#they just are better than all the other words sorry

[hedgehogsaretheultimatelifeform]

More?

I edited this on my phone so sorry if there’s any mistakes

He ducked his head down, and you swore you could see a blush creeping up around his eyes, the only skin you can see thanks to the mask. “Not here. We’re in public.”

“I know. Come back to my place, and show me.”

“I… can’t leave my guys, I’m out with them…”

“Where?”

He furtively glanced over his shoulder, then pointed. “Over there, at the table in the corner.”

“Okay. I’ll just go have a word with them.”

“Wait-!”He reached out to stop you as you stand up. You took this as an opportunity to grab his hand and pull him off the barstool, forcing him to trail along behind you as you made a beeline for the table he pointed out.

The three men sat there looked up curiously as you approached, knowing that you’re heading for them, as you have Simon in tow. One of them, the oldest looking thanks to his beard, opened his mouth as you stood at the table edge, until you held up a finger.

“I’m taking him home with me.” You tighten your grip on Simon’s hand, making sure he makes eye contact with them from where he’s stood behind you. “Don’t wait up.”

Then, you turned and walked away, not waiting for their reply, tugging Simon along with you as you headed for the exit door.

“That was… that was cool.” Simon said you as you both exit the bar onto the street, a smile spreading across your face as he grips your hand back for the first time.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I mean… they’re all going to be sitting back there, asking how the hell I was the one to get so lucky.”

“If you think you’ve won by landing me, you can say it without putting words in other’s mouths.”

“No, seriously. Johnny’ll be all,” he cleared his throat, coating his next words with a half passing scottish accent, “how does he land that by just walking up and staring at them?”

You laughed, leaning your body against his side, arms knocking together awkwardly as you lead the way back to your place. “I’ll be needing to have words with Johnny, then. You paid the right kind of compliment, and listened to me talk.”

He chuckled lightly, and you were sure that if you had better light than the dull orange street lights, you’d be able to see him blushing again.

As you approach your building, you moved half a step ahead of Simon, pushing the door open and leading him up the stairs to your apartment, all the way up on the eighth floor. You opened your door, in all its peeling red paint glory, and let Simon inside, swearing under your breath when the door gets stuck again when you try to close it.

“Let me.” Simon leant over you, placing his palm against the door and shoving, the traitorous thing giving way so he could close it with ease. He turned the keys to lock it, before turning and presenting the jangling collection of keychains back to you. You chuckled and hung them on the hook before taking his hand again, and tugging him towards your bedroom.

“Get that jumper off, now, yeah?” You tugged at the cuff with your fingers, slowing to a stop and smiling as you watched him reach up and drag the hoodie up over his shoulders, dropping it to the floor and shaking his head. Blonde hair flopped back and forth across his brow with the movement, your eyes widening as you realised that mask he’d been wearing had gotten caught up with it. You reached out and cupped his chin, tilting his head up to face you. “Of course you’re pretty too.”

He chuckled, already blushing again as he reached up and tugged his shirt off too, revealing the top of his tattoo sleeve, how the flaming skulls and guns continued to run up over his skin, trailing your fingers over it as you pushed him back by his shoulders, going right into your bedroom.

“Nice stuff.” You shove him back so the back of his knees hit your bed, making your intent clear if you hadn’t already, only turning away long enough to snap your lamp on before, finally, moving your eyes to his chest. He had some other tattoos beside the sleeve, smaller, older looking ones that seemed to follow the same military style as each other, until you looked at the one that swirled out above his heart.

“Yeah.” He saw where you were looking as he sat down on your bed, looking up at you as he brought a hand up to it, almost unconsciously. “That’s my newest one.”

He said, but you could tell that it was already several years old, by your make. Definitely newer than the sleeves, though, and in a very different style.

“Did you get it for someone?”

He nodded, pressing his fingers against it, his eyes darting away from yours. “My family. My mum, my brother, his wife and kid. I lost them… few years ago.”

“Fuck… I’m sorry.” You gently sat next to him, moving your gaze away from it. That’s one way to kill a mood. Asking about a guys dead family.

“Have got anything like that?” He murmured, to fill the silence.

You reached up and tugged the collar of your shirt down, tapping the ribbon that was drawn to look like it dipped beneath your skin and wrapped around your collar bone. “Lost a good friend of mine. It was supposed to be matching, but he… never got it done.”

The story spills out of your lips almost before you could stop it. You’d never actually told anyone what it had meant before. Maybe, it was only out of obligation, because he’d told you about his. Or, you just finally needed to tell it to someone, and in that moment had found someone who would get it.

“Damn. Asshole move, that.”

You laughed, leaning against his side as he locked his arm around your shoulder. “Glad someone said it. Can’t badmouth a dead guy… or demand that he pay the cost of you covering it.” You chuckled, letting go of your collar again.

“Any other good ones?” You tilted your head up at his question, and caught Simon spying down the gap of your shirt.

“Less depressing ones, you mean?” You undid your shirt, tossing it off and unsnapping your bra as you shuffled back up your bed. “Take a look.”

He followed you eagerly, trying and failing to keep his eyes on your ink rather than your boobs. “I take it you like snakes? I got… one, two, three… four, five…”

He counted, tapping each of the snakes he found on your skin.

“Huh. Never thought about it. Guess i do…” You giggled as his fingers brushed over your side, counting snake number fourteen.

“Ticklish?”

“If you still want to land tonight, no.”

“Noted.” He withdrew his hand, biting his lip as he stared at your tits, moving slowly up and down ever so slightly as you breathed. “Doesn’t it hurt? Getting it done there?”

“Oh for sure. But, you only have to do it once.” You sigh, shifting up as you kick your jeans off too, leaving you in just your knickers, revealing your legs too. “Besides, I thought my thighs were way worse.”

He nodded slowly, only half listening as he trailed a hand down one of your thighs, rolling the skin over as he found your last free real estate. “Run out of ideas?”

“Yeah.” You sigh, rolling the leg up into his touch as he inspects the blank space, his fingers catching against your panty line.

“I don’t have any one my legs, yet.” He mused, flicking his fingers up under the elastic and tugging on the seam, pulling the material tight against your skin.

“Really? Prove it.” You sit back, drawing your legs up to your chest, hiding your nudity from him, smiling as you watched him grumble and shuck his jeans off, boxers along with it, as he spread his pale, muscly legs in front of you, cock bobbing between them.

“Damn…” you murmured. “Lots of real estate there, huh?”

“Sure.” He shivered, shuffling closer to you. “Maybe, we solve two birds with one stone. Get something matching.”

You chuckled, kicking your legs out again and tucking yourself forward between his legs, eyeing his thick cock. “Or we could fuck.”

He nodded. “Or that.”

“Come here.” You reached out, and he leant into your arms, curling up against you as you kissed him, wrapping your arms around his neck as you tasted the remnants of whiskey on his lips and tongue when it darted in between your teeth, dragging you into his lap.

His dick rubbed against the front of your underwear, a groan leaving his lips as you felt his hand dip beneath the elastic again, pulling on it harder than he had before, as he leant back.

“Do you like these?”

“Uh…” you shook your head and looked down at them. “Dunno? They’re fine, i suppose.”

“You won’t miss them then?”

“Sure, no.” You said, then gasped, clutching at the back of his neck as he promptly tore them off you, first at the left side, then the right before he tugged the scrap of material out from between your legs and tossing it aside.

Simon pried your arms from around his head, using your shock to drop you back to the bed, freeing up his hand so he could dip his fingers in between your legs, sighing as he found your clit and pinched it.

You shivered under his hands, head spinning from how fast he’d turned the tables on you. Simon was just surprised that he wasn’t the one shaking, that bis hands weren’t trembling as he brushed them over your skin, marvelling at the stark difference between his skin, and the heavily inked one beneath it, covered in snakes, flowers, a misshapen platypus, a racoon with a gun, a dragon sleeping on a mound of gold, among so many more.

“Oi… what you’re waiting for?” You murmured, gazing up at him.

“Oh… sorry.” He smiled, reaching down for one of your legs, locking one hand under your knee and folding your leg up against your body, quickly followed by the other one as he slid his dick between your folds, finding your cunt and sinking his dick straight into it.

The movement punching the breath from your throat as your back arched, the tension quickly dropping as you felt like you went boneless as Simon relentlessly fucked his cock into you, gently rubbing his thumbs over your skin where he was holding your legs up as he shushed you, only letting you lower your legs when his hips were settled against your ass, and you were indescribably full of cock. He smiled you and you, rubbing his thumb over your cheek as your brain tried to describe it anyway, to put into rational terms the explanation as to how you’d ended up here, and not on top.

“Where… where’s this come from?” You gasped out, hips bucking as your cunt squeezing tight around him.

“What?” He leant down over you, jostling his dick inside you. “Where’d what come from?”

“This!” You hit his shoulder, groaning as he leant down again, the blunt shape of his abs putting a tiny bit of pressure on your clit as it got trapped between your bodies. “You coming up to me, all shy and awkward, then you pull… this!”

Simon chuckled, eyes sparkling even in the dim light as he leant down even further, laying his body on top of yours sp he could kiss you, gently hushing you, nudging his nose against your cheek. “Im not good at introductions.”

You laughed, then gasped as he rolled his hips slightly, hands coming up to clutch at his arms. “Then… it’s good that you’re good at everything else.”

“I’ll say.” He murmured back, kissing you again. “You comfy?”

You nodded. “But happy to be… less.”

“Like it rough then?”

“I can take it.”

“I’ll take your word for it, love.” He leant close to your ear. “Don’t want to hear you complaining, though.”

“You won’t.” You lock your hands around his arms, digging your fingers into his skin.

“Good.” He chuckled back and sat back up, tucking himself up on his knees, raising your hips up with him, the change making you gasp before the slow backwards drag of his hips made you whine. You’d been so full, you didn’t know what you would do if you weren’t, so you tried to lock your legs around his hips and keep him inside of you, but it did nothing. His hips were pure muscle, and they were fucking his cock in and out of you like a he was a machine designed for it, up to and including his soft smile as he stared down at you, watching you fall apart around his dick, clenching and moaning, cumming, barely able to keep your eyes open, vision blurring as you stared up at the man above you, his hair glowing in the lamplight as the bed creaked violently beneath you, almost certainly pissing off your neighbours, even as it masked the sound his cock and your cunt were making. It didn’t do anything for the sound of his skin meeting your skin, so it was sure to be an awkward conversation with them too, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care in that moment. Any embarrassment you could have felt was being washed away by giddy joy at the man you’d found, the one currently fucking you as hard as he could, the one that had lost his shy streak at just the right time to fuck you stupid, shaking your grip off one of his arms so he could drag his fingers down over your skin again, on a quest to find your clit and scientifically determine the best angle to rub it at, sending your mind white with pleasure, shaking and curling under his touch, cumming hard again as he chuckled over you, only relenting when you swung your arm, your hand pathetically colliding with his side, a tear rolling down your cheek as he leant down and kissed you, grunting as he came inside you, making the one bit of clarity you had left thank god for birth control as you locked your arms around his neck, keeping him close to you as he pulled out of you and rolled to the side, panting heavily.

You lay your head on his chest, as he kept his hand cupped over your cunt so you leaked onto him and not your sheets, a mournful look coming over his face as you cuddled up to his side.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to stay long.” He mumbled, tilting his head up as he looked for a clock.

“It’s alright.” You patted his side, already yawning. “You just stay as long as you can.”

He’d stayed for ten bloody years. And counting, given that he’d married you. Eventually. Even got that tattoo you’d talked about the first night you’d met. Flowers and skulls, matching yours, flowing down his thigh, out from his boxers as he stood at the stove, frying bacon. You were lying on the sofa still trying to catch your breath from how he’d fucked you seven ways to Sunday, and he was already up, showered and cooking bacon for you. You shook your head, shifting the cushion behind your head. Thank god he was shit at introductions. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here.

Ghost introducing himself to a heavily tattooed reader by just sitting down next to them and saying, ‘I’m Simon. I like your tattoos.’

He gives absolutely zero further interaction, just staring at the reader’s ink until they start explains what each one means, pointing out the little details for him to admire.

Ghost who panics when the reader asks if he has any tats of his own, worried that you’ll think his stuff is dumb, cliche military shit. With enough bugging, he’ll push his sleeves up and let the reader gush over him too, his brain freezing again when they poke his chest and ask to see the rest, too.

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

can you see the stars in your dreams (and do they have a lot to say about me) - Part 19

Or: a secret Admirer AU

PART 1 || PART 2 || PART 3 || PART 4 || PART 5 || PART 6 || PART 7 || PART 8 || PART 9 || PART 10 || PART 11 || PART 1 || PART 13 || PART 14 || PART 15 || PART 16 || PART 17 || PART 18

Steve makes a noise of pain, and Eddie pulls back like he’d been burned. With how hot his face feels, he might have been. Eddie holds his fingers up to his own mouth. His lips hurt enough when he touches them that Eddie’s sure it’ll go down in history as the worst kiss in Steve Harrington’s life.

“Um,” Steve says, voice high and wobbly like he’s going to cry.

Eddie’d almost rather die than have Steve see him right now, but he needs to see the look on Steve’s face to ascertain how the hell he can fix this. So, he reaches up, fumbling blindly until the van’s interior light clicks on.

He blinks, momentarily blinded by the spots sparking in his eyes with the sudden light. When he finally blinks them away and catches sight of Steve, his breath catches.

Steve’s pressed hard enough into the van’s door that it looks like he’s trying to become one with it, and his eyes are wide and panicked, fingers clenching the fabric of his jeans over his raised knees. There’s a speck of blood on his mouth and all Eddie can do is hope that it’s his own.

“I am so sorry,” Eddie rushes out, shuffling forward in his seat, hand outstretched to wipe off the blood, but when Steve flinches away, smacking his head against the window, Eddie flings himself back, palms raised in supplication. “I shouldn’t have done that!”

It’s only as something shutters beneath Steve’s wide eyes that Eddie realizes how many wrong ways Steve could be taking what he’s saying. “Not like that!” Eddie continues, words tumbling over each other in his rush to get them out. “It’s just you were saying all that shit like I don’t want to be here? And I panicked, and just sort of…did that?”

Steve doesn’t say anything in response. He just sits, frozen, eyes unfocused. Eddie really wishes he’d say something, if only so Eddie can stem the stream of bullshit flowing from his mouth.

“Only, I’ve never kissed anyone before, and you’re supposed to ask first, right?” he rambles, still panicking. “Oh my god, I just like, attacked you? I’ll take you home if you want, oh my god, why did I—”

“You want to be here?” Steve blessedly interrupts. Eddie takes gasping breaths, eyes laser focused on the little furrow between Steve’s brows. “Wait, that was your first kiss?”

Eddie feels whatever blood had drained from his face rush back as Steve squints across at him. He’s not crowded into the door, but Eddie’s not sure the way he’s leaning toward Eddie with disarming focus is actually much better.

“I mean—well, you see—I’ve just never—” Steve’s still staring at him unerringly so Eddie takes a shuddering breath and finally spits it out. “I’ve never been on a date, kissed anyone, any of that stuff.”

“Oh,” Steve whispers, a look Eddie can’t read dawning across his face.

“Yeah, oh,” Eddie replies, chuckling weakly when Steve just keeps staring. Eddie looks away, unable to hold the intensity of his gaze. “Sorry I blew it like that. I just sort of panicked, you know?”

“Oh,” Steve says again, a different intonation this time, still just as indecipherable to Eddie.

“Yeah, oh,” he mutters again, picking at a loose thread on his sleeve, unable to look at Steve.

It’s silent again—Eddie wishes it was dark, too. He wants to go home, drag his comforter back into his room and hide beneath it until he forgets any of this ever happened. He might be under there for a long, long time.

But then there’s cool fingers against his chin, and when he jerks his gaze toward him, Steve’s golden brown eyes are very, very close to his own, his lips even closer with the way his breaths are puffing against Eddie’s open mouth.

“Can I?” Steve asks, making it clear what he means as he looks down at Eddie’s lips.

Eddie gasps, body aflame with the power of his blush. “You—you want to?” he stutters out. When Steve nods, still holding Eddie’s chin, he responds, “okay, yeah, yeah, okay—” his affirmations only being cut off by the soft press of Steve’s lips.

It’s soft and dry, pressed chastely against Eddie’s own. Eddie shudders, mimicking the minute movements of Steve’s lips against his own. It’s a revelation to feel Steve’s lips on him, even more so when he feels Steve’s mouth quirk up against his own, like he’s happy to be kissing the bumbling fool Eddie’s become.

Eddie laughs, just a little against Steve’s mouth. It turns into a groan halfway up his throat as Steve threads his fingers through Eddie’s hair, using his grip on the back of his head to pull Eddie closer to himself. As Eddie gasps, Steve brushes his tongue into Eddie’s open mouth, barely delving in before pulling it back and sucking Eddie’s bottom lip.

Steve leaves his lips wet as he pulls back. Eddie tries to chase his mouth, drunk off the feeling of it, but Steve’s fingers fist in the back of his hair, holding him in place. The feeling zings through Eddie from his scalp to his palms, that gentle pull hitting him like electrocution as he gasps back to life.

When he opens his eyes, Steve’s still close, smiling smugly at Eddie. It’s all King Steve without the bite. He wants more, hopes Steve keeps him around long enough that he can see it all.

“You said stargazing?” Steve asks, eyes twinkling brighter than any star in the sky.

Eddie laughs, something bright and bubbling filling his chest as he watches Steve laugh along with him, eyes crinkling almost shut, hand still clutched in Eddie’s hair.

He hopes, ardently, desperately, that a second date is on the table, no matter how disastrously this one has gone because right now, in this moment with Steve’s buoyant laughter echoing in his skull? Eddie’s obsessed with him.

“Yeah, big boy, let’s go.”

***

Steve leans against the cold metal of Eddie’s van and watches as Eddie bounces around in the light of the van’s headlights, helplessly endeared as Eddie fusses with the edges of his blanket until it finally lays wrinkle-free in an empty spot in the clearing. He rushes back to the van a few times, holding snacks and drinks behind his back like Steve won’t see them the moment he drops them to one side of the blanket.

He fusses with it all, too, making sure everything’s lined up just so. It’s so unlike Eddie that Steve might think he’s stalling if he wasn’t beaming the entire time. To finish it off, he grabs a smaller folded blanket and lays it perfectly parallel with all the snacks. Only then does he turn back to Steve.

“My lady,” he says, bowing low and gesturing down to the blanket at his feet. “Your chariot awaits.”

Steve laughs and follows his directions to the middle of the blanket, feeling absurdly guilty about his shoes on it. He drops, crossing his legs beneath him. Once he’s rushed over to the van to turn his headlights off, Eddie follows his lead, sitting close enough that their knees just barely overlap.

Steve blinks away the spots in his vision from the change in light before looking up at the sky. It’s bursting with stars, and the moon’s full enough to illuminate their clearing so that Steve can see the shadows of Eddie’s dimples as he smiles at him.

“So, I was thinking we could smoke a little?” Eddie says, pulling a joint out of the pocket of his vest with a raised brow. “But if you don’t want to, we can just relax.”

Steve grabs the joint from Eddie’s hand, letting his fingers brush against Eddie’s before plucking it free and putting it in his own mouth. Eddie stares, mouth parted, hand still held out despite now being empty.

“Well? Got a light?” Steve asks around the blunt, leaning a bit toward Eddie as he comes back to life and fumbles in his vest pocket like he’s on some sort of time crunch.

Eddie flicks his lighter and watches avidly as Steve sucks in until the cherry catches and burns. He inhales, trying for cocksure and suave, but it’s been a long time and instead he coughs a cloud of smoke right in Eddie’s face.

Steve rolls his eyes as Eddie throws his head back and laughs. “Yeah, yeah, yuck it up,” he says around each little, sputtering cough.

“Sorry,” Eddie replies, but he’s still laughing as he plucks the joint from Steve’s fingers and takes a much smoother drag, using his free hand to pat Steve on the back like he’s burping a baby. “Been a while, Stevie?”

Steve’s eyes are streaming, but he feels light enough that he could float away on the smoke as Eddie smiles across at him, joint still in his mouth.

“A bit,” Steve replies, cheeks heating as Eddie’s fingers brush against his lips as he puts the joint back into Steve’s own mouth, tip now wet with Eddie’s spit.

“Nice and easy, now,” Eddie says. Steve follows his instructions, taking a small, shallow breath in, fighting against the spasming of his lungs as he lets the smoke leave his mouth and float up into the night’s sky. He’s rewarded with Eddie’s quiet murmur of, “good boy.”

Then the asshole takes the joint back, raising his eyebrows tauntingly as Steve shudders.

“Shut up,” Steve mutters, no heat behind the words as he flops back on the blanket and looks up at the stars. “Now show me some constellations, Munson.”

Eddie laughs, dropping down so their sides are pressed together, heads close enough that Eddie’s hair tickles Steve’s neck. Eddie takes one more drag before offering it back to Steve. Steve’s enough of a lightweight now, that the few hits he took have him floating a few feet above his body, so he shakes his head. Eddie reaches over to stub it out in the grass without complaint.

“Okay, see those three stars?” Eddie asks, pointing up into the sky. Steve squints, nodding when he finally locates three stars that seem brighter than the ones around them, forming a wonky sort of triangle. “Well, that constellation’s called, How The Fuck Should I Know?”

A barking laugh bursts out of Steve as he turns to stare at Eddie, incredulous. “You planned a stargazing date and don’t know anything about stars?”

“Well, I thought it would be romantic!” Eddie cries, gesturing wildly enough that one of his hands smacks into Steve’s chest lightly.

Steve rolls his eyes. “Doesn’t even know anything about stars,” he repeats teasingly.

“Well!” Eddie sputters, wrapping his arm around Steve’s shoulders and shaking him around on the blanket as he laughs. “Wayne thought it was a good idea.”

Steve stops laughing, unease curdling in his gut as he asks, “you told your uncle about me?”

Eddie sits up, wriggling his arm from beneath Steve suddenly enough that he flops bonelessly onto the blanket as Eddie peers down at him, eyes wide and manic beneath the moonlight. He latches both hands onto Steve’s shoulders like he’s trying to keep Steve stationary.

“I didn’t mean to!” he blurts out before biting his lip. “It’s just, I tell him everything, and he knew I was upset, and asked what was wrong, and it just spilled out!” One of Eddie’s hands lets go of Steve’s shoulder so he can gesture wildly, like they’re playing charades and he’s depicting a clown pulling a ribbon from his sleeve. “And then he told me that he thought I was gay, can you believe that?”

And honestly? Steve can. But Eddie looks riled enough, and Steve just wants to go back to the calm intimacy of minutes before, so he grabs the hand still propping Eddie up with his own shoulder and yanks it out from under him.

Eddie goes sprawling, landing half on Steve’s chest where he wriggles around like a worm until Steve wraps his arms around him and holds Eddie tight to his own chest. Eddie shutters, then slumps, tucking his head beneath Steve’s chin with a groan.

“First Chrissy, then Jeff, and Robin, now your uncle?” Steve mutters, tightening his hold on Eddie when his words start him squirming again. “Who’s next, the pope?”

“Robin knows?” Eddie asks, breaths puffing against Steve’s sensitive neck. “That explains so much.”

“Hey, Rob’s great,” Steve defends, unsure what Eddie’s weird tone means. “I’m going to spend the rest of my life with her.”

Eddie snorts, but burrows his face further into Steve’s neck, planting a little kiss on the skin there. “You’re so weird.”

“Coming from you?”

“Oh, baby, you had me beat like three deranged decisions ago,” Eddie teases, but Steve barely hears him, too busy replaying baby, baby, baby, over and over again in his head like a cheap record.

“Shut up,” Steve mutters.

Eddie fights against Steve’s restricting arms until he’s propped up, smirking down at him, his curly hair curtained around them. “I’m serious! First, you write secret letters? And to me of all people?” Eddie crows. Steve wishes desperately that he could think of a way to shut him up before this gets even more embarrassing. “And the Chrissy of it all, Stevie, what the hell were you—mph!”

