#and how easily she takes me apart with a few lines

[careful-fear]

the witchwood knot, olivia atwater

#here to shout about how much i love this author and her books #and how easily she takes me apart with a few lines #so much care and thought is put into these books #and i adore

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 2

in which fem!reader is feeling insecure about how inexperienced she is around spencer's friends and seeks his expertise to amend the problem

series masterlist

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: inexperienced reader, oral f receiving, (MUNCH!SPENCE RETURNS), fingering, (very) insecure reader, softdom!spencer, sub reader, nipple stuff, kinda sorta implied age gap, god i'm probably forgetting things pls lmk if i missed something important a/n: i've been laboring at this bad boy every day for so long i had to immediately post once it was completed lol. there will be a part three ... maybe i already started it ..... anyway i love u guys and i hope this is a satisfactory part two!! PLS lmk if you liked it!! hearing from u makes my day :')

When Spencer dropped you off at Penelope’s apartment for your first girl’s night—the hostess had promised you, JJ, and Emily lots of gossip sans 'icky men'—you had been ecstatic. You wouldn’t stop rambling to him about how excited you were. 

When he picks you up two and a half hours later, he can hardly get a word out of you. 

It’s not his fault, of course—well, not really, anyway. It’s just that all the girls had wanted to talk about was sex. A topic on which you held very little expertise and had essentially nothing to contribute. Out of the four, you were the only non-FBI agent, the youngest, and undoubtedly the least experienced. It was like high school all over again, except you actually desperately wanted to impress Spencer’s friends. All in all, you weaseled your way out of sharing without giving away that you were still very much a virgin. Sure, you could have said ‘we did hand stuff two weeks ago’, but you had a feeling these women wouldn’t consider that very impressive. 

But you can’t easily relay that information to Spencer—even when he immediately picks up on your sullen mood. He asks you what’s wrong as you make your way down the echoey staircase, but you hold back, muttering something along the lines of we’ll talk about it later. 

Later doesn’t come on the sidewalk outside. It doesn’t come in the car, or at any point during the twenty minute drive, but you feel it rapidly approaching as you climb the stairs to Spencer’s apartment. He unlocks the door and holds it open for you, doesn’t speak as you kick off your shoes and wander aimlessly into the living room.

“Did you eat?” He finally asks, hanging his keys on a hook by the door and glancing over to where you linger in the center of the room like a ghost. 

“Not hungry.”

You both know that wasn’t the question, but he lets it go. 

“Alright... well, I was thinking—“

“Why haven’t we had sex?”

The question flies from your mouth before you can stop it. It tastes like metal and you wish you could take it back as you stand there, cheeks hot and awaiting a reply. It seems you’ve thoroughly astonished Spencer as he gapes at you like a fish out of water for several silent moments, eventually opting to shove his hands in his pockets and shake his head at the wall as he processes the question. 

“I… I don’t know. We just haven’t. Does that bother you?”

Suddenly your whole body feels intolerably warm. Your fingers twitch against your thighs. Of course it bothers you. 

“Do you just not want to? You aren’t attracted to me like that?”

God, you despise how fragile your voice sounds—how much you obviously care, how insecure you clearly are. Spencer picks up on it, despite your most fervent wishing that he wouldn’t, and approaches, stopping a few feet away. You stare at the span of oriental design on the floor between your feet. 

“That’s not at all what I said, angel. I wish you wouldn’t put words in my mouth.”

“Well, then… say something else,” you plead quietly, childishly, still unable to meet his eyes. Prove me wrong. 

He sighs, which does not bode well for you. You wonder if you accidentally triggered the early demise of your relationship and christ do you wish you could rewind. When he steps closer, when his hands find your arms, you’re not sure where to look. But the low, sweet tone of his voice entices you to finally meet his gaze, charmed like a snake as his eyes dart between yours. 

“You know that’s not how I feel.”

You shake your head earnestly, looking up at him with wide eyes as he slowly rubs your arms. 

“No. No, I don’t know that.”

Spencer frowns, glancing at your lips as he speaks. It’s impossible to not do the same when he’s standing so close. 

“But I’ve told you. I don’t understand how you couldn’t know how far from the truth that is.”

You think back to two weeks ago—the first and only time he’d ever done anything more than kiss you. A different kind of flush replaces the shameful one in your cheeks as you try to make your case and not get distracted by the memories of his hands all over you.

“So why won’t you prove it?”

It’d been intended to come out cool, but instead you sound a little desperate, a little out of breath as you realize you and Spencer somehow ended up so close to each other you can feel the warmth radiating from his body. 

“Is that what you need from me? More proof?”

He speaks so lowly, his fingers press into the flesh of your arms portentously, and you think maybe you’ve poked the bear one too many times. But you won’t back down now—not when you think you might actually get what you want. 

So you look up at him and nod, throat too dry to speak. His eyes are deceptively soft, but you don’t miss the big bad something lurking just beneath the surface of the placid hazel. 

“And how do you think I should prove it?”

“I told you what I want,” you whisper, speaking above your pounding heart. 

“Not tonight, honey. Choose something else.”

“Well—that’s not fair,” you stammer, “the whole point is for you to want to have sex with me.”

Spencer smiles a little, tucking hair behind your ear. “I do want that. I promise you I do. But there are other things I want us to do first.”

“Then I want to do that, too! I just—I don’t know what I’m doing, and you do, and I’m already out on a limb by asking for this much. I know this is what I want but I need you to take the lead here. I trust you, Spencer.” You top off the monologue with an imploring gaze—hoping it delivers even a fraction of the impact that his puppy-dog eyes always have on you. 

He seems to study every square inch of your face as you wait in suspense for him to say something. At long last, his lips part—to no avail for several more seconds as he regards you. 

When the words finally do come, they’re an immense relief of pressure. 

“You’re going to promise me that you’ll communicate honestly. That means telling me if we need to slow down or stop, or if you don’t like something—”

“I promise,” you say, perhaps over-eagerly, offering him your extended little finger. 

An incredulous smile narrows his eyes. 

“Is this a pinky-promise?”

“It is.” You wiggle the finger in emphasis, and he shakes his head, smiling wider as you link pinkies. 

“I left you with Garcia for far too long.”

You shush him, disentangling your hands to cup his jaw and press your lips to his. It’s sweet and smiley until it isn’t—until everything slows down like sticky molasses and his hand is ghosting over your cheek, your neck, the curve of your waist, finally substantiating itself on your hip—the other encouraging you to tilt your head back as he deepens the kiss and you feel yourself melting under the heat of his touch. 

The pressure of his body against yours builds until you’re forced to take a step back, and then another, and another. Without question you allow yourself to be herded toward the bedroom, walked slowly backward as he keeps kissing you and blindly trusting he’ll make sure you don’t run in to anything. The bedroom door clicks shut behind him, and it is in all practicality a pointless gesture—but you find it incredibly comforting nonetheless.  

It’s too warm beneath your sweater and his hands are cool as they slip under the hem, sliding against the curve of your hip. Spencer’s never seen you without a shirt, you realize, as he pulls away from the kiss by only centimeters.  

“Off?” he mutters, thumbing at the knit fabric. And while you’re far from confident, you’ve certainly been making progress in this area. You help him tug it over your head without a word, noting a distinct and surprising lack of terror within yourself as you watch for his reaction to you. Hands glide slowly up your waist and you find yourself enchanted by the slight furrow of his brow, the parting of his lips. He traces down the lacy edge of your bra, skimming sensitive skin as he goes. 

“Pretty,” he murmurs. “You’re… so pretty.”

It seems you’ve rendered him uncharacteristically prosaic. The reaction might be underwhelming if it were anyone else—but Spencer Reid is a man who probably knows every synonym for pretty in the English language. Looking at you, he can’t think of a single one. In an odd way, it’s the highest compliment he could pay you. Your cheeks heat and your stomach flips as he drags a knuckle up the center of the cup, and you can feel it through the layers of lace and fabric. He leans forward, ghosting his lips over yours and continuing to run his fingers over the sensitive spot. “Do you know how pretty you are?”

This is one argument you will not be winning—one he’ll keep bringing up at the most inopportune times until he gets his way. 

“Spencer…”

“Don’t Spencer me. I’m asking you a question.”

The words don’t seem nearly as harsh as they really are when they’re delivered velvet-soft, with his lips and hands on you—when he’s so deftly popping the button on your jeans and dragging the zipper down with all the quickness of a slight-of-hand. It makes it hard to focus, even harder to speak. 

“We have… we have differing views on this matter.”

Generous handfuls of your hips and ass are taken as he helps you tug down your jeans before you kick them off, now left just in your underwear. 

“I thought I argued my point fairly well last time you were here. You didn’t learn anything from that?”

“Mm… maybe you just need to remind me.”

“Oh, I think I have to,” he agrees through a smile you can only hear. Gentle fingers skim up your back and tap the clasp of your bra. “How about this? Can we take this off?”

Any confidence from earlier crumbles and you loose a nervous hum—which is not the enthusiastic yes you’re sure Spencer will be seeking all evening. He pulls away, features etched with the beginnings of concern and a searching gaze. Asking would be unnecessary; the words simply come tumbling out of you. 

“What if you don’t like how I look?”

Spencer doesn’t even blink.

“That’s not going to happen.”

How you wish you could have the same assuredness in yourself that he seems to. 

“But what if… what if you’ve been with other girls who are more, like—I don’t know, just—better? Prettier?”

“Honey, you’re—” a sigh, a pause as he searches for the words—his eyes dart up and down your form, assessing, and when he looks back up at you, they’ve cleared and softened. He pulls you a little closer, rubbing circles into your back with his thumb. “I’m not thinking about anyone else right now. I’m not interested in anyone else right now. I already think you’re perfect, and I’m going to keep thinking that regardless of how you look. When I look at you, I’m not looking for things to critique. Do you understand me?”

As far as sentiments go, it’s a nice one. But the pressure of being seen still feels like an impossible burden. You whine, leaning your head against Spencer’s chest. He accepts your weight and runs his hand over your back as you look up at him. 

“But what if I’m hideously deformed?”

His eyebrows raise. 

“You’re not.”

“But what if I am?”

“Okay. It seems like you don’t feel ready yet, which is completely fine, we just won’t—”

“No!” you protest. “I am ready. I am. But… you have to promise to be nice to me no matter what. Or break up with me if you don’t like what you see so I don't have to wonder.”

“You’re ridiculous,” he says, kissing you, “and the only thing I’m willing to promise is that I’ll think you’re perfect. Me being nice will come as a natural byproduct of that which is very different than being nice by artifice. Take it or leave it.”

A moment of hesitance—but it’s short-lived. This is more important than your insecurities. Spencer is more important. 

“Take it,” you mumble against his lips. His fingers trace up the smooth skin of your back, all the way to the fabric and metal hooks on your bra. 

“Thank you.”

You wouldn’t have thought Spencer’s genius would manifest in being really good at undoing the clasp of a bra, but you can truly say you’re impressed by the ease with which he does it. It falls to the floor, leaving you completely shirtless for the first time in front of him. 

“Well?” you murmur, arms crossed defensively underneath your chest, because you understand overtop would sort of ruin the whole thing. “What’s the verdict?”

“You,” Spencer manages after a moment—you literally watch him memorizing every square inch of your body— “are ridiculously beautiful.”

The way his voice gets quieter makes your stomach flip. It sounds genuine. Too genuine to be faked. 

“So… no breakup?”

It seems that the more vulnerable you feel, the less likely you are to take a compliment. Spencer, who is always seeking patterns, probably recognizes this one, and doesn’t push you so hard this time. After a silent moment, he sighs and cradles your face in his hands. 

“You’re gorgeous. I hate how incapable you are of seeing that. We’re going to talk about this.”

“Yeah, but not right now, right?” you murmur, standing up on your tiptoes to kiss him. 

“Not right now,” he agrees. 

His lips are so soft and gentle against your own it feels like love, it feels like being talked down from the ledge of your own insanity. Somehow the way he strokes your hip feels more nurturing than sexual. It’s like he has sex and chaste affection on tap, able to turn them on and off at will. You’re happy to drown in either. Ideally, both.

After a while, his hands begin roaming farther, become bolder in their excursions over your flesh. Up, down, over your waist and ribs. Clearly Spencer had been trying to ease you into it, but you still can’t hide your sharp inhalation when his thumbs graze the sensitive skin of your breasts. He pulls his lips from yours, hands splayed over your sides. 

“Sit down.”

It’s much too gentle to be a command, but you frown. 

“Without you?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he chuckles, lightly squeezing your waist. “Just sit. Utilize patience.”

You sit on the edge of the bed with an atypical reticence—you’re just a little too nervous for a snippy comeback. Spencer picks up on this, features softening sympathetically as he undoes his tie with nimble fingers. It lands somewhere on the bed and he leans over you, resting his weight on his fists and offering you a quick kiss. His voice is soft and designed to soothe as he speaks, mere inches away from your face, and so quiet it could only be heard at this range. 

“Are you nervous?” Cloth from the duvet pinches between your fingers. For a moment you don’t reply, dropping your head to watch when Spencer runs his hand over your thigh. “It’s okay if you’re feeling anxious, baby. We don’t have to do anything tonight.”

You expel a frustrated huff. 

“I want to. Just because I’m nervous doesn’t mean I don’t want this. I can handle a little bit of anxiety.”

He hums, dropping to a crouch and inserting himself directly in your line of sight. 

“I know you can. But you don’t always have to push yourself so hard.”

“I’m fine pushing myself a little. I pinky-promised I would tell you if I wanted to stop, remember?”

“Oh, how could I forget a pinky-promise?” he smiles. 

How could you forget anything, you think, becoming flushed and silently insolent at his dulcet teasing. 

“Please, do something.” It’s a whisper, brushing his lips as you lean down until you’re nose to nose. His hands are on the back of your legs. 

“I’m working on it.”

“It doesn’t look like it.”

“You’re smart, angel. Tell me why I've got you naked on my bed and I’m kneeling in front of you. Where could I possibly be taking this?”

Oh, you have a pretty strong inkling—but you’re scared to voice it and be wrong. Instead of risking it you shake your head slowly, shyly. What you’re not expecting is for Spencer to duck his head down, slide his hands up the side of your thighs and press kisses to the delicate skin there. It feels good—better than you’d have thought. 

“You don’t know?” he asks, looking up at you through burnished gold-rimmed pupils. “No guesses?”

“No guesses,” you agree breathlessly, hotter than you were when you had your clothes on and all the energy in your body condensed into one point between your legs. Spencer hums like he’s considering your answer, smoothing his thumbs over the soft skin of your thighs so gently it feels like burning. 

“I don’t think you’re being entirely truthful. Lie back, sweetheart.”

You do as you’re told, scooting up on the mattress and falling back on your elbows. Spencer wastes no time in climbing over you, leaving you in much the same position as the last time you’d been in his bed. The sheets feel cool against your bare skin, but he is exceptionally warm and solid over you. 

“I’m being honest.” Lie. “I don’t know what you’re going to do.”

Lips find the most sensitive spot of your neck, dancing over it torturously. The front of his shirt brushes your chest. Your thighs clamp together. 

“I don't like being lied to. Just say it, baby. I know you know.”

“Spencer,” you whine, fists bunching the excess fabric around his waist. Warm breath condensates on the skin of your neck as he chuckles. 

“You don’t like being teased, huh?”

“Please, Spence,” you whisper. You notice the pattern of his breathing pause momentarily before it all comes rushing out at once—and you catalogue that particular plea for later usage. 

“I can’t say no when you ask me like that.”

You push your fingers into his soft hair. 

“I know.”

It was a lucky guess. 

He’s still for a moment, relishing the feeling of your hands in his hair, before darting up to kiss you. 

“I’m going to use my mouth this time,” he murmurs against your lips. Though you knew that was what he intended, your heart stumbles in its perpetual march. “Is that okay?”

“What if I…”

You trail off. This is a very intimate situation which you’re not quite sure you have delicate enough language for. Or maybe you’re just stalling. Either way, Spencer is eternally patient with you. 

“You need to stop worrying so much, pretty girl. I’d love to do this for you. But it’s your call.”

“Love is a pretty strong word.”

“Sometimes I think not strong enough.”

The way he’s looking down at you so tenderly, brushing hair from your face, makes you think maybe he’s not just talking about how much he would love to go down on you. Regardless, it fortifies your trust in him. Spencer is the kindest person you know. He’s so clearly an enthusiastic giver. Why not allow him to give you this? 

“Okay,” you breathe. “You can—yeah.”

As usual, you’re impressively awkward, but he doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, you think he not-so-secretly delights in being the one to fluster instead of the other way around. Rarely has he mentioned his past romantic and sexual exploits, but gathering bits and pieces, you assume he was a fairly late bloomer. He probably knows what it’s like to be nervous and so deeply unsure of yourself. 

“Do you remember what you promised me?” he whispers, pressing butterfly-light kisses to your jaw. Your eyes flutter shut as his lips traverse down your neck, teeth skimming over the delicate skin while your breath catches. 

“Mhm.”

“You’re not gonna break that promise, are you?”

His voice, soft and muffled by your skin, is the most exhilarating and disorienting high. Your entire body buzzes with anticipation, satisfied only where his lips soothe and his body presses against yours. It takes a moment for you to remember to reply. 

“No.”

Reward comes in the form of his thumb brushing over the peak of your breast at the same time as he murmurs, “good girl.”

Your stomach flips at the endearment—you squeak and arch into him slightly. Spencer’s hand slides down your ribs as he chuckles, lips pressed just above your collarbone. 

“You’ve never called me that before,” you shudder as he continues kissing over your neck. 

“It’s not appropriate in most conversational contexts. But I can tell you’ve always been good.”

“Really? How?”

Spencer pauses, pushing himself up to regard you with searching eyes. The places he’d kissed feel cold without him. 

“I just can. You’re thinking too much, baby. I need your focus on me.”

“It is on you,” you huff. 

You watch his expression shift minutely. He loves games. Of course he’d love playing with you. That knowledge is why you’re only partially surprised when his thumb catches on your nipple again. 

“Is it? You’re only thinking about how it feels when I touch you here?”

A stammering nod. 

He toys with the sensitive flesh only a second more, amusement lighting his eyes, before dragging his hand down, down, down until it’s between your legs. Fingers trail over your clothed core, skimming the most sensitive part of you while your breath hitches.  

“Tell me how it feels when I touch you here.”

“Really good,” you admit, a heavy exhale escaping parted lips as he pins you with his gaze. 

“Really good, right. I can make it feel even better. Do you want me to make it feel better?”

Your thighs drop fully open and he adds just a bit more pressure until you’re pushing against his hand in search of more friction. 

“Yes please.”

“Then no more questions. I need you to trust me.”

Your answer is a breathy, dreamy sigh—you’d do anything, say anything for him. 

“Okay.”

Spencer kisses you, absorbing your noises of protest as his hand ceases between your legs and settles on your hip. But you’re trusting him. No whiny complaining. No unnecessary questions. 

