fine.” His voice trailed off at the end almost getting as quiet as yours.

“Are you sure cause-“

“I said I’m fuxking fine!” His voice roared through the dark room. Gritty and callous, but you could tell it was meant to hide something. Something he didn’t want you to see.

“I’m sorry…” you paused. What did you want to say from here? What could you say? You took a deep breath and tried to continue. “I… I know I said this earlier… when Sera left.”

Adam’s LED mask looked away from you half shut eyes and a frown forming a scowl on it, but still he let you continue.

“But I’m going to say it again anyways cause… I mean it. I’m really happy to have you here. To finally have you home” you place your arm around Adam’s back rubbing it soothingly as let your head slowly lax onto him, gently cuddling close to him.

That word again… home. That’s all he could think about ever since he first heard you say it. Why? Why couldn’t he get it out of his head? His breathing was becoming unsteady with each new thought and image his brain made. Lilith and Eve, they were made to be apart of his home, for him to be apart of their homes. So why? Why did it end that way?

Suddenly Adam leap from the couch as fast as he could, the shear force knocking you to the other side of the couch, sending the food to scatter and drinks to spill to the floor.

“Adam!?” Your voice was frightened at the sudden movement. Adam looked just as frightened as you, at least from what you could tell through the LED mask. He suddenly began running, where? he didn’t know, the rooms in the house looked the same. But all he knew is that he needed to be away from you. You followed quickly behind him and pleaded for him to tell you what was wrong, but eventually he ran into a room and locked the door.

He looked around, already out of breath. He was in a bathroom. He felt his knees give out under him as he tried to slowly sit down by the tub. His breath heavy, it was hard to breathe, this stupid mask. He needed it off. But just as he went to do so,

*rattle rattle rattle*

The doorknob began to move followed by frantic knocking on the door.

“Adam! Are you ok?!” Your voice pleaded through the wood of the door.

“Fuxk- I'm fine! How many times do I have to tell you that shit” his voice cracked a few times followed by a strand of curses leaving his lips.

Home. The word repeated like a mantra in his head. Like it was mocking him. Was he not meant to have a place he called a home? To have someone to return to, who would tell him “welcome back!” Without even being told to?

Lilith hated him, Eve betrayed and hurt him like no one else before, ever. They were made to be with him, one was literally made to be his other half. The garden, his home, was taken from him because of something, someone he couldn’t control. it all comes back to him. That albino snake in the grass.

Lucifer, ‘The dreamer’… was this some sort of game to him? To toy with his emotions, treat him like some kind of plaything to mess with, to screw over? What kind of life was it? To have every opportunity and opening be broken down by him, And Adam being powerless to stop it?

“Adam! Please open the door!” Your voice was even more frantic now, knocking every few seconds before it quickly quieted down. Your body slumped against the door.

“Adam… I’m sorry if I hurt you or… or if I was going too fast… I didn't mean to… I’m so sorry…” your breath hitched with tears.

And then there was you.

You have been nothing but kind to him since you met him. You showed him around heaven, taught him how to fly and welcomed him home without having being told to. You were so different. So, so very different. Adam figure that out a while ago now. But in reality, it’s exactly why he was terrified.

To have someone who loves him so... unconditionally.

*click*

The sound of the door unlocking drew your attention and was followed by it slowly opening from Adam on the other side, still on the floor.

“Adam!” Your voice was low, already tired from crying. You crawled your way toward him before stopping in front of him, tears still falling from your face, “I’m sorry Adam, I’m sorry-“ you were cut off by a quick movement.

Warmth enveloped you, clouding your senses as a soft weight laid onto you. Arms wrapped their way around you in an embrace.

“Shit- it's not your fault, it was never your fault…” Adam’s voice was surprisingly soft, a stark contrast to his regular tone. Sincerity evident with each word. All you could do was hide into his large frame and cry at the words.

Adam was never good at comforting people. He himself was never comforted, so the concept was more than a bit foreign to him. But even still, he tried. Slowly he helped you both up from the bathroom floor and made your way back to the couch.

