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rafescvntyclubgf · 14 days ago

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𝕊𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘 ℙ𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝟛 – 𝕋𝕨𝕚𝕟 ℝ𝕒𝕗𝕖 𝔽𝕚𝕔

+18 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓸𝓻 𝓓𝓝𝓘

Part 1 𝜗𝜚 Part 2

𝙲𝚞𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚗𝙱𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚜!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝙱𝚞𝚣𝚣𝙲𝚞𝚝!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝙶𝙵!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

Warning: language, pet names, kissing, angst, accidental cheating, manipulation, cheating, skype sex, sex toys, mutual masterbation, mentions of a sex tape, swearing, degredation, dom!rafe, multiple orgasms, overstim., brief oral (fem. receiving), Cam takes the toy and starts using it on her, he also performs brief oral without verbal constant

📖 After meeting Rafe's (CurtainBangs!) twin brother Cam (BuzzCut!) for the first time, Rafe gives you a proposal you can't help but accept: sharing you. What Rafe didn't expect was his jealousy… And what you didn't expect was a text from Cam a week later wanting to see you again.

Reader’s POV:

The text from Cam sat there staring at you. Miss me? ‘Cause I need you princess.’ Those words carry the weight of everything you hadn’t even gotten to process yet. You pace the apartment, thinking about the next steps, your thoughts battling—looping on an endless cycle. Cam’s text wasn’t just a message… That was an invitation.

Rafe told you the night was supposed to mean nothing, but it meant an awful lot. It was supposed to be something fun, maybe a one-time thing… Something Rafe said he had done in the past, but something had changed when it came to you. There were feelings there far beyond anything he had felt before. Now you’re left standing in the aftermath a week later, feeling like the ground is shifting underneath you.

Cam is Rafe’s brother… His fucking twin. Someone he trusts–someone he brought into your life without hesitation. But to you, Cam wasn’t just Rafe’s brother anymore. That night created something new between you that you didn’t think you could handle…

Grabbing your phone, you sit on the couch, fingers hovering over the keyboard.

You: Okay.

The word stares back at you… Simple, but heavy. Sending this message without talking to Rafe first… what am I thinking? But, in a way, it wasn’t just you and Rafe anymore. Rafe had opened that door… And you weren’t ready to close it.

I can’t. You toss your phone down on the couch cushion beside you, heart banging in your chest. Walking to your room, you gather your things, desperately needing to get out of the house and clear your mind. Maybe time is exactly what I need; you think to yourself as you grab your keys and head toward the door.

You bite your lips, guilt creeping in as you come to terms with the fact that Cam is Rafe’s brother… If I don't say anything at all, he’d come regardless. Rafe takes what he wants, and he doesn’t go down with a fight. Hopefully, that runs in the family.

You look down at your phone, the message still sitting there unsent. Your stomach twists as you think about Rafe’s admittance last week in the bedroom. How blindsided would he be if he knew you had been thinking about this as much as you have–letting it affect you the way it is?

Again, you set your phone down and roll out the tension in your neck, weighing the pros and cons and analyzing the risk. As you tip your head back on the couch, you hear your phone buzz. You grab it off the couch cushion, half-expecting another text from Cam, until you see Unkown.

“Hey,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady, but you can hear the waver.

“Hey, princess,” Rafe replies, his voice warm and familiar, helping ease your tension. You can hear the commotion of the hotel lobby in the background, the faint hum of noise as the boys gear up to head out to the stadium. “What are you up to, baby?”

You glance at the TV ESPN College GameDay, already loaded. It should be a simple answer… But your mind is a mess, making it hard to wade through your thoughts.

“Baby?” He tries in a gentle voice. “You there?”

“Mhmm…” You hum, pushing the utterance past your lips. “Just scrolling Tumblr, waiting for the game to start; relaxing.”

“Good,” he drawls, his voice warm and smooth. “Just wanted to make sure you got the game to load.”

You pause and close your eyes, feeling the weight of your messages from Cam pushing down on your chest. The words are already forming in your throat. “Rafe,” you blurt.

“Yo,” he laughs nervously. “Uhh… You good, baby?”

You clear your throat, feeling heat pool in your cheeks. “Yeah… I–I got a text from Cam.”

The silence on the other end of the phone is deafening. You listen closely, hearing the lobby noise come through a little louder. “Uh, what? What did he say, baby?” He finally asks, keeping his tone calm.

“He said he wants to see me,” you whisper, met with more silence from Rafe.

“Jesus Christ,” he grumbles. “He’s my brother… ‘Course he can’t stay away.” There’s a lightness to his tone as if he’s not at all surprised. The tension in your shoulders falls slightly at his response. Unsure of what his response would be—anger or jealousy—no part of you expected this. “You’re fine, princess. Just got in my head a little bit last weekend. It’s not a big deal, aight?”

“Okay…” You breathe, the nagging want to ask if it’s okay if he can come over replacing the previous discomfort. “Is it alright if he does?”

“Yeah, baby. I'll give him a quick call when we off.”

“You sure?” You ask uneasily.

“You gotta relax, baby. I wouldn’t have introduced the two of you if I was worried… I never worry about you.” You take a deep breath, pressing it out slowly, listening to Rafe’s light laugh on the other end. “Stop worryin’, pretty.”

“Okay,” you whisper.

“C’mon... You’re my girl. I need you happy before I go out on the field or I'm not gonna be able to concentrate on shit.”

“I’m your girl,” you answer sweetly. “I’m fine. Just fine baby. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Rafe adds.

“I’m excited to watch you play,” you smile.

“Mmm… That’s my girl,” he hums. “I’ll call you when I get back to the hotel tonight. Shouldn’t be too late, aight?”

“Sounds perfect,” you reply.

The phone clicks off, leaving you with your thoughts in the apartment's quiet. Rafe’s trust was absolute, making everything much more complicated when you knew you were about to step outside your relationship without him knowing—especially now, discovering he had been okay with it all along.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady the storm inside you. Looking at the screen, you try your best to relax, smiling as you see your boyfriend’s face pop up.

After a while, the game was on, and Rafe was playing like a star. The commenters praised Rafe, his name coming through the speakers repeatedly, leaving your thoughts ping-ponging between both boys—back and forth, back and forth–the grip on your phone getting tighter by the second.

Buzz.

Cam: Out front

Your eyes widen as you see the notification, making all of those thoughts come to a screeching halt.

Just like you had guessed, Cam didn’t wait for your response, taking the Cameron approach to the matter, leaving you relieved and nervous, stressed and elated, completely fuckin’ torn as you walked to the door. Your body trembles with adrenaline as you grab the handle.

Rafe said it was ‘okay.’ So why am I still so nervous? You feel a familiar rush as you look into his beautiful eyes–that same feeling bubbling just under the surface as it had been night one.

“Hey, baby,” Cam smiles, his voice deep and warm. “M’sorry for just coming. You can tell me to fuck off. I just–I couldn’t wait any longer.” You swallow thickly as he steps closer, waiting for a response.

“It’s fine,” you whisper. “I’m sorry I didn’t respond. I just didn’t–” Your words get swallowed in a deep, uneasy breath.

“You didn’t know if Rafe would be okay with it,” he answers for you. You look up at him, feeling overwhelmed.

“Yeah…”

“I didn’t think he’d agree either, but he came around,” he assures you as he wraps his arm around your waist. You draw a sharp little breath, and before you can speak, he captures your lips in a tender kiss.

He chuckles breathily against your lips as he feels you tremble in his arms.

“You’re good, alright? We got you.”

You swallow the lump in your throat, looking up at him, your nails scratching into his tight buzz cut. “Okay.”

“Atta girl,” he soothes as his lips travel along your cheeks and neck, pressing gentle kisses on top.

“I missed you,” you whisper. He lets out a delighted groan, squeezing you as he lifts you off your feet into a hug.

“Fuck… I missed you too, sweetheart. Haven't stopped thinkin’ about you.”

“Neither have I.” You bury yourself in his arms for a few more moments.

“… Relax,” teases again, and you melt in his arms a little more. You let out a laborious laugh before drawing a deeper breath than you have in days. “Now let’s watch this jackass play ball, huh?” Cam sets you down on the ground, walking into the living room. His fingers stay laced in yours, eyes tracing your body as he follows you. “You look good. Fuck, you look pretty, baby,” he hums.

You let out a little gasp and a laugh as he crashes down on the couch, pulling you on top of him as the second half starts. He wraps you up in his big arms, your head resting on his muscular chest.

You listen to his level breathing and the steady beating of his heart as the game goes on. His big, rough fingers trace your spine lazily during commercial breaks, making your entire body feel electric from that simple touch alone.

You watch proudly as your boyfriend stands with the other team captain for the post-game interview, grinning ear to ear. The interviewer kicks it back to the ESPN studio, leaving Cam with your full attention.

The corners of Cam’s lips curl into the prettiest smile, making your stomach flutter. “Princess…” He mumbles as you rest your chin resting on his chest.

“Mhmm,” you hum.

“I don’t think I could have stayed away even if Rafe said ‘no,’” he whispers, his voice just above a hush. You can tell those words hadn’t left his lips easily— like he had been thinking about them since he left. And, like you, he knew that feeling that was wrong, too.

“Me either,” you breathe, answering honestly.

“We don’t need to tell him, alright?” He asks. “Can you keep that between you and me? I just don’t wanna have him get in the way of this– you and I. Of course, you two still have each other, but I think what we have is different.”

“I think so, too,” you whisper.

The post-game show droned on, and then the highlights of the day’s games, all just background noise as the two of you fell into a steady rhythm together: talking, joking, and snuggling as the warmth of his body pressed against yours. You could feel the connection between the two of you growing stronger, a bond you hadn’t anticipated this early hitting you hard and fast–absolutely impossible to forget.

Buzz.

You watch as your phone trembles on the coffee table with a new message from Rafe, letting you know he is back at the hotel and waiting. “It’s Rafe,” you beam; Cam’s expression softens as he brushes some hair off your face.

“Sounds good, baby…”

You step off the couch and walk toward the bedroom. Pulling open the laptop, you look across the room, fixing your hair and outfit in the mirror as Skype loads.

“Babygirl,” you hear Rafe cheer. His loud voice breaks the speakers a little, crackling in the feedback with his post-win excitement. You swoon, looking at the pretty boy on the other side of the screen. “Get the fuck out, Maybank,” he scoffs.

“What, you’re not gonna let me watch,” JJ smiles and winks as he sees you on Rafe’s end. Rafe shoves him out of focus–the two bickering back and forth, getting their jabs in between laughs. “Goodnight, sweetheart,’ JJ calls to you.

“Yeah, you too, bitch,” Rafe smiles, flicking off the cornerback as he continues to accost Rafe ‘til the door shuts, the room falling silent.

“Hey, princess!” Rafe hums in a deeper tone, glowing with pride and excitement.

“Fuck, baby. That was a good game,” you smile as you crawl closer.

He gets easily distracted, seeing you in his jersey, making your excitement rise as well. “Look at you,” he praises as he leans in a little closer.

“You look good too, baby. Is that new?” You giggle and wink, the man already knowing where you're going as you eye up his new sweatshirt.

“Yeah. Yeah. It’s all yours, baby,” he chuckles and his plays with the strings a little before pulling off the hood. “N’thank you, sweetheart. We did alright.”

“Alright?” You puff. “You were amazing.”

He laughs that laugh, running his fingers through his hair. “I wish I had you here to celebrate with me, pretty.” His tone softens as he looks at you; you can tell he means every word. You look over your computer, watching as Cam walks into the room and takes a seat atop the dresser. “Hate leavin’ you alone on a Saturday night,” your stomach falls, eyes fluttering at his words.

“Oh…” Your heart and mind start to race. “I wish I was there too.” Your voice breaks with adrenaline as you try to explain it away in your mind… Maybe he just means without him? Alone… without him?

“You should go out or somethin’... Get some air, have a little fun, get a drink for me. I’ll be home tomorrow, and we can celebrate then, okay?” You nod quickly, trying to push that uneasy feeling aside.

I mean, I got a call from him before the game… I talked to Rafe. Am I going fucking crazy?

“I’ll be fine,” you smile, feeling your lips tremble.

“Missed our pregame chat… And our post-game shower for sure,” he chuckles sleazily.

You look at Cam, he holds your gaze for a moment before burying his face in his hands. No.

“You doin’ okay, baby?” Rafe asks as he cocks his head slightly, looking back at you. “After last week n’all? Seems like you've had a lot on your mind.”

“Mhmm… m’fine,” you answer far too casually for how uneasy you look now.

“Good, baby. That’s good,” he smiles. “So, uhh... You still up for a little fun tonight, princess?”

Cam looks up to the ceiling, fighting his own internal battle. I mean, he lied… He pretended to be Rafe–his own brother, the man who told him to stay away. He throws his gaze back down to the floor, nodding to himself as he pulls himself to his feet, and right when he goes to step toward the door, you reach down, pulling Rafe’s jersey over your head, leaving you in nothing but a lace bra and panties, acting before you can even think it through.

His head turns toward you, and the man draws a deep breath as his eyes fall down your body, taking you in like the first time. Your eyes return to the computer screen, watching Rafe do the same. A deep moan comes through your speakers; his pretty blue eyes rolling back in his skull.

“Fuck, baby,” he sighs blissfully, tearing himself out of his shirt. You settle back down on the mattress, thighs spread wide as you look back at Rafe, watching out of the corner of your eye as Cam walks back, taking a more comfortable position on a chair as his darkened eyes lay set on you.

“Why did you stop, baby?” You ask Rafe, letting your eyes flick up to Cam’s as well, running on pure adrenaline. “Strip.”

Rafe chuckles darkly, and Cam smiles and bites his lip, catching the direction meant for both of them. Cam quickly pulls himself out of his shirt as well, making your mind swirl. You feel yourself growing wetter by the second, the chill of the wet lace clinging to your hot skin. And just like clockwork, the two boys pull down their pants, crashing back down onto the seat and the bed, their boxers tented out by their big cocks.

You bite your lip and smile as you reach behind your back, unclasping your bra and holding the lace to your chest as your hand shakes like a leaf, but you can’t stop. “You gonna be a tease, princess?” Rafe asks through a laugh. “M’not there to discipline you. You gonna test me, or are you gonna be a good girl?”

“Always a good girl for you, baby,” you whisper as you flick your bra to the floor.

“Fuck,” Rafe groans as he paws off his last bit of clothing, his long, thick clock hitting his tight abs with a smack as Cam quickly does the same. Goosebumps bloom across your skin and your body, riding an indescribable high. “Got that video, baby?” Rafe asks.

“Mhmm…” You prop up your phone on your computer, pushing play, listening to your soft giggle and Rafe's low moan swell through the phone’s tiny speaker.

“Do you have the video, baby?” You ask as your right-hand drifts between your thighs, rubbing your clit lightly through the fabric. You see a flicker of movement out of the top of your eyes as Cam licks his lips hungrily.

“‘Course I do, princess… I’ve been thinkin’ about it all fuckin’ day.”

Cam straightens up a little, his view obstructed by the laptop, desperately wanting to watch you play with your pussy. He stands up from his seat, his fat cock standing straight–his swollen head already leaking with precum sheened at the tip as he walks to the edge of the bed, taking a seat.

Your fingers work a little quicker, teasing both boys with what they can’t touch. Your head falls back, a soft moan leaving your lips with every even breath. You look down at Rafe, watching his big fist wrap around his thick cock, stroking slowly.

“Take off your panties, baby,” Rafe mumbles. You drag the wet material down your thighs, flicking them to Cam, making the beautiful boy take his bottom lip between his teeth as he runs the material through his big fingers. He rubs this thumb across the wetness, lifting it to his lips to suck it clean with his eyes on you.

“You look so pretty on camera, princess… Tell me why I’m takin’ my eyes off you again?” Rafe chuckles, his eyes dancing between you and the home movie on his phone, the man on Cloud 9.

“I love having your attention, Daddy,” you smile as you glide your fingers wet through your slick folds, “gets me wet,” you tease as you bring them back up to your clit hating yourself for how comfortable you feel—not hating yourself enough to quit.

“So fuckin’ dirty, princess. I love it,” he hums as he starts to stroke his dick a little faster, getting off at the sight of you, spitting on his cock for lube.

Your eyes shift slightly, biting back as you smile as Cam wraps the pretty lace around the base of his thick length, hissing at the contact as he wraps himself tight. You can feel yourself getting wetter by the second, the boys holding back their sounds just to hear more of it as they watch you close.

You lean out of the screen, reaching into the nightstand, pulling out a vibrator, showing it off for the camera. “Fuck, baby,” Rafe hums as he adjusts slightly, forgoing the video altogether as he catches a glimpse of your toy, “you’re killin’ me.” You look up at Cam, the desperation in his eyes, fighting back his praise and pleasured sounds with his life.

“Babygirl,” Rafe murmurs as his eyes rake over your naked body, the tip of the vibrator replacing your fingers on your sex. “Stop fuckin’ with me.” Chills fall down your spine as you hear Rafe’s deep, commanding voice.

“What do you want, Rafe?” You ask breathily as you push it a little deeper between your thighs, tracing your slit before showing it to the boys; the head drenched with your wetness.