Things go much quicker once you’re not interrupting him every twenty seconds to say something. His lips reattach to your neck, retracing their path (albeit quicker) until he’s below your collarbone. You watch in rapt fascination, twisted brows and parted lips as he peppers kisses down over your breast before dragging his tongue over your nipple. A jolted little moan spills out because you hadn’t been prepared to hold one in. Waves of hair fall over Spencer’s face, obscuring him from your vision, but you don’t think to push it away—your body is too busy processing the sensation to be much use on any other front. He darts his tongue over the peaked flesh, eliciting more little open-mouthed exhalations of pleasure from you. Earlier you hadn’t really thought it necessary for your bra to come off—you had no idea this could actually feel so good. A moment later he begins toying with the other nipple and you gasp as a bolt of heat goes straight to your core. 

You curse, further words catching in your throat as he suddenly switches, mouthing at your other breast and letting the cold air chill the other until you have goosebumps. It feels a little like hypnosis—you’re unable to move or speak as his tongue laves over you. Soon he’s replacing his mouth with a thumb again, sucking a mark onto your tit just above your nipple. You whimper a little at the pleasant brutality of it, hoping as he releases that it won’t soon fade. Spencer swipes over the stinging skin and presses a tender kiss to it, almost like an apology—but you sincerely doubt he’s actually sorry. 

Then he resumes his descent, leaving soft kisses down between your breasts, over your ribcage and stomach—when he reaches your hips, he doesn’t pull off your underwear all at once. Rather, he slides the fabric down centimeter by centimeter, kissing the revealed skin like it’s precious. 

This time you don’t need to be told to lift your hips. He helps you slip the final piece of clothing down and off of your legs, flinging it somewhere blindly before getting comfortable between your thighs once more. Your heart pounds with arousal and anxiety as his arms wrap around your thighs and his hands rub up and down the tops of them slowly. 

“God, you’re fucking beautiful,” he mumbles, loosening his hold on one leg to thumb at your folds. They glisten in the dim light of his bedroom as he gently reveals your clit. A soft whine escapes you when he nudges at the aching bud, slipping over it a few times and alleviating a bit of the pressure that’s been building. “Shh, baby. I know. I’m gonna take care of it. You’re being so good for me.”

Fuck. The way he talks to you makes your brain turn to mush—you’re utterly incapable of forming an intelligent thought. Spencer has rendered you a complete idiot, and you’re not upset about it in the slightest. 

He presses more gentle kisses to the creases between your thighs, just above your clit—everywhere except for where you need him most. Everything aches for him in the best way and at least you’re too turned on to be very insecure anymore. All you want is relief. But you’re trusting him. 

Thankfully, he delivers. 

The tip of his tongue grazes so lightly over your clit that if you weren’t this worked up you may not have felt it at all. In your current state, however, the stimulation echoes through every atom of your being. Every muscle is tense, frozen in place—you can’t even breathe for a second. He does it again, a little flatter, with a little more pressure, and you whimper. It’s a delicate thing, almost pained and definitely overwhelmed as he gently begins working his tongue against you. Your head cranes up to watch, your jaw drops. Approximations of curse words try to form, but come out only as, “f-fu—oh,” so whiny and soft it doesn’t even sound like you. He hums sympathetically, but you suspect it morphs into a chuckle as you continue to gasp and mewl. 

There are times where you can hold back sounds of pleasure. When you’re by yourself, it’s typically not a problem. Two weeks ago when Spencer was knuckle deep in you for the first time, it had certainly been a challenge, and you’d pretty much given up. But this—this is something else entirely. It feels like religion. It feels like compulsion. Even if you had the slightest modicum of control over yourself, which you currently don’t, you wouldn’t want to keep quiet. You want him to know what he’s doing to you. 

So you let every cry, every whine and whimper drag from your lungs, unbidden and unshaped. You’re new at this, after all—every broad lick feels so good that you have no fucking idea what do to with your hands or how to stop rolling your hips or how to censor your sounds. 

“Spencer,” you keen in one of the moments you remember to breathe. He moans against you, taking you into his mouth and sucking lightly. Your hips buck. “Oh, my—fuck!”

The hand that’s still around your thigh rubs soothing lines up and down. The one that’s spreading you open pulls your folds apart a little bit further, granting him more access to your clit. He flicks his tongue and you almost come then and there, vision going gray for a split second. 

“Wait, wait, Spence—“ you squeak, writhing and trying not to squeeze your thighs together for fear of hurting him. He pulls back and looks up at you, lips shining with your slick and eyes glazed with lust. Fuckfuckfuck he looks so fucking good. “Please, just… slow down, or I’m gonna… or it’s gonna be over.”

The corner of his mouth twitches as he rubs circles into your inner thigh. 

“It’s over when you say it’s over. You don’t have a refractory period. We don’t have to stop at one.”

“Oh—you don’t—you don’t have to do that,” you stammer. 

“I know I don’t have to. But if you want me to, I want to. You taste so good, angel girl.”

Well, shit. 

He looks absurdly sexy between your legs like this. You have no idea how you got so lucky, but you don’t plan on taking it for granted. Your fingers tangle in his hair. 

“I don’t know if I can do more than one,” you admit shyly, slightly embarrassed by how little you know about yourself and in general compared to Spencer. Hazel eyes sparkle in the warm light. 

“How about we start with one and see how it feels?”

Your voice is breathy when you respond, “okay,” already impatient for him to get back to it. Spencer seems just as eager, immediately kissing between your legs with a passion that makes your lips jealous. 

The flat of his tongue presses circles against you and your hips buck, already ramping up to that point you’d been at before calling a time-out. Slowly his fingers find their way to your entrance and he teases you with them, dipping in to the first knuckle before withdrawing again. If you could form words, you’d beg him to just do it already, but all you can manage is an affronted whine as you tilt your hips down, hoping he catches the meaning. 

Of course he does—pushing two fingers inside you at once. The intrusive stretch adds a sharp edge to the pleasure, makes it more interesting, as your brain short-circuits and you choke out a moan. It only takes a few slow pumps of his fingers in tandem with the pressure of his tongue until your hips are writhing and you’re and mewling desperately, more overwhelmed with pleasure than you’ve ever been. You push his hair back, able to see him for the first time, and fully appreciate the hollow of his cheeks, the way he looks up at you with perfect, glassy half-lidded eyes, the rhythm of his hand and tongue—he takes your clit between his lips once more, sucking lightly, and you’re done for. A pornographic sob escapes from deep within you as you come, but he doesn’t stop. The orgasm lasts longer than you knew one could—although, it’s only your second time, so you don’t exactly have a lot of data to go off of. Your entire body feels warm and floaty, and what he’s doing feels so good you want him even deeper—but you know he won’t give you that yet. Instead you focus on the slow burn of your orgasm, allowing him to carry on for a while until you begin slowly drifting back to earth and it becomes a bit too much. He recognizes the barely-there whine for what it is and pulls his fingers from you carefully, pressing one final kiss to your clit that makes your legs twitch and summons a weak little moan. 

Spencer’s lips find other avenues, over the delicate skin of your thighs and hips and stomach as he slowly drags himself up again. By the time you’re face to face again you’re still breathing hard. You sort of feel like prey underneath his weight, studied so scrupulously, known far more intimately by him than anyone has ever known you before. But there is so much light and kindness in the way he looks at you that you almost can’t make sense of it. 

Maybe it’s possible to be known and still wanted. The possibility spins like a coin on its edge in your mind. An idea you spent so much time trying to nurture and is only just now beginning to sprout. Maybe someone could see you at your most vulnerable, and still find you worthy of kindness. Appreciation. Affection. 

Spencer certainly could, it seems, as he ducks down to kiss you. You dodge it, turning your head demurely. He nudges his head against yours, speaking so, so softly, utterly cloying as he teases, “what? You’re not gonna kiss me now? Is that how it is?”

“No!” you balk, equally as quiet and especially bashful. “Not when you… no.”

“Let me kiss you,” he pleads, so earnestly you turn your head back to face him. His big eyes are hazy, reflecting all the warmth and dizziness you feel. “Let me kiss you. Please.”

You whine.

“I don’t wanna… taste… myself.”

Spencer doesn’t miss a beat. 

“Hm. We’ll need to work on that. Because one day, I’ll make you come just like that again, and then I’m going to fuck you, and you’re really going to want me to kiss you then, angel.”

Something flickers in your core. 

Suddenly you’re not so squeamish. You really want him to kiss you now. But it seems he’s going to have his fun, first. 

“Open.” Without even thinking about it, your lips part. He really ought to be careful with what he tells you to do—you’re all too compliant. Even as his fingers slip between your lips, you’re obediently hollowing your cheeks around them, watching him with big eyes as his own mouth falls slightly open. “Oh, baby,” he croons. “What are we gonna do with you?”

That flicker has returned to a full-fledged throbbing once you open your mouth again, slightly dizzy from lack of oxygen. 

“Can you make me come again right now?” you whisper, grasping lightly at his shirt. He grins like he loves the idea—and you let him have his way, accepting his lips on yours with no complaint. After a few moments, (the taste is surprisingly unobtrusive), he pulls away.

“I would love to.”

-

part three

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds smut

[pucksandpower]

hi love!! i’m not sure if you’re talking requests so completely ignore this if you’re not but, i’m in love with your grid kids series and i was wondering if you could do something with the grid kids that goes more into readers line of work?🫶🏼

Grid Kids: She Means Business

Sebastian Vettel x wife!Reader x platonic!drivers

Summary: your career as a renowned sports psychologist means you often work with your husband and grid kids

Series Masterlist

Sebastian Vettel: Meet Cute

Red Bull Racing’s pit wall is a hive of activity during the practice session for the Monaco Grand Prix. Engineers, strategists, and everyone in between are glued to their screens, analyzing data and communicating with the drivers.

You’re there in an official capacity, hired by Red Bull Racing to conduct a series of workshops to help the team, particularly the drivers, cope with the mental pressures of racing. With a headset on, you’re mostly observing, making notes on communication dynamics, when suddenly a voice interrupts your thoughts.

“Excuse me, is this seat taken?”

You look up, slightly startled, to see none other than Sebastian Vettel, the team’s star driver, smiling down at you. His mop of hair sweaty and slightly tousled from the helmet he just took off after finishing up with FP2, the impish twinkle in his eyes making you feel … something.

“Oh, no. Not at all. I was just ...” you stammer, suddenly feeling a bit out of your element.

Sebastian sits down next to you, leaning in conspiratorially. “Between you and me, I think I’m here to see what the mysterious new hire is up to.”

You chuckle, “Well, if you must know, I’m observing team dynamics, communication patterns ... very thrilling stuff.”

He feigns a gasp, “So you’re spying on us?”

“In the most professional way possible,” you reply with a smirk.

Sebastian laughs, the sound genuine and contagious. “Well, I hope we’re giving you some good material.”

You lean in this time, matching his playful tone, “You? Always.”

There’s a brief pause, a moment of charged silence, before Sebastian grins, “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You smile back, “You should.”

The two of you chat easily, talking about the intricacies of the sport and the importance of mental preparedness.

As the session winds down and Mark Webber also makes his way back into the garage, Sebastian looks over at you, “You know, for someone who’s here to observe, you’re quite the distraction.”

Your cheeks warm, “Is that so?”

He nods, mock serious, “Absolutely. It’s a problem. I think we might need a one-on-one session to discuss it further.”

You laugh, “I’ll have to check my schedule but I’m sure we can arrange something.”

Sebastian winks, “Looking forward to it,” and with that he’s off to debrief with his engineers.

As you remove your headset, you can’t help but smile to yourself. This job assignment just got a lot more interesting.

Max Verstappen: Unloading the Past

Ten years later, the Red Bull Racing hospitality suite is buzzing with activity: the clink of glasses, murmurs of conversation, and the distant roar of engines echoing from the track. But in a quiet corner, there’s a space that feels a world apart.

Soft, ambient lighting casts a serene glow, a few comfortable chairs are arranged in a circle, and on the coffee table lies an assortment of fidget tools, from stress balls to sensory mats. This is your corner, specially designed for individual sessions.

Max Verstappen hesitates at the entrance. His eyes dart around, taking in the unfamiliar setting. It’s clear that beneath that façade of unshakable confidence lies vulnerability.

You rise, offering a comforting smile. “Hey, Max. Ready?”

He gives a tentative nod, following you in. “I’m not ... I’m not sure how to do this,” he admits, voice barely audible.

“That’s okay,” you assure him, guiding him to a chair. “There’s no right or wrong way. Just start wherever you feel comfortable.”

Taking a deep breath, Max begins, his words tumbling out, “It’s just ... sometimes, when I’m out there on the track, I feel like that kid again.” His voice cracks and he pauses, searching for the right words. “The kid who always felt he wasn’t good enough no matter how hard I tried.”

You nod, encouraging him to continue, “Tell me about that kid.”

As Max delves into memories of his childhood, stories of relentless training sessions, the weight of expectations, and the struggle to fit in, you listen. Every word, every pause, every shift in his tone paints a picture of a boy who was thrust into the world of racing at a young age, grappling with the colossal pressure to prove himself.

You gently prod, asking him to revisit specific incidents, encouraging him to express his feelings, and offering insights when necessary.

As the session progresses, Max’s demeanor changes. His initial hesitation gives way to openness, vulnerability transforms into strength, and slowly, the pieces start falling into place.

“You know,” you say softly, “It’s natural to carry the scars of our past with us but it’s important to remember they don’t define us.”

Max looks up, his eyes glistening with unshed tears, “But how do I move past it?”

You want so badly to reach out and hug him — this young man who you consider a son in all but blood — but hold yourself back. You’re both here for work and, right now, Max needs you as a professional and not a mom.

“By acknowledging it, understanding it, and then channeling it. Every time you get in the car, it’s an opportunity to rewrite that narrative. Not for anyone else but for yourself.”

Max takes a moment, absorbing your words. “Thank you,” he murmurs, a weight visibly lifted off his shoulders.

You give him a reassuring smile. “Anytime, Max. Remember, you’re not alone in this journey. Oh, and remember, we’re all meeting at that little Italian place Charles recommended for dinner.”

There’s a lightness in Max’s voice that wasn’t there before, “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Charles Leclerc: Bittersweet Memories

The setting sun casts a somber glow across the paddock at Suzuka Circuit. It’s a track rich with history, triumphs, and heartbreaks. For Charles Leclerc, it’s where he lost Jules Bianchi, his godfather, mentor, and friend.

You find Charles seated alone in a quiet part of the Ferrari motorhome, gazing out the window. The overflowing sadness in his eyes nearly makes you stop in your tracks.

“Hey,” you greet gently, not wanting to startle him. “Mind if I join you?”

He offers a small nod, his gaze still distant.

Sitting down next to him, you allow a comfortable silence to settle, giving him the space to open up when he’s ready. Moments pass before Charles finally speaks, his voice tinged with melancholy.

“Every time I come here,” he starts, “it feels like I’m reliving that day. The memories, the pain, it all just floods back.”

You nod, understandingly, “Grief has a way of doing that, especially when tied to such a tangible reminder.”

Charles looks down, fiddling with his bracelet. “It’s hard, you know? Racing on the same track where I lost him. Every corner, every turn, it’s like he’s there with me.”

Taking a deep breath, you offer, “Maybe that’s a way for you to connect with Jules. To honor his memory, to carry his spirit with you every lap you drive.”

Charles’ eyes shimmer with tears. “I want to make him proud, to show that everything he taught me wasn’t in vain. But sometimes, the weight of it all just becomes too much.”

You reach out, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. “It’s okay to feel overwhelmed. Grief isn’t linear. There will be days when it hits harder, especially in places like this. You just have to remember it’s not about racing against the pain but learning that it’s okay to race with it.”

He meets your gaze, searching for strength, “How do I do that?”

“By allowing yourself to feel, by acknowledging the pain, and by channeling it into your drive. Jules might not be here physically but he’s with you in spirit. And every time you get behind that wheel is another opportunity to show that.”

Charles takes a deep breath, absorbing your words. “Thank you,” he murmurs, a glimmer of determination returning to his eyes.

You give him a comforting smile. “I’m glad I could help, even if it’s just a little. We’re all here for you every step of the way.”

Lance Stroll: Nepo Babies Have Feelings Too

Inside the Aston Martin team lounge, screens show replays of the latest race, commentators discussing various drivers’ performance. One topic that often comes up is Lance Stroll. The chatter revolves around his father’s ownership of the team and whether Lance truly earned his seat or if he’s just a product of nepotism.

You notice Lance sitting a bit apart from the rest, headphones on but his face is a giveaway. The furrowed brows, the downward curve of his lips —he’s clearly overheard the unsubtle whispers.

You make your way over, gesturing to ask if he’d like some company. He nods, removing his headphones.

“Those comments,” you begin gently, “they don’t define you.”

Lance sighs, his frustration palpable. “It’s just ... no matter what I do, how hard I work, how much I improve, it always comes back to the same thing. That I’m only here because of my father.”

You nod, understanding the weight of such judgments. “It’s tough, Lance. But remember, others’ opinions of you are just that — opinions. They aren’t the truth and they most definitely are not your truth.”

He looks up, eyes searching. “But how do I prove them wrong? How do I show that I deserve to be here?”

“It starts with belief,” you say, leaning forward for emphasis, “belief in yourself. You’ve trained, you’ve raced, you’ve faced challenges head-on, and you’ve earned your spot. Your journey in F1 isn’t just about your last name. It’s about every late-night on the simulator, every risk taken on the track, every lap you’ve driven.”

Lance nods slowly, taking in your words. “But the chatter, it’s just so deafening sometimes.”

You offer a comforting smile. “You can’t control what others say but you can control how you react. Every time you’re on that track, you have the power to redefine the narrative, to let your skills speak louder than any spiteful words.”

Motivation straightens his hunched shoulders, the weight of doubt lifting slightly. “So focus on the drive, not the noise?”

“Exactly,” you affirm. “Your talent, your dedication, that’s what matters. Let the world see Lance Stroll, the driver, not just Lance Stroll, the son.”

He chuckles, “Easier said than done.”

You wink, “That’s why you have a stellar support system. Lean on us whenever the noise gets too loud.”

George Russell: Comparing Comparisons

It’s a cool afternoon at the Silverstone Circuit and the entire paddock is buzzing with excitement. There’s an added layer of intrigue to the British Grand Prix this season. Lewis Hamilton, the seven-time world champion, will be racing alongside his much younger compatriot, George Russell, as teammates for the first time.

In the Mercedes team garage, George is meticulously going over his race data, replaying certain turns and maneuvers in his head. But an undertone of tension cuts through his concentration.

You walk over, picking up on his restlessness. “Nervous about tomorrow?”

He glances up, forcing a smile. “That obvious, huh? It’s just racing alongside Lewis … it’s a dream come true but also incredibly daunting.”

You nod, understanding the pressure of standing next to a giant in the sport. “It’s natural to feel that way. Lewis has carved a legacy in F1 and now you’re right beside him, sharing the same tracks in the same car.”

George sighs, “That’s the thing. Everywhere I turn, there’s a comparison. It’s not just about my performance anymore, it’s about how I measure up to him.”

