#and tell him he's more than enough for me

[tonycries]

Bad Things (To You)

Synopsis. Things they just can’t help but do to you in bed that have you feeling too good.

Pairings. Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, bréeding, mating press, oral (female receiving), pússytalking, light pússy-smacking (Toji’s), daddy kínk (Toji’s) cúmplay, squírting, slight exhibitionism (Sukuna’s), bondagé, chokíng, overstím, some HEINOUS things, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 4.4k

A/N. Was fl@gged n taken down, so here ya go PHEWWWWWWWWW. Also yeah Geto’s I said what I said.

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - “Just the tip.” Or?

“T-Toji, I don’t think-”

“Shhh, doll. M’not talking to you…” Toji hums, lips ghosting over your racing pulse. Angling his head just right to watch his aching cock between your legs - red, angry, just teasing your sloppy hole - ramming inside at such a filthy pace. 

Toji really can’t help but drink in your pretty gasps as he edges you closer and closer to- which orgasm was this again? Hell, he can’t even remember, he’s had you on his thighs - on his mouth - on his fingers. Too drunk off of you and those pretty lil’ moans falling from your lips. 

A sinful - flimsy - excuse that had Toji begging to finally put his aching cock in. On his knees, practically with the way he loops two strong arms tighter around your waist. Tight. Reaching down to give your pretty cunt a soft-

Smack!

“Ah! Hngh, what-”

“M’talking to her.”

And you can do nothing but keen, at both the stretch and the way he increases his pace. Giving you such a  taunting kiss on the cheek before talking - not to you, no - to your poor pussy. 

“Your pretty pussy says she can give cum f’me another time.” he grunts. Still just the tip, but already all sloppy desperation and nonsensical babbles. “I know she can. My good girl, no? Gonna cum on my cock?” 

And shit Toji doesn’t think he’s ever been harder than right now. Because one look at you - all teary and gasping deliciously around him, bucking your hips for- mercy? More? has Toji wanting to cum right here. To just plunge his throbbing cock into you and add to that absolutely filthy pool of precum on the sheets below.

But no. He promised, right?

“S’too much- M’so full please.” you beg, pussy quivering with exhaustion because once Toji gets hooked it’s impossible to escape. And you don’t think you’ll make it out alive. 

“Really?” he hums, reaching down to lick those big fat tears streaming down your cheek. “And this is jus’ the tip? Too much for my baby?”

Positively cooing at how cute you were because you might say you can’t give him another one of your sinful little orgasms - but the way you were milking his cock deliriously, nails digging into his slutty waist to pull him closer, told him what he already knew. “She-” Looking down at your ravaged cunt, “-tells me you can.”

It’s all the confirmation Toji needs before he’s hitting your g-spot. Hard. Eyes widening at the way you gasp out a strangled moan of what sounded like his name. Pussy sucking him up so tight it almost hurt. 

Shit. 

Now, Toji’s had enough of playing nice. And he tells you - a little over twenty times, actually, while he slams into you like a man possessed. That promise of “just the tip” being the last thing on his mind while he fucks into you so dangerously deeper and deeper - inch by fucking inch. 

And fuck he thinks he’s never making that promise again because there was no sight like the one of your snug cunt being split apart on his cock. 

“Ya like that, doll?” he’s groaning, hips stuttering so mindlessly. Barely even thinking about getting himself off because fuck Toji needed to see you cum so bad. “See, now I know you can cum f’me again. And-” Toji throws your legs over his sculpted shoulders, thighs burning at the stretch as he bends down down down- “-that slutty pussy of yours is saying that ‘just the tip’ might jus’ not be enough.”

A mating press. Toji Fushiguro had you in a fucking mating press. He was so unfair. Throwing you around like you were nothing but his lil’ plaything. Hissing so lowly against your lips as he bottoms out. Finally. “N’ I think she might jus’ be right.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - Good lil’ wife!

There were only two things that had Nanami rushing home after a long day at work - you, and that pretty lil’ pussy of yours. 

The difference? Well, maybe it was the way Nanami had you bent over the kitchen counter, kissing your forehead gently, whispering soft little praises in your ear. His darling wife. 

Miles away from how he’s just pulling your drenched panties to the side - too impatient, too starved to remove them. “Was thinkin’ about this all day, my love” Weeping tip just kissing your sloppy hole. “Wanted to come home jus’ to- fuck- this cute lil’ pussy.”

Unforgiving. Nanami Kento was absolutely unforgiving. 

Because without another word, he’s stuffing your cunt so disrespectfully full. And oh, how he loved this view, loved the way your scramble to grab onto the counter - the shelves -  him. Just anything to get used to the stretch as he fucked into you in quick, mindless little thrusts. Like it killed him to wait.

Yeah, Nanami was sure that this was his favorite part of the day - a little reward when he gets home.

“Kento- ngh-” you keen. “D-did something happen at work?”

“No.”

Oh. Something did, probably a messed up report or another one of Gojo’s antics - but right now, talking about it was the last thing on Nanami’s mind. Because he was set and fully and completely ruining you.

Which is why he’s pooling some of the stray icing on the counter - were you baking before? It makes some dangerous, carnal part of himself jump at the thought of you making something for him. How adorable.

You gasp as you feel him harden impossibly inside you. So angry and hot as he dragged against your plushy walls. Veins bumping against your plushy walls in a dizzying little bump! bump! bump! Shit, you weren’t making it out alive. “Fuck- Kento you just got-” 

The taste hits you before the realization. Sweet - like icing. Whatever sentence at the tip of your tongue is cut off as Nanami bullies two fingers inside your mouth. 

The way you gag and moan so deliriously around him has all the blood rushing straight to his cock. Fuck, Nanami has to steel himself from painting your slutty pussy white right then and there - that wouldn’t make him too good of a husband now, would it? How dare he even think of cumming before you do.

“Shhh.” he huffs, hot against your ear. Tongue flattening along the skin, licking long, languid stripes up your neck, catching on the stray smudges of icing. His favorite. “Jus’ take it f’me, my girl.”

All your muffled whines have Nanami only slamming into you faster and faster. Your messy pussy was just soaking his aching cock - smearing your sweet juices all over Nanami’s heavy balls, seeping into your apron and- Ah, that apron. How Nanami loved to fuck you in this, such a cute lil’ pink number that had his cock twitching so dangerously inside you. 

Faster. Sloppier.

But it wasn’t enough. 

“Should’ve hah- expected this to happen, huh?” One hand snakes its way down to your throbbing clit, rolling the sensitive bud in just the way he knows will make you squeal and buck your hips onto his cock for more more more- “When you sent me those fucking pictures today?”

Because you weren’t quite the innocent little wife that you loved to pretend to be - no, you knew exactly what you were doing sending those selfies in this apron. And nothing else. 

“Better not pull that shit again, darling.” Nanami grunts at the sheer thought of it. Pressing at the back of your tongue in a way that has you choking and craning your head to look into his darkened gaze. “Wouldn’t want to regret it.”

Such pure pride shining in his eyes at your fucked out state - apron stained with the sticky mixture of your slick and his precum. 

And the one thing you know you won’t regret is the way you’re cumming. And cumming so hard that it almost hurts.

You, all messy and gorgeous cumming all over his cock, that Nanami can’t help but have his hips stuttering. so sloppy as he thrusts once, twice before pumping thick, hot ropes of cum. Tight balls squeezing so painfully as he cums the way he’s been dying to ever since he opened those sinful little messages from you. 

God, he loved coming home. Whispering, so deceivingly gentle against your lips, sounding miles away from your sweet lover. “Now, spread those pretty legs f’me, darling. Wan’ see if something else tastes as sweet..”

♡ GETO SUGURU - Spell my name (and yours)

“What’d that spell, m’girl?”  

Now, Geto always has been told he has a silver tongue - you just never expected he’d use it like this. With you, sat so prettily on his face, eyes watery, swollen lips dropping into a soft oh! as he drags your sloppy pussy all over his mouth. 

You gasp breathlessly, “I-”

Oh? Will you finally get it this time? 

“I don’t know.”

Well, to Geto, that just meant he wasn’t doing his job well enough. And he took that personally. 

You could almost sob in desperation as he pulls away ever-so-slightly, pathetically tugging on his dark locks to pull him closer. Uselessly. 

Because Geto loved this part. Loved spreading your quivering thighs shamefully apart, all the way until you were letting out such cute lil’ moans at the stretch. Loved acting all disappointed as he stopped making out with your pretty pussy to let her drip! drip! drip! your sweet sweet juices down his waiting tongue.

“M’disappointed.” he tuts, mockingly, your frustrated whines going straight to his aching cock. “Thought you’d finally get it this time, beautiful.”

It’s been like this for so long now, Geto teasing you with his mean tongue. Ignoring his angry, achingly hard cock to spell out sinful little words on your dripping cunt - not letting you cum until you got them right. 

Oh it just made you want to cry in desperation - and you’re so drunk off of his hot mouth that you barely even realize when you do. Big fat tears dripping down your cheek as you whimper,  “S-Sugu, please. Jus’ wanna-”

“Cum?” he muses, giving your folds a long, languid lick. So unfairly gorgeous underneath you that it was almost dizzying - so smug in-between your legs, dark hair splayed across your pillow, your slick glossing all over his pretty pink lips. Ones which move as he plows on, “Then tell me what it spells.”

It’s laughable, really. That muffled little warning - if you can even call it that - before Geto’s diving back nose-deep in your pussy. 

Bullying his tongue through your swollen folds - circling your sloppy entrance, dipping in and out in and- It made his cock twitch so painfully to catch the way your mouth drops open in disbelief, torn between trying to catch what he was spelling and bucking up for more more more-

“First two letters?” 

You’re snapped out of your euphoric daze, eyes flitting down to where your boyfriend was devouring you with his eyes as much as he was with his mouth. 

“Uh- Ngh-” you mewl with each flick of his tongue. A warning. A threat. Slurring slightly at the overstimulation, “Is it- ah- G-E?”

At this, Geto lets out a happy groan - one that has white-hot pleasure flashing behind your eyes. Mouth only working faster, tracing out delirious little patterns on your pussy. Starting at the base, working all the way up to roll his tongue over your swollen clit. 

So rough that you wondered whether it hurt - whether his tongue was cramping up, jaw tired. 

“M’alright, sweetheart. Now, next letter.” 

Shit, had you said that out loud? Ah, you don’t get to wonder too long about it, because Geto’s rocking your cunt so messily over his soft mouth. Drinking in your broken whine of, “T! It’s T.”

“Good. Next.”

“C?” you babble, grinding down harshly. Eyes rolling to the back of his head as your clench around his soft tongue. But oh you were so cute that he just had to forgive your little mistake. 

“Nope.” Geto chuckles, popping off your throbbing clit with a lewd pop! “Try again.” Before starting his assault on your poor cunt again. Faster. Harder. Almost like he didn’t want you to get it.

He likes this - loves it even. Lapping up at your juices like it was his favorite taste, like he never wanted to leave. Just lay there and tease you for hours and hours and- 

“Ngh- O. Fuck fuck fuck, it’s O. Geto!” 

That’s right, spelling out his name on his girl’s pretty cunt - his his his- And, well, making you yell out what was to be your own last name soon? That was just a bonus.

It makes his balls squeeze so dangerously at how proud you were at your little victory. Walls fluttering around his tongue in a way that Geto knew meant you were close - too close. It almost makes him feel bad for what happens next. Almost. 

“Now now. Stay still, beautiful. Haven’t spelled out my first and last name jus’ yet.”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - The thirsty

Choso loved you - so much so that it hurt. Everything from that pretty lil’ smile to the way you say his name in bed. And - nobody ever knew this - but he especially loved you when you squirted all over his achingly hard cock, until it was glistening and drenched with you.

The first time it happened was an accident - knuckle-deep in you when he’d hit that one spot just a bit too hard. Watching in awe as you soaked his fingers in your juices, so sloppy and dripping all the way down his wrist. 

An accident. A sinful, dangerously convenient accident. One that had poked such a carnal, primitive part of Choso awake. One that had you here - legs spread so shamefully open, grip tight on your hips, bruising as he fucks you from behind. 

“Cho-” you mewl, tears soaking into your pillow. “I don’ think m’gonna ngh- squirt.”

“No.” he moans, sounding as if his sanity was dancing away from him with each time his twitching balls smacked your ass. So heavy and just aching to cum - but not yet. No, he had more important things to do. “No no no- Fuck- need this so bad- you don’t understand, baby.”

And oh with the desperation of a madman, Choso’s snaking a hand down to toy with your swollen clit. Flashes of white behind your eyes each time he draws quick, maddening little circles on it. 

“But-”

Faster. Sloppier. Not even circles because Choso thinks he might just go insane if you don’t cum now, all over his fingers and his cock and-

Your eyes snap open, a broken little sob leaving you before you’re cumming all over Choso’s fingers. It barely even feels like it, just a few exhausted tingles that have your vision spotty, tears clinging to your lashes at the pure overstimulation. 

And the haze has barely even cleared up before Choso’s moving again, as if on instinct. No rhyme or reason. So messy with the way he was squeezing his cock into your tight pussy in mindless, sloppy grinds like he couldn’t take it anymore - and he probably couldn’t.

“O-one more.” he groans like a mantra. Slamming his hips hard enough that it would leave marks for tomorrow - his hip on your ass, fingers on your waist. “Jus’ one more- fuck fuck need this need this-”

You just wished you had the energy to turn around and catch whether Choso looked as fucked-out as he sounded. Low moans turning into broken whines like he was begging you. Begging himself. 

Abs rubbing against yours, crushing you with his weight while he tried to milk that last, sweet orgasm out of you. Running only on the thought that this next one would hopefully have him soaked with your sweet sweet juices, dripping off of him. 

“Ngh- baby, do it f’me.” Choso’s babbling in your ear, dark hair tickling your neck. Hoarse little grunts leaving him each time he hit that plushy spot inside you, sending stars behind your eyes. “C’mon I want it. Need it so bad. Fuck fuck fuck-”

“But I don’t know if I can-” that little doubt makes its way out of you, in a soft delirious whine that has Choso twitching so ferally inside you. Close, he was so close. Too close - this had to be the one. 

“You- ah- can, baby.” he latches onto the tender skin at the crook of your neck. Fingers frenzied on your ravaged clit now, matching the time of his hips as he thrusts once. Twice. “You will.”

And you weren’t even sure if your last orgasm had bated before the next one was crashing in. Big fat tears rolling down your cheeks, at the same time your quivering pussy soaks Choso - all of him. Over and over-

Unstopping even when he’s shuddering to a halt, painting your poor pussy white with his cum, forming such a sinful pool on the sheets as you cum and cum and-

And Choso can’t even bring himself to be disgusted - because it doesn’t feel real. He’s here, pure electricity thrumming through his veins, your walls milking him so deliciously good, and just glistening and covered in your sweet juices. It’s all he’s ever wanted. 