“Shittt… Turn it on,” he mumbles as his breathing quickens, the gold chain on his chest catching the light.

“Yes, Daddy,” you turn it on, making a show of it as the length of it twirls and shakes. You can feel how drenched you are, your drooling hole leaking down your inner thigh. You gasp as the silicone tip meets your plush skin, tracing through the mess before lifting your eyes to Rafe.

“Push it in, pretty.” You gasp as the vibrations hit your clit, muscles jolting from the contact, that shock quickly turning into pleasure. Your thighs tremble as you ghost the tip over your puffy clit, pussy clenching around nothing. “Fuckin’ push it in,” Rafe moans. “Damn, you’re evil for this, baby. Shit… Just wait for tomorrow night I fuckin’ swear-”

“Shit!” You squeal; both boys’ moans cancel each other out as you stuff the toy inside your aching core. Your eyes shift between Rafe and Cam as they work their fists over their throbbing dicks.

“Play with that shit. C’mon, baby. C’mon,” Rafe pleads through a deep groan as he watches you close.

“So pretty, baby. Shit, you look so damn good,” Cam mumbles under his breath as he watches the toy fuck in and out of you, keeping your pace with your strokes.

You let out a hoarse cry as you find your g-spot, the little vibrating nub pressing against your clit perfectly. Your breathing starts to quicken with your heart, the knot in your stomach growing tighter and tighter. Your eyes clamp shut as you feel yourself about to near your peak.

“Open your eyes, baby. M’gonna cum… Fuck. I’m gonna cum for you,” Rafe hums. Your orgasm hits you fast, washing over you like a wave. You watch the screen as Rafe strokes a few more times before letting his thick cock go, pulsing as he cums in ropes landing hot on his abs as he pants like a dog.

Cam bites his lips, wrapping his fist around the delicate lace, pulling it down to his tip. His head falls back as he empties himself into the lace. His ab muscles clench as his heavy load dirties your panties, making an absolute mess of the fabric.

The three of you breathe heavily, coming down from your highs together. A broad smile spreads across Rafe’s lips as he tilts his head back, hitting the hotel headboard with a soft thud. “Mmm… Get on your back, baby,” Rafe hums. “You're cummin’ again.”

“Yeah?” You ask with a breathless laugh as you look between Rafe and the video playing on the phone, watching Rafe throw you to the mattress and plunge back in fast.

“Yeah, princess. Wanna hear you cum with yourself. Better hurry up, sweetheart. Sounds like you’re close,” he smiles smugly as you lay down on the bed, starting up the vibrator, your thighs, pussy still quaking from your first orgasm.

Your eyes widen as you look between your thighs, watching Cam take it off your hands before pushing it inside for you. You cry out, back arching off the mattress as he works it in at the perfect angle, the head of the vibration swirls against your g-spot, vibrator flicking at your clit.

“Fuck, you can take dick like a pornstar. Can't you princess?” Rafe praises—his cock still hard, as he shifts his focus between the old video and the pleasure on your face, the rest of your body cut off from the lens as Cam works the toy in and out.

Your bottom lip pouts and trembles in overstimulation as fat tears roll down your hot cheeks. You look down at Cam, scratching your nails into his buzzed hair. His eyes rake up your body, landing on your lips, licking his own—no doubt thinking about his dick sliding in and out and your lips on him.

He turns up the speed to the max, making you fight against him slightly, but he grabs your body, pinning you to the mattress.

“Are you gonna cum, princess?” Rafe drawls, and you nod rapidly. “Good fuckin’ girl. Give it to me.”

“Mhmm,” is all you can muster. “Fuck!” You whine as your damn breaks, pleasure coursing through your body as you flutter around the vibrator, cumming in tandem with the video of yourself.

Cam pulls out the vibrator, making you gasp. He flattens his tongue, licking a line up your silk, causing you to whimper pathetically as he works you through your high. Cam curls his arms, forcing you closer as he locks onto your puffy clit, sucking and flicking his tongue; feeling yourself close to a third release but you trap him between your thighs, throwing him daggers with your gaze.

“Fuck–Fuck, JJ. What the hell?” Rafe calls as you hear the door push open on Rafe’s end, making all three of you jump. Your hand clamps over your lips, as you watch your boyfriend, do his best to cover himself up while his teammate cackles. “Knock on the goddamn door,” he barks.

“Forgot my wallet,” JJ says, his voice on the edge of laughter.

Rafe covers himself more, putting his big hand up to the camera as JJ pops his head in, grabbing his wallet off the nightstand. “I’ll fuckin’ kill you,” Rafe hisses, only half-kidding, but you’re already covered up with a blanket anyway. His eyes track JJ as he walks away, heading out the door.

“Goddamn…” Rafe mutters as he pulls back the dirtied duvet, eyeing the mess. “How many more guys am I gonna have to fight off you today?” He huffs.

Cam looks over his shoulder slightly as he pulls back on his sweats. You can see it in his eyes, Cam hit with the bitter taste of guilt. Rafe smiles at you lovingly, utterly oblivious to the war in your mind and his brother in the room.

“Rafe-”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, princess. I love you,” he cuts you off before you go to speak, seconds away from spilling your guts. Maybe it’s for the best…

“I love you too,” you whisper, hearing the slight crack in your voice.

You grab the top of your laptop, pulling it shut, your heart banging in your ears as the weight of the situation starts to pile on you. You felt a rush of panic flood through you—not knowing whether to laugh or cry.

What the fuck did I just do?

Part 4

#rafe cameron #rafe #outer banks #obx #rafe cameron smut #rafe x reader #rafe smut #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x me #rafe cameron obx #obx rafe cameron #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe outer banks #rafe twins #rafe fanfiction #rafe obx #rafeyscurtainbangs library 📚

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katsu28 · 19 days ago

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operation mistletoe

pairing: oscar piastri x reader

summary: all it takes is one meddling lando norris and some mistletoe at the mclaren holiday party for oscar and yourself to admit your true feelings for each other. (2.2k)

a/n: day two with osc! enjoy <3

“I don’t know why you won’t just tell him.”

Lando is currently laying spread eagle on your kitchen floor, tossing a padel ball above his head while you shove a packet of popcorn into the microwave for your movie night.

His question is out of the blue, but you know what he's talking about. Lando is wondering why you won’t tell a certain Aussie you both work with that you have feelings for him.

He’s been wondering for a while now, bordering on a year since you’d accidentally let it slip to him—almost half the time said Aussie has been part of McLaren.

You scoff. “Have you sent it into the barriers too many times? That’s literally the worst idea I’ve ever heard.”

“But why?” He presses, sounding exasperated. You can’t see him around the island counter, but you can imagine that squinty eyed, scrunchy nosed look he always gets when he doesn’t understand something. You’ve seen it almost overwhelmingly often in the few years you’ve been friends.

“First of all, we work together. If I tell Oscar that I like him and he doesn’t like me back, I’d never be able to show my face at MTC ever again,” You reason, searching for a bowl to put the popcorn in once it's done.

It’s actually something you’ve put quite a bit of thought into when weighing the pros and cons of telling Oscar about your feelings.

“I’d have to find a new job, but that might take forever, so I’d have to move back in with my parents until I find one—if I find one—and I’m pretty sure my mum turned my bedroom into a yoga space the moment I’d left for uni, so I’d have to move into the basement. And then the job I find might not even be around here, so I’d have to move back out of my parents’ place and find another place to live, and you know how expensive things are in some cities! I’d have to find roommates, and I don’t really fancy living with strangers somewhere I don’t know.”

Lando has taken a seat at the counter when you turn back around with the bowl in your hands, staring at you with the most unimpressed look you’ve ever seen gracing his dumb face.

“I reckon you’re overthinking things just a smidge,” He says flatly. He thinks you’re being dramatic. You’d call it brainstorming possible worst scenarios.

You scowl, dumping the freshly popped kernels into said bowl before shoving it towards him. “You don’t know that.”

He shovels a mouthful of it into his mouth on your way to the couch, sprawling out the length of it with his socked feet in your lap. “I’m pretty sure he fancies you too.”

“Did he tell you that?” You raise a brow, swatting his feet off you.

“Well, no, but I’m very perceptive.”

“I saw you once say excuse me to a mannequin in a race suit at MTC because you weren’t paying attention to where you were going.”

“Oi, fuck you!” Lando huffs, donkey kicking you lightly in the thigh. “You promised you’d never bring that up again. All I’m saying is that you should just man up and tell him flat out.”

“I should what?”

“Shit, I mean—well. Woman up? I guess?” He wonders, squinting one eye shut. “I dunno, really, but still. You never know how he’ll react. Could turn out mint.”

“Can we not talk about it anymore? Please?” You groan, letting your head tip back against the cushions. “I just feel a little pathetic right now.” You feel Lando pat your head.

“You’re not pathetic. Love just sucks,” He says sympathetically. “But sure, we don’t have to talk about it right now.”

-------

True to his word, Lando doesn’t bring it up for weeks. In hindsight, you should’ve taken it as a sign of him planning something, but you’ve been busy with other things.

Nothing happens until the McLaren holiday party, right after the FIA awards in Rwanda. Someone yells your name from afar as you’re going for a second drink, and when you turn to see who it is, you spot Lando waving wildly at you, gesturing for you to come over.

Before you can even say anything when you approach, he grabs your hand, dragging you down the corridor. He walks and walks and walks, still not saying a word despite your constant badgering.

Finally, he stops and takes you by the shoulders, maneuvering you a few steps to one side, forward a few steps. Then he nods once, backing up with his hands out in front of him. “Do me a favor, just wait right here for a second.”

“What? Lando, what’re you—”

“No, no, no, this is important, I promise. Just stay there. Maybe close your eyes too if you could, that’d be mint.”

Despite your confusion, you oblige, squeezing your eyes shut. You hear his footsteps retreat, but then nothing for a suspiciously long time. Had he just stuck you here and run off like an absolute wanker?

A shoulder bumps yours before you can jump to any more conclusions, and it startles you.

“What the hell is going on?” You question, frowning. Nothing but silence. “Lando? Are you there?”

“Erm, nope. Not Lando.”

Fuck. You know that voice. That voice makes your heart do a stupid tap dance against your rib cage every time you hear it.

Your eyes fly open to meet an extremely familiar pair of brown ones. Oscar’s eyes. Oscar is standing right in front of you, looking just as confused as you feel.

“Oscar!” You exclaim, feeling your face flame hot.

You can’t help the surprise seeping into your voice. To see him there isn’t something you were expecting at all, and it certainly doesn’t help that he looks extremely handsome, almost glowing with happiness fresh off the end of a successful season for the team. The blue suit he has on clings to him in just the right ways, and his cheeks have a pink flush to them.

“Hi,” He says awkwardly. You aren’t quite certain what to do at the moment, or what even is happening right now. “Do you know what’s going on?”

“I don’t, actually. Lando just told me to stay here and that he’d be right back,” You admit.

Oscar lets out a noise of acknowledgement from the back of his throat. “Yeah, same, he told me it was something important. I’m not sure where he went, though.”

He brings up a good point. Where had Lando gone?

Your phone buzzes in your hand at that moment, Lando’s name flashing across the screen when you glance at it. “Hang on, he’s just texted me,” You inform Oscar, angling your phone towards him as if whatever the message says will explain everything.

Lando: Look up.

Both of you look up at the same time, and what you see makes your heart drop into your ass.

A sprig of mistletoe dangles from a haphazardly tied piece of string attached to the beam above.

That fucker. You’re going to kill him. You’re actually going to kill Lando Norris.

“Is that—that’s not mistletoe, is it?” Oscar squints up at the tiny plant, tilting his head.

“It is,” You sigh, fighting the urge to go find Lando and strangle him with your bare hands. “I want you to know I’ve had absolutely nothing to do with this. It was all your idiot teammate.”

Oscar laughs a little bit, shoulders shaking. “No, I know it’s all him. He thinks he’s hilarious.”

“He sure does.”

“I don’t think anyone’s ever told him he’s not,” He replies. Then he shifts on his feet, reaching up to run a nervous hand through his hair. “You look really nice, by the way. Been meaning to tell you that all night, but there’s so many people here I couldn’t find you. Until now, it seems.”

All night. Oscar has been looking for you all night, just to tell you that you look nice. He’s making it really hard not to fall for him a little bit more.

“Thank you, Oscar. You clean up well too.”

He looks down at himself, rocking back and forth on his heels a little. “You think so? I didn’t know if the two shades of blue were too much.”

“No, they look great. Really.”

A sudden silence blankets the two of you, and you hate it. You wish you were better at holding conversation, but with Oscar, all your thoughts seem to go right out the window.

“We should go—”

“D’you want to—”

“Sorry, sorry, you first,” You insist, pressing your lips together.

“Sure, yeah. I was just, uh, asking if you’d maybe want to…y’know.” He glances up at the mistletoe, then back to you, and if you aren’t mistaken, he looks a little hopeful. “We don’t have to if you don’t want to, of course. I’m not—I wouldn’t force you or anything. I just…yeah, we could, if that’s something you’d be into.”

“Oh!” You blink at him owlishly, completely caught off guard by his suggestion. Oscar wants to kiss you. Is this real life, or has Lando just played the ultimate cruelest prank on you?

“Tradition-wise, and all. I heard you’re cursed with bad luck for years if you break it,” He adds hastily, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“Definitely wouldn’t want that.”

“Definitely not,” He echoes, bobbing his head. What comes out of his mouth next is entirely out of the blue. “Did you know the word mistletoe comes from two Anglo Saxon words? Mistel, which means dung, and tan, which basically means branch.”

“No, I did not know that! That’s…very interesting,” You say enthusiastically, teeth digging into your bottom lip to quell the laugh threatening to spill out. If it were anyone else, you’d think it was quite weird, but Oscar’s word vomit is strangely endearing.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know why I said that. It’s disgusting, and you didn’t ask. Erm, wow, I’m—”

“Oscar.”

“Yeah?” He squeaks, pale cheeks rosy with embarrassment.

You push forward instead of saying anything else, pressing your lips against his briefly. It’s a split second kiss, but it’s all you can manage without feeling like you’re doing something monumentally stupid. Still, it’s enough to send a zip of something thrilling through your veins.

When you pull back, Oscar’s eyes are wide, and immediately you think you’ve made a mistake. You open your mouth to blurt an excuse, an apology, anything, but he speaks before you can.

“Will you go out with me?” You falter at the sudden question, totally caught off guard, and it seems to make him panic. “Oh. Oh no. Did I get this completely wrong?”

“No! No, you didn’t,” You say quickly, reaching out to take his hand. His shoulders slump in relief, fingers already tightening around yours. “I’d love to go out with you, Osc.”

“Thank god, or this would’ve been really awkward,” He sighs. “Looks like Lando did something right today.”

“For the first time in his life, probably.”

“In all fairness, I don’t think I would’ve had the balls to ask you out otherwise,” Oscar admits sheepishly. You hum your agreement. It turns out Lando being a nosy meddler of a friend has its benefits sometimes. “Think we should thank him or something?”

“Definitely not. His ego would get way too big.”

Lando looks entirely too smug when the two of you return to the party, eyes immediately zeroing in on your joined hands. “I take it the mistletoe went over well?”

“I dunno what you’re talking about.” You shrug casually, glancing over at Oscar to see him do the same.

“Alright, fine. Be like that. You’re welcome, by the way. I expect a mad good Christmas present from both of you this year, I hope you know that.”

Oscar blinks. “But I already got you a set of tea towels.”

“Ugh, spoiler!” Lando huffs, shoulders slumping. “Also, what are we—fifty? I mean, tea towels! Really, Osc?”

“You said yours were ugly!”

You make an offended noise from the back of your throat, furrowing your eyebrows. “I got you those towels for secret santa two years ago, you asshole.”

“You did? Jesus, you two really are meant for each other,” Lando snorts, shaking his head.

Oscar just grins over at you, giving a little tilt of his head as if to say great minds think alike.

“By the way, we’ve got to get onstage soon, so if you’d stop making goo goo eyes at each other so we could get a move on, that’d be great.”

“Oh. Alright.” Oscar’s smile fades as his gaze flicks back to you, seemingly displeased that he has to leave you so soon. “D’you mind if I…”

“Go on, bring out the trophy. I’ll be right here,” You assure him, stepping in to drop a chaste kiss to his cheek.

Once they’re onstage little while later, Oscar’s already found you in the crowd, and as they lift the impressive trophy high in the air, he’s only looking at you, beaming so unbelievably bright it might just rival the sun. You smile right back at him, the pride you have both for this team and the two boys onstage just barely contained.

This night marks the start of new beginnings, both for McLaren and for your relationship with a certain Aussie. And just like the 2025 season, you’re excited to see what next year will hold.

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#oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #op81 #op81 x reader #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri x fem!reader #oscar piastri fluff #oscar piastri fic #op81 x fem!reader

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amethystwrytes · 5 months ago

Text

Of Course, Professor

Pairing: Law Professor!Lee Know x Female Reader

Genre: Smut. Romantic-ish. Basically just porn with a hint of plot tossed in so I don’t just keyboard smash sex stuff on the page and feel bad about myself. 18+.

Summary: The law professor everyone is scared of generously offers to help you with your school work.