You lean against the worktable, choosing your words carefully. “Here’s the thing, George. You can’t control comparisons or expectations but you can control your race. Every driver brings something unique to the track. Lewis has his legacy, yes, but you have your own journey and story still to build.”

George nods slowly, pondering over your words. “I want to be able to block all of that out. I’ve tried every single weekend so far. But it’s hard. How do I focus on my race and not the looming shadow beside me?”

“There’s no one right answer,” you sympathize. “Look, Lewis is an icon and racing alongside him is an opportunity to learn, to grow. But remember, you’ve earned your spot here. This is as much your race as it is his.”

He chuckles, “You always know exactly what to say.”

You smile, “Just a little wisdom from the sidelines. Trust your training, trust your instincts, and let George Russell shine.”

Lando Norris: Never Grow Up

It’s a warm and bright morning but the mood inside the McLaren motorhome doesn’t quite reflect the sunny atmosphere outside. Lando Norris sits in a corner, earbuds in, lost deep in thought. The usual playful energy that surrounds him is missing today.

You approach, sensing the shift in his demeanor. “Room for one more?”

He looks up, offering a half-hearted smile. “Sure.”

You settle beside him, waiting for him to speak. After a brief pause, Lando finally breaks the silence. “Do you think I’m too childish?”

You’re slightly taken aback. “What makes you say that?”

Lando sighs, “I overheard some comments from a few crew members from another team. They said that no one takes me seriously because I’m always joking around, always laughing. They think that I’m not mature enough for this sport.”

You consider his words, understanding where he’s coming from. "Formula 1 is intense. It’s demanding and requires immense focus and dedication. But it’s also about personality, about bringing your unique touch to the grid.”

He nods but still seems unsure. “But what if they’re right? What if I’m not taken seriously because of how I act?”

You lean in, ensuring he listens to every word. “Lando, your driving speaks volumes. Every time you get behind the wheel, you showcase your skill and your tenacity. The playful side of you, the side that loves to laugh and bring joy, that’s a part of who you are. It doesn’t diminish your talent or your dedication.”

Lando seems to ponder your words, “But it’s hard, you know? Feeling like I have to constantly prove myself. Like there’s something wrong with being myself.”

You take his hand into both of yours, “Every driver feels that way at some point. But remember, the beauty of this sport is that it’s as much about character as it is about speed. Your playful nature, your genuine laughter, it brings a freshness to the paddock. Embrace it.”

He chuckles, the familiar sparkle returning to his eyes. “So be me and let my racing do the talking?”

“Without a doubt,” you confirm. “Stay true to yourself. The world needs more genuine smiles and more authentic laughter. Then, on the track, just keep doing what you do best.”

Lando grins, “Thanks. I really needed to hear that.”

Mick Schumacher: What’s In a Name?

The aftermath of a race is evident inside the Haas garage. Engineers are engaged in post-race analysis, the car undergoing routine checks. A desolate Mick Schumacher sits among the organized chaos, his helmet still on, concealing his face.

Walking over, you notice the subtle tremors in his frame, the weight of something heavy weighing on his young shoulders. Gently, you tap on his helmet, signaling for him to lift it. When he does, the anguish in his eyes is palpable.

“You okay, Mick?” you ask softly.

He tries to answer but his voice breaks. Swallowing hard, he confesses, “I just ... I can’t do it. I can’t ever live up to the name.”

You know the gravity of his sentiment. Being Michael Schumacher’s son in Formula 1 is no easy feat. The legacy, the expectations, the constant comparisons that follow Mick everywhere — it’s overwhelming.

You sit down beside him, “I won’t pretend to understand the pressure you feel but remember this: You are not just your last name. You are Mick Schumacher, your own person with your own journey, your own challenges, and your own victories.”

“But everywhere I go, it’s always about him,” Mick interjects, frustration evident. “The great Michael Schumacher’s son. Can he do it? Will he be even a fraction as good? It’s suffocating.”

You nod, acknowledging his feelings. “Your father is a legend and it’s natural for people to draw parallels. But racing isn’t just about legacy, it's about passion, determination, and personal growth. The shape your path takes in this sport is yours alone.”

Mick wipes away a tear, his gaze distant. “But what if I never truly make it? What if I never even score a point much less a podium or a win? What if I’m always just the son of the legend, never a making a name for myself in my own right?”

You squeeze his shoulder reassuringly. “Then you make peace with that and find joy in what you managed to achieve regardless. You are among twenty of the best drivers on the planet right now. Getting here is no easy feat. Not every path has to lead to the same destination. Maybe you’ll carve a different legacy, one that is uniquely yours.”

Mick seems to ponder over your words, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “I just ... I want to make him proud.”

You smile gently, “By being yourself, by giving every race your best shot, you already are. It’s not the titles or the championships that define us. It’s our heart and the impact we make on those around us. And trust me, your heart is in the right place. Your father would only ever want you to be happy, whatever that entails.”

With a deep breath, Mick nods, a content smile crossing his lips. “Thank you. I needed that.”

You give him an encouraging pat, “I’m always in your corner. Remember that it’s not the shadow that defines us but how we emerge from it.”

Mick stands up, ready to face another day, another race. The legacy of his last name will always be there but he’s slowly learning that his own identity holds value and strength too.

Toto Wolff & Christian Horner: Couples Therapy

The sun filters through the sheer curtains of the sophisticated office, casting dancing patterns on the wooden floor. A blend of vanilla and sandalwood wafts through the air, lending to an ambiance of calm. But this illusion is quickly shattered by two animated voices engaged in heated debate, echoing from the hallway. The door flings open to reveal Toto Wolff and Christian Horner, each determined to prove their point even before the session officially starts, and the cameras and sound equipment stationed around the room quickly zero in on them.

You sit in your chair, a hint of amusement in your eyes, as you address them. “Gentlemen, welcome! How about we start by taking our seats?”

Toto and Christian hesitantly sit on the couch, keeping as much distance from each other as possible.

“So,” you begin, trying to contain your laughter, “Drive to Survive mentioned you two might need some ... couples therapy?” You add air quotes for emphasis.

Christian immediately rolls his eyes. “It’s ridiculous! We’re competitors, not some bickering married couple.”

Toto chimes in, “Although he does nag like my grandmother.”

Christian retorts, “Oh please, Toto! The way you carry on, anyone would think you’re auditioning for a soap opera.”

You hold up a hand, “Alright, let’s take a deep breath. We’re here to find common ground.”

The two team principals continue their banter, airing their grievances, from stolen engineers to wind tunnels to secret agreements. You listen, scribbling notes, occasionally nodding or offering a “hmm” of understanding.

After what seems like an eternity, you interrupt their tirade. “Okay, I’ve come to a conclusion. You both are quite the pair. But instead of directing this ... energy at each other, how about a united front? Surely there’s something, or someone, you both dislike equally?”

Christian and Toto exchange glances, a mischievous glint appearing simultaneously. “The producers,” they chorus.

You swear that you can hear the men standing out of camera range behind you — the producers in question — audibly swallow.

You lean in, intrigued. “Go on.”

Toto grins, “They’ve been poking and prodding, trying to get a reaction out of us. It’s why they set this whole thing up in the first place. And while we do love the drama,” he eyes Christian, “maybe it’s time they get a taste of their own medicine.”

Christian nods in agreement, “A united front to give the producers a season they won’t forget.”

You clap your hands together, “Perfect! So what’s the plan?”

As the session concludes, Toto and Christian leave, arms around each other’s shoulders, laughter echoing down the hall.

You lean back in your chair, chuckling. “Well, that was certainly one for the books.”

You turn around to face the Drive to Survive crew already packing their equipment and producers looking shell shocked . You’ve never seen grown men look quite so pale. But they only have themselves to blame — the session was their idea in the first place.

Sometimes you really love your job.

#f1 imagine #f1 #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #f1 x reader #f1 x you #sebastian vettel x reader #max verstappen x reader #charles leclerc x reader #lance stroll x reader #george russell x reader #lando norris x reader #mick schumacher x reader #f1 fluff #f1 blurb #f1 one shot #f1 drabble #f1 fandom #f1blr #sebastian vettel imagine #max verstappen imagine #charles leclerc imagine #lance stroll imagine #george russell imagine #lando norris imagine #mick schumacher imagine #f1 x y/n #f1 x female reader

[tflaw]

The idea of the handmaiden being shorter than the harbingers (like she's 5’0 ft) gets me going since they could easily lift her if they wanted to while having a rather rough lovemaking session.

Might have already sent this though, if I did then I'm sorry but my brain is failing to remember properly.

— THE HANDMAIDEN. PT2.

In the frozen land where the outcasts belong and the peculiar is home, tomorrow is never promised. Intertwined your fate with the harbingers might be, it’s in your best interest to remember: the cold swallows the weak and Snezhnaya knows no tears.

★☆ ! f!reader. part / installation of these drabbles. size kink as was stated in the ask. unprotected. not proofread. warnings for each character are as follows (lmk if i missed anything, it’s almost 2 AM here, my mind is foggy):

pierro — undertones of manhandling.

capitano — mentions of finger-fucking && foreplay. dacryphilia.

dottore — exhibitionism. voyeurism. he lets his other segments do you. creampie. undertones of overstimming just to be sure.

pantalone — rough sex.

tartaglia — foul legacy form. he’s sooo leaky.

PIERRO !

who would’ve thought that there’s a hidden gem in the throng of servants in the palace? the fascination pierro has for you seems to go on unceasing. it is why he keeps you close. apart from your obedience, there’s one more charming thing about you that utterly has him bound and enthralled: you are small.

yes— small. he can control you in anyway he wants. flip you to his satisfaction, drive you mad with his brawn, and fuck you so deeply it will leave you mousy for weeks from the memory. sometimes he fears of breaking you, especially when he gives your little pussy such a fervid pounding that renders you shivering. you tell him it’s alright, i can take it: words that seem to drive him mad that he fixes you on his lap, holding your waist while watching your pussy sucking only his fat crown. impatient, he would dig his nails to your flesh, releasing a gutted moan as he slams you down and fills you with his hard shaft. all virility and nothing less than that.

CAPITANO !

despite not divulging the reason for his lusting after you, capitano thinks that it’s clear as crystal to anyone who possesses good eyesight. the equation is simple: he’s huge and you’re small. aside from the surge of adrenaline it pumps into his veins, the sight of you in bed is one he finds hard to forget.

capitano makes certain that your cunt is drooling before ramming his cock in you. call it safety measures, because it is. despite his infamous nature, he wouldn’t deliberately hurt you if he can help it. however, he sees your wet cunt with white trails of arousal dripping from the hole, and he’d drive himself in with force that takes away a little bit of his sanity. and yet, after all the preparation of finger-fucking, his cock remains a tight fit. your hole gapes around his veiny shaft, utterly small and struggling and fluttering. he releases a grunt, then, pitching his hips slowly despite the physical ache it causes. and even with the measured thrusts, he finds you trembling and crying from being filled to the brim.

DOTTORE !

dottore is a keen observant. and perhaps that is an innate nature that shapes who he is today. there are things that he realizes only after thorough scrutiny. and one of his favored thing— or person— to observe is you. he has been aware of how small you are ever since you’ve started to stand meekly beside him, hoping to get a good look on his experiments while trying your hardest not to be a nuisance. it’s such a foolish little thought: one that has managed to slip through the piles of ideas inside his brain and one he’s more than willing to carry out for the sake of his curiosity.

it has taken him only a few tweaks to use the clones fit to accomplish the experiment. this particular study gives no relevance to his existing ones, and yet it has brought him great pleasure to see you fucked out and senseless by his segments lining up to shove their cocks in you. dottore overlooks the whole experiment, rejoicing at the sight of your puffy cunt expanding based on whose cock and how large said cock is while fucking and abusing your walls. you look so good on his table with your pussy leaking from too much cum jammed inside it. the loads of his segments are an unstoppable current, thick in consistency and languid in motion while running down from the table. an experiment of self-indulgence— one that will keep him awake and one he will continue observing.

PANTALONE !

he likes to measure things. especially the mora that flows in his hundred bank accounts and in snezhnaya. for a man as ambitious as pantalone, seeing the actual size of something gives his ego another shove. he’s probably not the only one who have seen it, as it is palpable whenever he observes how the other harbingers look at you. the difference in your height is one that is not hard to miss— and most certainly the reason that drives him in a frenzy whenever he fucks you stupid.

pantalone grows a habit of pushing the back of your weakened thighs to display your pretty little cunt. before fucking you senseless, he’d press his cock just above your pussy lips, as if measuring how deep he’d go once he’s sheathed inside. he has the image tattooed on his brain, and yet he couldn’t seem to get enough of its sight. you can say it boosts his pride, fucking you with his sheer length, watching the pulsing veins around his shaft shape their thickness on your plumped pussy. until he’s out of order, going ballistic with lust. he fucks you with a need of one deprived man, savaging you to the point of surrender. because as much as he loves the sight, he loves how you cling to him and rake your nails from his back to his buttocks more. you love it as much as he does. and there is no denying, especially when you lock your legs around his body, securing that his cum would go straight to your perfect cunt and nowhere else.

TARTAGLIA !

tartaglia has nothing but adoration whenever you wallow in his wildest fantasies. which sometimes makes him think that it is due to your work as a handmaiden in the palace. although he has not heard any objection from you, this particular fantasy he’s been concealing for so long planted doubt on his mind. and so his joy had been immeasurable after obtaining your approval.

he was not wrong, though. it is truly a magnificent sight. tartaglia finds it fascinating how your pussy seems only slightly bigger than the crown of his cock in his current form. you can barely take him in: pussy hole stretched and gaping around his tip. the pre-ejaculate he’s squirting since earlier seems almost enough to pump your womb swollen. for a second he fears that his cock wouldn’t go in, debating whether he should change back on his human form instead. but you have urged him to go on— giving him full consent to ram his whole length in you. with patient thrusts he did— or at least tried to do so— until he couldn’t endure it any longer and pistoled his hips between your thighs, penetrating your cunt to the root and pumping thick loads that looks exactly like pre-cum. you have a long night ahead of you, it seems.

#tw size kink #tw dacryphilia #tw voyeurism #tw exhibitionism #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #pierro smut #capitano smut #dottore smut #pantalone smut #childe smut #ajax smut #tartaglia smut #pierro x reader #capitano x reader #dottore x reader #pantalone x reader #child x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader

[m0chisenpai]

Hi I saw this tiktok

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZGJQPcU84/

And I immediately thought of prowler! Miles x fem reader

If your taking requests I would be really grateful if you considered this ❤️

-🕸️

Spiderman Across the Spiderverse

42!Miles Morales x black!fem!!reader

YO so I have been wondering how would the earth 42 version of the spidergirl!reader I have already and I feel like this just confirmed she needs to be THAT girl

You were his type. You could hold your own down Miles knew that much when he witnessed you beating the brakes off a girl down the street for coming at one of your friends. The way you casually laid the girl out and fixed your hair, took your bag from your friends and continued on your way. Boy was SPRUNG and his friends clown him bout it for DAYS

Guys came and went in your life. They never lingered and you liked it that way. You never let them set you up. You were always five steps ahead. Were quick to cut them off before things got messy, and you grew bored easily.

This however, caught Miles completely off guard when he flashed you that lazy smile and cooed at you in the middle of calculus asking if you could tutor him after school to which you replied “do I look like I know what I’m doing?” And turned your pretty ass back around

The guys who COULD survive you and live to tell the tale all mentioned one similar thing in common: your temper and your stubborn behavior and Miles could attest to both when before school he watched as you sat on the curb refusing to get in homeboys car because of a text message that you saw on his phone that lie cracked and chipped just a few feet from you

You played the game easily with boys. They played checkers while you were playing chess but sometimes you wondered if there was anyone out there, even as much as you enjoyed plucking boy hearts like Valentine’s Day candy hearts, something soft and sweet deep down in that heart of yours yearned to be loved

When Miles asked you what was up with you during fifth block calc you said the ceiling and told him to kindly fuck off once again. Next class he continued to speak with you like that conversation never happened. The cycle continued for a good two weeks, Miles attempting that pretty boy charm and you brushing him away like he was a fly on the wall

He liked a little challenge, a little bark AND bite and not because he wanted to conquer you oh no, he loved your fire and he wanted to stoke your fire in you. He wanted to pour the gasoline a top of it and watch you burn bright and beautiful

Miles stood outside of your locker that you opened up and he caught when you intended for it to crack him in his nose. "Morales, I'm not one of your bitches. If you think you can play me like one, respectfully fuck off."

And he raised a brow and tilted his head, "you not a bitch that's for sure. And I never said you was one. I know you smart, I know how you play and get down. So like I’m gon ask you again, what is up with you Y/N?"

Silence. but the corner of your brown lined lips turns up slightly and you suppose you'll entertain Morales.

You and Miles were THAT couple, one second ya’ll were friends and the next thing he’s checking on you between classes, waiting outside of school to walk you home, and chopping it with your homegirls who gush and rave about he wasn’t like the last bum you were talking to

No one can pinpoint when it happened, one second you were apart next thing you were Morales’ girl and he was L/N’s man

Miles never liked getting caught up with females, it never ended good and his ‘part time job’ always got in the way of relationships but things with you were different

You didn’t press Miles on why he wasn’t responding late at night, never chided him for handling his business, and you damn sure didn’t care when he talked to other females. Miles wonders why the world hid such a rare Godsend from him because you gave him little to NO headaches when it came to petty matters he dealt with

When he introduces you to Mama Rio she falls in love with you and Miles nearly cackles at how soft his mom makes you, she grills you on her son and tells you that if her boy messes up or does anything wrong to let her know IMMEDIATELY and you and his uncle are on good terms and he tells you the same thing his sister in law said

Just as much as Miles spoils you, you return the favor

He cashapps you for a fresh set? You send your baby something back to get a fresh line up and touch his braids up. You’ve got dozens of his barber pics and videos saved and he’s got your fresh sets and hair saved in his phone as well

Ya’ll got matching kicks I don’t care if it’s corny ya’ll do and you kindly told the bitch drooling over your man at the store the shoes while she was checking ya’ll out it was gonna take more than fluttering them patchy little minks at your man to get his attention

It takes some time till you expose a softer bit of you, a more gentle part. You lost your father, and thats why it pains you to see Mr.Morales whenever he is by, but Miles’ father sees a daughter in you and is so sweet on you it melts your heart

As much as he loved how you can hold yours down, it takes time and patience to chip past that hyper independence you’ve built. Your walls were built on hurt and pain and Miles knew not to force his way in, but you could be so stubborn headed. The first night the two of you really went at it was after you’d gone over Miles’ apartment and attempted to call an Uber back home at 2am.

“I know you fucking lying” Miles’ voice broke the silence from falling asleep during a Netflix marathon. As soon as he felt you lift your head from his chest his eyes snapped open “a dónde vas mami?” Any other night that raspy post sleep tone would have you weak in the knees and right back in his arms, but not tonight.

“Miles I don’t got no bag to spend the night and I need my stuff” Miles rolls his eyes and reaches to grab your hand to stop you from putting your slides back on.