The floor was covered in the discarded food you both left behind. The spilled soda is now dried and sticky. Crumbs everywhere.

“Here.. let me get a mop and broom-“

“No just sit down, I’ll clean up the shit I made” you lay down on the couch and watched as Adam swept and mopped the mess from the floor. The entire time the silence hung in the air by a thread. Neither of you wanting to be the one to snap the string and speak.

Finally Adam got done cleaning the mess and made his way to the couch. He sat down and gestured for you to come closer. Crawling over to him, he wrapped the blanket around you both allowing you to snuggle into him.

“Do…” your voice barely audible “Do you want to talk about it?”

Adam looked hesitant but nodded.

“You know about everything, right? About… what all happened in Eden?

You nod against his chest content on listening.

“When… When Lilith left me, I thought I didn't care as much as I did. I thought she was a bitch and that was that. And it didn’t help that as soon as she left, I got Eve…”

He paused

“Then, when I found out about that shit between Eve and Lucifer… I didn’t care then either, but I didn’t understand why…” his voice hitched “but when I ate that damn apple… I realized how hurt I should have been. All the concepts of right and wrong, good and evil, learning all of it through that fruit, I realized one shitty truth… that the one I loved betrayed me.”

You hugged him tighter softly, your hands caressed his stomach as some form of comfort before he continued.

“For the same person- Both of them for that snake…”

“Adam… I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”

“And that’s why… I’m scared. Scared that I will fuxk up again and get… attached to you. Because every. single. time. He ruins it. And I don't want to see that happen with you.”

Your heart ached for him, the saddening look of his LED mask as he talked only furthered your emotions. Slowly your hands made their way to his face, he looks at you confused, your fingertips crept under the mask before his hand shot up and held your wrist slightly, carefully not holding it too tight.

“Sorry fuck- I’m.. I’m not ready.”

You smile and nod understanding “Adam. I love you… with all of my heart. And I would never do what those two done to you. “

Adam thought for a moment deciding what to say.

“Promise?” was all he could think of, his voice, mind, and body were all too tired to speak more about it.

You slowly remove your hands from his mask, instead taking one of his hands into yours.

“I promise, I would never betray you, let alone talk to that man” ever-so lightly, a soft golden glow burned between yours and Adam’s hands, the gold flame was warm and comforting to both of you as it rose and grew in strength.

From the flame, a string wrapped and warped itself around both yours and Adam’s pinky fingers. The string tightened and loosened as it moved, before finally melting away leaving only two solid gold rings behind, One on Adam’s finger and the other on yours.

“What the hell was that?” Adam’s voice was filled with bewilderment

“A deal- or I guess a promise. In this case”

“Shit, You didn’t have to do that-“ this time it was your turn to interrupt him. You bring Adam’s hand to your lips, and give a kiss on his newly formed ring before lying down and cuddling into Adam.

“I know.”

For once in his life, Adam felt at ease with love. How easy it was to fall for you.

Is this what home feels like?

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tarabyte3 · 16 days ago

Text

Fic Front Covers

Thank you @saradika for the tag and for making and sharing the template with all of us 💕 I went through SO many different versions of these because none of them were clicking (especially when I saw them all together), but I got there eventually!

Fics

I Want You to Show Me Weak (Kino Loy x Reader)

Wants, Needs, and Clerical Errors (Kino Loy x Reader)

Remember You Are Half Water (Kino Loy x Reader)

The Devil Makes Us Sin (David Robey x Reader)

The Fear Has Gripped Me, but Here I Go (Liam Black x Reader)

I think everyone I know that writes fic and would do this has already been tagged or done it?? But if not, consider yourself tagged if you'd like!