Warnings: There is explicit language. There is explicit sex (oral, penetration, teasing, edging, cumshot). There is a Professor/Student relationship, and IRL I do think that’s super inappropriate BUT this isn’t real life and I promise everything is very consensual, there’s no like “give me sex and you’ll get an A” kinda stuff, so, it’s all very much in my own personal scope of comfort. I wouldn’t write anything I felt was yucky. If any of that rubs you the wrong way though, that’s totally fine, and this one isn’t for you which is completely okay.

A/N: So, once upon a time in my undergrad years I was determined to be a lawyer. For a solid academic year I changed my major to Paralegal Studies because I figured that would be a perfect foundation for law school (smart, right?). Except like, three months in I was miserable and hated everything about it and realized that it absolutely couldn’t be me. I ended up having a similar discussion with my academic advisor/professor - except I didn’t end up fucking them - not that professor anyway (kidding). I always wanted to write a story about that awful year, and now I have - kinda…sort of. With a twist of delicious Lee Know and forbidden love. Yum.

“Can you stop please?”

You look at the girl sitting next to you in class. Her name completely escapes you but her eyes are burning lasers at the pen you’ve been clicking nervously in your hands.

“...Sorry…”

You apologize and gently set the pen down on your desk. Professor Lee is taking his sweet time passing back the most recent term papers and you dig your nails into your palm in anticipation of your grade.

To say you’re struggling in his Civil Procedures course is an understatement. In fact, you don’t seem to be doing well in any of the classes you’re taking this semester. The voices of your parents condescendingly telling you “Law School isn’t for everyone and that’s okay,” sound like they’re playing on repeat in an echo chamber.

If you bomb this paper you’re out. You stayed up almost all night last night going over the pros and cons of dropping out. You went back and forth so long fighting with yourself that you fell asleep thinking about it, and when you woke up the only thing you could think of was letting the universe give you a sign.

You had worked on your term paper for weeks, carefully piecing it together, you spent so much time in the library that you now know the TA who works at the help desk on a first name basis. So if you flunk it, there’s your magical sign.

“Ms. ___,” Professor Lee sets your paper face down on the desk - bad sign. He leans down just a tad, “Why don’t we meet in my office after class?” - even worse.

“Yes, Professor,” you nod. You think about not even flipping the stapled monstrosity over, but curiosity gets the better of you.

There it is, a painful 55% staring back at you in thick, blood-red marker. You spare yourself the trouble of pouring over the thinner red notes made in the margins of every page. You can’t help the tears of frustration that pool in your eyes.

“Everyone enjoy your break and the time spent with your families, when we return we’ll begin our discussions on Summary Judgement, so please make sure you complete the reading outlined in the syllabus before we see each other again. Dismissed,” Mr. Lee nods and the ruckus of chairs against linoleum and exasperation fill the room.

Mr. Lee’s office is four floors above the classroom, so you have a few minutes to spare - which you spend in the restroom crying, drying your eyes, then crying again.

You’re dropping out of Law School. All that work, all that trying, all those late nights - and don’t even start on the amount of money spent on coffee and tuition and fucking textbooks and…you start sobbing again.

“How did you do?” Seungmin asks when you emerge from the ladies room, his face immediately contorts into a painful frown at your red, puffy face, “That bad huh?”

“I can’t really talk Seungmin,” you take a deep breath, “I’ve got to go meet Lee in his office before his next class begins.”

“Fuck,” Seungmin frowns even more, “That man scares the shit out of me.”

“Thanks,” you say, “That’s helpful.”

“Sorry. We’re all heading to the Coffee House before everyone starts driving home for the break, do you want to come? After your meeting of course,” he asks.

“Not today,” you shake your head, “but thank you for asking.”

He gives you a sympathetic look and your shoulder a tiny squeeze.

You stand outside Professor Lees office for a few moments, gathering yourself. Professor Lee makes everyone nervous. He’s a hard instructor, emotionless sometimes, so direct it’s painful, and it doesn’t help anyone that he’s also devastatingly attractive. He’s a giant walking slab of intimidation.

You softly knock on the door and he looks up at you from over his glasses as he types something.

“Ah, Ms. ___, there you are. Come, sit down,” he instructs and you slide through the doorframe and slouch in an old green armchair across from his desk.

“Just give me one second,” he says slowly as he continues typing, “alright.”

“I’m sorry sir, for the term paper, I should have done better,” you offer up, electing to go ahead and fall on your own sword.

“There’s no need for apologies Ms. ___, a waste of time in this kind of situation. I would like to speak to you about your grades this semester though. After I graded your term paper, I reached out to some of my colleagues - some of your other professors - and they all had similar reports to give me, can we talk about that?”

You sigh, fanning out your fingers over your thighs, “Please, Professor, you mentioned a moment ago about time wasters - and I don’t want to waste anymore of your time - I’ve decided to drop out of law school.”

The defeat you feel just saying the words out loud to someone is enough to bring tears back, but you fight them off. You will not cry in Professor Lee Minhos office. Absolutely not.

Professor Lee purses his lips and nods, “I think that’s probably for the best.”

Your jaw drops, “Aren’t you supposed to encourage me to do the opposite? To try harder or something?”

“Miss ___, I fear if you tried any harder your hair might burn out from the roots,” he smiles and if you weren’t so shocked, you’d laugh at the first joke you’ve ever heard him utter.

Before you can think of something to say, he produces a file folder from his drawers and smacks it on the table making you jump.

“These are all the papers you’ve written for my class so far this semester. Your papers intrigue me Miss ___.”

Intrigue? That’s a funny word to use for ‘disgusted and disappointed beyond imagination.’

“But you-,” you begin to point out that the highest grade he’s ever given you on a paper was a 68%. Far from intriguing.

“But…as legal writing? They’re all absolute trash,” he tells you. “What intrigues me about them is the way you write, it’s quite good, every time I read one I feel like I’m in the room with a friend who’s trying to sort of explain law to me, the problem is you just don’t think, rationalize, or talk like a lawyer. I noticed in your transcript that your undergraduate degree was in education, and you had a 4.0 GPA. I can’t help but wonder, Miss ___, what career are you looking for?”

“A…a lawyer,” you say in a quiet voice, staring at a knick on his desk.

He looks skeptical as he leans back in his chair, “Why?”

“Because…” oh fuck it all, you may as well just say it, “because my father, my mother, and my older brother are all lawyers, who went here.”

“I see, so one could deduce that you wanted to be a lawyer because they wanted you to be one, they expected it of you?” he concludes.

You smile comically, the truth is much more pathetic.

“No, actually, they all told me I couldn’t do it. They told me I wasn’t smart enough, sharp enough, bold enough. I wanted to teach art to school children, but when that’s exactly what I elected to study, their comments started. I was just a private joke between the three of them, and I hated it, so I wanted to show them that I could be a lawyer.”

“You came here to study law out of stubborn spite?” he reiterates.

“Yes sir, I did,” you look at your lap and play with a rogue string from your sweater cuff.

“That’s quite impressive, Miss ___, to go through all that trouble, strife, and money to do something you have no interest in just to best your family.”

“Well when you say it like that I sound like a psycho,” you laugh timidly, trying to keep the sludge of humiliation down.

“I don’t think you’re a psycho, I think you’re a bright woman who wanted to show her family they were wrong, but just ended up making herself miserable,” his expression is soft, almost understanding. “However, as your professor, I don’t think I could recommend continuing with law school. This is your first year, with first year level studies, and you’re struggling this much all for something you don’t even want, it will only get more difficult from here.”

You nod, “You’re probably right sir,” you stand, “I should get to the admin office before they close for the break, I’m sorry for wasting your time,” you give him a respectful smile and grab your bag.

“Miss ___,” he motions for you to sit back down, “First of all, you’ve not wasted a single second of my time. Second, I don’t recommend dropping out right now, I think you should finish this semester at least.”

“You just said…”

“I said I don’t think you should continue with law school, and I don’t. However, we’re past the official mid-point of the semester, the cut off to withdraw for a full refund of tuition was last week, if you go now you’ll never get that money back.”

You plop back down in the chair, even more defeated, “I didn’t realize that,” you drag your hands down your face in frustration, “shit.”

Professor Lee chuckles, “I do have an alternative plan for you, if you’re willing to hear it and put in the work,” he offers.

You sit up straight, “Yes, of course sir.”

“I suggest you finish this semester, and I will help you - starting with rewriting your latest term paper. I’ll even try to assist you with some of your other courses, if you’d like. If we work diligently enough, you can finish this semester with an acceptable GPA, that keeps your academic record away from probation or academic expulsion,” he explains.

“You would do that?” you ask in disbelief.

“Well, of course, I am a professor after all. What sort would I be if I wasn’t willing to help my students?”

“I don’t know what to say Professor,” you smile, “that’s too generous.”

“It’s not a problem Miss ___. Now, let’s talk strategy, I assume you don’t plan on spending break with your family?” he guesses.

“No sir, they’re too busy anyway, I plan on staying in my apartment off campus during the break,” you answer.

“Splendid. This evening I have a night class to teach, but perhaps we could meet tomorrow? The library will be closed for break, but my students enjoy meeting up together at that coffee place downtown, uh, Coffee Shack or something,” he struggles.

“The Coffee House?” you help him and try to hold back a grin.

“Yes, would you like to meet there, say, 1PM tomorrow afternoon? We can go over some of your papers together and I’ll help you with your legal writing technique,” he asks.

“Yes, I’ll be there sir, I really can’t thank you enough, truly I appreciate this,” you tell him.

“I look forward to it, Miss ___.”

📖 ❤️

You adjust your backpack as you walk towards the Coffee House doors. You packed your laptop, all your text books, notes, and a few other things because you weren’t sure what Professor Lee would want to cover. The weight of it all is dragging you down and you have to hunch over a bit to balance it.

“My goodness, here, let me get that for you Miss ___,” Professor Lee greets you at the door, he seems to have already picked a table near the front and grabs your bag with a grunt. “Did you pack your entire house?” he teases.

“I didn’t know what you’d want me to bring, so I brought all my school things,” you laugh.

“Well, I suppose it won’t matter that the library is closed since you brought it with you,” he chuckles and you take the seat beside him.

“Should we start?” you open your laptop and power on.

“I thought perhaps you’d like a beverage?”

“Oh,” you look behind you at the register, “Yes, I suppose we should caffeinate,” you smile.

“What would you like?” He stands up and brings his wallet out.

“Oh please sir, let me pay, it’s the least I could do for all of your help,” you beg.

“Nonsense, as much as I love to argue Miss ___ I don’t see the point over a cup of coffee, what would you like? Are you hungry?”

“No, I ate lunch before coming, just a latte for me, small,” you concede, “and thank you…again.”

He smiles and departs from the table. You watch him in the line from where you sit. Seeing Professor Lee like this feels…different. In a less formal setting he’s almost approachable, and you’re starting to see things about him that you don’t in class. Like his generosity, and kindness, the man even has a sense of humor and you think of texting Seungmin about it but stop yourself. You want to keep this all a secret. You don’t want anyone knowing that you’re in such desperate need of assistance with your courses, but also you want to keep this side of Professor Lee to yourself.

You could think of worse ways to spend your Saturday afternoon than with an attractive law professor who’s willing to help you pass your classes. You wonder if he’s aware that all his students find him so hot, or if it’s something that’s never occurred to him. He doesn’t wear a ring on any of his fingers, which tells you he isn’t married, but that doesn’t mean he’s single. You can’t imagine that he’s not seeing anyone. In class he’s usually got on some academia aesthetic looking suit on, lots of tweeds and browns - today he wears a fitted pair of jeans, and a navy sweater with a white collared button up fashioned underneath, the sleeves pushed up his forearms. His jet black hair isn’t styled like it usually is in class, and hangs long and loose around his face. He looks like such a boyfriend…

You blush and go back to focusing on your laptop. What the hell was that? He’s your professor. Which is actually kind of enticing…

You press your lips together and roll your eyes at yourself. Stop with the intrusive sexual thoughts about Professor Lee - the man is trying to save your ass, not spank it - having inappropriate daydreams, no matter how justified they may be, is unacceptable.

“Here we go,” he comes back to the table and sets two mugs on the surface as he takes his seat again.

“Thanks,” you smile politely, trying not to look at him. If you don’t look at him, maybe you won’t think about how cute he is and instead focus on what you ought to be: your failing grades.

“So, let’s start with the main issue of your papers. Writing, in the legal sense, is cut and dry. It’s all about facts, findings, and nothing expressive or personal, which is where you seem to have the most trouble,” he begins and you try to absorb the information instead of noticing the way his lips look while sipping his coffee.

This endeavor may be harder for you than just pulling your grades up.

📖 ❤️

“I think that was a very productive first meeting,” he says optimistically as you start piling things back into your backpack.

“I think so too,” you nod. Productive, yes - but now the real work begins and you’ll have to go home and actually re-write the damned thing.

Professor Lee carries your backpack out the door, “Where’s your car?”

“Oh, it’s at home, I just live a few blocks away,” you point in the general direction of your apartment.

“You mean to tell me you carried this while walking from your house?” he holds the backpack with two hands for dramatics and you giggle.

“It’s not that terrible, how long has it been since you were carrying books around, Professor? Surely you remember the struggle,” you tease.

“I suppose it’s been a bit, here,” he reaches in his pocket and the SUV beside you beeps, he opens the passenger door, “I’ll drive you home so you don’t have to endure the struggle.”

“I couldn’t ask you to do that sir,” you shake your head.

“It’s fine, it’s a small college town Miss ___, I can get literally anywhere in less than five minutes, especially since the majority of students are gone this week. Let me be chivalrous for you,” he smiles and you melt a little bit.

“Well, if you insist,” you look up at him as you slide into the passenger seat.

“I do,” he closes the door, then places your bag in the backseat before coming around to the drivers side.

“Are you always this difficult, Miss ___? Or are you just trying to be overly polite because I’m your professor?” he asks when you point him down the street towards your apartment.

“Difficult, sir?” you look at him wide-eyed.

“Mmhmm,” he nods, “You didn’t want me to buy your coffee, you nearly refused my ride home electing to carry a small library on your back while you walk,” a look of panicked concern washes over his face and he looks over at you, “This isn’t making you uncomfortable in any way is it? Being alone with me?”

“No! No, absolutely not,” you assure him, though you wager that your thoughts about him would certainly make him uncomfortable. “I’m just so incredibly grateful for your help, and you continue to go out of your way for me. It’s just never something I…” you stop yourself.

“Never something you what?” he presses.

You laugh awkwardly, “It’s just not ever something I expected from you, given your reputation with the other students.”

“Ah, yes,” he sucks his teeth, “My reputation of being an uptight jerk who doesn’t like anyone.”

“I would never use those words sir,” you tell him.

“You might not, but I have the internet too, I’ve seen the threads about me on social medias,” he shares.

“You read those?” your voice raises at least three octaves.

“Of course, I’m only human, curiosity gets the best of me from time to time.”

“I don’t participate in those conversations,” you shake your head, “I understand that it’s only natural for students to want to know about the personalities of their upcoming professors, but the bias that occurs in those threads is absurd.”

“I agree, though sometimes they can be helpful, to my ego at least,” he laughs.

“How so?” you wonder, because you don’t remember seeing anything about his classes online that would feed his ego.

“Some of my students may not like my personality, but they like looking at me,” he grins.

“Professor Lee! That’s scandalous,” you laugh and playfully smack his shoulder.

“What?” he laughs with you, “I’ve got to take something positive from it! 75% of those comments are atrocious, but I’m quite proud that I scored three hot peppers on the professor hotness scale.”

“Oh my God,” you cover your mouth, “I cannot believe I’m sitting in your car having this conversation,” you giggle.

“Is this your building?” he points.

“Yes, it is.”

He parks on the street and you take a deep breath when he exits the car. He knows his students think he’s hot, and now he knows that you know he knows. You pat yourself on the back for indicating you’ve never participated in those threads before the conversation took a turn towards hot peppers. Though you are 100% guilty of voting for his peppers.

He opens your door, hanging your backpack across his shoulder.

“I’ll walk this up for you,” he offers and you swallow hard.

“Sure,” you smile, your heart pounding out of your chest. Professor Lee Minho is about to see the inside of your apartment. You try to recall the state you left the place in. You remember doing your dishes before you left, but that’s about the only productive thing you can remember doing today.

You unlock your door and flip the lights on. Your art supplies are everywhere, and you have a bag of laundry by the door because you plan on hitting the laundromat this evening. In trying to move it out of the way you knock it over, a pair of your underwear spilling out onto the floor right at his feet as he walks through.

“Jesus,” you mutter, humiliated, as he looks down at you grabbing up the black lace thong and shoving it back into the bag.

To your utter relief, he says nothing about your undergarments. He sets your backpack down and looks around.

“Can I offer you anything to eat or drink?”

“Did you do all these?” he walks forward into the room towards the area you dry your paintings in. Canvas after canvas sits up against the wall, some completed, most unfinished.

“Oh, yes,” you say, walking up beside him, “This semester has been really frustrating for me, and painting helps.”

“Well, they’re beautiful, truly - you’re quite talented,” he looks down at you, “I can see why teaching art is a passion for you, you’ve certainly got quite a knack for it.”