“Y/N be for real its two in the damn morning you not going home.” You know instantly he’s not playing, you were rarely called by your first name.

“Miles I’m not staying here, I don’t got my tooth brush, face wipes, nothing now let me go” you snatch your hand and now Miles is sitting up completely.

“Who you talking to like that?”

“You and what?” You raise both brows at him. But his face stays neutral. He sucks on his teeth then he’s looking up at you, but its in a way that makes you freeze from hitting request ride.

“I’m not letting my girl go home this late, before you started running your mouth I was bout to tell you, you left your bag here with your stuff and I got you a skill scarf already. You done with the attitude now? I’m tired and need you in my arms sleep so I can sleep.”

Miles can rarely recall what shock looks like on your face. But he fights the urge to yank his phone of the charger so he can capture the way you sit your phone next to his and pull your hoodie off to leave yourself in your tank.

“You ain’t have to get all domestic” you grumble as you sit on the bed and pull your slides and socks off.

“I know baby, my bad. M’ just tired” he mumbles and you feel his hand slide up your back and trail your spine down. You can’t help but take in how tired he does look, how tonight was his one of many rare nights off from work. And so you lean forward and press a kiss to his lips, slow and steady.

“I’m gonna shower real quick love” you whisper against his lips when he finally releases you. And you watch as his eyes slowly droop shut and his arm slides off of you. His breathing slows back down and once he’s asleep you’re walking toward toward the closet picking the duffle up reaching deep inside till you feel the silk of your clothes. Black and red and large white eyes glare at you, reminding you that you have work tonight.

Yiu want to feel bad for putting MIles to sleep, but his peaceful snores are more than enough to take the twang off as you slide the mask over your face ready to set off where you originally meant.

“Black Widow, what’s taking you so long?��

“Sorry sir, ready for tonight’s target.”

And who were you to leave the streets to what men? You don’t think so.

#miles morales imagine #earth 42 miles morales x reader #42!milesmorales x reader #earth 42 miles x reader #earth 42!miles morales x reader #miles morales x reader #miles morales #ask mochi #atsv requests

[fadingdaggerr]

would that i

pairing: melissa schemmenti x gn!reader

summary: melissa knew what love should look like, and learned what it shouldn’t be. learning what it actually is takes time | 3.4k

translations: nonna/nonno (grandma/grandpa), t’amu (i love you) | reminder that sicilian is slightly different from italian in dialect

warnings: allusions to cheating (minimal), allusions to unhealthy relationships (minimal), making up my own melissa lore bc i’m so normal about her, kissing/making out

note: a little bit of this was an homage to my grandparents, the people that showed me what love should be. thank u and love u

When Melissa was in sixth grade, her teacher assigned a two-page essay on what they thought of when they pictured love. The moment Mrs. Erikson said this, Melissa knew she was going to write about her Nonna and Nonno.

Every morning, Nonna made breakfast and coffee, she packed Nonno’s lunch, and always left a note that said T’amu in her flowy cursive. Every evening, Nonno brought in the laundry off the line and folded it while Nonna made dinner. Even when they fought, there was never a loss of their kiss good morning, goodbye, and good night. Only on anniversaries was Nonno allowed in the kitchen, and they’d dance while sauce simmered on the stovetop. Love between them seemed easy and gentle. Melissa spent every Saturday night and Sunday morning across the street at their house, and every time she found something to add to her list of what love looked like and how it should be.

Melissa thought she had found love with Tommy Adkins in eighth grade. She’d even bought a new dress to wear to autumn formal, pink and ruffled and perfect. By the time she was ready to leave, her face almost hurt from the amount of times she redid her makeup so that Tommy would call her beautiful instead of bangin’ for once. That night she watched him dance with Jennifer Milano with a half-baked excuse of him “not wanting to kiss a chick with braces.” Melissa cried for two hours while Nonna told her she was better off, a bowl of pastina pushed her way. She forgot about him by the time Monday rolled around.

High school boyfriends came and went, but in college Melissa fell in love for the first time. A true, deep love with a firefighter-in-training that knew her neighbor. Everytime Joe visited Brian, he stopped across the hall to see Melissa, leaned against the doorway with an easy smile. He was charming, respectful, and funny, everything she had been looking for. Two months after she graduated, he dropped to one knee and she jumped into his arms. They moved from their apartment to a home in south Philly. Melissa worked during the day, and Joe started night shifts at the fire station for the extra pay.

Night shifts began to extend, and Melissa never saw him. He’d eat the plate she’d prepared in the fridge and leave the dirty dish on the counter. Dirt and ash from his boots tracked across her rugs and carpets, scuff marks in her living room. What almost killed her was the dirty cast iron skillet left in the sink. When she brought anything up, he’d deflect and leave. Every now and then, he came home with flowers “just because.” But then flowers began to follow every extra long night, and she could smell the floral perfume that didn’t belong to her and didn’t match the flowers. It took her months to say anything, and all she was met with was eyes that couldn’t look at hers.

Melissa began to think that what her grandparents had could never be hers. A loving life was in the cards, and Joe had only solidified this. She stayed at Barbara’s that night.

—

A few years later, her perspective was changed when a new fourth grade teacher joined the staff mid-term. Never in her years had she allowed someone in so easily, allowed them to be her friend and not just a coworker. Somehow, in two years, Melissa realized she’d never felt so cared for and loved by anyone.

—

“Is there a chance I could pour a cup of coffee before you start bursting my ear drums?” Melissa says when Jacob and Janine start babbling behind her about something she didn’t care about at 7:30 on a Friday morning. Ever since she turned onto the street the school is on, a headache had been growing steadily. Staying up late to finish grading was the worst idea she’s had all month. The two teachers cringe slightly, lowering their volume. When the door opened again for you and Barbara to enter chatting with each other, volume lowering at the sight of Melissa sat at the table with fingers pressed to her temples. She hears a bag drop on the table quietly, opening one eye to see you trying to be as quiet as possible as you dig around.

When you finally stop, you pull out a bottle of ibuprofen and pass it to her. She waves it off, muttering a don’t need it. When you don’t reply, she peers up to see you still holding the bottle out with an expectant look on your face. You shake the bottle, “don’t suffer just to look tough.”

“Melissa Ann, take the damn pills,” Barbara orders from her seat, spooning some sugar into her coffee.

“I don’t need ‘em,” she mumbles out again.

You push your hand forward more, “please. If not for yourself, for your students. You’re irritable when you have a headache.” Barbara chuckles and sends a knowing look to Melissa. Janine and Jacob, on the other hand, turn and look at you, fully expecting the red head to make some harsh reply or threat back to you. All she does is puff out a laugh and grab the bottle from your hands. She decided not to remark on the weird looks she was getting from the peanut gallery.

When getting the kids ready for recess, she sees you peering around the corner to the doorway. She holds a finger to ask you to wait, and gets a double thumbs up in return. After zipping many jackets and helping with gloves, she watches the little eagles run outside in the chilly autumn air. As she walks back into her classroom, she sees you sitting in her chair waiting patiently for her. “You know, I don’t let anyone sit in my seat,” she jokes as approaches.

“Good thing I’m not just anyone, now am I?” you joke, standing to meet her.

She fights her smile as she answers quietly, “no, you’re not.” She takes a second to breathe when she sees a grin cross your lips at her comment, “we still on for dinner at mine tonight?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” the grin on your face growing, the giddy feeling in Melissa’s chest with it. You loop your arm with hers and walk towards the lounge.

When Melissa opens the front door, you expect a greeting, but instead you get a groan as she stomps back to the kitchen. Dropping your bag and shrugging off your coat, you walk into the kitchen, placing the box of pastries on the table. Melissa returns to angrily rummaging through the refrigerator, desperately trying to find something. It wasn’t until two hands pulled her back by the shoulders, turning her around. She relaxes into your touch, closing her eyes.

“I’m out of basil,” she says through a sigh.

“Want me to go to the store?” you ask, wanting to remove any stress from her.

“No,” Melissa answers as she opens her eyes, “you just got here, that wouldn’t be fair.”

You laugh, “we could go together. Or we can just be lazy, order a pizza, and not get off the couch.”

“Second one,” she sighs out, pulling away to clean up the dishes she took out. While she’s distracted, you take the time to call in the order, pay, and tip over the phone so that Melissa won’t even have the chance to say herself.

“If there’s pineapple on there, I’m kicking you out,” she yells from the kitchen after she hears you hang up.

“No, veggie. And yes, I asked for no mushrooms. One of these days though, I’ll convert you to being a pineapple woman,” you joke tilting your head back to see her standing behind you, “plus, you wouldn’t dare kick out the person who brought you zeppole.”

She gets closer, leaning over with her hands holding the backrest on either side of your head, “is there chocolate sauce?” The excitement was evident in her tone, bringing butterflies to your stomach. You can’t form words with her standing over you and smiling like that, so you just nod.

Later into the night, the TV played Weeds while you sat in comfortable silence, only breaking it when you both repeated the same joke out loud every now and then. Your legs were thrown over her lap, her fingers playing with the folding fabric of your jeans as she watched the screen. Her subconscious drew her attention toward you, eyes tracing over smile lines and the glowing reflection in your eyes from the TV. She watches you lean forward to grab a zeppole, ready to offer it to her. It’s only then that you catch her stare.

“You okay?” you ask, turning and scooting closer to give her your full attention.

She gives a quick squeeze to your leg, “yeah, hon. I’m better than okay.” She feels even better when you lean into her, placing your head on her shoulder. She drops her head to yours, a deep breath leaving her as she finally relaxes fully for the first time all day.

—

Some time between then and now, things had changed, Melissa wasn’t exactly sure when. At some point the Friday dinners turned into Saturday plans, then Sunday since the farmer’s market was open, no other reason. Breakfast on those days translated to bringing coffee to each other at work, ignoring the questioning gazes of other staff members as she passed you your coffee, despite having never asked how you took it. What had started with you sleeping on the couch when the night grew later, migrated to the spare bedroom.

On a Sunday night, it changed again. You watched the tail end of an Eagles’ game while sitting in her bed after helping grade book reports. As always, your head rested on her shoulder with her own resting on yours. Anytime something that wasn’t a point being scored happened, she explained it to you, though she knew not a thing she said would help make sense of it. It didn’t matter to you, all you wanted was to hear her voice and have her attention.

“Your bed is comfy,” you mutter when the commercials begin before the last quarter.

A smile crosses her lips, “treated myself to a good mattress when I kicked bozo out. Glad you approve.”

“You deserve nice things,” you say as you settle into her more, and through a yawn add, “the best things.”

That night, you’d both fallen asleep slumped against the headboard, leaning into each other for comfort.

Melissa woke up to a rhythmic thumping under her ear and a hand in her hair gently playing with amber waves. The small smile that came to her lips would have been foreign to her if she wasn’t so comfortable, the content feeling in her chest would be almost alarming. When her eyes cracked open, she recognized her bedroom and sheets. She groaned into the cold morning air, and the hand moved from twirling the ends of her hair to scratching her scalp, making her tuck into the warmth beneath her even more.

“Good morning,” you rasp out, having only been awake a little longer, the only response being another groan. She finally rolls off of you, much to your dismay, and sits up on her elbows, looking at you with sleepy, squinted eyes.

“It’s Monday,” she grumbles.

You chuckle, grabbing her glasses off the nightstand for her, “fine, just morning then.”

Something about this morning felt different to Melissa. You’d never spent the night on a school night, let alone sleep in her bed, but that wasn’t what shook her. It wasn’t you making her coffee, sipping it to make sure it tasted right before handing it to her. It also wasn’t that you turned off her alarm and woke her up yourself without making her ears bleed. She thought it could be that you’d opened the door for her on the way out, or how you offered to drive her to and from work to make up for staying late, but not that either.

Maybe it was how she didn’t want to get out of bed, or how her coffee tasted better than any time she’d made it herself. Or how she hadn’t slept that peacefully in twenty years. It could have been how much she enjoyed being driven to work, and having full control of the songs you listened to on the way there, or the fact that she sped ahead to open a door for you this time. She doesn't have time to dwell on it once she gets to her classroom, a knock on the doorframe comes the second to place her purse on the desk.

“I thought you weren’t in today, I didn’t see your car in the parking lot,” Barbara says as she walks in.

Without looking up from her bag as she pulls out folders, Melissa answers, “I got a ride in.”

“Did you now?” Barbara asks with an amused tone. “And would that someone happen to be the fourth grade teacher that practically lives with you?”

“We don’t live together,” Melissa says incredulously, “we just fell asleep, so we drove in together. It’s not a big deal, it’s not like we’re actually together.”

Barbara can’t hide her laugh, “you fell asleep? Both of you? And where was that?” Melissa only mumbles back, so Barbara presses, “where did you both sleep, Melissa?”

“My bed,” Melissa finally says a little louder, but not much. She wants to send her head through a wall knowing that Barb just figured her out.

“Oh, girl. You are in deep,” Barbara says with a smirk. After she leaves the room, the spiral in Melissa’s head goes faster.

Said spiral carries her through lunch, and only stops when you sit across from her and stare at her for a moment. Her face contorts in a what? look before you reach across the table and brush your fingers through her hair. When you pull back, there’s a purple string from the third graders’ projects between your fingers. Barbara kicks her from under the table, and she kicks back with equal force. They both see you look at them weird, before brushing it off and going back to getting your lunch out. Barbara cocks her head to you, staring at the red head, silently telling her to do something. The look the kindergarten teacher gets back replies not now.

When the end of the day rolls around, Melissa is anxious for your eventual arrival in her doorway, keys swinging around your pointer finger. All she could think about since you parted ways this morning was your hands in her hair and your heartbeat under her ear. She hadn’t felt so content and so at peace in so long, the feeling was so new that it almost scared her. Melissa had to remind herself that this was about you, not anyone else. You’d never hurt, belittled, or offended Melissa, you’d never made it your mission to anger or disregard her, nor had you ever tried putting yourself before her. She knew that feeling this way about you shouldn’t scare her, but it did.

The sound of keys and footsteps in the hallways alerted her to your approaching presence, making Melissa quickly rise to her feet and grab her things, realizing she’d been spaced out since the last student left. As she predicted, you stood there spinning your keys, smile growing when she turned toward you. It drops slightly when you see her smile not reach her eyes. “Ready?” you ask.

“Sure, yeah,” she clears her throat, “let’s go.”

You can tell her mind is running into overdrive as you pull onto her street. When you park in the driveway, you unbuckle to turn in your seat and face her.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

She turns to you with a scrunched face, “what are you, 90?”

You shrug and point to her sleeves, “you’re thinking. You play with the thumb holes when you think.” She’d curse you for noticing if it didn’t make her heart clench. “You don’t have to tell me,” you add, “but I’ll listen, if you want.”

She looks at you for a moment, surrendering with a, “wanna come in?” You only answer by taking your keys out of the transmission, hopping out, and opening the door for her.

The discussion gets put on hold while Melissa heats up leftovers from the night before. She carries both bowls out to the living room where you’re turning on the TV back on for background noise. As Melissa sits down, she faces toward you and you mirror her pose. “Sorry I was acting weird,” she mumbles before taking a bite.

You shake your head, “you’re only allowed to apologize when you’ve done something wrong. Thinking isn’t doing something wrong.” When she doesn’t speak again, you offer up something else, “Ava almost had a heart attack over you this morning.”

She looks at you confused, “were we wearing the same shade of green again?”

“No. She thought you didn’t come to work this morning cause your car wasn’t there, was going off about how she was going to have to sub because there’s still a shortage in the area,” you laugh, “I had to tell her I drove you in, which also ended me in a twenty minute interrogation during my prep period.”

“What sort of interrogation?” she asked, already nervous.

You look down the bowl in your lap as you speak, poking the food around, “the kind where she asks for a detailed account of my whole weekend. Weird amounts of detail too, mealtimes, where I slept, where we went, what shows we watched.”

“What’d you tell her?” Melissa can feel fear creeping into her bones.

“That we went to the farmer’s market, watched sitcoms, and I slept in the guest room,” you answer truthfully, “and what did you say to Barbara?” Her head snaps to you, you lean your head to the side, “she stopped by to ask me about my weekend, she seemed a little too excited to see me if you hadn’t spoken to her first.”

Melissa moves to place her bowl on the coffee table before looking back to you, “she asked why we drove in together. I said we fell asleep, and she asked where we fell asleep. Might’ve told her you slept in my bed.”

“It’s impossible to lie to her,” you say as you copy her move. You’re silent for a moment, then finally ask, “what were you thinking about?”

She takes in a deep breath and exhales to calm her nerves, “this morning. This whole weekend, but mostly this morning.” She glances up, and sees your face had dropped, worry setting in, and she’s quick to revise her statement, “in a good way. This morning, this weekend, they meant a lot to me.”

At her words, your lips stretch into a smile, “it meant a lot to me, too.” She can see you internally question saying the next part, “and you. you mean a lot to me, a crazy amount.”

It’s her turn to smile like an idiot now, a pretty blush covering her cheeks, “you mean a crazy amount to me, too. Being around you it’s... It’s easy. I like being with you.”

“I do, too. Sometimes, when I’m here I almost forget I live somewhere else. The second I step inside and I’m with you, I don’t know, leaving just feels wrong,” you say honestly, eyes flickering over her face as you speak, scanning for a rejection you won’t find.

“Waking up to you was nice,” Melissa mumbles, “you’re a pretty good pillow, if I do say so myself.”

Your airy laugh makes her heart race, it goes even faster when you lean in to reply, “I wouldn’t mind waking up that way again... and again, and again.”

She matches you lean in, smiling, “yeah?” Your noses are almost touching, she can feel your breath just barely touching her face. Her eyes flick to yours and see you looking back, faint lines forming as your lips turned upward as her gaze.

“Being with you makes sense,” you say quietly into the space between you, eyes flicking to her lips then back up.

Her hand moves up to your cheek, warm hands and cool rings holding with gentle affection. Olive eyes look into yours for permission, but your answer is closing the space between you. Her other hand flies to hold your neck, your hands holding her wrists. They slide from her arms to her waist, pulling her closer and crawling beneath her shirt to rest on her skin. She takes the chance to straddle your lap as her tongue slides over your bottom lip, asking for the instantly granted entry. Her lips were soft, savoring the feeling of yours against hers, committing it to memory.

Your arms tighten around her, holding her as if she’s this precious thing, and it makes her only give more into you. Her lips slow, and you can almost feel the love she’s trying to convey in her action. But your lungs can only survive so long, and she pulls her lips away, resting her forehead against yours.

“Stay?” she whispers through her breaths as she recovers.

“Wasn’t planning on leaving,” you mumble back, dazed from her kiss. You duck foreward, hugging her as she still sits in your lap. Her arms circle your shoulders, hearing you mumble into her neck, “I love you.”

She presses a kiss to your head, “I love you.”

Melissa’s heart beat against your ear, calm and steady. The smell of her perfume and honey shampoo flooded your senses, making you nudge into her further. You tilted your head, lips pressing softly to the skin of her neck, moving upwards back to her lips, pressing a long, sound kiss there. You pull away to look at her, smoothing back copper strands.