#fanfiction #fic front covers #moodboard #i want you to show me weak fic #wants needs and clerical errors fic #remember you are half water fic #the devil makes us sin fic #the fear has gripped me but here i go fic #kino loy #david robey #liam black #fic covers #tag games

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your-nanas-house · 9 months ago

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more dark!tommy smut!!!! 🥹❤️🙏

Yup! Wasn't so sure if you wanted the same trope as the previous fics I wrote so I tried something else. 🥰

His fookin' wife

◇ Pairing: Dark!Tommy Shelby X wife!reader

◇ Warnings: heavy DUBCON, angst, Tommy being mean and a man of that period, MISOGYNY, arranged marriage, curses and violence, age gap (both off age).

◇ Summary: Tommy reminds his wife of her place.

◇ Note: Sorry for the mistakes and the English. Honestly... I hate the way I'm writing so I will apologise for my writing as well. Hope you enjoy 🙇🏼‍♀️.

All his thoughts came to an end as soon as she almost reached the front door.

His big calloused hands moved on their own grabbing quickly but firmly her waist from behind, so to pull her body back and grip her thighs tighly.

A deep inhale followed his actions, making the younger woman shiver as his warm breath brushed teasingly the shell of her ear.

Different emotions kept swirling inside of Tommy, his breath became heavier as his low and seductive voice interrupted the silence in the entrance to their house. Their... since it was hers as well, as soon as he put a ring around her finger three years ago, because of an arranged marriage.

The man could feel his wife's body tensing at his touch, but it just sent a shiver down his spine. His primal instincts kicking in fast, getting into him like a bullet.

"W-What are you doing?" Y/n's weak and panicked voice asked in a whisper, making a small smirk appear on his handsome face. His tongue dared out to wet his lips before he could place them on her neck, feeling her quick pulse against them.

"What do you think I'm doing?" He purred out, inhaling her scent before continuing to speak... his voice way lower and predatory than before. "I'm not going to let you leave the house until I'm finished with you, love—"

" —Or would you rather just leave and go and talk to those Italian lads again?" He mocked, anger and jealousy clear in his tone while his grip tightened at the mere movement of hers... causing the young woman to get even more scared of what was happening.

The prospect of being intimate with her arranged husband sounded... weird to her; he never acted like that with her, just once when he was drunk. Besides that night, their honeymoon of years before had been pretty much cold and calculated, he simply prepared her before stealing her virginity with a harsh thrust and little conversation.

No love or emotions besides lust present in that moment of their life.

The panic and fear made her try to escape his grip, just wanting to leave the house already to mind her own business and not discover this more carnal side of her man. A bad idea since Tommy reacted quickly, now holding her closer against his chest, his hips pressing harder against the soft curves of her covered ass while his cock reacted positively at the situation.

"Oh no, you're not getting away that easily... There's no escaping me, darling. I'm going to keep you right here with me so there's no point in trying to free yourself." His low and threatening voice informed her before continuing after a soft growl caused by the wiggling of her body.

"I'm not going to let you leave unless I say so, and I'm going to keep you here all for myself, as your husband.... as your man."

It has been too long since he had been with his Y/n like that, and the fact that she was fighting him caused him to crave her even more. Her teasing and panicked movements were driving him crazy with lust, the way her curves kept pressing back against his front... brushing his now rock-hard cock just made the blue eyed man want to slam her against the nearest surface and take her like he was craving since a while.

Y/n was sweating cold, her heart beating crazily as her mind raced with lots of different thoughts... her body jolted again at his touch and he pressed her harshly against the cold front door of their house.

A breathy groan left the dark haired man's body as he pinned her against the wood, his hips now grinding against her ass... as his left hand held tightly her wrists together so that his free one could raise up the fabric of the dress she was wearing.

"Fucking hell, luv" Tommy cursed at the view of her exposed lower half, his hand colliding with her right ass cheek, making her whimper at the stingy sensation and whine when he knealed harshly her reddening skin.

"Missed your damn body" he added with a breathless growl, position his bulge between her legs as he pulled roughly her underwear up and leave place to his boner to rub on her butt, nudging her sacrum with each movement.

Y/n's body kept hitting softly the door as Tommy made her move with his tempo, his breath getting heavier and faster just like his thrusts.