“Thank you,” you say quietly.

“Teaching is very rewarding,” he adds, “I think that you should pursue your original dream Miss ___. You’ve clearly got a lot to offer the world,” he smiles down at you and you catch his gaze, a few quiet seconds pass as you look into his dark eyes.

“You could just call me by my first name, ___, if you wanted,” you say softly, “and um, thank you, for complimenting my art.”

“You’re very welcome, ___,” he responds, staring at you again. You watch his eyes flit down to your lips and your heart speeds up again. He suddenly clears his throat and looks back at the paintings, “I think we should make the most of the week, since classes aren’t meeting, this is a perfect time for you to catch up with your studies. Tomorrow is Sunday, which is the day I typically devote to catching up on grading, and I do have midterm grades to enter. Perhaps Monday?” he asks.

“Monday, yeah. That works, um, I have a shift at work on Monday morning, but I’ll be free after 3PM.”

“Perfect, we could meet at the Coffee House again, around 4:30?”

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

“Great,” he begins walking back to the door, “and, um, while we’re together - working on your coursework I mean - feel free to call me Minho. However when classes resume, it’s probably best to address me as Professor Lee.”

“Of course, Professor,” you agree. “Thank you, er…Minho…for everything today.”

“You’re most welcome,” he opens the door then pauses, turning his head slightly in your direction, “Nice panties, by the way. See you Monday!”

You stand there, speechless, staring at the closed door.

📖 ❤️

Monday afternoon you can’t help but notice that Professor Lee - Minho - sits closer to you at the table in the coffee shop as he helps you study for one of your other classes. You don’t blame him, truth be told, you spent over an hour after your shift at the bookstore getting ready, hoping he’d look at you the same way he did Saturday. You are, without a doubt, down bad. To impress him even further you’ve got a surprise for him.

“I re-wrote my term paper,” you blurt as the two of you are clearing up the table after studying.

“Already?” he looks at you.

“I worked on it all night Saturday, and most of the day on Sunday. Do you want me to email it to you?”

“Absolutely,” he smiles, “Good girl.”

Fuck off, he did not just say that. You bite down on your lip and your thighs press together as you bring up your student email. You attach the file and send it to him.

“It should be in your inbox the next time you check,” you say…like a good girl. Swoon.

“Great, um, I was wondering - and just tell me to shut up if you want to - but I was wondering if you had plans this evening?”

Your heart grows wings and begins to fucking fly.

“No,” you shake your head, “I have zero plans for a Monday evening in a town that’s practically shut down.”

He chuckles, “Right. So, would you want to join me for dinner maybe?”

You at least pretend to mull it over instead of just shouting YES in some unflattering, desperate tone.

“Where were you planning on eating?” you ask.

“There’s a really nice place I like, it’s about a twenty minute drive out of town, but the food is impressive, never had a bad dish there,” he shares.

“I am hungry,” you say, “I’d love to.”

“Good, shall we?”

📖 ❤️

“Are we celebrating anything special this evening?” the waiter asks as he sets two glasses of water down, “A first date? An anniversary perhaps?”

“No.”

Both of you answer him at the same time, and try to hold your laughter in when the poor man looks taken back.

“Okay,” he says, “Can I get you all anything to drink from our wine or cocktail menu?”

“I’ll have a glass of this pinot, chilled, please,” you point to the wine and the waiter writes it down.

“I’ll have the same,” Minho smiles.

“I’ll get those right out.”

Minho bites his lip and stares down at the tablecloth, you frown.

“Is everything alright?” you ask.

“Everything’s fine,” he says, “I’m just trying to remind myself that nothing inappropriate is happening here, I’m having dinner with one of my female students, but you are an adult and so am I and it’s fine.”

“I won’t be your student after this semester,” you point out, “I don’t know if that’s helpful or not though.”

“It is,” he nods, then tilts his head, “yet somehow I still feel like I’m misbehaving.”

“It’s only food, how is that misbehaving?”

“It’s not what I’m doing,” he bites his lip again and looks up at you, “It’s what I’m thinking.”

You take a sip of water, your body practically vibrating with curiosity, “What is it that you’re thinking, exactly?”

“Things that I shouldn’t be thinking about my student,” he says quietly.

“This isn’t high school, Professor, this isn’t even undergrad. Don’t be harsh on yourself, I’m sure whatever you’re thinking about isn’t a bad thing,” you point out, hoping you sound cool and collected and not like you’re ready for him to take you right on this table.

“So if I was thinking about fucking you after class in my office, across my desk, that wouldn’t be a bad thing?”

You nearly choke on your water. Before you can respond the waiter returns with your glasses of wine, not a moment too soon.

“I’ll let you guys look over the menu and come back in a few minutes.”

You clear your throat once the waiter is gone, “I think fucking me on your desk would probably be inappropriate,” you smile, “especially to your neighboring colleagues. I have quite a mouth on me,” you say, opening your menu.

You can feel him staring at you. “I’d very much like to hear it.”

“Maybe you will, I guess we’ll see,” you shrug.

The smile that spreads across his face is so dangerously mischievous, your clit throbs where you sit and you shift uncomfortably, only making it worse.

📖 ❤️

The sexual tension between the two of you could be cut with a knife as you make your way back to his car. You reach for the door handle, but he grabs your arm and spins you around, your back pushed up against the door.

His lips crash against yours, arms caging you in which is completely fine by you. You bury your fingers in his hair on either side of his head but he pulls away.

“I want it to be clear I have never had any kind of sexual relationship with a student, ever,” he says quickly, then his lips are against yours again.

“I believe you,” you manage between lips and tongues.

He pulls away again, “And the only reason I’m pursuing this is because I can’t fucking resist you and you’re not going to be my student again after this semester,” he adds, then more kissing.

“Got it,” you mumble into his mouth.

Again he pulls away, “Seriously, even if you don’t quit law school I can never have you in class again, okay?”

“Yes! Fuck that place, I’m done, and even if I wasn’t - I wouldn’t take you again, you’re an uptight jerk of a professor, remember?” you tease him, then desperately pull him back onto your lips.

He shoves you harder against the car, his knee coming between your legs and you press yourself down on his thigh. You moan softly into his mouth and his hand smacks the side of the car.

“Get in, fuck, please get in the fucking car.”

He scrambles around to the drivers side as you jump in.

“Your place or mine?” he asks, turning the ignition.

“Which is closer?” you ask, pulling the seat belt so hard and quick that it locks up.

“Uh…mine… mine I think.”

“Then there’s your answer,” you tell him.

Five minutes of him burning rubber down the highway is too long for you not to be touching him. You reach over and caress his thigh through his jeans, moving higher and higher until you find what you’re looking for in the darkness.

He hisses as you stroke and massage his hard length through the fabric.

You unbuckle your seat belt, “Are you as good a driver as you are a professor?”

“I…why?”

You scoot as far as you can and lean over, undoing the button and zipper of his jeans, sliding your hand through the opening of his boxers until you feel the warm, velvety skin of his cock in your fist.

“Oh fuck…oh my fucking…” he pants, his knuckles turning stark white around the steering wheel.

You unbuckle his seatbelt as well and help him get it out of the way before pulling his cock from the confines of his jeans.

You stroke him a few times, then let a glob of spit drip from your lips onto him so you can continue stroking more comfortably.

“God…”

You take him in your mouth and suck, running your tongue over the tip. The way he’s nearly whimpering, eyes so wide on the road, delights you. You put your mouth on him again, taking him deep in your throat, taking turns stroking and licking.

“I’m going to cum,” he whispers hoarsely after several minutes, “I don’t have anything to…” he looks around frantically but you shake your head, popping your mouth off of him momentarily.

“I can take it,” you whisper, then suck him between your lips once more. You can feel the base of his cock twitch and brace yourself, spurts of hot cum follow seconds later and you take it all from him greedily, swallowing then wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

“Holy shit,” he says through clenched teeth. “That was so fucking hot.”

“Thank you,” you grin, pulling down the visor so you can fix yourself in the mirror. The “kiss proof” lipstick you wore today is evidently not “road head proof” and you clean up the edges of your mouth.

He reaches over and grabs your hand in his, squeezing and rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb while he speeds down the road.

📖 ❤️

The door to Minhos apartment isn’t even locked before he shoves you against it and presses his mouth to yours.

“I want to make you feel so fucking good,” he whispers, trailing kisses down your neck. He drops to his knees and unbuttons your pants, pulling them down your legs. You kick your shoes off so he can get the pants off completely.

He looks up at you and grins, tracing the lines of the black lace thong that toppled over at your apartment, “I was wishing very much that I’d get to see you in these,” he says, pressing his tongue against the tiny bit of cloth.

You gasp at the way his lips move, teasing and licking through the thin lace, “Are you really going to eat me out against the door?”

“Mmm,” he moans against your clit and your legs jerk, “Yes,” he says hooking his fingers in the strings and pulling the soaking wet cloth down your legs.

“No patience at all Professor, I’m shocked,” you tease.

“So… you can call me Minho,” he smiles, kissing and licking trails back up your legs, “but in class and when I’m fucking your pretty pussy feel free to use Professor.”

“Absolutely Professor Lee,” you rest your head against the door as his tongue wiggles between your slick. “Fuck!”

He finds your clit and wraps his lips around, gently sucking. You lay one of your thighs over his shoulder and try to steady yourself while he laps and sucks you off. You grab his hair with your fingers and move with him, fucking his face and listening to the delightful slurping, wet sounds erupting through the quiet room.

“Oh…just like that, right there,” you whine when he begins to softly lick the perfect spot, “fuckfuckfuck…yes!” you release his hair from your fist and hold yourself against the wall as your legs begin to quake, cunt throbbing in rhythmic spasms as he milks you with his lips.

“Oh my god,” you groan, trying to stand straight. He finally gets around to locking the door then picks you up, carrying you down a hallway. He pours you onto the bed and you watch as he strips himself of clothing, you follow suit, though half your outfit is in his foyer.

You lay back, bottom lip between your teeth as you watch him crawl over you, positioning himself between your legs.

“You’re sure this is okay?” he whispers, pressing his forehead against yours, the head of his cock leaking against your open cunt.

“Yes, fuck, yes I want you,” you assure him, nails digging into his shoulder. He makes a gruff noise deep in his throat and lines himself up with your opening. You wrap your legs around his waist, encouraging him to push into you and he does, slow and deep. You both moan into each other at the sensation of it.

Slowly he begins to move quicker, still deep, but urgently. The sound of skin against skin intoxicating. He sits up a bit, your hips coming with him and he grabs them, using you as an anchor to thrust into you.

“Minho…” his name comes out as a whisper, your eyes screwed shut. “So close…”

“No, no,” he tsks, slowing down and pulling himself out, pushing the head of his cock against your clit. “I’m not done with you yet.”

He slides his cock against you until you start squirming beneath him, your clit still sensitive from his front door excursions. “Please? Fuck…” you whine loudly.

“You want it?” he asks in a growl, stuffing himself inside you then pulling out again.

“Yes! Yes! Please!” you cry, your nails scraping against the sides of his legs.

“Are you sure baby?” he smirks, pushing into you and pulling out slowly several times. Your orgasm begins to build again and you meet his thrusts with your hips, chasing it. Until he pulls out again.

“What are you doing?” you groan, half laughing and out of your mind.

“Beg a little,” he urges, teasing your entrance with the tip of his cock but pulling away every time you try to push against it.

You snap your eyes open, the sight of him looking down at you makes you unhinged. “Please, Professor Lee, please let me cum,” you say it as sweetly and earnestly as you can muster.

His eyes practically roll back in his head as he lines up with you again and pushes in deep, his hands fly back to your hips and he drags you on and off his cock until your vision goes white with the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had.

“Sit up, please,” he begs breathlessly as he pulls away, stroking himself. You do as you’re told and watch as his lips part, his hand stills and shots of pearly strings shoot across your breasts.

“Hold on,” he says when he can move again, then disappears behind a door, emerging a few moments later with a warm damp hand towel. He kisses you deeply as he cleans his cum off your chest.

“That was so fucking good,” you whisper, taking his face in your hands.

“Yes,” he sighs, pulling you down beneath the blankets with him, “Yes it was.”

He holds you close to him, your eyes getting heavier, “I think my books are still in your car. We could go over the paper on tort law I bombed over breakfast tomorrow?”

He chuckles and nods, “It’s a date.”

📖 ❤️

You sit in Professor Lees classroom as he passes back the latest exam. Term is almost over and everyone seems to be reeling with nerves around you.

He slows beside your desk and lays your test down, “Much better, Miss ___, much better.”

Seungmin looks over at your test, “Hey! Not bad,” he smiles cheerfully.

“I’ve had a lot of help this semester,” you smile.

At the bottom of the last page you read the note of thin red ink,

See you at my place tonight?

The End

Endnote:

I am in my Lee Know slut era. I will not be taking questions about my worship of him at this time, thank you. As always, if you made it far enough to read this, please accept my virtual smooch.

Also as always this is unbeta’d bc that’s typically how I roll so it could be absolute trash but that’s okay bc we’re just having fun.

#skz fanfiction #Lee know fanfiction #skz smut #lee know smut #Lee Minho #skz romance #Lee know romance #Lee Know x reader #fanfiction #stray kids

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springtyme · 4 months ago

Note

Hi love! I'm not feeling good and have been kinda down so I was wondering if you could write a sweet spencer x fem reader where she's usually the tough one but she goes through a loss and he finds her crying alone in the dark in the office and just comforts her

𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰 ♡

Thank you for the request, hun <3 I'm so sorry to hear that you are feeling down. I hope some Spencer comfort might help a little <3

Spencer Reid x fem!reader || Masterlist || Spencer playlist

summary: It is not unusual for Spencer to stay late at the office. What is unusual, however, is finding you crying in the conference room.

word count: 2.4k

warnings/tags: Hurt/comfort. Grief and mourning. Loss of a family member. Spencer being the sweetest. Mutual pining.

The dim glow of the office lights flicker softly in the nearly empty room, casting long shadows that dance against the walls. It is late, far past the hour when most of the BAU team had called it a night. The constant hum and buzz that usually fills the air of the bullpen has faded into a profound silence, leaving only the delicate, rhythmic sound of paper rustling everytime Spencer turns a page of the pile of reports in front of him.

It is not unusual that he stays late to finish his work; in fact, it has become somewhat of a routine, maybe not the most healthy one, but he cherishes the quiet of the after-hours; it is a time when he can think without the distractions of the day, his thought pattern getting the opportunity to fully unfold with uninterrupted clarity.

He stretches his long limbs, feeling the fatigue settle into his bones as he takes a deep breath, inhaling the faint scent of stale coffee, and the lingering smell of old paper.

As he leans back in his chair, his gaze lands on the clock on the wall, its clock hands ticking steadily, the sound echoing in the emptiness. It’s late, and he knows he should call it a night, but there’s a stubborn part of him that clings to the work. He eyes the stack of reports one more time, each file holding the remnants of cases that had left their mark on him—cases that never truly leave him, echoing in his mind long after the team has moved on.

The clock ticks monotonously, each passing second weighing heavily upon him. Pushing away from the desk, he stands up, stretching again to relieve the tension that has built in his shoulders. He should really call it a night. He begins packing up his things, methodically sliding reports into a neat pile and shutting down his computer. The soft whirring of the cooling fan fades into silence as the screen goes dark, mirroring the dim ambiance of the office. He tosses his pen into the collection of writing utensils, a small victory for tidiness amidst the chaos of his thoughts.

With a deep sigh, he slings his messenger bag over one shoulder, the slight squeak of the rubber soles of his sneakers on the polished floor the only sound in the quiet office as he leaves the bullpen. The silence envelops him, the weight of solitude pressing in from all sides as he walks through the dark, empty building. As he makes his way past the break room, he considers stopping for one last cup of coffee before his drive home, even though he fully knows that what his body doesn’t need right now is more caffeine. What he needs is sleep, and a reprieve from the steady hum of his thoughts. But his change for a somewhat decent sleep this night has long passed.

But his internal debate about the pros and cons of indulging in his coffee craving comes to a full stop as he walks past the conference room. The door is slightly ajar, and a faint light spills out into the dark hallway, accompanied with a faint sound—a soft, muffled whimper.

Spencer’s heart tightens in his chest at the sound as he instinctively makes his way toward the door. Pushing it open cautiously, he peeks inside, his breath catching in his throat at the scene before him. The sight that greets him tugs painfully at his heart—it’s you, sitting on the cold floor of the conference room, shoulders shaking with hushed sobs, your usually strong demeanor momentarily shattered to pieces.

You, the one who always has the right answer, the sharpest wit, and a comforting strength that seems to radiate outwards, are curled up in the corner, your back against the wall, knees drawn up to your chest and your face half hidden in your hands, tears silently tracing paths down your cheek. The usually composed agent, known for your bravery and unbreakable spirit, now lost and broken. It pierce through him like a knife.

He remembers how you had arrived at the BAU two years ago with a fierce determination, melding graceful resilience with an unyielding strength that never fails to inspire those around you. Whether confronting hard truths or providing support to your teammates, you are always a pillar of strength—invincible in the face of adversity. It was something Spencer couldn’t help but deeply admire, and as he has gotten to know you over the last two years, he finds himself constantly drawn to and captivated by that strength as well as your kindness.