Eddie goes blessedly silent as Steve plants one on him, opening his mouth just enough to hear Eddie make that delightful groaning noise again. Steve wraps his arms around Eddie’s waist, pulling Eddie down until his full weight is atop Steve, anchoring his stoned brain back into his body.

Steve bites at Eddie’s lip, once, twice, before soothing it with his tongue and pulling back, high again off the pitiful groan Eddie lets out.

“I finally found a way to shut you up,” he says softly, but he’s smiling and running his hands up and down Eddie’s back as he pants.

Eddie groans, flopping off Steve, body still pressed up against his side. “You’re evil Harrington,” he mutters, reaching out to take Steve’s hand and squeeze.

Steve reaches for Eddie’s chin again, this time pointing it back up to the sky.

“You see those stars there?” he asks, pointing up and to the left of them. “It looks sort of like a weird rectangle with legs and a swirly neck?”

Eddie squints up, gaze unerringly facing the way Steve’s pointing. Steve watches close enough that he sees the moment recognition lights up his eyes. “That’s Leo.”

At that, Eddie whips his head around to stare at Steve suddenly enough that he breaks Steve’s hold on his chin. “Are you kidding?” Eddie demands, but he’s grinning now. “You gave me all that shit, and you ‘know the stars?’” He throws quotations around his words, making it clear that he’s mocking Steve.

For his part, Steve shrugs, still lying down and grinning right back as he replies, “I learned all the star signs to impress girls. And boys, now.”

As Steve reaches out to tuck a dangling lock behind Eddie’s ear, Eddie stares back at him, no longer grinning. “I’m a Leo.”

“I know.”

Eddie whines, “you’re going to kill me,” and drops back to the blanket, curling into Steve’s side.

“Nah,” Steve replies, uprooting Eddie just enough to reach over and grab the folded blanket to drape over the pair of them, cutting the chill in the air by halves. After all, they’ve got a high to wear off before Eddie can drive him home like the gentleman he promised to be. “What fun would that be?”

***

Steve’s asleep—Eddie can tell by the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath Eddie’s head and the way his breath whistles out of his nose. Eddie doesn’t wake him up. This moment feels too precious, this feeling bubbling up in his chest too new to disturb it, especially after the disaster that was the beginning of the night.

It’s just, Eddie’s never been on a date before, and he hadn’t accounted for the way the popcorn would make his hand too slippery with butter to even imagine reaching across the distance between them. And Steve had been very clear: he wanted to hold hands. And it’d all spiraled out of control from there.

He’s never buying popcorn again.

But, now he’s resting against Steve’s side, head propped up on Steve’s chest, hand clutched in his even though it leaves his arm at an awkward angle. And he’s contending with feelings he’s never experienced before.

It’s like there’s moths attacking his heart and lungs before fluttering down into his stomach, tickling his insides, making his whole being damn-near squirm with the foreign feeling.

He feels almost sick with it—is this what everyone means by lovesick? It’s awful, it’s spectacular. He wants to wake Steve up and tell him about the moths and their fluttering, see if he feels it, too.

But, Steve sighs, and even in his sleep, his arms reflexively pull Eddie tighter against himself, and Eddie lets himself bask in the warmth of his embrace until he falls asleep.

He wakes, his entire body cold and shivering convulsively.

It takes another shake to his shoulder to remember where he is and who he’s with. He opens his eyes to Steve’s face hovering over him, his hand shaking Eddie’s shoulder.

“Wha’s it?” Eddie murmurs, reaching up to rub clumsily at his eyes.

“We fell asleep,” Steve replies, voice gravely in a way that hits Eddie right in the gut. “Come on, man. It’s freezing out here.”

Eddie groans, but dutifully drops his hand from his face to grab Steve’s, letting the other boy pull him upright. It takes him a minute to reorient himself with the concept of standing upright.

By the time he’s upright, Steve’s stacked the uneaten snacks back into the bag Eddie’d brought them in, and is halfway through folding up Eddie’s blanket.

“Is it morning?” Eddie asks, squinting up at the sky accusingly as dawn’s light filters through the trees.

Steve laughs. “You’re cute when you first wake up.” Eddie stands there, brain now fully offline, cheeks heating even in the cold. “Now, come on! It’s cold as hell out here.”

The sound of his van’s passenger door slamming as Steve climbs inside sends him running; he climbs into his freezing van and turns the key in the ignition.

“The, uh, heat’s on the fritz,” Eddie mutters, embarrassed, as the van sputters to life. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Steve replies, and when Eddie glances at him, he’s smiling over at Eddie even as he wraps his arms around himself.

It’s a quiet drive, more out of sleepiness this time rather than the awkward journey of the night before. Steve reaches out to play whatever’s in the tape deck—Metallica this time, and he bops his head along to the beat while Eddie taps the steering wheel.

He pulls into the Harrington’s driveway, and puts the van in park and lets the engine idle.

“Well, I had fun,” Steve says, smiling as he unbuckles his seatbelt. “Thanks for the ride.”

Steve’s already out of the car and walking up to his front door by the time Eddie’s tired brain catches up. He’s out of the van in a shot, forcing his cold legs to move fast as he calls, “wait!”

Steve pauses, hand still on the doorknob, halfway through the door. But he turns around, and waits as Eddie rushes up to him, already breathless from his short dash.

“A gentleman always walks his date to the door,” Eddie says quietly, conscious of listening ears, even this early in the morning.

Steve beams, clearly ready to play along as he curtsies like one of the fine ladies in the movies and replies, “well, you’ve done your gentlemanly duty.”

Eddie shuffles his feet, anxious now about all the other things that usually follow the end of a date. “Uhh—well—can I—?”

Steve waits indulgently while Eddie sputters over all the things he wants, all the things he can’t figure out how to say. It’s okay, Eddie planned for this, so he reaches into his vest’s pocket, and pulls out a folded piece of paper, passing it to Steve like they’re in class.

Steve looks down at it, smile growing as he asks, “what’s this?”

“Open it,” Eddie replies, but he already is, smile only growing as he reads what’s on it.

   Second Date? Yes ☐ No ☐

   First Kiss? Yes ☐ No ☐

“I, uh, didn’t think we’d have already done the whole first kiss thing?” Eddie rambles, the longer Steve spends just staring down at it. “But, it’s customary at the end of a first date, right? I mean not that I have any experience. But, in the movies—”

“I probably have morning breath,” Steve graciously interrupts, holding a hand over his mouth like he’ll be able to contain the stench. But he’s smiling down at the note, Eddie can see the edges of his upturned lips between the gaps in his fingers.

And that’s decidedly not a no, so Eddie crowds Steve until he stumbles through his open front door. Eddie takes a precious moment to close the door to obscure them from view before he cups Steve’s cheeks in the palms of his hands.

“I can’t tell you how much I don’t give a shit about that, Harrington,” Eddie murmurs right before he presses his lips against Steve’s, gently this time because say what you want about Eddie, but he can learn from his mistakes.

It’s slow this time, languid. They’re both tired, and cold, and this date has gone on hours longer than it was ever supposed to. But it’s just as good as their second first kiss. Eddie’s mind goes blank—there’s nothing past the heat of Steve’s lips, and the way those foreign moths squirm within him as arms wrap around his waist. 

Eddie pulls away first this time, pecking Steve’s lips once, twice, thrice, when he groans a complaint. “Now, now, I’m trying to be a gentleman,” Eddie replies, hoping Steve doesn’t notice how breathless he sounds.

Steve pouts, but pulls back, Eddie’s note still clutched in his hand. Eddie stares at it, gut churning much more unpleasantly as he asks, “uh, and the other question?”

“Hold that thought,” Steve replies, and then he just—walks away.

Eddie stands at the threshold of the Harrington’s big, empty house as Steve disappears from view. Luckily for the health of Eddie’s heart, he reappears a few moments later, the cap of a pen in his mouth as he scribbles quickly on the page before handing it back to Eddie.

Eddie looks down at it, smile blooming as he sees the little X’s Steve had written in next to the Yes’s of both questions.

“But it’s my turn to plan the next one,” Steve mutters, and when Eddie tears his gaze away from the note, Steve’s cheeks are dusted with a light pink blush that Eddie has to resist the urge to lick.

“I can live with that,” he replies, damn-near buzzing with excitement.

“I’m going to knock your date out of the park, Munson, just you wait.” Steve’s got a cocky eyebrow raised like he’s challenging Eddie to a competition and knows he’s going to win.

He’s such a bitch; Eddie’s obsessed with him.

“Good luck, Harrington. We both know I knocked this one out of the park.” Steve laughs as Eddie mimes hitting a baseball with a bat with the best form he can manage, trying to appeal to Steve’s jock sensibilities.

“You brought it back around,” Steve concedes.

“But, hey,” Eddie starts, finally breaking eye contact with Steve so he can slip the ring off his finger and hold it out to Steve. “It’s no letterman jacket, but something to remind you of me until our next date?”

Steve’s eyes are wide as he looks down at the ring cradled in Eddie’s palm, and his fingers tremble slightly as he scoops it up. Still, he doesn’t hesitate in trying out fingers until he finds one that fits—the blue gem shines brighter affixed to Steve’s thumb than it ever did on Eddie’s hand.

Steve’s cheeks are darker now; Eddie wants to reach out and see if he can feel the heat through his skin.

Steve swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing as he looks down at the ring on his finger with what looks like wonder. “Thank you,” he murmurs quietly before finally looking up and meeting Eddie’s eyes. “Good luck getting my letterman back from Chrissy, though. She’s obsessed with it. I swear I even saw Jeff wearing it the other day.”

“I’ll fight her for it,” Eddie replies, mostly joking as he throws a couple half-hearted punches just to make Steve laugh again.

“You do that,” Steve says, still smiling as he leans forward to peck Eddie’s lips one more time before ushering him out the door. Eddie’s lips tingle the whole drive home.

When he walks through the trailer, Wayne’s on the couch, watching a game of sportsball on the TV, a mug of coffee clutched in his hand. He looks up when Eddie enters, smirking as he catches sight of whatever look is on Eddie’s face.

“Still straight, Ed?” Wayne asks, before taking a sip of his coffee like the meddlesome bastard he is.

“Shut up, old man,” Eddie replies, walking past his laughing uncle to fall into his bed for a few more hours of much-needed sleep.

[luveline]

Hii, Jade 🤍 please bring back singledad!spencer, reader and Amanda 🥹 they r so special

—Spencer experiences your first Spencer-brought-upon baby fever, to his shock. fem, 2k 

(cw: reader is written as enthusiastically wanting kids) 

Spencer’s been reading to Amanda since the moment she could open her eyes. By two months she was cooing in delight whenever he spoke, and that included during story time. He didn’t mind that she didn’t understand, he just loved being with her. He still does. 

So when Amy interrupts your conversation to beg for him to read her something, he gives you an apologetic look, asking, “Do you mind?” 

“Of course I don’t mind.” You wouldn’t, you’re like an angel, leaning back on the couch with little urgency as Amy climbs into Spencer’s lap.

“Thank you. Sorry for interrupting,” Amy says. 

“Gosh, you’re so smart,” Spencer says, tucking a curl of her hair behind her ear. “Interrupting, that’s a big word.” 

“Go ahead,” you say, getting comfortable in front of one of Spencer’s woven cushions. “I’ll listen too, if that’s okay.” 

Spencer opens the storybook to the first page. Amy likes this one. The corners of the pages are soft with use. “Cerys’ Brave Day,” he begins, grinning as Avery pushes herself up his chest to look down at the illustrations. “Cerys wakes up without mommy. Cerys makes her own way out of bed. There is no mommy to wipe her face or brush her hair. My mommy, she thinks, is not there.” 

Amy smiles into Spencer’s cheek. He wraps an arm around her, as if to say, I know, angel, it’s exciting. “Her mommy must be having a slow day. She doesn’t appear to give Cerys any help. And Cerys says–”

“No way!” Amy finishes, pointing at the drawing of a bathroom sink and toothbrush. “I don’t want to brush my teeth by myself!” 

It goes on like that for some time. Spencer notices you getting closer as he goes on, your arm pressing to his side. 

Cerys finds that her mommy is having a slow day. Cerys’ mommy is just as loving as the other mom’s, but sometimes she takes longer to help Cerys brush her hair, and get dressed. Cerys has to be a brave, smart girl, and help her mommy with the small things. Spencer enjoys it, and thought it was a great expression of empathy for Amy to one day understand.

“Later, when mommy feels better, she says I’m sorry for being so slow. Mommy didn’t mean to forget her, she just struggles to get up and go. 

“Cerys doesn't want her to be sorry. She loves helping her mommy out. Because mommy loves Cerys, and Cerys loves mommy, and that’s never been in any doubt.” 

Amy turns her face to Spencer with a huge smile, somehow bigger than when it started. “I love that story,” she says. 

Spencer lets the storybook fall closed in her lap. “It’s a good one, huh?” 

“What do you think, Y/N?” Amy asks. 

You’re delighted by Amy in a way Spencer’s used to seeing in the mirror. “I loved it. Daddy’s a good storyteller, and you’re such a good assistant. You know lots of the big words.” 

She preens. “Thanks.” 

You can’t resist her, pushing against the top of her head with a nice palm. “You’re welcome.” 

“Can we have another one?” she asks. 

Spencer checks the time on his watch. Amy realised it was bedtime before he did, it seems. “Come on, lovely girl. Let’s start getting ready for bed, and you can have any story you want.” 

He’s obviously not expecting you to leave, but at the same time, things are new enough between you that when he asks if you want to sleepover, your grinning “Yes, please,” throws him for a loop. 

You have spare clothes and toiletries in the bedroom. You ask to take a quick shower and get all smiley and shy when he says you never have to ask. 

“So dad,” Amy says. 

“So Amy,” he says, pulling down the blankets on her bed. She has five layers because suddenly November is cold. He wonders if she needs a sixth. 

“I can’t sleep in the big bed tonight.” 

“Well, that depends on how badly you want to.”

“Really?” 

“You’ve known Y/N for a long time, right? She’s been my friend for a long time, before she was my partner. I think she’d be okay with having you sleep in the big bed again if you need to. It was your place before it was her place, and she knows that.” 

“Well…” 

He grabs her under the arms and places her in bed. She could use her stepping stool, but he likes picking her up and putting her down. It makes him feel super paternal. “Just think about it, angel. If you change your mind, you can just come and knock the door. 

“Promise?” 

“Honey.” He kisses her forehead twice, before pulling the blankets up over her, and turning on her mushroom night light. “How’s that? Okay, I promise you can still come knock my door. Cross my heart.” 

“Can you stay for a little?” she asks. 

Spencer sits on her bed by her legs. They feel weirdly small under his hand despite the padding he’s given her. “Babe, are you sure you’re warm enough? This does not feel like enough blankets.” 

“It’s loads. Give me a hug.” 

Spencer lays down in her bed, almost falls off, and covers her with his arm. Their curls tangle together on the pillowcase. 

“Like this?” he asks. 

“Exactly.” 

“Amy, you’re using such big words, you’re so smart.” He’s gonna take her for an assessment at some point. He doesn’t care if she’s super intelligent or not, but lately it’s like she’s so much older than she is. A few days ago she said the word discombobulated. “My smarty-pants.” 

“I like big words,” she says. 

“I love you.” 

“I love you, too.” 

“Remember what Amanda means?” he asks. 

Amy giggles as he shakes her by the tummy. “She who must be loved.” 

“Exactly. Loved by everyone, deserving of love. Always, from the second you were born!” He leans down to kiss her cheek, meeting her eyes as he pulls back. “Okay?” 

She certainly feels loved, he’d wager. He loves her so much it’s like an extra part of his soul in another person. “Story?” she asks. 

“Yes, I did say we’d have one, didn’t I?” He’d almost forgotten. Spencer grabs a couple of her soft backs from the book stand and lets her choose. 

After he’s read a few books and given her a couple of cuddles, Amy begins to list. She presses her nose to his shoulder and mumbles something he doesn’t hear. 

“What did you say, sweetpea?” he mumbles. 

“Just goo’night.” 

“Goodnight. I’ll tuck you in, okay?” 

“Spence?” 

He’d almost forgot you were here. You’re standing in the doorway, arms still damp, pyjama pants stuck to your calves. “Where’s the fire?” he asks. 

“What?” 

“In a rush?” 

“Oh, I just wanted to hear story time. Did I miss it?” 

Spencer kisses Amy again. “I think so. I’m just saying goodnight.” 

You lean against the door. “Goodnight, then, lovely girl.” 

Spencer forces himself up to tuck her in. “Goodnight,” he says again, stroking the hair from her eyes, though they’re closed already. She doesn’t manage to say goodnight back, just touches his arm before he goes. 

You take his hand when he’s close enough. He follows, pressing his face to your shoulder from behind. 

“I like watching you be a dad.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Mm, you’re good at it. It’s… I don’t know, I know Amy isn’t my baby, but I do love her, so it’s never not gonna be nice to watch you, and… I’m worried to say this.” 

“Just say it.” 

“Maybe one day, I…” You catch his eye and give him a panicked smile. 

You climb into bed together. He tries to get you to finish what you’d been saying but doesn’t succeed, no matter how nicely he draws that shape you love into your neck. It’s alright, though. It doesn’t matter. He nearly forgets you’ve brought it up at all until you’re lifting yourself up from your place on his chest. “Spence?” you ask, so close it makes him nervous, his stomach twitching of its own volition. 

“What?” he asks. 

“I know it’s soon. I know we’re not… locked in. I was just thinking about our future and our family, and I’m really happy. And– and if you did want to, I guess I wanna know if… would you ever have more?” 

“More kids?” he asks, dumbfounded. 

Your pupils are massive, staring down at him, giving your eyes this darkness so rare in your gaze. “Have you ever thought about it?” 

“Of course I have, especially with you.” 

You fluster but push through. Your laugh warms his lips as you lean down. “Don’t say that.” 

“Isn’t that what you just said?” 

You kiss him. He lifts his chin too fast to follow you and ends up pushing you away. His cheek is burning in your hand, your index finger to the corner of his eye and so, so tender where it touches an eyelash. “Amy’s so much like you, honey,” you say, tucking a long flyaway strand behind his ear. “And it’s all you.” 

Spencer wonders if you’re perhaps entering the ovulation stage of your period, but forbids himself from asking, should he sound like a freak. But surely you can’t be feeling as strongly as you are about this from story time alone. He’s not that good at telling them. 

“It’s not all me. Amy’s herself, and she’s parts of everyone she’s ever met. I think she’s been a lot braver since she met you,” Spencer says. 

He’s not sure what he said there, but you peer down at him like he’s entirely new. 

“Spencer,” you murmur, drawing a line across his cheek.

“I’d love to have a baby with you, I just thought saying that might be too much too soon.” 

“Well, it is,” you say, sounding insanely pleased, at odds with your words, “that’s so soon. You shouldn’t say stuff like that.” 

He thinks he gets it. Spencer covers your hand where you’re been caressing his cheek and brings it to his mouth, giving your knuckles a kiss. “You’re already so caring, you’ll make an amazing mother.” 

“Not just if we have babies though.” 

“No, I know.” His hand acts for itself as he tucks your hand against his neck. “Amy loves you.”

“She’s brilliant, Spence.” And whatever adoring you’d been ladening on him comes to an end. “Her vocabulary is insane for her age, she really is her father’s daughter.” 

You lay yourself across his chest again for a hug. 

Spencer applauds himself for surviving whatever that was. You, eyes dark and imploring, asking him about babies and touching him like that. “Amy would love a baby sibling,” he says. 

“How many should we have?” 

He laughs loudly. The taboo of everything being too soon is forgotten as you and Spencer talk about babies, houses, what middle school Amy might go to, what daycare you could send your babies to. It’s so exciting it makes his chest pang, thinking about living with you, about marrying you. And your enthusiastic answers make it worse. It’s clear you’ve thought about some of this stuff at depth. 

You could really get married one day, Spencer thinks. There’s a real possibility you might say yes. 

“Do you really think Amy wouldn’t mind a sister?” you whisper. 

“She’s asked me a couple of times how she can get one, so yeah. I think we can safely assume she’d like that.” 

“She asked you that?” you coo. “Aw, lovely girl, what did you tell her?” 

“Well, I told her she came from a pumpkin.” 

“You did?” 

“Mm. It was my fault then when she got very excited at Halloween.” 

You giggle into his neck. “When we have a baby, we’ll buy her a pumpkin.” 

“Or a squash, but I don’t think we could fit a baby in a butternut.” 

You hug him nice and hard. Spencer isn’t sure, but he suspects this is the beginning of a very new, very enjoyable chapter of your lives. Even more so when you nose at his jaw and mumble something about his ‘kissability’. 

[dubina-dawkins]

DEAN WINCHESTER | NSFW HEADCANONS

pairing: dean winchester x fem!reader

warnings/notes: smut! minors dni, oral (m&f receiving), unprotected (done by professionals don't try this at home), p in v, dean is switch, marking kink, praise kink, some dirty talk as well, gentle sex but not vanilla, like LOVEmaking even, just a lot of smutty stuff from my head, english is not my first language sorry if there's some mistakes

REPOSTS WILL BE APPRECIATED

> let's just say. you're different

> it's strange, but somehow dean just couldn't bear a thought of fucking you before all of your relationship thing started

> that "storgy" thing where you were friends for half your life before you started dating

> and even after you did became his girlfriend dean just... was scared to think about something spicy with you?

> until one day he was too tired to care, when your kisses became hotter and he couldn't bring himself to hold back as usual

> like, really too tired. everything that going on is kinda exhausting him. but you're always there to help!

> your first time together? even though dean couldn't hold back anymore, it doesn't mean he was fast and rough

> no, he's one of the gentle kind

> kisses all over your body and very long foreplay

> but at one point you just get tired of these idle kisses and just

> "quit the talking, please"

> man, he's completely screwed at that point

> marking works both ways, actually

> no, really, dean adores the sight of you in his marks. hickeys, lovebites

> it intoxicates him better than any whiskey

> he pays extra attention to your neck. and to your breasts, too

> but sometimes when it sam's turn on doing the laundry, he sees there some of dean's flannels

> and their collars are stained with dark traces of lipstick...

> when dean feels your waxy lips on his skin, he knows it would leave a mark. knows he'll need to shower those off

> but from the way you look at him, when your lipstick is smeared over his lips, cheeks, neck and all the way down

> he'd rather never take a shower to keep these

> your lovebites and nibbles drive him crazy

> to the point he whimpers your name. and you're not even starting!

> scratches too. he gets teased about these. a lot. by nearly anyone who sees them

> he's not intense kind, - not all the time at least

> but it feels too good for you not to leave a mark of your nails on his back

> "did you take the tiger in fight?"

> "sammy, shut it."

> he'd like to do it nearly everywhere, it's just you who keeps him on track

> he'd slip his hands under your jacket the very second you leave witness' house, being in fbi undercover

> "good suit, agent carol kay... seriously, you couldn't come up with a better name?"

> "agent joey kramer says"

> for you the height of extreme is the back seat of the Baby, especially when she's standing at Bobby's

> dean would never admit it, but he's a sucker for you in charge

> you don't need much to get him turned on

> one "good boy" is enough

> and he's so worked out about it

> you tease him, kiss him, touch him, and he already needs to bite on his lip

> especially when you get to his chest. he didn't joke about his nipples being hypersensitive

> there's no words that can describe thst heavenly sound he makes when you tease his sensitive tip, when your fingers work on the entire length

> he whines your name, stroking your hair. his sounds are purely animalistic when you finally take him all in your mouth

> dean's not huge, but he's bigger than average. and it definitely is enough to make you moan his name, sometimes in a really pornographic way

> "please, baby... let me c-"

> "not yet, pretty boy" you whisper, letting his hardened cock put of your mouth with a wet pop

> it's like a tradition. when you two have an extra-time, you prepare each other. you sucking him off, him eating you out. swings of gentle dominance and comfort submission.

