#which is equally stupid and wrong | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lovegasmic · 1 month ago

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──── . THE ONE WHO FELL FIRST, AND THE ONE WHO FELL HARDER ; SUKUNA × F!READER.

꒰ request : Sukuna is a popular businessman, nice to everyone but you, thinking you managed to plot everything to marry him. the wrong accusations only cause him to have conflicted emotions and unable to admit he's falling for you ꒱.

𝜗𝜚 modern au ◞ angst to fluff / slow burn◞ forced marriage◞ reader is a business student and also comes from a slightly rich family◞ req from around august im so sorry ◞ 3K WORDS BABEY ★ taglist

wasting precious time in such a banal thing like your feelings, was something Sukuna was not willing to do.

time was money, and he knew you liked the latter, or else why would you even consider marrying him?

the deal was not yours or Sukuna’s idea, of course it had to be a dumb old man with equal old beliefs like “a man your age must be already married and stable” bullshit, Sukuna had enough wealth and health to be worrying about not finding a wife or getting onto procreating an heir.

but for the pink haired man, his investors were more important than his own family, so, he agreed.

and of course, one of them happened to be your own father.

the man was not stupid, with that hand rubbing and gruff voice while luring Sukuna into considering a marriage that would benefit both parties, almost like a leach attached to the pink haired by the hip until he gave in.

Sukuna knew you, of course he did, the pretty girl who tried to mingle in those boring business parties that were nothing but a place to brag about each one of their successful companies.

and you always were there, listening, almost as if testing who could be a suiting partner, the richest the better.

for him, you were just another money grubber on the list, truly a pretty girl like you must have thousands of suitors knocking on your door, yet you subtly but excitedly agreed on the deal, eyes almost shinning as if you were already imagining Sukuna’s millions in the bank

he scoffs at the thought, his idiotic self had to fall, didn’t he? right into the trap.

the champagne is a tad bitter due to the circumstances, the golden beverage that usually slid down his throat quite smoothly was now dry, leaving a gross aftertaste, perhaps the champagne was not the issue, but this whole fucked up lie.

hands clasped and congratulations were given, each one welcomed by a polite and quite charming smile from Sukuna, as if he was genuinely happy, although you knew otherwise.

the man was so kind, a bit stuck up like most businessmen, but that did not stop him from chit chatting with friends and other people in the business, asking about their families and such, to which you observed with a smile, genuinely happy to be found in a marriage with at least a decent man.

but when his attention turned to you, he was a whole new person, that smile fading and sticking to a stone cold mask that always stuck when speaking to you, solely to you.

“Sukuna—” you try, shoes clicking on the luxury wooden floor of his mansion, where you now resided as well, there was no honeymoon as you, —naively, expected, almost bouncing on your spot as the limousine drove away from the wedding reception, perhaps the cute lingerie set you got underneath will be useful.

but no, how your heart crushed upon the sight of the mansion, nor a helicopter or private jet to take you to some sort of fancy and private spot. instead, all you got was silent as Sukuna climbed off the car, already loosening his tie as soon as the butler opened the door, your hurried steps behind and the limo’s trunk filled with your belongings.

“let the butler show you your room” is what he interrupts with, the suit jacket tossed onto a nearby couch which a maid was quick to fold, almost making your face burn in embarrassment at your husband’s dismissal in front of other people.

you stop for a second, blinking confused before following him still, “my room? what do you mean with my room? aren’t we sleeping in the same bedroom?”

how naive, and Sukuna’s scoff followed by a cruel laugh is just adding onto your embarrassment, “i don’t believe so, sweetheart” that last word sounds so cruel right now, “you already got the fame and money you wanted, i’m not going to indulge your spoiled princess whims”

the door slams shut and you freeze, unsure about what just happened.

the first night was unnecessarily cold, the lingerie forgotten in an empty drawer and the luggage you brought from home all stacked up in a corner of the wide room, everything lacked of color, of life, there was no wall decors, white sheets and comforters, beige curtains against boring beige walls, and of course, the warmth of the man you have longed for so long was missing.

deciding to blame the wedding nerves on Sukuna’s foul mood from the day before, making the bed and opening the curtains to allow the gentle breeze in from a barely open window that had a perfect view to the perfect backyard garden and pool.

the day was beautiful, and so you joined the chef to chat a little meanwhile Sukuna came downstairs with a serious expression like the day before, “good morning” is all he says before sitting down on the dining table, not sparing you another glance or waiting for you to sit as well as he already began on his breakfast.

“good morning, did you sleep well?” you try, again, and fail, again, since Sukuna doesn’t even reply, wiping his lips with a smooth movement that your eyes longer on, “the room you gave me is quite nice” your brain begs you to stop talking, “i just thought it’s a bit too dull, don’t you agree?”

“...”

“maybe we can buy some decorations, or if you’re too busy I can do it on my own!”

“you’d love that, wouldn’t you?”

you blink, once, twice, “excuse me?”

“nothing” he stands up, the chair dragging on the ground and a napkin left on the emoji plate, “i have business to attend to, don’t bother me” with a thank you to the chef, Sukuna leaves again towards what you think must be his home office.

what you don’t know is the fact that Sukuna double checks all of his credit cards to be in place, muttering a “that damn gold digger woman”

life with Sukuna was not going to be as quiet and calm as you thought, almost two days later after your first night at your new home, Sukuna brought in the news of some charity ball you ‘had’ to attend to, of course, a place to show around how your marriage was perfectly fine, how he was stable like those dumb old men said, but at least, the appearance of a married man will definitely be successful for future partnerships.

with a mental slap, the pink haired man turned on his spot as soon as you walked down the stairs, looking ethereal with the dress he got you under the threat of “not wanting you to embarrass him” a longer look and he would have probably said something nice, and you did not deserve it.

“let’s go” he says gruff, not even opening the Benz door for you to climb in, but you did not mind, you were not really expecting anything from him anymore.

“you look good” is what you say instead, and his hands clench a little around the wheel, keeping his eyes ahead without a response.

for a second you wondered if Sukuna had some sort of double personality, he was cold and serious to you, but as soon as you stepped into the gala, his hand tightened on your waist, and a kind and even soft smile plastered on his face while greeting the other guests.

your parents were there, and your husband simply rolled his eyes at the sight of your father sporting a self praising smile at the sight of your fancy attire and multiple diamond jewels decorating your neck, wrist and fingers.

unable to deny how well you behaved yourself, and so as the hours passed, his thumb unconsciously began to rub up and down on your waist, chatting with a casual and soft look that made your heart skip a beat. this was the man you fell in love with.

a little too good to be truth, since as soon as you got back home, the usual stoic Sukuna came back, “perhaps you’re not as useless as I thought”

that should not have hurt as much as it did, you were already used to Sukuna’s dismissals, to his mean comments about wanting to suck his money like some sort of leech, about how you should stick to your own business and stop pestering him, but that really hurt.

so this time, it’s you who turns and leaves.

a little shaky sigh leaves his lips, splashing cold water onto his face to ease the strange thoughts inside his head, was he too mean? that can’t be, you deserve it, you were nothing but a gold digger, a walking… temptation.

“fuck…” he grips the bathroom sink until his knuckles turn white, the previous night kept repeating on his head, over and over again, the look on your eyes, his harsh words and the way you left without a word, why did his heart was thumping so hard?

with another curse he leaves his room, grumbling and sliding his fingers through his hair to comb it back, just to stand frozen on his spot at the sight of you all dressed and holding a bag on your shoulder, “where are you going?” the words leave before he can stop them.

the look on your eyes is a bit duller than usual and that hurts bad, “to school” you say as if it’s the most obvious thing.

“what—”

“i’m running late, we’ll talk later” and you leave just like that, leaving Sukuna with a frown and a look of disbelief that pushes the previous guilt to the back of his head.

“this damn brat”

although it was barely a week after your wedding, the whole attention his employees have you was, overwhelming, with big smiles and attentions showered as soon as you stepped into the fancy building, swinging your bag over your shoulder as a lovely, and way too cheerful, —probably fake, woman guided you to the elevator, explaining which floor to take to meet your husband.

you scoff inwardly, you’ve been to this building multiple times in the past, although just as a shadow, as a nobody, now that the boss was your husband everything was awfully over the top.

“sit, and explain” straight to the point, how kind was your husband.

with a sigh and a click of the door you sit on the chair opposite to his desk, “i told you I was going to school”

“what does that even fucking mean? are you a teacher? student? I truly hope you don’t mean highschool or i’m sending you to jail”

“what the…, no, of course not, I mean university, ugh”

“that’s better” his shoulders relax back but his eyes are still narrowed and hands in front of him, it was a bit funny, “explain”

“you really don’t know anything, do you?” you lean back and hum, “i’m at two semesters from getting my business degree”

“why haven’t you told me?”

“you never asked” you swear Sukuna’s eye twitches slightly.

“from now on I don’t want you to keep secrets from me, you’re my wife, I must know”

“oh, so i’m your wife now?”

another twitch, “you are my wife, whether we like it or not”

whether we like it or not. those words kept replaying, you liked it, or at least that is what you thought before.

your younger self would have been giggling and kicking her feet at the sole thought of marrying Sukuna, the man you admired and observed from afar when you were still a bit too young to approach him, barely out of highschool and your inner self longed for the man, saving his pictures on your phone and setting it as screensaver.

how ridiculous, you now thought, closing the first magazine you bought and sliding it under your pillow, the one that, of course, had Sukuna on the cover, and the one that inspired you to follow his path and get into business school.

fairy tales were now ridiculous, what you thought could be a perfect life with the man of your dreams turned into morning and goodnight greetings alongside some forced chats and questions about whereabouts.

but instead of sulking, you did what was best, shop.

the sudden sound of voices outside brought Sukuna from his thoughts and piles of paperwork, immediately standing up to step into the living room, only to be greeted by the sight of multiple men carrying boxes inside the house, “what the fuck is all this?” he asks with a low and almost scary tone, one to which you’ve grown used to.

“decoration for the house, I told you I was going to buy it” you reply nonchalant, and Sukuna couldn’t deny the way you look kinda cute with that rolled up sleeves shirt and overalls, like damn bob the builder.

unconsciously Sukuna taps his back pocket, checking his wallet, “i mean, with what money you got all this?”

“huh? with mine, obviously”

“your what?”

“what? did you seriously think I lived from your money? please, I am very dependable, thank you very much” you scoff with a frown, Sukuna did not had to know the many business you invested in with a capital from your father, which you obviously paid back and now the percentages of profit in said business just kept increasing to your good luck.