He approaches cautiously, his heart twisting with a painful empathy. The sight of you right now is such a stark contrast to the strong, independent woman he’s come to know, and despite his slightly reserved nature and the hesitant fear of intruding, he feels a strong surge of protectiveness as he watches you now.

He says your name softly, stepping inside and closing the door behind him to give you a semblance of privacy. “Hey…” His voice is gentle, barely above a whisper, infused with a mix of concern and warmth. He takes a step closer, his heart aching as he watches you react to his voice—your head snaps up, wide eyes red-rimmed and swollen, a stark contrast to your usual bright gaze.

For a short moment you’re just frozen, like a deer caught in headlights, your gaze searching his face, grappling with a mixture of surprise and vulnerability. It’s a moment poised on the knife's edge, and Spencer holds his breath, afraid to disrupt the fragile atmosphere.

Then you blink rapidly, and wipe hastily at your cheeks, trying to regain your composure and to erase any trace of your tears, but the effort only makes it worse, as if the floodgates threaten to open wide once more—the walls have come crashing down, and he can see the vulnerability you usually keep so well-hidden.

He takes another cautious step closer, the distance between you suddenly feeling impossibly vast, despite the small space of the room. “Can I sit?” he asks gently, indicating the floor beside you. You nod slightly, and he settles onto the cool surface, instinctively mirroring your posture. The silence drapes between you like a thin veil, both comforting and heavy. He doesn’t rush you; there is an unspoken understanding that you need this space to gather your thoughts.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he finally offers, his voice softening into a whisper as he looks into your eyes, searching for an answer, however small. Your gaze drifts, focusing on the ground between you, words trapped beneath the weight of your sorrow.

“I—” you start, but the words crumple like dried leaves in your throat, too fragile to escape. You take a sharp breath, the air trembling slightly as it fills your lungs. The vulnerability in your eyes pulls at him, deepening the ache in his chest, and he feels an overwhelming urge to reach out—to comfort you, to tell you that it’s okay to feel what you’re feeling. “I lost someone,” you finally manage to whisper, your voice trembling with the depth of your pain. The admission hangs in the air, heavy and tangible, as Spencer processes your words, his heart sinking in solidarity.

“My aunt—she was the one who raised me after…” You pause, your voice quivering, unable to continue. “She was my everything.”

Spencer’s brow furrows, understanding flooding his features. “I’m so sorry,” he murmurs softly. “That must be so hard.”

You nod slowly, tears spilling once more, but they feel different now. They aren’t just tears of sorrow; they’re also tears of release. “I thought I was strong enough to handle it, but… I don’t know,” you choke out, words mixing with your quiet sobs. You wipe at your cheeks, but it only seems to make it worse. “I thought I could be there for everyone else, but now… I feel so lost.”

Spencer glances down, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. He knows all too well that grief can shape-shift the toughest person into someone fragile, and he admires your bravery more than he can express. “You don’t have to be strong right now,” he offers gently. “It’s okay to feel lost. Grief… it isn’t something that can be carried alone. It’s… it’s a process.”

You look at him. Spencer feels the weight of your gaze, your eyes searching his with a mix of relief and uncertainty. His heart swells with a desire to be there for you, to provide whatever comfort he can in this moment of vulnerability. Something about your anguish makes him want to wrap you in his arms and shield you from the pain. Spencer shifts closer, an instinctive act of solidarity. “Can I?” he asks, hesitating as he gently rests a hand on your back, his touch light but reassuring. Without any hesitation, you lean into him.

Spencer feels the warmth of your presence as you lean against him, the soft weight of your body a tangible confirmation that you’re letting him in—allowing him to share in your pain, and comfort you. He is not the most used to physical contact like this, but he can’t help but think it is nice at this moment, even though it feels like a pretty selfish thought right now. He just feels an overwhelming sense of purpose wash over him.

As you lean into him, Spencer feels an incredible gravity, both weighty and reliving as you let yourself breakdown in his arms. The scent of your hair, hair, something soft and familiar, fills his senses, grounding him in this moment. For a while, there is only the sound of your quiet sobs. He simply sits with you, holding you, letting you grieve and waits till you are ready to speak again. He can feel the shudders of your breath against his side as your sobs slowly begin to cease.

You let out a shaky breath, a sound that lingers between vulnerability and relief. “I don’t know how to navigate this… I feel like I’m drowning,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper, yet so filled with longing for understanding. “I just feel so lost.”

Spencer nods slowly, letting your words settle between you. “You’re not alone in this,” he reassures you softly, leaning slightly closer. “It’s okay to grieve. It’s okay to feel lost.” He pauses, looking into your eyes with sincerity. “You don’t have to put on a brave face for anyone, least of all for me. I feel lost all the time.”

“How do you get through it?” you question, your voice quavering with a sense of seeking. Your vulnerability is evident, and Spencer takes a moment, considering your question as he searches for the right words.

“I let myself be sad,” he finally replies softly, his voice almost a whisper, as if sharing a secret. It’s not a profound revelation, but it’s the truth.

“I guess I’m just so used to being the anchor for everyone else, you know?” you whisper, lifting your chin slightly to meet his gaze. “And I miss her, Spence. I miss her so much. She was my anchor.”

Spencer feels the weight of your words press heavily against his heart, he holds you a little tighter again. Your pain resonates within him. Silence envelops you both, as you take a deep breath, letting your conversation and stillness of the room resonate around you.

“What was she like? Your aunt?” Spencer’s voice finally breaks the silence.

“She was… everything,” you say. “Always the one with a joke to lighten the mood, a listening ear no matter how busy life got. Even when things were tough, she always managed to find a silver lining. And she was so strong, and so smart. She was the toughest, most resilient, yet the most gentle and kindest person I’ve ever known.” Your voice has restored some of its usual strength and spark as you talk about her.

“She sounds just like you,” Spencer says softly, a small, encouraging smile tugging at his lips.

You glance up at him, the corner of your mouth faintly lifting too. “She always said that strength isn’t just about being tough—it’s about knowing when to lean on others,” you express, your voice steadier now as memories of your aunt, filled with warmth and love, wash over you. “I wish I’d listened more when she said that.”

Spencer nods thoughtfully, absorbing your words as they hang in the air. The soft light spills around you, illuminating the moment as you share this piece of yourself—your pain and love for someone who shaped who you are.

A bittersweet yet comfortable silence falls between you. Spencer shifts, adjusting his position, still holding you, as if creating an invisible barrier against the darkness outside the room that feels so vast and all-consuming.

You lean against him a little more, finding solace in his presence. “Thank you,” you softly say.

“For what?”

“For being you, for being here. You mean a lot to me, you know…”

Spencer can’t help but feel a warmth enveloping his chest at your words; he wishes he could always be that presence of comfort in your life. “You mean a lot to me too,” he adds, vulnerability threading through his otherwise composed demeanor. “And I’m here for you, no matter what.”

Your gaze meets his again, and in the depths of your eyes—filled with remnants of pain mixed with newfound understanding—he sees the cracks beginning to heal. “Thank you, Spence.”

The two of you sit in that intimate silence for a while longer, until finally, he checks the clock again. “It’s late.”

You nod.

“Do you want me to drive you home?” Spencer offers softly.

You take a second to contemplate his offer, Spencer can guess your considerations about his offer, the logistics of you not having your car to drive to work tomorrow, but Spencer doesn’t mind getting up earlier tomorrow to swing by your place and drive together. Eventually, you nod again, this time with a sense of quiet gratitude radiating from you.

“That would be nice.” You agree, your voice still soft, but steadier than before. A weak, sleepy smile tugging at your lips as you look up at him and Spencer feels how a rush of warmth bloom in his chest.

Thank you for reading <3 Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated

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emmyrosee · 10 months ago

Note

Suguwara with 8!!!

8 with sugawara… confessions 🥺🫶🏻

He stands in front of your locker for a concerning amount of time, fiddling with the note in his hand as he ponders the pros and cons of confessing to you.

Pro: you’ll say yes.

Con: you’ll say no, laugh at him, dump your milk on his head and walk away with no regard.

Koushi doesn’t know if he should risk it. After all, you have known each other for years, who would he be to ruin such a stable friendship with feeling that may or may not be reciprocated?

“Koushi?” Your voice snaps him back to reality, and he fists his note in his hand sharply. “You’ve been standing in front of my locker for the past five minutes. Everything okay?”

He says nothing. His mouth feels cottony and dry, and when he tried to choke out words, they only come out as squeaks. His brain decides to shove the note at you, his cheeks blazing with nerves and his hands trembling as he holds it. You smile softly and take the folded note from him, unfolding it and flicking your eyes up at him.

“Koushi,” you begin, and he could throw up right now. This is it, the rejection, the heartbreak, the betrayal- “I know.”

You what. “You what?”

You snicker, “I know; Daichi told me.”

Traitor. Koushi sighs and scrubs his face with his hands, “I’m going to kill him.”

“Dont- he saved our friendship,” you say, smiling sweetly. “I thought you didn’t want to be friends anymore, with how you were avoiding me. I was so hurt, until he told me.”

He swallows thickly- you thought he didn’t want to be friends? That’s the last thing he wanted! Especially if it was hurting you, and-

“What’re you doing?”

“Reading the confession.”

“Dont!” He whines, making a mad dash for the letter, which you expertly flick out of his grip. “I didn’t know you knew, it’s so embarrassing!”

“It’s cute!” You giggle, avoiding his grabs. “Gotta kiss me if you want it back.” He tenses up and his cheeks blaze again, and you laugh and ruffle his hair, “I’m kidding. I’d be an asshole to pressure you into kissing me.”

He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and laughs, letting you pull him into a hug, your arms tossing around his neck. “I feel the same way, Koushi. I accept your confession.”

“You mean it?”

“Yes,” you snicker. “More than you know.”

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sukuna-dees-nuts · 1 year ago

Text

this is for @nessieartss!! based on this (it was me that asked, surprise) and also the first part of this art

i hope you enjoy!! older brother sukuna lives rent free in my brain right now and i love him being a bastardman

---

“Ay, what the fuck was that?!” Sukuna shouts as Yuuji cackles in glee. His character races into first place, winning the Grand Prix. Sukuna' goes from first place to fourth. “You threw a red shell right after a blue shell! That's fucking cheating!”

Yuuji shrugs, lounging back against the couch and drops the controller next to him. “Don't hate the player, hate the game,” he says with a grin and pulls out his phone. “Those dishes aren't gonna wash themselves.”

Sukuna grunts as he tosses the controller onto the coffee table. “I hate both the player and the game.”

“And the game hates you!” the younger boy calls out after his brother's retreating figure.

Turning his attention back to his phone, Yuuji’s grin melts into a soft smile when he sees Yuko's name on a Snapchat notification. He glances over his shoulder to make sure that Sukuna is still in the kitchen before tapping on the notification. It won't be anything inappropriate, but he knows for a fact that if Sukuna saw that his younger brother was texting a girl, Yuuji wouldn't hear the end of it.

The Snapchat shows a picture of a latte with the classic tulip foam art and a caption that reads: ‘I think I'm finally getting the hang of this latte foam art!’

Yuuji holds his phone out to take a picture of himself, giving Yuko a big smile and a thumbs up.

‘That's so good!! Ur a professional now. If I ordered one, would u make me a cat???’

“Yo! Can I put this cast iron pan in the dishwasher?” Sukuna asks from the kitchen. He waits for a response and gets nothing. “I’m about to put this pan in the dishwasher!” Again, no response. Rolling his eyes, Sukuna makes his way back out to the living room. “Dude, if this pan gets ruined, it’s gonna be your fault—”

Sukuna cuts himself off when he catches sight of a picture of a girl on his little brother’s screen. Immediately, he reaches over the couch and snatches the phone out of Yuuji’s hand. “Oh! Who is this?” he gasps, bringing the screen closer to his face for a better look. “Do you have a girlfriend little bro?”

“Hey!” Yuuji scrambles, turning around to lean over the back of the couch in an attempt to grab his phone back. Sukuna places his hand on Yuuji’s forehead, keeping him at arm’s length as he looks over the picture. “Give me back my phone!”

Smacking Sukuna’s arm away, Yuuji vaults over the back of the couch and decides to try and wrestle his phone back from his brother. It doesn’t work, however. The two grapple for a few moments and the next thing Yuuji knows, Sukuna has his arm wrapped around his brother’s neck, holding him in a firm headlock. It isn’t enough to hurt him, but it’s enough to keep him from trying to escape, knowing that it’s futile.

“Who is she, huh?” Sukuna presses as he slides Yuuji’s phone into his pocket and begins rubbing his knuckles on the top of Yuuji’s head.

“I’m not gonna tell you!” Yuuji laughs, trying in vain to smack Sukuna’s hand away from his head.

“Well, I’m not letting you go until I get some answers,” the older boy states, rapping his knuckles against Yuuji’s forehead. Then he pinches Yuuji’s nose.

Weighing his pros and cons, Yuuji relents. “Okay, okay! I’ll tell you! Just let me go.”

Sukuna snorts. “Nah, if I let you go right now, you’ll just try to punch me and I won’t get what I asked for.”

Yuuji groans. His brother knows him too well. “Her name is Yuko. She’s just a friend. I haven’t asked her out… yet,” he grumbles the last word.

Satisfied, Sukuna releases his hold on his brother and hands Yuuji's phone back.

In the midst of the struggle, Sukuna hadn’t noticed his own phone had fallen out of his pocket. It dings and Yuuji is the first to snatch it off the ground, curious to see who would be texting Sukuna. His jaw drops at the name displayed on the lock screen.

Sukuna quickly plucks his phone from Yuuji’s hand and goes back to the kitchen as Yuuji shouts after him, “Dude, why is Megumi texting you? And why is there a heart next to his name?!”

#jjk #jjk sibling au #yuji itadori #sukuna #implied sukufushi #sorta anyway #also do not put your cast iron skillets in the dishwasher 😭#this has been your local psa #echo writes

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tteokdoroki · 1 year ago

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☆༉ — KATSUKI BAKUGOU. what’s one more?

about. now that your kids are all grown up, you’ve gotten to thinking about having another baby with bakugou again.

warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact! nsfw, suggestive and smutty, fluffy, some dub-con, baby-trapping mention, breeding, unprotected sex mention, reader is a mother, bakugou is getting old hehe, they have three daughters lol, fem!reader, pro hero!bakugou.

i imagine that when your kids get a little older and start becoming more independent — your eldest in their final year of U.A, the middle starting U.A and the youngest still kicking in middle school….you catch a whiff of baby fever again.

it’s not even that everyone around you is having kids, most of theirs are well into their teenage years and giving your old friends trouble. it’s more that you miss the tiny pitter patter of feet throughout your house, the gummy giggles and scent of baby safe soap. oddly enough, you find yourself yearning for the late night feeds and the laughter shared over the inherent explosive bakugou diaper bombs.

speaking of your husband, you kind of hate how good he is with kids. he’s always treated your daughters like princesses, spoiling them rotten and raising their standards so that no possible crush could ever compare to the way their daddy treats them. but he’s so tender with the littler ones he visits as part of hero work, the tiny fans that ask him to sign his trading cards or their backpacks.

it’s adorable and still warms your heart to this day. to the point where you’re jumping bakugou’s bones every chance you get without actually telling him you want another one of his big headed babies. of course, he’s only a man and he’s not going to question why is wife of nearly two decades keeps presenting to him like a bitch in heat after lights out and the kids are asleep.

perhaps that’s why bakugou doesn’t question (on the one night where you have a child-free house) the way you toss away the condom, the way you take it raw and clench down on his cock like your life depends on it. why you squeal all high-pitched for him to fill you up with tears in your pretty eyes — how could he say no to you?

his pretty little wife, his lover, hot piece of ass to love and fuck to his hearts content.

what good, loving man isn’t going to cum in his wife when she begs and cries for it?

it’s not until your trained and doughy thighs lock around his slender waist to pull him into your frothing sex that bakugou realises. you’re doing this on purpose.

and by the time he does realise, he’s filling you up to the brim, sloppy white leaking out of you while you cum around him just like you always do — taking him so well, smiling up at him like you’re on top of the world.

“you fuckin’ leg locked me!” katsuki pants through amused laughter, collapsing on top of you with a sweaty and heaving chest.

“nuh-uh!” comes your quick reply, angling your hips up so that he slips deeper into you.

katsuki gets up soon after and disappears to the bathroom, not before prying your legs off of him — knowing full well he had the strength to do so earlier. if he really wanted to. “my own wife… you tried to fuckin’ baby trap me!”

“no i didn’t!” you pout defensively, brows furrowed and nose upturned. your expression only softens when your husband gives you a pointed look and moves to wipe the mess drying against your inner thighs. “okay…so what if i did?”

you loop your arms around his neck with a purr, toying with the silvery-blonde baby hairs on the back of katsuki’s neck and looking up at him with vixen eyes like you’re about to devour your prey. “we can not have another baby,” he tells you simply, kissing the crown of your head when you hiss at the sensitivity. “was i too rough?”

there’s a rasp to his voice, the kind that’s only prominent after hours of singing your praises in the bedroom. it makes you smile, close your eyes in content, and shake your head ‘no’. “why not?”