His free hand, which had reached for her chest without success, moved now down her spine till his fingers could start to undo his belt and pants... sending a shock of fear in the young woman's body.

At the sound of the belt hitting the floor, her eyes widen and her feet moved on its own, stepping on Tommy's and catching him off guard for a couple of seconds. Allowing her to try to run away, heading quickly upstairs as he just watched her with a predatory smirk on his face... his hand picking up the belt from the ground before he rushed behind her.

"It's useless, I told you already... such a-fiesty-little-wife" Tommy spat with gritted teeth as his hand grabbed a firm hold on her ankle before pulling and making her fall down the stairs so that his body could be pin hers easily.

His broad chest now pressing against her small back as his hand pulled her hair so that her face was tilted towards him

"Don't you wanna be a good wife for your husband, luv?" The older man purred against her jaw, leaving wet kisses as his other hand traveled between her breasts to undo her dress and let easier access to her chest.

"I think we need to revise your duties as a wife and... as a woman.... my woman" Tommy spat out, before pressing her head against the moquette of the stairs, unbothered by the discomfort he was causing her by holding the soft skin of her cheek against that material.

His hold on her hair got tighter as his other hand traveled down, between her legs... moving skillfully aside her panties before thrusting one finger in while he circled roughly her clit.

His eyes closed and he groaned softly at the small thrusts of her hips cause by the jolts of pleasure he was giving her. All rubbing against his aching cock so well.

As Thomas opened his mouth again his tone was more dominating and demanding even if it was breathless

"Just like that... fuck" he cursed softly, opening his pants quickly to pull out his lenght and start grinding roughly against her lower back... his fingers still working their magic.

Y/n's whimpers and muffled cries didn't stopped his monologue after he started it. Telling her what she should have known already... how it was her duty as a wife to stay home, to keep the house in order for her husband. To listen to her husband and to be faithful to him. To support him in his business and to satisfy his needs whenever he wanted... since he was her husband.

Each point of the list was followed by a thrust of his hips and a soft groans of pleasure.

"You need to keep the home clean, to cook meals, and being faithful to your husband... you fookin'— need to look presentable and appealing at all times, making sure to be feminine and seductive for your husband whenever he wants it. Fookin' need to make sure the children are always kept up and taken care of, and you need to take— care of your husband's emotional needs as well" he continued, his groans interrupting his monologue a couple of time as he slowly approached his peak.

His cremaster muscle contracted and his jaw clenched as a soft hiss escaped his lips... his grip tightened around her hip and on her hair, making her scalp burn. Till a couple of thrusts later when he came with a low groan of her name... his cum landing on her precious dress and bare ass.

Y/n's body kept trembling due to the pleasure and the little act he was playing, teasing her cunt since he started to speak to make her desperate and needy for him.

"Understood, love?" Tommy's sweet tone, boomed in her empty head as tears kept wetting her cheeks. A soft yelp escaping her mouth when his hand slapped her pussy, hitting her clit harshly to make her squirt on him and the fabric of the moquette.

The young woman was breathing heavily, a soft sob interrupted the silence followed by a playful slap on her cheek as she kept nodding at what he asked her.

"That's a good woman, eh" Thomas hummed in a mocking tone, before getting carefully up... his icy stare remaining on her as he pumped his softening cock a couple of times

"Now up, on your feet" his business voice kicked in, more authoritarian and dominant than before. His heart was beating fast and his lust was growing even more as the time passed.

Y/n did as he said, forcing herself up on trembling legs; the shock of intense pleasure still making her head feel light and relaxed but exhausted.

As the soft, low voice of her husband smoothed her... his tender praises working as soft caresses after a harsh slap.

"That's a good little wife" he hummed out again, leading her to their bedroom as his lips kept brushing against the side of her bare neck.

"Get undressed for your husband, love" Tommy demanded, stroking her hip as he took care of his own clothes. His eyes never leaving her body as she did what he asked her, looking at him still scared but eager to feel such a surprising sensation again.