Well, for now. Because look at you, exhausted, thighs still shaking with the intensity of your orgasm - so fucking gorgeous - a mean little part of Choso can’t help but think - 

What if he could make you squirt twice?

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - To taste, to command

“This what you want, brat?” he grins, grinding his angry, clothed erection on your pussy. Teasing. Torturous. “Wan’ to be split apart on m’cock, huh?”

Now, usually Sukuna would punish you a little more at that delirious little nod you give him - tell you to use your words like a good girl. But right now - shit, he’d never admit it - he’s been dying to get a lil’ taste of your cunt.

Pushing your legs further upwards, bending you in half all the way till your knees reach your tits. Mouth just watering at the way your pretty cunt was all glistening and clenching around nothing for him. At the idea of you crying on his tongue like you’re his favorite meal and-

Knock! Knock! Knock! 

“Master, we have guests. Curses from the far North seeking court.”

Ah, shit. Just when he was getting to the good part. Though, one look at you - and that adorable little pout - has Sukuna wondering - why does he need to stop?

Your head absolutely spins with the fact that Uraume was standing right outside, and Sukuna was still lowering himself back down till he was face-to-face with your dripping cunt. 

“Speak.” he hums, glossy lips latching around your swollen clit and it takes everything in you to not just scream. “I’ve got my mouth full.”

It’s the only thing said before Sukuna’s making out so sloppily with your pussy. Eyes half-lidded, slick glistening down his jaw, no care in the world for whether or not anyone outside would hear the lewd little squelches come from down there. 

You, however, have your thighs squeezing uselessly together, half-hearted protests spilling from your lips about “they’ll know!”

Only to get a muffled, “Who cares?” as he dips his tongue into your messy hole. 

Sukuna didn’t exactly expect you to be able to form a coherent sentence - not with the way you were sprawled so shamelessly on his bed, with him nose-deep in your pretty pussy and only probing deeper. 

But, ah, you always did surprise him - because somehow you manage to blink away those big fat tears in your eyes, hips stuttering as you let out a breathy, “U-um, Kuna isn’t here right now.”

His cock twitches so dangerously at the words spilling from your lips - knowing exactly how to push his buttons just right. He hears Uraume shuffle outside, clearly sensing the traces of his cursed energy - heh, what fun.

“Do you know when…’Kuna’ will be back?”

God, your little nickname sounds so funny on their tongue that Sukuna’s huffing out a little chuckle into your cunt. The vibrations making you jolt and squeeze so sinfully around him. “Shhh, brat.” he cuts off your whine, “M’ ‘not here’, remember?”

With a half-hearted glare you’re pushing the great Sukuna’s head deeper into your sloppy pussy - mainly because you wanted more, but partly because you really needed him to be quiet right about now. And he takes it in stride, lapping up at your sweet juices. 

“He- uh-” you’re cut off with him bullying his tongue inside your sopping entrance. Stretching you out. Circling the ring of muscle. 

Urame sounded rightfully impatient now, “Yes, my liege?”

“He’ll be back later.” you choke out, face flushed at the way you were acting so pathetic and Sukuna was only smirking smugly into your folds. So blissed out as he rolled your clit between two fingers. “Very later. I’ll ah- let you…know.”

And honestly you don’t even hear Uraume’s quick “thank you” - or whether they even manage to make it far enough to miss the sharp yelp of Sukuna’s name as he doubles down on his efforts. 

He knew exactly what you needed. What you craved. Tongue pushing against all the right spots so harshly over and over- Having you choking and sputtering out nonsensical little praises that you’d be absolutely mortified if anyone else heard.

“Kuna-” you gasp breathlessly, hips bucking up for more more more- “Been s’good for you so- ngh- can I cum? Please?”

Hell, if everyone was this trash at his feet begged like this then Sukuna might just be able to call himself a merciful ruler.  Well, not merciful enough to give you what you’ve wanted for so along, apparently. Because immediately, Sukuna’s pulling away, flashing you such a devilish grin. “Buckle up, brat. Because I haven’t cum yet.”

♡ GOJO SATORU - Tied up n’ gorgeous

Of course, the great Gojo Satoru has a whole box full of overpriced blindfolds. Ones a bit silkier than normal, a bit softer on the skin - not for wearing outside, no. Ones that were for times like this.

“Sweetheart, fuck- y’look so gorgeous like this.” he groans, kissing down the thin fabric tying you to the wooden bedpost. Down, down, down until he’s pushing his face in-between the valley of your breasts. “Almost makes me wan’ forgive you for being all mouthy earlier.”

Ah, there was that too - when you were extra sassy with him today, making a few too many comments about how dumb that blindfold looked. Like you just wanted this to happen. And it took only one too many defiant comments until he had you bound to the bed, pretty cunt sucking him up so eagerly. So needy for him.

“Ugh, m’sorry, Toru.” you bat your lashes so deceivingly innocently at him, breath hitching at the way his throbbing cock twitches painfully inside you at that. So easy. “Can you untie me. Please?”

“Hmmm lemme think.” Gojo looks down at you, a dangerous little smile curling his lips. “Nope.” And as if to further prove his point, he lets frustration out through you - stuffing himself into your sloppy pussy as far as it would go. 

Biting his lip at how pretty you were all breathless, pussy bulging so obscenely around him that it was so fucking hard to look too. Too sinful. 

“But-” you whine, “I thought-”

“What that I’d be nice?” your loving boyfriend finishes your sentence for you. And oh his voice had that familiar tone of amusement but his eyes had anything but. Dark and half-lidded, some dangerously smug satisfaction sparking in the as he fucks his hips in quick, shallow little thrusts. “Ya thought wrong, sweetheart~”

So high off the sight of you all cockdrunk and trapped - nowhere to run or hide. Though, you think you’d wouldn’t want to be anywhere else but here. 

Feeling so debauched and downright filthy. Groaning at the feeble ring of resistance as he pushes relentlessly.

And you need to spread your legs maybe - breathe - or just claw at Gojo’s back for his fucking massive cock and for showing you no mercy. But you couldn’t, not with his godforsaken blindfolds tied around your wrists, so fucking tight no matter how much you tug.

“Shit shit shit- fuck these ties.” you gasp, thighs and arms both aching as he uses you as he pleases. Body torn between shying away because the stimulation was too fucking much, and just bucking your hips wildly for more. “And fuck you, Toru.”

“Fuck me? Me?” Gojo has the audacity to throw his head back and laugh - laugh. Fingers moving down to toy with your pretty clit, pinching and rolling between his deft fingers in order to shut you up. “Real funny, sweetheart.”

God he almost considers going easy on you at your barely-lucid little squeals. Heavenly pussy squeezing him tighter than ever despite your little act. 

And you know it too - how your facade is crumbling bit by bit. How you’re reeling from both his merciless cadence and the way he was talking to you in such a mean little tone. 

Heart thumping as he swiftly reaches over - hips still unstopping - to grab another blindfold and oh-

“Funny enough that-” Gojo loops the blindfold around your neck, right over your racing pulse. Just lose enough that you can breathe, but tight enough that you’ll have such embarrassing marks to explain tomorrow. “I want to fucking ruin you, my girl.”

“Fuck- yeah- m’sorry, Wan’ it so much. Wan’ you to-”

At this point, you’re cockdrunk and delirious enough that you barely even realize when he’s tightening the blindfolds at your neck. Choking and stuttering at maybe his grip- maybe the way it felt like he was pushing into your lungs.

Gasping into your open mouth. “Fuck- fuck fuck fuck yeah?‘ Teeth tugging at the delicate fabric around your neck, catching on skin. Dangerous. Hips burning now as he licks away at the big, fat tears streaming down your cheek. “Then cum f’me, sweetheart.”

Hard. Violent. 

So it only makes sense that your orgasm was the same. Stars behind your eyes, blood roaring in your ears as you cum harder than you think you ever have.

And oh, it’s so adorable how you try to pull off the blindfolds, scrambling to grab onto Gojo for some- any semblance of sanity as you lay there, breathless and shaking. 

Cunt clenching so intoxicatingly around him that Gojo really can’t help but fill you up with his hot seed. Thick and so filthy. He’s got you in an iron-hold grip, hips moving in unstable, animalistic little movements from such a carnal part of himself. 

Gojo planned to tease you a little longer, but, oh well - might as well just paint your pretty pussy white, right? Might as well fuck his cum deeper and deeper and-

“Hey, sweetheart, can you shittalk my blindfold again? I wanna have more angry sex.”

A/N. Uraume definitely knew.

Plagiarism not authorized.

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[caffeinewitchcraft]

The Hero and Hope (Part 2/4)

(part 1)

The next time you go hunting, the Bahrs go with you.

“It’s really fine,” you protest. It’s early enough in the morning that the air carries a bite. With any luck, they’ll think the redness in your cheeks comes from the chill rather than embarrassment. “I’m not even going far in. It’s Hera’s birthday coming up and she likes squirrel…”

“You’re going to catch a squirrel without a blade?” Mr. Bahr – Ivan – asks. He tightens the strap on Mrs. Bahr’s back, making sure the quiver of arrows is snug along her spine. He pats her shoulder when he finishes and beams at you. “Are you very fast?”

Yes, you are. You’ve noticed that you’re even faster lately as your 15th birthday marches closer and closer. You purse your lips. “I set traps.”

“Don’t mind him, Isla,” Mrs. Bahr -Marie -  says. She fondly shoves Ivan off the porch of the orphanage so she can get down. “He’s always joking.”

“What sort of traps?” Ivan asks. He runs a critical eye over your coat and pack. “Will that be warm enough?”

You’re not sure if your coat is warm enough for the weather or not. Another rising power: you’re nearly impervious to the cold. You shrug. “I’ll be fine. And just simple snares and stuff.”

“We can’t wait to see,” Ivan declares. He gestures towards the road. “Lead the way.”

You bite your lip. It’s clear that they knew you were going hunting today by their garb. Both are in sturdy, worn leather with swords on their hips and bows along their backs. They probably heard from Director Sarah and came specifically to make sure you kept your promise not to hunt alone. But… “The other kids will be sorry they missed you.”

“We’ll see them when we return victorious with birthday squirrels,” Ivan says.

“What a sentence,” Marie says dryly.

You aren’t going to convince them to let you go alone. You silently lead the way towards the orchard. Or, rather, as silently as you can. Ivan talks the whole time, asking questions about the apple trees and pointing to ducks flying overhead. You answer the questions you know the answer to and hum whenever you don’t. You wish you knew more about the vegetation, but the most you can tell Ivan is whether or not something is poisonous.

“Those ones,” you say, nodding to the low, circular leaves Mr. Bahr is pointing to, “are tricky. The real ones taste kind of sweet. The other kind that looks like that makes your stomach cramp for three days straight.”

“How can you tell the difference?” Ivan asks.

You shrug. “You can’t. I just tell the younger kids to bring it to me before eating it. Usually, I trade it for something actually edible.”

Marie, trailing behind you both, makes a noise of interest. “Usually?”

You feel your ears go hot. “Sometimes I’ll try it for them just to see if they can eat it. I’ve had enough of the bad one that it doesn’t affect me so much.”

“You try it?” Marie’s voice is sharp. “Isla, there has to be a better way.”

“Not really,” you say. You scratch the back of your head and quicken your step. You’re almost to the tree line of the woods. “The kids like sweet things. If I didn’t give in occasionally, they’d try it themselves. At least this way they check in with me first.”

“I still don’t think—”

“Sounds like Marie and I’ll be bringing some sweets along with us next time,” Ivan interrupts cheerfully. He points past the last apple tree about a dozen feet ahead. “Looks like the path ends there?”

“There’s an animal track about ten feet into the woods,” you say. You’re uncomfortable with Marie’s reaction. You know it’s not smart to eat poisonous plants, but what else were you supposed to do? Your worst fear is that the kids will one day get hungry enough to eat them without caring about the pain. Your shoulders round. “We’ll need to be quiet once we’re there.”

“I’m the best at being quiet,” Ivan says. He elbows Marie. “Right, Marie?”

“Right,” Marie says. Her voice is still a little strained, but you can tell she’s trying to hide it. “That’s why I married you.”

“That’s a lie,” Ivan says. He stage-whispers to you, “She married me for my amazingly dashing good looks.”

Marie huffs a laugh but doesn’t say anything else. You’ve entered the forest.

You were worried on the way that you’d need to tell Ivan that he needs to be quiet in the forest. You needn’t have been concerned. Both adults are silent and walk with quiet steps, their dark eyes alert on their surroundings. They move through the undergrowth gracefully, their years of experience showing in every step. You try to copy Marie’s soft footfalls as best you can and are pleased when your steps get a little quieter.

The Bahrs watch as you pick places for your traps. Ivan silently points to one of your knots, eyebrow raised. Guessing what he’s asking, you undo the knot and then redo it slowly. He nods in satisfaction and then gestures for you to give him the rope. Curiously, you do. Ivan completes the same knot, fingers steady through each step. When he’s done, he presents it to you proudly as if to say, See? I did it!

It makes you do something you very rarely do in the woods. You smile.

After setting the traps you take the Bahrs to your favorite resting spot. The clearing lies just by the edge of the shallow part of the river. About a mile downstream the banks widen and the North River joins this one, making it a dangerous place of rapids. Here, however, the water moves slowly and is shallow enough to be warmed by the sun.

Finally, you speak. “Shouldn’t be too long. Maybe an hour or two and then we can go check on them.”

“Is this where you found the horned rabbit?” Marie asks. You sit on a large, flat rock by the river, but she stays standing. Her eyes carefully scan the perimeter of the clearing.

“Not quite. That was near the hills.” You point. “Fifteen minutes that way.”

“That’s close,” Ivan says. He frowns, concerned. “Was that the first demon you’ve seen here?”

“No.” When the Bahrs turn to you in alarm, you shrug. “Not all the time, but demons come here. They’re usually not interested in me though.”

“But the horned rabbit was?” Marie asks.

Interested is an understatement. You’re not an idiot. You know that demons are dangerous. That’s why you usually avoid them when you spot them. Normally they’re content to let you pass by, but not the horned rabbit. It followed you nearly all the way back to the orchard before you realized you needed to do something before it attacked you. “Yeah.”

“What other types of demons do you see here?” Ivan asks. His voice is light, but he’s looking at you with a very serious expression. “Maybe howling bats?”