> dean, unlike his brother, is not a puppy-look person... but when he's between your thighs, kissing and nibbling on the skin, and his gaze rises to your face, begging to go further..

> then he really looks like an obedient dog.

> extra attention to your clit. sucking, licking, sucking again. dean adores the sounds you make at these

> but most of the time it's just a stress relief after tough hunts

> or when sam goes out to get some food

> quick and needy

> and you fucking adore seeing your always tough man being needy for at least your hand in his hair

> at very least.

a/n: love him. my man. my boy. my everything. god im obsessed, hyperfixated and ovulated. the unlohy trinity.

[imtherain]

Smeared Lipstick

Still on my Logan nonsense (thank god) and had a round of Patch!Logan feels. I know nothing about him other than what I saw in Deadpool and Wolverine, so sorry if I messed him up somehow.

This is for @likedovesinthewnd because she's the one who told me I should write it lol

Also shout out to @bpmiranda for posting the best/nastiest smut fics that inspired me to go ham and not hold back for once. If you need some more Logan, read mine first but she's got a lot more!

Warnings: Casino, basically pure smut with only a sprinkle of plot, oral (male receiving), some light conartistry, mutant reader, bathroom smut, fingering (both receiving because I'm a feminist lol), sugar daddy but only kinda, Patch!Logan, a touch of 'getting caught', and probably some other stuff. Let me know if I missed anything important.

Word Count: 3473 (don't look at me)

[More Logan]

[Main Master List]

“Hit me,” 

The dealer passed Logan another card and he concealed his joy easily. He’d hit 20 for the third time at this table. Lady Luck always on his side.

“You win again, sir,” The dealer said, pushing the new stack chips across the table to him.

“I’m afraid it’s time we close this table, sir,” Your voice always soothed something in him. You’d been working at this particular casino for a few months, and so, Logan always found himself at your tables. No one suspected the truth of why you both were there.

“Pity, I was doing so well,” Logan looked up at you with his one good eye, drinking in the way your glittery red dress hugged every single one of your edges just right. How your hair was done up with sparkly bits to match the shine on your dress. How your lipstick was the exact shade of red as your dress.

You looked good enough to eat, if he were being honest.

“I’m sure I can find you somewhere else to play,” You smile, half customer service, half something naughty.  Logan put the cigar he’d been chewing on away into his pocket. He had a feeling he’d find himself with something better to put in his mouth shortly.

“Lead the way, sweetheart,” Logan stood, leaving his chips all on the table. “Cash those into my account,” This was directed at the dealer who was just cleaning up his station.

“Please, Mr. Locken,” You urged the dealer. He was a clever young man, one of your best dealers. He’d caught three different cheaters in his time at the casino, and you were impressed that he was so good at catching them. Even the team upstairs, who’s entire job it was to catch cheating, had missed one of the three Locken had spotted.

“Of course, Miss Y/N,” Locken replied, gathering Logan’s chips.

“Thank you,” You said, taking Logan’s arm and leading him away. 

Logan had been staring at the skin exposed that showed over the slinky material of your dress. You knew poor Locken likely knew exactly what you and Mr. Logan were about to get up to. Locken didn’t really want to know, but it wasn’t exactly a secret that you and Mr. Logan, the high roller with an eye patch, were an item. Most of the staff knew, and the rest likely suspected.

But Mr. Logan, being a high roller, got away with all kinds of things. Fucking the floor manager was hardly a big deal or a surprise at that point.

“And where are you taking me, Miss Y/N,” Logan mocked Locken’s tone and you smacked his chest with one hand. “As I recall, there aren’t any tables this way, and the hotel is the other direction too,” 

“I was thinking you needed a little more luck,” You told him. “I heard that another big fish was headed in to drop some cash, and he’s luckier than most who walk through the door.” There was something about you that no one in the building, other than Logan, knew about you… and that was that you were a mutant who could control a person’s luck. You could also see how lucky someone was, just by touching them. It came in all kinds of handy working in a casino, and extra handy where Logan was involved. The two of you having a sort of arrangement in regards to luck.

“What did you have in mind for me?” Logan mused as you led him down another hallway and into a single stall bathroom. It was one of the large single stall bathrooms, where several people could use the two sinks and spacious counter during a wedding or other event, usually to get ready. This particular bathroom was out of the way of the main space though, less likely to get interrupted.

“Lock the door,” You told him with a saucy smirk. 

You and Logan had met originally in a different casino, and he’d figured out that his string of bad luck had been tied to you. He thought, originally, that it was because he’d gotten so distracted by you that he’d lost his edge. You knew it was because you’d turned all his luck to bad and all your own luck to good, hoping to clean house well enough to eat for the next month.

“Yes, ma’am,” Logan turned to lock the door and when he turned back, you were sitting on the counter, skirt hiked up to your knees. Logan took a deep breath through his nose that quickly dissolved into a growl of pleasure as he smelled your arousal. “Never will get over how good you smell, honey,” He stepped between your thighs and tipped your chin up so that you were looking at him.

“Only for you baby,” You purred back, leaning up so your breath brushed his lips sensually.

“No kissing,” Logan reminded you, and you pouted, but you knew the deal. After he’d found you out as a mutant, you’d both struck a deal. You would give him better luck, and he'd take good care of you, effectively becoming your sugar daddy. Only, if you called him ‘daddy’ he’d bend you over his knee, so you saved that for special occasions. 

“Please?” You begged, knowing that was the only line left in the sand between you. You’d done everything else, had sex in every direction you could think of. But no kissing. Never kissing.

You didn’t like it, but it was easy enough to complain around.

“You know the rules,” Logan growled softly. He ran his tongue along the exposed skin at your throat and you moaned. He chuckled, feeling your vibrations against his tongue.

“Rules are made to be broken, I thought?” You pressed as he stepped forward to bump the hardness in his pants against you. Your hips moved against him as if there was ever any question to what was going on between you.

“I can walk away,” Logan warned and you whined, but nodded to tell him you’d stop asking. “Good girl,” 

“Wait,” You said, suddenly having a sordid idea. Logan rocked backwards on his heel far enough to peer questioningly into your face. “Let me take care of you this time,” 

“You wanna take care of me?” Logan asked skeptically. You reached down to palm him through his slacks. His eye fluttered closed at the contact and he had to brace himself on the counter on either side of you.

“Please, baby? Since you won’t let me kiss you, at least let me taste you?” You batted your eyelashes at him and he knew he was a sucker for giving in to you anytime you did that. Hell, he’d kill a man no questions asked, if you batted your lashes at him.

“Get to it then,” He moved back only far enough to let you slide off the counter and to your knees. You made short work of undoing his belt and pants. You pulled his slacks and boxers down just far enough to allow his cock to spring free. He was already rock hard and leaking for you when you cooed happily and kitten licked the warm tip of him.

He had to grip the counter again to remain in control of himself. You smirked as you did it again, tasting the salty tang of his precum before you wrapped your lips around just the head of his cock.

“Fuck,” Logan grunted, trying his best not to slam his dick straight down your throat. He knew you could take it, but he wanted to let you get there on your own.

“Want me to stop?” You pause only long enough to ask before you licked a long stripe up the underside of him, tracing the thick vein there from balls to tip.

“Don’t you dare,” Logan pants, cursing again when you go back to the small licks along the very tip of his cock. You always seemed to know exactly how to drive him out of his mind. Maybe that was why he’d give you anything you wanted. Diamonds, jewelry, gold, silver, hotel rooms, a car if you asked for it… He’d give you anything his money could buy. 

Anything but the heart he was pretty sure you weren’t even aware you’d already stolen.

You pressed a small kiss to his angry red tip before sticking out your tongue and sliding him into the warmth of your mouth.

Logan cursed again, his hips bucking once before he could stop himself. You adjusted your knees on the hard tile floor, loosened your jaw, and slid your hands lovingly around his thighs.

With your eyes fluttering softly and the end of his dick in your mouth, Logan was surprised he didn’t cum right there on your tongue.

You looked up at him and gave a slight nod, telling him you were ready for him to take control if he wanted it. Logan felt his heart rate spike as the animal in him begged to claim you. If he wasn’t careful he’d bury his fist in your hair and throat fuck you until you couldn’t speak. But he’d promised to be careful when you were at work, because you needed to look nice for the casino.

When Logan didn’t immediately take over, you leaned forward, taking more and more of him into your mouth, slowly, until he just barely touched the back of your throat. Your throat constricted on a gag and the feeling of your throat closing was all it took for the animal inside him to break free.

Logan’s strong hand cradled the back of your head, trying to avoid pulling out the glittery baubles you’d put there this morning before he’d driven you to work. You leaned back into his palm, trying to ease the sensation in your throat, and you got relief for about two beats before that same careful hand pulled you back along him until your nose was pressed flush with the rough hair at his base.

You knew it was his turn to have his fun now, and you couldn’t help but grin for a moment before you remembered how hard it was to breathe around the girth of his cock.

Your nails dug into the meat of his thighs as you focused on breathing while he jerked his hips. The drag of his cock along your tongue made heat pool in your stomach as he abused your throat over and over again.

Meanwhile, Logan was making the most guttural noises while he used your throat. His grunting and groaning echoing in the empty bathroom, occasionally punctuated by a soft curse or two when your throat squeezed him just right. All paired with the wet sound of his cock sliding in and out of your throat.

But as much as you’d love to let him stay there in your mouth until he came, you needed a break. You reached up and tapped on his stomach, your agreed sign that you needed air. 

Instantly, Logan pulled back and caught your eyes with his one good one.

“You alright?” He asked and you nodded with a slight cough.

“Just needed to catch my breath,” You admitted. “I’m out of practice,” 

“I know one way to fix that,” Logan said with a cheeky grin.

“Give me five more seconds,” You said, adjusting on your knees again. You took a second to pull his slacks down to his knees. You lean in and give some attention to each of his beefy thighs, kissing the strong muscles and nibbling the soft flesh.

“Don’t tease me,” Logan grumbled, his hand coming back to your head. “Finish what you started,” 

“Yes, sir,” You batted your lashes up at him and his cock twitched next to your face. You took another moment to lick the side of him, rubbing his length against your face, showcasing just how long he was compared to your head. It was a wonder you could fit him all down your throat.

You kissed the side of his dick a few times, preparing you both for another round, and with one last kitten lick to his slit, his dick slid back into your throat.

The second time was always easier for you, and you’re always happy to help when it means he would let out those grunting noises you love so much.

And you knew exactly what would make him whine for you too.

You slid your hands up and around the back of his thighs until you could grip both of his taught buttcheeks in your hand. This distracted him enough from his movements that you were able to swallow around his tip and make him groan again. You bobbed your head as you kneaded his flesh and he got lost in the sensation the exact same way you did when he was face down between your legs. And just like he always did, you carefully slid a finger into his waiting hole.

The noise Logan makes is something you wished you could bottle up for a rainy day. It’s somewhere near a whine and too gravelly to be a whimper. You withdraw only long enough to add some moisture to your digits before working yourself back into him, stroking at that spot deep inside that makes his thighs tense and his knees shake.

Having discovered how stroking him like this made him feel, you understood why he liked to finger-fuck you so much. Making him experience such pleasure, pleasure that only you have brought him? Heaven. Heaven on earth, about to cum down your throat.

Logan never lasted long with your fingers in his ass.

You hold your breath while he comes undone in your mouth, bucking his hips against the swirling of your tongue. You try to swallow it all, but it’s difficult when he’s moving still, so you just hold on until he’s pumped every last drop into your mouth.

Before he can be overstimulated too much, he pulls your hand away from him and slides himself from your soft mouth.

“Fuck, baby, thought you were going to suck me dry for a second there,” 

“I would if you’d let me,” You smiled up at him. He reached down and gently rubbed his thumb under your bottom lip, catching a drip of his cum that you hadn’t managed to swallow. At first you thought he’d press it into your mouth, but instead he brought it to his own and you felt your face flame with unexpected heat.

“Maybe next time sweetheart,” Logan helped you to your feet before adjusting himself and pulling up his slacks.

“Wait, you’ve got lipstick all over,” You tried to stop him from tucking himself away hoping you could clean him up properly, but he just chuckled and did up his pants.

“Something to remember you by,” He teased and you rolled your eyes before turning to the mirror to see the state of your own face. It was about what you’d figured but also you didn’t mind in the slightest.

Your red lipstick was smeared all across your cheek, your eyes were wet so your eyeshadow had mostly rubbed off, but luckily your eyeliner had stayed put. You wore super waterproof eyeliner for that reason after all. There was still some of the sticky release of Logan’s painted on your lips and tongue from where you’d failed to swallow it all.

“Look at that,” You mused. “You smeared my lipstick,” Logan chuckled at that, turning you around so that he could see.

“Seems so,” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a silk handkerchief. He gently took your chin and held you steady while he soiled the white silk with your red lipstick and the remains of his cum. After fucking your throat like that, you almost forgot he could be gentle too.

You liked it when he was gentle.

When Logan was satisfied with his work, he put his handkerchief back in his pocket and leaned down to kiss your cheek, you froze when you felt his lips at the edge of yours. Almost a kiss. 

But he knew better than that. 

You both did.

You whined softly for him, wanting more, but you also needed to get back to work.

“Turn around for me,” Logan said. You raised an eyebrow at him but did as he asked, gasping when he pressed himself against your ass.

“Logan,” You chided. “I need to head back,” 

“Just give me a minute to return the favor,” Logan was smirking at you over your shoulder as you watched him in the mirror. “I promise I won’t smear your lipstick this time,” You bit your lip at the thought of him getting you off here too.

“I really should be getting back,” You tried to say, but it was half hearted at best. He smacked your ass and you whimpered at him, terribly needy and terribly turned on.

“Spread your legs for me and lift your skirt,” He commanded against the shell of your ear. “Now,” You jumped at the authority in his voice and moved to do as he asked. You hoisted your skirt up to your hips and let your legs shift apart so that he had room to slide his knee between your thighs.

You gasped as he bounced his leg into your sensitive folds.

“I’ll repay you properly when we get home tonight, but until then,” He pressed a soft kiss to the side of your neck. “Let me make my baby feel good,” You could only nod as he reached down and slid his hand into your already soaked panties.

“Logan,” You moaned as his finger traced circles around your bud. “That feels so good,” 

“Good,” He nibbled on your earlobe. “Just relax,” 

You were about to give in entirely when the handle to the bathroom jiggled and it reminded you all at once that you were still at work.

“Fuck… Logan…” You tried to stop him, but he just dipped his fingers deeper and you mewled instead.

“Don’t worry about that, focus on me and what I’m doing,” Logan purred. The handle rattled again and this time you heard someone curse about the bathroom being occupied too long.

You jumped when the person outside banged on the door.

“Find another bathroom, bub!” Logan growled loudly as he kicked the door angrily in return. Another curse from outside the door and Logan slowed his movements until he couldn’t hear the person outside anymore. “Now where were we?”

You were gripping his arm, which was wrapped around your waist to keep you in place.

“I don’t even remember,” You admitted with a laugh, which shifted into a moan as he moved his fingers against you again and all at once you remembered. “Fuck,” You moaned.

“That’s it,” He sped up his fingers, watching your face in the mirror as your closed your eyes in pleasure. “Come on, baby, give it to me,” He grunted against your shoulder, his teeth teasing your skin.

It didn’t take much more for you to cum around his fingers, fluttering and shaking in his arms as he held you up.

“That’s it pretty girl, that’s it,” Logan purrs against your ear, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder. “That’s my pretty girl,” 

You turned, wanting to kiss him, to thank him for this, but you remembered his rule, so instead you pressed your forehead into his jaw and whined at him.

“I really do need to get back to work,” You whisper. “And you need to go make enough money for that trip we’ve been talking about,” 

“Yes ma’am,” Logan chuckled in your ear as he finally pulled his fingers out of the tight embrace of your cunt. You groaned at the loss of him, but hummed in pleasure when you watched him lick his fingers clean. “Need me to carry you to your desk?” He teased.

“Oh shush,” You stood and adjusted yourself. “I was just enjoying the moment for a little longer,” 

“Could always play hooky and use your key to get us into a room upstairs,” Logan said, like he was nothing but serious. You shove him playfully.

“Yeah, and then I’ll get fired again,” You chided. “We’re going to run out of good casinos if we keep doing that,” 

“So?” He pressed his lips to your temple. “Maybe when we run out of casinos, I’ll make an honest woman out of you,” This makes you pause. Could he be serious? 

“Only once we’ve run out?” You asked, trying not to sound too hopeful. 

“And if we get married, I’ll have to kiss you, won’t I?” It sounded almost like a tease, but there was nothing but joy and mirth in his eye.

And maybe, just maybe, love was sparkling in there too.

[More Logan]

[Main Master List]

[spencerreidwifey]

Tied Up - Spencer Reid

MDNI! 18+!

Summary: Spencer reveals his private red room to the reader, but when unexpected guests arrive he’s forced to leave her alone, leaving tension literally hanging in the air.

Masterlist!

Part 2 - Tied 2 You!

Post Prison!Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Genre: Smut 🔥

Word Count: 8.2K

Warnings: MDNI! 18+! softdom!spencer, sub!reader, pre-established relationship, pre-established safe words, SLOW BURN, chains mentioned, whips mentioned, blindfold mentioned, flogger mentioned, handcuffs used, use of ‘Good Girl’, use of safe words, thigh riding, no sex, just teasing (sorry).

WARNING: THIS IS MY FIRST EVER FIC, PLEASE BE NICE

The room felt like it was closing in on her, each item on display mocking her—mocking the reality she’d always known. She was no stranger to the darker corners of the human psyche, but this? This was something she hadn’t expected, especially not from Spencer. The chains, the whips, the cuffs... it was all laid out in front of her, each object far too intimate, far too raw, like a slap to the face. A stark contrast to the quiet reserved Spencer she thought she knew.

Spencer Reid, the FBI genius with a shy smile and a brain that could unravel the most complex cases, had always been hard to understand. But this—this—was not the Spencer she’d known, and yet, in a way, it was exactly the one she’d feared existed beneath the surface. Prison had changed him, she knew that. He’d come back with a quiet storm inside him, a part of him more ferocious than she’d ever expected. But this... this was far beyond what she had prepared for.

Her heart was racing, the intensity of the room’s atmosphere mixing with the intensity of the moment itself. She could feel the weight of his presence behind her, his breath brushing against her neck, as he stood close enough to make her skin tingle with a strange combination of dread and anticipation.

“Spencer…” She whispered, more to herself than to him, the words barely escaping her lips. Her mind was spinning, trying to make sense of everything. She wasn’t sure if she was afraid, or if curiosity was beginning to outweigh the fear.

He was so close now, she could feel his fingers brush the fabric of her shirt, his touch sending a jolt of heat across her skin. His hand snaked around her from behind, settling at the opposite side of her waist. The touch was firm and possessive, and as he pulled her just a little closer, she felt a surge of heat flood her body despite herself. He was patient, letting the moment simmer, his other hand resting lightly on her shoulder as if giving her time to process.

"I understand it’s a lot to take in, but one night is all I’m asking," he murmured, his voice low, almost coaxing. There was an undeniable edge to it now—a darker, rawer version of him she hadn’t known existed. The boy who had always been awkward, and uncertain, was gone, replaced by someone much more confident, much more determined to get what he wanted.

His words made her heart beat faster, but the undertone of desperation—the need in his voice—sent a shiver down her spine. She could see it in his eyes now. He wasn’t just asking. He was pleading for release, and it was clear that he wanted her to be the one to give it to him.

“We don’t even have to do anything, just let me give you a test run.” He spoke with a growl that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. The room was heavy with tension, and she could feel herself beginning to crack under the weight of it.

Her mouth went dry as she tried to process his words, her mind racing for a response. “A test run?” she echoed, her voice barely audible, still stunned by the shift in their dynamic. Her eyes darted nervously over the room again, the chains hanging from the walls, the whips draped over chairs as if all of it were daring her to make a decision.

The silence between them stretched, and still, neither of them looked at each other. Spencer knew better than to press her immediately, but his presence was undeniable. He was waiting, and though she felt that familiar sense of control over herself slipping away, she was too caught up in the moment to make a move just yet.

Her breath hitched as she felt the undeniable pull of the man behind her—no longer the shy, reserved Spencer, but something darker, something that called to a part of her she’d never fully acknowledged. Something she couldn’t resist.

Her mind was spinning, the tension in the air thick enough to cut with a knife. Spencer’s words hung between them, heavy and deliberate, his tone steady, but there was a hidden hunger underneath it, something primal. He wasn’t asking anymore; he was offering something—daring her to accept, to take a step into a world she had only seen glimpses of, a world she wasn’t sure she was ready to enter.

She looked at him, his features sharp in the dim light, his posture exuding confidence, like a predator who had set its sights on its prey. Spencer Reid, the brilliant, often timid genius of the FBI, had always been a puzzle to her, but now, standing in front of her with that cold certainty in his eyes, he was a puzzle she wasn’t sure she wanted to solve.

“We’ll do something light for tonight,” Spencer continued, his voice unwavering, almost as if he were reading a script. “If it’s something you’re not interested in, we’ll never speak of it again. But if it is something you want…” He trailed off, leaving the rest unspoken, knowing the weight of it hung in the balance.

The offer, the challenge, the invitation—it was too much for her to process at the moment. She wasn’t naïve, she knew what he was asking, what he was proposing. Spencer had always been a curious soul, someone who explored the depths of the human mind, but this was different. This wasn’t a case to crack open, a mystery to be solved with intellect. This was something visceral, something rooted in control and power, and she was the one he wanted to bend.

Her brow furrowed as she tried to wrap her head around it. Spencer was brilliant, yes, but he was also deeply sensitive, a man who had been through so much, and who had struggled with his own demons. How could he possibly want her, of all people, to be the one he could dominate?

She couldn’t help herself. “But why me?” Her voice cracked slightly, caught between disbelief and a tinge of hurt. “You know me. I’m not the one you want to be your submissive. I’m the complete opposite.”

She could feel the heat of the room pressing in on her, the walls lined with tools and items meant for pleasure, for control. But none of them made sense to her. They felt foreign. She was a woman who took charge, who fought for what she wanted, a woman who refused to bend to anyone's will.

Spencer’s gaze didn’t falter. He understood her hesitation, but it didn’t make him waver. In fact, the challenge only fueled his desire.

“I know you’re strong-willed,” he said, his voice low, almost a whisper against the backdrop of her doubts. “That’s exactly why I want you. I’ve had plenty of submissives before, but they were always too easy, too willing to give up control. I want you because you’re different. I want to break through that hardness, make you see things from my side.”

His words hit her like a wave, and despite herself, she felt a strange shiver of anticipation. The thought of submitting to him, of allowing him to have control, was so foreign, so against everything she had known about herself. She was passionate and forceful, a woman who never let anyone hold power over her. But there was something about the way he spoke, the unrelenting force in his words, that made her question everything.

“I want a challenge,” he continued, almost as if he could read her mind. “I want a submissive who doesn’t make it easy for me. I want the fire, the resistance. The satisfaction of breaking down those walls. The pleasure is in the struggle. In bending you, forcing you to surrender just a little of that control.”

She swallowed hard, her heart pounding. She knew Spencer—knew the parts of him that others didn’t. But this side of him? This darker, more dangerous side that wanted to claim her, to make her submit… it was something she hadn’t seen coming.

“You want to break me?” She scoffed, trying to muster some strength, but her voice faltered, betraying the crack in her armor. “I’m not some project for you to fix or control, Spencer.”

He stepped closer, not breaking eye contact, his presence overwhelming. “No,” he murmured, his voice almost tender despite the command in it. “Not to fix. To free you. You’re just as much in control of this as I am. But I’m not going to let you hide from what you really want, from what we could be.”