“Is it too early to go lay in bed for the rest of the night?” you ask quietly.

She huffs a laugh, “I was gonna suggest the same thing.”

By the fifth episode of Weeds, Melissa noticed your breathing even out. She peered down at you where you lay curled into her side with your head on her chest, arm slung over her middle, lips slightly parted. She presses a kiss to your head as she shuts the TV off, and lays there to just bask in you being with her. She’d never felt so adored, so cared for, so at ease. This is was it was supposed to be.

feedback appreciated as always <3

title from would that i by hozier (i’m sure everyone knew that. we’re all gay here)

#melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti #lisa ann walter #abbott elementary #lgbtq #lgbtq fanfiction #lesbian

[dearharriet]

About Time | Chapter 1

james potter x reader time travel au | 3k words | contents

page 1 | next

00:00 — 1 JANUARY

James waited until he’d fallen into his childhood home, half-plastered and sad and staring himself in the eyes through his bathroom mirror. His gaze seemed colder, lonelier than usual, and when he splashed his face with cool water it chilled him to the bone.

He’d never been unsettled by solitude, never minded much retreating to an empty bed at the end of a long day. Until then.

That’s when he knew he had to go back.

+

“Pardon me.”

The voice from behind you was so sudden and deep that you jumped, whipping around clumsily to meet it.

“God, you startled me!”

Laying eyes on the man responsible, you instantly released any ill-will you had.

“Hi, sorry,” he said, and you were already quite smitten.

He was young, though surely not any younger than you. Handsome too, in a dismantling way, like he might take you apart if you were an old clock, just to see what made you tick.

And if he wasn’t young and handsome, he’d still gain a little credit just in looking so guilty for spooking you.

“Hi.”

This was January, and you were out on the veranda, so your breath escaped you visibly. You were aware of it trickling upward as the handsome man smiled shyly and introduced himself.

“I’m James.”

Leaning up against a white banister, you snuggled further into your shawl, watching him. He was a few steps above you, and taller by a lot anyways, so it posed a bit of a strain.

“Y/N. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Lovely name,” James commented, not missing a beat. It surprised you, but you rallied easily.

“And yours.” You sipped your drink, and when he hadn’t formed a response, decided to elaborate. “Classic.”

James ducked his head in a dashing sort of way, adding a little humility to the lethal mix of attractive traits he contained.

“Yeah, but don’t let it take any precedence. It's strangeness across the board for the rest of me.”

Your lips curled up at the corners.

“For some reason I think that’s true,” you teased, eyes shining with mirth.

There were lots of ways to be flirted with, several of which left a bad taste in your mouth and a loneliness that felt unquenchable in your chest, but this you liked.

James spoke like he was on his toes, constantly steeped in anticipation. If possible, he seemed to savor every moment while simultaneously rushing into better, deeper territory.

He came further down the steps then, and you appreciated the relief on your neck. The smell that drifted off of him was like honey and biscuits, perpetually warm on your senses, even in late winter.

“So how do you know Marlene,” James asked, and you felt the tightness of excitement in your chest realizing that he was going to stay and talk to you.

“Work,” you told him, “she’s a madwoman. Flirts with all the customers.”

James kept a polite distance from you, gravitating toward a patch of light from the windows. He wore a tailored suit that was primarily night blue, which somehow fit him with both strict lines and a charming rumpled messiness.

You wondered if he’d get any easier to look at.

“That sounds like Marly,” James agreed, looking fond. A tiny needle of jealousy pricked you, which was ridiculous, because if this were Marlene’s boyfriend she’d have been shouting it from the rooftops.

Clinging to that affirmation, you asked, “you two are familiar?”

Each of James’ hands held the opposite bicep in a half-hearted cross, aiding a small shrug.

“We went to school together.”

You nodded, growing envious for new reasons.

“That seems to be the theme around here. I’m sad I missed it.”

James smiled warmly, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Would it make you feel better if I told you it was boarding school? We had to share dorms all year.”

Fiddling with a ring on your finger, your gaze skipped to the square orange portal that led to the party inside. The window was one on the back wall of the parlor, and it became devastatingly easy to pick out the school club from the others inside. Marlene lounged beside other sharp girls and well-dressed guys, all of them laughing and bickering like siblings. You craved to be at the heart of it more than anything.

“Co-Ed?” you asked abruptly, tearing away from the vibrant crowd to see James’ face contort.

“No,” he laughed. “I roomed with Sirius, Remus and Frank.”

Your jaw dropped.

“Four to a room?”

James’ laugh thickened, his spectacles glinting white as his head tossed back. His amusement was acerbic, corrupting your bewilderment until it was lost to a goofy smile.

“I do feel much better, thank you,” you said. “Private school sounds awful.”

“Well, don’t rub it in, now,” he chided lightly.

An army of wind marched around the corner of the estate then, fighting through your thin shawl. James’ eyes traced your shivering frame as he stepped ever closer.

“Erm, hey, I was wondering—”

The patio door opened, delicate glass inlaid with iron, and yet your moment with James seemed the thing to shatter. A fair-skinned man stepped out, a hunt in his eyes, and you hoped whatever it was for wasn’t James.

Nyx-dark hair moved like shadows over the night sky, reflecting the party inside glossily. His head turned, and then he was laying eyes on your companion.

“James!” The man said, his poised effect splitting down the middle, revealing a collie’s energy. He motioned for James to meet him up on the landing. “C’mon mate, Remus has a plan.”

James shook his head simply.

“Do it without me, yeah?”

Something territorial swept over James’ friend’s face, and he suddenly looked you over. You were embarrassed to only warrant a millisecond of his attention.

“Bollucks,” he declared, challenging James to disagree. “Let’s go.”

Then he returned swiftly inside, leaving both French doors and your chest swung open. James sighed, the weight of a lost battle on his shoulders, and found your eyes again.

“Sorry, that’s Sirius,” he explained, and you supposed that would make sense.

“The roommate,” you provided. James nodded.

“I swear he’s nicer.”

You wouldn’t say you found him rude, just unfriendly. He certainly seemed warm, as did everyone at the party, but to a select few people. A select few that didn’t include you.

You said, “I’m sure.” If James thought someone was nice, they probably were. He seemed a good judge of character. Unless you had very poorly judged his character, which you wouldn’t put past yourself.

James winced. “I have to go. But, um—”

“James, mate, come on,” Sirius called from inside, and then he and another, taller man poked their heads out to check his progress in detaching himself from you.

“Alright, one second!”

You’re not sure why you said it, perhaps the people pleaser overriding your system, but you said, “it’s alright, James. You can go.”

It didn’t make him look any less torn. His head whipped back and forth between you and his friends, trying to find a solution.

Of course you wanted him to stay, but you didn’t want to hold him hostage, so you tried your best to look supportive of whatever he chose.

In the end, he stepped close to you, brows pinched with regret.

“I won’t be long. Will you—would you stay?”

You pressed your lips together in a tight smile, choking back the clawing barrage of disappointment.

“‘Course,” you said.

James blew out a breath, relaxing his tense posture.

“I really swear it. Back before you can say ‘private school,’ yeah?”

You laughed weakly, taking a long look at him for memory.

“Yeah.”

Reluctantly, James backed away from you, then turned to climb the steps toward his friends. They were sagged with impatience, hanging onto his every step the same way you were, except for different reasons. In a way, you were more jealous of these two than you were of Marlene, because they were like James’ brothers. They knew him better than probably anyone, you guessed.

James hopped up onto the landing and glanced back to you, frowning slightly. The light from inside caught his lenses just so, hiding his eyes from you, and that small detail alone felt like the end of all things.

Then, Sirius and his accomplice took each of James’ arms and hauled him inside, shutting the doors behind them.

Shivering again, you watched the three of them appear in the window, heads bowed together in conspiracy. James looked different there, like something out of a movie. He snapped right into place with the rest of them, glittering and masterfully made.

It was clear he had a world of his own—one that you would likely never penetrate, no matter how badly you wanted for it, no matter how long you waited in the cold.

Marlene would forgive you for running off, but you’d never forgive yourself if you got sick for a silly dream, so you left the party and made peace with the what-if that was James.

+

James fell headfirst out of the cramped coat closet, cursing as his legs tangoed and lost to a tall pair of rain boots. In his fall, he took down with him three raincoats and a hanging organizer (six hats, a bucket of gloves, and five and half pairs of sandals).

He was already tired and fuming when he entered the closet, and now he felt he’d completely lose it any second. Disengaging from his fight with evil clothing, he scooched on his bum to the scrunched up hall runner that paved the Mckinnon’s entry.

Near the end of it someone cleared their throat, and James looked up to see Fabian and Gideon Prewett, the nosiest blokes in the world. Fantastic.

“Look who we have here,” said one twin, the other smiling wickedly, ready to pick up the second half of their routine snooping.

“Off for a snog-sesh with someone, are we, James?”

Battling to his feet, James let out a long-suffering sigh, already moving their way.

“Yeah, your mum,” he snarked.

As they both laughed, James prepared to push between them, but they parted before he had to. He walked through their flank, relieved yet nervous—the typical reaction those two elicited.

Leaving them behind, the narrow hall forked off into several different rooms, offices and kitchens and a library. James played here even before he was in school with Marlene, so he knew every corner like it was his own home. He headed for the parlor.

Even for someone who had never been in the house, finding James’ destination would be easy. All they had to do was follow the music.

In the parlor, chaise lounges were hardly visible under old school friends and their families, the walls lined with business partners and gossiping aunts. Smaller children ran amok, like birds weaving between a forest of mingling adults. The hearthfire hissed and spat, bound to take down at least one fashionably dressed lady before the year was over.

James swept his gaze over the bobbing heads and flying hands, looking for someone in particular. Sirius’ thick black hair beat like a raven's wing near the back of the room, so that’s where the bespectacled boy went.

On his path, Remus stood glued to a wall, looking very antisocial. He pinged from one crutch to another, taking up new residence at James’ side.

“Where’d you run off to?”

“Had to take a piss,” James said casually. He’d grown accustomed to small lies like that, since no one knew about his little habit.

Remus didn’t question it, just picked through the crowd to where Sirius was.

“Padfoot,” James called, and he didn’t have to say anything else. Sirius excused himself and met the two of them without question, a silent understanding that forged the undercurrent of their friendship.

James led them all into another hall, one closer to the crystalline patio doors.

“I heard,” James started, “that Marlene has a pot stash somewhere ‘round here.”

Sirius and Remus glanced at each other, and James knew he had them. Even if they came up dry, the two of them would snoop just to snoop, and Remus obviously wanted away from the party anyways.

“Whereabouts do you think it is,” Sirius asked, looking at a mounted painting like it might be involved.

“Dunno,” James said, “but if we split up I bet we’d find it before the new year.”

Sirius grinned, and it spread onto Remus’ lips.

“I can take downstairs, and you and Pads can go up,” Remus said.

James shook his head.

“No, you two can go.” The two of them gave James skeptical looks, but he shrugged. “I have heavy footsteps, they’d hear me up there.”

Sirius’ expression cleared, and then he was nodding along. “Right.” He took Remus’ arm in his grasp and pulled him along. “Let’s go, Moony. I bet we can find some before Prongs.”

James heard Remus object that, “it’s only in one place,” before their conversation was lost by distance. Then, he turned around and pushed through the back doors, praying you were where he left you.

You were. Just like last time, your back was turned to him. You were staring at the clear sky, gripping your wrap close to your chest. James remembered that he’d startled you before, so he latched the doors as noisily as possible. You still didn’t come around.

He supposed that was for the best, actually, since he’d changed something already. He crept down the steps, feeling terrible for sneaking up on you, and wondering what you might’ve been thinking about that kept you so distracted.

“Pardon me,” James begged, and you spun around in shock.

“God, you startled me!”

James smiled, and your eyes trailed all over him. He couldn’t say he minded, since he was doing the same.

You reminded him of a mouse—shy but necessarily bold, holding yourself up outstandingly well as a stranger in a roomful of friends. That was, until you dipped outside and didn’t return.

“Sorry, hi,” he apologized, really meaning it this time. As expected, you smiled shyly, golden champagne tilting in the glass you held.

“Hi.”

A swath of mist escaped your mouth with the exhaled greeting. James had to remind himself that you didn’t remember the first time this happened, so you wouldn’t know his name.

“I’m James.”

You leant back, neck craning to keep his eyes. James stepped down to accommodate you, and your brows smoothed.

“Y/N. It’s nice to meet you.”

“That’s a pretty name,” James said, getting bolder. It was hard to hold himself away from you.

You dropped your head then, smiling primly at the stone steps.

“Thank you,” you said, instead of complimenting James in return.

James blinked. What happened?

“Yours—”

“I’m—”

James paused as you both spoke at the same time, looking at you the way someone might look at a tricky puzzle.

“Sorr—”

“You can—oh.”

Fingers pressed to your mouth, you looked at James, a tentative smile in your eyes. James sighed, and then laughed strangely. He motioned for you to go ahead, only to find your hand unfolding into the same gesture. Both of you stared at each other for a beat before falling into a fit of giggles.

“You go,” James said finally, smiling. You just shook your head.

“I don’t even remember.”

James squinted at your rosy cheeks, his lips picking up at the corners. You could lead a horse to water, he supposed.

The temptation to learn more about you began to win him over, so he bent a few rules.

“So you work with Marlene, I hear,” he spoke, fibbing ever so slightly.

You smiled a bit, none the wiser. “I do, yeah.”

James looked inside, checking for dark hair or an itchy sweater, but Remus and Sirius were still missing. Good.

“What’s that like?”

Brows furrowing, you followed his gaze.

“It’s…interesting. She’s really nice, but she—”

“Flirts with all the customers?” James supplied, peeking at you out of the corner of his eye.

You stared at him for a tick. “Yeah. You must know her?”

“Childhood friends,” James decided, nodding. When he turned back to you, you were raking your eyes over his dressy outfit, lip caught between your teeth. Your eyes found his, and you looked away. James thought he saw a flush to your cheeks.

The wind whipped around the corner then, and James began shouldering his thick jacket off, finally doing what he’d wanted to do before.

“You must be crazy,” he said, coming closer. “It’s freezing out here.”

You braved a look at him, and alarm sunk into your features.

“No, James, you don’t have to do that. I’m fine.”

“Don’t be polite, lovely, you’re shivering. Here.”

James slowly held his coat over your shoulders, leaning back to watch you carefully. He saw the moment you accepted his offer, sinking back into the warmth the garment still held.

“Thank you,” you breathed as James pulled away. He shoved his cold hands into his pockets, now looking to conserve heat.

“‘Course.”

Though his hands weren’t on you anymore, James stayed just as close as he was moments ago. He could smell the champagne in your glass. He glanced around to the garden, to your feet on the step, just below his.

“D’you want to head inside?” he asked. “It’s almost midnight, I think.”

Your lips turned up, and James hoped to God he’d get to kiss them.

“That sounds lovely.”

+

James flipped his phone open, the small screen giving off just enough light in his dark room to make him squint. He was wondering what you’d put for your contact—a smiley face, maybe, or a heart? He hoped you put a heart. It took his brain far too long to catch up to reality.

With a shock of gut-twisting dread, James realized he’d been so wound up over kissing you that he forgot to ask for your phone number. Your phone number.

He groaned, glancing at his bed longingly, but he knew he wouldn’t fall into it very soon. He’d go back a hundred times before he slept that night if it got him one date with you.

thank you for reading! xx | masterlist

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#about time #james potter #marauders #james potter x reader #james potter imagine #james fleamont potter #james potter au #james potter fic #james potter fanfiction #marauders fandom #marauders au #maraders era #marauders fanfiction #marauders era #time travel #time travel au #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fandom

[cyberseong]

sunsetz.

pairing: mingi x f!reader.

genre: smau, slight fluff(?), established relationship.

warnings/topics: there's quite a bit of plot before it gets to the actual smut, mingi is super gentle, slight fluff because it's mostly cute, fingering, teasing, it's just really intimate idk. word count: 1.07k

a/n: hi! this is my first fic that i’m publishing on here— it’s not proofread, but i hope it’s still enjoyable. reblogs and likes are appreciated <3

y/n and mingi have been dating for 2 weeks now— the relationship was overflowing with love and desire each day, and each touch exchanged held a meaning that only the two could comprehend. they were both content with how their relationship was blooming, but only one flaw was starting to shine through the cracks of their bond.

the increasing amount of sexual tension between them was anything but unnoticeable; unbearable.

each time they would be close to crossing the line, mingi would take two steps back. he was overly careful, and he wanted to wait for the right moment to become that private and personal with y/n.

“welcome home, love. did you eat? i can cook something up for you if you’d like,” mingi greeted y/n as she slipped her shoes off at the door and set her keys down on the small table adjacent to the front door. they were both busy, so they would typically meet up at each other’s apartments after work to spend as much time together as possible.

“no, i’m okay min; i had dinner with some coworkers today. how about we just cuddle instead? i’m exhausted.” y/n sighed with a warm smile. mingi nodded his head and rested his hands against the dips of y/n’s hips, guiding her into his bedroom.

“would you like to change out of your work clothes first? i wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable at all,” mingi proposed, leaving a loving peck behind y/n’s ear.

y/n shuddered at the action, feeling mingi’s breath just slightly blow against her neck. she muttered a soft ‘yes’, and told herself that it was not the time to be forming such ill-suited thoughts in her mind.

mingi gently let go of her body, treating y/n like a fragile porcelain doll— he then proceeded to his closet, coming back with an oversized graphic tshirt for y/n to wear.

they were comfortable enough with each other to change in close proximity to each other, so y/n immediately stripped out of her blazer and button up, followed by the navy tinted slacks she had worn to work. she was now left in only her undergarments, which caused mingi to look away quickly, his cheeks and ears tinted a rosy red out of embarrassment.

y/n chuckled as she noticed, “you don’t always have to look away, you know. i can’t say i wouldn’t favor the attention from you.” she then slipped off her underwear and unclipped her bra, discarding it to the floor and reaching for the shirt mingi provided for her.

“are you sure? i’d hate to make you uncomfortable, in any w-”

“mingi, trust me. i don’t think it’s possible for me to get any more comfortable with you.”

mingi took that as permission to gaze upon his lover’s body. y/n was currently pulling the shirt over her ahead, in an agonizingly slow manner on purpose; giving mingi time to get a decent view of her bare body before letting the shirt swallow everything. the taller’s face only appeared with more red pigment than a few seconds ago; y/n thought it was cute how easily mingi could get flushed over things.

with y/n now fully covered with her boyfriend’s oversized shirt, mingi engulfs her into an intense embrace— he wanted her to feel just how much love he felt for her. “everything about you is beautiful, god, i love you,” mingi breathed out as he left slow open kisses against y/n’s collarbone whilst slowly gravitating their bodies against the soft plush of his mattress. y/n moaned softly into mingi’s ear, moving her hands up to grip the platinum blonde strands of the other’s hair for support.

mingi’s hands and mouth began to move lower down y/n’s body with ease; from the collarbones, his face glided down to the crook of y/n’s breasts, leaving light kisses on the fabric that covered them. his hands had reached her upper thighs, subconsciously kneading them.

y/n released soft whimpers from her lips, whining out to mingi with desperation, “mingi, please do something. i’ve been waiting weeks, just please…”

mingi lifted his face up from y/n’s cleavage with big glistening eyes, his head tilting slightly with curiosity. “really? i just didn’t want to go too fast with things. are you sure you want to do this, love? let me hear you use your words,”

she breathed in sharply upon hearing his words; the way mingi spoke was so welcoming, yet provocative— there was no questioning as to why she fell for him.