“I hear them sometimes,” you say, “but I don’t stick around after dark.” Ivan and Marie exchange dark looks. You fidget on the rock. “What?”

“This is protected land, Isla,” Marie says. She purses her lips. “No demons should be south of those hills.”

“What other types have you seen?” Ivan asks again. He comes to squat by you so he can look you in the eyes. “And when?”

“Just horned rabbits.”

“Are you sure?” Marie asks. She runs a hand over her hair, slicking back the fly aways. “Horned rabbits aren’t usually sighted alone.”

You hesitate. It’s true that the horned rabbits are the only demons you’ve seen, but… “There have been some signs lately, but I don’t know if they’re demons.”

Ivan’s eyes sharpen. “What?”

“Wolves,” you say. Both Bahrs stiffen, hands going to their swords. You speak quickly. “But I’ve never seen them! They might be regular wolves. I found the tracks at the base of the hill, and some bones, but they were a week old probably.”

“We’ll need to ask the Lord to investigate,” Marie tells Ivan. She looks deeply unhappy. “The patrol doesn’t cover this far south.”

“An oversight,” Ivan says grimly. He reaches out absently and ruffles your hair. It startles you, but it feels nice. Ivan makes an effort to smile at you. “Good eyes, Isla. Is there anything else you’ve noticed changing in the forest lately? Even something not demon related?”

Something funny is happening in your chest. Good eyes, Isla. You wrack your brain for anything else. “I haven’t seen any other tracks or anything and there’s only been four or five horned rabbits this season.”

Marie makes a small noise in her throat. When you turn to look at her, she hides whatever expression she’d been making. “That’s a lot. Did you need to use your sharp stick on all of them?”

Ivan startles. “Sharp stick?”

You rub the back of you neck. “Just two.” You look up at the sky. You only had a sharp stick that day, but there are times when you’ve come out here with a knife. Knife days are for when you’re looking for bigger game.  “I’ve been pretty lucky hunting lately, now that I think about it. There’s been more deer and regular rabbits south of the river.”

“What do you mean ‘lately?’”

“The past month.”

Ivan and Marie exchange another long look. Before you can ask them what’s wrong, Ivan turns to you with another smile.

“Say,” he says, “what do you think about trying to bag something bigger than a squirrel today? You ever fire a bow before?”

Your eyes widen. “No.”

“You can use mine,” Marie says, pulling it from her shoulder. She holds it out to you. “We’re nearly the same height. The draw may be a bit heavy for you—or not.”

Embarrassed by the shock in her voice, you release the string. “I’m, uh, stronger than I look.”

“Good,” Ivan says. “That’ll make it easier to actually catch something today.”

The next few hours are the most fun you’ve ever had in the woods. Marie and Ivan go over every part of the bow with you, explaining the weight of it, the flexibility, the length. Marie and Ivan carry several different types of arrows with different tips, all good for different types of shooting. They let you practice on a tree across the river and each time you’re closer to hitting the center of it, they compliment how fast you’re learning, how accurate your eye, how steady and consistent your draw.

By the time they let you hunt with it, you feel like you’re walking on clouds.

The feeling lasts even after you return to the orphanage, a deer slung over Marie’s shoulders and your hands full of squirrel. There’s a pleasant ache in your back and arms from practicing with the bow. You can’t stop smiling. Everything Ivan says is out of the blue and Marie’s tired responses make it all funny.

At one point you’re walking behind them, watching their shoulders brush when the path gets a little too narrow. They’re smiling at each other and talking softly and for a wild, wonderful, awful moment, you imagine that you can keep this. You aren’t sure what this is. Their attention and their companionship, their gentle guidance and the way they speak to you like you’re an adult?

After Hera’s birthday dinner, the Bahrs stay extra late to help clean up and to spend time with the younger kids. You are still feeling a sort of bone deep happiness you’ve never felt before. Everyone is full and sleepy-eyed from the amount of food you were able to put on the table. The kids gather around their slates in the common area, learning a new type of drawing game from Ivan and Marie.

Hera comes up to where you’re leaning on the doorway. Quietly, she slips her hand into yours. You squeeze it.

“Thanks for the squirrel,” she says quietly.

You lean down and press a kiss to the top of her head. “Happy Birthday.”

She hums and watches the fun in the living room for a long moment. She’s eleven now, three years older than you were that Winter. She’s the second oldest in the orphanage and, for the first time, you wonder if she feels the same sort of responsibility as you.

“I’m happy for you, you know,” Hera says.

You make a low questioning noise in your throat.

“The Bahrs will be good to you,” Hera says. She looks up at you evenly, a small smile tucked into the corner of her mouth. “You deserve that, Isla.”

Every muscle in your chest locks, chasing away the pleasant languidness you’d been feeling. “That’s not—they’re not—”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Hera says. She stands on tiptoe so she can throw her arms around your shoulders, hugging you like she did when she was five. She whispers in your ear, “But I would be happy if they did.”

She lets go of you before you can tell her she’s being ridiculous, skipping into the room to join the drawing game.

You feel out of sorts for the rest of the night.

-----------------------.

Thanks for reading! The full story is already posted on my Patreon (X)! If you'd like to support me, please consider checking out my page!

This month will be seeing two main things update on Patreon first: Dandelion (x) and my Cinderella story (masterpost coming soon!) updates for both coming later this week!

#my writing #the hero and hope #second person #multi part fic #short story #kind of #the total piece is 20k words

[luveline]

hotch sister idea-- convincing hotch to take you out to dinner with the whole team because you "want to properly meet his friends" (i'm a sucker for team dynamics) but then being shy and cute with spencer the entire time to the point that hotch notices and gets a tad protective...but ends with spencer getting her number or something

thank you for requesting 💌 —you attend a party with your older brother in a not so secret plight to see Dr. Reid. You fawn, Spencer flusters, and Hotch drinks a tad more than usual. fem, 2.3k

cw for mentions of past child abuse

The car is quiet besides the tread of the tires on asphalt. You click and unclick the clasp of your shoulder bag, checking for your purse, getting worried your purse isn’t in there, and checking again.

“If there’s something you want to ask me, you can ask me.”

You move your gaze to your brother. His quietness can make you nervous, a reflection of your father but with none of the cruelty. “I don’t want you to get mad at me if it’s stupid.”

“Well, I won’t. I promise.”

You know he won’t, but sometimes the fear remains. Even when you’re far from being a kid. “Do you remember when I got suspended for, um, disrespectful behaviour? My senior year?”

Aaron turns the wheel with care. “I do.”

“And we went for ice cream.”

“Yeah, honey, I remember.”

That’s the point you’re trying to make, maybe. That tenderness sewn into the middle of his sentence. If your dad knew you’d been suspended again he would’ve made you feel it. You remember the sinking sensation in your chest waiting for him to pick you up, having written the speech he’d give you in the car ride home in your head ten times over, the sting of his palm grazing your cheek before you’d even seen his hand. So you waited in a total violent panic, head rush, wondering if anything was worth anything, when Aaron arrived to pick you up.

How did you know? you’d asked.

I changed your emergency contact. I hope that’s okay.

“You asked me what I wanted and…”

What flavour did you want, honey? he’d asked. Honey, like he loved you, the only person in the whole world who’d bother asking. The only man who’d take you for ice cream at seventeen years old to cure a bad day.

“And you burst into tears,” Aaron says.

He’d sat down opposite you in his suit, torn from one of his trials, and you can’t remember anymore if he was an attorney or already in the FBI, but you can’t forget how he’d taken your wrists into his hands and asked you not to cry.

“When you took me home, Haley asked me if you’d upset me, and I didn’t know how to explain it so you said yes. And she shouted at you for a whole half hour.”

“Why are you thinking about this now?” he asks.

Maybe because college is over and you’re forced to move on. Aaron asked you to try hard and you have, but now you have your degree and you don’t know what to do with it, you’ll get a job, and then what?

“I’ve been thinking about… my love life.”

“Oh. And you have to talk about this with me?” he jokes.

“I don’t have anybody else.”

He tears his gaze from the windshield. “That’s not true.”

“But…”

He turns into the parking lot outside of Dan’s Fine Wine Bar and pulls into a tight space with ease. He hesitates before he flicks off the engine, turning to you with a smile. “You’ll always have me,” he says, “and we can talk about your love life. I want to. God knows you’ve heard enough about mine this last year.” You both grimace. “But if I have to listen one more time to you talking about Spencer–”

“You said you wouldn’t get mad!”

“Honey.” He takes off his seatbelt and opens the door. “I’m not mad. But imagine your younger sibling comes to you one day to tell you they have feelings for your employee and try to find some sympathy for me!”

He clambers out of the car. You rush after him, unbuckling your seatbelt and nearly smashing your door into the car next to you. The air outside is cold, and you didn’t bring a jacket even though Aaron told you to twice, so you can’t mention it aloud. “I don’t have feelings for him.”

“You have a crush. You’re too old for it.”

“I am not.”

He gestures for you to walk in front of him as he clicks the fob for the car and the doors lock automatically. “I don’t understand what this has to do with your suspension.”

You chew on your cheek. Neon from the wine bar mottles your skin as you pass under it and through the door, air quickly turned from cold to temperate, the smell of old rain replaced by carpeting and beer. When you lift your head to his gaze, he’s still waiting for your answer. “You told me things wouldn’t be that hard forever. I was just wondering when it’s safe to say you were right.”

He grins at you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder to give you a rough hug. “Right now. Be happy right now, honey.”

“There they are!” Penelope calls from a table near the back. Suddenly, Aaron’s entire team of work colleagues stand up where they’ve dominated a whole row of tables and booths alike to greet you. “Oh my gosh, I missed you!”

You met Penelope a long long time ago, and JJ and Derek around the same time, but everybody else is basically new. College was busy and Aaron busier —there was hardly ever time to visit, and when you did it was to see him and Haley. Meeting his friends was somehow put off.

You were introduced to Emily and Spencer, so Aaron directs you to David Rossi first. That’s the main team done quickly. But then he has to introduce you to Anderson, Sweeney, Kelly, Cory, Davidson, etc. So many agents for one man’s birthday. Anyone would think Derek Morgan was a celebrity.

“Happy birthday!” you say, when you finally get a moment to speak.

Derek reaches over the table to hug you quickly. “Thank you, gorgeous. We’re thrilled you’re here.” He pulls back, elbowing Penelope lovingly. “Aren’t we, mama?”

Penelope squeals and jumps for you. “So thrilled!”

Aaron touches your back, as if to say, I’m here, before taking a seat opposite Rossi. You hear snippets of a conversation about whiskey and when, but you’re distracted, because suddenly Penelope’s forcing you to sit down in her vacated seat, smack bang between Emily Prentiss and Spencer Reid.

Dr. Spencer Reid. “Hi,” you say quietly. Can’t help it. You remember how you’d reacted when you met him the week before last and wonder if it’s too late to pretend you’re cool —you’d gotten so worked up about him. He wrote a bunch of papers you had to read for your degree, some of the most sophisticated theory on elliptical math you’d ever read, and you’re supposed to act like he’s just a normal guy?

It doesn’t help that he’s model pretty. You’d never have thought of him as he is now over email, his huge brown eyes, pale skin, the flicking curl of his hair behind his ears. When he turns his head, he has indents on his nose from a pair of glasses you wish you’d seen. You clear your throat.

“Hi, Y/N, how are you?” Spencer asks.

“I’m gonna go get a drink now,” Aaron says. “What do you want?” he asks you.

“Um, anything. I don’t really wanna drink.”

“Okay, I’ll be right back,” he says with deliberateness.

You feel heat like a rash on your neck. He’s embarrassing you doing his dad routine.

“You look pretty,” Spencer says.

You hide your hands under your thighs. “You think so?”

“You look beautiful,” Penelope says from across the table.

“Didn’t inherit that Hotchner scowl,” Derek says with a grin, “I thought it came with the name.”

“I learned how to do it the day they signed the adoption certificate,” you nudge in, “I just keep it to myself. I think Aaron has it down.”

Everybody within hearing distance laughs at you, to your relief. To your left, Spencer’s shoe hits your heel.

“So weird to hear his real name,” Emily says, tipping her drink to the side, ice and sugar on the surface. “I thought for sure you’d have to call him Hotch too.”

You look around in surprise. “He can’t be that bad. Does he really frown so much?”

You’re told vehemently that your brother is a grump, which is something you were aware of, just not experienced in. Sure, he’s had his unhappy moments, no one can smile every second of the day, but if everyone is to be believed he’s the sternest man alive. Eventually things drift into storytelling. Aaron brings you your drink with a straw and a napkin wrapped around the base, and you find yourself listening to a graphic rehash of Derek’s first case with the BAU.

Spencer’s leg is a coal at your side.

Your self preservation runs out. “You don’t drink?” you ask, nodding to his glass bottle of coke.

“I– I never did. I never had the opportunity. I’ve never even been to a party.” He pauses. “I don’t know why I just told you that.”

“I didn’t go to parties either,” you say, overjoyed to find common ground so quickly.

“I mean, I was never invited, but highschool parties didn’t seem like my thing. And, you know, I was twelve.”

“You were twelve in highschool?”

He’s doing that thing you noticed the day you met, where his lips move before he’s ready to talk, his emotion clear. “You weren’t?” he asks, not quite smooth but enough to make you laugh suddenly.

“I wish! I could’ve been done with college years ago.” Your brows pinch together. “Wait, so did you go to college as a kid?”

“I mean, sort of.”

“What? No wonder you didn’t go to any parties, that must’ve been insane. When I was twelve I was still setting my Barbie’s up for dance parties. Aaron has a photo of me dressed up in mom’s old clothes.” You lean forward for a sip of your drink.

“Oh, don’t worry, there’s a photo of me just like that when I was twelve, too.”

You laugh so hard you almost choke.

A cup comes down hard somewhere behind your turned head.

“You okay?” Emily asks.

She wears a smirk you don’t understand, a joke you’ve missed. You peer past her to look to Aaron for advice and find him rather sullen, hand curled tightly around his drink. You try to give him a signal to ask if he’s alright, but it’s to no avail.

“I’m fine, sorry, just a joke.” You turn back to Spencer. “That’s adorable.”

You’re breathless talking to him. He must notice, but Spencer doesn’t say a word.

If someone asked you why he caught your attention, you’re not sure you know the answer. He’s pretty, undeniably, and it’s fascinating that you used his theory while you were in school, but fascination isn’t endless. Maybe it’s the way he looks at you. No ones ever given such a clear sense of awe; he gets stuck on you, his eyes tracing your cheek and your nose and your lips. It’s noticeable, but it isn’t unwanted. You keep coming back to his smile as he talks, the flash of his teeth.