“i didn’t mean—” no, he totally did mean to imply you are a gold digger, but now… with this, things were a bit different.

he scratches his cheek, standing next to you with his towering form as you observe the boxes getting placed into the living room, yet the pink haired’s eyes remain on your side, on the way your brows are knitted in annoyance and the soft cute pout on your mouth.

you mess with his head, and now with his house, wonderful.

so ask him why he’s unpacking boxes and moving the few paintings you bought according to your commands, “up, up, a little to the right, a little more, there, perfect!” you beam and climb onto the stool to hammer a nail into the wall and allow Sukuna to hang the painting.

the maids, the butler are all gone under Sukuna’s order, and most likely gossiping over the development of the couple’s relationship.

“i should sue you for making me work unpaid” for the first time, Sukuna teases, slumped on the couch with his shirt a bit unbuttoned and his eyes locked on the way you placed a few cat like ceramics near the chimney, under the large picture frame of your wedding.

“you are soooo exaggerated” you roll your eyes with a little chuckle, “you won’t die from a little bit of hand work”

“maybe not, but my hands will get calloused because of you”

“oh, i’m sorry i’m messing with your princess hands, I will give you my creams if that makes you happy”

his smirk widens, “hey, the only princess here is you”

it really is the little details, month after month, and you notice how his behavior is slowly improving, he is no longer mean or cold, nor he leaves you speaking to yourself anymore, surprisingly he joins you on the couch now, with an arm around the back of it and over your head, yet sometimes you feel his fingers playing with the hair at the top of your head.

he is smiling, big and happy with a package under his arm, he remembers when you bought items for the house, but the floral silky set of sheets you wanted ran out of stock before you could get it, and the defeated look on your face haven’t left since.

he is a good husband, the best husband you could ask for!

“wait” where did that thought even came from?, and why was his face slightly hot, shit, shit.

never mind, he keeps mumbling to himself, hurrying to your bedroom before you arrive from your classes and is quick to undo your bed to change it into the cute sheets set.

but as he is hasty tugging the fabric, something comes flying from under your pillow.

he kneels to grab it, and his face just shows shock at the sight of it, he remembers that too well, the first magazine cover he ever did, his most proud moment and you had a copy, all those years, and so he turns the pages until it lands on the column, there's stickers and pink pen scribbles around, some words highlighted and even one or two hearts drawn around.

the pen ink was slightly worn out as if it was written years ago, and the idea makes his heart clench.

“... got some from the store, where are yo—” you both stand frozen, eyes on each other and the mess of sheets, fuck the surprise, “what are you doing?” your heart drops at the sight of Sukuna’s awestruck expression while holding the magazine open, “t-that’s personal, you know?”

“i- know, I should not have but…, when did you write this?”

how unavoidable was the conversation, “like two years ago” your gaze drifts to a side.

“did you… were you in love with me or something?” he gulps.

what was the point of denying it anymore, so you nod.

“where you or… are you?” and you softly nod again, avoiding his gaze.

“fuck” he mutters, sliding a hand through his hair in frustration, “fuck, i’m sorry”

“huh? what—”

for the second time you can’t finish a sentence before Sukuna is stomping to you, an arm around your waist and the other on your cheek before your lips clash together, it’s tender but also raw and needy.

“i’m sorry, i should have never been so rude to you, I was an idiot and thought you just wanted my money” even after the kiss he does not let you go.

“what? but I never asked for a penny”

“i know” he says even a tad frustrated, “i know, i should have trusted you”

“it’s okay, I mean, I would also be suspicious of someone who suddenly agreed to marry me without even knowing each other”

“but still…” he is still not letting you downplay the situation and his part of blame.

“Kuna, I promise it’s okay” you smile just like you always do that makes his heart melt, “i love you, and that’s all it matters”

a soft sigh leaves him, sliding a palm over your cheek, and suddenly the ring on his finger is just the perfect color that contrast your skin, “yeah, I love you too”

additional part of Sukuna finding the lingerie lmao

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nereidprinc3ss · 10 months ago

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do you believe me now? | 4

in which spencer reid and inexperienced fem!reader are interrupted at the most inopportune of times. he calls you on the first night of his case. dirty talk turns into a hard conversation. we get a glimpse into spencer's past, and we finally learn why he's so hesitant to sleep with you.

series masterlist

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: dirty talk, phone sex/mutual masturbation, softdom!spence, obligatory he talks u through it, lots of graphic discussions of sex, established relationship, angst (sorrryyy!) a/n: so remember how i said you'd need the bonus chapter to fully appreciate/understand this part? i was wrong!! it will come in handy probably in the next part tho:) also idk how these parts keep getting so long im sorry! anyway, i love you all so bad. thank you for bearing w/ my craziness. PLEASE let me know your thoughts on this part!! i adore hearing from you!! kisses

(also special thank you to @fliesforeyes who convinced me phone sex w/ spence could be done!! i will link his phone sex blurb here :)) thank u binx!!

“Three million six hundred eighty four thousand three hundred thirty two times fourteen million seven hundred sixty one thousand nine hundred seventy one.”

You’ve lost count of how many stupid math questions you’ve asked your human calculator boyfriend, just to see if he can actually do them. Spencer is silent for a second, and you think you’ve finally stumped him.

“That one is complicated.”

You sit bolt upright in his bed, looking down at him and pointing an accusatory finger. His brows raise at the manic look in your eye.

“You don’t know.”

“I do know. I meant it would be hard to explain if you aren’t a math person.”

“Bullshit!” You scoff, “you don’t know!”

“It would display on a calculator as five-point-three-eight-eight-E-thirteen. It’s a really big number.”

“Oh, really big, huh?” you mumble, searching for your phone blindly in the sheets and scrambling to open the calculator app. “Um… what numbers did I say?”

Spencer repeats them back to you and you press the equals sign.

You look at it.

And then you set your phone down.

“I was right, huh?” he smiles up at you, probably reveling in your pouty wrongness.

Too proud to admit it, you collapse on top of him, burying your face in his shoulder.

“I don’t like this game anymore. What the fuck even is an e? Why are we doing algebra?”

Spencer laughs, brushing your hair aside.

“The e stands for exponent. It’s to the power of ten.”

“Ever heard of a rhetorical question?”

“Yes, I have.”

It’s hard not to snort even at his dumbest jokes.

“You’re annoying. Let’s do something else.”

You roll over onto your back again, letting your head flop over to look at Spencer, whose hair is exactly the right amount of messy after a long day, falling in impossibly soft waves over the perfect lines and contours of his face. Despite lounging, he’s still in his suit from work—he’d left Quantico and immediately picked you up. There were no solid plans for the evening, so after both of you pretended that you wanted to go out for a while, you ended up back at his apartment.

He looks good. Almost too good.

“Something like what?” he smiles lazily, reaching over and tracing his fingers over your cheek.

“Something… naked?”

His grin widens and he shakes his head.

“Me naked or you naked?”

Pretending to think about it, you roll your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Mm… why not both?”

“Hm. Why do I feel like I know where this is going?”

The mattress sinks underneath your elbow as you prop yourself up, dropping your head over Spencer’s to kiss him.

“Because you’re so smart, and you think it’s a great idea.”

He entertains your kiss for a moment. Just a moment.

“You sound sure of yourself.”

“Because I am!” You finally give in to your impulses, tangling your fingers in his hair and looking at him meaningfully. “It doesn’t make any sense for us to have not had sex. I don’t care about any of your weird, cryptic moral reasoning.”

He grabs your wrist carefully.

“It is not moral,” he scoffs. “We haven’t even talked about it yet.”

“Really? Because I feel like we’ve talked about it a lot.”

He begins to reply, but you realize you don’t want to get into a debate over whether you’ve technically talked about it yet. “I don’t even care! If that’s all that’s standing in your way, then let’s talk about it. Right now.”

Spencer sighs, his eyes darting between yours as he reaches up to cradle your cheek.

“Fine. But I have things to say you’re not going to like.”

“So business as usual?”

He rolls his eyes. You allow yourself a tiny self-satisfied smirk, forever relishing in his poorly-hidden soft spot for your constant teasing. Spencer ignores this. Which is probably for the best.

“I know you probably won’t see it this way, but—sex is different than everything else we’ve done so far. It can be really fun, obviously it feels good, it facilitates deeper feelings of connection—that’s all true. Which is why, in my opinion, it’s incredibly important that you be selective with who you sleep with. Because it’s so easy to do something you regret, and sex is vulnerable. It should always be with someone you trust and—and… care about.”

A pink flush stains his cheeks like watercolor as he stumbles over the last few words. It makes your heart flutter against the confines of your chest.

Maybe best not to think about the absence versus presence of certain four-letter words and what they may or may not mean. You’ll move on to more pressing matters and pretend like it doesn’t ache just a little in your whole body.

You cover his hand with your own.

“Are you going to break up with me anytime soon?”

Spencer’s eyes widen, filling with genuine horror and confusion.

“What? No!”

“Are you going to cheat on me?”

“Absolutely not, I—”

“Then I’m not going to regret it. Issue resolved. Moving on.”

“Honey, I just want you to be 100% sure that I’m what you want.”

“Oh my god,” you groan, flopping onto your back once more. “I have begged you to sleep with me on multiple occasions. We have been dating for months and I liked you even longer before that. I think about it literally every time I see you. I don’t know how to be any surer.”

It’s quiet for a moment as you study the imaginary pattern on the ceiling. The rebuttal you’d been anticipating doesn’t come—instead, the mattress shifts next to you. Spencer enters your field of vision, now leaning over you with a little smile on his face that gives you butterflies.

“Every time?”

“…yes, every time,” you agree, voice considerably thinner than it had been a moment ago. Spencer glances at your lips as he speaks.

“Interesting. And what is it that you think about exactly?”

You groan again, attempting to roll facedown, but he pins your shoulder to the bed. The way he’s sweetly kissing down your cheek and jaw is infuriating because you know it’s a false pretense.

“Ugh, I don’t know! Don’t make me answer that!”

“You said if talking about it was all that was standing in my way, we would talk about it. Now I want to talk about it. Come on,” he says, voice low and cloying against your throat as he attempts to tease the answer out of you. “Tell me what you think about when you think about us having sex.”

You let out a shaky breath at the feeling of his lips skimming your neck, hating how easily he can reduce you to this.

“I… I always wonder what it will feel like. Sometimes I wonder if it will hurt.”

Spencer sighs, interrogation by way of seduction momentarily forgotten. You silently curse yourself for saying something so un-sexy.

“It might, sweetheart. That’s one of the reasons we’ve held back. I… really don’t want to hurt you. I don’t even know if I can.”

You grab his face in both hands, forcing him to look at you with more confidence than you feel.

“Sometimes I worry about it, too. But I like you a lot more than it scares me. I still want to.”

He kisses your palm.

“You’ll be okay. It doesn’t hurt for everyone, and even if it does, you’re resilient.”

“Exactly. So you have to get over yourself.”

Spencer laughs like he wasn’t expecting to, eyes sparkling as he regards you.