The older man's big hands pushed her softly down on the bed by the shoulders, before letting them travel softly up to her face... cupping her cheeks to make her look directly in his eyes "That's way better, isn't it, love?" He asked in a whisper, leaning down to kiss her and let her desire win over her negative thoughts.

A deep sigh left her mouth as a ticklish sensation formed on her skin while Tommy's hand traveled and explored it just like his lips. Resting tenderly against her sternum to place a hard kiss on it... a kiss that started the path of more kisses around her chest and ended with his lips wrapped around her erect nipple.

His calloused hands spread carefully his wife's bare legs, allowing him to move between them with ease while his warm tongue swirled and his lips sucked sensually, moving away with a soft pop.

"Been dying to feel your pretty warm mouth around my cock, honey" he murmured softly, brushing his nose against her jugular up to her face

"Or to feel your hands... breasts.... ass... squeezing me till I'm satisfied—" he continued, stopping just to let a throaty groan leave his body as his tip got squeezed by Y/n's cunt.

Her eyes closed quickly at the feeling of his thick lenght forcing itself inside of her tight pussy... causing a burning sensation that was eased down by the quick movements of Tommy's fingers on her clit

"Fuckk... darlin', if you keep squeezing me like this it won't last long" he murmured through a hiss, snapping his hips forward so that his cock was now fully swallowed by her pussy which held him like a vice.

Her juices started to wet his thighs shamefully as he pressed himself as close as possible to feel the bulge caused by his cock in her lower belly.

"You fookin' loving it, eh?" Tommy asked teasingly, sloppy kissing her lips as she tried to say 'yes' after a choked moan.

And it was true, she was loving it... her body was loving it.

When her husband started to move inside of her, she felt tears gathering in her eyes at the contrast of his firm and quick but still sensual thrusts and his tender, loving kisses.

It was different from the quick fuck on the stairs or the cold sex they had during the honeymoon, he wanted to show her and make her take the right choice... either be fucked like a useless whore or like his wife.

The message was clear and his demeanour was really fucking with her mind just like his body was doing to hers.

She was his wife... his wife.

He kept repeating it as he slowly reached his peak again, his firm but loving grip forced her to look him in the eyes as her back arched and a silent moan left her body. Her toes curled against the cold sheet of their bed, making her realize how warm her body actually was at that moment.

"Fookin' hell, cream around my cock, love" Tommy ordered, lost in pleasure... snapping his hips forward a couple of times before going for a deeper one and stop right there.

His sharp jaw dropping as a moan left his mouth, his seed shot inside of her cunt as curses and praises joined the moment. She could feel it and she was sure that it would have caused consequences as well as a drastic change in their life.

Y/n Shelby... was Tommy's wife.

Only his, his damn property and.. woman. Not anyone else's and he had just proved his point.

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scarlethexelove · 2 months ago

Text

It's Always The Drummer

Pairing: Drummer!Kate Bishop x Fan!Reader

Word Count: 2799

Warnings: Smut, Kate is a charming, Drumsticks being used for penetration, Service Top! Kate, Kate definitely cums just from getting R off, A bit of Beefy Kate.

Pt 2

A/n: As the last few fics I have to thank @wandamaximoffsbadgirl for helping with this. We have been doing this really fun back and forth were we right the fic together. It's super fun and can be surprising when one writes a something you weren't expecting. As for the fic I just had the idea pop into my head randomly while playing some Fortnite. Please enjoy 😁

NO ONE IS PERMITTED TO STEAL, COPY, OR REBLOG MY WORK AS THEIR OWN

You can't believe that your all-time favorite band is coming to town. You stayed up all night just to get tickets. Sadly, you weren't able to get VIP tickets due to how expensive they are, but you knew if you got here early enough, you could maybe get front row. Your friends stand around you as you all talk about the band. Most of them are obsessed with either the lead singer Natasha, the guitarist Wanda, or bassist Yelena. You, on the other hand, have a big crush on the drummer Kate.