“I honestly didn’t know Hotch had a sister,” Spencer says.

“He was keeping us apart for a reason,” you say insistently, “I just don’t know what that reason is yet. He must’ve known you were the Dr. Reid I’d been reading.”

“It makes it sound like you’re reading me,” Spencer laughs. “Like, my hands.”

“Do you want me to?”

“Do I want you to what?”

“To read your palm?”

“You know how?”

“No parties, remember?”

Spencer gives you his hand. He has nice hands, big but slim-fingered like a pianist’s, though if he plays isn’t something you know. You angle it flat careful, your thumbs to either side of his open palm. “What do you want to know?” you ask.

“What can you tell me?”

You hum gently. “You have your life line, your head line, your heart line– your love line.”

“What does that– that mean for me?”

You press your thumb to his mount Jupiter, a soft hill of his hand under one of his fingers where the heart line begins. “Your desire for love, and your capacity for it. See how deeply curved it is?” you ask, drawing along his heart line gently. “It means you’re warm, and loving. That you could have a great love.”

You look up, his hand held gently between yours. “But I could be really wrong. I haven’t done this in so long, I might just be making stuff up.”

You sound insecure to your own ears, cringing away from his hand, but Spencer ducks his head just a little to keep your gaze, and he smiles at you softly. “It’s okay. I like your reading, even if it’s wrong. Where did you learn how to do that?”

“Aaron would buy me any book I asked for growing up, he…”

Your brother, sitting only a few seats away, can’t find it in himself to regret that particular generosity even if the sight of you holding Spencer’s hand isn’t one he wants to see. It’s odd. You’re fully grown up, and it’s not like Aaron thinks Spencer would ever hurt you purposefully, but it’s hard to see anyways. He can admit to feeling like a father watching his daughter finding a first love; he can’t keep you forever and he doesn’t want to, but it’s still hard to watch as you descend into giggles that border on dizziness.

“This is a good thing,” Rossi says. “You’ll never have to worry about her being out past curfew.”

Aaron laughs, it’s funny, and then he knocks back his drink.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction

[ilyrafe]

𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒚 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 ✧ 𝒓. 𝒄.

pairing: rafe cameron x f!reader

warnings: brief sexual innuendo, rafe being a softie!!!!

word count: 2.6k (i *might* have gotten carried away i'm so sorry lol)

a/n: this is a sequel to late night and also based on this, so thanks @keziahcore ! your mind is literally everything!

it’s almost like a sixth sense.

rafe feels your absence from the bed, and immediately becomes agitated. he turns on the lamp next to his bed and looks for any sign that you’re still there, and finds your small handbag on the armchair, which makes him just slightly relieved. 

when he looks at the clock, he sees that it is almost two in the morning. the bathroom door is ajar and the lights are off, which means you’re not there. before he can leave his room looking for you, you return, holding a glass of water, wearing only his shirt to cover yourself up.

“where were you? why did you leave me here?”

he can’t control this agony, this anguish that always catches him off guard when he finds himself alone. he can’t help feeling like a time bomb, ready to explode at any moment. the smallest things you do seem to trigger him massively, and he hates that. he hates that he ends up being rude and harsh to you, because you’re always so understanding and sweet.

even he knows he doesn’t deserve you.

“i was thirsty and went downstairs to drink some water.” your tone is sweet and calm, which makes him feel like shit.

his face changes, as he seems to calm down. you didn’t leave him, you just went to get some water. you’re there, your stuff is there, you’re not going anywhere.

“next time, leave a glass here. i don’t like it when you do that.” he says in a much softer tone, but he’s still upset that his sleep got interrupted.

“do what? get hydrated?” you joke, trying to lighten up his mood.

he rolls his eyes and huffs. don’t make him tell the truth.

“go back to bed. i’m tired, alright? i had a long day.”

“actually, i was going to read a book. i’m not sleepy and i don’t want to lie down right now.”

is it so hard to understand that he wants you to be close to him so that he feels safe enough to get a decent night’s sleep?

“you can read on the bed.”

“you won’t mind the lamp on?”

“no, just get the damn book and come back to bed.”

you laugh and nod, picking up the book from his desk and following him to his bed. rafe gets to his spot and as you sit down, he places one hand on your bare thigh and falls back to sleep almost immediately.

while he dives deep into his necessary rest, you start reading. it’s that book, in cold blood by truman capote. you don’t know if rafe is a reader, he never really talks about books with you.

every once in a while, you look down at your thighs to see his hand, firmly holding you, to make sure you won’t leave. this small gesture makes you feel stupid. stupid to believe he might feel something other than lust for you. rafe makes you question your beliefs and that itself makes you feel overwhelmed.

sometimes you want to leave, but you can’t bring yourself to do it. and you have tried countless times. he’s good for you in the same intensity he’s bad. to say you’re scared to ask him what you are would be an understatement, but you just would like some clarification, because you don’t beg the people you’re casually fucking to stay the night almost every night and throw a tantrum when they leave to get some water.

deep down, you know you’re more scared to hear you’re just an easy fuck. at this point, this would tear you apart.

being with rafe is a challenge. it’s like running a marathon you know you will not get to the finish line, and yet, you keep running.

when it’s almost four in the morning, you close the book and turn the lamp off. finally, sleep comes to you, and you settle into his bed, still holding rafe’s hand, which never left your thigh. with the touch, rafe wakes up, and this time he is no longer agitated.

“sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.” you say, as you snuggle into the mattress.

“you- what time is it?” he asks, adorably confused and sleepy.

“it’s almost four.”

“and you’re going to sleep now?”

“yeah. go back to sleep, it’s early.” you say softly, placing a hand on his cheek, and he complies, pulling you close.

(...)

rafe’s alarm clock rings promptly at seven in the morning. he turns it off and goes back to his previous position: hugging you.

your hair smells like coconut and your skin is always soft. he never wants to not be touching you. it’s like your body was made to be next to his. for some reason, just your presence is enough to make him feel calm and at peace.

he places the softest kiss on your shoulder, enjoying the quietness that only early mornings can give him. the sweet sound of birds chirping outside makes him forget about everything else. rafe only has you in his mind (and in his arms).

you wake up and soon turn to face him. rafe has the most adorable sleepy face, and you might never stop melting over him. seeing him up close will never not be amazing. he’s the most handsome man you’ve ever seen. he probably has the most beautiful shade of blue in his eyes.

“go back to sleep.” he whispers.

“‘m not sleepy anymore.” you mumble as you rub your eyes, which rafe finds captivating. “hi.”

“hi,” he smiles. “you only slept for three hours, sleep some more.” he insists, and you feel a tone of concern in his voice, but maybe it’s just your sleep giving you that impression.

“i’m okay, rafey.”

rafey. he hates that stupid nickname, but when it comes out of your mouth, he wants to legally change his name to it.

“you’re gonna be tired.”

“no, i’m not. i don’t normally sleep a lot.”

rafe frowns not because he’s confused - he obviously isn’t. he’s just not liking what you’re saying. he doesn’t like the idea of you struggling with whatever that may be. rafe knows damn well how bad it is to be sleep deprived, he doesn’t want you going through that.

“you have insomnia?”

“i guess i do,” you shrug. “i don’t really know. i just don’t sleep a lot. i wish i did, though. i get so jealous when i see you sleeping for hours on end.” you smile sweetly at him. “you’re so relaxed. must be nice…”

you let go of rafe after leaving a timid kiss on his lips, and stretch before getting up and going to his bathroom to start your morning routine.

after a quiet breakfast, rafe gives you a ride home, and he can’t hide his concern about what you said.

“i’ll see you around, yeah?” you tell him, with the sweetest smile you always have.

“of course. uh, about that sleep thing… if you need help with that… i’m here.”

“rafe, i think you might be a sex addict.” you joke, really not understanding what he meant. he isn’t talking about sex. the one time he isn’t talking about sex, you don’t get it.

“well, i’m just one call away.”

you chuckle and intend to kiss his cheek, but rafe is quick enough to turn his face and make you kiss his lips. you laugh at his antics.

silly rafe is your favorite. if only other people got to see this side of him.

he watches you leave his car and get inside your home. the strange feeling of loneliness comes back almost immediately, but it gets him thinking. it has to be some sort of irony that the person that quite literally helps him sleep isn’t sleeping.

(...)

only two days have passed and rafe already needs you to spend the night at his house again. he is so tired and exhausted. he takes out his phone and quickly types a message.

rafe: are u busy right now? can i pick u up?

you don’t tend to take long to respond to his texts, but this time, an hour goes by and nothing, so rafe starts to feel that unbearable anguish again, and starts to think that you left him and that you found someone better to spend you time with.

impulsively, rafe facetimes you, and you answer. from your face alone, he can see the tiredness in your eyes. or rather, in your dark circles. you’re in your bedroom, which makes him feel calmer.

“hi, rafey. sorry, i just got my phone.”

“what are you doing?”

“i’m studying for my exams.”

“i just wanted to know if i could pick you up.”

“i’dd love to,” you smile. “but it’s not a good idea, i need to study and i have a mountain of books to read until tomorrow if i want a good grade, which i do.”

“you’re tired, you should rest.” he advises, visibly worried.

“nothing a can of red bull can’t fix.” you say showing him the can.

“y/n, please go to sleep.”

something about his request makes you angry. maybe it’s the stress, or the fact that this time rafe is right.

“rafe, you’re not my boss. i need to hang up, i got shit to do.”

before he can protest, you hang up the call, and surprisingly, rafe doesn’t get angry. this is what it’s like when he’s sleep deprived.

as always, rafe wants to take control of the situation, so he puts on a hoodie, grabs his car keys and leaves his house to go to yours. it’s late at night, and rafe knows your parents are probably asleep.

the path is short, and soon he arrives in front of your house and the light is on in your bedroom, which tells him that you are still up. carefully, rafe gets out of his car and walks to the back of your residence, and climbs the wall, always making sure he doesn’t get caught by anyone. finally, rafe gets on the small balcony of your room and sees you surrounded by papers, books and notebooks. it’s a mess.

he knocks on the glass door, which startles you, but you soon calm down when you see it’s him. you almost run to open the door, but your face isn’t the happiest.

“what are you doing here, rafe?”

“nice to see you, too.” he ironizes as he steps inside your bedroom. “i have a proposition for you.”

“i’m so not in the mood, rafe…”

“listen to me.” he says. “i’ll… i’ll help you out with this stuff, as long as you let me help you sleep.”

“i don’t wanna have sex.”

“i’m not talking about sex.”

oh.

“you mean… sleep? like, really sleep?”

“yeah. i don’t like that you sleep so little. you’re becoming cranky.”

you chuckle at the last bit. you can’t stay mad at him, can you?

“that’s a nice offer, rafe, but what do you know about biology?”

“i’ll have you know i was a good student.” he pouts and you laugh. “even if i don’t know what you’re studying, i’ll help you out.”

it takes you a few seconds, but it’s decided. your body is about to give out, you really need to rest. you can’t absorb any more information. a good sleep might even help you learn whatever you need.

“okay.”

rafe smiles and it might be the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

you begin to organize all your notes and books on your desk and rafe begins to undress down to his underwear, and gets comfortable on your bed. he realizes this is his first time sleeping on your bed, and he already likes the faint smell of rosemary that your bedroom exudes.

you have such a pretty bedroom. the walls are painted in the softest shade of blue, and you have books everywhere. no wonder you’re so smart, you read a lot.

the wooden furniture gives an earthy feel to your room, contrasting with the delicacy of the light blue walls. in the photos of the small mural on the wall, rafe realizes that he wanted to be there, present in the photos, and maybe, in a photo with you. you are always smiling and being hugged by someone, or hugging them. you are like that, you are magnetic.

you finish organizing your things and quickly change into a shirt of rafe’s that you hope he doesn’t recognize. it’s big and comfortable, and it makes you feel close to him when he’s far away.

the lamp next to your bed is on, so you turn off the main light in your room and go to your bed, meeting rafe, and he has the smallest smile on his lips. it’s ironic how having sex and being naked doesn’t feel as intimate as simply sleeping together does.

“are your parents home?” he asks.

“no, why?”

“so i could have come through the door, huh.”

“yeah.” you laugh.

a brief moment of silence sits between you two, as you’re staring at each other’s eyes. rafe is mesmerized and terrified at the same time. this - whatever this is - feels so nice and so foreign. he knows damn well he isn’t one to want to just sleep with someone, let alone climb up a wall to just sleep with someone.

rafe cameron is in love, and he is utterly terrified.

“what are you thinking?” you ask in a whisper.

your blinks are getting slower and slower. rafe begins to run his hand through your hair, combing them back, and touching the skin of your neck and shoulders ever so softly.

thinking about how much i want to be with you and how fucking scared i am.

“nothin’. close your eyes.”

you do, not because he told you to, but because you couldn’t keep them open any longer. 

why do you feel the safest with someone as dangerous as rafe cameron? someone who deals with the shadiest people around, that has anger issues and violent behavior.

that tried to drown his own sister.

why none of that matters when you’re in his arms? are you actually insane?

probably.

(...)

as soon as you wake up, you see your bed empty, and rafe’s clothes are no longer on the floor, where he had left them last night. it was to be expected, but you still feel disappointed. he was so sweet last night.

when you look at the clock, it’s already past nine in the morning, which means you’ve slept, surprisingly, eight hours straight. damn, you really were sleep deprived.

the sound of your stomach begging for food makes you get out of bed.

when you leave your bedroom, you hear the sound of the tv on and get scared. slowly, without making any noise, you go down the stairs, trying to find out if your house has been invaded, but it would be strange, as it is daytime. soon you see rafe walking around your house.

he didn’t leave?

it’s like you’re not even there. you get to watch rafe make himself comfortable in your kitchen, looking for stuff to put on the table. there are two delivery bags on the counter, which means he bought food, but the gesture warms your heart, which was merely shattered.

“the cutlery is in the second drawer next to the sink.” you say, startling him a bit.

“jesus. can you, i don’t know, announce you’re in the room? i almost dropped your coffee.”

you laugh.

“sorry, rafey. what are you doing, i thought you had left.”

“uh, i bought breakfast for y- us.” he says. you look inside the bags and you can tell he ordered possibly everything you have eaten from that place. “c’mon, i ordered that vegan shit you like, your coffee and even a pretzel.”

you follow him to the table and you both begin helping yourselves. this isn’t your first time having breakfast with him, but it does feel like it’s a first.

for the first time, you don’t want to leave him.

i love feedback! let me know your thoughts! <3

#my writings #rafe cameron oneshot #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x reader #outer banks #drew starkey #drew starkey x you #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey oneshot #drew starkey imagine

[incognit0slut]

Behind Closed Doors 2

Part one

You welcome Spencer back to the team with a special gesture of your own—and find yourself falling even harder for him after he opens up to you.