“Yeah. Yeah, maybe I do.”

He’s smiling again as he leans down and kisses you—a slow, lingering thing which tastes like spearmint as you part your lips for him.

“Please?” you whisper against him after a long moment. He hums, keeps kissing you.

“What is it that you think you want? You don’t even know what you’re asking for.”

“Tell me,” you beg, chasing his lips. “Tell me what you’re going to do with me. We can talk about it. This is talking about it.”

Spencer exhales deeply, wedging a thigh between yours. Immediately you clamp around it, trying not to grind against him too overtly.

“You want to know what I’d do to you?”

“Yes—” you paw at his jacket. Surprisingly, he doesn’t stop you from pushing it off. Your heart pounds.

“Well… we both know how anxious you get,” he muses, pressing his lips so delicately to your fluttering pulse-point in emphasis, and then back to your mouth. His thigh pushes harder against you to supplant the absence of his lips as he speaks, though he kisses you sporadically and between sentences. “You’re hard to get out of your head when you’re nervous, you know that? I watch it happen. One minute you’re with me, and then you start overthinking, and getting self-conscious. The only thing that seems to relax you is letting me touch you—so first I would touch you like I’ve touched you before. I’d make sure you know how pretty you are and how good you deserve to feel.” You whimper inadvertently at his words, arching into him and grinding against his leg as he pauses to kiss the sensitive soft spot below your jaw. “You’re going to need to be really ready to let me in. Do you know what I mean by that?”

As he asks, he pushes his thigh against you harder. Your body responds immediately, arching into him and seeking more friction. When you squeak, he takes it as a no.

“I mean I need you relaxed and wet. You’ll excuse my crude language.”

You pull at his tie, breathing heavier now and so turned on it’s almost painful.

“What are you gonna do after that?”

“What else is there to do but fuck you after that?” he breathes. “You want me to tell you how I’d fuck you?”

Something about it makes you whine salaciously. You’ve heard him curse—you’ve even heard him talk about fucking you. But it feels more real now; when it’s low in your ear and you’re covertly undressing him and he’s pushing your shirt over your stomach promisingly.

“Yes, please.”

He hums against your jaw, nipping and brushing his lips over the skin as he considers. Leaves you waiting.

“I would have to take my time with you. You’ll be overwhelmed. I know you think you won’t, but you will. I’m going to have to be so, so careful with you, angel. It’s going to drive me insane. But it will feel good for you.”

“Why careful? I don’t want that.”

He chuckles. A chill runs down your spine.

“Yeah, you do. You’re going to want me to be careful when I’m—” he pauses, pressing his thumb to your bare lower tummy and dragging up to a spot below your belly button. He presses down lightly again. “Right here. Approximately.”

The surface of the sun has nothing on the temperature of your skin in this moment, as you writhe underneath him in both arousal and embarrassment. Mostly, burning need. You feel almost sick with it.

“Please don’t make me wait anymore. Just do it, please, Spencer. I need it to be you, I don’t want it to be anyone else. I promise I’m ready.”

It’s silent for a moment. Your heart quickens. You sense his walls wearing away, his instinct to keep you intact for god knows what reason crumbling. He’s finally going to give you what you’ve been begging for.

Spencer opens his mouth, eyes glimmering—

And then his phone rings.

You both freeze—he melts dejectedly before you do, more accustomed to an ill-timed phone call and realizing the finality it can present.

He’s breathing heavily against your neck, as if maybe whoever it is will just hang up. But the phone keeps ringing.

“I’m sorry.”

Your stomach sinks as he sits up, grabbing his phone from the side table and rubbing circles on your inner thigh as he answers.

“This is Reid,” he says, lackluster.

If you wanted, you could hear what Penelope is saying—but you don’t bother listening. It’s going to be a case. Spencer is about to leave. The details are his problem.

“Okay. I’ll be there in an hour.”

He hangs up, tossing the phone onto the mattress and not speaking for a moment, just continuing to rub your leg apologetically. Watching you almost mournfully—taking in your disheveled hair, your likely blown-out pupils, the shirt pushed almost over your chest.

“I have to go right now,” he finally manages with a heavy sigh, gently pulling your shirt back into place.

You sit up, shedding all the hopes that had been building for the evening, and try to sound chipper—though all you feel is bitter disappointment that goes deeper than you understand.

“I know. Go ahead, I can get a cab home.”

He frowns, running his hand over the back of your hair.

“I don’t love the idea of you standing on the sidewalk waiting for a car in this part of town so late. Do you just want to stay here for the night and go home tomorrow?”

You force a smile. Great. So you’ll be spending the night in his bed after all—just without him.

“Sure. Thanks.”

“Yeah.”

Neither of you are feeling particularly grateful.

Soon you’re walking him to his own door. Both of you come to a stop in front.

“I’m sorry,” he sighs again.

“Spencer, it’s fine. It’s your job. You don’t need to apologize. You were very clear about this part when we started dating.”

“I know, but… it’s easier in theory than in practice.”

You smile. If Spencer is a reflection of you, it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. His hair is still messy from your fingers running through it and he’s missing his tie. You hope all his coworkers see and feel bad about taking him away from you.

But it’s not their fault. You just want someone to blame.

Instead you mould yourself to his body, wrapping around him like you belong there. He returns your embrace, pressing his lips into the crook of your shoulder and rubbing your back in that way he always does with you.

In that moment, your affection for him becomes so profound it’s like a chemical reaction—everywhere he touches burns and you love him so fucking much it aches in every inch of your body the way your muscles do when you have a bad fever. Love is the most terrible of afflictions, you realize. It is a fever dream. It’s every fiber of your being screaming to tell him how you feel, to beg him on your knees not to go because you love him like a child loves a parent or a bee loves honeysuckle or the ocean loves the horizon. Pared down to your most basic components, the barest version of yourself, you require him. Your soul needs his soul.

“Spencer?”

“Hm?”

It’s nothing more than an absentminded hum against your skin.

“I…”

Should you be looking him in the eye when you say this? Should you say it right before he has to leave? Just because you say it doesn’t change the fact that he’s about to be gone for several long days. Maybe this is a terrible time to admit something that suddenly feels so true and so consequential.

He senses your internal conflict, pulling back despite your resistance and holding your face between his hands.

“You what?” He murmurs, soft eyes bouncing back and forth between your own. Fuck—you feel so observed, now. Like he can read your mind.

“I forget.”

FUUUUUUCK.

Spencer blinks. Processes. You watch the disbelief crystallizing over his eyes like ice freezing over a lake.

He knows.

He knows you didn’t forget, and he probably knows what you were going to say, and he’s going to tell himself he was wrong to spare your dignity.

Everything hurts when he kisses you. You wonder what regret tastes like.

“Well, let me know if you remember.”

It’s too gentle and at the same time he can’t hide the edge with all the tenderness in the world. You nod as if in a trance, already looking forward to dissociating as you lie in bed and stare at the dark ceiling.

Two small goodbyes are exchanged, slightly stifled now, as if shared between drunk strangers who have sobered up and are mutually embarrassed about how candidly they’d interacted before.

You close the door behind him, doing up all the locks, and meticulously flick every light switch in the apartment off before climbing into his bed—though you don’t really feel like you deserve to be there anymore.

But perhaps this is all an overreaction. It’s not like you owe it to him to say I love you, or anything—it was bad timing, anyway. And why can’t he say it? In fact, why hasn’t he said it?

Maybe you have it all wrong.

Maybe he doesn’t feel that way about you.

You fall asleep before you allow these questions to make you sick.

24 hours go by.

24 hours go by and you really had meant to leave his apartment—it was just that you woke up late, and your phone was dead so you couldn’t call a car, so you charged it while you made breakfast, and then you ate, and then you decided to take a shower and wash your clothes, and then it was two in the afternoon and you hadn’t left yet and you decided to walk to the store and replenish the groceries you’d used up.

Maybe you got a bit distracted looking at flowers and other beautiful things at the market and by the time you got home it was 5:00, so you decided to wait until seven to skip rush hour. And then eight, just to be sure.

Before you know it, it’s midnight, and you’re dozing off in his bed again (teeth cleaned with the brush you’d bought at the store—maybe this whole situation hadn’t been entirely unwitting on your part.)

Throughout the day, you tried to let all your anxiety about the previous night melt away. If it’s something that needs to be addressed, Spencer will address it. Everything will work out in the end. That thought is how you’re able to doze off.

You’re almost asleep when your phone lights up and begins buzzing on the side table. You wince as your eyes open, not adjusting well to the harsh bright display and unable to discern who’s even calling you at this hour. Stupidly, probably because you’re half asleep, you answer without checking.

“Hello?”

Your voice is groggy, quiet with sleep.

“Shit, did I wake you?”

“Spence?” you whisper, stomach flipping at the sound of his voice on the other line. You feel caught, still sleeping in his bed.

“… yeah,” he chuckles. “Did you not check who was calling before you picked up?”

“I was asleep,” you pout. “Kinda.”

“Okay. Go back to sleep, honey. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

You sit bolt upright, phone balanced between tense fingers and speaking directly into the microphone.

“No! No, I’m awake. What’s up? Why did you call?”

A longer stretch of silence—you’re too sleepy to comprehend what it might mean, though never too sleepy to worry about it. With a pang of pain, you recall your strange goodbye, the words you hadn’t said.

“I just needed to hear your voice,” he sighs. You frown, staring at nothing in particular in the pitch black room.

“Oh. Is everything okay?”

“As much as it can be.”

“Right.”

More quiet. You chew on the inside of your cheek, stricken with a sudden feeling of awkwardness that you haven’t had with Spencer in a while.

“I’m sorry… I don’t really know what to say.”

“That’s okay,” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice which makes you feel a bit better, “why don’t you tell me about your day? Or you can absolutely go back to sleep, if you’re too tired.”

“Don’t ask me about my day,” you whisper, flopping down on the bed once more. Shame seeps into your voice. He laughs.

“What? Why?”

“Because if I tell you you’re going to think I’m super weird and you’re going to break up with me.”

Laughter tapers off into gentler tones.

“I already think you’re super weird. It’s actually one of your most attractive qualities.”

Blood rushes to your cheeks.

“But it’s like… borderline crazy.”

Immediately, he replies, “for better or worse, I also frequently find myself attracted to crazy.”

“Thank you for calling me crazy and super weird,” you grumble.

“I also called you attractive twice. Tell me.”

When his tone takes on that easy, assertive quality, and it’s sort of raspy and low because it’s late and he’s been talking all day, and you can hear the lazy smile on his face—you imagine him laying on his hotel bed, arm slung over his eyes in the dark as he grins into the microphone—you have a very difficult time saying no.

“Fine. Guess where I am right now.”

“Um, I would hope you’re in bed?”