“yes, i’m sure, mingi– please, i need you,”

mingi smiled with assurance, moving his head farther down, specifically in between y/n’s upper thighs. he pushed the bottom of the shirt up to be scrunched around her waist, slightly gliding a finger between her folds. he noticed she was nearly dripping wet, which allowed his finger to slip into her with ease. y/n let out an airy moan, not expecting mingi’s fingers to fit so deeply inside her hole. he slid his finger in and out rhythmically, deciding to add a second finger to scissor her delicately. “faster, mingi, please,” y/n moaned.

mingi steadily picked up the pace, eventually adding a third finger. the veins that were normally present on his hands stood out even more with the amount of tension his fingers caused within his hands. mingi’s vacant hand continued to caress the sensitive skin of y/n’s inner thigh, only heightening the feeling of getting closer to her climax.

“i’m close— fuck, you’re doing so well mingi, keep going please,” y/n’s voice began to tremble as her breaths began to quiver. her legs begged to close, which only caused them to lock mingi’s head in between them. mingi tried to move his fingers at a faster pace than they were currently going, all whilst whispering praises to y/n, to which she responded to with vocal moans— she couldn’t utter any words anymore.

y/n soon reached her climax, cumming hard onto mingi’s fingers as her body shook from the overstimulation. mingi removed his fingers from inside of her, and brought his clean hand up to cup her face. he placed a passionate kiss on her plump lips before smiling contently at his girlfriend.

“i love you, y/n.”

“I love you more, mingi.”

#ateez #ateez fic #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #ateez smut #song mingi #ateez mingi #mingi x reader #mingi smut #atz x reader #atz smut #mingi

[leigh-kay]

Phone Calls || Ethan Landry

warnings// overused gf phonecall smut plot, you all mad at me for cutting it short probably, she touches herself and he watches lol, ethan being a menace, degradation <3

She was alone when the phone rang, watching her favorite show. She was biting into a piece of the watermelon she'd grabbed in the kitchen when it startled her into dropping it.

"Hello?" she huffed, picking up the piece from her comforter.

"Hello y/n," the rasp was unmistakable to her ears.

Reagrdless, her eyes rolled, "Turn that stupid thing off. You made me drop my watermelon you jerk."

He sighed on the other end of the line, cutting the voice changer, "You know I thought it'd be funny-"

"To call me using your serial killer persona voice? Ha. I find it hilarious."

"You said it was hot when I showed up covered in blood ," she could hear his pout.

Switching to speaker phone, she sat the phone on the pillow beside her, "It was. Hell even the voice effect is... something. But your voice is my favorite."

She continued to eat her fruit, smiling at the sound of his silence at the end of the line.

He never knew how to take compliments. His flustered behavior gave her an idea. Why not push his limits?

"You sound pretty all the time but I love when you whisper in my ear. Or when you get all grumpy and assertive and sound all... aggressive."

He can tell what she's up to, and it has the opposite effect she'd imagined. Rather than turn bashful, he cuts straight to the very tone she'd talked about.

"Is that so, baby?"

"Mhm," she smiles, though he can't see her.

"Now that I think about it... you do fall apart so easily with just a few words," he's tempting with his words, "dont you pretty?"

The fruit is moved to her bed side table as she readjusts in her sheets, "The words you choose to say play a part too you know."

"Yeah? Like what?"

Heat floods her body as she thinks of all the different things he says. When she's on top of him. When she's pinned beneath him. How he begs when he's in her mouth.

"When you call me yours."

"And don't forget it. What else?"

She can feel her panties as they catch the heat pouring out of her.

"How you say my name when you.." she trails off, eyes shut.

"When I what baby?"

A sigh rushes out of her, "when you're inside of me."

"You just love when I fuck you, don't you?"

Her fingers trail to the line of her shorts, inching them down, "You know I do."

He could hear the slight whine in her voice, "Are you touching yourself?"

She gave no answer as her fingers run through her slit.

"Answer me slut."

She rolled her eyes.

"Yes mr. psycho killer," she snorted.

"Don't roll your eyes at me baby," his voice was less angry and more teasing, "now you're gonna do what I say, yeah?"

She'd come to the conclusion that he was watching her. Which also led her to believe that if she did as she was told, he'd fuck her the way she really wanted. Deal.

"Yes sir," she smiled, eyes wandering to the window at the far side of the room. She imagined he'd be sitting there, up in the tree beside it, watching her.

"Good. Now, play with that pretty pussy just like I would hm?"

She didn't need to be told twice. Slow circles across her clit made bumps break on her skin. She could feel her temperature rising as she grew needier with the teasing touches she granted herself.

"Look at you, teasing yourself just like I would. I bet you wish it was me though," she could hear the pride in his voice and while it annoyed her, orgasms trumped annoyance any day.

She took a breath, "Ethan please."

"Please what baby?"

"Just come in and touch me," she tried to keep her composure, "I'll do anything."

"Make yourself come and we'll talk about me touching you."

She groaned in frustration, "feels so much better when its you though!"

He laughed in a breath, "I know it does. But i want to watch you."

She knew he'd get what he wanted. He always did with that smile and those stupid fucking brown eyes of his. Disagreements were nonexistent the moment he made her look at him and shes pissed at the fact just picturing him is enough to make her more agreeable.

Regardless, her fingers slip into her cunt as she mumbles his name, dragging through her in a quick speed.

"Faster, angel," he demands.

"Please," she moans, "keep talking baby, please"

"God you're a whore. Touching yourself to my voice?"

Fucking hell.

Her eyes squeeze shut as he continues, "Such a pretty whore though hm? My pretty whore."

She nodded, curling her fingers in just the right way to make her whine.

"Sound so needy too, can't fucking wait to touch you honey."

She curses as she falls apart, crying his name and within seconds her closet door is thrown open.

A scream fills her room as he steps into the light.

"Fuck you!" she huffs, shooting daggers into the man ten feet away.

"You knew I was watching," he grins, making his eay towards her before crawling ontop of her.

"You know you say my name so pretty when you come?" he teases.

She finds her eyes rolling again as she glares up at him, "You said you'd fuck me if I listened."

He laughs, fingers stroking the column of her neck as he takes her lips on his own. She was perfect for him. So needy and so fucking mean. He loved it. He loved her.

Her fingers find home in his hair as she wraps her legs around his waist, dragging him closer into her.

The hand beside her head is supporting him as his free hand locks on her waist, holding her to the mattress beneath them.

As she gives a particularly sharp tug to his hair, he gasps into the kiss, hand rushing to her throat. As he sinks his fingertips into the flesh of her neck, she grins into the kiss hes pressing to her lips, "Harder."

He fights the laugh in his throat as she stares up at him, "You're in no place to make demands."

Before she can utter another word, he's squeezing tighter and letting his mouth cover the space across her chest, enjoying the way her body reacts to every move he makes. The way her back arched and her hips would roll against nothing gave him a pride he'd never had before her. She gave him a lot of things he'd never had before.

"I think," he began to drag his hand over her still dripping pussy, "I want a taste."

Her body shivered at the contact as he got between her legs. She could feel that she was insanely wet, but his commentary on it made her body burn with embarassment.

"You get so wet for me," he grinned, pressing his lips along the insides of her thighs.

Her hands attach to his shoulders as his mouth connects with her clit, tongue immediately rolling over it in slow motions. As her hips rose from the bed, his hands locked around her waist, forcing them down.

Her head fell back as his fingers slipped inside of her. She knew she was in for a long fucking night.

#smut #ethan landry smut #ethan landry #scream smut #scream 6 #ghostface #scream

[theemporium]

okay, another request because you did the last one so much justice. remus and the reader have been dating for a while now. the only thing that upsets him is her lack of communication. so, he takes her upstairs and gets her all hot and bothered, but won't do anything she doesn't explicitly ask for.

aw thank you!! and thank you for requesting!🖤

.

Despite the relationship being fairly new, Remus Lupin adored every single thing about you.

He adored the way your nose scrunched up when you were concentrating on something, or the way you easily flushed after someone complimented you. He adored the way your eyes lit up whenever you got excited, or the way you would eagerly ask him questions when he went on a ramble about something he liked. He adored the way you would always greet him with a kiss, or the way you would say his name like it was the most affectionate word in your vocabulary.

He adored you, but the one thing that bothered Remus was the lack of communication.

It wasn’t a huge thing. You obviously told him how you felt, if you were upset or just feeling a little down. But sometimes, Remus would catch you slipping into old habits. He noticed the way you would shrug off your own feelings for others, how you would go to say something before quickly shutting your mouth, thinking nobody noticed.

But he did. He noticed.

He wanted you to be able to talk freely in your relationship. He wanted you to tell him how you felt, or what you wanted. He wanted you to feel comfortable enough with him that it wasn’t a second thought.

And Remus was all but happy to take those small steps with you.

It had been a few days since he had seen you due to work commitments and general business. With the relationship only being a few months down the line, neither one of you wanted to bush the boundaries too far and come off as clingy. But by the third day, Remus just wanted you in his arms and you were eager to agree to the stay-in date.

You showed up at his apartment, grinning from ear to ear as he opened the door. He gave you one of his hoodies which engulfed you, before leading to the kitchen where you both whipped up a quick dinner. You laughed and smiled and shared a bottle of wine before making your way upstairs to his room, eager to watch some movie he had rented the other day.

The movie captured your attention for a solid ten minutes before Remus was on top of you, one hand in your hair and the other squeezing your waist as he kissed you senseless.

Your clothes were quickly shrugged off, and Remus let his clothes follow the same fate as he kissed and touched and worshipped every single inch of your skin. He missed you more than he cared to admit, and judging by the way you were squirming and wiggling underneath him, he knew you felt the same.

But he wanted to hear you say it.

Your hips bucked against his palm, a needy whine leaving your lips when Remus pulled his fingers away from their attention on your swollen clit. You were soaking, with your thighs slick and your cunt desperate for him.

But Remus wanted to hear you say it.

“Remus,” you whimpered out as he pressed feather-light kisses along the plane of your stomach. “Please.”

“Please what?” he murmured, his eyes darting up as he looked up at you between the messy strands of sandy brown hair.

You reached down, pushing his hair back as the boy settled between your legs. “Please, do something.”

“Do what, love?” he asked, and despite the innocent expression, the glint in his eyes told you that he was enjoying the way you squirmed.

Your cheeks flushed. “You know what.”

“Can’t say I do, baby,” he murmured half-heartedly, placing another chaste kiss on your inner thigh before licking the taste of you off his lips. “Tell me what you want.”

“Remus,” you whined but his hands squeezing your thighs caught his attention.

“I’m not gonna do anything until you tell me what you want, love,” he warned and you knew he was serious. “C’mon now, use that pretty head of yours and tell me what you want.”

“I…” you breathed out, your heart pounding in your chest and something about the situation made you feel embarrassed, even if his presence always made you feel safe. “I want you to touch me.”

He flashed you a lazy grin, squeezing the fat of your thigh. “I am touching you, darling.”

“N-Not like that,” you murmured, shaking your head.

“Then how?”

You let out a shaky breath, your hands trailing down your body until you stopped just above your soaking cunt. “Need you to touch me here please,” you whispered, like it was a secret shared between the two of you. “Wanna feel your tongue here, Remus. It always feels so good.”

His eyes darkened. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “Love it when you make me scream for you.”

And it wasn’t as explicit as he would’ve liked, but it was better. He was pushing your limits, helping you get there slowly even if it meant having you squirm a little until you get there. But it was progress and he was more than happy to reward you for it.

“Atta girl,” he grinned as he wrapped his arms around your thighs, pinning you to the mattress. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

.

#remus lupin #marauders #harry potter #hp #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x y/n #remus lupin fic #remus lupin oneshot #remus lupin smut #marauders x reader #marauders x you #marauders x y/n #marauders fic #marauders oneshot #marauders smut #harry potter x reader #harry potter x you #harry potter x y/n #harry potter fic #harry potter one shot #harry potter smut #hp x reader #hp x you #hp x y/n #hp fic #hp oneshot #hp smut

[azyimnothere]

HEEEEEELLLLOOOO GUYS GUYS GUYS!!!! 💙💙💙

How are we doing today? I know that they were doing great

It's pretty much an idealized version of what I think that Velchid selfie turned out like, I'd imagine that those little star cameras aren't all that great in resolution since they have so much going on in them to just be able to fly, do you think they'd be like drones or something? If that's the case I can just imagine how bad the paparazzi are in Mount Rageous, or would those cameras only be red carpet exclusive? Who knows, but either way I tried to make it look like a little shittier photo with a lot of blinga-ding from reflection and lights. I hope you guys like it! It isn't my best work to be honest but it's nice 😅

Oh and I don't know if this is already a thing or not, because I checked everywhere and couldn't really find it, tell me if you know someone who made this thingy first so I don't falsely claim it as mine okay?

So it's one where Orchid becomes a surprise assistant to Velvet and Veneer! (And of course Velchid is sprinkled in...not really sprinkled in, more like there's a full tub of salt)

So here's a little backstory if you want to know :D

As we know, there was mentioning of an assistant in the movie, or I just imagine it, I'm not sure atp it's 3 in the morning.

Anywhezel, so I thought it would be in one of those accidental encounters by chance.

Crimp had a hard day, on the verge of a breakdown every second because siblings became "kinda" overbearing, and with no assistant around to help (because they most likely quit), she had no help around them. There was nobody who was willing to take the job that was licensed for working and helping celebrities that way because of all the horror stories previous assistants shared around. Siblings didn't really care Crimp was alone with them, so they just put all the extra stuff on her.

Crimp knew she needed a bit of help purely to keep her sanity on the line with her, so she decided to take a walk and think about what to do next (after she made sure siblings were in bed of course). She sat on a bench in the nearest neon-colored park and cried, not knowing what else to do, and had to let it out.

But she heard someone approaching, turns out it was a purple haired mount rageon and she looked at Crimp sadly, and asking her what's wrong. That's how Crimp met Orchid!

Orchid was making her way from the grocery store and saw Crimp crying on the bench late at night, Orchid recognised her easily since Crimp was mentioned a few times by the siblings on social media, there were also some photos. Plus, despite being small she was hard to miss.

Crimp explained her situation and told Orchid she couldn't do everything alone anymore, and that no one was willing to take over a bit of the burden since the siblings simply scared everyone off. Which made Orchid feel sorry for her.

But Orchid figured, that she could perhaps help Crimp out, the job at that doughnut shop she worked at just wasn't payed enough for her to move out of her mom's apartment, she wasn't forced to move but craved some independence ever since she turned 18 (which wasn't that long ago).

A good bonus was that she got to work with her favorite duo! despite it probably, being a little challenging.

Orchid gave that proposition to Crimp, which made Crimp a bit sceptical, Orchid was a nice girl and didn't deserve that kind of stress, but Orchid persisted because Crimp didn't deserve all that stress either.

On the end Crimp agreed, it only had to go through the approval of the siblings first.

And as expected, Veneer didn't really mind who was helping Crimp as long as they helped Crimp in the first place, and everything gets done in time.

Velvet on the other hand wasn't all that for it, she remembered Orchid faintly from a memory of a concert, which meant Orchid was a fan, she didn't want some nosy stalker snooping around. But as she inspected further, and listened to what Crimp had to say, she reconsidered it and ended up agreeing, unenthusiastically.

So that's how Orchid is now a busy celebrity assistant for two.

The story is a little basic, but it is solid I think, there will probably be comics about it in the future if you're interested! 💕

Also here's some Ritzneer I didn't post, warning! Boys kissing!!!

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Love you lovelies!!!! 💙💙💙💙

#digital art #how does one tag #digital fanart #artists on tumblr #fypシ #digital drawing #velvet trolls #velvet and veneer #velvet x orchid #velchid #veneer x kid ritz #trolls veneer #veneer fanart #velvet fanart #trolls #trolls movie #trolls fanart #trolls band together #trolls 3 #kid ritz trolls #kid ritz #ritzneer #my back is killing me #boys kissing #useless lesbians #uceless gays

[friendship-ditch]

Her plus One

(Katniss Everdeen x Fem Reader) ❀

Summary: Katniss takes you as her plus one to Finnick’s wedding, which is where you learn she gets jealous very easily.

Warnings: None (SFW)

Word Count: 1817

You’d never seen this area of District 13 before. Sure, the walls were still that same industrial gray and the lights didn’t lose their yellow tint, but the trees and grass were a nice change from the rest of the bunker.

Hundreds of people had gathered around for the ceremony, forming a neat line down the middle and right up to the makeshift altar. Weddings in District 13 were never a big event, but this one was partially hyped up for propos, so it made sense.

You stood and watched the happy couple of Finnick and Annie exchange their vows.

Katniss was beside you, arm snaked around yours. The night before she’d asked (very nervously) if you would be her plus one to the wedding and you couldn’t have accepted quicker. The two of you had a mutual thing going on but it was never really made official. You liked Katniss and she liked you, it was simple.

As Finnick and Annie kissed you felt Katniss tense up a little. She moved to stand closer to you and slid her arm around your waist. Her chin rested on your shoulder and she pressed into your back a little.

You looked over your shoulder at her, missing the rest of the kiss.

“Are you okay?” You asked softly, surprised by her sudden surge of protectiveness. It was sweet, but a little weird.

Katniss’s smile only touched her lips and she nodded. “I’m fine.”

When you looked back over at the altar, the now married couple had pulled apart and were just hugging. The room erupted into applause and you joined in happily. Katniss only tightened her grip on you.

A few moments later people began to spread apart to dance as the band started to play. The uniform strictness of District 13 was lost and things felt… normal again.

Katniss reluctantly excused herself from you to speak with Prim quickly. As you stood by yourself, you soon felt a presence next to you.

“Your girlfriend is a little overprotective, don’t you think?” It was Johanna, standing close. Your shoulders were practically touching. A smug look spread across her face at your confusion.

“She’s not my girlfriend, I’m just her plus one.” You responded and turned your face back to the dancing crowd.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“I don’t understand what you’re asking me.”

This time Johanna laughed. It was fake and sarcastic, but it was a laugh. She gave your shoulder a gentle slap as if you’d told her the funniest joke in the world.

“Come on, y/n. She didn’t even let you watch the happy couple kiss, don’t think I didn’t notice.” She lowered her voice and moved closer to your ear. “That’s something a jealous person would do.”

You shivered at how close she was and took a step back. Was that what Katniss was trying to do?

“Why were you looking over at us instead of the wedding?” You replied. From across the room you could see Katniss staring at you, evidently not paying attention to Prim.