Warnings: (18+ MDNI) sub older spence my beloved, handjob, oral (m), spit kink?, semi-public (they are FREAKY), and idk if we can call this angst but we get to know how he feels about returning to work ~3.9k words

A/n: I didn’t plan for a part two, but rewriting scenes with specific looks of him is growing on me. Also, this happens before Emily tells him to teach seminars on his leave. And tell me what you think!!

He looked good in pink.

That was an understatement, the man looked good in pretty much anything. But today? Something was different. Something looked different. His whole appearance seemed to be on point than usual. You noticed his typically tousled hair was styled and swept back, which was a very rare sight, and it was hard for you to look away.

“…as you have obviously heard, Dr. Spencer Reid has been fully reinstated,” Emily announced, snapping you back to reality. “Welcome back, Spence.”

“Whoo-hoo! Yes!” Penelope cheered, only to be met by Emily’s pointed look. “That’s not the end, is it?”

Your boss shook your head and then proceeded to continue with another announcement. You stole a glance towards him again.

Maybe it was just really his shirt that made him look good? It wasn't even overly tight, but snug enough to accentuate the lines of his broad shoulders. Has his shoulders always been that wide? Now that you think about it, he did seem to be putting on a little weight. Not that it was a bad thing, and not that you didn't like how he looked before, but you couldn't help noticing how he filled out his shirt, and for some reason, it was doing something to you. 

Probably more than something because now you wondered what other places he filled out.

A sudden round of applause filled the room, and you joined in, tearing your gaze away from him only to find Matt Simmons grinning at you. You looked away and followed everyone as they shuffled around the room, making sure to sit as far away from Spencer as possible, although luck wasn't on your side when Matt settled into the seat beside you.

"You don't seem too thrilled about me joining the team," he murmured, leaning in close.

“What do you mean? I’m always open to new faces around here.”

“Not as excited as having an old member back, though,” Matt remarked, prompting you to snap your head at him, a slight frown forming on your face. He winked teasingly, and you groaned, shoving his shoulder away. 

“Ugh, do not wink at me.”

His laughter filled the air, but it quickly faded as the atmosphere in the room turned serious. Penelope began briefing everyone on the new case, and you did your best to mask your grimace every time a gruesome picture flashed on the screen. By the time Emily called out, “Wheels up in thirty,” you rose from your seat.

To talk to him or not talk to him?

You weighed the pros and cons, sneaking a quick glance at Spencer, who was deeply absorbed in studying the case files. The logical part of your brain told you it wasn't the best time to strike up a conversation, especially with only thirty minutes left until you had to leave. But there was something about him, it felt almost instinctual, like you were naturally drawn to him, and like a magnetic force, you couldn't resist.

Oh, fuck it—you decided to approach him.

Taking a deep breath to steel yourself, you made your way over to where he was sitting, trying to ignore the flutter of nerves in your stomach.

"Hi.”

"Hey," he greeted, looking up with a small smile at the corners of his lips. "What's up?"

“Can I talk to you for a moment?”

"Sure," Spencer replied, his expression curious yet amused. He set aside the files he had been studying and turned his attention fully to you.

“In private?”

There was a brief pause, and you swore you could practically cut the tension with a knife. Then, with a deliberate slowness, he rose from his seat, his gaze never wavering from yours. You tilted your head back to look at him as his presence seemed to fill the room,and you couldn't help but hold your breath as you waited for his response.

“Of course,” he finally agreed, his eyes lingering on yours for a moment longer before he turned, leading the way to a more secluded spot, past the bullpen, past the glass doors, and down the hallway.

Once you were both out of earshot, he leaned in. “How private are we talking about?”

You nudged his side before guiding him towards the nearest office. As you stepped inside, your heart pounded in your chest, and you quickly glanced around the room to make sure it was empty. When you confirmed it was unoccupied, you turned back to see Spencer closing the door behind him.

Then everything snapped.

You weren't sure who made the first move, whether it was you or both of you acting on instinct, but before you could process it, his lips were on yours, his arms pulling you close, tongue colliding with your own. You gasped at his eagerness and wrapped your arms around his neck, bringing him closer to you as you pressed yourself against him.

With a boldness you didn’t know you possessed, you pushed him against the nearest wall, your hands tangling in his hair as his hands found their way to your ass, squeezing lightly. A soft moan escaped your lips and he responded by deepening the kiss further. It felt like time stood still as you lost yourself in the heat of his mouth against yours, until you finally pulled back, your lips brushing against his jaw.

“What…” He gasped when your mouth trailed lower. “What’s gotten into you?”

“I don’t know,” you groaned into his neck, his scent filling your senses. Why did he have to smell so good? “I think it’s your hair.”

“My… hair?”

You pulled back slightly, your fingers tracing along the collar of his shirt, your eyes roaming over the exposed skin of his chest where the top buttons were left undone. “Or maybe it’s the shirt.”

“My shirt?”

“Yes!” You half-exclaimed, half-whispered, trying to keep your voice down. “I think I’m ovulating and you’re not helping.”

Spencer's eyes widened in surprise, a flush creeping up his neck as he processed your words. "Oh," he managed to say. “I didn't expect that.”

"Sorry," you apologized, feeling your cheeks warm with embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to—”

But before you could say anything else, his expression softened, and his grip on your hips tightened. "Hey, it's okay," he reassured you. “It’s common for women to experience changes in their hormones during ovulation. It's completely natural and nothing to be embarrassed about."

You looked up at him, your hands sliding down his chest. “Yeah?”

He nodded. “Yes, it’s just your body doing its thing,” he said reassuringly. "And honestly, it's kind of flattering to know that... I have that effect on you."

A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips as your palms drifted lower. “What else do you know about this stuff?”

“Well, around the time of ovulation, a woman's body produces more estrogen, which can increase libido—”

His breath hitched when his eyes fell on your hand resting over his pants.

“What?” you prompted, a playful glint in your eye. “Why did you stop?”

Spencer's cheeks flushed slightly as he met your gaze. "I, uh…” He cleared his throat. “I was just going to mention that… increased estrogen levels during ovulation can also lead to heightened sensitivity in erogenous zones—”

But his words trailed off into a sigh as you palmed his arousal over his pants, feeling the hardness beneath your touch. He was undeniably aroused, and the way he responded to your touch only fueled you even more. With a mischievous grin, you ran your palm up and down his length, feeling him throb in response before letting out a playful giggle.

You didn’t realize it would be this fun to be the one doing the teasing.

“Tell me more, Spence.”

He swallowed hard before managing to speak. "W-Well,” he stammered. "Increased estrogen levels can also... enhance blood flow to certain areas, leading to heightened sensitivity and... uh, increased pleasure—”

But before he could finish his sentence, you applied a little more pressure, causing him to let out a low groan of pleasure. His words faltered, his focus shifting entirely to the delicious sensation of your hand stroking him. Your eyes traveled down, watching the way his cock pressed against the fabric of his pants, noting how thick and hard he was. 

But as your gaze lingered, you caught sight of the time on your watch, and reality came crashing back in. You reluctantly pulled your hand away from him, and Spencer blinked at your sudden withdrawal, his desire-clouded mind trying to focus on you.

“What's wrong?” He whispered. “Why did you stop?”

“I… I kind of got carried away, I’m sorry," you noted. "We should probably get back before they start to wonder where we are."

He went still, and so did you. The room’s air conditioner hummed softly, filling the silence as you both simply stared at each other. When he didn’t respond, you slowly backed away and moved toward the door, but his grip on your arm stopped you. You turned towards him, eyebrows raised while he seemed to hesitate to say the next words.

After a moment, he sighed, his gaze softening as he finally found the words he was looking for.

“The other day, after we… you know,” he emphasized, and you nodded, urging him to continue. “I had to deal with this myself.”

His eyes flicked over the bulge in his pants and you stifled a laugh, amused at his sudden fluster. “Yeah, you said you were going to ignore it.”

“I didn’t,” he replied. “I couldn’t.”

“And?”

“And…” he hesitated, his gaze flickering away for a moment before meeting yours again.

There was a moment of silence until you realized what he was implying. You gasped, the hand he wasn’t holding covering your mouth in shock. “Here?” you asked in disbelief. “At work?”

His cheeks flushed, but he nodded sheepishly. “Yeah,” he admitted. “In the bathroom.”

“Spencer,” you exclaimed in a hushed tone, “That’s...”

“I know, I know,” he cut in, his tone self-deprecating. “But in my defense, it was all your fault.”

You giggled. “Me? I barely touched you!”

"Exactly, but it was enough to drive me crazy,” he said, and when he saw you laughing, he gave you a deadpanned look. “It’s not funny.”

“Oh come on, it kind of is.” You shook your head in amusement. “Why are you telling me this?”

He hesitated for a moment, his eyes searching yours. “Because I don’t want to leave this room and deal with it by myself again.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Is this your way of asking me to touch you?”

His eyes widened almost cartoonishly wide, the flush creeping up his cheeks contrasting against the paleness of his skin, making his reaction all the more apparent.

“Please?”

You couldn’t suppress the grin that tugged at your lips. “Spencer, we only have…” You glanced over your watch. “Fifteen minutes left.”

“I can probably finish in five.”

You bit your bottom lip. How did you end up in this predicament all over again? Although this time, you felt like you had the upper hand, and somehow, it was strangely exciting to see him so affected, to have him practically begging for your touch when you were supposed to be in a hurry.

He looked at you expectantly. How could you say no when his eyes were wide and pleading? 

“You know what?” You turned to him fully, taking a step forward. “I think you deserve it. It’s your first day back, after all.”

Before you could second guess yourself, you reached for him again. His breath hitched slightly as you undid his belt and slowly lowered the zipper of his pants. His arousal strained against the fabric and you briefly met his gaze. Without a word, you slid your hand inside his pants, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips.

He felt full in your hand and painfully hard. When his response was nothing but his ragged breathing, you reached for the waistband of his briefs with your other hand, pulling down slightly until his cock was freed from its confines. 

“Spence, you’re so…” Your voice trailed off, eyes fixated on him. The tip was thick and bulbous, a deeper shade than the shaft where pulsing veins ran up the long length. You were mesmerized by his size; it wasn’t too big nor too small, just perfect.

“You’re so pretty.”

His eyes fluttered closed for a moment before he looked back at you. “You think so?”

You nodded, feeling the heat and the weight of him in your grasp. A droplet of wetness glistened on the tip, and unable to resist, your thumb brushed along it, earning a sharp intake of breath from him as his hips instinctively bucked against your touch. With a newfound confidence, you wrapped your hand around him, feeling his hardness pulsating against your palm. 

The skin was soft as you’d expected, warm to the touch, but his length was stiff and throbbing when you squeezed. If you stayed still, you were sure you could count his heartbeat. As your hand moved up and down tentatively, trying to take in every detail of his member, you couldn’t believe you were finally feeling each vein that bulged up his shaft.

“Do you mind if I spit on it?”

He let out a low groan, his head falling back against the wall. “No.”

“Really? Coming from someone who’s germaphobic?” You smiled amusedly. "I thought you'd be more concerned about hygiene."

"I'll make an exception for this."

You couldn't help but laugh at his response. Trusting your instincts, you craned your neck down and let the liquid spill from your mouth, coating his tip in a steady flow. Your saliva glistened in the light, slowly trickling down the length of his cock. Then you began to stroke him gently, you felt him respond eagerly, his breaths growing heavier and his hips rocking gently against your hand.

His head fell back against the wall, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “God, that feels…” 

Feeling a surge of pride at his reaction, you couldn’t resist teasing him further. “Is this how you touched yourself in the bathroom?”

He swallowed hard, his breath hitching as he met your gaze. 

“Were you thinking of me?” You pressed on. “Did you imagine me touching you like this?”

His response was barely a whisper, but you caught it. “Yes…”

His breath was warm against your face, and you looked up, taking in the way he was looking at you through half-lidded eyes, lips parted as soft moans slipped out of his mouth. Who would’ve thought he made the prettiest sounds? You knew he was trying to keep his voice down, but the sight of him struggling to suppress his pleasure only made it more thrilling.

“Or did you imagine me getting on my knees, taking you in my mouth?” you teased, your voice low and sultry as you traced your tongue along your bottom lip. “Did you picture yourself deep inside of me, how tight and wet I would be?”

His forehead dipped until it was resting against yours, breaking the self-control he was desperately trying to maintain. “Oh god—I-I can’t hold it any longer.”

Your response was simply to increase your speed, your fist moving in fast short strokes up his leaking cock. He was slick with arousal, and you focused your attention on the sensitive tip, prompting even louder sounds of pleasure from him.

“Wait—" he gripped your wrist, forcing you to stop. “I’m so close.”

You frowned, watching the conflict play out in his expression. "I thought you wanted this?"

“I know, it’s just—“ His brows furrowed, a hint of desperation in his eyes as he struggled to maintain control. Then, with a defeated sigh, he admitted, “I don’t want to make a mess.”

You scanned the room, your mind racing for a solution. The office offered no privacy, and there was nothing around to help clean up the mess he would definitely make, so you needed a different approach.

Without hesitation, you got down on your knees.

“What are you doing?”

“What do you think I’m doing?”

“You’re gonna—” he gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing nervously. “I can’t let you do that.”

“Shh,” you hushed, lightly hitting his thigh. “Just help me hold my hair up.”

He hesitated for a moment, but the desire in his eyes was undeniable. Slowly, he reached out, gathering your hair in his hands. You felt the warmth of his fingers against your scalp, his touch gentle yet firm. You leaned in, your mouth hovering just inches from his swollen tip as you glanced up, meeting his eyes one last time before you took him into your mouth.

The taste of him was intoxicating, and you could feel every twitch and throb as you wrapped your lips around him. His grip on your hair tightened, a guttural moan escaping his lips, your tongue swirling around his tip, tasting the salty bead of arousal that had formed there. His hips bucked involuntarily, and you took him deeper, jaw stretching wide as you struggled to get every inch of him inside your mouth while wrapping your hand around what was left.

You moved slowly at first, getting used to the feel of him in your mouth. It didn’t take long until your mouth was working in tandem with your hand, creating a rhythm that had his body shaking. The room was quickly filled with the sounds of his ragged breathing and soft moans, and you couldn’t believe this was actually happening. There you were, hiding behind an empty office with the potential of getting caught. 