Kate was perfect on drums, and gods, the smirk on her face when she was performing, made you feel something. You had picked out an amazing outfit. You knew Kate's favorite color was purple, so you went with purple and black. Looking yourself over with all your friends beside you. You'd get to see her up close, you just knew it!

You hear some laughter that sounds familiar from behind you. You turn around and spot her. There she is, Kate Bishop in the flesh. Laughing with Wanda, Nat, and Yelena. You can't help as you start to smack the arm of your friend next to you without even taking your eyes off the women. You knew they'd be doing all the VIP stuff soon, but your friend murmurs. “oww Y/n/n.” As they walk by everyone is freaking out when Natasha calls out. “Each of us will be picking one person to be upgraded to VIP!” And of course everyone is freaking out and hoping to be picked.

You internally start to panic. There is no way you'll get picked. The women walk down the line, but as you watch Kate, her eyes seem to keep flicking towards you. You're pretty sure you're just seeing things, but it gives you hope. Of course, you would take any of them picking you, but if Kate did, you might just die.

The girls go and pick theirs. Natasha first, then Wanda, and then Yelena. Kate was last. None of your friends had been picked, but then it happened. Kate holds out her hand at you. “Care to join me?” You could die happy right now as you place your hand in yours. Forgetting all about your friends. She pulls you along, and as you round the corner around the building, she wraps her arm around your waist and pulls you into her side. You can't help the audible gasp that escapes you, and you don't miss the smirk on her face. Your heart races with excitement and fear. You can't believe this is happening.

Kate leans in and whispers in your ear. “You're very beautiful, you know.” A blush covers your cheeks. “N-Not as beautiful as you-you are.” You stutter. She lets out a melodic laugh at your stuttering. “No need to be nervous.” Her grip tightens on you. “We're gonna have some fun, okay beautiful?” You nod, which has Kate raising a brow at you. She holds the door open for you to let you into the band's entrance. “I need words princess.” You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding. “Yes, um yeah of course.” You curse yourself for how stupid you sound. “My name’s Kate but I'm assuming you already know that.” Her confidence has your knees weak. “Y/n.” You tell her which causes her to smile. “Y/n I like the sound of that. A beautiful name for a beautiful girl.”

Kate's words have you blushing as she brings you to a room with her name on it. The opening to reveal what was a place for Kate to get ready, but there was something that was off and caught your eye. A bed. “U-um what's that for? Don't you guys just um like get ready in here?” Kate chuckles. “I like to take naps before the shows... along with some other activities.” She throws you a wink.

This is amazing, and you hate to admit the fact you would let Kate do anything, but something nags at the back of your mind. “Do you do this a lot?” She looks at you. “Do what?” She asks and you can't tell if she's serious or not. “Bring...um bring girls here?” You can't look at her, but you hear a chuckle. “We each pick someone out, but usually I have no interest in anyone, but since the others do it. I do too, but…” She picks your chin up gently. “You caught my eye tonight. I know you saw me looking pretty girl.”

You're as red as a tomato and she can tell how nervous you are. “Princess we don't have to do anything you don't want to. I will bring girls back because of the others but I don't actually do anything with them. But you seem different... special.” Kate gives you a genuine smile. “I...um…” You feel your head spin and you feel like you're on fire. “I really um.” She leans over and cups your cheeks, whispering in your ear. “Just a yes or no is fine princess. You don't have to explain yourself.” She tells you. “Yes.” You breathe out.

Kate smiles, pulling you closer by your hips. She leans in, pressing her lips to yours. You melt into her as you kiss her back. Her fingers dig into your hips. “So beautiful.” She mumbles against your lips. A whine escapes your lips. This is all you've ever wanted since you found out about this band and saw Kate. You never thought you'd be here, and you find yourself chasing her lips. For a moment you wonder if she's lying and she does this all the time, but you don't care. You'll show her the best time she's ever had.