The air between them was charged now, the boundary between challenge and desire blurred. Her pulse raced, and even though part of her was telling her to walk away, another part—one that she hadn’t acknowledged before—was intrigued, fascinated by what he was offering.

Spencer’s smirk was soft but knowing as if he had already won, as if he was certain that, in time, he would break through to her. His words weren’t just an invitation; they were a promise.

And for the first time, (Y/N) wasn’t sure if she was ready to walk away.

“Just try, for me,” Spencer murmured, his lips brushing against her ear, his voice low and commanding. He pulled back with a lingering look, walking toward the plush red velvet chair. He eased into it with an air of deliberate confidence, stretching out as he sat, his legs parted just enough to make his intention clear. The subtle yet calculated display was meant to unnerve her, to draw her in, and it was working.

(Y/N)’s gaze faltered before inevitably settling on him. How could she not? Every move he made seemed to be a challenge, a dare meant to test her resolve. Her pulse quickened, the crimson glow of the room amplifying the heat already building in her chest. He was playing a game she wasn’t sure she knew the rules to—but she couldn’t deny how much she wanted to play.

“Take off your top,” Spencer commanded his tone firm but not harsh, cutting through the thick tension in the room. The words hung in the air like a tangible weight, their presence making her heart race. She hesitated, her hands trembling slightly as they hovered near the hem of her shirt. The space between them seemed to shrink as his voice softened, yet grew more intoxicating. “Slowly, (Y/N). Play with me a little.”

Her breath hitched, the words wrapping around her like silk, pulling her deeper into his control. She couldn’t help the small smile tugging at the corners of her lips, her nervousness melding with a flicker of boldness. If this was a game, maybe it was time to stop being afraid of losing.

Her fingers trembled as they softly grasped the hem of her shirt, toying with the fabric as though deciding whether to commit to the moment. Slowly, she began lifting it, teasingly revealing the soft curve of her stomach, inch by deliberate inch. The fabric slid higher, grazing her skin, until it passed over her chest and finally slipped free of her head. The shirt fluttered to the floor at her feet, abandoned yet heavy with the weight of what it represented.

She could feel his gaze on her, hotter than any spotlight, tracing every contour of her body with an intensity that made her stomach churn. Spencer didn’t need to move, didn’t need to say a word—his eyes alone held her captive. Shame bubbled in her chest, threatening to spill over as she wrapped her arms around herself instinctively, fighting the urge to cover what she’d just exposed. Her head dipped low, too afraid to meet his eyes.

“You’re gorgeous.” His voice was gentle but unwavering, carrying a reassurance that seemed to cut through her self-doubt. She risked a glance up, her breath catching at the warmth in his expression. He wasn’t mocking her, wasn’t scrutinizing—he was admiring, revering her in a way she hadn’t expected.

“You’re doing so well,” he added softly, his tone both a compliment and an encouragement. But then, he leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees, and his next words were lower, more intimate, pulling her further into his world.

“Do you trust me?”

The question hung in the air, a fragile thread between them. Her heart hammered in her chest, her body torn between the vulnerability of her situation and the strange, undeniable comfort his voice offered.

She gave him a soft nod, her movements tentative, barely perceptible. Her vulnerability was written across her face, her uncertainty etched into the way her hands lingered at her sides as if still debating whether to shield herself. But that wasn’t enough for Spencer.

“I need verbal confirmation, (Y/N),” he pressed, his voice calm yet firm, each word carefully measured. His gaze didn’t waver, steady and unrelenting, like a lighthouse cutting through the fog of her doubt.

Her breath caught in her throat, and she hesitated, the weight of his demand bearing down on her like a physical force. Her lips parted, but no sound came at first—just a shaky exhale. His head tilted slightly, his patience an unspoken challenge, silently urging her to cross the threshold.

“Yes,” she finally stammered, her voice trembling with a mix of apprehension and resolve. “Yes, I trust you.”

The words came out louder than she intended, almost like a yelp, as though speaking them had taken more courage than she thought she possessed. Her cheeks flushed instantly, the warmth spreading down her neck.

Spencer’s lips curved into the faintest smile, his expression softening. The tension in the room shifted, not lessened but transformed—where once there had been uncertainty, now there was something unspoken yet undeniable: her surrender, her choice.

“Good,” he murmured, his voice a low, velvety hum as he leaned back in the chair, savoring the moment like a victory he’d been patiently awaiting. Then, with deliberate ease, he rose to his feet, his movements measured and purposeful, each step echoing faintly against the room’s silence.

Spencer approached her, his hand finding the small of her waist, the touch firm yet oddly reassuring. He guided her gently but unyieldingly toward a ring mounted to the ceiling. Her pulse quickened as she followed his lead, her eyes darting nervously between him and the strange, ominous apparatus.

His hand never left her waist as he reached up, his other arm brushing against her as he brought the cuffs down to her height. The metallic clink of the chain echoed softly in the space, and her breath hitched when he lowered them to dangle just above her reach.

“You want me in those?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, the tremor betraying the fear laced in her question. The vulnerability in her tone was unmistakable. She glanced at the cuffs, then back at him, her mind a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts. Every fiber of her being told her to run, to escape the unknown. Yet something else—something she couldn’t explain—anchored her in place. Curiosity, perhaps. Or the magnetic pull of his presence.

Spencer tilted his head slightly, his darkened eyes meeting hers with an intensity that made her stomach flip. He could see it all: the hesitation, the conflict, the desperate tug-of-war inside her. And he could see something else, too—that faint flicker of desire she was too scared to voice.

“Yes,” he answered finally, his tone steady but softened by a hint of reassurance. “You’ll have a safe word. If you use it, I promise I’ll stop immediately. No questions asked.”

His words were firm yet kind, grounding her in the moment. For a fleeting second, she almost believed that he could see straight through her fears and into the part of her that wanted to trust him, wanted to let go.

“You’ll be safe,” he added, his voice dipping lower, the sincerity in it undeniable. “I’ll make sure of it.”

She swallowed hard, her gaze flicking back to the cuffs. The urge to flee still clawed at her, but so did the pull to stay. As the silence stretched between them, she realized that it wasn’t just the situation that kept her rooted—it was him.

She hesitated, her breath shallow as she wrestled with the decision swirling in her mind. Finally, with a slow exhale, she raised her hands above her head, her fingers trembling slightly as they brushed the cuffs that dangled just out of reach. It was a gesture of tentative surrender, a signal that she was ready—or at least, willing—to take this step.

But Spencer wasn’t done with her yet. He wanted more, needed more. The dominance he had craved for so long wouldn’t be satisfied by half-measures.

“Take off your bra,” he instructed, his voice low but commanding, the words settling over her like a velvet chain. He stepped closer, his towering presence casting a shadow that seemed to engulf her. The way he looked at her, with that quiet, unyielding intensity, made it clear—this wasn’t a request.

Her eyes widened as his demand sank in, the weight of it making her heart race. “I thought this was supposed to be a test run,” she managed to say, her voice shaky and uncertain, her gaze darting between him and the cuffs above her.

Spencer’s lips curved into a faint, knowing smile, his eyes dark with purpose. “How will we know if you like it or not,” he replied smoothly, his tone carrying a hint of teasing, “if you don’t show some skin?”

The words hung in the air, both a challenge and a justification. He wasn’t just pushing her boundaries; he was coaxing her toward something she hadn’t fully admitted to herself that she wanted.

She swallowed hard, her thoughts a whirlwind of anticipation and nerves. Deep down, she knew this was coming. She’d known from the moment she stepped into his suite that her imagination—the fantasies she’d entertained but never dared voice—was inching closer to becoming reality.

But knowing it didn’t make it any easier.

Her hands drifted downward, brushing against the clasp of her bra as her breathing quickened. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from him, his gaze like a magnet, pulling her in even as her mind screamed at her to stop. There was no turning back now; the pull was too strong. 

In that moment, she let go—let go of the armor she wore so tightly, the hard and unyielding persona that shielded her from vulnerability. She surrendered it all to Spencer, letting him strip away the control she clung to so desperately. Deep down, she knew she could trust him. The knowledge that he would stop the moment she uttered her safe word was her anchor, the thread that allowed her to take the plunge.

With trembling fingers, she unclasped her bra, the fabric loosening its hold on her body. Gravity took over as it slipped from her shoulders, fluttering softly to the floor between them, pooling at their feet like a quiet surrender. Her chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, the cool air grazing her bare skin, sending a shiver racing down her spine.

Instinctively, she wanted to shield herself, her arms twitching as if to fold over her chest. But she resisted. Instead, she lifted her chin and kept her gaze locked with Spencer’s, refusing to break the connection. His eyes were steady, dark pools of intensity that seemed to swallow her whole. They didn’t stray—not even for a second—to her newly exposed form. He stayed focused on her, his stare grounding her, holding her in place.

Her vulnerability hung heavy in the air between them, but his expression wasn’t one of judgment. It was something deeper—reverence, maybe, or an almost predatory satisfaction at her willingness to give herself to him. The heat in his gaze burned away the edges of her lingering shame, replacing it with a strange, electrifying mix of fear and exhilaration.

Slowly, she raised her arms above her head, her movements deliberate, her breaths shaky but resolute. The cold metal of the cuffs grazed her wrists, the chill jolting her skin as she settled them in place. Her fingers curled slightly, her body tensing with anticipation as she waited for Spencer to lock her into place.

Time seemed to stretch as she stood there, exposed and open, the chains rattling faintly with her unsteady breaths. Yet, despite the vulnerability of the moment, she felt an unexpected calm settle over her. She had let go. The control was no longer hers, and somehow, that made her feel free.

Spencer’s hands moved deliberately, reaching above her head to secure her wrists in the waiting cuffs. The faint metallic click echoed in the stillness as he locked her first hand into place, his movements measured and precise. Her breathing hitched when he reached for the second cuff, the soft brush of his fingers against her skin sending a shiver racing through her.

“Is that too tight?” he asked, his voice a gentle murmur, grounding her in the moment.

She gave an experimental tug on her restraints, testing the give of the chains, the slight pull on her wrists making her hyperaware of her position. The cold metal pressed firmly against her skin, but it didn’t hurt—at least, not yet.

“My left one feels a little too loose,” she admitted softly, her voice tinged with both vulnerability and trust.

Spencer nodded, his expression shifting into one of careful focus. He adjusted the left cuff with precision, tightening it just enough to hold her securely but not uncomfortably. His touch was gentle, almost reverent, as though he understood the weight of her trust and carried it with care.

“Try that,” he said, stepping back slightly to give her room to test the adjustment.

She pulled again, her wrists shifting slightly in the cuffs, the sensation strange but not unpleasant. “That’s good,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, yet the words carried a finality that made her pulse quicken.

Spencer’s lips curved into a faint smile, his eyes darkening with intent. The moment hung between them, heavy with anticipation, as the last barrier between her and his desires dissolved. She was bound now, completely at his mercy, and the realization sent a thrill through her that she couldn’t quite name.

He stepped closer, his presence commanding, yet his movements were unhurried, savoring her surrender. She felt the heat of his body near hers, the air crackling with a tension that made her stomach twist in a dizzying blend of nerves and excitement.

“You’re perfect like this,” he murmured, his voice a low rasp that made her knees feel weak. But there was an edge to his tone, a promise of what was to come.

She knew now there was nothing stopping him, nothing holding him back from taking what he wanted—and, as much as it terrified her, she realized she didn’t want to stop him either.

“This will be the only time I give you a choice in what we do,” Spencer began, his voice soft yet unwavering, the firmness in his tone underscoring his sincerity. “Would you like to try a blindfold as well?”

He spoke with an unusual gentleness, a kind of care he rarely extended to anyone in his role as a dominant. But with (Y/N), it was different. She wasn’t like the others who had stepped into his domain, already accustomed to giving up control. This was her first time, her first step into uncharted territory, and he felt an overwhelming need to ensure she felt safe every moment of the way.

As soon as the words left his mouth, he saw the flicker of panic in her eyes. It was subtle but unmistakable—the way her body stiffened slightly, the way her lips pressed together as if to hold back the truth. Spencer didn’t need her to say it aloud; the answer was written all over her face.

He knew it would be a no, and yet it wasn’t a simple refusal. It was a no that carried a weight, one wrapped in a quiet fear of disappointing him. The realization sent a pang through him, a reminder of how much trust she had placed in him and how fragile that trust was.

“It’s your decision,” he said softly, stepping closer, his tone warm and reassuring. “Whatever it is, it will never disappoint me.”

The sincerity in his voice seemed to settle over her like a calming blanket. Still, she couldn’t meet his gaze. Instead, her eyes dropped to the floor, focusing on their feet—the stark contrast between her bare toes and the polished leather of his tuxedo shoes. The image felt oddly symbolic to her: vulnerable and exposed next to his commanding presence.

Her breath wavered as she shook her head, the gesture small and hesitant. She forced herself to speak, her voice trembling but audible. “No,” she said, her tone heavy with a mix of shame and relief, as though the simple act of voicing her refusal felt like an act of rebellion against her own self-doubt.

Spencer tilted his head slightly, studying her with those sharp, thoughtful eyes. “Thank you for telling me,” he said gently, his lips curling into a faint, approving smile. “You don’t need to feel ashamed for setting a boundary. That’s exactly what I want you to do.”

Her shoulders eased slightly at his words, her breathing evening out. At that moment, she realized that he wasn’t disappointed—far from it. If anything, he seemed pleased that she had trusted him enough to speak her mind.

Spencer reached up, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face with a touch so tender it made her heartache. “You’re doing perfectly,” he murmured, his voice like a balm against her lingering doubts. “This is about you, not me. Always.”

And for the first time since she’d stepped into this world of uncharted sensations, she began to believe it.

Spencer’s fingers moved deliberately, brushing lightly against the curve of her hip. His touch was soft, almost featherlike, the kind of teasing that sent shivers skittering across her skin. He wasn’t rushing; this was about exploration, about seeing how her body reacted to him, how far she would let herself go.

Her breath hitched, and a quiet, involuntary giggle slipped past her lips. “That tickles,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, tinged with both embarrassment and restraint. She didn’t want to pull away, didn’t want to break the moment or risk displeasing him. But her body betrayed her, shifting slightly out of instinct, as if it had a mind of its own.

Spencer’s hand stilled for a moment, and then he withdrew, his touch trailing away from her hip. Her heart sank at the loss, but before she could fully register the absence, his fingers were under her chin, tilting her face upward.

The movement was firm yet careful, guiding her gaze to meet his. His eyes locked onto hers with an intensity that made her stomach twist and her knees feel weak. There was no need for him to speak; the demand in his expression was unmistakable.

She swallowed hard, the air between them thick with unspoken tension. Somehow, she already knew what he wanted, what he was waiting for. Her voice came out as a breathy whisper, soft but resolute. “Yes, you can touch me.”

Her words hung in the air like a confession, and Spencer’s lips curled into the faintest of smiles, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. It wasn’t a grin of triumph but of satisfaction—a confirmation that she was willing to give herself to him, step by step, in her own time.

He leaned in slightly, his hand still resting lightly under her chin, his thumb brushing against her jaw. “Good girl,” he murmured, his voice low and smooth, a reward in itself. The praise sent warmth flooding through her, melting away the last of her hesitation.

Spencer’s hand moved again, slow and deliberate, tracing her skin with the kind of care that left no doubt—this wasn’t just about control. It was about connection, about her trusting him enough to let him take the lead.

Spencer moved slowly, his touch deliberate and teasing, each contact designed to heighten the ache, the need growing in both of them. He knew how badly she wanted him to touch her, how much she would beg for it if he pushed her to that point. And yet, he was patient, letting the anticipation simmer, knowing that the slow build-up would make the moment more intense when it finally arrived.

He started at her cuffed wrists, his fingers trailing softly over the restraints. His touch was tender at first as if savoring the sensation of her restrained form. Slowly, his hands moved lower, tracing the line of her forearm, and the soft skin of her upper arm, each motion lingering longer than necessary. The gentle caress was almost maddening—he could feel the tension in her body, how her muscles tightened, waiting for the next move.

When his fingers reached her shoulder, he paused, deliberately drawing out the moment. Her breath hitched in anticipation, her body tensing as she prepared herself for the next step, expecting him to move downward, to give her the relief she craved. But Spencer, ever the tease, left her waiting. He chose to wait just a little longer, knowing that the suspense would make her feel every second of it.

Instead, his fingers danced across her shoulder, up her neck, tracing the curve with a soft, almost reverent touch. Her skin shivered under his fingertips as his hand moved slowly to her face, cupping her chin gently but with authority, guiding her to meet his gaze.

His eyes were dark, almost cold, as he took her in. He studied her carefully, noting the way the microfit shorts clung to her body, and how they outlined the contours of her hips and thighs. He could see the way her breasts stood out, her nipples hard against the chill of the room, a soft flush of color on her skin. Her stomach, ever so slightly bloated from the meal earlier, gave her an endearing vulnerability that only added to the beauty of the moment.

She was perfect to him. Every detail, every inch of her body, was etched into his mind. And as he looked at her, he couldn’t help but wish that she could see herself the way he saw her—vulnerable, beautiful, and entirely his in this moment.

The silence between them stretched, thick with desire and the tension of what was to come. Spencer’s fingers lingered on her face, tracing her jawline, his thumb lightly brushing her lips. He didn’t need to say anything. His touch spoke volumes—he knew she was waiting for him to give her what she needed. But for now, he wanted to make her wait just a little longer, drawing out the ache until she couldn’t take it anymore. 

As Spencer’s thumb grazed across her lips, a gentle shudder ran through her body. She couldn’t help herself, the desire bubbling up inside her, compelling her to lean forward and softly kiss the pad of his thumb. She longed for more—wanted to kiss him fully—but the cuffs that bound her to the ceiling kept her restrained, her arms stretched above her head, leaving her helpless in the moment. Still, the kiss she gave him, so subtle, was enough to send a shiver of satisfaction down Spencer’s spine. It was a silent reassurance to him, a sign that she trusted him completely, even in this position.

“Tell me what you want, Darling,” Spencer’s voice broke the silence, low and commanding, yet there was a softness to it that matched his intent. He wanted her to be brave enough to voice her desires, to speak up if she needed something, to never feel as though she couldn’t communicate with him.

Her breath caught as she swallowed, taking in the weight of his words. There was no hesitation now, only the quiet realization of how far she had come in this moment. “A kiss? Please,” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. She reminded herself of the rules she had read about submissives—about the importance of politeness, of asking for what they wanted with respect.

Spencer smirked, amused and pleased by her request, the politeness of her words making the moment all the more enticing. He moved toward her, bending down to her height with a teasing, almost taunting air. The position she was in—her arms bound to the ceiling, her feet barely able to touch the ground—made her feel both vulnerable and desperate for him. She had to balance precariously on her toes, her body trembling from the strain as she waited for him to make his next move.

When he leaned in, his lips capturing hers with an intensity that sent a rush of heat through her, she melted into the kiss. It was deep and consuming, full of longing, with a quiet urgency. She didn’t want it to end. She couldn’t. Her body responded before her mind could catch up, and her hands instinctively reached for the chain of her cuffs, her fingers gripping it tightly to ease the strain on her arms. The discomfort was sharp, but she pushed through it, lifting herself slightly off the ground. As her legs wrapped around Spencer’s muscled waist, she pressed herself against him, a quiet plea in her actions.

But Spencer was not so easily swayed. He pulled away, his lips lingering just out of reach. “Ah uh. Good girls don’t misbehave,” he murmured, his voice low but firm. The smirk on his lips deepened as he felt her thighs wrap around him, trapping him in place, her body pressing against his with a force that betrayed her desperation.

His hands moved to her hips, steadying her as her legs held him in place. He could feel her warmth through their clothes, the way her breath quickened with need, and it made him pause, letting the silence between them stretch. He could feel her pulse racing beneath his touch, her every reaction amplifying the tension in the room.

For a moment, Spencer basked in the control he held over her, the way her body clung to him so desperately, her breath shallow and uneven as if she couldn’t bear to let go. His dark eyes lingered on her face, taking in every flicker of emotion—the need, the vulnerability, the surrender. She was entirely at his mercy, and he reveled in it.

But then, with deliberate care, he reached down, his strong hands firmly but gently prying her legs apart. His touch was commanding, yet never harsh, guiding her movements as he unhooked her feet from around his waist. Her thighs trembled as they released their grip, the strain and tension of holding herself up now giving way to his control.

As her feet found the ground again, Spencer softened, ensuring she landed with grace rather than force. His hands remained steady at her hips, holding her in place as her weight shifted, grounding her. The contrast between his earlier teasing dominance and the tender way he lowered her back down was enough to send a fresh wave of heat through her body.

“There we go,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing, a faint hint of amusement tugging at the corners of his lips. He lingered close, his presence still overwhelming, his hands resting on her hips for a moment longer before finally releasing her. The intimacy of the moment was undeniable—every movement calculated, every gesture leaving her yearning for what he might do next.

Spencer straightened, his eyes never leaving hers, as if daring her to test him again, to see how far he’d let her go before taking back the control she had so briefly attempted to seize.

 “You need to be punished,” Spencer said, his voice low and eerie, carrying a dark promise that sent a chill down her spine. Slowly, deliberately, he turned away from her, leaving her bound and vulnerable as he walked toward the imposing wall of floggers and tools. The soft rustle of his footsteps on the floor seemed deafening in the heavy silence of the room.

Her heart pounded as she watched him run his fingers along the neatly arranged implements, his touch dragging across the leather strands and polished handles. Each one swayed slightly at the friction of his movements, the gentle creak of leather making the air feel electric. Spencer cast a quick glance over his shoulder, his eyes gleaming with mischief, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Which one should I use?” he mused aloud, more to himself than her, the teasing in his tone unmistakable. His fingers hovered over one flogger before moving to another, keeping her guessing, keeping her on edge. The deliberate slowness of his movements was maddening, a calculated way to build her anticipation—or her dread.

Finally, he stopped, his hand resting on a flogger with sleek black leather strands and a braided handle that looked almost elegant in its design. His fingers curled around it as he pulled it from the wall, his eyes flicking back to her. The way he studied her, the intensity in his gaze, made her stomach churn with a mixture of fear and something else she couldn’t quite name.

Her breath quickened, her chest rising and falling as she tried to steady herself. Deep down, she knew Spencer wouldn’t actually use it on her tonight. He wouldn’t push her that far, not on her first time in the red room. But in that moment, her logical mind gave way to raw emotion—fear and uncertainty clawing their way to the surface.

“Yellow!” she blurted out, her voice trembling as panic took over. The safe word slipped past her lips instinctively, a desperate plea for him to stop. She tugged against the cuffs in a frantic, almost futile attempt to ground herself, her mind racing as she tried to ease the discomfort that had taken hold of her.

Spencer froze instantly, his entire demeanor shifting. The teasing smirk disappeared from his face as he set the flogger down on a nearby table with a quiet thud. Without hesitation, he turned back to her, closing the distance between them in a few quick, purposeful strides.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he said softly, his voice now warm and steady, a sharp contrast to the dark playfulness from moments ago. He cupped her face gently in his hands, his thumbs brushing soothing circles over her cheeks as he tilted her chin up to meet his gaze.

“You’re alright,” Spencer murmured, his eyes softening as he searched hers, his concern evident. “I’ve got you. I’m not going to use it, I promise.”

Leaning in, he pressed a tender kiss to the tip of her nose, the gesture so gentle and intimate that it made her heart ache. His touch, his voice, everything about him in that moment was designed to bring her back to a place of safety and trust.

“You did exactly what you were supposed to,” he reassured her, his voice calm and soothing. “You told me how you felt, and that’s all I’ll ever ask of you. You’re safe with me.”

Spencer stayed close, his hands never leaving her face as he waited for her breathing to slow, for the tension in her body to ease. And when it did, when her eyes finally met his with a glimmer of trust, he smiled softly. The flogger was forgotten, left behind on the wall as Spencer refocused all his attention on her.