You smile to yourself, basking in the victory of successfully throwing him off his game even slightly.

“Guess whose bed.”

Silence.

“What an interesting question.” That cocky smile, the low drawling is back, and you chew on your lip, ignoring the shiver that runs down your spine. “If it’s not mine or yours, we’re going to have issues.”

“But if it is yours? You’re not going to call the police on me?”

“Why would I call the police? To tell them there’s a pretty girl in my bed and I don’t want her there?”

“To tell them your psychopathic girlfriend broke into your apartment and might be holding hostages there.”

Spencer laughs; a brittle, drawn out thing, flat and quiet as the desert.

“If you were a psychopath, calling the cops would be a waste of time. I would handle you myself.” The idea of being handled has your thighs clenching. “But—yeah, don’t invite anyone else in.” More humor finds its way into his voice, momentarily relieving some tension that had sneakily begun to build. “Having people in my space makes me anxious.”

“But not me?” Your whisper is half flirtatious, half insecure. Spencer’s reply is soft, as if he’s picking up on this from hundreds of miles away.

“No, not you. You are always the exception.”

“Good,” you say, cheeks aching as you half-bury your warm face into his pillow. “Because I made myself really comfortable. You have a nice shower, by the way.”

Spencer groans.

“You’re killing me.”

“What? What did I do!”

“Don’t talk to me about my bed and my shower. I might start to think you’re intentionally being a brat.”

“You asked me about my day! I’m just telling you what I did!”

But you’re also intentional teasing him for sure. After a pause, he sighs in defeat.

“You’re right. I did do that. Tell me what else happened.”

“Well,” you begin, all too eager, “I had to put my clothes in the dryer after I got out, so I borrowed some of yours. But then they were way comfier than mine, so after I went to the store I put them back on, and—”

“Okay.”

“Okay what?” you frown.

“Tell me what this is.”

“I—I don’t know what you mean.”

Lying to a profiler is usually pointless.

“I’m not stupid, sweetheart. Tell me why you keep talking about my shower and my bed and my clothes.”

Caught red-handed. Your skin heats up.

“I don’t know. I miss you.”

He hums in a way that blurs the line between sympathetic and patronizing. Even through the phone you can feel the bass of it in your bones. It changes the frequency you’re vibrating at. It’s hypnotic.

“But that’s not really why you’re being intentionally provocative, is it?”

“No,” you admit quietly. “I’m still upset you had to go last night.”

“So you’re frustrated and you’re taking it out on me?”

Your brow furrows. Well, when he puts it like that…

“I’m not taking anything out on you.”

“I think you are. And I don’t appreciate that, because I’m on your side, honey. Do you think I prefer being in a hotel bed by myself or being in my bed with you?”

Somehow, he makes you feel like a scolded child. But he makes it appealing in ways you don’t understand.

“Your bed with me,” you murmur, skin prickling with the coldness of his absence even as you curl under the blanket.

“Right. So why don’t you tell me what I can do for you right now, instead of punishing me for things that are beyond my control?”

“I wasn’t punishing you,” you mutter.

“No? You weren’t intentionally talking about using my shower and sleeping in my bed and putting on my clothes so that I’d have to think about what I can’t have right now?”

“I—”

“Believe me when I tell you I have been thinking about what I can’t have, all day. Your efforts are entirely redundant and you can’t say anything about yourself that is even close to as dirty as the frankly disrespectful thoughts I’ve been having about you for seventeen hours.”

The lack of air is making you so dizzy your vision goes gray at the edges.

“What… what thoughts?”

“None that you need to concern yourself with.”

“You can’t just say something like that and then not tell me!” you insist. He’s obviously giving you a taste of your own medicine and it’s fair but it doesn’t mean you have to like it.

“I can do whatever I want,” Spencer corrects cooly in a way that pisses you off beyond belief because he’s right. It triggers some adolescent immaturity within you—a desire to get back at him, so to speak. He wants intentionally provocative? He can have it.

“Fine. Then so can I. And there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it even if I could.”

“Spencer,” you warn. “If you don’t tell me what you were thinking I’m gonna—” you look around the room for ammo. “I’m gonna look through your nightstand!”

“Go ahead. I’ll warn you, it’s not very interesting.”

“Sounds like what someone who has something hide would say,” you mumble, crawling across the mattress through tangled sheets and using your phone flashlight to open the drawer.

Spencer is patient and silent as you take in its contents—a small blue leather-bound notebook (full of what looks like Russian), a fountain pen, a glasses case, various kinds of vitamins, and—

“Spencer Reid,” you say, dragging out his name and pretending nothing is fluttering in your stomach, “what are these?”

“I don’t know. I can’t see what you’re referring to.”

“Take a wild guess.”

“Oh, I have one. But I’d like to hear you say it.”

You realize you may have gotten yourself in deeper than you meant to by going through his stuff. Well—they don’t say karma is a bitch for nothing.

“What are you doing with a box of condoms?”

He chuckles and you feel it in your whole body, warm as you stretch across his mattress and eye the box like it might jump out at you.

“Those are years old. I’ve used three since I bought them.”

“Don’t tell me that,” you whine. “I don’t wanna think about all the other women you’ve seduced.”

“You wanted them to be for you, huh?”

You flush. Honestly you hadn’t even thought about that.

“I… I don’t know. I kind of just assumed…”

It’s silent for a second and you frown, realizing you hadn’t even considered protection when you’d imagined sleeping with him before.

“You assumed what, honey?” he asks, voice soft.

“It’s dumb. I can’t tell you.”

“You can tell me anything. I’m not going to think it’s dumb, I promise.”

You chew on your lip, letting your eyes unfocus on the box as you muster the courage to be honest.

“Whenever I imagined it… we didn’t… use anything.”

The words make you cringe even as you’re saying them. So does the quiet that follows.

“When you imagine us sleeping together, we don’t use a condom?”

“Ah!” The phone drops to the mattress as you cover your ears and roll onto your side, curling into yourself once more. “You didn’t have to say it! You make me sound so weird!”

“It’s not weird,” he laughs, because he can probably imagine exactly what you just did, “I just wanted to make sure I was understanding you. That said… we would definitely use protection.”

“Do we have to?”

The quiet words take even you by surprise—and they seem to stun Spencer as well. Several false starts are punctuated by a sigh as he gathers his thoughts.

“We really should, baby. That’s the kind of thing we need to take seriously.”

“But you’re… you’re good, right?”

Thankfully he picks up on your meaning.

“I am. I wouldn’t touch you if I weren’t.”

“And I’m good. So...”

“Hm. And has anyone ever explained to you where babies come from?”

You groan in frustration.

“Spencer, I’m being serious! There are ways to negate that.”

“Honey,” he murmurs, “I understand that. But it would be irresponsible of me to say yes. We can talk about it in the future, but—”

“I’m telling you it’s already dealt with. The chances of an accidental pregnancy are slim to none.”

The new information hangs in the air for a moment until Spencer speaks—to your surprise, his voice is low and humorous.

“That is… good to know. But even so—I’m setting a dangerous precedent if I always let you get exactly what you want.”

“Is it such a bad thing that I just wanna—I wanna know what it feels like? You don’t want that?”

“That’s not what I said. I want to know exactly what you feel like. I’m just hesitant to give in so quickly because it makes me look weak.”

You laugh breathlessly, caught between being turned on by the first part of his sentence and amused by the sarcastic second half. Your thighs clench and your hand absentmindedly wanders between them.

“You know what I was thinking about?” you ask. Spencer hums curiously. “I was thinking about when you let me, um… when you let me touch you how you touch me.” He hums again, but you can hear the amused curve of a smile in it now.

“When you had your mouth all full of me and you looked so pretty?”

“When I—yeah,” you agree, too caught up to deny his compliment as your fingers brush your most sensitive spot through clothing. “And how you got me all messy after. And I was wondering what it would feel like… inside me.”

He sucks in a breath. Your legs brush against each other and you twist slightly as you pretend like you’re not touching yourself just a little bit.

“You want me to come inside you?”

“Yeah,” you whisper, brain short-circuiting at the way those words sound in his voice.

—

On the other side of the line, Spencer isn’t doing a fantastic job of thinking clearly either. His dick is half-hard already and it’s only getting worse with each little noise you make that you don’t seem to realize you’re making.

“Really? That would be very messy, baby. I’m surprised that’s what you want.”

“But I really want it,” you breathe. He’s not even looking as he slips his hand under the waistband of his pajamas and palms himself, his other hand rubbing tiredly over his face as his phone rests on his chest. This was not how he intended for this call to go, believe it or not—but he’s here now.

“Yeah? Is that why you’re touching yourself right now?”

You go silent—which is more or less exactly the reaction Spencer had been expecting. Patiently he waits for you to deny it, in three, two—

“’M not.”

Now, he could explain how he knows that’s a lie. How your breathing pattern changed, and your voice got softer and airier, and how you started speaking with smaller words in fragmented sentences. But he doesn’t feel like explaining any of that.

“I know that’s not true,” he murmurs. “You know what? It wasn’t fair to get you all worked up last night and then leave. I don’t want you frustrated, honey. I want you to do whatever you need to do.”

You make a little gasping noise, and Spencer can imagine the way your back would arch when you did it. His own hips buck slightly as his dick twitches under his fingers.

“Where are you touching?”

“Um—over my clothes.”

Cute.

“Go under them for me. Tell me how it feels when you’re touching yourself like that.”

It takes a moment, in which all he hears is the rustling of fabric, until you’re whispering, “feels… it feels good. I wish you were here.”

He inhales, freeing his cock and squeezing the base.

“I know. Just listen to my voice, pretty. I’m right here.”

Spencer allows himself a few slow tugs as he imagines what’s happening in his bed. You make a squeaking noise, like a held-back moan, and his eyes screw shut.

“I need them inside,” you whine, and he knows you’re referring to his fingers—the ones currently stroking his own leaking cock.

“You can use your own, just give yourself a minute first. Remember what I said about needing to be ready?”

“I am ready—” judging by the surprised chirp you interrupt yourself with, you’ve proven yourself right. What surprises Spencer is the weak sound of disappointment you make next. “Spence, it doesn’t feel the same.”

“We’re different sizes, honey. Your hands aren’t as big as mine. But you can still make it feel good.”

He almost says, 90% of the nerves in the vaginal canal are located in the lower third—in other words, within approximately 2.36 inches from the opening, which you can most certainly reach—but he refrains. He’s not sure if that’s good dirty talk.

“You have a really sensitive spot about three inches up, right in front. It’s going to feel a little different than the rest of you when you touch it. I want you to try and find it for me, okay?”

“Okay,” you breathe, ever-eager to please even from a great distance. There’s a quiet moment. “I can’t—I don’t think I can r—oh,”

The moan is so pretty Spencer can’t help speeding up the motion of his hand, hissing slightly as his fingers brush against the angry tip with every pump.