Johanna laughed again. “I wasn’t staring at you two specifically, if that makes you feel any better.” She noticed Katniss making her way over and nudged you with her shoulder. “Make sure you tell your girlfriend that.”

When Katniss reached you, Johanna had vanished back into the crowd.

“What was that about?” Katniss’s voice was a little bitter, eyes flicking between your face and where Johanna had been standing.

You shook your head and shrugged. “Nothing.”

“It didn’t seem like nothing. She was really close to you.”

As you watched and listened to Katniss, you realized Johanna might be right. The way she was looking at you through narrowed eyes, the way her voice was low and sour, the way her hand slid around yours, fingers interlocking… She was very jealous.

“Just some friendly Johanna banter, that’s all.” You waved it off. Everybody knew Johanna wasn’t afraid to break a few boundaries for some entertainment.

Katniss slowly nodded as if she believed you but her expression remained stark. Her grip on your hand tightened.

“Really, Katniss, it’s okay.” You assured her. You moved to stand closer to her, leaning your head against her chest.

She wrapped her arms around you and held you tight, like a bear. “Alright.” She murmured and pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head. Her body loosened a little. “I believe you.”

You smiled up at her, eyes trailing over to the dance floor where everyone was laughing and having fun. “We should dance.”

Katniss agreed with her own small smile and quick kiss. The two of you made your way over to the dance floor, joining in.

It was fun, dancing with everyone. All of the spinning and clapping and partner changing, you enjoyed it with a gleeful smile and danced your heart out.

Katniss, on the other hand, wasn’t so pleased. Every time you switched to having a solo partner that wasn’t her, her red face hardened and her eyes stuck to you like glue.

When you finally ended up dancing with just her, her grip was incredibly tight and she was so close you could feel her hot breath on your face. She kissed you once and it was long and desperate, then she pulled away.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” You asked softly. You were worried now. She never acted like this.

Katniss nodded again and wrapped her arms around you. It wasn’t part of the dance and the two of you stopped spinning with everyone else. Her embrace was tight and protective, her head on your shoulder.

“I think I’m done dancing.” She said and you knew better than to push it.

When she finally released you from her tight hug, the two of you walked over to the seating area. She was holding your hand once more and in the lead as if she wanted the two of you to get out of there quickly.

“Y/n!” A voice called and you stopped in your tracks.

It was Annie. She came bounding over with a wide smile, her veil having been abandoned so she could dance. When she caught up, she offered Katniss a friendly wave and then turned to you once more.

“Where are you going? We need an extra person for–”

Suddenly Katniss slumped into you a little, leaning most of her body weight on you. You gave Annie an apologetic look, asking her to wait as you turned to check on Katniss.

“I’m not feeling very good.” Katniss mumbled as she wrapped her arms around yours once more. “Can we sit down?”

You sighed and nodded. “Sorry Annie, maybe later. I’m going to sit with Katniss for now.”

Annie nodded with an understanding smile. She reached to pat your shoulder and Katniss let out a little groan. You watched as the other woman walked away and then you brought Katniss to one of the benches.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, feeling her forehead. She was warm and red but not in a feverish way.

Katniss laid her head on your shoulder. “I’m just a little dizzy. Can you stay with me?” She wasn’t exactly giving you an option with the way she was using you to hold yourself up.

This whole situation was a bit… fishy. Katniss was fine just moments ago. You ignored your suspicions though and nodded.

“Of course.”

She smiled a little and hugged your arm tighter.

And so the two of you sat there for a while, watching the festivities. You didn’t mind sitting aside as you were pretty tired too. You and Katniss just talked in soft murmurs and she rested through her supposed dizziness.

Quite a few times somebody tried to come over and talk to you but Katniss always found a way to end it before anything happened. By the third time she suddenly insisted she felt sick and asked you to bring her to the bathroom, you caught on to the lie.

“You’re not actually sick, are you.” You said, standing beside Katniss. She was holding onto the sink and watching cold water run down the drain. When she didn’t respond, you tried again. “Come on, Katniss, tell me the truth.”

Finally she sighed and turned the sink off.

“No, I’m not.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

“You’ll think I’m crazy.” She faced away from you and crossed her arms.

You shook your head, grabbing her arm gently and turning her back around. You were pretty sure you knew the answer but wanted her to say it. “Try me.”

Katniss sighed again, her face heating up. “I’m just… I just get really jealous, okay?” She said. Her eyes were still angled towards the ground. “I don’t like it when you talk to other people, because you’re so–I’m scared somebody else will catch your attention and you’ll fall in love with them and then leave me.” She blurted out bluntly.

Her confession, although expected, was still surprising.

You gently tilted her face up with a soft hand, seeing the tears brimming in her eyes.

“Why would you think that?” You murmured softly. “You know how I feel about you. I’m here as your date, not anyone else's.”

“But you’re just so gorgeous and kind and I love you. I feel like other people are going to think that too and then they’ll try to take you away from me. But they can’t do that because you’re mine.” Katniss mumbled, hot tears spilling down her cheeks.

You stood on your toes and pressed a soft kiss to her quivering lips.

“I love you, and only you, Katniss.” You murmured softly, cupping her face when you pulled away. “I promise.”

Katniss smiled weakly. “You’re sure?”

You nodded. “Very sure.” You assured her gently. “You don’t have to be jealous.”

“I can’t help it.” She whimpered and tried to pull away but you held her in place so she kept blubbering, still crying. “I don’t want you to talk to anybody else, or dance with them, or even look at them, because it feels like my heart is breaking apart and… and you’re mine.”

“I’m yours.” You repeated in a gentle agreement. You brushed hair out of her face and wiped her tears with the sleeve of your gray jumpsuit. “If it makes you so uncomfortable in there, how about we go back to my room? We can just hang out there together.”

Katniss’s eyes lit up. “Really? Just us…”

“Just us.” You nodded.

She smiled softly and nodded too. “Please.”

The two of you crept out of the bathroom together. Katniss held onto you defensively the whole time, pulling you away whenever anyone tried to talk to you. It was a little rude to the other people but you didn’t really mind. Katniss was your main priority right now, just as you were hers. You could apologize later.

#katniss everdeen x reader #katniss everdeen #katniss everdeen x fem!reader #katniss everdeen x you #catching fire #the hunger games #the mockingjay #x reader #this one’s kinda short but I still like it

[diejager]

Hi there, I want to say that I adore your writingg. You know exactly how to tear at someone’a heartstrings. I don’t know if ithis is to your liking, but I would like to request a Miguel O’hara x F!Spider!Reader that has them dating. Reader finds out she’s pregnant and before she can tell Miguel, he breaks up with her (the reason can be up to you). Heartbroken, she leaves the society and goes MIA. 2 years pass, Reader is raising her baby (gender is up to you as well!) and after years of searching, Miguel finally finds her, and to his surprise, his baby. He apologizes and pleads for reader to come back to him and she does, who still loves Miguel, tells him that she is willing to work on rebuilding their previous relationship

Second Chances

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x fem!Spider!reader

Cw: angst, second chances, break up, single parenting, pregnancy, childbirth, tell me if I missed any. Wc: 1.6k

The test - the many tests - felt like a curse, the small plastic weighing heavily in your hand, a reminder of the lasting effects he had on you. Despite his abrupt departure, his sudden change of mind about your relationship had left you grasping at straws, crumbling at the seams with nothing to support you. You gazed solemnly at the plastic tube, the two, pink lines peering back at you without prejudice, it only showed the truth, facts without fault. You were exhausted, mind buzzing with static noise, dark bags hanging low under your eye, carving a path of self-neglect and loathing. It felt as if your world, the happiness and joy in your eyes draining, the once glimmering city coming to a stall, a slow and depressing drawl that made everything so dark —so sad.

You sighed, fingers shaking in your hand, the plastic cracking in two from the strength you used, a mix of anger and anxiety coursing through your veins. You hated him as much as you hated yourself for letting go so easily, but you loved him too much. You wanted to hate him, to curse at him for leaving you alone with this new responsibility, to be burdened with another life to feed and nurture on your own. You tried to make up everything, bringing up his flaws and his wrongs, chewing him out in your mind until you were sure that you had nothing left to use against him. The moments where he hurt you, the biting words he threw at you in times of anger and the snide remarks he let slip out. They hurt but he always apologised, muttering sweet confessions and loving words in the privacy of your apartment, begging for your forgiveness on his knees, pleading as much as he worshipped the ground you walked on. 

There were times when you truly hated Miguel, where he made you cry with a broken heart, and he always crawled back to your feet, wanting a second chance. You caved - every single time - at his flushed face and tearful eyes, red-rimmed with sleepless nights and utter self-destruction. You loved him too much to watch him waste away, break apart from the seams and turn brittle, yet he left you. Miguel had dropped you without so much of a word and it broke you, five years of relationship and despite many rocky moments, you two were happy —or so you thought you both were.

You sobbed, head hung low as you stumbled toward the bathroom, leaving the kitchen island and ambling away, feeling a sudden burst of nausea rising in your throat. You threw yourself to the toilet bowl, tears brimming your eyes as you threw up, heaving loudly and gagging on your tears. Your throat burned, bile tasting rancid on your tongue. You moved numbly, eyes blinking away the heavy daze in your mind, the loud pulse at the back of your head, blares that only kept getting more painful. Pushing yourself up with weak arms, you rinsed your face and washed your mouth, bile still lingering in your mouth, putting in more strength than it would usually need. You had to eat and drink, filling yourself up before taking any medicine for your nausea and pains. Then, you’ll have to plan out the next few years, starting with this pregnancy while upholding justice, what to buy and what you would need to prepare in advance while you could still move; a nanny prepared early to watch over your child when you’re busy; and to find a way to care for your child as a single mother. 

It would be hard, but you’ve faced harder situations, nothing with a heartwarming and joyful end like the little baby in your stomach.

Miguel had to do it, to push you away, to hurt you, to end it —all to protect you. Everything he did was for the betterment of the people around him, his self-sacrificing thinking to keep the Spiderverse from collapsing on itself as it collapsed in his past, he did it to protect you and your universe. It hurt, truly. This pained the deepest, most vulnerable part of him. The walls he put on to protect himself were useless, you’d already breached them, touching the soft and goodness in his heart, the beat of dying flames and self-hatred for failing his past. You warmed him at the core, coaxing him to open up to you, bloom like a flower in summer, welcoming and loving, warm and worshipping. That’s how he felt, he worshipped you, kissing your knuckles as much as he did with your feet, ready to bleed if it meant you’d stay safe.

He did what he had to do. That was his driving cause —his excuse for breaking your heart and damning his. 

He spent three years worrying, letting it fester in his heart and sour his character. He became grumpy, sarcastically snide and mean to some, but they knew why, witnessing him smile and laugh when you were around, his eyes gleaming with life and his face lighting up. He was now a shell of his former, happier self, gloomy and frowning to show his displeasure and annoyance, his shorter temper and vitriol around anyone. This decision caused him to fall, going back to the person he was when he met you, spiteful, quick to anger, and easily irritated. He wasn’t someone to admire, someone who didn’t deserve such respect and loyalty. He couldn’t deem himself so. 

You’d gone dark, coordination unmoving and communication stalling to a silent ring. You stopped coming in, preferring to keep your privacy and spend your pain alone, losing your watch and protecting your universe on your own. He tried to respect your choice, wanting to give you your space, but he missed you, pulling the hair from the roots and working himself to the bone. He waited patiently, bit his lip bloody until he mustered up the courage - or stupidity - to visit your universe and, if he was lucky, run into you

Dressed in darker shades, and baggy clothes that wouldn’t make him stand out too much with his stature. The collar sagged around his shoulder, a pull-up hoodie that clung to his chest and arms, stretched over them until it hung loosely over his slimmer waist. He scoured the streets of Brooklyn, eyes roaming over the places he walked, crossing streets and intersections, spending a few bucks in shops as an excuse to look around. Every minute spent made him guiltier, something in his mind calling for him to leave and respect you, that he was simply adding more to his emotional dependence. 

He already bought a coffee at your local cafe, went into the bookstore you’ve always gushed about that sold little collectibles, walked through a park you mentioned in passing and hesitantly walked up and down your street a few times before he stopped at the grocery store. This would be his last stop before returning him, putting a stop to his numb wandering for a chance to catch a glimpse of the beauty he missed. The store hadn’t changed much, with stalls and racks of fruits, cookies and random snacks. He walked down the aisle of cold vegetables, pumps blowing occasional clouds of cold mist to keep the temperature around the greens down. It brought back memories, reminding him of the time he pushed the cart down this aisle, letting you pick the vegetables and fruits you’d use to cock something up for the night’s supper. 

He stared at them longingly, seeing the bags from countless sleepless nights and days spent overworking himself to push his emotions from the forefront of his mind. Despite the busy shop, it was quiet as if he was in a world of his own, staring at his disgusting reflection in the misty mirror of the wall, his red eyes, unkept hair and dried and oily skin, he looked sick. He sighed, lamenting his attempt to find you until the loud cry of a child rang in his ears, the happy babble and the soft, but familiar laughter of the mother. He turned to the sound, eyes looking over the different heads around him until he landed on a familiar shade of hair, bangs pulled back from your face and a babe clinging onto you. 

You looked happy, a smile gracing your soft features and pupils gleaming with so much life when you looked at your child. Child. That shocked him back, a child hung from your shoulder, their small, chubby hands grasping at your jacket, babbling something that had you giggling. He wondered whose child it was, dumbfounded to see you as a mother, but he didn’t see another man with you, no partner that would indicate that you were taken —that you slipped between his fingers when all he wanted was to protect you. When he took a closer look at the babe, he recognized his features, the brown locks and caramel skin. A pretty, little creation made from the two of you who had your eyes and smile, your liveliness and your character. 

Miguel loved his daughter already. He stared wistfully, sad yet joyful. He had a daughter, you’d spent three years in silence, caring for your child alone without so much as asking him for help. It saddened him, pulled at his core, how incompetent he was that you didn’t bother to reach out for help. Under the smile and laugh, he could only imagine how exhausted you were, raising a child on your own wasn’t something he wanted, it shattered him.

But when you turned around, tired eyes meeting his, you flashed him a small smile, warm and loving. His knees felt weak, his heart loud in its cage and his eyes watery. With a hesitant twitch, he gave you an apologetic and sorrowful smile, weak and broken, but still so in love. 

Taglist: @yas-v @elliewilliamsbae @rinieloliver

#x reader #miguel 2099 #miguel o hara #miguel spiderman #miguel o'hara #miguel ohara #miguel spiderverse #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel ohara x reader #miguel x reader #miguel x you #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel ohara x you #x fem!reader #female!reader #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman 2099 x you #spiderman 2099 #atsv miguel #angst #tw: single mother #break up

[scarlethexelove]

Am I Worthless

Pairing: Kate Bishop x Reader

Word Count: 1224

Warnings: Depression, ⚠️ Self Harm, Angst ⚠️, Fluff, Soft Kate.

A/n: I was borderline in tears writing this. I'm learning that when I am depressed I write the comfort I'm searching for by using my feelings. So please enjoy my breakdown and hopefully it can bring you some comfort.

NO ONE IS PERMITTED TO STEAL, COPY, OR REBLOG MY WORK AS THEIR OWN

The phone rings against your ear as your breath comes out jagged. The call is picked up with a bout of silence only the sound of your breathing could be heard. “Hello?” A groggy Kate answers the phone. “Katie.” You whimper. You can hear her shifting quickly at the sound of your voice. “Y/n what’s wrong baby?” Her voice is laced with concern.

Your mind spirals out of control, spewing harsh words into your ears. Unspoken words by loved ones that aren’t actually true but your mind tells you that it is. You’re a burden too messed up for someone to love. You’ve somehow done something wrong when you haven’t done anything at all and maybe that is the problem. You’re the problem and no one should have to deal with how messed up you are. 

A sob rips from your throat, your mind's unspoken truth breaking you down. Kate’s heart breaks concern flooding her every thought. “Baby please.” She pleads with you. “What’s wrong?” You shake your head unable to find words, regret filling you for waking her in the middle of the night with how worthless you are. “I’m coming over.” You hear more shuffling as Kate gets out of bed and puts on a shirt. “I-I’m sorry, I-I shouldn’t have called. I’m sorry.” Your hand trembles slightly as you start to pull the phone away. “No baby please stay on the phone with me. I’m heading over right now.” Kate exits her apartment, running down the stairs and getting in her car. 

“I’m sorry.” You mumble out before ending the call. “No, no, no, no, no.” Kate mutters as the line goes dead. She tosses her phone in the seat and races to your place. She knows that you struggle with depression and anxiety but she has never heard you like this and she is truly scared. What is normally a 15 minute drive turns into 5 as she barely shuts the car off before running up the stairs to your apartment. She is thankful that she has a key as she lets herself in. 

There you are sitting on the couch, the glow of the tv barely illuminating your face. It’s just enough Kate can see your tear stained face and the fresh tears falling. You're sitting in a ball, a blanket draped over your head, your right hand in a tight fist. “Oh Y/n/n.” Kate rushes over to you but you don’t meet her gaze, ashamed of yourself. She cups your face in her hands but your eyes don’t meet hers. She looks you over until her gaze stops on your clenched fist. A trickle of blood peeking from under your fingers as it trails down towards your wrist. 

Kate gently takes your hand in hers and you reluctantly open your fist. She gasps slightly seeing the razor blade nestled in your hand and digging lines into the palm of your hand. “I-I’m sorry. I wanted to use it so bad. I tried to stop myself. I tried b-but I couldn’t.” You sob finally meeting her gaze, but it’s not what you expected. Her face is soft and comforting. She leans in, placing a soft kiss on your forehead.

“You did amazing Y/n/n.” Kate gently takes the bloodied razor from your hand, placing it on the coffee table making a mental note to get rid of it later after she has helped you. You shake your head at her words. “Yes you did princess.” You look at her as more tears fall. “How?” Your voice is small but Kate just gives you a soft smile. “You could have done so much more but you held onto it. You didn’t let the urge fully take over.” You look down at your bloodied hand, a few straight cuts line the middle of your palm from when the blade shifted. 

It could have been worse. You let those words play in your head. Kate is right, you could have easily sliced up your arms or thighs but instead you held the blade stopping yourself from doing more. You look back to Kate. She’s here and she hasn’t run away. A reassuring smile on her face to show you that she is here and she isn’t going anywhere. She came when she didn’t have to come. Maybe she does really love you.

“Let’s get you cleaned up baby.” Kate breaks you out of your thoughts. You just give her a small nod. She leads you to your bathroom where she sits you on the counter before she goes into your bathroom cabinet and brings out a first aid kit. She gently cleans your hand and checks on you throughout. Once she cleans all the blood away she applies some antibiotic ointment, placing a sterile gauze patch on the area before wrapping it up. When she is done she lifts your hand gently kissing the bandage before she leans in and kisses you softly. 