“I just want to be touched by you tonight, please,” she murmured, her voice trembling and fragile. She knew how it sounded—pathetic, almost desperate, as if she were bargaining with a man who held all the power, especially here in his sanctuary, his carefully curated pleasure room. But wasn’t that what he wanted? For her to speak her desires, to get comfortable expressing herself in this space without fear of judgment?

Spencer’s eyes darkened at her plea, but his expression softened. “I can make that happen,” he said, his voice deep and soothing, a promise laced in every word. His fingers moved with practiced precision, brushing lightly against the waistband of her black fitness shorts. He didn’t rush, didn’t assume. He lingered there, his fingers barely dipping beneath the fabric, waiting—no, insisting—that she give him permission to continue.

“Yes,” she breathed, the word escaping her lips in a soft, almost inaudible whisper.

Spencer’s lips curved into the faintest of smiles before he sank to his knees before her, moving with deliberate grace. From her vantage point, cuffed and bound, the sight of him kneeling was intoxicating, his presence commanding even as he took a submissive position at her feet. His hands rested gently on her hips, and then he leaned in, pressing a soft, reverent kiss to her slightly bloated stomach.

Her breath hitched, the tenderness of the gesture catching her off guard. Slowly, Spencer hooked his fingers under the waistband of her shorts, dragging them down inch by excruciating inch. He took his time, letting the cool air brush against her exposed skin, adding to the anticipation. When the fabric finally pooled at her ankles, he left her standing there in nothing but her underwear, vulnerable and exposed.

But Spencer didn’t rush to the end goal. Instead, he moved with agonizing slowness, lowering his head further as his lips ghosted over the curve of her knee. His kisses trailed upward, soft and teasing, his warm breath brushing her skin as he made his way to her inner thigh. Each kiss lingered, igniting a spark that spread through her body like wildfire.

Her body betrayed her, straining against the cuffs, her hips shifting slightly as if to draw him closer. The chains rattled softly, her quiet plea for more unmistakable. Spencer noticed, of course—he noticed everything.

When his lips reached the sensitive skin just below her hipbone, he paused, pressing a lingering kiss to her lower abdomen, dangerously close to the edge of her underwear. Her breathing was ragged, her chest rising and falling as the tension built.

“You can take them off,” she whispered, the words spilling out before she could stop them. She thought that was what he wanted, thought that her compliance would please him.

But Spencer only chuckled softly, the sound low and rich, sending another shiver through her body. His lips curled into a smirk as he tilted his head to look up at her, his dark eyes locking with hers.

“No,” he said firmly, his voice a mix of authority and amusement. “I want you like this.”

The statement hung in the air between them, final and undeniable. It wasn’t about rushing to undress her fully—it was about savoring the moment, the anticipation, the power exchange. And in that moment, she realized that Spencer wanted her exactly as she was: bound, vulnerable, and entirely his.

As Spencer rose from his kneeling position, his hands moved with purpose. One cupped her breast, his palm warm and firm against her soft skin, while the other snaked around her waist, pulling her closer and keeping her from shifting under his touch. His fingers worked skillfully, kneading her breast with just the right pressure, his thumb brushing over her nipple in deliberate, teasing strokes. Every so often, he pinched the hardened peak, eliciting sharp gasps and soft whimpers that fueled his own satisfaction.

His other hand began its slow descent, gliding down her waist, pausing briefly to caress the curve of her hip before finally settling on the fabric covering her aching core. Spencer’s movements were slow and deliberate, his thumb pressing against her clothed clit in slow, torturous circles, testing her response.

The moment his touch found the perfect rhythm, (Y/N) couldn’t help herself. Her head fell back, her lips parted in a shaky exhale as waves of pleasure rippled through her. Her body strained against the cuffs, her wrists aching to be free so she could touch him, pull him closer, beg for more.

“Spence, please…” she whispered, her voice soft and pleading, tugging futilely on the chains above her head. “Keep going.”

Her desperation sent a thrill through Spencer, a wicked smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. He knew she wasn’t in any position to demand, but something about the way she begged him stirred a dark satisfaction deep within him. His fingers continued their torment, experimenting with pressure and motion, coaxing whimpers and moans from her that only grew louder with each pass of his thumb.

But just as she began to lose herself, Spencer’s hand abruptly left her throbbing clit, the absence of his touch almost painful in its suddenness. Her whine of protest was cut short as he swiftly clamped his hand over her mouth, his eyes dark and commanding as they locked with hers.

“Be quiet,” he growled, his voice low and rough, a sharp contrast to the gentle way he’d been touching her moments before.

His dominance was unyielding, and it left her breathless. She nodded faintly against his hand, her wide eyes filled with both submission and unspoken desire. Spencer’s smirk deepened, satisfied with her obedience.

Without another word, he shifted his stance, lifting one knee between her legs. The movement was deliberate, his thigh pressing against her clothed core as he resumed the rhythm she craved. He applied just enough pressure to drive her wild, the fabric of her underwear adding a delicious friction as he moved his leg.

Pinned between the unyielding cuffs above her and Spencer’s strong, unrelenting presence, (Y/N) had no choice but to give in completely. Her muffled moans against his hand were filled with a mix of frustration and pleasure, her body trembling under his control.

Spencer leaned in close, his lips brushing her ear as he whispered, “You don’t get to dictate how this goes. I decide when and how you get what you want.”

The words sent a shiver down her spine, and she realized with every passing second just how thoroughly he intended to own her tonight.

She was teetering on the edge, her body trembling as waves of pleasure built with every calculated movement Spencer made. His knee continued its agonizingly slow, circular motions against her clothed clit, and the dual sensations of his hand teasing her sensitive nipples and his other muffling her soft moans were driving her mad. Her breaths came in short, erratic gasps as her release approached, her body betraying her desperation to finally let go.

“Are you going to cum for me, sweet girl?” Spencer murmured into her ear, his voice low and smooth, sending a fresh surge of heat coursing through her. As he spoke, his lips brushed along her jawline, placing soft, deliberate kisses that only heightened her arousal.

The pet name unraveled her completely. Her head fell back, a muffled cry escaping against his hand as her body arched into him. Gathering herself, she tilted her head forward again, locking eyes with him. Her gaze was pleading, her response a breathless, trembling, “Mmhm.”

Her release was seconds away, her body tightening in anticipation. But just as she was about to tumble over the edge, the unmistakable sound of his apartment door opening shattered the moment.

“Spencer! Henry’s here for your sleepover tonight!” JJ’s cheerful voice rang out from the front of the apartment, oblivious to the scene she had interrupted.

Panic shot through both of them. Spencer froze for a split second, his hands and knee pulling away from her in one fluid motion. The sudden absence of his touch left her aching and unfulfilled, her body still straining against the cuffs in frustration. Their eyes met, wide and panicked, as reality crashed down on them.

“Spencer!” she whispered harshly, her voice low and urgent. “Don’t leave me like this!”

But Spencer, acting on instinct and clearly rattled by JJ’s unexpected arrival, turned away without a word. He moved quickly toward the door, leaving her suspended, nearly naked, and vulnerable. The lock clicked as he exited the red room, sealing her inside.

Her heart pounded, a mix of humiliation, disbelief, and residual arousal swirling in her mind. “Spencer!” she whisper-yelled again, tugging futilely at the cuffs. She tried to free herself, twisting and pulling, but the restraints held firm.

Panic bubbled up inside her as she realized the absurdity of her predicament. Left hanging in the red room, her body exposed save for her panties, she cursed herself for insisting earlier that the cuffs be tightened.

She squirmed in frustration, her cheeks burning with a mix of embarrassment and anger. The sound of distant voices from the other room filtered through the walls, a constant reminder of her helplessness.

Her mind raced as she considered her options—or rather, the lack of them. There was nothing to do but wait, stuck in this mortifying position, and hope Spencer would come to his senses and return before JJ—or worse, Henry—wandered too far into the apartment.

Thank you for reading! Please like and reblog if you enjoyed! Part 2 - Tied 2 You!

Masterlist!

[milktiicup]

need more of ur scarletella dear lord…. i love how u write mc too <3 could i perhaps request some fluff w our dear mr scarletella? maybe him teaching u words and like. making u say ‘me like you’ or smth HAHAH i feel like he would

probably not the best teacher...!

He places his hand over his heart and says, “Me like you.” You blink. Once. Twice. Thrice. “Wait, hold on- are you just sneaking in compliments now?”

‧₊ ᵎᵎ 🌊 ⋅ ˚✮ probably not my best work ;;w;; sorry about that

warnings. nooooone at all!

You furrow your brows, and point to the chair. “Table,” you grumble. Mr. Scarletella stares, and stares, and stares. Your mouth tugs into a frown. “Chair…?”

He smiles. You breathe a sigh through your nose. This language learning business was hard… considering it wasn’t even a human language, you’d think you’re doing at least a little okay. 

Probably a little below average, realistically. 

Mr. Scarletella tilts his head, his dull eyes hinting at the amusement he feels. You scowl. He steps closer, umbrella hanging loosely in one hand, the other gesturing toward the chair. “Chair,” he repeats slowly, his voice deep and deliberate, as if coaxing a child.

You sigh, crossing your arms. “That’s what I said! Chair.”

“Not ‘table.’”

Your frown deepens, and you can feel the embarrassment heat up your neck. “I know, I know! It’s just- you could cut me some slack, you know. Your language isn’t exactly easy.”

Mr. Scarletella crouches slightly, bringing himself eye level with you, his expression softening as his gaze lingers into yours. It took all of your will to not look away. What an intense gaze. Jesus… “You try,” he says simply, the words low and soothing. “Good.”

Your frustration melts, and your shoulders untense. You exhale through your nose- what were you even so worked up for? Mr. Scarletella is the most patient person- monster?- you know at the moment, but he isn’t exactly the best teacher… Mr. Silvair was probably better, and yet, Mr. Scarletella insisted he teach you instead.

And by insisted, he just appeared before any time you were walking into Mr. Silvair’s room and whisked you away. Maybe teleported is a better word.

“Let’s try again,” you decide. You point. “Chair. Table. Wall. Ceiling. Floor… Uhm… lamp? Light…” You frown, but Mr. Scarletella doesn’t interrupt you. You suppose they mean the same thing. You’re not too fussed about that. 

Your teacher points to himself. “Me,” he says. He points again. “You.”

You huff. “Me. You. I know that already… Do you think I’m that stupid, huh?”  

He hums thoughtfully, a sound that resonates in his chest more than his throat. Mr. Scarletella stands to his full height, looking down upon you with those dull eyes, then with a deliberate slowness, he points to his chest once more. “Me.”

“Yes, I know, ‘me,’” you repeat, mimicking his motion half-heartedly.

He moves his hand, hovering just shy of your chest. “You.”

“Yeah, I get it- ‘you.’ This is basic stuff.” You cross your arms. “What’s the point of this?”

He places his hand over his heart and says, “Me like you.”

You blink. Once. Twice. Thrice. “Wait, hold on- are you just sneaking in compliments now?” Mr. Scarletella is silent, and points to you again, as if silently saying ‘Your turn.’ You sigh, rubbing the back of your neck. “This feels so weird,” you mumble. You mirror him, pointing to your chest awkwardly. “Me…”

He nods approvingly, his umbrella twitching slightly almost as if he can’t possibly wait for those words to come out of your mouth. You bite the inside of your cheek. “…like you,” you finish, the words feeling clunky on your tongue.

Mr. Scarletella’s smiles, his features softening in a way you rarely see. It isn’t one of those creepy smiles that you’re used to seeing- it’s a small smile, a soft one. It’s subtle but unmistakable- an expression of quiet pride. He leans forward slightly, his umbrella tilting to rest against your shoulder and covering you, as if he was caging you in, as if he wouldn’t possibly let you away from this moment. His unblinking gaze meets yours once again.

“Good,” he says, voice as steady and low as ever, but there’s an unspoken warmth in it. He doesn’t move away, doesn’t break the intensity of his focus. If you weren’t in some different world right now, this would totally be the type of moment where people would kiss.

You swallow. Your heart is thudding almost uncomfortably in your chest. “We’re supposed to be practising your language,” you grumble. 

“Practice good,” he counters.

You roll your eyes, though it’s mostly to distract yourself from the way your stomach twists at his words. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

His umbrella is back over his head again. He steps closer again, waaaay to close in your personal space- but you don’t think you’re complaining about that, not right now, anyway… Mr. Scarletella’s hand hovers near your cheek, but never quite touching. You can feel how cold his skin is, even without the skin-to-skin contact. “Again,” he says.

“Again?” you reply, feigning cluelessness. The way his lips tug up at the corner makes it clear he knows you’re just stalling.

“Me,” he begins, his hand briefly pressing to his chest before extending toward you, “like you.”

You groan, dragging a hand down your face. “You’re relentless.”

“Say,” he insists softly, his voice coaxing.

Your breath catches. It’s hard to say no when he looks at you like that- calm and unwavering, with just enough patience to make you feel like maybe this whole thing isn’t as ridiculous as it seems. You sigh, your resolve crumbling. “Me… like you,” you mutter again, the words barely above a whisper.

Mr. Scarletella’s reaction is immediate. His dark eyes light up in a way that’s barely perceptible but undeniably there. He steps even closer, his hand finally brushing against your cheek, the coolness of his touch sending a shiver down your spine.

“Good,” he says simply, the word carrying more weight than it should.

You swallow hard, your heart pounding in your ears. “Okay, so we’ve established that I like you and you like me. Can we move on now?”

His thumb grazes your cheek, the faintest of movements. “Not move,” he replies. “Stay.”

You narrow your eyes at him, half-annoyed, half-flustered. “Stay where?”

“Here. With me.”

“Oh my god,” you groan, turning away to hide your face. “You’re ridiculous.”

Mr. Scarletella hums a noise in agreement, completely unbothered. Before you can respond, he takes your hand gently, his grip firm, and tugs you toward him. You stumble slightly, but he steadies you with an ease that makes your heart skip.

“Again,” he murmurs, his voice dropping into a tone so soft it feels almost intimate. “Want again.”

You look up at him, and the sincerity in his gaze makes it impossible to argue. With a resigned sigh, you let your hand rest against your chest and repeat, “Me… like you.”

“Good,” he says again, pulling you just a little closer. “Now… stay.”

[sloppilyeatinggrapes]

This is my secret sideblog so I'm just gonna. Not do it as an ask game, I just want to talk about podcasts!

1.) what’s the first podcast you listened to?

Welcome to Nightvale <3

2.) what’s a podcast you’ve cried over?

So many, but recently, Unwell!

3.) Favorite podcast pet? (Idk if that’s worded weird but like if one of the characters has a cat or smth)

I'm honestly not the biggest fan of podcast pets but there is ONE EXCEPTION which is Dumptruck from Find us alive

4.) what podcast has the best soundtrack/music?

Aaah there are many I like... One some might have missed is Dreamboy, which have a couple of bangers, or In Strange Woods, which is a WHOLE MUSICAL and I listen to the songs frequently. But my go to soundtracks are Friends at the table (thank you Jack deQuit). Honorable mention to Wolf 359 and Hallowoods who I think uses their osts SO WELL, giving me VISCERAL reactions when I hear the music out of context.

5.) what’s a podcast that you really like but find it kinda hard to follow the plot?

I have tried to listen to What's the Frequence so many times, it seems so intriguing and interesting as a concept, but I still don't know what even the basic plot is. I think it starts with a murder?

6.) what characters from different podcasts do you think would be friends?

Maybe this is a weird combo but I do think Diggory would be great Friends with Kai and X from Girl in Space. It's something about identity and bodies and being made with a purpose, and somehow still ending up being a pretty chill person.

I also think the demons from Brimstone Valley Mall (especially the teens) would be best hatefriends with the Hrose camp polecule. They are opposite sides but same kind of mall kids. Maybe they wouldn't be friends maybe I just want to watch the world burn

7.) what characters from different podcasts do you think would hate each other?

hmmm. Elias TMA and Keppler Wolf359. They are boss middle managers who think very highly of their own competence, have VERY different ideological base and would kill each other with knives over a cornchip

8.) what’s a podcast where you mix up the characters voices?

I have had this problem with A LOT of podcasts in the beginning, it usually takes me a while unless they are very distinct. I remember it being a problem with Mabel (literally two characters and I couldnt tell them apart...) and Syntax with two of the women side-characters. It took me so long to understand what their personalities were supposed to be, since I couldnt tell who said what.

9.) what’s a podcast that you know the characters so well you can recognize their breathing?

oooh hmm. I mean, Nightvale. It's been like 11 years after all. And Deck the halls with Matrimony!

10.) what’s a podcast that you wish you could listen to again for the first time?

oooh maybe The Penumbra podcast, specifically Juno! I think I got a weird impression of it because I listened to the OG, much rougher version of arc 1, it was really confusing and I got a very different idea about the characters in my head. Now when it's finished, I think it would be a better listen to just go through all of it as a blank slate! I also liked the end, and I think it found what it is about during the journey.

11.) what’s a podcast you’ve listened to more than once?

Most... If I like it I'll listen AT LEAST twice. But I have listened to Deck the Halls SO MANY TIMES because it's short and wrapped.

12.) what’s a podcast you wish more people listened to?

Having many fans is a double edged sword, but right now, Hallowoods and Hymns for the road. I think both would be so visually inspiring for fanart and oc's.

13.) what do you like to do while listening to a podcast?

Draw! Always!

14.) who is a podcast character that you love?

Leon from Greater Boston!

Diggory Graves from Hallowoods!

Brnine from Friends at The Table!

15.) who is a podcast character you can’t stand?

Genuinely? I did not like Cassius from Syntax... sorry... I just think they are too stupid for me.

16.) what songs do you associate with a certain character/ podcast?

oh man, Hoziers Eat your young with Hallowoods, Moss by cosmo shelldrake (for obvious reasons) with Hymns for the road, Haunted House by sir babygirl with Friends at the Table

17.) what’s a podcast that you can’t stop thinking about?

Bluff city (friends at the table), Hallowoods, Greater Boston and The Silt Verses. It's something about imperfect communities

18.) are their any podcasts that you regret listening to?

Yes. We're alive. Zombie podcast. Was waiting for it to subverse all the boring and bad cliches it set up. It didn't. It was 100 eps a 40 min. I have never been more mad

19.) whose your favorite podcast couple?

In canon, of course Cecil and Carlos. The OG!

Shipping wise its Leon and Michael from Greater Boston, Harley and Lancaster and Love and Radager from Find us Alive, Brnine and Valence from Palisade, Heard and Hector from Bluff city.

I also ship Malik from World gone wrong with the alien replacement of his ex. I WANT TO BELIEVE.

20.) whose a podcast character that you think would dress really cool?

Actually cool? Probably Riot or Olivier from HFTH. Cool as in interesting/fascinating? Cecil WTNV again.

Podcast themed ask game cause I’m bored!

1.) what’s the first podcast you listened to?

2.) what’s a podcast you’ve cried over?

3.) Favorite podcast pet? (Idk if that’s worded weird but like if one of the characters has a cat or smth)

4.) what podcast has the best soundtrack/music?

5.) what’s a podcast that you really like but find it kinda hard to follow the plot?

6.) what characters from different podcasts do you think would be friends?

7.) what characters from different podcasts do you think would hate each other?

8.) what’s a podcast where you mix up the characters voices?

9.) what’s a podcast that you know the characters so well you can recognize their breathing?

10.) what’s a podcast that you wish you could listen to again for the first time?

11.) what’s a podcast you’ve listened to more than once?

12.) what’s a podcast you wish more people listened to?

13.) what do you like to do while listening to a podcast?

14.) who is a podcast character that you love?

15.) who is a podcast character you can’t stand?

16.) what songs do you associate with a certain character/ podcast?

17.) what’s a podcast that you can’t stop thinking about?

18.) are their any podcasts that you regret listening to?

19.) whose your favorite podcast couple?

20.) whose a podcast character that you think would dress really cool?

[dancinglikebutterflywings]

F*ck Tradition | Yoongi

- Pairing: Min Yoongi x Fiancee!Reader - Requested by: No One - Synopsis: Y/N takes Yoongi with her to go wedding dress shopping because her fiancées opinion is the only one that matters. - Requests: Open for now. Please read my requesting guidelines before requesting. - Warnings: None - Word Count: 1,125 - this was meant to be a timestamp but turned into something longer. - Taglist: Open. Send an ask or fill out the Tag List Form.

Min Yoongi Masterlist | BTS Masterlist

"You should try it on," Yoongi suggests to his fiancée, noticing her stealing glances at the black wedding dress tucked away in the corner, far from the sea of traditional white gowns. It feels like the hundredth time she's looked at it since they arrived, and while Y/N might think she's being subtle, he can see her fascination as they wait for the consultant to help them.   

"Try what on?" she asks, attempting to make her interest in the dress look less obvious as she focuses on her soon-to-be husband. 

"The black dress that you can’t keep your eyes off," he grins, fully aware of her feelings. After all, he knows her better than anyone else. Leaning in a bit closer, he lowers his voice. "I can see it in your eyes, Y/N. You love that dress already." 

"But wedding dresses are supposed to be white, right? Something traditional. What will people say if I choose that?" she asks, unsure. 

"Who cares about other people’s opinions?" he replies confidently. "It’s our wedding day, mine and yours, and we can wear whatever we want. If that dress is the one you want, then wear it. Fuck tradition. We’re already breaking it."  

Biting her bottom lip, Y/N glances back at the dress, its fabric shimmering subtly under the store's lights, the deep black hue contrasting beautifully with its white surroundings. It’s unlike anything she’s ever imagined, yet she finds herself drawn to it. 

Before she can say anything, their consultant returns, "Sorry about that," she apologises for the wait, "Have any of the dresses caught your eye?" 

"The black one over there," Yoongi replies, pointing to the dress while Y/N shakes her head in protest. She’s about to decline, but he gently stops her. "Just try it on and see how you feel in it." 

Noticing the uncertainty in Y/N's eyes, the consultant adds, "Many of our brides are opting for non-traditional dresses these days. Just last week, we sold a lovely baby blue gown, and a dusty pink one a month ago." 

Y/N glances between Yoongi and the consultant, her heart racing at the thought of stepping outside the traditional boundaries of what colour a wedding dress should be. The black dress, with its elegant silhouette and intricate lace and beading detailing continues to lure her in. But, the weight of tradition looms heavily in her mind, casting shadows of doubt.  

"Okay," she finally concedes, her voice steadier now. "I’ll try it on." 

The consultant beams, clapping her hands together in delight. "Wonderful! Let’s get you into that dress," she says and leads them to a more private fitting area before going back to get the dress.  

As Y/N steps into the fitting room, her heart races with a mix of excitement and anxiety. She glances at Yoongi, who takes a seat on the couch, his expression a blend of encouragement and anticipation. 

“Just remember,” he says, his voice steady, “this is about you and you get to wear whatever you feel comfortable in.”  

Y/N nods, taking a deep breath as the consultant returns with the black dress draped over her arm. “Here we go!” the consultant smiles, “let's get you into the dress.” 

A wave of excitement washes over Y/N as she follows the consultant into the cozy dressing room nearby. The thrill builds as she undresses, and the consultant assists her in putting on the dress. The cool fabric glides against her skin. As the consultant makes adjustments, Y/N catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror. The dress fits her curves beautifully, enhancing her figure in a way that feels both empowering and stunning. The lace flows elegantly down the dress, and the beadwork sparkles in the light. For a moment, she forgets about the traditional gowns she had considered.  

“Wow,” she whispers, her voice soft. The reflection looking back at her is not just a bride; it’s a woman who feels confident and daring, ready to embrace one of the most significant days of her life.  

“You look amazing!” the consultant praises, stepping back to take in the sight of the dress. “It fits you perfectly. We might not need to make any adjustments. It seems like it was made just for you.”  

Y/N turns, her heart racing as she twirls slightly, the fabric swirling around her. A smile spreads across her face, the joy of the moment enveloping her.  