“Did you find it?”

“Yeah,” you whine, a weak, high-pitched thing. “Oh my god.”

“Be gentle,” he warns with some effort as his own hips jump slightly. “You’re really sensitive there. If you’re not careful you’ll make yourself sore.”

“I don’t care—holy shit—” the way your voice rises and tightens to a squeak at the end has Spencer moaning as he fucks his fist. A black hole forms and warps time, turning every minute into a second and every second into an infinity until he has no idea how much time is going by. He drags his thumb over the tip, smearing precum over his cock and whining as his jaw drops at the feeling. “Oh my god, Spencer,” in that same strained, high voice. “’M gonna—ah!”

He gets the general sentiment.

“What, baby? You’re gonna make yourself come all over your fingers? Is that what you wanted to tell me?”

“Mhm!”

“Yeah, I bet you are. It feels good, huh?”

“Yes,” you cry.

“See? You don’t need my fingers to feel good. Mine barely fit, you know that? I have to hold your fucking hips down whenever I put my fingers in you because you can’t stop squirming. I don’t know how you think you’re going to take my cock.”

“Spencer!”

He knows.

“Come, baby. Let me hear you.”

The delicate sounds you make as you bring yourself to orgasm tip him over the edge of his own—grunting as he comes all over his fist.

“Jesus,” he strains under his breath, the word dragging out into two long syllables as his hips buck involuntarily and cum drips down his knuckles. He’s lightheaded and he’s created a mess and it all happened so quickly. “Fuck,” he breathes, a rasping chuckle as he reaches for the towel he’d dropped on the bed after his shower earlier. “You conscious over there?”

“I’m conscious,” you slur, breathing heavily. “I’ve never had an orgasm by myself before.”

“Are you proud of yourself?” Spencer smiles, wiping his hand off and making sure he’s otherwise clean. “You should be. I am.”

He’s barely kidding.

“I’ll be proud when I can do it without your help,” you tease.

“But I’ll always want to help you with that.” His already warm face flushes further as he goes over what he’d said. “Sorry I was so vulgar.”

You laugh. He blushes even more.

“Are you? I think you secretly love being vulgar.”

“I don’t know why! I have no idea where it comes from. I would never speak that way in any other context. I should probably work on that. Sometimes I look back on the things I say and I’m genuinely appalled.”

“Well, don’t stop on my account. Personally I enjoy it.”

“Yeah, I think I’m corrupting you. You probably shouldn’t enjoy it.”

The truth of it weighs heavy on his mind, but he’s pretty sure his voice alone doesn’t betray that and you can’t sense it through the phone.

“Oh, my god. Do not do that falling on your sword shit. I like being corrupted by you. If you stop I’ll be very upset.”

“Well god forbid you get upset,” he teases gently. Idly he wonders if the reason he’s suddenly feeling so depressed is because his cortisol levels were already high from the case, and then he jarred his system with an orgasm, spiking his dopamine and ultimately causing it to plummet without the oxytocin release that post-coital physical contact would usually provide.

Or if it was something else. It could also be something else.

For the millionth time, he wishes he was with you. Part of him also wants to go to sleep. But mostly he wishes he was with you.

—

A comfortable silence settles over the conversation. In the ditch between words, you’re mapping constellations in the texture of Spencer’s ceiling. If you squeeze your eyes almost shut, you can imagine it really is the night sky. You can imagine he’s really here.

You think about what he said—his apparently mindless vulgarity. Did it mean anything? Or was he just rambling to get you off?

“Spencer?” you murmur.

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you a question?”

He sounds earnest, perhaps a little tired, as he replies, “always,” through the little metal rectangle on your chest. He likes me and my questions are important to him, you repeat to yourself silently as you work up the strength.

“If Penelope hadn’t called, last night… were you going to have sex with me?”

Your lip tastes like his toothpaste as you chew it. Spencer sucks in a breath of air like he’s about to speak—and lets it fizzle out like foam on a carbonated drink.

“I don’t know,” he finally admits, lamely. “That wasn’t my plan, but you can be extremely convincing when you want to be.”

“But why can’t it be your plan?” It’s an almost whine, pouty and childish—but the next words are quiet and pained. “Is it something I’m doing wrong?”

“No, no! It’s not you. You’re perfect. It’s—it’s complicated. It’s a me thing.”

Such trite words—such a ubiquitous, simple excuse sounds almost comical from his mouth when you know he’s capable of all the eloquence in the world. It’s not you, it’s me. It’s ridiculous.

“Okay. Let me simplify this for you,” you begin with an uncharacteristic assertiveness that surprises even you. “I want to have sex with you. Either we are going to have sex or we’re not. So your future branches in two diverging paths. In one, we have sex, and then we keep having sex. In the other we never have sex ever. If you want to ever have the privilege of fucking me, then we just have to do it. Otherwise it simply will never happen. And I’m not eternally patient, Reid.”

Go me, you think, slightly breathless from your monologue.

“Watch your mouth,” he says dryly. Something about the chastisement makes your stomach flip and your whole body tingle. “When you talk to me you call me Spencer. I will also accept Doctor Reid.” You wrestle down a smile, refusing to let him change the subject. A delayed sigh from him sobers up the conversation. “You know what I want. I’ve been very clear with you about that. But…”

“But…?”

Another sigh. A deeper, shuddering sigh, like his breath is searching for balance. Like Spencer is in a precarious position for which he was unprepared.

“But—but to be completely honest… I worry that you’ll regret choosing me. And I know virginity is a social construct and I’m not implying that your worth will somehow be diminished if we have sex but regardless of my views on virginity as a construct, having sex for the first time can be weird and scary and it’s incredibly intimate and I don’t want you to regret your first time like I regret mine because you chose the wrong person.”

The words come at you so rapid-fire it takes you a moment to process them. And aside from all the ways you want to reassure him that you will not regret choosing him—that you could never, ever regret anything about him—one thing stands out.

“You regret your first time?”

Something between a scoff and a sigh travels through the line. You can tell he’s not annoyed at you for asking so much as he’s flustered himself with all his own words as he occasionally does.

“Yeah. Yes. Sometimes I do. The person—she didn’t… like me as much as I liked her. And I was really, really in love with her, and she knew that and she knew she wasn’t in love with me—or maybe she was, I don’t know—but my point is, when one person likes the other more than the other person like them, things get complicated. And however you feel about me—that’s fine. It’s fine. I don’t want you to feel bad if we don’t feel exactly the same way about each other. I understand that this is newer for you, it’s different, I—I just don’t want us to do something we can’t undo because I don’t want to relive that. And I’m not saying it will never happen but I just don’t want you to make this choice when… when right now, I think we’re in different places emotionally. Regardless of that, I want you to choose the right person. I don’t want you to choose me and then find out that we feel differently after we sleep together and leave you feeling like you signed up for something you didn’t understand. I’m sorry. Maybe telling you this is selfish. But I’ve been thinking about it and trying to ignore it and I think I just have to be completely honest.”

Your ears ring like Spencer just fired a blank right into the microphone. Like you just got backhanded across the face and now you have the world’s worst case of whiplash.

Every finger is numb and your blood is so cold it feels blue as it slithers thick through your veins.

What you want to do is scream. What you want to do is go back to last night and stop yourself from almost telling him I love you, slap yourself and keep your cards a little closer to your chest. Because now he knows, and he doesn’t feel the same.

You want to scream bloody murder.

But when you try, when you unhinge your jaw and part your chapped lips and expect a bellow to come hurdling up the corridor of your throat with so much force it rattles your bones, all that falls out is a small, “oh.”

Maybe that’s worse.

Spencer doesn’t reply. You hate yourself for feeling obliged to fill the silence.

“I didn’t realize you…”

I didn’t realize that you don’t love me back.

I didn’t realize I like you more than you like me.

I didn’t realize you’d tell me to masturbate in your fucking bed and then drop this not even five minutes later.

If Spencer Reid was able to talk to you over the phone with the same amount of affection and familiarity as always, like everything was still okay, knowing you love him and he doesn’t love you the whole time, he is not who you thought he was.

“I’m sorry,” he lamely says again, like it could ever help.

More silence. Now you can’t bring yourself to speak, so Spencer does.

“I realize how awkward this is. I really didn’t mean to put you in this position. Especially not over the phone when I—god, I’m stupid. I’m sorry. But can we—can we talk about this in person when I get back? Please?”

Is that what grownups do? Is the proper etiquette for him to take you out to dinner and explain why he’s not in love with you? Is he going to break up with you?

What does one even wear to a breakup date?

“Okay,” you whisper. Your eyes sting, your everything stings, like you’ve been wrapped in a shroud of briar. Sheets that were soft a moment ago feel like sandpaper on open wounds. You feel like an open wound.

Spencer sighs. It’s a sound of relief that confuses and hurts you even more.

“Okay. I—okay. Thank you. Um—I’ll let you go back to sleep, now.”

“Okay,” you repeat—as if any of this were okay. But you can’t keep being that stupid girl who feels it all so much harder, who loves easily and begs to be loved in return, too naive to assume that someone who treats her so kindly might not reciprocate her feelings. It has to be okay, because if it’s not, you’re silly and dramatic and you’re just proving him right.

“Goodnight,” Spencer whispers, and you can’t help but feeling that it’s the last time you’ll ever hear those words from his mouth while you’re in his bed. And he’s not even fucking here.

So you pull the blanket a little higher. You let your tears stain his pillow because they’ll be invisible by the morning. It will be like they were never here. Like you were never here.

“Goodnight.”

part five

#spencer reid #spencer reid fic #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #criminal minds #criminal minds smut #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fic

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poetry-protest-pornography · 1 year ago

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Listen, friends.

Someone is going to be elected president in November. There are going to be two options. There is no world in which someone who is not Biden or the GOP nominee -- presumably, somehow, Trump -- win the election.

Is Biden my favorite politician? No.

Has he accomplished a ton of good things in the last three years? Absolutely yes.

Pretending otherwise is disingenuous and dangerous.

If you do not vote, you are voting for fascism, full stop. Because you know who always shows up to vote? Your shitty racist neighbors, and the white nationalists trying to stop affirmative action, and the homophobic gun owners who want the party that's made dismantling marriage equality and civil protections for queer people a part of their platform, and religious fundamentalists who believe that women should be the subject of their husbands. They vote in drives, because they don't demand perfection from their candidates, just that they hate the same way they do, and do it loudly.

This left wing thing where people yell about how voting for a candidate that doesn't check every box is a valid political protest is deeply stupid and absolutely wrong. All this accomplishes is to discourage voting and make people stop trying to push for better from our politicians.

Not voting for a candidate that doesn't do everything you want them to is giving a point to the one that wants to bring out loud fascism to the US.