Kate picks you up easily, and you wrap your legs around her waist. She carries you to the bed, laying you down as she hovers over you. “You're so beautiful under me. I could get used to this.” You nod. “Me too.” You pull her down and kiss her again. The kisses get heated as she rolls her hips against you, and you moan out. “Fuck...Kate…” You desperately try to pull her closer. “Mmm need you.” She starts stripping both of you down and you feel like it couldn't be fast enough. You pull at her shirt. “Please.” You whine wanting her to go faster. “Patience princess.” You whine louder. She grips your hips tighter. “Are you going to be a good girl for me?” She asks and you let out another whine. “Words princess.” She grips your face, your eyes dilating.

“I'll be good, please I need this. Need you Kate please.” Your words come out fast. “Good girl.” A blush rises to your cheeks at her words. She leans up and pulls her shirt off. You can't help but drool at the site. She obviously had super toned arms from being a drummer, but what you hadn't expected was how perfect her abs were. Before you even realize it, you've reached out and lightly touched them.

“Like what you see beautiful?” Kate leans down and kisses you, barely giving you time to squeak out a yes. Her tongue pushes past your lips, moving together and letting her take the lead. Her tongue explores your mouth, which only causes you to moan. She gladly swallows your sounds.

When Kate pulls away, you can't help but chase after her lips as a soft whine escapes you. She is already loving the sounds coming out of you and can't wait to see what else she can pull out.

Kate gets you undressed, running her hands over your body, admiring every bit of you. She gets up for a moment to finish undressing herself. You hadn't even noticed until now as she pulls them out. Her famous light up drumsticks were tucked into her back pocket.

You've seen them all over social media over the years, but your focus is always divided between them and the fingers that twirl them around. “Oh wow…” it comes out breathy, and Kate smirks when she notices. “Oh, do you like my drum sticks? I had them custom-made.” She holds them put towards you. “Y-yeah, I always see them in videos.” You mumble slightly embarrassed. She chuckles as an idea pops in her head. “Princess, do you trust me?” You nod faster than you should. You seriously only met the girl, but everything seems so right.

Kate smirks, taking back the sticks and having you lay back. “Just tell me if it hurts and I'll stop, okay?”She just wants to make sure you are comfortable and that she doesn’t hurt you. “Mhmm yes.” She takes one of the sticks and slowly pushes it inside of you. A moan coming out as you tip your head back at the feeling. It's a new sensation compared to what you've taken before. It's not thick but it's so long. You can hear Kate panting slightly above you as she watches her stick disappear inside of you. She didn't expect to find it so hot, but watching how your greedy cunt just sucks it in has her blinded with pleasure.

“Fuck princess you're so hot. Look at you taking me so nicely like that. Do you think you can take both?” Kate asks, looking at you with darkened eyes. “I-I can try...mmm please? W-wanna try Kate.” She pulls the stick all the way out which causes a whine to escape you. Your walls clench around nothing as you feel empty now.

Kate presses the tips of both sticks at your entrance before letting them slowly sink in. “F-fuck!” You gasp at the stretch. “That's a good girl…” Kate bites her lip and the way she's moving, the sounds she's making you'd swear she was getting off as much as you were from this. The sticks hit the deepest part of you, as you arch up into them. “Fuck...f-feels so good Kate...mmm.” She picks up the pace as she plunges the sticks over and over again into your greedy hole. One of your hands reaching out and reaching around her biceps. You can feel it flex with every thrust.

“K-Kate...Katie cumming...I'm gonna..ah.” Kate looks up at you, face all flushed. “Me too princess go on. Cum all over my drum sticks.” Her voice is so deep and husky as you feel the coil tighten inside of you. You feel her tremble, and her muscles flex as she groans out.

Your nails dig into her biceps as your back arches off the bed. Your eyes roll into the back of your head as the tips of the drumsticks hit that spot deep inside you. You fall over the edge, coating her sticks and fingers in your juices. You hear her moan loudly as you're pretty sure she just came from getting you off.