“Shall we go show your future husband?” the consultant suggests. 

Y/N's heart skips a beat at the thought of Yoongi seeing her in the dress. She nods eagerly, her excitement bubbling over.  

The consultant leads her out of the dressing room, and to where Yoongi is still seated on the couch, waiting. Y/N takes a deep breath, trying to calm the fluttering in her stomach.  

She gives Y/N a reassuring smile, and with a gentle nudge, she steps forward. “Ready to see your beautiful bride?” she asks, getting Yoongi’s attention. 

Yoongi looks up from his phone, his expression turning from curiosity to awe in less than a second, and Y/N feels a rush of warmth flood her cheeks. 

“Wow,” he breathes, his eyes widening as he takes in the sight of her in the black dress. “You look absolutely breathtaking.”  

A shy smile spreads across Y/N’s face. “Do you really think so?” she asks, her voice tinged with disbelief and hope.  

“More than anything,” he replies, standing up and stepping closer, his gaze never leaving her. To him, the dress reflects her personality—bold, elegant, and unapologetically herself. “That dress... it’s perfect for you. It’s like it was made for you,” he repeats the consultant’s words from earlier. 

Y/N’s heart swells, and she can’t help but feel a surge of confidence.  

The consultant watches the exchange with a satisfied smile. “I’ll let you two have a moment alone,” she says, stepping out of the room to give the couple some privacy.  

Yoongi and Y/N share a look filled with love and excitement, and in that instant, all the stress and pressure of wedding planning fades away. Y/N can feel tears in her eyes as she stands before him. She takes a deep breath, trying to steady the emotions swirling within her. “Thank you,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. 

“For what?” he asks, reaching out to wipe away the tear that had fallen, as he steps even closer to her, being mindful not to step on the dress. 

“Noticing me looking at the dress, convincing me to try it on,” she replies. “Knowing me better than anyone else.” 

“So, this is the dress?” he asks. 

“This is definitely the dress,” she confirms, smiling softly. 

“You look so beautiful,” he says returning her smile and pulls her in for a kiss.  

@staytiny2000 - @do-you-remember-summer-127 - @alexxavicry

[celestie0]

hi my friends! hope you're all doing well. just wanted to come on here and share a little updates w you guys (if you're still here lol)

i guess it's been like a month n a half since i formally went on hiatus, and it's been nice! i got kinda sick for a little bit lmfaooo which was tough to manage w school, but i'm better now

although i took time away from my blog, i still delved in writing here n there. i haven't written anything for kickoff since tbh i'm in such a slump w it. but i still have big plans for stuff that happens after ch13, so hopefully i can just push through this next chapter and get to a better place. thanks so much to anyone that is still interested in the story, it means a lot to me. i know i'm so slow w updates and the story has been going on for almost a year now, but the continued support is so sweet! even though i didn't work on writing it these past one n a half months, i still really love it and plan to finish it.

i'm not sure if many people remember that i had this sort of "apocalypse" gojo x reader au about an asteroid being set to hit the earth in three days, and reader n gojo are ex lovers n the impending end of the world makes them break no-contact...yeah i finished writing the first chapter for it and i really love it so far! it's like set in new york which is really fun haha i love stories where new york is kind of its own "character" if that makes sense...it will definitely be a limited series w only 4 chapters or so, but i kinda wanna finish all 4 chapters before i start posting it bc i don't want it to be a drawn out series in terms of posting since i think it'd be best enjoyed in frequent succession if that makes sense

as for ihm, i think i wrote the most for ihm during my hiatus. i finished three chapters for it, but they are shorter chapters (around 3-4k words). i kinda realized one of my biggest reasons for burnout w my fics were the reaaaaallly long chapters...like didn't i have a 22k chapter for kickoff or sumn lol. idk i can't remember. but anyways, yeah the mindset behind the longer chapters was bc i liked each chapter to kinda have its own conflict, build up, tension then resolution in a sense. but it was exhausting to write that way tbh lol. so i think moving forward, for ihm, i will have shorter chapters. i just don't wanna think to much about things anymore, and write from my heart, bc i have a lot of things planned for ihm, and among the criticism i've received for my writing choices vs my own vision for the story, i've realized during my hiatus that the only way i can finish ihm, or any of my storeis for that matter, is if i just.........stop giving a fuck about it. lol idk if that sounds strange to say, but like, i don't want to over-edit anything. i don't want to think too much about redundancy. i don't want to flower things up or cut stuff out. i'm at the point where imma just write a first draft, check for grammarly errors, and then post it. i guess the reason i'm sharing this is because idk if this means that people may enjoy my writing less since i will admittedly be spending much less time on it than i did before, but tbh i realized i find the most joy while i'm writing, and not while i'm editing. so i want to spend as little time on the latter as possible, and if that changes the quality of my work, then so be it.

anyways, hmm as for hiatus. i guess i'm off hiatus now? i really enjoyed being off of tumblr tbh this app has a lot of questionable content at times (esp in jjk community) and it also did wonders for my studying bc i wasn't spending time doomscrolling or shit posting anymore lmfaooo. but as for writing in particular, i think i will start to post ihm again exclusively. i can't say anything about kickoff or my other projects, but i feel comfortable to start posting ihm again.

sorry, i know that i have kept my replies and ask box off for a long time. but i will open them again once i start posting chapters because i really miss interacting with you guys.

anywho, these are my updates lol i'm like not sure how many of my readers are still here or which ones have moved on but that's ok, i'm grateful to anyone n everyone. hope to see you all soon again!

[vaya-is-dead]

Welcome to hour one of my delusional city

SO ABOUT JINX.... we have plenty to discuss. :))

*act three arcane spoilers under the cut don't read if you haven't watched it especially the last episode!!*

I have a theory.

Now many of you will point at me and call me delusional but I'm sorry. I think I might be right on this one for a change. (or at least it might be implied.)

OK, if you watch the final episode, you know that jinx made the sacrifice taking Warwick with her while Vi screams for her. This scene absolutely broke my heart and for about a good 15 minutes I thought she was dead.

Until I went back and watched the last couple of scenes.

Something that I found interesting is that Caitlyn was looking at the blueprint of the vent system, more specifically where Jinx made her ultimate sacrifice. We all know that arcane is not a show that would just throw in details all without reason. Everything has a point everything is calculated to either imply something or show something.

Why would Caitlyn be looking at the blueprint and why would the show creators specifically zoom in on certain airways? Well, of course, then none other to imply that Jinx could've escaped through one of these, therefore possibly surviving.

Now with that alone, it probably doesn't mean anything. It is nothing but a skeleton of what possibly could be, it needs flesh and muscle for it to actually be a Working theory.

But then, as I watched the final scene before the credits, tell me why an airship from Piltover airship very similar to the ones that we saw in episode one where powder said that she would be flying one of those one day. Why was it flying away into the distant sky, then followed by the classic Jinx glitches with the words the end?

Tell me why a show that is so focused on each, and every small detail, from micro expression to touches that linger just a second too long for it to be nothing, Even the drawings and graffiti around Zaun. why would a show so focused on those types of details do something like that if Jinx was not alive? It does not make any sense. It would not make any sense for the show.

Need more proof?

if you pay attention when Caitlyn and Vi are talking, specifically towards the end where Vi leans into Caitlyn, the expression on her face is not one of relief, but rather one of knowing something. She was the one looking at the blueprint, and she was the one who noticed the potential escape route that jinx would know better than anyone because it wasn't her sort of Home in the vent system? How could she not know how to escape?

it's also very satisfactory to her character arc, it was only in season two where we started to see her perception of death start to shift, it was only when Isha came into her life that she really started to understand her own mortality and not completely disregard her life like she used. the prison scene with Vi, where she's sort of regresses back to the mentality of everyone around me will get hurt because of me. while in act three she did begin to disregard her life again, I would like to think that her talk with Ekko might've snapped her back into place. So instead of losing jinx's character development in its entirety, she continues on the same path where she was while still keeping her goal of letting VI be happy the same.

Plus the pink streak coming up the side of the hex gate tower, it's similar to the way that Jinx charges at Vi in their fighting scene.

Now, this is the part where you go into the comments and call me delusional and make fun of my theory but thank you for comming to my Ted's talk

[knavesflames]

heyyy el

requesting politely reader ... tending to ... arlecchino with her mouth and going from starting timid to taking a bit more control to arles surprise

lots of care and love just like in the one you just posted :3

mhm ty

Hi anon<33 I hope you are doing well and having a nice night (it’s night for me). I liked this idea >:) sorry lol it took me a while to come up with a concept but I hope this suffices 😁😁😁 (hi guys the dirty words are slowly making a reappearance)

Word count: 2.2k

Contents: soft dom!reader (kind of yes), bottom Arlecchino, cunnilingus (funny word), fingering at the end, orgasm denial (ONCE GUYS OKAY ONCE), also praise (guys I’m cooked)

Songs I listened to (for fun): fantastic- king princess (is this one obvious or not), disease- lady gaga, shhh!- viviz, pivot- HEYOON, boyfriend- dove Cameron, impurities- le sserafim

There’s more but I forgot

Nsft utc<3

Arlecchino is not a receiver. She gives and takes nothing, it’s how she’s always liked it, whatever the reason may be. She has not explained, and you doubt she will. Arlecchino is very secretive, you’ve come to learn. She divulges what she must, and keeps the rest hidden. Even you, who seems to know more about her than anyone ever has, is kept in the dark about a lot of things– what exactly triggers her nightmares? What truly happened with that ‘Mother’ of hers? There are rumours, of course. Arlecchino is mad and cursed, she killed her Mother ruthlessly without reason, she killed her best friend for nothing other than a simple quarrel. You know them to be false, now you know her better, but what you can’t seem to understand is why she lets the lies fester, why allows herself to be portrayed as a cruel monster. She can’t seem to answer you.

Arlecchino also refuses to tell you why she pushes herself so hard, or why she has such strict rules for herself. You beg her to take that damn suit off constantly (for.. Multiple reasons, both you and her know that well enough– she only obliges when it ends in you as a quivering mess on the bed). “What happened to regular clothing? I know you dislike dresses, but you don’t have to force your body into that silly suit all the time.” is a phrase often uttered. Silence is the only answer given.

Silence seems to be an answer you get from her often. In different contexts, of course. Sometimes, she is silent when she is comfortable, when she is thinking, when she is angry.. You realised long ago that she is a woman of few words– and even fewer sounds. During the rare occasions you get to make her feel good (whether that’s simultaneous to your own pleasure, or before), the only sounds you really hear are the soft breaths and the slight grunts whenever you do something she particularly likes. You have made it your mission to coax more sounds out of her, even if it’s the last thing you do. You experiment with different things each time you get to make her feel good, anything remotely sexual she’s done to you, you try with her. Degradation doesn’t work, her only response is a cock of her eyebrow and a scoff. Praise is a little bit better, earning a soft kiss on whatever part of your skin she can reach. Tying her up is out of the question– she has made it abundantly clear multiple times she only enjoys the act of bondage, however small, when you are on the receiving end. It’s the case for a lot of things, and it almost irritates you. Almost. it turns out the answer is something much simpler than anything you’ve ever tried, and you mentally curse yourself for taking so long to figure it out (for Arlecchino, that was the point. She likes the game, even if she truly is trying to keep her weakness hidden).

The answer was something she had done to you almost every time you had engaged in some form of intimate act with her. There aren’t many acts more intimate than your partner giving up the ability to speak because their tongue seems to be.. Busy. You just hadn’t realised that Arlecchino would ever be on the receiving end. So, after much pleading (and begging to the point it almost seems you’re begging her to fuck you instead of the other way around), she seemed to relent. Barely.

“Let me try,” comes the soft whisper from your lips, hitting the side of her neck as you gently place kisses there. There’s no reaction, but you could swear you felt a shiver. Moving away from the milky, unmarred skin of her neck (one of the only places that isn’t marked with either her curse or an array of scars), you almost expertly push the blazer off her shoulders before slowly sinking to your knees. The carpet is fuzzy, but it doesn’t do much to soften the hard wood underneath. You can’t find yourself caring. The blazer lands on the back of the desk chair. Excited, desperate fingers tug at the buttons of those godforsaken trousers until they finally do what you want them to do. You’ve done what you can, you can’t push her hips up so you can continue to take them off, she’s stronger than you’ll ever be (you like that). “Don’t you think it would feel nice? You know it feels nice. Do you not think you deserve it?”

“I do not deserve the pleasure you give me,” she murmurs, a rare show of her inner thoughts. The woman criticises herself too much, you think. You wish she wouldn’t be so strict with herself.

“Irrelevant,” She shivers at the slight sternness of your voice. It mirrors her own. “Do you want it?”

Arlecchino doesn’t respond for a while. Her hand moves to your head, and she caresses your hair, gently stroking and tugging at the strands before she eventually speaks, a whisper, a subconscious attempt to hide the fact she’s about to chase something she never allows herself to. “Put a pillow under your knees, at least.”

You grin, so pleased with yourself. You stand again, only to sprint and find a pillow. It happens to be the pillow you sleep on, it doesn’t matter. You return to your position only to find her trousers messily on the ground, and the top four buttons of her dress shirt undone. The look in her eyes is one you’ve rarely seen– want. “Beg.” you whisper, the grin still on your face. Arlecchino’s own face twists into a frown.

“I will die before I beg for anything.” Her tone is resolute, and you sit there nonetheless, unmoving apart from the finger tracing up and down her toned thigh. You both stay like that for an agonising two minutes before she barely mumbles. “Please.”

You are incredibly aware that you won’t get more than that, so, even though you know it doesn’t do much, you mutter “good girl”. It does do something, though. You barely hear it, but her breath shakes. You take it as an initiative to start, so you let your lips find her thigh, planting wet, open mouthed kisses up towards her inner thigh. You continue, and– she’s soaked already. You’ve done exactly nothing and she’s as wetter than you’ve ever seen her. Your eyes move up to hers, a raise of your eyebrow as you open your mouth to speak, but she cuts you off before you can speak.

“Do not. I am aware of the.. situation.”

“But you’re all wet and it’s all for my tongue. Isn’t that sweet?” You’ve never been this cocky at all, and Arlecchino would be a liar if she said she didn’t like it. She tries to find words, something to refute the claim, but her words are ripped from her lips when she feels your own lips graze her clit. It’s a tiny movement, really, but one she isn’t entirely used to. The only reaction she makes, however, is a slightly sharper exhale. Until your eyes stare straight into hers and you do it again, though for longer. Then again, though this time your tongue presses flat against it. Your tongue doesn’t move, much to Arlecchino’s dismay. The hand that rested in your hair gently tugs.

“Continue.” She speaks breathily, and her words shake. You can practically hear her gulp as she tries (and fails) to calm herself, and you know she’s probably telling herself to show no emotion. Though, when you finally start moving your tongue in slow, languid motions, you hear her shaky sigh and feel her hand in your hair tighten even more. You try to find a rhythm that affects her the most, alternating between soft licks and harder presses— you find that swirling your tongue around her clit, occasionally moving down to dip your tongue into her aching cunt. Your eyes dart up to her every few seconds to catch her mouth falling open and her head tilting back. When her mouth isn’t open, she’s stifling any noise she could possibly make, gritting her teeth so hard you’re almost certain they’re going to crack. The next time you tear your eyes away from her skin and move them to her face, her eyes are squeezed shut, and only then does a quiet groan escape her.

Something seems to change in your mind, because your hands move to grip her thighs, holding them apart despite them trembling. She’s sensitive, after all, it isn’t often she gets taken care of, is it? The blackened hand not pulling greedily at the strands on your head moves in an attempt to push your hands away, but your voice vibrates against her (which of course, causes another quiet sound to slip from her). “Keep your hands on the chair.”

Arlecchino’s eyes shoot open, a gasp practically ripping through her lungs. “You cannot expect me t—“

“Do it or I stop. Let me finish making you feel good.” She scolds herself internally for letting you get too comfortable with her own tricks. Either way, it feels good and she doesn’t want you to stop, though she’d rather cut off her own arm than admit it. She doesn’t need to say a word, though, the small groans (and whimpers) tell you everything. Especially when they grow louder, and her chest begins heaving, and her voice breaks with every utterance of your name. It’s the most pleasure she’s ever outwardly expressed.

“Why did you stop?” Her exasperated, breathless voice echoes the room. You stopped just as her orgasm was reaching the peak, causing it to ebb away quickly, a sense of disappointment growing in Arlecchino’s stomach. Her eyes, now piercing into you with that familiar irritated stare, meet yours, your own full of amusement. Wiping your chin (when you’re eating pussy like it’s the last meal you’ll ever eat, it tends to get messy, doesn’t it?), you chuckle and respond in your own teasing lilt.

“You taste so good, and your pussy is so damn pretty, Arlecchino. I don’t particularly want to stop right now. You can take it, can’t you? Keep your hands still.” Her face twists into some odd mix of mortified and aroused, but your tongue meets her clit again, and the only sound she can make is something so uncharacteristic, a whine. You continue exactly what you were doing before, though this time you decide to slide a finger into her— the reaction she gave was definitely a pleasant one, her back arching off of the chair, her hands squeezing the seat of it in an attempt to keep them still. Arlecchino reaches the peak quicker this time, and despite your bossy orders, she finds herself melting into you completely, her hips grinding herself onto your tongue as much as she possibly can. It’s completely different to how she was at the beginning, her plan to remain unbothered and stoic foiled.

“Can I— please don’t stop this time.” When there comes no response from you other than a curl of your finger, she moans your name in a useless attempt to get you to answer her. You’re being mean, she thinks, and you’re using everything she does against her. “Answer me. Tell me I can cum.”

How is she still demanding things from you even in this position? She lost all control a long time ago. You find your eyes opening though, and while adding a second finger, your voice softens and you speak, voice full of affection. “Be good and cum for me, then. Now, before I change my mind. Let yourself feel good, yeah?”

Arlecchino doesn’t need to be told twice, because her hips lose whatever rhythm they had when your tongue presses flat against her, letting her choose the pace and the rhythm she knows will get her there quickest (it doesn’t take long, the woman is so sexually pent up it’s laughable). Within a minute, she’s crying out, her hands flying up to her face to cover the obscene expression she knows is there. You pay no attention, only watching every movement with a sense of satisfaction and a smile in your eyes. You keep your finger curling and your tongue still until her body stops rocking, and her hands leave her face. When her face, the one you find so beautiful, emerges from behind her hands, mascara slightly smudged, you can’t help but snicker as you pull out and away from her.

“Better?” You ask, wiping your chin once more with the back of your hand. You somehow look so smug and the look on your face pisses Arlecchino off, just a little. How you’re so calm and collected and she’s a fucked out mess sat in her desk chair.

“Yes,” she says, her voice sharper than she intends it to be really, but she continues in the same tone. “I do hope you don’t think we’re finished, hm?” Your head tilts in slight confusion, but the smile remains on your face. After a while, Arlecchino’s own lips twitch upwards, barely noticeable, but you notice nonetheless. “How could I leave you without feeling good, too? Go to the bedroom, please.”

[angel---eater]

i truly have no tolerance for this fandom shittin on random fans personal trans headcanons. someone saw themselves and their experience in this character, isnt that beautiful? why dont you mind your business and focus on your own fan stuff? wouldnt that make you happier? someones headcanon doesnt negate yours. what the fuck is wrong with yall. its playing make believe x2. its just a headcanon. real life trans folks are in active danger right now and some of yall are wasting all your energy abusing others over which pronoun set figments of someone elses imagination 'should' be using

[weepingchronicles]

Could you do a yandere Caitlyn kiramman from arcane x fem reader?

thank you for your request! sorry if this is ooc, i feel that i am not that good at writing for caitlyn but i tried. </3 also!! no s2 spoilers :)

content warnings: controlling and obsessive behavior, little bit of infantilizing, forced drugging, implied kidnapping.

❝yandere!caitlyn kiramman x fem!reader❞

💭 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🧁 Whether you were from Zaun or Piltover treats you with kindness. If you're from Piltover she thinks of you as an equal and might admire you to some degree if you are talented. If you're from the undercity she might have some reservations about you at first but as she gets to know you better she puts those thoughts aside and begins to see you as an equal and friend. For this though let's just assume you both are co-workers!

💭 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🧁 I think Caitlyn is so focused and goal-driven she will have difficulty realizing she likes you more than just a comrade or friend. It will start with longing glances, she spaces out just staring at you without even realizing she is missing orders from her superior. When others ask Cait what she thinks of you, she gets a bit distracted.

💭 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🧁"She's an excellent friend and partner. .! I could not imagine anyone else replacing her. I find her very admirable, her strength and her clever nature. The way she holds her gun, when she forgets a loose button on top of her uniform, the way her eyes widen when she-" and on and on and on. . .

💭 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🧁 It actually takes someone else to point out her obvious crush on you for her to realize. She is completely flabbergasted and in denial at first, "What! No way- what are you talking about? Yes, she is my friend but also my co-worker! That'd be completely unprofessional!"

💭 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🧁 But then she can't stop overanalyzing all her interactions with you. Whenever you enter a room her heart sinks to her stomach. God forbid you actually go beside her, her brain completely malfunctions in a way she has never experienced before. You're just so talented.. and beautiful. No! She just really, really, really admires you. It's not an actual crush..! Right?

💭 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🧁 Caitlyn had never really experienced romantic feelings for someone before, she has been so focused on her goals and proving herself she never had the time to. Of course, there was many people offering their hand for her but it was always met with a firm but polite 'no.'

💭 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🧁 She hated all the male suitors her parents tried to coerce her into meeting at least, to see if it's a match. To please her parents she would but every single one was awful. They saw her only as an object, a pretty thing to marry and show off as a trophy. A tool for power, not in the least caring for her dreams and aspirations.

💭 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🧁 But you, you were so different. You were kind and actually cared for her opinions even if she tended to push the boundaries of her actual duties. You never gave up on her even when it felt like the world did.

💭 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🧁 Welp, she couldn't deny it anymore, she in fact had a big fat crush on you. What to do next? Oh, pretend everything is normal and hopefully it goes away.

💭 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🧁 But it doesn't. In fact it gets even worse the more she tries to conceal it. Stumbling over words like a blabbering fool as you attempt to talk to her, her co-workers laugh at her making her even more flushed!

💭 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🧁 It wasn't until one day her obsession with you truly began. It was one of Jinx's ambushes again and there were explosions, it wasn't good. It was very bad. Most of her peers had died unexpectedly, not even getting a chance to fight back. Caitlyn herself got injured but all she could think about was you.

💭 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🧁 It took about an hour of searching the premises before she finally found you, stuck and unconscious under a pile of rubble. You looked bad, it struck a fear in Caitlyn, seeing you like that, she never wished to feel it again. She carried you herself to get some help despite limping and bleeding from her own wounds.

💭 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🧁 Luckily you got help in immediate time and you came to in a hospital bed, Caitlyn herself passed out in a chair beside you with her head in your lap. You could see the dark bags under her eyes, you figured she must've not been getting enough sleep. Has she been with you the entire time you've been out of commission?

💭 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🧁 During your healing process which would be a long while, Caitlyn took a rare deprive from her work, also recovering her lesser injuries. She spent most of her time beside you, making sure you ate, bringing you things to keep you entertained like books, helping you stand to the bathroom for goodness sake. It still couldn't keep her entirely out of her work though, in fact it made her even more determined to find this 'Jinx' and get justice for you and her friends, of course. She was almost obsessed with the case and capturing Jinx, and it all stemmed from her growing protection over you.

💭 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🧁 Caitlyn struggled to sleep, having nightmares of the explosion and you, your bloody body now mangled and unrealistically morphed into something terrifying. She'd wake up in fright, only to find herself sleeping on your lap with you sleeping sound. She'd brush back your hair, vowing to never let you get hurt like that again.

💭 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🧁 All of this came to a climax when you were finally well enough to be released from the hospital. You were a bit rusty but you were antsy to get back to work, you felt so useless being trapped in a hospital bed.