There will be a winner in November, and it's going to be A or B. The system sucks, but it's the one we have, and if we don't vote for the one who is actively working for at least some of the right things, we're going to end up with the one that's working for stripping rights away from the majority of Americans.

Just fucking vote.

#vote #vote blue #us politics #this was more eloquent in my head but whatever I'm so fucking scared and angry #block me babs

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girlatmirror · 2 months ago

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couple’s getaway | jjk

you and jungkook spend the weekend before christmas with taehyung and his girlfriend at his cabin in the mountains, and you start it off with a bet.

rich! jungkook x reader

warnings: anal (minors you know what to do), kookie is rich asf, pda, tae and sasha are v cute, yn showing a hint of her crazy side, jk’s in loooove, christmas, mentions of marriage, pretty short imo, idk what else.

an extension to bend my rules 🫶🏼

It was the week before Christmas, and Taehyung had the amazing idea to invite you and Jungkook to his and Sasha’s now-yearly Christmas weekend getaway to his parents’ cabin in the mountains—a way to celebrate Christmas together while still being able to see family on actual Christmas Day.

Of course, you immediately agreed.

Your relationship with Jungkook was still new—almost two months—and it took the entire student body by surprise; finally, Jungkook could proudly say he proved everybody wrong.

The drive to the cabin was a nice bonding experience with the other couple—Taehyung driving, Jungkook sitting in the passenger seat, and you and Sasha in the back, already giddy about the two-day trip.

You very much loved the view of Jungkook’s broad shoulders, keeping your hands on them at all times.

“Sooo, what did you get Jungkook?” Sasha asked in a whisper tone, curiously.

You giggled, remembering the stupid thoughts that went into getting him a present. Your relationship with Jungkook wasn’t transactional at all; he paid for everything, bought you everything you ever wanted, and didn’t expect a thing in return. It was hard to think of a gift to give your rich boyfriend, who could snap his fingers and get whatever it was he wanted.

“I got him a massage gun for after his workouts and a card he can use whenever he wants anything, like a blowie or a home-cooked meal, and I’m not allowed to object to anything,” you explained in an equally quiet voice, excited to reveal your present. “Oh, and I also put in my used panties.”

There was no such thing as TMI in your friendship with Sasha—you knew everything about each other, down to the smallest details.

Sasha giggled mischievously in response. “Oh my god, Yn, that’s niiice. I got Tae a new camera; you know how much he loves photography.”

You let out a loud “awww,” which made Jungkook turn his head to you. The heated argument between Taehyung and Jungkook about who was the greatest NBA player of all time suddenly died down.

“What are you girls whispering about?” he smirked at you, which you reciprocated.

“Nothing, just how excited we are for the weekend,” you leaned in playfully, giving him a chance to capture your lips with his own.

The kiss quickly deepened as Jungkook turned his body entirely to you, both of you moaning softly into the kiss.

“You guys realize we’re here too, right?” Taehyung asked with a chuckle.

You ended the kiss slowly to lean into your seat again, only to be met with a smirking Sasha playfully pushing your leg with her hands.

“It’s alright, Tae; they’re still in that stage of the relationship,” she held onto his shoulders as she talked. “You remember how we were.”

“Were?” Jungkook asked, dumbfounded. “You guys are way worse than us!”

Taehyung and Sasha gasped dramatically in unison as if rehearsed. “Okay, bet. We’re gonna keep score of every PDA action between you and Yn and between Tae and me, and the couple that has the most loses. The losers have to clean the cabin before we leave.”

Taehyung, responsibly focused on driving, let out an agreeing sound to show Sasha he liked her idea.

“Deal!” Jungkook immediately replied, to which you giggled.

Finally arriving at the cabin, it was already 7. You all decided to only watch a movie tonight and start the real activities tomorrow.

Jungkook and Taehyung carried all the bags inside, and you took in the surroundings of the cabin; it was beyond beautiful. It was very secluded, no neighbors—only nature around.

“The bedrooms are upstairs; there are only two bathrooms—one downstairs and one upstairs,” Taehyung revealed, leading all of you into the house. “We’re gonna let the guests choose what bedroom they’d like to stay in, right, baby?”

Sasha nodded and smiled at the two of you.

“How very generous of you,” you thanked them as Jungkook took your hand, guiding you upstairs, your bags in the other.

You explored the upstairs rooms and decided to stay in the one that had the best view of the mountains—something you’d like to wake up to every day. The bed was big and comfortable, and the closet was, thankfully, big enough for the unnecessarily huge amount of clothes you brought with you.

“This is just wonderful,” you expressed to Jungkook, who immediately unpacked and undressed while you picked out the pajamas you were going to wear.

Jungkook opted for grey sweatpants and a white wifebeater (yummy), and you chose a baby blue satin pant set that you recently purchased while on a shopping spree with Jungkook. It did wonders for your figure.

“I’m glad you like it here,” he smiled lovingly. “Just want you to enjoy yourself this weekend—no college stress or nothing, okay?”

His strong arms engulfed you in a strong embrace; you immediately melted into him.

“Okay,” you quickly kissed his neck, your arms still firmly holding onto his bigger ones. “But we have to beat them at the PDA game. If you even think about touching me in front of them, I will break your fingers, got it?”

“Hey!” Jungkook called out while you exited the room, following behind you. “What if you can’t keep your hands off me? That’s also a possibility!”

“Pfff,” you mocked, walking down the stairs. “Likely story.”

Downstairs, you were met with the smell of warm apple cider. The warmth of the house in contrast to the freezing cold weather outside solidified the Christmas experience.

“We should watch Love Actually!” Sasha enthusiastically suggested.

“Oh my god, yes!” you immediately agreed with her, reciprocating the enthusiasm.

The two men looked at each other with unimpressed glances, both knowing the girls were going to end up getting what they wanted anyway, so there was no need to protest.

“Why do you look like that?” you challenged Jungkook when you noticed the exchanged glances. “You love a good rom-com; we always watch rom-coms when I come over!”

“Yeah, but it’s not like we’re actually watching them,” Jungkook implied with a sly smile, slowly groping your waist and kissing you.

Taehyung and Sasha watched the scene with amusement.

“Aaand,” Sasha suddenly moved to the fridge with a pen in her hand, where she had hung a piece of paper that said “Tae&Sasha vs. JK&YN.” “That goes on the list.”

You feigned anger at Jungkook, scolding him. “What did I just tell you about touching me?”

“Sorry, baby; you’re just so grabbable,” he cooed.

You all sat down on the spacious couch facing the TV as Taehyung put on Love Actually.

“Not a real word,” you grumpily replied.

“It is now.”

After the movie was finished, Taehyung had the idea to open presents, so everybody went and got their presents.

You got a present for Jungkook and one for Sasha; Sasha got one for you and one for Taehyung; Taehyung got one for Sasha and one for Jungkook; and Jungkook got one for Taehyung and one for you.

“Okay, during gift exchanges, we are allowed to kiss as much as we want without it getting put on the list, alright?” Sasha put out the rule, which everybody agreed with.

“Okay,” Taehyung took a sip of his wine. “Who wants to start?”

“Ladies first,” you replied, eating popcorn. “I think Sasha and I should give each other our presents first.”

“I’ll go first,” Sasha couldn’t contain her excitement as she handed you the stylish pink gift bag.

You took it with a cute “thank youuu” and started unwrapping the gifts; there were three wrapped gifts of different sizes. You decided to open the smallest one first and go from there.

All three of them watched with curiosity as you carefully unwrapped it, revealing a Fenty Beauty contour stick. “Oh my god! I was just about to buy that for myself, S; thank you so much.”

“I know! You ran out of yours,” she grinned like a baby, wiggling with joy. “Go on, go on.”

The second gift was a gua sha, something you had mentioned you wanted to buy before but never did. You felt absolutely loved, knowing you had a friend who remembered those things about you.

The big present was a Vogue journal, which you took the time to admire; it was the most beautiful thing ever. “Oh my god, Sasha! I love you; come here.”

You hugged for a while, really expressing your gratitude.

“Is that going on the list?” Tae asked humorously when you finally pulled away from the hug.

“Okay, now it’s time for your present,” you pulled out the box of presents.

Sasha was all about clothes and fashion, so it was always easy to buy her presents. You got her sunglasses, a chic Ralph Lauren sweater, a personalized gold necklace that said “Sasha Fierce,” and a scented candle. She flipped out and went in for another hug.

“I have the best best friend ever!” she yelled out. “Now, Jungkook and Yn, you give each other your gifts. I’m very curious.”

Jungkook clapped his hands together as if he were waiting for this very moment a long time, and you sheepishly handed your present to him.

With each gift he opened, his smirk grew bigger in appreciation. He held the massage gun with a grin. “We can use that for other stuff too, you know?”

You giggled like a schoolgirl in love, forgetting that your other friends were there for a moment, cuddling up to his side comfortably. “Read the card.”

“Jungkook’s wish card,” he started reading. “Yn Ln has to do whatever Jungkook Jeon wishes as soon as he pulls out this card; she is not allowed to object. Valid until next Christmas. It’s even laminated; wow.”

Everybody started laughing, admiring your creativity. Jungkook kissed you passionately with a “thank you, my baby; you know me so well,” whispered in your ear, followed by a “I’ll put those panties to good use,” that sent shivers down your spine as you leaned in for another kiss.

“Okay, Yn, now you open Jungkook’s gift!” Sasha ordered, so you did.

Jungkook’s present was a huge box that you carefully put in your lap and opened. In it lay a big diamond-encrusted Birkin bag.

You and Sasha gasped in disbelief, lost for words.

“Hope you like it, baby,” Jungkook stated with a brush on your arm when you sat in silence for a few seconds.

“I love it!” you shouted, jumping on him and kissing him all over his face and simultaneously banging at his chest with your small hands. “How could you do this?! I hate you so much!”

Taehyung was beyond confused, not knowing what the fuss was about but still able to appreciate the beauty of the bag.

Jungkook just laughed at your changing moods that he got used to by now and kissed you back, his hands on your waist. “Just wanna make you happy.”

After the chaos that Jungkook’s present brought died down a little, Taehyung and Sasha exchanged their gifts; for Sasha, a Dyson Airwrap that she went crazy for, and for Taehyung, a vintage camera he adored.

The rest of the evening was filled with storytelling, snacks, and stolen kisses until you all decided to go upstairs and call it a night.

“I can’t believe you got me a Birkin bag,” you whispered into his chest as you just stood in the middle of the bedroom, hugging.

You were both very physical people; it was something that Jungkook made you realize about yourself.

“What did you think I was gonna get you?” he asked, amusement lacing his voice as he rocked you back and forth.

You thought about it for a moment and quickly came to the conclusion that it wasn’t at all out of character for Jungkook to get you an extravagant gift. “Okay, it actually totally makes sense that you got me a Birkin bag. But it’s not even my birthday; it’s Jesus’ birthday.”