“havin’ a baby isn’t like gettin’ a puppy ‘nd you know that, sweetness,” bakugou hums quietly, soothing over the bruises he’d left on the soft handles on your waist. he thumbs at the stretch marks and tigers stripes, the very markings that show you were a mother to three of his beauties children. “we gotta focus on makin’ sure kasumi gets into a good agency, if not mine, and don’t get me started on the other two—“

“—but we could do it. right? i mean we’ve done it three times before. raised a baby, what’s one more?” you do your best to sound convincing while you sit up and cling to your man, pleading with those puppy dog eyes that got you knocked up the first time almost eighteen years ago. “don’t you want a little boy?”

“three girls are more than enough.” bakugou pushes your face away playfully, forcing you back into the sheets so he can lie on top of you. “we’re not as young—“ he starts, but back tracks after being on the receiving end of your heated glare. “i’m not as young as i was when we had our first. ‘n shit, my back hurts and my eyes are gettin’ bad, and our kids… they’re exhaustin’, babe.”

the both of you share a laugh. upon brushing a hand through his hair, katsuki trills happily at your affection. “you’re still a good dad. you’d be an even better to our next. even if you’re a little achey in the knees, old man.” though you’re teasing, you really do mean every word you say. raising your kids has been trial and error from the start, but bakugou’s been strong the entire way through — wanting nothing but the best for his family and always putting them first. “plus, the kids are with the kirishimas for an entire weekend, and you’re telling me you haven’t thought about fucking me raw again?”

“jesus woman, you’re gonna be the fuckin’ death of me, aren’t you?” katsuki twitches against your leg once again, crawling up your body to capture your lips in a hungry, syrupy kiss. “you’re right,” he groans against them, loving the feeling of your tongue on his. “fuck, you’re right. spread your legs, sweetness. wanna fill this pretty pussy with my cum.”

“yes daddy…” you mewl in reply while a winning grin tacks itself to your lips l face between uncoordinated kisses and surprised moans once your husband eases his throbbing cock back inside of your tight heat. mumbling something about how it feels like home.

needless to say, neither of you are surprised when the next pregnancy test you take is positive. now you just have to explain the baby supplies in your Amazon basket to your three teenage girls.

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deadghosy · 6 months ago

Note

This is one of my 1st times requesting anything so bear with me please lol cna I request some headcannons or just a scenario of Draco with a twin sister who got sorted into gryffindor. Just like how their relationship is over the years n stuff similar to that(hc wise) for a scenario maybe the slytherin boys figuring out Draco has a twin and that twin is a GRYFFINDOR.(I think I’d be funny)

(sorry if this is long)

DRACO WITH A GRYFFINDOR! TWIN SISTER HEADCANNONS

A/N: you can look actually like Draco, or be the type of twins that don’t look alike at all. I appreciate reblogs, comments, and such as likes.

After you got sorted to Gryffindor expect for Slytherin. You were worried your slight older twin would not deem you as his sibling. You eye the Slytherin table nervously to see him staring at you. A heart broken expression as he tries to mouth to you, only for you to be taken back at a boy with glasses and dark hair. The boy seemed nice and took you to a boy with red hair. You knew he was a Weasley. You slowly got along with the two boys

As years pass, with glances from your brother and his group of friends he made easily. You were scared that he may try to insult you, maybe not even claim you were his sister. Harry, you boy you soon learned the name of figure quite quickly that you were the twin sister of his rival perhaps. He didn’t bash you because of your brother, more like felt sympathy.

Draco, personally I feel like he wouldn’t be like “ew you’re not my sister no more you blood traitor!” Yes he would feel betrayed that you are a Gryffindor. But you’re still his sister that grow up with him and know his secrets. He can’t just toss you to the side like that.

He’s sad that you don’t talk to him much, and with the house rival it’s even worse as Hermione would just drag you from your own brother. Making Draco sneer at her.

As of now that students are in the courtyard, mattheo noticed something about you. And he just had to say it out loud.

“Hey, that girl kinda looks like you Draco.” Mattheo says looking at you from afar. Draco looks over to see you and Harry smiling at each other. Draco’s eyes narrow with protectiveness. “What is pottah doing with her?!” Draco knew you and his rival was close, but not that close. Theodore raised a brow, “what? You like her or something?” Draco immediately gagged, and chocked on his spit.

“WHAT?! Bloody heavens no…she’s my sister.” He says. Immediately his friends stood there shook.

Congratulations! You got yourself Slytherin bodyguards. Despite the house rivalry they love you like a little sister. Since you are their friend’s little twin sister, they deem you worthy of hanging out with them.

Literally you gained a slight respect as you are the only gryffindor they like.

But it comes with cons and pros 💀

The cons are that they are overprotective of you when a guy is asking you out. Don’t matter what house the dude is in. You better believe mattheo is the one claiming he is your boyfriend to make the dude leave you alone while the rest is behind him as if this dude is the ring leader💀💀 please get mattheo before he breaks the dude’s face.

The pros are that they are comfortable with treating you as one of them. They kinda light up on the slander of Gryffindors for your sake. They give you your space when you need it. And they certainly are the best body guards in parties.

Sometimes Draco will treat you as if you were sorted into Slytherin. The pooor boy is still in denial that his beloved sister is a disgusting lion. He loves you dearly but he cannot believe that the hat made a simple mistake.

I feel like he would blame the hat and not on you.

Draco definitely is overprotective and says to his friends (mostly mattheo) to not even try to romance you.

A clear headcannon that he doesn’t want you to date Harry or Ron, or just any Weasley at that point.

You two tell each other the house password so you two can check up on each other

Draco hates to admit he finds your presence most comforting than your own parents.

Though out all this, yes your father is disappointed that you are a Gryffindor and doesn’t know what to do with you. Draco is still there for you. You are his sister. His sister that comforts him and he comforts you back.

At the end of the world, you are his lovable sister.

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urrockstar-xe · 6 months ago

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pros n cons -p.parker x fem!reader

posted july 7th, 2024 9:29 pm

long time no postsss hiiii

masterlist

not proofread

wordcount: 0.5k

There were always going to be pros and cons to the fact that Peter’s aunt trusted you enough to bring you into her home and study in Peter’s room while waiting for him to come home.

The Pros, of course, outweigh the Cons.

You could cover for him, say he got home just before or after May went to bed the night before, keeping her sane in the process. You would almost always leave a snack out for him so he could eat when he got home and best of all, he was able to come home to his very own sleeping beauty almost every night.

The Cons, though?

Getting inside his room stealthy enough to not wake you has become an ever-so-difficult task for Peter, especially on nights when he’s barely able to open his window or limping his way around to change while trying to keep the blood loss at a minimum.

Tonight was one of those nights, and as he stumbled inside he sighed at the sight of you sleeping peacefully on his unmade bed, things sprawled out around the floor to show off your messy study habits.

What kind of boyfriend would he be to wake you up?

Peter couldn’t have that, he pulled off his mask with a quiet groan, tossing it somewhere before limping towards his door, picking up any clothes he could find on the way.

Peter silently thanked anyone who was listening for the fact that his bathroom was just across the way from his bedroom, lessening the risk of May seeing him red, blue, and battered.

You woke up to what sounded like grunts and cursing?

Peter.

Groggily, you made your way to that same bathroom, knocking on the door before opening it to reveal a half-naked Peter Parker with a piece of some bandage in his mouth as he was mid-cleaning attempt. Peter looked at you with wide eyes, saying something that sounded like “Go back to bed, I’m okay.” but the bandage muffled it.

“Let me see,” You said quietly, the bright lights above the mirror waking you up some more as you took the bandage from his mouth and set it aside, properly looking at the stab wound he was trying to clean. “You aren’t very subtle, Pete” You mumbled, taking the peroxide-soaked cotton pad from him and gently cleaning his battered stomach.

He sighed, closing his eyes at the feeling. “I didn’t mean to wake you, doll, I’m sorry” his apology was breathy as he tried to not focus on the stinging feeling. You just hummed in response, setting the bandage on top of his main injury.

You stood up straight, face to face with your boyfriend who leaned forward into your shoulder, relying on you for support instead of the bathroom sink like he was previously.

One of your hands went to the back of his neck, lightly scratching at the nape of his neck as he groaned. “You okay, baby?” your voice was soft, getting a grunt in response.

“The pros definitely outweigh the cons” He mumbled into your shoulder.

“What?” “Shh, don’t worry ‘bout it,” he said, pulling back to look at your confused face with a soft smile.

“Let’s go back to bed, sleeping beauty."

#tasm!peter parker x reader #tasm x reader #tasm!peter x you #tasm!peter x reader #tasm peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker fanfiction #spiderman imagines #spiderman x reader #the amazing spiderman x reader #andrew!peter x reader #andrew!peter parker x reader #peter parker #peter parker imagine #Spotify

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solarmorrigan · 3 months ago

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Leaf Me Alone

For the @steddie-spooktober day 22 prompt: Leaves Rated: T | Words: 797 | CW: None | Tags: pre-relationship, Eddie Munson is a menace, Steve Harrington has a crush on Eddie Munson, fluff Divider credit: @steddiecameraroll-graphics

Steve has roughly one second of warning, coming in the form of a whoop of laughter, before the pile of leaves in front of him explodes.

“What the fuck–” He jumps back, rake held in two hands like a weapon, poised to strike at whatever threat has materialized in his front yard, only to find when the rain of dead leaves settles that it’s just– “Eddie!”

Heedless of the dangerous level of irritation in Steve’s tone, Eddie only grins back from where he lies in the middle of what had been a neatly raked pile of leaves.

“Sorry,” he says, though he doesn’t particularly sound it. “But have you seen the size of this pile? I couldn’t resist.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen the size of the pile, because I just raked it up. Dick.” Steve kicks one foot out, sending another flutter of leaves up in Eddie’s direction; Eddie bats them away with an unrepentant grin. “Do you even know how long this took me?”

“Oh, at least an hour, I’d imagine,” Eddie says airily, beginning to sweep his arms and legs out like he’s making a snow angel (a leaf angel? Whatever; it’s going to be the imprint of his dead body if he doesn’t get the hell up soon).

“Longer,” Steve snaps. “And you’re gonna help me rake it back up.”

Living on the edge of the woods has its pros and cons. On the one hand, the leaves are pretty in the fall; on the other hand, they’re an absolute pain in the ass to rake up once they drop off the trees. Steve tries not to sound like a spoiled rich kid these days, but why can’t his parents just hire someone to do this? Or, better yet, they could just let the leaves lie; Robin says that’s better for the environment, anyway.

“Okay, okay,” Eddie says, his grin fading into something more contrite. “I’m sorry. Help me up, and I’ll fix the pile, alright?”

Steve sighs, casting the rake aside so he can stand over Eddie and offer him a hand. He realizes a moment too late that he probably should have held onto the tool, however, because when Eddie takes his hand, he doesn’t use it to lever himself up off the ground, but to pull Steve down and tackle him onto the leaf pile.

Steve’s breath whuffs out of his chest as he lands on the carpet of leaves, and it gives Eddie just enough time to straddle him, pinning him down with a triumphant “ha-HA!”, before he grabs two fistfuls of leaves and starts raining them down over Steve.

“Oh, you’re so dead!” Steve declares, grabbing his own handful and tossing it at Eddie’s face, using the momentary distraction to hook a leg over one of Eddie’s and roll them over.

Eddie goes down laughing, and somehow, Steve finds himself joining in, grabbing more leaves to rain down over him.

“See how you like it, huh?” Steve manages on the breathless edge of actual giggles.

When his hands are empty, he pauses to see if Eddie’s had enough of this game, which is when Eddie’s hands snake out and shove up under Steve’s shirt.

“Wait – wait, no, that’s cheating!” Steve shrieks, but any other protest is lost to laughter as Eddie unerringly finds every ticklish spot Steve has.

Steve dives to the side in an attempt to escape and Eddie follows, grinning in a way that could only be described as maniacal.

They spend the next few minutes rolling around on Steve’s front lawn, completely destroying the pile of leaves as they wrestle through it and continue to throw handfuls of them at each other. Steve is pretty sure he’s got leaves in his pants, and there are so many caught in Eddie’s hair that he could pass for a tree.

Still, as Steve falls onto his back, trying to catch his breath, and Eddie leans over him, trying to do the same, there’s something captivating about him. His eyes are bright, his cheeks are flushed, and his smile has softened out into something like delight. As the late afternoon sunshine catches on the curls of his wild hair, Steve realizes – he’s beautiful.

“Steve,” Eddie says, voice gone low as he leans in.

“Yeah?�� Steve answers, now feeling breathless in a different way.

They’re nearly chest to chest, and Eddie is so close that Steve can almost taste his smile.

“I need to tell you something.”

Steve makes a questioning sound, eyes flicking between Eddie’s eyes and his lips.

Eddie leans an inch closer, eyes lidded as he murmurs, “I think I swallowed a leaf.”

With a huff, Steve plants his hand on Eddie’s face and shoves him away. Eddie goes, laughing again.

Unfortunately, it’s still a beautiful sound.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddie-spooktober #local jock in love with gremlin more at eleven #solar wrote #eddiesteve

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say-al0e · 9 months ago

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Hypothetical

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Eddie asks a lot of hypothetical questions, just to hear your answer. The answer to this question was more real than you wanted to admit. Warnings: Tiny bit of self-doubt, idiots to lovers. Pairing: Eddie x fem!Reader (think it could be read as GN but just to be safe) Word Count: 2.7k

“Would you fuck my clone?”

The question, asked as casually as if he were inquiring about the weather - though, to his defense, he’d asked weirder - rose above the sound of chainsaws emanating from the television and earned a confused frown as you spared him a sideways glance.

Eddie’s attention remained mostly on Leatherface, chasing unsuspecting victims, but you caught his curious glance as you laughed. Those were the first words spoken in over an hour, certainly a record for your verbose best friend, and you couldn’t help but ask, “What the fuck, Eddie?”

“What?” From his position at the end of the couch, feet propped on the coffee table and head lolled onto the cushions, he shrugged. “It’s a simple question. Would you fuck my clone?”

A beat of silence passed, in which you realized this was one of those moments where Eddie wouldn’t let the question go until he was given a satisfying answer, and you sighed. “I don’t think that’s the question, Eds,” you countered. “Isn’t it usually, ‘would you fuck your own clone’?”

With a dismissive wave of his hand and a scoff, Eddie finally sat up and turned his full attention to you, screaming teenagers and chainsaws forgotten now that he had something better to capture his attention. “That one’s boring,” he reasoned. “We know all the arguments. This is a different question, new arguments.”

“I think we’re fine without arguing,” you teased, reaching for the nearly half-empty bowl of popcorn. “Just watch the movie, Eddie.”

From the corner of your eye, you watched as a look you couldn’t quite recognize flickered across Eddie’s face. However, just as quickly as it appeared, it was covered with a raised brow and a teasing grin. “We’ve seen it a hundred times already. Anyway, what I’m getting from this is, you would fuck my clone. Interesting.”

Eddie did little to hide his amusement as you rolled your eyes and tossed a piece of popcorn at him. “I didn’t say that,” you argued, despite yourself - despite knowing that you were walking into a conversation you weren’t yet sure you wanted any part of.

A hum, unconvinced, met your ears as he reached for the bowl and plucked it from your hands. “Okay,” he prompted, ignoring your outraged huff. “So, tell me. Would you?”

There were a handful of ways you could respond to his probing. The first, shut down his question with a point blank refusal, phrased as a light-hearted joke that did little damage to his ego and even less to your already fragile nerves. The second, play into his game and debate the pros and cons of sleeping with his clone, the ethical ramifications, the conversation he clearly wanted. Or, the third, admit to him a fact that you’d concealed since the summer of 1984.

Any way you could have him, real Eddie or clone, you would take it.

That was, solidly, not in the lead. So, you opted for the second approach.

“Jeez, Eds,” you sighed, stealing popcorn from the bowl now resting on his lap. “I don’t know. Maybe,” you conceded. “Depends, I guess. Is he, like, total you or some weird, kinda fucked up clone? Like, is he totally evil or incapable of coherent thought or, I don’t, off somehow?” As an afterthought, you joked, “More so than the real you, anyway.”

“Rude.” There was no bite in the declaration, only a fond amusement that made your chest ache, but you did your best to ignore it as he hummed. “Clone’s a totally normal, complete carbon copy. Everything about him is exactly the same, down to the last hair.”

“So, no aspirations to rule the world or become, like, the next Leatherface?”

Eddie grinned. “That’s my backup plan, you know, if music doesn’t work. So, guess it’d be his, too,” he admitted, only breaking into laughter when you grabbed a pillow and smacked him with it. “Seriously,” he relented, “nothing weird. Just another me. Everything you know and love, times two.”

With a sigh, you lifted your legs onto the couch and hugged your knees to your chest. “Then… I don’t know,” you admitted, voice barely audible over the screams still echoing from the television. “Maybe?”

“It’s a yes or no question, babe,” he reminded you, brows furrowed and eyes narrowed as he studied you. “Shouldn’t be this hard.”