💭 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🧁 Caitlyn, however, was not ready for you to leave and go back to action. You were still so weak, what if something happens and you aren't able to react quickly enough? What if you die?

💭 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🧁 Cait could not stand for it and so she pleaded for you to reconsider, just a month or a week more! But you were adamant about heading back, no matter what Caitlyn said. So she gave in but she was not going to let you get hurt under her watch.

💭 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🧁 She was like a shadow you could never get rid of. Always hovering around you and staring at you with those crystal blue eyes warily, waiting almost so she can step in and help you. Even if you were put in different groups, she'd stray just so she can make sure you're okay. Need some water? Oh, careful there's a rock there! Are you okay? Be careful. Be careful. Be careful.

💭 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🧁 You could not handle it anymore, it felt not only suffocating but demeaning with the way she treated and looked at you as though you were glass.

💭 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🧁 You snapped, yelling at her to leave you alone and that you're an adult, you are capable of defending yourself. After snapping you felt a bit guilty seeing her face. She looked completely shocked and almost like a kicked over puppy, those big blue eyes looking sad now. Caitlyn could only watch in silence as you walked away from her, trying to calm down. And for once, she did not follow.

💭 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🧁 A couple days passed with no progress on the Jinx case and it seemed that Cait had finally gotten the hint and left you alone. You felt almost bad, when you were near she'd glance at you and quickly look away as if hurt. You didn't want to stop being friends, just that it was getting to a point of controlling behavior.

💭 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🧁 You took it upon yourself to visit the Kiramman household, wanting to apologize and become friends again. You did miss her, you both had especially gotten close after spending so much time healing. Perhaps that is why it hurt so much that she didn't trust you.

💭 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🧁 Caitlyn looked shocked when you showed up on her doorstep but let you in nonetheless, pretending everything was normal. She offered you tea and you agreed.

💭 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🧁 Sitting both down, you finally let it out that you reacted too harshly that day and that you wanted to continue being friends. That you missed her.

💭 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🧁 Taking a deep exhale after saying all of that, you waited for her reaction. Cait was serene and hard to read, not responding right away instead taking her teacup and sipping on her tea.

💭 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🧁 "Please have some of your tea, it is imported from Ionia."

💭 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🧁 You stare at her a bit, is that all she had to say? Not even an acknowledgement or, hell, even a refusal to forgive you? You sigh and drink the tea anyways and she begins to actually speak.

💭 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🧁"You see, over the last couple of days, no, months that I have been by your side whilst you heal has made me have a realization." She glances up at you from her tea.

💭 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🧁 "I love you." All thoughts disappear from your head the moment those words are uttered, so calmly as well. "And when you love something, you protect it. Your outburst at me the other day made me truly realize this, what you're doing to yourself- it's a cry for help. You are not fit to be an enforcer, it is too dangerous and with Jinx still out there.. I am afraid I can't let you leave again." Wait, what?

💭 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🧁 Just as she finishes speaking your vision begins to spin. You start seeing two Caitlyn's instead of one, the teacup in your hands wobbles and breaks in shards on the ground. Caitlyn tuts and stands up, grabbing your shoulders gently and laying you back down onto the couch before you could fall.

💭 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🧁 "There we go. I'm sorry it had to be this way but don't worry, I will find Jinx and make her pay for doing this to you. Just rest, my dear."

💭 ୧ ‧₊˚ 🧁 Even then, Caitlyn stays by your side while gently caressing your cheek. Your vision fades and you fall asleep.

a/n: guys.. i may have went a bit overboard with writing this but it was more fun that i had thought! i hope i did yan caitlyn justice! <3 also this is kind of foreshadowing a little bit of s2 cait?? but in a alternative universe. also see how caitlyn's suitors just thought of her as an object and now she is doing the same thing to reader unintentionally.. parallels!!

[lefteagleblizzard]

𝔙𝔯𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔶 𝔰𝔲𝔭𝔭𝔬𝔯𝔱

Mike munroe x male reader

A request that I received from a really nice person here on tumblr: a small idea I liked for a fic if you like the idea as well. Nothing too big, just a fic about Reader and Chris being brothers and constantly nagging each other about their crushes on Ashley and Mike.

I expanded the request a bit, sorry if I went overboard with it. Hope you enjoyed it.

Tags: set before the event of the game. Male reader. He/him pronouns are used towards the reader. Chris and the reader are brothers. Some very quick shifts of pov between characters. Jealousy. Mike and Jess/ Emily are not together in this. Friends to lovers. Mike is a flirt.

Words count: 4000

Can also be found on wattpad and ao3

𝔉𝔦𝔯𝔰𝔱 𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢'𝔰 𝔞 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔯𝔪

𝔗𝔴𝔬 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔱𝔰 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔱𝔬𝔤𝔢𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯

𝔄 𝔱𝔬𝔲𝔠𝔥 𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔪𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔫 𝔣𝔦𝔯𝔢

ℌ𝔬𝔩𝔡𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔬𝔫 𝔱𝔬 𝔶𝔬𝔲

𝔍𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔬𝔲𝔰𝔶 𝔞𝔱 𝔅𝔩𝔞𝔠𝔨𝔴𝔬𝔬𝔡 𝔐𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱𝔞𝔦𝔫

𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔢𝔩𝔣𝔦𝔰𝔥 𝔭𝔞𝔱𝔥 Part 2 of it

For anyone interested, I took inspiration from this clue that you can find while playing as Chris.

The music thumps in the background, a mix of bass-heavy beats and voices blending into a dull roar. You and Chris sit at a small, round table near the back, well out of the action but with a good view of everyone mingling.

"So," Chris says, taking a long, dramatic sip. "You actually spent the whole night staring at Mike. Dude, seriously, you're lucky your eyes didn't burn a hole in the back of his head."

You scoff, leaning back in your chair with a mock sigh. "Like you're any better. When are you actually gonna talk to Ashley? She's cool, she's cute, she's well, out of your league but hey, a guy can dream.”

"Hey, I do talk to her," Chris retorts, feigning offense.

"Uh-huh," you say, raising an eyebrow. "It’s a lot if you can manage to squeak out a sentence before turning red.”

Chris chuckles, crossing his arms. "Fine. Why don't you go up to Mike and tell him what you think? 'Hey, by the way, I've been thinking about how perfect your jawline is all night!’ I'm sure that'll go over great." He did a horrible interpretation of your voice to mock you even further.

You roll your eyes, feeling your cheeks flush just a bit. "First of all, I would never phrase it like that. And second, at least I actually know things about him beyond his favorite book."

"Oh, really? Let's see who knows more about their crush. No cheating. No wimping out. Winner gets bragging rights." Chris leans forward, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

"Bragging rights? How about you admit I'm objectively hotter than you when I win?" you echoed, folding your arms.

"Sure. Whatever fantasy helps you sleep at night," Chris said, grinning as he dramatically cracked his knuckles. “I'll go first since I know you're just dying to hear all the juicy Ashley knowledge."

You chuckle. "Go with your in-depth research, Sherlock."

Chris clears his throat, sitting up straighter. "Fine. For starters, her favorite color is purple."

You make a face, unimpressed. "That's it? You think knowing her favorite color makes you the expert here?"

"Let me finish, smartass. She loves thriller movies. She also has this little habit of chewing on her nails when she's nervous."

You raise an eyebrow, genuinely impressed but unwilling to give him the satisfaction. "Okay, okay, not bad. But that's kid stuff. Let me show you how it's done."

Chris rolls his eyes, clearly not expecting much. "Alright, hotshot. Give me your best Mike trivia."

You sit forward, lowering your voice like you're letting him in on a secret. You have always been good at noticing things. Maybe it was a result of growing up with Chris and when it came to Mike Munroe, your crush, the small things were more than just interesting, they were revealing.

For one, every morning, without fail, he was up before the sun. He’d go for a quick run to stay in shape. You’d always catch glimpses of him at college heading back to his room in a tank top, earbuds in, eyes focused ahead and glimpses of sweat on his forehead.

He had this tough, confident exterior. He wasn’t loud like some of the others in the group. He had a way of using humor to deflect, to keep people from getting too close. You saw it when he’d brush off any talk about specific topics.

And then there were his tastes.

He likes his coffee black. Pretends it's macho. He had a surprising amount of nostalgia in his preferences. You couldn’t forget the time you’ve talked together casually on the lodge, his face lighting up as he talked about his love for old action movies.

Chris raises an eyebrow. "Alright. Maybe you’re better equipped than me. But, let's be real, you wouldn't even know where to start."

"Better than starting with nothing," you counter. "Besides, I could charm him if I wanted to."

Chris raises an eyebrow. "What would you even say?"

You grin, leaning in like you're revealing a grand plan. "I'd just walk up and ask him about his football season. Mention that time he scored the winning touchdown. You instead are hopeless"

Chris nods, pretending to take you seriously. "Oh, sure, because that'll definitely make him swoon. Hopeless? Me?" Chris laughs, leaning back with a smirk. "At least I don't have to worry about being mistaken for a stalker."

You both burst into laughter. For all the banter, you know neither of you would really judge the other for these harmless crushes. It's what makes the night so much fun.

From across the room, you caught sight of Ashley standing awkwardly near a table stacked with half-empty snack bowls and crumpled napkins. She shifted from foot to foot, clearly trying to blend into the background.

"Hey, Romeo. This is your chance," you said, leaning closer and nudging Chris with your elbow.

Chris snapped out of his trance, his head swiveling toward Ashley. His brows furrowed slightly, the corners of his mouth tugging upward in amusement before settling back into a more thoughtful expression.

Chris groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "What am I supposed to do? Walk up and make everything even more embarrassing?"

"News flash: she knows you're a loser," but she clearly likes you anyway. Stop overthinking it. Just go talk to her. Be romantic for once. She loves that whole 'awkward and sincere' thing you've got going on."

"First of all," Chris said, pointing a finger at you, "I'm not awkward. I'm, uh, charmingly self-aware. Second, what if I say something dumb? Or worse, nothing at all? I can't just walk up to her and-"

"You're a coward," you interrupted, shaking your head in mock disappointment.

"Yep," he said, popping the "p" and lifting his cup in mock toast.

You were scanning the room until your gaze landed on Mike Munroe.

He was leaning casually against the wall, drink in hand, chatting with a girl you vaguely recognized from English class. His tuxedo fit him perfectly, tailored in all the right places, the dark fabric catching the light just enough to highlight his athletic build. The black foulard tied loosely around his neck was an elegant touch, a little different from the usual bow ties and neckties most guys wore. His hair was perfectly tousled, like he hadn't even tried but still managed to look effortlessly handsome.

You felt your chest tighten. For a moment, your imagination betrayed you, painting a picture of Mike turning toward you, smiling like he did when he told one of his dumb jokes when he got elected class president. You could almost hear his laugh, warm and inviting, as if it were just for you. But reality snapped back into focus when the girl he was talking to leaned closer.

"Mike would never look twice at me like that." You mumble more to yourself without thinking, unable to keep the disappointment from your voice.

Chris, placed a hand on your shoulder. His touch was light but reassuring. "Don't do that to yourself. You're a catch. If Mike doesn't see that, he's an idiot."

You looked up at him, grateful but unconvinced. Chris stood up, brushing imaginary lint off his jacket. "I'm getting us drinks. Let's make it through the rest of this night together, yeah?"

You nodded, watching as he made his way to the bar. You glance around, your gaze landing once more on Ashley and an idea strikes you. Chris is now far away from your position. It’s your chance to do something.

You stride over to her, flashing a friendly smile, keeping your movements casual so you wouldn't startle her. Her eyes widened slightly when she noticed you, but she relaxed as you softly took her arm.

"Hey," you said, grinning playfully as you gently guided her away from the corner.

Ashley laughed, the sound light and genuine. "What are you doing?" she asked, her voice tinged with amusement but no resistance as you led her toward your table.

"Come on, you can't let Chris and I have all the fun sitting in the corner judging everyone." you replied, glancing over your shoulder with a mock-serious expression.

"That's what you two have been doing all night? Very productive." She scanned the place as you reached the table and she managed to spot Chris at the bar, meticulously mixing something with an unusual level of focus. But then her gaze shifted, catching Mike watching the two of you.

Jaw set, lips pressed into a firm line, eyes tracked the way you gently tugged Ashley along. His gaze lingered on your hand before flicking back up to your face. Lips pressed together in a faint, almost imperceptible scowl, as though something about the sight of the two of you together unsettled him. There was a slight tension in his posture, the way his shoulders seemed just a bit too stiff for someone casually enjoying a party.

Chris returned with two drinks in hand. "Okay, I've done it," he announced dramatically. "The ultimate drink. If you don't like it, I'm never speaking to you ag-" He cut himself off mid-sentence when he saw Ashley sitting at the table, smiling up at him.

"I... uh..." Chris stammered, turning an impressive shade of pink.

"You made this for me?” Ashley asked sweetly, taking the drink from his hand before he could respond. “Thank you, Mr. Bartender."

Chris blinks and he lets out a nervous laugh, giving you a quick glare as he hands the drink to Ashley.

She giggles, taking a sip and you watch as Chris visibly relaxes. They share a smile and there's a warm, unspoken understanding between them, a quiet moment that you can't help but feel a bit envious of.

The music shifts, slowing into a softer, more romantic melody. Couples move onto the dance floor, swaying together in a slow embrace. Ashley’s eyes light up as she turns to Chris, her cheeks flushed with a faint rosy tint from the slight inebriation she feels. "Come on, Chris," she says, tugging at his hand. "Want to go there for a bit?"

Chris's eyes dart to you, searching your face for reassurance, his expression almost apologetic. He's asking, without words, if you'll be okay.

You manage a smile, giving him a nod.

Chris lets out a laugh, his tension melting away as he lets Ashley pull him onto the dance floor. They disappear into the crowd, leaving you alone at the table. You watch them go, feeling a bittersweet pang in your chest as you take in the sight of them together, laughing and smiling, fitting together so effortlessly. Chris fumbling his way through the first few steps before finding his rhythm.

They looked so happy.

And you were here instead, alone at the table, your thoughts inevitably drifting back to Mike.

Chris feels his heart race as he stands on the dance floor, his hands resting lightly on Ashley's waist, her arms draped over his shoulders as they sway to the gentle rhythm of the music. Her gaze meets his every so often, a smile warm and genuine, making him feel like the only person in the room.

"I didn't know you had these moves." she teases, her eyes twinkling.

Chris chuckles, shaking his head. "Oh, trust me, I don't. I'm just doing my best not to crush your toes."

Ashley laughs, her grip tightening on his shoulders as she rolls her eyes. "You're doing just fine. I don't mind if you, you know, relax a little."

"Relax? Yeah, I can... I can do that," he says, voice faltering as he tries to ease into the rhythm, matching her movements as the song continues.

His focus wavers after a while, gaze drifting over her shoulder as he catches sight of his brother sitting across the room at one of the tables with Matt nearby.

There's something off about the way you're holding yourself. You're smiling, sure, even laughing at something Matt is saying, but Chris can tell that the smile doesn't quite reach your eyes. It's the kind of forced expression he's seen on you before, usually when you're trying to act like everything's fine when it really isn't.

Matt, on the other hand, seems entirely oblivious, leaning in a bit too close, his face lit up with that typical over-eager grin. He's almost leaning into your personal space as he chats away, looking way too thrilled to have your undivided attention, his eyes never leaving yours. The proximity feels a bit too familiar, too comfortable, with his arm casually resting on the back of your chair.

Chris feels a pang of protectiveness twist in his gut. He glances around the room, half-expecting Emily to appear and pull Matt back to the dance floor, but there's no sign of her. Instead, he spots her on the far side of the room, tipsy and laughing as she spins around with some stranger she's apparently mistaken for Matt. She's caught up in the music, oblivious to the fact that her boyfriend is practically glued to your side.

Ashley notices his distraction, her gaze softening as she studies him. "Chris?" she asks, her voice gentle, bringing him back to the moment. "Is everything okay?"

He blinks, snapping his attention back to her, guilt creeping in as he realizes he's been distracted. "Yeah, yeah, sorry," he says, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "Just... got a lot on my mind."

Ashley smiles, tilting her head as she searches his face. "You sure? You can tell me, you know."

Chris hesitates, glancing around the room one more time. His gaze lands on Mike, who's slow-dancing with the girl in glittering dress. She's leaning against him, her head resting on his chest, but Mike's attention isn't on her.

His eyes are locked in your direction, his brow furrowed and his jaw set in a subtle scowl that's hard to miss. There's a tension in his gaze as he watches you and Matt together. There's a faint scowl tugging at his mouth, a subtle clenching of his jaw that makes it look like he's holding back the urge to step in but doesn't quite know how to act on it. His brows are drawn together and his eyes flick between you and Matt with a guarded intensity.

Chris frowns, glancing back at you. It's clear now that something is brewing beneath the surface, something he doesn't fully understand but can sense all the same. He looks down at Ashley, his expression softening as he makes up his mind.

"Hey, Ash?" he asks quietly, feeling a bit awkward but determined. "Would you mind helping me out with something real quick? I, uh... I owe someone a favor.”

You were mid-laugh at something Matt had said about his latest sports practice when a shadow loomed over the table. You looked up to find Mike standing there, holding his drink loosely in one hand and the other casually tucked in his pocket.

"Hey, Matt," Mike said, his tone light but carrying a subtle edge like he's asking for a favor he already expects to be granted. "Mind if I steal him for a bit?"

Matt's smile falters, and he glances at you, a bit reluctant, as if he doesn't quite want to let go of the moment he's carved out. "Uh... well, we were just-"

"Looks like Emily's about to make out with that guy," Mike interrupted, tilting his head toward the dance floor. "You might wanna handle that before it gets messy."

Matt whipped his head around, his face paling slightly as he spotted Emily drunkenly giggling and leaning far too close to the stranger. "Shit," he muttered, scrambling to his feet. "I'll, uh, catch you later." he says to you, giving you a quick nod before he disappears into the crowd.

"Yeah, sure," Mike said smoothly, his smirk widening as Matt hurried off. You glance back at him just in time to catch a wicked grin flash across his face as he watches Matt weave his way toward Emily.

He turns back to you and without a moment's hesitation, he slides into Matt's now-empty chair, shifting it even closer to yours with an obnoxiously loud scrap of wood against the floor. He dropped into the seat with a satisfied sigh. His arm resting along the back of your chair but soon sliding fully around your shoulders, pulling you closer to him.

The warmth of his body, the faint scent of his cologne, earthy with a hint of spice, made your thoughts scattered like leaves in the wind. From this close, you could see every detail of his face: the light beard perfectly trimmed along his jaw, the sharp angle of his cheekbones, the infuriatingly perfect way his smirk tugged at one corner of his mouth. He was leaning into his persona, that cocky, playful charm cranked up to eleven and it was doing things to your brain you weren't sure you were ready to admit.

"Well, this is cozy," Mike said, his voice low and smooth. "Didn't think Matt was ever gonna leave. Guy's got some stamina for talking, huh?"

You blinked, struggling to form words. "Uh, yeah. He's chatty"

Mike chuckled, the sound warm and teasing "Chatty? That's the nicest way to put it. Bet he's been boring you to death, huh?"

"Not entirely," you said, though your voice was far too shaky to be convincing. "He's enthusiastic."

Mike raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying how flustered you were. "You're too nice, you know that? If I had to sit through more than five minutes of that guy's rambling, I'd be asleep in my chair."

You laughed, though it came out a little too breathy. "Maybe I'm just better at pretending to be interested."

"Pretending, huh?" Mike's smirk widened. "So, what about me? Are you pretending to enjoy this little moment we're having?"

Your brain short-circuited. "I... I mean, no. I-uh... you're not boring. Definitely not boring."

"Good to know," Mike said, his voice dipping slightly as he leaned in just a fraction closer. "I'd hate to think I was putting you to sleep."

"You're not," you managed to say, your face burning.

Mike grinned, clearly reveling in your flustered state. "You're cute when you're nervous, you know that?"

“I’m not nervous,” you said quickly, though your gaze flickered away from his, betraying you.

“Sure you’re not,” Mike murmured, his fingers brushing just a little too close against your shoulder, the touch lingering for a beat longer than necessary. “What were you and Matt talking about? You looked a little bored." His tone was smooth but there was a faint edge to it now, like he was testing the air.

You noticed the subtle shift in his expression. His jaw tightening just slightly, his eyes narrowing for a fraction of a second as if he didn’t quite like the idea of you and Matt sharing a private moment.

You shrugged, trying to sound casual. "Just sport stuff and his latest victory for his team. He was just being friendly,” you added, trying to sound indifferent.

You didn’t miss the slight tightening of his jaw, the way his eyes flickered just briefly toward the ground before locking onto yours again.

Mike’s lips quirked into a knowing smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah, he looked real friendly.” The smirk that followed didn’t help, pulling at the corner of his mouth as if he was more amused than you thought he should be.

You raised an eyebrow, narrowing your eyes at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

For a moment, Mike just stared at you, his expression unreadable. “Nothing,” he said too quickly, the innocence in his voice so forced that you could almost feel the tension cracking around him. The grin stretched wider, like a challenge. “Just saying, if I didn’t know better, I’d think Matt was hitting on you.”

Your breath caught in your throat and a flush of heat spread across your cheeks. You tried to play it off, but there was no denying the way your heart stuttered in your chest. “He wasn’t,” you said quickly, your voice coming out a little more defensively than you intended.

"Either way. Figured I'd come over and I don't know... make the night more interesting for you. Prom only happens once, right? Gotta make the most of it. Besides—” His voice softens, his gaze locking onto yours with a sincerity that takes you off guard. "—I've been waiting for an excuse to spend some time with you."

You swallow, feeling the heat rise to your face as his words sink in. "You have?"

"Yeah," he murmurs, his thumb grazing your shoulder in a slow, deliberate motion. "I mean, I could've come over sooner but you were busy with your brother. Then you were with Matt and I figured, maybe it's time I got a little selfish."

The intensity in his gaze makes it hard to breathe and for a moment, all you can do is stare at him, caught between disbelief and exhilaration. "I... didn't think you noticed me like that," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Mike's grin softens, his hand moving from your shoulder to gently rest on your waist, pulling you even closer. "I notice a lot more than you think," he murmurs, his voice low and husky. "Like how you always look away when you think I'm watching, or how you get that little crease in your forehead when you're trying not to smile too much."

Mike makes a silent note to himself to later thank Chris for the insights he’d shared minutes ago.

You laugh, feeling both embarrassed and overjoyed. "Okay, now you're just showing off."

He chuckles, his arm tightening around your waist as he dips his head a bit closer, his voice a soft murmur. "Can't help it. You’ve got me so close to losing it and you don’t even realize it." His fingers press gently into your side.

“Dance with me,” he murmurs, his voice low and laced with a tenderness that surprises you. There’s a quiet intensity in his eyes, a vulnerability that makes your heart race. “Let me be the happiest guy in this place tonight.”

You feel your pulse race at the invitation, your mind whirling with both excitement and uncertainty. "What about that girl you were with?" you ask, your voice quiet and hesitant, unable to stop yourself from wondering.

Mike's smirk returns, his hold on your waist tightening slightly as he leans in, his voice a soft, almost possessive murmur. "She's not you. You’re the only one I can’t get out of my head.” His voice is rough, coated in something darker.

You meet his gaze, feeling your breath hitch as you search his face, trying to process the weight of his words.

He takes his chance to lean in, his lips brushing softly against yours in a kiss that leaves your heart racing. His lips crashing into yours with a desperate urgency that leaves you reeling. His hand slides around your waist, fingers tightening as he pulls you against him. The heat of his body sears through your clothes, and his thumb traces a slow, deliberate line along your cheek, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core.

When he finally pulls back, his lips are swollen, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, that familiar cocky edge in his eyes. His eyes burn with that familiar, dangerous gleam-a challenge, a promise. His breath is ragged, as if he's barely holding back.