Jungkook laughed heartily and kissed the top of your head. “I’ll get him one next year. Now, let’s go; I wanna take a shower.”

After taking everything you need with you, you entered the bathroom together and locked the door behind you before you both started undressing.

Jungkook’s eyes roamed over your bare body hungrily as you entered the shower just behind him and let your hair down carefully.

“I haven’t washed my hair in three days; it’s time to do that now,” you stated, grabbing the shampoo bottle, but before you could open it, Jungkook grabbed you by the hips and leaned in to kiss you.

The warm water streamed down your bodies as you deepened the kiss, and his wandering hands were now on your ass. You looked up and down his sculpted body, getting aroused by the sight of him all hard and muscular.

“Remember the first time I had you in the shower?” he breathed against your full lips, kneading your ass. You simply nodded. “Let’s recreate that.”

You would have lied if you had said that your pussy wasn’t wet since the morning and that you hadn’t been waiting desperately to have sex with him the entire day, but you had to wash your hair now. “Jungkook, I gotta wash my hair; sorry.”

“Give me that,” he nodded to the shampoo bottle, which you handed to him. “Now, turn around.”

Once you turned around, he moved your hair to the side to reveal your entire back and grabbed you by the hips. He fisted his huge dick before slowly entering your ass. He squeezed some shampoo into his hand and started massaging your hair with it.

You gasped, “Jungkook!” before leaning into him closer until your ass hit his hips. He first started thrusting slowly, letting out low grunts that sent shivers down your spine before his thrusts began to hasten.

You arched your back, and your moans became louder; the clapping of his hips against your ass sounded like fireworks. You were sure if there were any neighbors, they would’ve heard you.

“You like that, huh?” Jungkook growled, head tilted back in pure pleasure. “You like when I’m fucking this fat ass, yeah? This ass was made for me to drill.”

“Yes, I love it, Kookie,” your desperation was palpable. “Please, don’t stop; don’t ever stop.”

His hands massaged your hair again, as if to not abandon it, before he suddenly lifted you up with ease and started fucking into you like you were a toy. He was hitting all the spots, your chest bouncing up and down, and your combined moans had never been louder.

“You feel so fucking good,” Jungkook grunted, his hands finding the opportunity to spank you harshly. “Just a little more, baby. I’m 'bout to cum; fuck, I’m 'bout to cum.”

Your own orgasm was nearing too, but you were too lost in your pleasure to say anything. A few thrusts later, you felt a warm flood of cum enter your ass and a breathless Jungkook kissing your neck.

You collapsed against Jungkook, whose strong hands held you upright. “You exhausted, baby?”

You nodded, with a pout on your lips. “Can’t feel my legs right now.”

Jungkook chuckled, cleaning your body with your coconut body wash. “It’s okay, baby; I’ll clean us up, and then we’ll go to bed.”

The next morning was surprisingly sunny, yet still freezing. You went downstairs to find everybody already awake; you blamed the sex you had last night for the fact that you woke up so late.

“Morning, princess,” Jungkook called out with a big grin. “You sleep well?”

Sasha chimed in, sarcastically, “Yeah, Yn, did you sleep well?”

You simply nodded and said, “Yeah, what about you guys?” before going up to the fridge to get something to drink when you saw something.

There was another line added to yours and Jungkook’s side of the sheet.

“Hey, why is there another strike on here?” you asked in disbelief. “The only PDA that happened was yesterday before opening presents!”

Sasha and you were truly the only ones invested in this competition; the guys just looked at each other in amusement, finding their girlfriends absolutely adorable.

“Are you serious?” Sasha snapped. “That show you two put on last night was very much PDA; we heard everything! Right, baby?”

Taehyung vigorously nodded his head as if not to give her a reason to be mad.

“Well, I’m sorry, but that’s not PDA if you didn’t see anything!” you argued. “It’s called a display of affection for a reason!”

“You disrupted our sleep! It deserves to be on here,” she declared with conviction.

“I’ll tell you where you deserve to be—” you started until Jungkook cut you off.

“It’s okay, baby; we’ll get them back soon enough,” he assured you with a cute smile. “Just eat breakfast before you say things you might regret.”

You simply abided by his wishes and sat down next to them at the kitchen table and started eating.

After spending two hours hiking and exploring the little town, you and Sasha were exhausted, but the guys weren’t; they actually decided to go to the gym, which was about a 20-minute drive from the cabin.

While they were at the gym, you and Sasha cozied up on the living room couch, her legs over yours.

“This is so much fun,” Sasha dreamily said. “We are best friends dating best friends; I love that for us.”

“Hmmm,” you agreed. “I feel like I can’t imagine it any other way, you know? Like Jungkook and I have been dating for two months—not even—and I already can’t imagine a life where I’m not with him.”

Sasha smiled softly. “And to think this is the guy that you rejected for two years…”

“I know! This is what’s kind of scaring me,” you started ranting. “Jungkook has been into me this whole time, and now, now he has me. I’m scared that there was a version of me inside his head that I can’t live up to, you know?”

Taking a sip from her orange juice, Sasha pulled a confused face. “I think that’s you overthinking because why would that even be the case? He has you now, but the effort he puts into making you happy didn’t go away; actually, on the contrary, he’s putting in more effort because the guy loves you, Yn.”

Your heart warmed at the mere thought of Jungkook, a man who made every other man look less than.

“Yeah, you’re right,” you stated. “You know how I get when something is so good that it doesn’t feel real; I’m just really paranoid. It doesn’t matter; tell me what’s up with you and Mr. Taehyung.”

Sasha suddenly started to smile like a child in a candy store. “He’s so amazing, Yn! But I gotta tell you something…”

Your eyes widened in curiosity. “What? What is it?”

She took a deep breath before saying, “Okay, so… you know how Tae and Jungkook are graduating this year and Tae already got an offer to work again at this firm after? Well, he’s been hinting at… marriage a lot lately, and I… I found a ring while I was sleeping over at his place last week.”

You jumped up with your hand over your mouth. “SHUT UP! This is sooo exciting; oh my god, this is just… this is so amazing!”

“Yeah,” she formed a small smile. “But I don’t know… I feel like I don’t know if I’m ready for marriage yet; it’s so huge.”

You put her head on your chest and soothingly ran your hand over her shoulder. “Sasha, you think about this as much as you need, but if you want to hear my opinion on it, I think if he does propose, you should at least consider it. I mean, you don’t have to get married right away! You can take your time; it will be exactly like now, but you’ll just have a ring on your finger.”

Sasha started to grin like an idiot. “I mean, it is a very impressive ring; I can’t deny that.”

“Oooh, well don’t leave me hanging; I want the deets!”

Meanwhile, the guys finished their gym session and made their way to the nearest store to get everything you needed for the Christmas dinner you were going to cook.

Jungkook held the list in his hand, smiling down at it as his eyes scanned over your handwriting, which he adored.

“What are you smiling about?” Taehyung inquired.

“Nothing, just Yn’s pretty handwriting,” Jungkook shook his head and smiled cutely.

Taehyung chuckled. “Finally got your girl, huh?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook shined with pride. “Finally.”

Suddenly, in the middle of the snacks aisle, Taehyung stopped, holding a bag of chips.

“I need to tell you something, man,” Taehyung began, as if deep in thought, to which Jungkook simply nodded at him. “So, I’ve been bringing up the idea of… marriage a lot with Sasha, but she’s kinda—how do I say this—she gets dismissive whenever I mention it, changing the topic, looking kinda uncomfortable, and I’m scared that when I propose, she won’t say yes.”

Jungkook searched for the right words to say, wanting to comfort his friend. “Well, I think you should communicate it with her. When girls do that, it doesn’t necessarily mean they aren’t into you; they just overthink everything, see every possible outcome first, you know? And hey, just take me as an example; I hopelessly chased Yn for two years; now she’s my girlfriend. The important thing is you don’t give up.”

“I know she loves me, but she acts so weird whenever I say anything—even the most subtle thing about getting married—and you know I’m really good at being subtle!” Taehyung’s frustration was evident. “I already got the ring; I’m just waiting for the right moment, just waiting for her to give me the feeling that she wants this.”

“Maybe this subtlety is what isn’t working,” Jungkook suggested. “Sometimes, you just need to be honest, direct; say what’s on your mind.”

Taehyung looked at him, dumbfounded. “Ey, just ‘cause there isn’t a subtle bone in your body doesn’t mean everybody’s like that, okay?!”

Jungkook chuckled, recognizing the conflict within his best friend. “Alright, you do you, but if it were me, I’d listen to the master.”

“The master of what exactly? Making a fool of himself?” Taehyung jested. “You waited two years for that girl to say yes to a date; man, you’re no master of anything.”

“Ey, man, don’t piss me off!”

After lazily sitting on the couch, you both decided to bake Christmas cookies to kill some time until the guys came back.

Following the sound of Taehyung’s car pull up in the driveway, Jungkook entered the house with two bags filled with groceries and snacks, Taehyung following behind him with equally filled bags.

“Hey, you two!” you welcomed them. “How was the gym?”

“It was good, baby. We went to the store, got you everything you wanted,” Jungkook stepped into the kitchen, where you and Sasha just finished baking the cookies, and was about to kiss your lips, but you threateningly shook your head, the competition still on your mind.

To make up for the lost kiss, though, you grabbed a cookie and held it up to his mouth.

“A cookie for my Kookie,” you leaned towards him over the kitchen counter, accentuating your breasts, feeding him the cookie playfully.

His knowing smirk spoke volumes as he ate the cookie, already mentally preparing for the things he was going to do to you once you’re in your room.

Taehyung brought up the last bag of groceries and greeted his girlfriend with a big smile and an even bigger kiss, which she immediately reciprocated passionately.

“Ha-ha!!” you yelled, gloating. “Finally, I can put you down on the list!”

You danced happily, without noticing Jungkook watching you with heart eyes.

After cleaning the counter and organizing the groceries, you got started on your huge Christmas meal: a roast turkey with stuffing, mashed potatoes, yams, roasted vegetables, and cornbread.

After four hours of you slaving away in the kitchen and all three of them asking if you wanted help— to which you always replied “No! I hate it when I’m cooking and someone’s in my space!”—you finished your feast, and Taehyung went on to prepare the pumpkin pie for dessert.

After stuffing yourself with food and brushing your teeth, everybody went to their respective bedrooms.

You opted for stretchy, tight shorts and Jungkook’s sweater (that you stole), and Jungkook was in his boxers. Comfortable in each other’s arms, you two laid on the spacious bed in serene silence.

Deciding to break the silence, you leaned into him and asked, “How was it with Taehyung today?”

Jungkook sighed softly, touching your head with his lips gently and replied, “It was nice; he’s got a lot on his mind though.”