That look, the one that you had difficulty placing, returned and despite your uncertainty as to what it was, you were certain that you didn’t like it very much. Doubt, or maybe hurt, were the closest emotions you could identify though neither made much sense to you in the moment.

Still, rather than ask, you rolled your eyes. “What’s the point of this conversation?”

There was none, it was just for fun - a debate, like the thousands of others you’d had over the course of your friendship - and Eddie said a much as he shrugged. “Isn’t one,” he declared, offering you the last handful of popcorn. “I just want to know if you’d fuck my clone.”

When you refused, he returned the bowl back to the coffee table before reaching for your ankle. With a gentle tug, he encouraged you to rest your feet on his lap as his fingers began to tap a beat that only existed inside his head against your skin. “Why does it matter?”

Eddie shrugged once more, though this time, he glanced at the television rather than you as he answered. “Because I asked and you always answer.”

“I do,” you relented, sighing as you also spared the screen a glance. “Well, what’s the right answer, then? There has to be one.”

This time, he shook his head as the tapping of his fingers grew a touch faster. “Right answer’s the true one.”

For a moment, you simply studied Eddie. His side profile, bathed in the warm glow of the television, was the picture of concentration as he watched a scene you’d seen a thousand times before. Only, you knew him well enough to see the telltale signs that he was in no way paying as close of attention as he should’ve been.

The slightest tick in his jaw, the quick bite of the inside of his cheek, the delayed blinking; all signs that he was waiting more intently for your answer than he wanted you to believe.

Rejection - no matter how hypothetical - never seemed possible when it came to Eddie. So, you sighed and conceded, “Okay, fine. Sure, I’d fuck your clone.”

Eddie hummed, seemingly unsurprised and feigning nonchalance as he nodded as if the answer confirmed something he already suspected. And there were a thousand ways in which you expected him to respond; none of which could’ve compared to him declaring, “So, you’d fuck my clone but not me.”

Again, rejection was not an option. However, you had no intention of admitting to him that you’d wanted him for years. There was no world in which you could see yourself admitting to him that you thought he was beautiful - with his doe eyes and playful grin. Telling him how you felt would likely end in an awkward silence at best and a ruined friendship at worst.

So, you opted for a careful denial. “What? I didn’t say that.”

“But you’re not saying anything to the contrary,” he countered, turning his head to spare you a cursory glance. There was something there, beneath the amused glimmer in his eyes, that unnerved you - something far more serious than you were expecting - but as quickly as it appeared, it was gone.

When you shot him an unimpressed glance, cutting your eyes at him before returning your attention to the television, he shrugged, teasing grin never faltering. “I never said that. I answered a hypothetical and you’re reading into it.”

Eddie met your perhaps too sharp denial with a raised brow as he gave up the guise of watching the movie. “So, am I wrong?”

“Would you stop putting words into my mouth?” You huffed as you reached for the bowl of popcorn, desperate for something to distract yourself from making a confession you knew you would regret. “I never said that. All I said was that I’d fuck your clone, I answered the question.”

“Okay, fine. You never said you wouldn’t fuck me but it’s never happened. Never even sort of, almost, maybe happened,” he reminded you - as if you needed it. “So, you would fuck my clone but not me. Why?”

“Because we’re friends, Eddie,” you shot back, resisting the urge to roll your eyes as you popped a piece of popcorn into your mouth. “I’ve known you since I was ten.”

The excuse sounded weak in your own ears, but it was all you could muster without breaking down and confessing that you would, in fact, sleep with him. If only he’d ask. If only it wouldn’t destroy your friendship. If only it was that simple.

Still, Eddie was relentless. “But my clone would have all my memories, totally the same person,” he reminded you. “He’d be your friend, just like me. But you’d fuck him. So, why not me?”

“This is stupid,” you huffed. “Why do you care?” He’d never pushed so hard, not in pursuit of a hypothetical question meant to pass the time, and you were genuinely curious why he seemed so interested in your answer, or your lack thereof.

“I’m a naturally curious person,” he argued, shrugging as he squeezed your ankle. “It’s just a stupid hypothetical. C’mon, why would you hypothetically fuck my clone but not me?”

There was little doubt in your mind that he would continue pushing until he got the answer he was looking for, especially as it seemed that he’d already made up his mind that he was right, so you shifted yourself in a huff. With your legs now hugged to your chest, eyes on the television to avoid meeting his gaze as you admitted in a snap, “God, okay. I’d fuck your clone because it’s the closest I’d get to being with you without actually destroying our entire relationship. Happy with that answer?”

“What?” Eddie sounded genuinely surprised and you could feel the warmth of his gaze burning into your skin as you purposely kept your gaze on the television.

“If your clone is you, all your memories, your mannerisms, your looks, I’d fuck your clone because then I’d get to see what it’s like to be with you,” you admitted, words escaping despite every fiber of your being telling you to be quiet. “I’d get everything without the risk of losing you when I fuck it all up.”

Eddie shifted closer then, careful to keep a few inches of space between you but no longer nestled into the opposite edge of the couch as he tipped his head to get a better glimpse of your face. “What do you mean, when you fuck it up?”

Frustrated tears - at admitting a secret you swore would follow you to the grave, at allowing him to get under your skin when he was simply asking an innocent question, at allowing yourself to get so worked up over something so simple - stung at the backs of your eyes as you huffed. “I’m… you know me, Eddie. I don’t,” you sighed, cutting yourself off, before taking a deep breath. “I’m prickly. I don’t do well with romance. I freak out and run,” you reminded him. “Even if you felt the same, if we worked out enough to not have our friendship go down in flames, there’s still a chance I’d fuck it up and I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to run from you.”

“Hey.” Eddie shifted even closer, close enough for you to feel the warmth of his body, and sighed when you refused to glance at him. Regardless, he exclaimed, “That’s why we’d be different.”

“What?” Of all the things you expected him to say, that was the last. With furrowed brows and tears still lining your lashes, you tipped your head to glance at him. “Why?”

“Because,” he began, meeting your eyes for the first time in what felt like hours, “when you try to run, I know what you’re doing. When you get all weird or try to push me away, I know it’s not really you wanting me to go. I know you. I get you, just like you get me.”

“Eddie.”

Of all the ways you’d expected him to react, of all the ways you expected him to acknowledge your feelings for him, returning them was not on the list. For years, you’d convinced yourself that there was no way he would return your feelings, there was no way you would ever be able to acknowledge those feelings without losing your best friend, and there was still a deep-rooted fear that, despite his seeming certainty that his understanding would make a difference, any attempt at a relationship would only end in heartbreak.

That didn’t seem to matter to him as he pressed on. “I’m serious. It’s us,” he continued, this time reaching out to press a hand to your knee. “It’s always been us, always will be us. There’s nothing you can do to get rid of me. Not now.”

“You can’t know that,” you sighed, though it was nowhere near as confident as you hoped it would be. “We can’t see the future.”

“We can’t,” he agreed. “Not yet, anyway, but the nineties seem promising.” When you rolled your eyes, barely suppressing a smile, he laughed. “But that’s the fun part. We do our best to make our own future. It’s always going to be together, might as well come clean and really be together instead of making ourselves miserable pretending.” Before you could respond, offer another half-hearted refusal, he pressed on. “What do we have to lose?”

“Everything.”

Eddie shook his head, completely unconvinced that anything bad would come of allowing yourselves to try. “I don’t believe that. Whatever happens, we’ll figure it out. We always do.”

“How can you be so certain?” You wished you had an ounce of Eddie’s certainty, his true belief that the pair of you could make it, but you were skeptical. Neither of you had much luck in life, neither of you had much outside of one another, and losing him would be far too great.

However, you were tired of pretending that a shared future was not what you wanted.

The possibility that your future could go up in flames, that you could destroy the best friendship you’d ever had, worried you. It kept you awake at night. But now knowing that Eddie felt the same, that he wanted the same future you did, there was no way you could turn him down.

For all your fear, for all your hesitance, saying no was not an option.

“Because we’ve been in love for years and nothing bad has happened yet.” He said it as if it was the most obvious answer he could give, as if it made all the sense in the world, and if you really stopped to think about it, it did.

“Can you promise me something?”

Eddie shifted ever closer, nodding easily as you reached for his hand. “Anything.”

“Can you promise me that no matter what happens, we’ll always be friends? Even if we don’t work out, if something happens, promise me that we’ll still be there for each other.”

“I promise. Nothing hypothetical about that,” he agreed, corner of his mouth lifting when you offered a soft smile.

The moment stretched around you, nothing existed outside of the pair of you as Eddie tugged you into his side. It was easy, natural, and you melted into his touch despite the fear lingering in the back of your mind.

There was a brief worry that this could be a mistake. That allowing yourselves to intertwine your futures so thoroughly would only end in heartbreak, but he was right. For as long as you could remember, it had been you and Eddie. There was nothing that had managed to wedge you apart yet. And pretending had no guarantee of working in the long term.

So, you decided to dive in to the deep end and allow yourself to truly fall. There was no situation, real or hypothetical, in which he would allow you to hit the ground.

No matter what, you knew that he would be there to catch you.

________________________________________________________

Author's Note: I spent my entire day in meetings. All the meetings. So many meetings. I also have a dentist appointment on Wednesday and I am Terrified. So have this.

Taglist: @x-avantgarde-x, @thisisparadisemylove, @eddiesprincess, @slvdsjjk, @munsonlover, @tasmbestspdrman, @urofficial-cyberslut, @jxngwhore, @hopelesslylosttheway, @meaganjm, @lazuli-leenabride, @deiondraaa, @piscesmesss, @glowyskiess, @kiszkathecook, @missryerye, @solarrexplosion, @ofherscarlettwitchways, @lovedandleft-haunted, @trappedinlimbo15, @sweetiekitten, @bookfrog242, @gwendolynmary, @sage-bun, @zealouslibrariesparadiselight, @castiels-lilass, @tojis-little-brat, @emmah787, @theworldsendxx, @asuperconfusedgirl, @flores-and-sunshine, @passi0np1t, @laurathefahrradsattel, @hellf1reclub, @slut4yourmom, @niko-04, @hannirose-loves-you, @mrs-eddie-munson, @screambabe, @vllowe, @ryswritingrecord, @cheriebondy, @ryswritingrecord, @thewitchofthewilds140, @bootlegmothman420, @maruushkka, @honeymoonpython, @keenesbeans, @jess-bonn, @sammysinger04, @khaoticken21, @denkis-slut, @spiderman-berries, @lotus-es, @amortiff, @stardust-galaxies, @ure-a-sunflower, @1-800-ch3rry, @ladybeewritethings, @ynbutbetter, @hunnybunimdun, @breathinfive, @s-u-t, @s4ntacarlal0stk1d, @rae-iin, @pennamesgame, @stefans-wife, @voldieshorts, @frankie-mercury, @bbymochi1, @serendiipty, @saturnsworld01, @eddiemunson1sstuff, @valthevalkyrie-main, @crying-caro, @inglourious-imagines

#stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson imagine #stranger things fic #stranger things fluff #eddie munson fluff #v's fics

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alsofoundinpeas · 22 days ago

Text

A Gift of Belonging

Summary: Y/N often avoids family holidays due to her strained relationship with her family, who favors her brother. When Spencer Reid invites her to spend Christmas in New York with him and his mother, she discovers a new sense of warmth and belonging, making it the best holiday she’s ever had.

Requested fic!! 🥳: I was wondering if I could ask for a Spence and Y/N in which Christmas is approaching and Y/N usually spends it alone because she has a complicated relationship with her family that always favors her brother.

Maybe he has plans to go spend it with his mom and because they are in early times in their relationship he didn’t think to invite her, but once he finds out she’s alone, he takes her to meet his mom and they all have a really good time!

I was thinking something angsty, fluffy, and maybe smutty in the end? I don’t know, you’re the mastermind behind these beautiful creations, so whatever makes you feel inspired haha

CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI!! This fic is intended for adult audiences. Very brief mention of alcohol. Strained relationship with family (repetitive I know). Oral (m!receiving), unprotected PinV sex (birth control is discussed beforehand but said conversation isn't actually in it), creampie (I wince every single time I type that). Fluffy holiday smut!!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader/afab!reader

A/N: Reupload because I'm a bingus head and accidentally deleted when editing FORGIVE ME PLS!! I loved writing this request!! Huge thank you to @dalamjisung for the request. I hope you like it :') The song mentioned in the fic is December by Ariana Grande btw, but it's only mentioned because reader listens to it, it isn't mandatory for the fic. I have a few more requests lined up after this one, so as for right now my requests are closed until all of them get posted. As always, please tell me what you think! :) If you enjoy it, please like, reblog, and share it with your friends! <3 Thank you and I love you all!!! :) <3

Y/N sighed as she stared down at the text from her mom, re-reading it a few times before tossing her phone to the end of her bed with a frustrated groan.

Mom: Hey sweetie! Are you planning to come home for Christmas this weekend? If not, I completely understand. Honestly, I’m just happy your brother will at least be here. I think he’s bringing his new girlfriend, too, so that’s exciting! He’s always so good about making time for family. But again, no pressure if you’re too busy. I know you have a lot going on!

Her excuses were starting to wear thin, seeing as she had played the flu card for last year’s Christmas party and faked a work emergency to skip Thanksgiving. But the thought of attending her family’s Christmas only to spend the night listening to her brother's achievements, followed by the inevitable barrage of condescending questions about her life, was unbearable. Call her a Grinch or a Scrooge, but the holidays had become her least favorite time of year for this very reason.

Unfortunately, it didn’t even matter if it was a holiday or not. It never changed. Her family had always favored her brother, even when they were kids. She had a never-ending list of chores and rules, while he breezed through life with no curfew and no accountability. Any mistake he made seemed to fall on her, and heaven forbid she stayed out five minutes later than she was supposed to with her friends.

Despite their constant claims that there were 'no favorites,' it was painfully obvious who the real favorite was.

Y/N lay staring at the ceiling, weighing the pros and cons of skipping Christmas this year. On one hand, it would be nice to see her grandmother—the one person who had actually kept her promise of no favorites. But she could always visit her grandmother separately and avoid the hassle of sneaking away just to have a real conversation. On the other hand, her family was already used to being disappointed in her. What was one more excuse? She could always make it up next year.

After what felt like an agonizing eternity of indecision (though it was really only five minutes), she finally decided to skip Christmas again this year and stay home. Her family mostly gave money as gifts now that they were all adults, so she wouldn't be missing much—just a meal (takeout had never let her down) and some forced small talk with extended family (who never really seemed interested in her life anyway).

Y/N: Hey, mom! I’m really sorry, but I’m going to have to miss this year too. There’s a bug going around at work and I’m worried I caught it :(

Her mom’s answer was immediate, and the guilt lifted from her shoulders as she rolled her eyes at the response.

Mom: Poor thing! You just have the worst luck when it comes to holidays huh? Your brother must have taken all the good immune system genes or something LOL!! That’s okay, dad and I will mail your gift and I’ll send you lots of pics. Hope you feel better soon!

After firing off a quick 'Thanks, love you!' Y/N rose from the bed, let out a sigh, and wandered to the kitchen for a bottle of wine.

She’d tried to convince herself that her parents' indifference no longer hurt, but what had dulled into a constant ache over the years flared into a sharp sting during the holidays. No one wanted to be alone at Christmas, but she knew she had to prioritize her peace of mind—and that meant avoiding an entire day spent deflecting passive-aggressive jabs while her brother soaked up all the attention.

The one person who could make her feel better was across the country, tied up with a case. She wasn’t upset with him—far from it. Y/N admired the work he did and the way he dedicated himself to saving people without ever getting the recognition he deserved. Still, it had been over a week since she’d last seen Spencer, and all she wanted was to curl up in his arms and hear him tell her that everything would be okay.

As if the universe had picked up on her tension, a knock at the door startled her, causing her to jump with a racing heart. She froze, eyes darting to the door, considering whether she should quietly move toward the knife block in case a dangerous stranger stood outside. It was barely 8:30, and she hadn’t been expecting anyone.

After a second round of knocks, relief washed over her as a familiar voice called "Y/N? Sweetheart?" She rushed to the door, unlocking it as quickly as she could and flinging it open to find an exhausted-looking Spencer standing on the other side.

“Spence!” Y/N cooed excitedly, wrapping her arms around him tightly before pulling him inside. “When did you get back? I thought you guys wouldn’t be back until tomorrow night?”

Not that she was complaining at all. She loved any time she could spend with Spencer. They’d only been dating for a little over two months, but she’d already fallen hopelessly in love with the sweet genius that she met when he accidentally stumbled into her while in line at their favorite coffee shop (she later found out it was no accident and that Morgan intentionally shoved him into her because Spencer was too afraid to make the first move).

“Technically we weren’t supposed to be, but we ended up getting a confession so it took way less time than we anticipated to finish the case. And with Christmas coming up this weekend, Gideon figured the sooner we got home the better,” Spencer explained with a small, tired grin as he slipped off his shoes and sat his satchel down. “I hope you don’t mind that I showed up, I just really missed you. I tried to call beforehand, but I thought maybe your phone was dead or something...” His eyes caught sight of the wine bottle on the island and paused, arching a brow before glancing back down at her. “Rough night?”