But you didn’t care, nor did Spencer, as he held your hair and bucked his hips into your mouth. You could feel the tension building in him, his breaths coming in short, desperate gasps. He was so, so close, and you wanted to push him over the edge. You quickened your pace, your mouth moving up and down his length, hollowing your cheeks to create a tighter seal.

His moans grew louder, and you could tell he was struggling to keep quiet. “Please,” he whined, his voice strained. “I-I’m gonna…”

A choked gasp cut off his words as he reached his climax, his release hitting the back of your throat in hot, pulsing waves. You swallowed him down, savoring the taste of him, the warmth spreading through you as you looked up at him, your eyes meeting his. His expression was one of pure ecstasy, mixed with a hint of disbelief and awe.

As he slowly came down from his high, his grip on your hair loosened, and he gently helped you to your feet. "That was..." he trailed off, still catching his breath. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to. Besides, I think you deserved it,” you said before pointing a finger at him. “But we can’t keep doing this at work.”

He looked at you, amusement and disbelief dancing in his eyes as he adjusted his clothes. You could almost read his thoughts: you were the one who initiated this, not once, but twice. The first time might have been out of panic, but this time, it was all you.

“I’m serious,” you said, crossing your arms to emphasize your point. “Now that you’re back, we should keep a certain distance between us. No more sneaking around.”

He raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile curling at the corners of his mouth. But then you watched as his expression suddenly shifted, as if he remembered something and his smile turned into a frown followed by the furrow of his eyebrows.

“What? What’s wrong?”

He glanced at you, his hands sinking into the front pockets of his slacks. “I haven’t told this to anyone but… there’s a condition to my reinstatement.”

“What do you mean?” 

He took a deep breath, his eyes locking onto yours. “For every hundred days that I spend on the field, I’m required to take thirty days off.” 

You blinked, processing the information. “Wait, what? So you’re not fully back?”

“Technically I am, just not how I want it to be.”

You watched as his shoulders slightly fell. “You’re not happy about this, are you?”

“What am I supposed to do on my days off? A whole month of sitting around in my apartment doing nothing?”

You took a step closer, placing a comforting hand on his arm. “You’re not going to be sitting around doing nothing. Think of it as an opportunity. You can catch up on your reading, maybe even take a trip somewhere.”

He shook his head. “That’s not the same. I want to be out there, doing my job, helping people. It’s what I’m good at.”

“I know,” you said softly. “But you can’t give your best if you’re burnt out. These breaks could help you recharge, keep you sharp.”

He sighed, looking down at the floor. “I just feel like I’m being benched, like they don’t trust me fully.”

You tugged his arm, forcing him to meet your gaze. “Hey, they trust you. This is about keeping you safe. After everything you went through… Spence, you deserve this break. They just want to make sure you’re at your best every time you’re back in the field.”

When he didn’t seem to fully absorb your words, you pressed on.

“Think about it, you have so many options. You could pick up a new hobby, spend more time with your mom... or finally visit those places you’ve always talked about. Like that museum you mentioned before, what was it called again?”

His gaze softened as he listened to your suggestions. "The Smithsonian," he replied after a moment, a small smile playing on his lips. “I've always wanted to spend a whole day there without rushing.”

"Exactly! Now you'll have the time to do that."

He nodded slowly, the tension easing from his shoulders. "I guess you're right.”

“See? It’s all about perspective.”

His lips curved into a smile as you both fell into silence. Then, he studied you, his eyes scanning your features as if trying to decipher the thoughts swirling in your mind through the subtle shifts of your expression.

“Will you come with me?” 

Your heart skipped a beat, and your breath caught in your throat at the unexpected question.

“You want me to come with you to the museum?”

"Yeah," he murmured, his voice soft, almost quiet. "Will you?"

It was a simple question, but it held a weight that you couldn't ignore. You had spent plenty of time together, grabbing lunch, chatting at the coffee shop down the road. But this felt… different. More personal. More intimate.

And suddenly it came crashing to you. You were so absorbed in what was happening between you, the stolen kisses, the physical attraction, that you didn’t realize your friendship was never going to be the same again.

On one hand, the idea of spending more time alone with him was undeniably tempting, but the rational part of you wasn’t sure if it was the wisest thing to do. He was your friend, a good one at that, and getting emotionally involved with friends could either strengthen or strain the relationship.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair as you searched for the right words. But before you could answer him, both of your phones vibrated with a notification. You both looked at your own devices and read the message.

“We’re leaving now,” Spencer announced, shoving back his phone in his pocket. “We should go.”

You nodded slowly, your gaze lingering on the door for a moment longer before you turned towards him. “You know what? You should head out first. I need some time to myself.”

He furrowed his brows slightly. You could tell he wanted to ask more questions, but he didn’t press on. “You sure?”

“Yes,” you replied. “Just give me a minute and I’ll follow behind.”

His eyes lingered on you for another second before he nodded, offering you a small, reassuring smile. “Sure, I’ll save a seat for you.”

You returned his smile, though it felt more like a grimace as you watched him exit the room. The click of the door closing behind him seemed to echo in the sudden silence, leaving you alone with your swirling thoughts as the rush of emotions flooded over you. It felt as if you were standing at the edge of a precipice, unsure whether to leap or retreat.

With a deep breath, you pressed a hand to your chest, trying to calm the fluttering inside. But the truth was undeniable—you were falling for him, and you were falling fast.

#behind closed doors #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x fem!reader smut #spencer reid #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x female reader #spencer reid x fanfiction #spencerreid #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid fluff #Fanfiction #gifwriting

[hotyanderedaddies]

Yandere Cat Café Owner Wants You

[Yandere! Cat Dad Boyfriend x GN! Reader]

·゜·:.。..。.:·☆·゜·:.。..。.:·☆

Kitty Café opened up down the block from your apartment, and ever since you'd seen the fliers promising delicious treats with tons of cats to play with, you'd made it your life's mission to visit it.

Unfortunately, your boyfriend was crazy allergic to cats, so you had to go solo. It bummed you out, sure; but the idea of getting to spend some time with tons of cats more than made up for it. You knew that you couldn't adopt one, but maybe you could do a little donation instead.

"Welcome!" a deep, warm voice sounded out as soon as you entered the small café.

Behind the desk was a large behemoth of a man. Even from across the room, you could tell that he towered over you. His body was thick and solid with muscle, and the tight polo he wore was painted across his large chest.

Around him, tiny kittens mewed and pawed at him, asking for pets.

The entire café was littered with cats (duh), but most of them seemed to be sticking close to the man.

"H-hi," you stuttered back, feeling nervous under the intense gaze of the larger man. His eyes widened when you spoke, and you could clearly see his Adam's apple quiver a little, and the corners of his mouth pulled up slightly. "I, uh, I saw the fliers and I had to come see the new cat café."

The man's smile grew on his face. "Great!" he beamed. "You're actually my first customer. I'm Dominik the owner, by the way. But you can call me Da-- *cough, Dom." He smiled nervously, a pinkish hue forming on his face. "What can I get you?"

The owner was really friendly, and he seemed to be over the moon to have a customer. You could tell by how giddy he seemed, and even some of the kittens picked up on it, their glances shifting between him and you.

You looked at the menu behind Dom, amazed by the wide array of tasty treats and delicious drinks that you could order. There were so many choices that you couldn't make up your mind.

"Um," you wondered. "Surprise me." You shrugged, figuring that the café owner wouldn't find the request too annoying... or at least you hoped not.

Luckily, Dom's smile remained, and it even grew bigger. "Sure thing, Kitten," he grinned. "Go ahead and take a seat and I'll bring it out to you."

You winced internally at his odd nickname for you, but ignored it for the moment.

You took a seat near the window, taking time to pet some of the cats that were brave enough to wander close to you. A fluffy orange kitten with little stripes on it clawed its way up your pant leg, hopping into your lap and purring loudly.

"Aww, cute little guy," you cooed as you pet the kitten, loving how it purred even louder.

"That's Pumpkin," Dom said as he approached the table. "It looks like he likes you."

Dom placed a small cup on the table in front of you and a little baked treat. It looked like a cookie in the shape of a cat, whereas the cup was a latte with a little heart made out of the foam. It was really cute.

"Thank you," you said as you took a sip of the latte, your eyes widening at how sweet it was. And it totally lacked any of the bitterness that coffee drinks typically have. In short: It was fantastic! "This is amazing!"

Dom took the seat opposite yours. "I'm glad you like it, Kitten," he genuinely smiled. He then nodded at Pumpkin. "Are you looking for a cat to take home?"

You frowned slightly. "No," you relented. "My boyfriend's allergic to cats, so I can't adopt one."

Dom's smile vanished and his square jaw clenched. "Yeah..." he huffed, something audible in his deep voice, "that's not too good." He sighed before forcing a smile back onto his face. "I guess that means that you'll just have to come visit more often."

You looked up at the larger man in awe.

Blushing, Dom hurriedly added, "I know Pumpkin will miss you."

Almost as if on cue, Pumpkin meowed.

·゜·:.。..。.:·☆·゜·:.。..。.:·☆

After your first visit to the café, you quickly became a regular.

Every so often, you would come by to play with Pumpkin and some of the other cats.

And each and every time, Dom would light up and eagerly strike up a conversation with you, looking as giddy as a kid on Christmas. He was really nice to you and he was quickly starting to grow on you.

He was becoming a really great friend to you.

One day, you rushed over to the café, eager to tell the man the wonderful news that you had. Your fists balled up excitedly, you burst into the small shop, seeing Dom sitting near the counter with a few new kittens.

He perked up when he saw you, his face instantly brightening up. "Hey, Y/N!" he cheered, then he saw how excited you looked. "What's the good news?"

You couldn't resist shoving your left out towards him, showing off the gold band on your ring finger. "My boyfriend proposed!" you ecstatically cheered. "Check out the ring too! Nice, right?"

You were all smiles, dreaming of walking down the aisle to marry your boyfriend: a.k.a. the man of your dreams.

Dom smiled too, although his grin didn't touch his eyes. In fact, his smile looked pained, forced. He sharply exhaled before perking up slightly.

"How about a drink to celebrate?" he asked. "I've been working on a new one." He moved behind the counter and began to shuffle around with some ingredients, his broad back blocking your view of what he was messing with. He peeked over his shoulder to make sure that you couldn't see him add something special to your cup.

When he was done, Dom turn back around and placed a warm mug in front of you. He made sure to take extra care to shape the foam into a cute little kitty.

"I hope you enjoy," Dom grinned, pushing the mug closer to you.

You grabbed it and took a sip. The drink was incredibly sweet, just as you liked it. "It's delicious, Dom," you beamed. "Thank you so much!"

He smiled triumphantly as you downed your drink.

As the two of you talked about your wedding plans (Dom's smile morphed into a frown the more you went on about it), you suddenly felt yourself get a little dizzy.

You placed a shaking hand up to your head to try and steady yourself, but the room felt like it was spinning.

"Are you alright, Y/N?" Dom asked, a cheerful tone in his voice.

You wondered what was going on, not sure if you were catching a virus or something. "Um," you mumbled, "I think I'm getting sick. I'll just head home..."

You stood up, but your legs were wobbly and they gave out on you, sending you toppling down.

Before you hit the hard ground, Dom rushed over and wrapped both of his strong arms around you, securing you tightly in his hold. He pulled you to his torso, and you felt his chest rumble a little as he seemingly purred like a happy cat.

"Wha--?" you tried to ask, but it getting harder to speak as your vision blurred and you felt weaker by the second.

"Shh," Dom cooed as he placed a tender hand on your cheek. "Just relax, Kitten. Let Daddy take care of you."

Before you could ask what he meant by that, everything went black...

·゜·:.。..。.:·☆·゜·:.。..。.:·☆

When you began to stir awake, you first noticed that everything felt so comfortable. Seriously, whatever bed you were lying in had the softest sheets, and there was a fluffy comforter that was so incredibly warm. And speaking of warm, a large body cuddled you from behind, keeping you nice and secured--

"What!?" you jolted awake, everything rushing to you all at once. You struggled to move, but your panic only heightened as you realized that your arms and legs were bound together by what felt like silk ties. The fabric was soft to the touch so as not to irritate your skin, but they were tied so tightly that they severely restricted your movement.

Looking around the bedroom that you found yourself in, you could see that there were tons of cat toys and décor around. A few of the kittens from the café where in the room, watching you intently. Pumpkin purred happily when he saw you, his tail flicking to and fro with glee.

You kept trying to thrash your body around to get free, but the body behind you only tightened its grip on you, effectively stopping you.

"Calm down, Kitten," Dom sleepily yawned, his hot breath wafting over your ear due to his closeness to you.

You tensed up when you felt his lips press to your cheek.

"Dom?!" you cried, unable to get free with his arms around you. He even laid one of his strong legs over yours, his entire body acting as a double lock. "What's going on?"

The larger man chuckled. "Kitten," he cooed, "isn't it obvious? You going to marry that... guy." He said the last part with such anger in his voice that it almost came out as a growl, making some of the cats in the room hiss in response. "So I had to just snatch you up and take you home with me."

You were stunned silent, unable to wrap your head around what was going on. "What do you mean?" you trembled.

Dom pressed his lips against you once more, purring as he did so. "I love you so much, Y/N. So I brought you home with me to convince you to be with me, not with your ex-boyfriend."

"You're insane..." you try to argue, earning a nip from him.

"Don't say that," he hissed. "I'm not insane, you're insane for trying to marry some guy who's not me. You belong to me, and that's why you're here: to be with me, and only me."

Dom tightened his grip on you, sealing off any hope of escape.

"You're mine."

#yandere boyfriend #yandere boy #yandere daddy #yandere x reader #yandere x you #obsessive love #possessive boyfriend #Cat Cafe #Cat Dad #Daddy x You

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

Failing

Summary: Joel made many mistakes. The biggest was leaving you.

Pairing: past Joel Miller x fem. reader

Wordcount: 1.3k

Rating: G

Warnings: angst, a lot of inner thoughts, panic attacks, Joel and Ellie do not talk, Joel is a mess, lots of talk about being a failure and not good enough, messy breakup, unplanned pregnancy

A/N: This has been going through my mind since I saw the new pic yesterday. This is really different from everything I write usually, so let me know what you think. And yeah, come yell at me in my inbox

follow @toomanystoriessolittletime-fics and turn on notifications to get notified when I post new fics

He knew he should have stayed home tonight.

He could have worked on… something. He could have talked himself into picking up his guitar and pretend everything was okay.

He could pretend that he wasn’t a failure.

He could pretend Ellie was still talking to him.

Instead he was here, the people around him celebrating god knows what, music playing, people dancing and he?

He was hoping to at least get a look at the girl that had become like a daughter to him. The daughter he lost because he lied to her.

Turned out his mother was right, lying was not getting him anywhere. 