Curiosity took over you for a second, and your mind raced with the possibility of it being the same thing Sasha talked to you about. “What about?”

His hands were now rubbing your back under the thick covers, adding warmth to your skin.

“I feel like there’d be a conflict of interest if I told you,” he admitted hesitantly. “It’s about Sasha.”

Your heartbeat quickened for a second until you decided to play a game. “I think I know what it’s about…”

“Yeah?” Jungkook smirked at you, challenging. “What is it about?”

“You go first,” you provoked, a finger poking his chest. “Unless you don’t wanna have sex for a week.”

“Okay, so,” he gave in immediately, sitting up straight, symbolizing his readiness to have a conversation about your friends. “Taehyung wants to propose to Sasha, but he thinks she doesn’t wanna marry him.”

“Yeaaah,” you said, unimpressed. “She already knows all of that.”

Jungkook expressed his shock, raising his eyebrows in a questioning manner, which he quickly changed back to normal. “No, you don’t understand; he even bought her a ring.”

You nodded, still unimpressed. “And he’s apparently really bad at hiding it.”

“No!” Jungkook exclaimed in disbelief. “Haha, bastard thinks he’s so subtle too…”

After his short gloating session, he suddenly turned to you face to face, curiosity written all over his face. “So?? What does she think? Is she into the idea, or completely against it, or what?”

“It’s complicated,” you explained. “She loves him, but she has so much to think about. On one hand, she feels like she’s not ready for such a commitment, and on the other, she wants nothing more than to spend her life with him.”

“Oof… well that’s better than what Tae thinks; he’s kinda convinced she doesn’t want it at all,” Jungkook let out a relieved sigh. “I mean, he’s not gonna propose tomorrow; he’s just thinking more like… next couple of months, you know?”

“Yeah, I told Sasha that she should take it into consideration; I mean, they have been together for almost two years now,” you observed, your head now on his chest. “And he has a stable future ahead of him. I understand why he wants to propose now; doesn’t mean they have to get married immediately.”

Your conversation made Jungkook ponder what your reaction would be if you found an engagement ring at his place; if you would panic, if you would cry tears of joy or sadness. He hoped you knew all the comments and “jokes” he made about making you his wife weren’t jokes.

“You’re right,” he agreed with you in a soft tone. “But promise me something.”

“What?” you asked.

“If there was ever a similar problem in our life, the only people we talk about it with is us,” he asserted. “I don’t ever wanna make you feel you can’t come to me and tell me everything, okay?”

“I promise,” was your answer.

On the last day of that weekend getaway, all of you—Jungkook—thought it was a nice idea to go paragliding as an exciting farewell to the mountains. Despite you thinking you were going to die, you ended up agreeing that it was a great experience to make.

Eventually, you had to say goodbye to the little cabin that would forever hold a special place in your heart.

The departure would’ve been much more emotional if it weren’t for Taehyung’s and Sasha’s triumphant expressions as they watched you and Jungkook clean and scrub the entire house while they sat comfortably on the couch, making out.

thank you sm for the support on my first post on here 🥹 if you have any requests pls pls send them to me!! also i’m sorry, i don’t really know what a tag list is. tell me your opinion on this one!! thanks ❄️

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lionizingheathen · 6 months ago

Note

umm face riding with harry?? pleaseee

Yeah, no problem

Harry Potter x fem!reader

Warnings: Smut, oral sex reader receiving, face riding

"You should ride my face." You choked on your own breath for a moment before looking over at your boyfriend, who was tossing around an old ball like he hadn't just said something so forward... He'd gotten more forward after the war, after he was done with all the uncertainty and chaos but Merlin, you'd never be used to it.

"Pardon me?" You asked, your voice breaking over the words as he grinned over at you, seeming equal parts eager and concerned, like he was worried he'd said something wrong, which was not at all the case.

"You... Sorry, is that not something you're interested in?" He asked, tossing the ball aside as he turned towards you, resting his hand on your thigh. You cleared your throat, squeezing your thighs together as you felt your cunt throb at his touch.... Of course you wanted to ride his face, who wouldn't?

"No, i mean... Of course it is I just didn't expect you to be so candid... most people don't just say 'you should ride my face', they beat around the bush a little." You said, feeling a little shaky as you looked at him. All he did was sit up and nod a little, clearing his throat as he pulled his hand away from you.

You missed his touch the second it was gone.

"Normally I would too but I... I've been thinking about it a lot." "About you a lot, and I just... Please ride my face?"

"What if I crush you?" You asked, a question that you knew was stupid the second you looked at his face and saw his confused expression - you hadn't meant to confuse him, all you were saying was what if you fucking killed him? You'd be killing the savior of the wizarding world, that sounded like a terrible thing!

"Huh?" He asked, and you sighed, throwing your hands up before you covered your face with them, embarrassed that you were even thinking about that.

You wanted to disappear.

"I don't want to smother you! That would be mortifying." You said, your tone coming out far more defensive than you had intended. Harry chuckled, shaking his head as he looked at you, clearly not even slightly worried about that.

"I'm a big boy, Y/N. I can handle myself." He laid on his back, gesturing you over with a wide smile. "Now c'mere... Ride my face." You snorted, rolling your eyes even as you sat up.

Eager boy.

"I never said yes." He paused then, looking at you expectantly.

"Well...?" He asked, trailing off as you sighed, nodding before you slipped your panties off, seeing the hungry expression on his face.

Down, boy.

"If we do this, and you can't breathe-." He cut you off, waving you off like your concerns for his health were unimportant, but in your opinion they were very important... He needed to listen.

"Obviously I will tell you, now come here, I can't wait much longer." He insisted, and you chuckled, shaking your head even as you swung your thigh over his head, positioning your cunt over his face, pausing before you settled down.

"You're so needy." You said, and he nodded, looking up without any shame... God, he wasn't paying attention to a single word out of your mouth, was he?

"Only because you're fit as hell." He mumbled, bringing his hands up so that he could use his thumbs to spread you open. God, don't stare... "That's like... Part of it." You snorted, shaking your head.

Cute.

"Part of it? Very eloquent, Potter." You said, and he rolled his eyes, finally meeting yours before he spoke.

"Shut up."

"Funny, pretty sure you'll be the one doing-." He pulled you down suddenly, making you let out a gasp as he lapped his tongue over your cunt. You gripped onto the headboard and sighed. "That... Bloody hell..." You mumbled, feeling his fingers dig into your thighs as he buried his tongue inside you, his nose bumping against your clit as you moved your cunt against him.

Oh god...

"Mmm..." Your head was already fucking spinning and he'd hardly even started.

"Oh, that feels... So good." Glasses. "Your glasses, hold on... Hold on, Harry." You breathed, and he groaned when he pulled away, looking at you like you'd committed a crime against him.

Relax, pretty boy.

"I don't care-." You cut him off and carefully removed them from his face, shaking your head. It was cute that he was so eager, but the last thing you needed was any looks from anyone if he showed up to work tomorrow with broken glasses.

"I do. I don't want to explain why there's tape on them tomorrow." You said, and he snorted, shaking his head like it was a non-issue was he wrapped his arms around your thighs.

"I know how to fix my glasses, Y/N." Obviously, but you didn't want to give him a reason why he had to do that... You weren't really in the market of making someone blind.

"Either way." You set them on the nightstand before settling over him again. "There. Now you can go." You said, and he rolled his eyes, but nodded at you.

"Thank you." Perfect.

"So polite..." He lapped his tongue over you frantically, like he was trying to map your cunt and remember each and every fold, every inch from taste alone... God, was there anything he wasn't good at? "Just like that, yes, just like that." You whined, feeling his tongue trace over your clit.

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.

"Mmm... Suck my clit, good boy..." You mumbled, grinding down on his face with a sigh, feeling shivers through your whole body... It was no wonder he was good at this, he was already great at giving head and that was something you knew.

"Look so perfect under me... I..." You gasped, feeling a hand leave your thigh, but you didn't think much of it, you were too lost in the feeling of his tongue against you, how he sucked on your clit and moaned like he was in heaven.

Fuck...

"Harry... Please..." You weren't even sure what you were asking for, all you knew was that your orgasm was coming fast, and Harry was too lost in his own world to notice... Or he didn't care and intended to work you right past it, which wouldn't surprise you.

"Close... Getting close." You whined, and Harry nodded under you, letting out a whimper of his own, but you weren't sure why... Hell, you couldn't bring yourself to care, all you knew was that you were gonna cum, and Harry wanted you to.

Really, that was all it took to send you over the edge as you shivered against his face, reaching down to tug his hair as you let out long moans of his name... Fuck, you were seeing stars, and he was not stopping.

"Shitshitshit..." You slumped against the wall, shivering as his tongue continued to move before you slipped off of him and gently pried his face from between your legs, wiping his mouth with your thumb. "Jesus Christ, Potter." You mumbled, watching as he quickly sat up, walking away from you.

Huh?

"What?" He asked, sounding worried, and you were quick to shake your head. All you meant by that was that he made you feel so fucking good.

He reappeared and you grinned, shaking your head as you sat up to meet him with a kiss.

"Nothing... You are marvelous, sweet boy." You said, ruffling your fingers through his hair with a sigh as he spread your legs, carefully cleaning between them with a soft smile, leaving a kiss just above your cunt.

"Did that feel good?" He asked, and you nodded. Obviously that felt good, you would've told him if it hadn't felt good... But it was still nice that he asked.

He was the only guy you'd been with you ever bothered to.

"That felt so good..." You breathed, looking at him with a wide smile as he settled down beside you again. "Did you enjoy yourself?"

"Mhm... Plenty." He mumbled, and you furrowed your brows before it dawned on you. He'd cum while going down on you.

Fuck, that was hot.

"Oh." You breathed, feeling your cunt throb as you thought about just how turned on he must've been. He must've taken that for disgust, because he cleared his throat and looked away from you, taking a deep breath.

"Sorry if that's off-putting you're just... really hot." He mumbled, and you shook your head, wetting your lips as you looked back at his face, placing your hand against his cheek.

There was nothing wrong with him being excited while you were doing that, or with him handling himself... Your only regret was that it hadn't been your hands.

Next time it would be.

"That's so sexy, honestly." He let out a breath of relief as you dew him in for a long, lingering kiss, resting your foreheads against each other when you pulled away. "Though next time... Let me handle it, okay?" You asked, and he nodded eagerly, smiling widely as he pulled back from you.

Cutie.

"Absolutely." You chuckled, leaning in to kiss him again before speaking.

He just... Demanded it. Something in the way that Harry James Potter existed demanded affection.

"Amazing." You tucked against his chest, listening to the soft hum of his voice and the sound of his heartbeat as you let yourself relax, the serene moment filling your every thought.

Perfection.

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