You don’t think you deserve all of this softness and empathy but Kate makes you feel safe and loved. She feels like home. A few more tears slip from your eyes. “Thank you.” You say softly not even sure she could hear you but she does. Kate lifts you off the counter, having you wrap your legs around her waist. You bury your head in her neck and breathe in her familiar scent. “I love you so much.” Kate kisses the side of your head as she carries you into your bedroom and places you down on the bed. She goes to the other side climbing into the bed with you. You immediately snuggle into her side as she wraps her arms around you. 

The room is silent for a while. The only sounds you hear are your soft breathing and the beating of Kate’s heart. “Why?” You mumble looking up at Kate. She tilts her head slightly. “Why what princess?” A genuine look takes over Kate’s features. “W-why didn’t you just leave? You deserve so much better than me.” Your voice shakes with your words scared of her response. Kate’s heart breaks more for you. “I love you so much princess and would do anything to make you happy. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Be here for you through your best days and your worst. You are my everything and I want to give you the world if you let me.” 

Your tears turn from sad to happy as you lean up and kiss Kate. She smiles against your lips before you pull away. “I love you too. I don’t deserve you.” You lay your head back on her chest. “You deserve the world princess and I will give it to you.” You can’t help the light pink dusting that covers your cheeks and a soft smile. “I want you to have everything too.” She leans down and kisses you again. 

You didn’t expect the night to end like this but you're so glad now that you called your girlfriend. You may not be ok right now but with Kate’s help you will heal and when you fall down again she will be there to pick you back up. If she falls you will be right there with her to give her everything that she has given you.

#kate bishop angst #kate bishop fanfiction #kate x reader #kate bishop fic #kate bishop x reader #kate bishop fluff #kate bishop comfort #kate bishop #kate bishop x female reader #kate bishop x y/n #kate bishop x you #kate bishop x fem!reader #kate bishop x reader smut

[bradshawsbaby]

Let’s Do Some Kissing and Making Up

Pairing: Rooster x Wife!Reader

Author’s Note: Based on this request from @hufflepufftruffle. I will fully admit that this was not an easy one for me to write because I hate the thought of Bradley and Mrs. Bradshaw fighting. Ever. But I hope it’s what you were looking for!

Also. Yes. The title of this one comes from the iconic hit “Baby Love” by The Supremes.

Warnings: Bradley and Mrs. Bradshaw fighting, which hurts my heart. But also lots of fluff to make up for it!

It was a stupid fight.

If it wasn’t your first fight as a married couple, it probably wouldn’t have even been that big of a deal. You and Bradley so rarely fought and, when you did, it was usually over something small that was resolved easily enough with a bit of open communication. But you were both tired and grouchy this time around, and so things had reached a boiling point much more quickly.

You had been in the middle of cooking dinner when Phoenix called, her voice sounding a bit more quiet and subdued than it normally did when the two of you spoke.

“Everything okay?” you asked, cradling your cell phone between your ear and your shoulder as you chopped carrots on the cutting board.

“Yeah, yeah, everything’s fine,” Phoenix replied hurriedly. You could tell she hesitated a moment before adding, “Is Rooster home yet?”

“Not yet,” you told her, glancing up at the clock on the stove. “But he should be home soon.” Putting down the knife, you took your cell phone back in hand and turned away from the counter for a moment. “Did something happen, Phoenix?”

She hesitated again. “I’m sure he’ll tell you when he gets home. I just wanted to check in and make sure he got home okay.”

“Phoenix, you’re freaking me out. Just tell me. Did something happen to him today?” you demanded, your pulse quickening in fear.

Phoenix sighed on the other end of the line. “He’s fine. Really. His F-18 had a compressor stall today, but it’s all okay. A little scary, but he got it figured out quickly.”

Your friend’s words had you clutching the kitchen counter with white knuckles, your head spinning momentarily. You could hear Phoenix repeating your name a few times, which prompted you to clear your throat and shake your head.

“I’m sure he’s going to tell you when he gets home,” Phoenix hurried to assure you. “Just keep an eye on him, alright? I think he was a little more shaken up than he wants to admit.”

“Thanks, Phoenix,” you murmured, setting your cell phone down with a trembling hand.

Shaking slightly, you took a few deep breaths and tried to focus your attention back on finishing dinner. This was the reality of being a pilot’s wife, you reminded yourself. There were risks involved every single day. Things went wrong. Even the most experienced pilots faced dangers like compressor stalls. The most important thing was that Bradley wasn’t hurt. That’s what you kept telling yourself as you waited for him to come home.

Your heart fluttered in your chest when you finally heard the front door of your apartment open, Bradley dropping his things in the entryway before making his way into the kitchen. He looked tired and a little bit on edge.

“Hi, baby,” he greeted you, stepping over to where you were standing and pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“Hi, honey,” you replied, looking him up and down slowly. You didn’t want to give Phoenix up for having told you what happened, so you tried to act nonchalant, as if today had been like any other day. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

“I’m going to take a shower,” Bradley said, running a hand through his hair as he left the kitchen.

Even if Phoenix hadn’t told you what happened, you would have known something was wrong. Your husband was always so attentive and affectionate when he came home from work, no matter how long his day was. Right now, his mind was clearly somewhere else. But you would just wait until he decided to tell you.

You waited.

And waited.

And waited.

By the time Bradley was finished with his shower, you had set dinner on the table and were already sitting there, waiting for him. You asked him how his day was over the chicken pot pie you had prepared, but he gave you short and simple answers. There was no mention of the compressor stall.

“Thanks for dinner, baby,” Bradley murmured, kissing your cheek again as he helped you clear the table. “I’m really tired. If you don’t mind, I think I’m just going to head to bed.”

“Of course,” you replied, though inside you were starting to get frustrated. Was he seriously not going to tell you?

Your frustration grew as you scrubbed the dishes, pots, and pans. You and Bradley were always open and honest with each other. You knew he’d never lie to you. So why wasn’t he telling you about what had happened today? Didn’t he trust you enough to open up about it? Didn’t he want you to know?

By the time you finally made it back to your bedroom, your frustration had festered into downright annoyance. Bradley was in bed already, but he was still awake, if his turning to look at you was any indication. Huffing slightly, you pulled your clothes off and dumped them into the laundry hamper, grabbing a pair of pajamas out of your dresser drawer.

“Is something wrong?” Bradley asked, arching an eyebrow as he rolled onto his side and fixed his gaze on you.

“I don’t know, is something wrong with you?” you shot back, knowing in the back of your mind that you shouldn’t be so snappish, but unable to control your tongue.

Bradley sat up at that, looking a little taken aback by your tone. “What does that mean?”

“Something’s up with you,” you replied, crossing your arms over your chest as you stood beside the bed. “You’ve been acting funny ever since you got home. Did something happen today?” You’d give him one last chance to tell you.

Bradley hesitated for a moment, looking into your eyes and then averting his gaze. “I’m just tired, that’s all, baby,” he told you quietly.

Why wouldn’t he just tell you?

“Just tired? That wouldn’t have anything to do with the compressor stall today, would it?” you demanded, feeling tears prick the backs of your eyes even as your blood thrummed in frustration.

Bradley’s eyes widened for a moment, his lips parting in surprise. “How did you…?” He paused for a moment, frowning. “Did Phoenix call you?”

“Don’t blame Phoenix. She was just calling to make sure you got home alright,” you said, feeling guilty for dragging your friend into it. “The question is why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t think it was something you needed to know,” Bradley replied quickly, his shoulders tensing as the two of you gazed at each other.

“Didn’t need to—didn’t need to know?!” you exclaimed, dumbfounded. “My husband’s jet almost goes down because of a compressor stall and I don’t need to know that?” Hands on your hips, you frowned in hurt and anger.

“It didn’t go down!” Bradley shot back, climbing out of bed and matching your stance on the opposite side. “I’m fine! I’m right here. What was the point in worrying you?”

“What was the point? Do you hear yourself right now? Bradley, I’m your wife!” you cried out, staring at him in shock. “You don’t think I deserved to know that?”

“Babe, please, let’s just go to bed,” Bradley pleaded with you, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not as big a deal as you’re making it and we’re both tired.”

“Oh, excuse me for making such a big deal about my husband’s safety. How silly of me,” you retorted, arms crossed firmly against your chest once more.

“You’re being ridiculous!” Bradley snapped, which brought the argument to a screeching halt, the room filling with tense silence as the two of you just stared at each other.

You lifted your chin slightly to hide the way it was wobbling, hoping the tears that were burning your eyes wouldn’t start falling.

Letting out a harsh breath, Bradley reached for his pillow and the extra blanket at the end of your bed before making his way towards the door of your bedroom.

“Where are you going?” you asked, watching him without moving.

“I’m going to sleep on the couch,” he told you, your eyes meeting for a brief moment.

You were about to tell him not to, were about to ask him to stay, but the words got stuck in your throat. A flash of hurt crossed his face as he turned once more to head to the living room.

Burying your face in your hands, you collapsed onto your bed and sobbed into your pillow, trying to muffle the sounds of your cries as best you could. You wanted to run after him, wanted to apologize for picking a fight, but part of you was still upset with him for not being honest with you. So you remained in bed, curled up miserably under the covers.

You slept fitfully that night, missing the feel of your husband’s arms around you. When you awoke the next morning to the sound of rustling in the kitchen, you felt groggy and mildly bereft. Climbing out of bed, you walked to the kitchen to find Bradley making himself a quick breakfast.

You didn’t say anything.

Neither did he.

When your eyes finally met, there was hurt visible in both of them.

Bradley finally broke the uncomfortable silence. “I’ll be home later,” he said, walking past you slowly on his way towards the front door. He paused beside you for a moment, looking like he wanted to say more, looking like he wanted to touch you. But in the end, he just turned and continued on his way, shutting the door firmly behind him.

He always gave you a kiss. He always told you that he loved you. But not today.

Face crumpling and tears streaming down your cheeks, you walked into the living room, where your husband had slept last night. Bradley had folded the blanket and left his pillow resting neatly on top of it. Crying miserably, you laid down on the couch and wrapped yourself up in the blanket, grateful that it smelled like him.

You didn’t want to fight. You didn’t want him to be at work when you hadn’t made things right with each other, especially after what had happened yesterday. Nobody ever knew when their last day would come, but that reality was especially true for aviators, as much as you never wanted to dwell on that fact.

To try to distract yourself from your misery, you ended up cleaning the whole apartment from top to bottom. Periodically, you’d check your phone, but there were no missed calls or messages from Bradley. You did your best to ignore the way that made your heart throb.

Finally, shortly before it was time to start preparing dinner, you grabbed your phone and typed out a short message to send to him.

I’m sorry. I hate fighting 😢 I love you.

No response.

Fighting back more tears, you hurriedly finished putting together the pasta salad you were making, shoved it in the fridge, and then went to take a shower. You hoped the warm water would at least clear your head a little bit, though you ended up just shedding more tears under the hot stream of water. Feeling just as unhappy as when you entered the shower, though at least a bit cleaner, you went into your bedroom to slip on a pair of comfortable shorts and one of Bradley’s T-shirts.

As you walked back towards the kitchen, you twisted your wet hair back with a clip, swearing to yourself that you weren’t going to check your phone again. You came to a dead halt as you stepped into the kitchen, however, when you spotted a dozen yellow roses on the table. Yellow roses were your favorite.

Before you could move a muscle, or even think of opening your mouth, Bradley suddenly appeared from the direction of the living room, eyes touched with worry.

“There you are,” he said softly, gazing at you from across the room.

“Here I am,” you nodded, not knowing what else to say.

In an instant, Bradley was across the kitchen and had you in his arms, holding you close as you wrapped your arms around him and sobbed into his neck.

“I’m sorry, baby, I’m so sorry,” Bradley whispered over and over again, kissing your forehead, your cheeks, the tip of your nose. He cupped your face in his hands tenderly and gently brushed your tears away with his thumbs. “God, I’m sorry,” he said again, crushing you to him in a tight hug.

“I’m sorry, too,” you sniffled, squeezing your eyes shut tight as you clung to him. “I shouldn’t have pushed you last night. I shouldn’t have picked a fight. I didn’t want you to sleep on the couch,” you rambled, wrapping your arms around him as if you would never let go.

“Sh, sh,” Bradley murmured soothingly, rubbing your back in slow circles. “You don’t need to apologize, honey. I’m the only one who needs to apologize. You were right about everything,” he said softly, wrapping an arm around your waist and leading you towards the couch.

Once you two were seated, Bradley wrapped his arm around your shoulders and held you securely against his chest. “I should have told you about the compressor stall,” he began, looking into your eyes and stroking your cheek with his thumb. “I just…I didn’t want to worry you. I knew it would upset you, and I figured that I was fine, so what was the point in getting you all worked up over it? But that was wrong of me,” he admitted, shaking his head slightly. “You were right, baby. You’re my wife. You deserve to know the truth about everything, even when it’s hard for me to tell you,” he said, resting his forehead against yours.

“I should have let you tell me when you were ready though. I shouldn’t have pushed,” you replied, capturing his hand in yours and squeezing softly.

“I was acting weird though. And that wasn’t fair to you,” Bradley insisted, pressing a tender kiss to the top of your head. “I was just…I was just so scared,” he confessed, his voice sounding small and almost childlike. “When I stalled out up there…I just kept thinking that I couldn’t make you a widow. I just couldn’t. And then I thought of never seeing this beautiful face again,” he explained, caressing your cheek as if you were the most precious thing he’d ever held in his life. “And the thought of it killed me. But it’s also what saved me. I knew I’d do anything I had to do up there so that I could land and get home to you. And then I did get home to you and I acted like a fucking idiot. I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry,” he repeated, leaning forward to brush a kiss against your cheek.

Your eyes filled with tears at his heartfelt confession, your hands gently squeezing his as he came clean about what he had experienced yesterday. “Oh, baby, it’s okay,” you whispered, wrapping your arms around him. “It’s okay,” you said again, running your fingers through his hair comfortingly as you held him close. “I love you so much. Always,” you told him, kissing him tenderly.

“I love you, too, honey,” Bradley whispered against your lips, pulling you onto his lap. “You’re the best thing in my life. I don’t ever want to lose you.”

“You won’t,” you reassured him, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“I’m so sorry that I left this morning without giving you a real goodbye. I was kicking myself all day over it,” he told you, slowly running his fingers up and down your arm. “You deserve to be kissed and to hear the words, ‘I love you’ every minute of every day,” he added, kissing your jaw, then your cheek, then your lips.

“Well, I guess you could always make a recording,” you teased softly, which made the both of you start laughing.

“God, I love you, Mrs. Bradshaw,” Bradley murmured, kissing you again, more deeply this time.

“I love you, too, Lieutenant Bradshaw,” you smiled, nuzzling your nose against his. “No more fighting,” you added, kissing his cheek.

“Making up is much better,” Bradley grinned, holding you close.

And that’s what the two of you spent the rest of the night doing. Pasta salad completely forgotten in the fridge, you and your husband spent the evening snuggled up together on the couch, talking and laughing and sharing kisses. And when your husband finally carried you off to bed, the two of you spent quite some time making things up to each other.

#top gun #top gun: maverick #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #x reader #x female reader #miles teller

[wol-fica]

You could do a Jenna one where reader is filming a show or movie and hasn’t seen Jenna in months except for over the phone and Jenna makes a surprise visit on readers birthday. Like the whole cast and directors of the movie or show is in on it.

summary - ^ (reversing the roles) (also going to be apart of the Rechezame Series)

an - hope everyone is having a wonderful day :)

—————————

“Shit.” Jenna mumbles to herself, closing her eyes in irritation.

She was on set for Beetlejuice 2, and she just couldn’t get her lines right. Wether it was because she hasn’t been sleeping properly, or because she’s been cooking under the hot london sun all day, either way she was fucking up and it was making her mad.

“Take a break Jenna, we’ll start again in 30.” Tim said, patting her shoulder before walking off to the directors booth.

She sighed, grabbing her water bottle off the ground before stalking off to her tent. Everyone she passed steered clear of her, using their common sense to see that she was very annoyed. As soon as she got into her tent, she flopped down in her chair and put her head in her hands, a groan passing her lips.

Her assistant, Megan, was warily watching her from the corner. She was new, and the poor girl was very sensitive and would collapse to her knees with an apology anytime she did something wrong. Fortunately, Jenna has you as her first assistant, and you could teach Megan things very easily.

Unfortunately, you were across the ocean.

When Jenna had to leave to go film for Beetlejuice 2, you had to stay behind due to a loss of a family member. You wanted to go with her, but she made sure you stayed so you could be properly taken care of by your mom.

You would call Jenna as often as you could, but recently you haven’t been answering any of her attempts at contacting you. As of this morning, your location had turned off for her, in which made her paranoid, then in a crying mess, and now this. She had never realized how much she depended on you until now, and it was killing her to not know where you were.

“Jenna!” An angry male voice said, making her snap her head up.

“Yeah?” She replied wearily, confused to what he wanted.

“You left the bike in the middle of the road, someone hit it!”

Jenna winced, getting up out of her chair, “I’m sorry, I’ll go and-.”

“The damage is already done, but the person who hit it is not happy and wants to see who left it there.” He growled, turning on his heel and leaving her tent.

She watched him go with a confused expression, glanced at Megan who shrugged, and decided to follow him out. Her brown eyes scanned the set, finding the bike resting against someone’s leg. It was a girl, with strikingly beautiful eyes and supple skin that looks awfully familiar…

“Jenna!” You waved, moving to set the bike down and walk over to her.

She was frozen for a moment, before sprinting at you with full force. Your arms were open, welcoming her into your warm arms. She launched herself at you, wrapping you up in a bone crushing hug that made you feel like she broke a few ribs.

“Ah ouch.” You strained, patting her back with a gentle smile, “G-guess you missed me?”

She pulled back, grabbing your face and bringing you down into a deep kiss. Your teeth clashed with hers, her lips drawing you down into her. A breathy moan escaped her mouth, quiet but enough that you could hear and feel things from it.

But then suddenly, she pulled back and slapped you across the face.

“How DARE you turn off your location!” Jenna yelled, throwing her hands up, “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

You chuckled, holding one side of your face while reaching for her, “I didn’t want you to know I was coming…”

Jenna took a step back, glaring harshly at you. You sighed, dropping your hand so you could grab hers.

“Baby I swear, I’ve been planning to surprise you!” You said, trying to explain.

“I was worried, you weren’t answering any of my texts and then suddenly you disappear off of Life360.” Jenna’s bottom lip wobbled, “I though you died.”

You smiled, pulling her into your chest, “Clearly I’m not dead.”

She glared at you again, this time landing a sharp jab to your stomach that had you doubling over in pain. A groan passed your lips, but your face was grabbed so Jenna could look at your reddening cheek.

“Sorry.” She muttered, pressing a loving kiss to the irritated spot, “You just scared me, don’t even do that again.”

You nodded, giving the crew members a weak thumbs up while they just nodded with awkward smiles and looked away. Jenna hugged you again, rubbing her hand on the bruise forming on your upper abdomen.

“I’m glad your here, my beautiful girl.”

———————

#jenna #ortega #jenna ortega edit #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #jenna ortega fluff #jenna ortega imagine #jenna ortega x fem reader #jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega icons