He hadn’t talked to her in weeks, not getting more than a fleeting look at her from afar like a creepy stalker.

Tommy was right, he needed to give her time.

But somehow he felt like time was running out. 

Tommy had been right in a lot of things lately. Something Joel was not used to, still having the irresponsible young man in the back of his mind he had been before outbreak.

But Tommy wasn’t that man anymore.

He was a husband, a father, a respected leader of the little community he had helped build.

And Joel was…. He did not feel like he changed much. He was still angry all the time.

Angry at the world.

Angry at the people.

But most of all angry at himself.

The way he was feeling now? Alone and lonely?

He had no one but himself to blame for it.

It was moments like these that you came to his mind.

You would know what to do. You would know how to fix this mess that he got himself into. You always did. Until he had pushed you away for good, almost six years ago when he got even more involved in the underground in the Boston QZ.

Meeting and falling in love with you had been the only good thing that had happened to him since the outbreak. You had seen him, the real him.

The broken man that was desperate for… something.

That something seemed to be you.

But like every good that happened to him, he managed to fuck this up too. Not at first, but definitely in the end. 

And he tried. He tried to become a better person. Tried to become the man you deserved, not listening to you when you told him that he did not have to become a better person.

That you fell for him the way he was. With all flaws he thought he had.

But maybe if he had worked on himself he wouldn’t have reacted so poorly when you told him that you were pregnant.

Maybe he wouldn’t have blamed you and you only, taking the easy way out and telling you he would not go through this again.

He should have talked to you, instead of lashing out, should have told you how fucking scared he was about losing another child. About losing you. About raising a child in this fucked up world. About fucking up.

He did so anyway.

He chose to forget about the whole conversation the two of you had after you told him that you were pregnant and that you were intending to keep it from his mind. Or he tried. God, did he try.

But now, deep in the night, when he was laying awake and alone in bed, only the shadows of the night in his company, the words he spat to hurt you creeped back into his mind, not that they had ever been gone.

I don’t love you.

Get rid of it.

Get out of my life.

I never loved you anyway. 

He could still see the way your face crumbled, tears running down your cheeks. 

He broke you that night. And he broke himself. 

He thought about this last argument, this breakup a lot if he was honest with himself.

He never told you, not in words, how much he loved you. He took you for granted. He shouldn’t have been this surprised to learn that you had left the QZ days after he broke you. 

Not a day went by that he wondered what happened to you.

If you were alive.

If you kept the baby.

Would it have your eyes and his hair?

A boy or a girl?

Where they as stubborn as Sarah was?

Did you still love him as much as he still loved you?

Shaking his head he took a sip from the surprisingly good beer someone had offered him when he came here, his eyes wandering through the room, sneaking glances at Ellie who smiled at Dina, deep in conversation with the other girl.

Sucking his bottom lip in, his hand flexing on his side as he tried to find the courage to walk over to Ellie and ask her if they could talk, again, when he heard laughter behind him.

Laughter he heard before, a long time ago.

A laugh he heard in his dreams when his mind allowed him to dream about you instead of the nightmares that plagued him. 

Narrowing his eyes he tried to remember why he was hearing that laugh, why that voice that spoke in low tones now, made his heart flutter, when he saw Tommy walk towards him in a fast pace, his face worried.

“Joel,” he said but Joel wasn’t listening to him.

He was busy preparing for a breakdown that was creeping slowly into his body. 

Joel’s heart seemed to make the connection before his brain did, heart beating widely in his chest as he slowly turned around, his brother’s hand on his shoulder to keep him for turning. He shrugged it off with a grunt, bracing himself to be let down, that he was finally turning insane and imagining you when his eyes landed on you.

Blinking his eyes in disbelief he released a shaky breath when you were still there. 

You were sitting at one of the picnic tables, still as beautiful as he remembered a small smile on your face. A man had his arm wrapped around your back and in your lap sat a girl not older than five who had your eyes and his brown curls.

His heart stopped, he was sure of it.

“She got in yesterday. You were on patrol, I was trying to find you and tell you but….” Joel heard his brother say, but he ignored him.

You were here.

You were here.

And you were alive.

And you had a girl sitting in your lap that was….

His eyes widened when you leaned back and he saw a little boy sitting in the lap of the man next to you that looked like a mini copy of Joel himself.

His chest felt heavy.

Closing his eyes he tried to take deep breaths, but he just couldn’t.

This was too much.

This hurt too much.

This was the happiest he ever was.

“Joel?” he heard his name from his side, Ellie looking down at him worriedly as he pressed his hand against his chest, his eyes watering.

This was the first time she had talked to him in weeks and it might as well be the last time from the way he felt right now.

He was having a panic attack.

But it felt so much worse than it had ever before.

Looking away from Ellie he turned his head back towards you, finding you now looking at him with wide eyes.

“Deep breaths brother,” a strong arm came to pull him up and his frantic eyes found Tommy’s.

“In and out,” he said, trying to calm down his brother. Joel’s hands grabbed his brothers shoulders. Trying to mimic the way he was breathing but couldn’t.

“Joel?” he heard your voice, his head now turning towards you, finding you looking at him worriedly.

Joel shook his head, dark spots at the corner of his eyes.

“You’re here,” was the last thing he whispered before he passed out.

#my fic #Joel Miller #Joel Miller x fem. reader #Pedro Pascal #joel miller fanfiction #tlou #tlou fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #fan fiction

[poisonf0rest]

Kiss Shot

love and deepspace: zayne x fem!reader

tags: smut, light bondage, teasing, semi-public sex, praise kink, pwp, dom!zayne, sir kink, pool & billiards, oh he has pretty hands, exclusive tutorial card

word count: 8.2K

synopsis: Zayne has curated a perfectly polished reputation. He’s a renowned surgeon, the youngest of his graduating class, has a plethora of research papers in his name, and is well-liked and respected amongst his peers. And he would throw it all away to have you like this again, whining and desperate as he fucks you over a billiard table. It’s not fair, really, how easily you manage to get Zayne riled up. Especially when you call him sir.

original ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55931518

Your negroni is fifty percent water by now.

The flock of past classmates, professors, and adorning fans has been relentless, swarming the bar where you and Zayne currently sit— or perhaps more accurately, swarming where the distinguished Dr. Zayne sits. 

You sigh under your breath, fussing with the cocktail dress slit against your thigh before taking another sip of your drink, the melted ice dulling the burn of the gin. It has only been an hour since you arrived, and yet you can already feel your social battery reach its limits, tired of going through the same motions for every other person who bothers to acknowledge your presence: a smile, what’s your name, are you a surgeon as well, what’s your connection to Zayne, no we’re not together.

It’s not that you haven’t met fascinating individuals— your first round of drinks was shared with two sisters, old classmates of Zayne’s who were now Linkon’s top OB/GYN doctors and genuinely the sweetest women you’ve talked to today. 

But everyone has limits. And with the relentless swarm sucking up to Zayne, it hardly gives you a moment of peace, let alone an opportunity to talk with your date for the evening.

Thinking about the stipulations of your relationship and what this night even means for the two of you sends your mind reeling further, and you finish the rest of your negroni in a shot, wincing. 

As if sensing your frustration, the doctor in question looks up from his conversation with a classmate. Zayne gives a knowing, apologetic smile before returning to his conversation, the gesture leaving you with a fluttering in your chest.

Calling the bartender over, you place another drink on the tab before tuning in to the conversation next to you as you hear the echo of laughter. 

“No, no, I’ve been lucky enough to have seen it myself!” An older man laughs again, his drink nearly sloshing over the rim as he smacks Zayne’s shoulder. You snort at the way he stiffens. “Our Dr. Zayne isn’t just a professional at work, you should see him play billiards. Let me tell you, he’s amazing at both the operating table and the pool table”

A deep sigh. “You drank too much…” 

“Nonsense!” The man pats Zayne again before recounting a story from their residency days to the crowd of onlookers.

You yourself are rather engrossed too, more than happy to learn more about your elusive doctor, especially these hidden talents he seems set on keeping from you. Zayne, on the other hand, is far from impressed. Brows furrowed, he turns from where he sits against the bar counter to scan your face. 

Leaning in closer, you inhale sharply at the feel of his cool breath against your ear. “Do you want to go somewhere else?” 

His thoughtfulness would be sweet if it weren’t for the way Zayne had whispered it, lips brushing against your sensitive skin as you shudder at the slow, deep cadence of his voice. 

Noticing your hesitation, Zayne’s hand comes up to rest on your knee, thumb slipping under your dress’ slit. He cocks his head, waiting for your response, drawing soothing circles against your bare skin, which is having quite the opposite effect. 

Panicking, you shake your head. “I’m alright. Plus, I’d feel bad stealing you away from all your adoring fans so soon, Dr. Zayne.”

He scoffs under his breath, but you see the slight curl in the corner of his lips. Still, he has yet to let go of your thigh, and you decide to shift closer, turning in your seat so your knees brush against Zayne’s, his hand involuntarily sliding higher. 

His fingers are calloused and worn, a testament to his many years spent in the medical field, and his grip is firm against your thigh. It feels familiar, and the memories of his hands on you in many different places sends heat rushing to your cheeks.

The thought doesn't seem to have left his mind either, judging by the way his eyes dart down to your parted lips.

Clearing his throat, Zayne looks away. He is about to say something when you decide to interrupt instead.

“Besides,” you hum, taking a sip of wine. “If the rumors are to be believed, then I’m missing quite a show. Is our Dr. Zayne really that skilled at pool?”

“Ah.” Zayne retracts his hand, clearing his throat as he straightens up in his seat. ”You’re trying to gang up on me.”

You know him well enough to recognize the hint of embarrassment in the way he avoids your gaze. But before you can tease him further, another cheery voice interrupts.

“We meet again, sir!” A young man practically bounces over to the bar, caught between a bow and a handshake as he stumbles into both, flashing a gummy smile at Zayne. 

You raise a brow at his overwhelming enthusiasm, glancing at Zayne as you watch recognition flash across his face.

“Good evening. It’s Steven, yes? You don’t need to address me as “sir”.” Zayne nearly grimaces as he says the word, and you take a sip from your drink to hide your growing smile. 

“Yes! I’m honored you remembered.” Steven nods vigorously. “But anything less would be inappropriate. After all, you taught me so much with your hands-on instruction, I owe my knowledge and successful residency so far to you, sir.”

Still, Zayne shuts him down. “I was only doing what I should have done. Any credit beyond that is your own.” 

It’s almost like he’s allergic to praise. 

“Humble and smart,” Steven laughs, winking all-too-obviously at you. “Regardless, I just wanted to thank you for everything formally, sir. You two have a wonderful rest of your night!”

“Yes.” Zayne frowns, leaning ever so slightly closer to you. ”To you as well.”

Quickly feigning ignorance, you pretend to be absorbed in the powerpoint some professor is giving on the opposite side of the venue, immediately lost in a diagram of a heart valve. You’re about to take another sip of your drink when something pinches your ear. Yelping at the sting, you jump in your seat, whirling around to face the culprit.

Zayne scoffs. “I could see you eavesdropping a mile away. Did you find anything interesting?”

“Oh, aside from learning that you are extremely humble, smart, handsome, and rather adept at hands-on instruction, nothing much,” you lean against the counter, blinking up at Zayne through your lashes as you sing the last word, “Sir.”

You watch his jaw clench, a rigid movement that makes your heart skip. Zayne laughs, a harsh, sharp sound. He shakes his head before his hand grips your jaw, tugging you gently but firmly towards him. His eyes narrow, and your heart stutters.

“Clever girl. What is it you want this time?”

This time. As if Zayne could refuse you anything, as if the mere sight of you isn't enough to make him go mad.

But you're not the only one who knows how to play. And he rather likes watching just how far you’ll go.

Smiling innocently, you rest a hand on Zayne’s shoulder. The warmth of his skin seeps through the silky material of his suit. You can't help but slide your hand further up, tracing the curve of his neck with your thumb. “Well…” You lick your lips, tasting the waxy remnants of your lipstick as you fight to keep your voice even under Zayne’s piercing gaze. ”You never did any hands-on training with me, and everyone says what an honor it’s been to be taught by you, sir. I wonder what I’ll have to do to experience it finally.”

Zayne sighs, and for a moment, he appears disappointed.

“It seems like you truly want to learn about surgeries.” A scoff, and Zayne’s face seems to fall back to its stoic facade. But he pulls you closer, tilting your head so his lips graze your earlobe once more. “Who knew my little hunter was so skilled at acting?”

You gasp, placing a hand on your chest in faux surprise. “What accusations, doctor. Besides, I was thinking about something with a… less steep learning curve.”

Zayne hums thoughtfully, thumb venturing from your jaw as it brushes across your lips. Once. Twice. Three times before he stands up, hand finally dropping from your face as he grabs your wrist instead. 

“Then allow me to take our first lesson elsewhere.”

You don’t offer any sort of resistance as Zayne leads you through the crowd, opting to let go of your wrist and guide you away from prying eyes, hand instead lingering against the small of your back as he walks beside you. He opens the door for you, directing the two of you down one of the main venue halls, echoes of conversation muffled by the soft ding of an elevator. Zayne flashes his medical ID before clicking the top floor, the sensor buzzing green as it carries you up with the smooth flow of elevator jazz. 

Zayne’s hand has yet to leave your waist. His thumb goes back to tracing soft circles against the divots in your back as though from habit, nearly touching bare skin due to the sweeping backless design of your dress. You fight the urge to lean further into him, already fidgeting in your heels at the thought of his touch, slow and careful and calculated, elsewhere.

Your thoughts are interrupted by the chime of the elevator. 

Oh, god, snap out of it. You rush out of the elevator, hoping Zayne didn’t notice the furious heat you can feel rising from your cheeks to the tips of your ears.

Smoothing some loose hair back behind your ear, you close your eyes and focus on taking deep breaths, as if it’ll push all these obscene scenarios of Zayne’s large, perfect hands doing unspeakable things out of your mind. 

It works for a moment, expelling all these potential scenarios and instead reminding you of every time Zayne has taken action. Memories of him after hours at the clinic, during movie nights when neither of you paid attention to the TV, and even the drive here where he decided to—

“Does the sight of a billiard table scare you that much?”

The heat from earlier is back in full force. Your eyes snap open, and you are greeted with Zayne’s signature eyebrow raise, feigning concern despite his amused smile that only grows more prominent when he notices the flush creeping across your skin.

“Hardly.” You force a smile, turning your head as you refuse to let him gloat. “I’m just so ecstatic that I’ll finally receive hands-on training from the Dr. Zayne.”

A low hum, “Yes, at least until you feel well enough to go back and socialize.” 