"Still up for that dance? Because I've got this new boyfriend I'd really like to show off." he whispers, his voice low and teasing. His breath brushes your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. He looks at you with that trademark mischievous grin, the one that could melt anyone’s defenses.

A rush of warmth floods your chest at his words, a mixture of giddiness and disbelief. Your heart skips, caught between the sweetness of the moment and the thrill of his presence. The corners of your mouth twitch up as you meet his gaze, and though you can barely keep your composure, you nod.

Mike's grin widens and as he takes your hand, guiding you to the dance floor, you feel as if you're floating, lost in the warmth of his gaze and the excitement of being his.

Note: if you liked this, please leave a comment. I love reading them <3

[almostempty]

FYBF (javier x f!reader)

(javier x f!reader) | wc: 4.8k | other fics |

javier takes you home to prove that he can fuck you better than your boyfriend

this pwp was inspired by me having FYBF stuck in my head and the line "I prolly wouldn't treat you better, but I'd do you better"

tags/warnings: 18+ gratuitous smut, infidelity!, no condom, no editing, no y/n, no plot

🎤 i just wanna say that this one goes out to a special baddie and i hope she likes it when she reads it (happy belated bday @gothcsz this for u)

He can’t take his eyes off of you. Every time the lights flash, illuminating your glowy skin and the fluid roll of your hips to the music, he tries to see everything all at once. Tries to map your body, plan exactly how he’d make you sing for him. 

You’re a vision. Feminine and fierce in a way that calls to him. The balance to his masculinity and the tenderness that he wears on his sleeve. 

You aren’t alone. Your friends are gorgeous too. The two of them surround you, smiling, twirling, and mirroring your rhythm. The three of you dance like the rest of the room is watching; like the rest of the room doesn’t exist. 

You’re a playful trio, a dangerous trio. Grinding against each other. Bouncing between each other easily. Maybe you’re more than friends, he wonders, as you tease each other, tangling limbs, and winding your sweating bodies together. You all have magnetic energy. A gravity. The rest of the room orbits around the three of you. 

But, Javier is drawn to you. You’re graceful, yet powerful. Devastatingly sensual. He leans against the bar, shifting his weight on his feet, and wetting his lips. He surveys the rest of the club but always comes back to you. It’s dark, loud, and hot with all of the bodies in the building. 

He knows it’s a slim chance–interrupting the three of you–maybe this is your girl’s night out or something. But then, the song changes to something more melodic. You thread your arms over your head, accentuating the lines of your body, exposing your smooth skin and your curves.

You might as well have a spotlight on you like it’s your revenge dance in a romance film.

Javier’s fingers are itching to touch you. He can feel the weight of your tits in his palms, taste the soft spot at the hinge of your jaw on his tongue, and feel the swell of your ass rubbing against —

Yeah, his dick can feel it, too. Twitching in his jeans. Javier tightens the fist at his side and he slams down the last of his drink. Discarding it on the bar without a glance backward. He can’t turn away from you; he refuses to lose sight of you. 

Your dress ripples, shining when the light hits you as you shift. It looks like it would be soft and slippery to the touch. Just like the rest of you. As your eyes shut and you sway, he decides you’re a fucking killer. You could take him apart moving just like that—but on his lap. You could end him with a look, fuck, he wants to see for himself. 

He’s on the move now. Compelled. You see him, running your eyes over his body. It’s like a rose-colored path pulls him closer with every step. Javier knows it’s his chance to strike. 

He’s on you in a second, slipping in front of you with a compliment and asking, like a gentleman, if you’d give him a song. He doesn’t miss the way you run your eyes down his body and back to meet his gaze. You like what you see, baby? It hangs on his tongue and crooked grin. 

“Sorry,” you murmur into his ear, not slowing down the roll of your body. “I’ve got a boyfriend.” You grip the back of his head tightly, fingers woven into his hair. As if the strength of your grip is the only thing keeping your lips from finding each other. As if sharing the same breath with your noses nearly brushing each other isn’t intimate. 

“A boyfriend,” he repeats, not backing off. The club is dark, loud, and filled with hot, sweaty bodies. But when he dips closer and his lips brush your ear, you can hear every ounce of lust and challenge behind his next words. “If you really want him, why are you apologizing?” His rich voice makes your veins buzz. 

“Seems like you’re wanting me,” you retort in a silky voice, “I can’t be what you need.” He runs his wide hands down your sides, wrapping around your waist. It’s all too much, but fuck, you can’t stop. Proving your point, he guides you, and you’re pliant for him. He turns you, pulling your hips towards his until the swell of your ass rubs along the hard line of his cock. “Fuck,” you breathe out, imperceptibly. 

“Just once,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear, making your skin prickle and your resolve falter. “Just tonight.” You almost laugh, almost scoff, but his hands tighten on your hips, guiding your movements like he’s already claimed you. The thrill of it, of how badly he wants you, sends a shiver down your spine.

“Just once,” you repeat, but it doesn’t come out sharp or mocking. It sounds like surrender.

He tilts your head back, making you meet his eyes. His gaze is molten, the corners of his mouth curling into a smirk that’s too knowing. “When you want more, we’ll figure it out,” he says, so confident, so sure, it makes your chest tighten.

The nerve. The arrogance. You should roll your eyes, but instead, you find yourself staring at his lips, imagining how they’d feel.

“You think you can treat me better?” you ask, your voice sharp, deflecting, desperate to push him away before you actually fall into him.

“Nah,” he admits with a small shake of his head, his honesty so casual it catches you off guard. It shouldn’t make you laugh, but it does, softly, a sound that feels dangerously like complicity.

“But I’ll fuck you better,” he adds, dead serious, the weight of his words crashing down on you.

Your breath hitches. Your cunt clenches around nothing, suddenly feeling devastatingly empty. Your body answers him before your mind can catch up. Rubbing against him, searching for more. 

Your silence stretches, but it doesn’t feel like victory. It feels like a test. Javier’s smirk deepens as if he already knows how this is going to end. His thumb brushes over your jawline, a featherlight touch that juxtaposes the ferocity in his gaze.

“You know it’s true,” he murmurs, his tone dripping with amusement. “Your boyfriend,” he pauses, letting the word linger like an insult, “doesn’t even know how to make you look like this.”

“Like what?” 

“Like you’re thinking about how fast you can get me alone,” he says, cocky and unrelenting. Javier’s fingers slide lower, skimming across your waist. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

You don’t. You can’t.

“You think you’re irresistible?” you fire back, your voice sharp, trying to cut through the haze he’s wrapping around you.

“I think you want to find out,” he murmurs, his lips hovering near yours. “I think you’ll let me prove it.”

The heat in your stomach coils tighter. You want to push him away, but your body betrays you, pressing closer instead. His scent—spicy and rich—wraps around you like a trap. The club feels suffocating, the music distant. All you can focus on is him.

“Quit playing,” you mutter, though your voice lacks conviction. “You’re not that good.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his expression equal parts amused and predatory. “Let me show you.”

Before you can answer, or argue, he grabs your hand, lacing his fingers with yours. His grip is firm but not forceful, the silent question in his eyes daring you to say no.

The rational part of you screams to stop this. But the rest of you? The part that’s been craving something more? That part wants to find out if he really is as good as he claims.

You part from him briefly, giving your friends a flimsy excuse. Then, turning back without a word, you let him lead you out of the club. 

The car ride is quiet but electric. His hand stays on your thigh the entire time, the pressure just enough to keep your pulse racing. He doesn’t talk. Doesn’t need to. The smug tilt of his mouth says it all: he knows he’s won. 

When you get to his place, he steps aside to let you in first. The door closes with a soft click, sealing the tension between you.

“You want this?” he asks, leaning casually against the wall, like he’s giving you a choice but fully expecting your answer.

You should leave. Go him to your empty apartment. Call your boyfriend. But instead, you turn to Javier, arching a brow. “Your mouth only good for talking?”

His grin sharpens, all teeth and promise. "Oh, I’m gonna ruin you." He pushes off the wall, arms unfolding and drawing you right toward his broad frame. You can feel the heat radiating off him, the strength in his body like a slow-moving tide, pulling you under.

Before you can fire back, he’s on you. His hands grip your hips, pulling you flush against him, and a shiver runs through you at the contact. Your body feels like it’s on fire, every inch of you hyperaware of him, of the weight of his hands on your skin, the hardness of him pressing against your stomach. 

His lips find your neck first, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your skin, his breath warm and intoxicating. Your pulse quickens. His touch is so deliberate. Knowing. His hands are everywhere—spanning your waist, sliding down to grip your ass, pulling you tighter against him, holding you like he can’t get enough.

You feel the desire flooding through you, the way your body melts into his with such ease. You should stop. You should push him away, tell him you don’t need this. But then his fingers dig into you, and your body responds before your brain can catch up. His grip on you is possessive, like he owns you already. You can’t fight it. You don’t want to fight it. 

He walks you backward until you’re leaning against the wall, your heart pounding in your chest. You swallow, trying to steady yourself, but you feel weak. And then, he drops to his knees in front of you and you think you might actually combust.

“You look good up there,” he teases, his voice husky, low. God, it does something to you when he speaks like that. His hands push up your skirt, his eyes locked on yours, daring you to look away. You don’t. You won’t. He pulls your panties down and you’re on fire, aching for him. “But you’re gonna look better after you come for me.”

The words make your cunt throb. Before you can think to respond, his mouth is on you. His tongue glides against you, the first slow, deliberate swipe making your knees buckle. You gasp, an involuntary sound that escapes your lips before you can stop it. Fuck. He works you over, teasing and tasting, sending shocks of pleasure through your body. Every stroke of his tongue feels like a sin, a slow burn that builds in the pit of your stomach.

His grip on your thighs tightens, fingers digging into your flesh, and you realize he’s holding you steady, keeping you in place. His hands feel so sure, so confident, pulling you deeper into him, his lips pressing against you with a hunger that leaves you breathless.

He doesn’t rush. Of course he doesn’t. Javier never rushes. He seems determined to take his time, to savor every moment, like he’s proving a point. You can feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter, his teasing strokes making you dizzy and needy.

“Fuck, that’s good,” he murmurs against you, the vibration of his voice pulling you in deeper. His breath fans across your skin, setting you alight, as he pulls back just enough to look up at you. Maddeningly confident, lips glistening from how wet he’s had you all night, his smirk is predatory. A warning. A promise. 

A sight you know you won’t forget. 

“Already forgetting how to talk?”

You steady yourself against the wall, trying to summon some strength, some defiance, but your body is already betraying you. The heat in your core is almost unbearable now, and every flick of his tongue only makes it worse. You bite your lip, your eyes meeting his, willing yourself not to give in completely. 

“You think this is enough to ruin me? That you proved anything just by getting on your knees?” you challenge, your voice surprisingly steady, though your pulse is hammering in your ears. You don’t want to admit it, that you’re already close, that you’ll be getting off to the memory of his lips wrapped around your clit for weeks. 

His eyes darken, a predatory glint flashing in them. He doesn’t say a word, just grins. Slow, knowing, and dangerous the curve of his lips has you swallowing hard. He presses in closer, his body a wall of heat against yours. “Oh, no,” he says, his voice low and dark with promise. “This is just the beginning.”

You’d roll your eyes at him for being cliche, but he dips his head back down and you know that he’s right. You’re already lost, and it’s too late to turn back now.

His tongue and lips work with an intensity that leaves you breathless. He alternates between broad, sweeping strokes and more focused attention that sends lightning through your veins. The slick heat of his mouth is overwhelming, and every time you think you’ve hit your limit, he finds a new way to drag you closer to the edge.

Your hands find his hair, tangling in the soft strands, holding him to you like you’d collapse if he stopped. “Fuck,” you breathe, your voice breaking as his teeth graze you lightly, just enough to make your hips jerk.

“Easy,” he chides, pulling back just enough to flash that debased smirk. His face is flushed with exertion and the sight alone nearly undoes you. “Stay with me.”

You manage a shaky laugh, tugging at his hair in retaliation. “Still right here,” you bite out, your voice laced with defiance.

His tongue works you in slow, torturous circles. He moans against you, the sound vibrating through your core, and the sheer pleasure of it has you arching into him, chasing the friction he’s so generously giving.

“You taste so fucking good,” he groans, his grip on your hips tightening as he pulls you impossibly closer. “I could stay here all night.”

The thought makes your knees threaten to give out, and he notices, of course he does. His hands shift, one sliding up to steady you.

“Don’t you dare stop,” you whisper, your voice a desperate plea.

He chuckles darkly, the sound muffled against you. “I wasn’t planning on it.”

And true to his word, he doesn’t let up, working you over with a skill and focus that makes you dizzy. Every flick of his tongue, every scrape of his teeth, every hot, open-mouthed kiss drives you higher and higher until you’re trembling. He adds his fingers, increasing the pressure, and multiplying the intensity. He uses them expertly, fucking into you with them and working in tandem with his mouth to flood your senses. 

When you hit a peak that makes your muscles spasm, and euphoric waves radiate through you, it’s not quiet. It’s a gasping, desperate sound that echoes in the room, and the satisfaction in his eyes as he watches only makes it ring deeper in your ears.

Before you can catch your breath, he rises to his feet, his lips curling into that same cocky smirk that got you here in the first place. “Told you,” he says, his voice low and rough, like he’s savoring every second.

“Not bad,” you manage, though your voice wavers as you lean back against the wall for support.

“Not bad?” he repeats, his grin turning wolfish. He steps closer, his body pressing against yours. 

Javier doesn’t let you recover. He brings you to his bed, stripping clothes off in such a frenzy you don’t get the chance to really admire him. He’s urgent. On a mission. Pulling you on top of him and hooking his hands under your thighs. 

 “Come here,” he orders, his voice a low, commanding growl. “I’m not done.”

You start to protest, but he’s already moving, guiding you down onto him as he lies back against the mattress. He looks up at you, with clear desire, his hands gripping your hips like he owns you.

“Ride my face,” he murmurs, his voice so dark it’s a weapon. “Don’t get shy now.”

The challenge in his eyes leaves no room for hesitation. You settle over him, your thighs wobbly as his mouth finds you again. This time, there’s nothing gentle about it, he’s relentless. Encouraging you to move, to use him, to drown him underneath you. 

The sheer intensity of it makes your head fall back, a strangled moan spilling from your lips. The way he groans against you sends vibrations through your core until you’re barely able to hold yourself upright.

“I’m close,” you gasp, your voice raw and desperate.

That spurs him on. His hands tighten on your hips, guiding your movements, and when you finally break, it’s hot, overwhelming, and all-consuming. You collapse forward, panting, as he slowly eases you down from the high, his lips and tongue still working gently, reverently.

When you manage to lift your head, his grin is smug, his lips shining as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “How was that?” he asks, his voice thick with satisfaction. “Am I still all talk?”

You glare weakly at him, but the fire in your chest betrays you. “Shut up,” you mutter, collapsing beside him on the bed.

But Javier isn’t done. He shifts above you, his body covering yours, his weight pinning you down in a way that makes you feel deliciously trapped. His hands roam your skin like he’s memorizing every curve. He presses kisses to your shoulders, your collarbone, the swell of your breasts, murmuring soft, filthy praises between each one.

He notices how sensitive you are and you can hear the delight in his discovery. “You like that,” he declares. You can only hum in agreement as he rolls your nipples between his fingers. He takes his time, testing the ways you respond to his fingers, tongue, and teeth. He’s quick, learning exactly what makes you gasp and whine. 

Repeatedly working you up with soft swirls of his tongue over your hard nipples and rough pinches that make you squirm. He uses his teeth sparingly, but with finesse, keeping you on edge. 

“God, you’re perfect,” he says, his voice rough with awe.

Your breath stutters, his words striking something deep, but before you can respond, his mouth is on yours. His kiss is a slow burn, deliberate, his tongue darting out to taste yours.

“Not perfect,” you whisper.

Javier lifts his head, his dark eyes piercing. “Wrong,” he purrs, his lips curving into a dangerous smirk. “You’re perfect for me. I’ll make you believe it.”

Without another word, he’s back down between your legs, his mouth finding the sensitive skin at the juncture of your thighs. His tongue is hot and insistent, dragging every ounce of pleasure from you with ruthless efficiency.

He groans against you and your back arches off the mattress, a helpless cry spilling from your lips. “There she is,” Javier murmurs, his voice muffled but dripping with smug satisfaction. “Let me hear it.”

“Please,” you gasp, your hands gripping his hair, holding him to you greedily. He chuckles darkly, the sound reverberating through your body. “Please, what?”

You need him to get over his oral fixation and fuck you already, but you can’t find the words and your hands can’t seem to let go. He’s relentless and tapped into some sort of self-restraint and stamina you couldn’t fathom. You strain your neck, tipping your chin to your chest to watch him work.

You can’t tell if he’s this set on getting you off on his tongue to prove his merit to you, or if it’s more for him at this point. He uses everything. Nose, lips, tongue, chin. Inundating you with all of him. With one wide, heavy hand splayed across your lower stomach, he keeps you in place. His other hand keeps your thigh spread wide for him. 

What does ruin you–that you would never admit to him–has nothing to do with his mouth or his hands. It’s when you prop yourself up on your elbows, and you can see his hips rutting slowly into the mattress. It makes your eyes roll back. It confirms how badly he wants you in a way that feels more raw and vulnerable than any words he could say. 

That knowledge obliterates you. Stealing your breath, and any control you have over your own muscles. You sink, body rolling and contracting with relief and satisfaction. Javier doesn’t stop. He rides out your high, his tongue and lips coaxing aftershocks that leave you breathless and whimpering.

You relax, your hazy, pleasure-drunk mind is quiet and empty for a moment. He takes advantage of your pause, his fingers stroking over your sensitive skin, making you jolt, gasping his name.

His hand slides between your thighs, fingers slick and knowing as they stroke over the spot that has you gasping, your resolve crumbling with every second. “Javier,” you choke out, louder this time, your back arching off the bed.

“I know,” he murmurs, satisfaction dripping from his voice. The sound sends a thrill through you. He kneels between your legs, his body so broad and overwhelming as his hands grip your hips, positioning you just right. His cock presses against you, teasing, demanding, too much, too soon, yet it feels like the only thing your body craves. 

He shifts his hips slightly, and the tip of his cock nudges against your entrance. Your breath hitches. You feel the heat of him, the weight, the promise of how he intends to ruin you.

“Going to make sure you don’t forget me,” he says in a low, gravelly voice, and your body responds to the dominance in his words, buzzing for what’s next. He pushes into you slowly, inch by inch. His eyes never leave yours, dark and intense, watching you as if he can see straight into your soul.

Holy fuck. The stretch is overwhelming but it feels so right, so perfect. Every nerve is on fire, each sensation magnified as he moves deeper. God, he feels good. Sinking in so slowly, you can’t breathe, can’t think. Just the feeling of him inside you, claiming you completely.

“Feel that?” he murmurs, his voice a low growl, the vibrations of his voice reverberating through you. “I want you to remember every second of this. Every inch of me.”

You try to hold on, but it’s impossible. His voice is lethal. The heat of his body against yours, the way his cock fills you completely—it’s all you can do to stay lucid, but you want more. Your nails dig into his shoulders, your head falling back as he reaches the end of you, as deep inside of you as he can get. Your chest rises and falls with shallow breaths.

Javier groans, the sound almost painful. Hungry. His hands grip your hips like he’s holding himself back, the tension in his body taut, coiled, ready to snap. He’s holding back? The thought is enough to make you moan again.

“Perfect for me. Just like I knew you would be.”

The words make your walls clench and flutter around him. He’d use that against you if he wasn’t trying desperately to keep it together now that he knows what it feels like to be inside of you. There’s nowhere to look to steady himself. Your face glows, drunk from the orgasms and his praise, your tits glisten with sweat and his saliva–he slams his eyes shut only to see every detail of you just the same. Another deep breath and he presses on. 

His pace is slow at first. Sawing into you with torturous precision. Each thrust designed to make you feel all of him. 

It doesn’t stay slow for long. His pace picks up, a steady rhythm that makes you writhe. You want to beg, but you don’t know what it is you need. He gives it to you hard, hips snapping as he grunts from the effort. Knocking all of the guilt you’d been smothering right out of your mind.

His force overwhelms you, destroying you with bliss and a floaty time-warping joy. Altering your future, distantly you know you’ll be forever changed because of him. 

He doesn’t stop. Oblivious to the seismic impact he’s having on your pussy and future. 

He shifts his position, pulling you upright with effortless strength. Just like in the club as he rolled against you, you fit together so perfectly it’s obscene. You instinctively wrap your legs around his waist, mindless as he fills you with his cock again, deeper at this new angle. You’re at his mercy. Intoxicated by the way his length tortures every nerve inside of you. 

His face is still steeped in concentration and satisfaction, but there’s something else that makes you study his eyes. The more of a mess you are the more his pride swells, but it’s not about proving his point to you. It’s about proving something to himself. A whisper of vulnerability hides behind his words. You’re too out of it to understand what it means. Just aware there’s something more. 

“You feel that?” he growls, using his deliciously bruising grip to give you the support to bounce along his cock. His lips brush your ear as you flicker between the sensory overload and the clawing, hot need to come again. “This is what you’ve been missing. What you’ll be thinking about when you’re with him.”

You know he’s right. You can only nod your head, chanting yes in rhythm with his hips snapping into you. 

You bury your face in his neck, your breath coming out in short, desperate bursts, the sweet torture of him driving you wild. His hand slides between your bodies, his thumb finding your swollen, sensitive clit and rubbing, and you break again, your body shattering, surrendering to him.

Your nails rake down his back, desperate for release, as you bounce against his slick, toned body. 

But he’s not done. On a warpath. If he only gets one night, he’s going to make it a guarantee. 

He lays you back down with a shift of his body, his hands sliding under your thighs to lift your hips, angling you perfectly. The new position sends you into another realm, your body is his and all he wants to do is wring out every last ounce of pleasure within you. Over and over again.

“Look at me,” he commands, his voice low, rough, and dangerous. You force your eyes open, your gaze meeting his, dark and hungry, and in that moment, you know there’s no turning back.

“I want to see your face when you come for me.”

Each word will be etched into your mind forever. When you dream of him, when you touch yourself, every time you close your eyes. 

His thumb presses against your clit again; it’s rapturous. You come undone beneath him, your body trembling violently, your voice hoarse as you call out his name and a string of curses. 

He follows seconds later with a broken groan. He buries himself deep, giving himself over to you, his cock pulsing with the same urgency to fill you as your cunt clenches in desperation to milk him dry. 

He collapses onto his forearms above you, his breath hot and uneven against your skin as you both come down, the room heavy with the sound of your ragged breathing.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Breathe.”

The affection and tenderness soothe something deep within you, and for a moment, all you can do is bask in the connection and the depth of something you can’t name. Until it shifts. 

The haze begins to clear, reality creeps back in.

His laugh is low and dangerous, a sound of pure victory. 

Javier shifts beside you, his hand sliding possessively over your hip, but your mind is already racing.

Panic bubbles up in your chest as you sit up, reaching for your clothes. Javier watches you with a satisfied smirk, clearly unbothered by your sudden urgency.

“You don’t want to stay?” he teases, his voice lazy and smug.

You shoot him a sharp look, your hands trembling as you smooth down your dress. “You’re insufferable,” you mutter, but he sees through you.

“Maybe,” he says, propping himself up on one elbow, his gaze raking over you with dark amusement. “But you’ll still think about me when you see him.”

His words hit like a gut punch, and you bite your lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response. You wonder if you’ll ever be able to stop thinking about him. 

“See you Monday?” he says, his tone deceptively casual, but the smirk on his face is anything but.

Your stomach flips at the reminder. Monday. At work. Where Javier works. Where your boyfriend works.

General tags in case y'all want some javi smut too 💗:

@lovely-vamp-princess @gothcsz @auteurdelabre

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