Y/N blew out an exasperated huff of air, nodding as they made their way over to her couch. She cuddled into his side immediately, relishing in the feeling of finally being able to do so. Spencer had been hesitant when they first started dating with physical touch, but once he pushed past the initial discomfort, he couldn’t get enough of her affection.

“Yeahhh. I had to tell my mom that I’m not making it home for Christmas again this year and it just… stressed me out a bit.”

Spencer’s face scrunched in confusion, looking down at her worriedly. “Oh, I’m sorry sweetheart. Are you not feeling good? Or what’s stopping you from going?”

Right. They hadn’t had the whole “I love my family from a distance because they act like brother is Saint Michael himself” talk yet. Y/N nibbled at her lower lip, fidgeting with her hands before sighing.

“I… um, it’s complicated. I just prefer not to see my family around the holidays because they’ve always had this weird favoritism for my brother and as I got older I just decided it wasn’t worth sacrificing my peace for.”

Spencer frowned, nodding in understanding before his face lit up with realization.

“Well, if you’d like, you could join me and my mom for Christmas? If you don’t want to be alone, that is. Not that I’m trying to pressure you into meeting her! I just planned to check her out of the sanitarium this weekend and bring her to New York City since she’s been doing better on her medication. I’m sure she’d love to meet you, and I, of course, love any time I get to spend with you—“ Spencer began, his words tumbling out nervously as his face flushed and his voice pitched higher.

Y/N’s heart skipped at the invitation, her face lighting up into a wide grin as she gently cupped his face, halting his nervous rambling. He met her gaze, and she smiled softly. "Spencer, I’d love to join you and your mom for Christmas—only if you’re really sure you’re okay with it."

Spencer had first mentioned his mother's illness on their third date, explaining himself after abruptly excusing himself to take a call from her nurse. It was also the night of their first kiss—he had started panicking, flustered and trying to explain his sudden exit, and Y/N thought he might cry. So, she kissed him to calm his nerves. Once he’d settled down, she reassured him that it was completely fine, that she understood how important his mother was to him, and that she’d love to learn more when he was ready to share.

That night, Spencer realized, without a doubt, that he was falling in love with her.

"It’s settled then," Spencer said with a grin, leaning forward to kiss her quickly. "I’m so excited to spend Christmas with my two favorite people. I was actually thinking we could get tickets to see The Nutcracker at Lincoln Center—"

Y/N listened intently, her heart swelling as she gazed at him with stars in her eyes, enchanted by his excitement as he shared the plans he’d made for the weekend. Although a little nervous, she couldn’t wait to share Christmas with him and his mom. They continued to plan the weekend, finalizing details between sleepy kisses and small yawns until they finally caved to their exhaustion and went to sleep.

The weekend arrived faster than she expected, and nervous excitement washed over Y/N as she waited for Spencer to pick her up from her apartment. She was packed and ready, excited to meet his mom and see New York City sparkling with Christmas decorations. For the first time in years, she felt something other than dread for the holiday, and she couldn’t be more grateful for her sweet boyfriend because of it.

Spencer had picked up his mom the day before, carefully explaining the plan to her during the drive home and making sure she felt well enough to go ahead with it. Diana was overjoyed at the idea of Y/N joining them for Christmas, assuring him she was feeling fine and could hardly wait to meet her.

For the first time in ages, Spencer felt like he had his mom back, her treatment progressing far better than he'd hoped. All it did was make him even more excited for the weekend ahead, his anxiety easing with each hour spent in the car on the way back to his apartment. It was comforting to open up to her about Y/N and to share what had been happening in his life beyond the letters he wasn’t sure she even remembered receiving.

The weekend turned out even better than Spencer had hoped. Diana and Y/N hit it off so well that Spencer found himself mostly on the sidelines of their conversations, but he didn’t mind in the slightest. It filled him with happiness to see his mom and the woman he was now certain was the love of his life getting along so effortlessly.

They had packed in every Christmas activity they could think of: admiring the lights, sipping hot cocoa, watching The Nutcracker... anything that felt festive was crossed off the list. By the end of the weekend, Diana was almost pleading with Spencer to make Y/N her daughter-in-law on the drive back to the sanitarium. Spencer could only laugh nervously, promising to do his best to make it happen.

Once Y/N got home, she knew she had to find a way to thank Spencer—not only for giving her the best Christmas of her life but also for being the most amazing boyfriend she could ever have hoped for. He was going to come back to her place tomorrow so they could exchange their gifts for each other, so whatever she did, she had to do it then before he inevitably got called in for another case. The real question was: how could she possibly show him just how grateful she was?

With a sigh, Y/N turned on her playlist and settled onto the couch, trying to brainstorm ideas. It felt like the harder she thought, the less her brain worked. After agonizing over ideas for nearly fifteen minutes, Y/N was at her wit's end, ready to settle for a card and a lengthy essay to express her gratitude, when the lyrics of the song playing suddenly grabbed her attention.

Merry Christmas, here I am, boy

I'm the present and you know it, here I am, boy

She sat up suddenly, a victorious grin spreading across her face as the perfect idea popped into her head. She and Spencer had yet to make it past second base, not for lack of desire, but because the opportunity never seemed to align—each time they got close, his phone would ring or something would interrupt, stopping them in their tracks. Tomorrow would be the perfect opportunity to finally take that next step and for her to show her appreciation for the sweet genius.

There was a perfect dark red satin lingerie set at a nearby boutique that would bring her vision to life, but it closed in just thirty minutes. Y/N threw on some clothes, making sure she looked presentable, then grabbed her keys and purse and rushed out of the apartment.

The cashier shot her a glare as she approached the counter, and Y/N internally groaned. She already felt like an asshole for being there so late, but she did still have fourteen minutes to spare before they actually closed. The guilt vanished when she met the cashier’s icy stare, and she grabbed her purchase with a mumbled thanks before she hurried out of the store. Sue her for wanting to look sexy for her boyfriend on Christmas.

The next day seemed to drag on, with Y/N anticipating the surprise she had planned for Spencer.

She cleaned the apartment until it was spotless, setting the perfect mood with scattered scented candles and dimming the lights. The room was softly illuminated by her Christmas tree—one she had convinced Spencer to help decorate at the start of the month—and a few strands of lights she had strung up. All of the presents were ready and waiting to be unwrapped.

Now all she was waiting on was Spencer himself.

Three firm knocks echoed at the door, marking his arrival—right on the dot at 5:00. As punctual as ever. Y/N opened the door with a thrilled smile, eagerly tugging him inside.

"Woah, hey! Hello to you too, sweetheart," Spencer chuckles loudly, wrapping his arms around her and pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“I’ve been looking forward to this all day, so excuse my enthusiasm,” Y/N said with a soft laugh. “Dinner’s ready if you’re hungry. We can do presents first and then eat, or eat and then unwrap them—whatever you prefer. I honestly could do either, it doesn't matter to me and of course, you're the guest so—”

Spencer grinned as she nervously rambled, her hands gesturing wildly as she listed off options. It was oddly comforting to him that she got just as nervous around him as he did around her. Even though she had quickly become the person he felt most at ease with, a part of him still felt those nerves—after all, she was the most incredible woman he’d ever met, and the thought of messing things up and losing her terrified him.

“How about we eat first and then open presents? Is that okay with you?” Spencer suggested, offering a small smile.

The tension in Y/N's body eased as she returned the smile, nodding in agreement. "That sounds perfect."

Dinner passed with casual conversation, both Y/N and Spencer chatting between bites about everything from the new book she was reading to the latest research paper Spencer had discovered and found fascinating. They ate more quickly than usual, both eager to exchange the gifts they had carefully picked out for each other. It wasn’t long before they were done, clearing the table and loading the dishes into the sink before heading into the living room.

The two of them sat together in front of the tree, feeling as giddy as a couple of kids as they finally began to exchange presents.

Spencer slowly unwrapped his first gift, his eyes softening as he revealed the delicate, intricately designed watch she'd chosen for him—a gift that held both practical value and deep sentimental meaning. He glanced up at her, a shy but sincere smile spreading across his face, and she felt the warmth in his gaze. “This is… perfect, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "Thank you. I’ll wear it every day, I promise."

“Always, Spence. I’m so glad you love it,” Y/N murmured, her eyes filled with affection as she watched him. She recalled how devastated he’d been when his previous watch had broken a few weeks ago. Though hers wasn’t as extravagant as his old one, it meant far more to him—because it came from her.

Y/N cherished every gift he gave her: a whimsical coffee mug to add to her collection, a journal with a playful inscription from him that made her laugh—promising she'd have a place to rant about her family when he wasn’t around to listen, a couple of books from her wishlist, and, lastly, her absolute favorite: a delicate locket on a thin chain, holding the first picture they’d ever taken together.

Once all the gifts were unwrapped, Y/N smiled and stood up, holding her hand out to Spencer. He looked at her in confusion but took her hand without hesitation, allowing her to lead him to the couch.

“Keep your eyes closed and stay right here. Your final gift is in my room,” Y/N instructed, a mischievous smile curling at her lips. As soon as his eyes were shut, she darted down the hallway to her room, stifling a soft giggle at the surprise she was about to unveil.

When she came back, she positioned herself between his legs, leaning in close to whisper in his ear, “Alright, Spence… you can open your eyes now.”

Spencer opened his eyes, nearly choking as he took in the sight in front of him. Y/N was standing there in a beautiful lingerie set, the bra designed so that it was a bow that he could untie to reveal her... Just like a present.

“Holly shit,” Spencer breathed, and Y/N couldn’t help but laugh at the rare curse slipping from his lips. Spencer hardly ever swore, so hearing it from him spoke volumes about how much he liked what he saw.

"So I take it you like it?" Y/N arched a brow, resting her arms on his shoulders.

“Wh-what are you doing?” Spencer stammered, looking up with wide eyes as Y/N climbed into his lap.

Y/N settled into his lap with a coy grin, reveling in the feeling of his hands coming up to grip her waist. She leaned in, brushing her nose lightly against his before softly grazing her lips across his.

"I wanted to show you my appreciation..." Y/N whispered, placing a brief but tender kiss on his lips before trailing kisses along his jawline. "...for giving me the best Christmas ever."

Spencer blinked hazily, her words taking a second to process in his mind as the sensation of her lips now sucking a mark into his skin became the center of his focus. His grip on her waist tightened imperceptibly as his fingers flexed against her warm skin. He swallowed hard before finally mustering up an answer.

"Y-you don't have to thank me, baby. All I ever want to do is make you the happiest you've ever been—"

Spencer's words came out as a squeak as she rocked her hips once against the erection now straining in his slacks. His head fell back onto the couch with a soft thump, a quiet whimper slipping from his lips at the friction. The scent of her perfume enveloped him, a fragrant haze that clouded his thoughts and left him feeling lightheaded, as if he were drowning in its sweetness.

The intensity in his gaze sent a shiver down her spine, the sight of his dilated pupils stirring more in her than she was willing to admit. Y/N smirked, repeating the motion to hear the soft noise fall from his lips once more. She lifted a finger to his lips, shushing him before she moved to kneel between his legs.

"I want to, Spence. Please?"

Spencer nodded so vigorously it almost looked painful, his wide eyes locked on hers in stunned disbelief. He couldn't believe this was real... that he not only had her to begin with but that she was on her knees begging to make him feel good. The breath rushed from his body as her fingers trailed up his thighs to the button of his slacks, popping it open while she kept her hungry gaze on his.

His body trembled in anticipation as Y/N dragged the fabric down his legs, tugging them off once they reached his feet and casting them off to the side. He whined as she leaned forward to mouth over his aching cock through the thin fabric of his boxers, his fingers twitching from where they rested beside himself. His breath hitched in his throat as she dragged her nails down the inside of his thighs, a smug grin on her face as she watched him dig his nails into his palms.

Y/N decided she'd teased him enough, placing a kiss on his hipbone before swiftly removing his boxers. Spencer's hips lifted from the couch, jerking toward her mouth instinctively as she wasted no time in leaning forward to lick a thick stripe up the side of him before taking his swollen head between her lips.

"Oh—" Spencer gasped, his eyes struggling to stay open as he watched her begin to swallow his length. "Oh my God, Y/N—"

Y/N smirked around her mouthful, taking him as far into her throat as she could before wrapping a hand around what couldn't fit. She began to bob her head slowly, easing him into the sensation. The feeling of him—hot and hard and filling her mouth so perfectly—had her squeezing her thighs together as she began to move more vigorously.

Spencer writhed beneath her as her mouth and hand began to work in tandem, his eyes fluttering shut despite his efforts to watch her every move so he could burn the sight into his memory for later use. His hips bucked up when she took him into the back of her throat, a guttural groan falling from his open mouth at the gag that emitted from her from the motion. His eyes shot open as he began spewing out apologies, but his words died in his throat as she pulled off of him to shake her head vehemently.

"Do it again," Y/N croaked, taking him back into her mouth and reaching up to guide his hands to her head.

Spencer whimpered pitifully, exhaling sharply before tentatively repeating the motion. His heart nearly fell out of his ass when Y/N moaned around him, encouraging him to keep going. His hips thrust rapidly into her mouth, his eyes squeezed shut now as moan after moan spilled from his lips.

"I-I'm close— sweetheart, please," Spencer groaned, lights flashing behind his eyes as she all but sucked the soul from his body. "Can I— Can I fuck you? Please? Wanna make you feel good, too."

Y/N moaned loudly around him at that, pulling off of him with a slick 'pop' before nodding vigorously. She was drenched, the sounds Spencer made having turned her on more than most men had in the past with their entire bodies. She hurriedly climbed into his lap, not even bothering to take her panties off and instead pulling the fabric to the side as she lined him up at her entrance.

They'd previously agreed that since they were both clean and she was on birth control they'd skip using a condom. They just never had the chance to actually get on with it... until now, anyway.

The sight of her swollen lips and watery eyes had Spencer captivated as his hands automatically found their home on her thighs, rubbing gently as she eased herself down onto him. If someone had told him six months ago that he'd ever be lucky enough to experience this—having the most beautiful woman he'd ever met as his, riding his cock like she was made for it—he would have laughed in their face. But now, all he could do was sit back and watch her in awe as she took every last inch of him into her core, speechless as he marveled at the sight. His brows pinched together as her walls enveloped him, his mouth gaping open as she bottomed out with a loud moan.

Y/N's head tipped back as a moan wrenched its way from her throat, her hips moving in small circles as she adjusted to the stretch of him inside of her pussy. She had never felt so desperate for someone before, but she wasn't surprised. It was Spencer—the man she admired more than anyone. The man who treated her like she was everything, simply for being herself. The man who reminded her every day that she was worth more than she’d ever believed.

Neither one of them was going to last long, a realization they both came to as she lifted her hips and dropped them down into his lap as she began to ride his cock. But that was okay. They had all night to make each other feel good.

“How does that feel, sweet boy? Hm?” Y/N panted, falling forward to rest her face in the crook of his neck as she rocked against him with frantic, needy movements.

All Spencer could do was whine loudly as he clung to her, planting his feet on the ground and moving his hands to cradle her back as he began to rut up into her. He was borderline delirious with pleasure, the feeling of her walls clenching around him driving him mad with the need to make her fall apart in his arms. The movement served to drive him repeatedly into her G-spot, the both of them crying out and latching to each other as Y/N trembled above him.

"So good," Spencer finally grunted, moving his hands up to hastily unwrap the bow restricting his access to her breasts. His lips latched onto her right nipple, sucking and nibbling as his hand came up to pinch her neglected bud. "You're so fucking perfect, sweetheart." He mumbled against her skin, laving over the pert bud and groaning.

Y/N cried out, her hands tangling into his hair as she rode him harder. It was almost feral the way they moved together, needing each other in a way words couldn't describe. The couch creaked beneath their movements, but she couldn't care less. She only cared about making the man underneath her feel the best he ever had.

Her walls began to clench around him as she whimpered into his shoulder, signaling her impending climax. Spencer slid a hand down from her breast to instead rub at her clit, lifting his head to capture her lips in a passionate kiss. It only took a few circles of his skilled fingers before Y/N was chanting his name into his mouth like a prayer, her eyes squeezed shut as she came hard around him. Spencer's orgasm was almost simultaneous with hers, the sensation of her walls squeezing his cock triggering his climax almost violently as he pumped into her with soft sobs.

Their chests heaved as they slumped against each other, caressing each other with gentle touches as they caught their breath. Once Y/N could sit up, she lifted off of his softening cock with trembling legs, a giggle spilling from her lips as he whined in discontent. She placed a lingering kiss on his lips, effectively shushing him before she stood from the couch to go get a rag.

When she came back, Spencer reached for her with needy hands, wanting to feel her against him once more. They tended to each other with soft murmurs of praise and gentle kisses, their love unspoken but evident in every touch and gesture. Once they were cleaned (and Spencer had all but shoved her toward the bathroom so she could pee to avoid getting a UTI), they stumbled into her bedroom and into her bed.

It was in Spencer's arms, as he drifted off to sleep, that Y/N finally understood just how special the holidays could be—made all the more meaningful by the sweet genius she was fortunate enough to call hers.

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