Kate slows down before coming to a stop. Pulling them out and admiring them covered in your slick. As you come back down from the high you catch her staring at them making you blush. She smirks as she notices you staring at her. You're both still slightly panting. “Fuck princess you're so perfect under me.” The blush deepens as you whimper. “W-well, you're perfect above me.” She smirks and leans down to give you another kiss when there's a knock at the door, making you jump. “Busy!” Kate yells to whoever knocked on the door. “Kate, we have to meet VIPs in 5.” You heard Yelena call through the door.”No problem, Lena, we'll be there.” Kate yells back. “W-we.” You stutter out. She smiles down at you and holds out her hand. “I'm not letting you go that easy princess.” You don't know if you could get any redder, but you're pretty sure your face is as red as a tomato now.

Kate pulls you up with her and helps you get dressed before dressing herself. Both of you making sure that your looks don't scream we just fucked in the dressing room. You two manage to join the VIPs, getting treated just like one with all the special little bits that came along with it. You guys got a special spot on the side of the stage and you weren't even upset about your friends not being with you. How could you be when you got to be with Kate Fucking Bishop and get the VIP upgrade for free?

As the opening band plays, Kate comes up behind you and pulls you back to where the other VIPs don't notice her standing there with you. Luckily, it's dark enough. She wraps her arms around your waist behind swaying with you to the music and enjoying the opening band with you.

Kate kisses your neck, which has you gasping. “Enjoying the show, princess?” She whispers in your ear, and you nod in response, which makes her smile. “I'm gonna enjoy it more once you get on stage.” You look back and up at her, kissing her jawline. “You better not take your eyes off me.” Kate says in your ear. “I wouldn't dream of it Katie.” You smile and kiss her as the opening band gets ready to play their last song. She pulls away leaving you chasing her, but she has to go and so you watch her disappear once more.

The opening band finishes up their set and heads off, high fiving all of the VIPs as they pass by. It takes a few minutes as the sets are all changed. The anticipation rising within you. The crowd starts to go crazy as they get the first glance of the band waiting to come out. Natahsa is the first one out with a loud roar from the crowd. Wanda follows, and the Yelena. Last is Kate. She struts onto the stage, catching your eye as she winks at you before she turns around and does a backflip on stage. The crowd went absolutely nuts at this. You can tell she is just showing off to impress you.

You smile, a little chuckle coming out of you as you shake your head at her. Kate sits herself down at her drums. Pulling out the sticks she just used on you making your face flush. You notice how the sticks glisten in the light more than normal. You can't help the gasp that escapes your lips. Kate smirks at you as she notices your reaction. The realization that dawns on you in that moment. She licks over the stick, staring you down. Watching your reaction intently. You feel yourself clench around nothing but you remember the sensation of the drumsticks inside of you. A pool of wetness is between your thighs once more. She gives you a wink as she starts off the set. She is absolutely going to be the death of you, but you couldn't ask for anything more.

The sets goes on, and you can't believe the night you're having. The spot is amazing and the fact you actually got fucked by your celebrity crush has your head spinning and your pinching yourself. The show is everything you could have asked for. The night was everything and more. Even if it turns out to be a one-time thing you'd get to tell your friends you fucked Kate Bishop.

The show came to an end with an amazing encore. As the band exits the stage on the other side, Kate does the opposite. She comes right up to you, grabbing you by the hips and kissing you. She doesn't care who sees, but you can hear the gasp around you and some cheering from afar. “I'm sorry I just couldn't help myself.” Kate pulls back a little and leans her forehead against yours.

Though you were taken by surprise at the drummer's forwardness, you wrapped your arms around her shoulders and smiled. “You did amazing Katie.” You tell her before kissing again. You can see the flashes of people's phones going off at the two of you as you bury your face against her. Not used to this at all. She chuckles, wrapping her arms around you fully and lifting you up in her arms. You instinctively wrap your legs around her waist. “Let me take you on a real date princess.” She says as she walks you back towards the dressing room. You nod into her neck, and she kisses the side of your head. “And maybe it will just have to be a breakfast date.” Her voice gets low and sultry, which has you shuddering.

You're excited about where this could lead. In a sea full of beautiful women, Kate chose you, and maybe she will always pick you.

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