He says this, yet you know Zayne is just as happy as you are to finally escape from the crowds below.

“Well,” you purr, “take care of me until then, sir.”

You giggle as he frowns at the title, waltzing past him to a corner pool table in the billiard hall. The floor is dedicated to different tabletop games, all lined up against numerous floor-to-ceiling windows aglow with a gorgeous view of Linkon City. The city lights bleed in since the entire room was rather dim, no doubt an artistic choice, adorned sensually with faux candlelight chandeliers and the low timber of jazz.

“Have you played before?”

“Once or twice– some call me a natural genius.” You brush imaginary hair from your shoulders as Zayne scoffs before handing you a cue stick. Lacing his hand into your own, you pull the stick and thus him closer. “Why? Are you going to be strict with me, sir?”

Seeing through your jab, Zayne responds without hesitation. “Strict teachers make outstanding students. Let’s start.”

You pout, about to walk to the other side of the pool table to observe his shot, when Zayne’s arm laces around your waist, holding you against him for a second longer. 

“And no more distractions.”

Not trusting your voice, you nod, watching as he bends to aim the cue, muscles beneath his sleeves flexing with each calculated movement. You hear the sound of a cue stick colliding with its target, but your attention is too focused on his fingers to process any of the actual movements.

Another sharp click breaks the silence. You watch as the cue ball collides with a red striped one, sending the former skittering off the sides while the other sinks into the pocket with a dull thud.

“You’re unfairly good at this.”

Zayne raises a brow, “Maybe it’s because a surgeon requires steady hands.” 

And the moment you glance down, any chance of salvation is lost.

You’re not a fool. You’ve noticed Zayne’s hands before, on more occasions than you’d care to admit. But it’s as he says and more. 

Lining up for another shot, you watch him stretch forward, forearms exposed from his deliciously rolled-up sleeves and discarded blazer, your eyes tracing every prominent vein down to his hands, spread wide against the table, tense as the stick rests against his pointer finger and thumb. Even in the dim lighting you can see pale silver scars littering his forearms, and you swear you’ve never seen something so beautiful, like traces of frost against marble. 

Again, it shouldn’t be a surprise that a surgeon must take good care of their hands, but it’s nearly unfair how gorgeous Zayne’s are. Not only that, but you remember how comforting his hands feel against your own, how they caressed your thigh earlier tonight, and just how attentive and precise they can be. 

“You’re not focusing on my lesson.”

Shit.

With a single strike, Zayne tries to sink another ball, but the angle is just off, and the striped ball hits the corner of the pocket, ricocheting against the wood with a dull thud. 

Zayne leans against the pool table, cue stick resting against his shoulder.

"Your turn."

Copying Zayne’s movements as best you can, you clumsily position your cue stick between your knuckles, aiming for what seemed to be a fairly easy shot. Only for the ball to ricochet far left as the white ball knocks into it. Even your cue stick wobbles after, as if shaking in laughter at your poor shot. 

Frowning, you look up to see Zayne’s disapproving gaze locked onto the pool table. 

“Is there not an easier way to do this? One more suitable for beginners?”

“There is.” Zayne leans in, his expression betraying nothing. “First, try adjusting your posture. You’ll see better results.”

Another sigh, and you halfheartedly drape yourself over the table again. “Like this? I’m not sure I fully understand, I think I need your help identifying my weak spots via more hands-on learning, sir.”

“Allow me to guide you, then.”

For a moment you think you’ll have to bait Zayne more, yet before you can figure out how to push the stubborn doctor any further, you feel the weight of his hands, heavy against your shoulder and hip. 

Zayne shifts forward, and you can feel the fabric of his suit vest graze the bare skin of your back, his hands unnaturally cool against the dips in your waist as he nudges your back into an arch. You comply, Zayne’s body nearly folding atop yours as his chest brushes your back. 

He takes the cue stick from your hand.

“You’re too tense,” Zayne pats your back two times. Your waist immediately bends, and you hear him laugh under his breath. “And now you’re too relaxed.”

With his hands still pressed against your waist, Zayne repositions himself and thus you as well, and you can feel the chill of each exhale against the crook of your neck.

He guides your aim, lining it up to the cue ball. The tip brushes ever so gently against the felt surface as it pushes, slowly and deliberately, practicing the gentle back-and-forth motion as you struggle to keep pace. 

“Drop your left arm. Allow it to bend naturally.” He taps your elbow and waist. “Your head, dominant arm, and the cue stick should all form a straight line.”

You begin to shuffle according to Zayne’s instructions, hinging your hips backward before you realize what a wonderfully compromising position he’s placed you in. As discreetly as possible, you allow your right leg to step backward, movement forcing you further against Zayne as you press the curve of your ass into his hips. Immediately, you’re rewarded with a sharp inhale next to your ear. 

But instead of pulling away or reprimanding you Zayne merely continues with the lesson, almost frustratingly unaffected if it wasn’t for the fact that you could feel his reaction grow between your thighs. 

Still, he is nothing if not a professional as he whispers against your jaw, "Behave.”

"I am," you reply, and one of Zayne’s hands comes up to guide your cue stick. “...It just hurts a little.”

You don’t have to see his face to know that Zayne is giving you a smug smile. 

“That means it’s correct.”

You take a deep breath. You practice the same back-and-forth motions, thrusting the stick forward on the third, watching as your cue stick strikes the white ball, sending a solid orange one rolling.

Another click and a thud, and you successfully land a pocket.

Just when you feel like you’re finally getting the hang of it, you make the fatal mistake of looking down to where Zayne's fingers guide yours against the cue stick, and your brain turns to scramble once more. His thumb brushes over your knuckles, a soft, fleeting sensation.

And you miss.

Zayne is quiet for a long moment, tilting his head, letting the warmth of his cheek press against your neck. “Snap out of it. Are you even paying attention?”

Bastard. He knows exactly what he’s doing. 

“Of course,” you retort, skin feeling uncomfortably hot even when Zayne finally steps back from you, your body searing the memory of his touch into every nerve. “I’ll score the next one myself.”

He hums and cocks an eyebrow as if telling you to go on, prove him wrong. 

“Remember, move the cue stick to gauge the shot two or three times, then stop at the position closest to the ball.”

You do, gauging the weight of the cue stick, bending down over the table so your chest nearly brushes with the felt, narrowing in on the solid green ball. 

“Stop and pull back the cue stick in three, two, one.” 

On Zayne’s command, you strike, a satisfying click followed by the thump of the ball falling into the corner pocket. You scored. All on your own.

“It went in!” You jolt up, spinning as you laugh. 

“So it did. Seems like your pool skills are less about precision and more… passion.” Zayne’s lips twitch into a smile, and you’re not foolish enough to ignore his double meaning. “Granted, you might need a little more than passion to come back and win this round.”

You scoff, attempting to change the subject without drawing attention to how red your face has gotten. “Well then, perhaps if you’re not too committed to this doctor thing there’s still a chance for you in the professional billiard space.”

“No, thank you. Now, think you can make another shot by yourself?”

“Wait a moment. When a student does well, shouldn’t they get a reward?”

“Very well,” Zayne relents, tone even despite the searing gaze he practically strips down your body. “What do you want?”

“There are a few balls blocking my next shot. Help me?”

A beat, and he blinks at you incredulously. “That is all?”

“What’s wrong, Dr. Zayne? Scared that if you give me too much help, I’ll steal this victory from you?”

“Provocation doesn’t work on me.”

“Then come here.”

God, you don’t think you’ll ever get used to how pliant he is for you, obeying your command without so much as a moment of hesitation. His larger frame now towers above you, close enough that you have to crane your neck to maintain eye contact. And you can’t help but tease him a bit more. It’s not your fault his obedience gives you a rush.

“Closer,” you whisper, teasing your fingers against his vest buttons. “Or else I can’t reach it.” 

Still, Zayne complies. Although this time his brows furrow, shuffling closer so his knee slips between yours and your chest presses against his. “What exactly are you…”

You yank his tie, pushing him down atop the felt tabletop before he can finish his sentence. 

There’s a dull thud, Zayne’s vest ruffled as you pin him to the table. He still looks frustratingly composed, not a hair out of place, but you feel his chest rise and fall uncharacteristically fast under your palm.

Smiling in victory, your other hand brings up your cue stick, making a show of tapping it on his broad shoulders. “Ah, look, the ball is so far away. I think I’ll need a cue rest.”

“Using cue rests would be overkill,” Zayne retorts, propping himself onto his elbows as you pout. You’ve been teasing him all night; surely just one more push, and he’ll finally give in? 

Before he can escape from your hold, you lift the cue stick off his shoulder, letting the tip slip under his tie. Zayne watches with a tight frown as you tug his tie loose. “And this is inappropriate.”

“But are you not enjoying it too?” Your leg slides out from the slit in your dress, allowing you to straddle Zayne’s thigh as your arms cage him further against the pool table. “Sir?”

His brows furrow, almost surprised at your brazenness before he looks down with a huff, and you see the smirk he’s fighting to keep at bay. “I shouldn’t have taught you so much.”

Getting revenge for before, it’s your turn to grip his jaw, brushing kisses against his beautifully hooked nose and down his jaw, leaving smears of cherry red in your wake as you purposefully neglect his waiting lips. “What can I say? I have a very attentive teacher.” 

Zayne is about to say something sarcastic back, no doubt, so you roll your hips forward, cutting off his words as you’re rewarded with a groan instead. The angle allows you to grind atop the rough seams in his trousers, nearly catching against his zipper and the heavy bulge you can already feel straining underneath. 

His hand shoots out, gripping your thigh as you gasp. There’s a warning look in his eyes, but he makes no move to stop you.

Encouraged, you repeat the motion, rocking forward against him as you give an exaggerated moan. Zayne quickly cuts it off with his other hand, thumb pressing against your bottom lip as he muffles your noises. You open your lips further, allowing the digit to slide against your lipstick and push against your tongue. 

Zayne tsks, shaking his head.

You gently nip at his finger before beginning to suck the offending digit, flicking your tongue against the rough pad of his thumb. You watch his eyes narrow, the grip on your waist tightening. Zayne is holding himself back. Again. 

You release his thumb with a pop. "Don't worry, sir, no one will hear." As if to prove your point, you stop grinding, instead bringing your hand up to cup at the bulge straining against his pants. “Besides, you’re too pretty like this. I'm the only one who gets to hear all the sounds you make.”

You smile so sweetly despite the way you torture him with every rough drag of your palm against his clothed cock. But it’s only when your smile breaks into something more genuine that Zayne feels himself flush, gazing up at you adoringly before he tries to play it off with a chuckle and a pinch at your hips.

"The things you say..." His expression changes to something unreadable, stone-cold and conflicted. The chances of losing you again are greater than he once thought. He doesn't deserve this, and he doesn't deserve you. Zayne is reminded of that every time he dares get too close.

But he can't help it. He’d eternally become a fool, a martyr, just for you.

Zayne’s jaw clenches, and a stuttered moan slips through his teeth as your hand squeezes his clothed cock. "Do you think I'm that weak to flattery?"

"No. I just think you deserve it sometimes." You smirk. "Plus, I'm not flattering you, I'm complimenting."

"And what's the difference?"

"The intent," you whisper, grinding your hips forward again.

This time, you catch him by surprise, and Zayne moans, the sound low and rough and so fucking addicting. Zayne grunts, head tilting back as he shuts his eyes, lips parting ever so slightly as more soft sighs and moans slip out, spurring you on.

You lean in, breath warm against his ear as you whisper, "What's wrong, sir? I thought you had a lesson to teach me."

Zayne’s grip tightens, and he yanks you down so your palms skid across the smooth felt of the pool table you’ve pinned him against, pulling your hips flush against his as his palm cups your ass.

“If you actually want to learn, there's another way I can teach you…” Zayne leans up on his forearms until his lips brush with yours, and right as his eyes begin to flutter closed, you shove him backward. Denying his kiss. Again.

“Sir, this seems to be highly unprofessional.”

And Zayne finally snaps. 

“First you use your teacher as a cue rest, then you try to talk about professionalism?” He lets out a curt laugh, and you can practically feel his patience wearing thin. It’s terrifying, and your stomach flutters in anticipation.

“ Unprofessional ,” he spits, and your thighs clench at the growl undercutting his words. “Unprofessional, like that time you were screaming my name in the back of my car while we were still at the hospital parking lot? Or unprofessional, like that time you interrupted me during work hours, begging me to eat your cunt out in my office? Or perhaps it’s like when you decided to turn this lesson into an opportunity to tease me since you’re clearly so desperate?”

You can practically feel yourself drip at Zayne’s blunt words, each one harsh and true— your relationship with him had passed morally ethical the moment you pulled him in to kiss you instead of pushing him away months ago.

Using this moment of weakness, Zayne lifts you up, flipping the two of you around so you’re the one pinned against the pool table as he reaches for his abandoned cue stick. And he finally- finally - claims your lips with his. 

Zayne always kisses like he operates, slow and methodical, as if he could spend hours learning every inch of your body, and it never fails to leave you breathless. But today, the urgency in the way he licks into your mouth is palpable, and it has you whining and clutching his suit, legs wrapping around his waist as you try to bring him closer, the oak rim of the table forcing your back into a deeper arch as you whine. 

A firm hand against your hip stops your movement, pinning you down. You feel so small, caged in between his much longer legs, his superior height much too obvious. The difference in size is almost laughable as he bends down to lick deeper into your mouth. You gasp against Zayne’s lips as his other hand slides to the back of your neck, thumb rubbing circles against the column of your throat and your fluttering heartbeat underneath.

You whimper into his mouth, futilely attempting to push him away even though your hips grind insistently against his thigh. “Zayne,” his name tapers off into a moan as he kisses you again, addicted. “We can’t–” another kiss. “Anyone could walk in.” Another.

When he does give you space to breathe, a thin string of saliva connects his bottom lip to yours. He pants heavily, lips shaded a hue of cherry red from your lipstick and teeth as the corner of his mouth tugs into a frown. “Hm, I suppose that’s true. But that didn’t stop you before, did it? So I see no reason why it should stop me now.”

And you realize your fate has long since been sealed.  

Zayne returns to peppering your neck with kisses, teeth nipping the soft skin at your collarbone, and you yelp as he leaves a particularly harsh bite. Your hands come up to fist into his hair, and Zayne groans against your chest.

"Do not think I have forgotten our lesson," He whispers.

"Who, me?" You bat your eyelashes. "I would never. Sir."

His gaze darkens. "Then watch closely, I’m only doing this once.” 

Leaning over you, Zayne positions the cue stick against your shoulder, not unlike you did to him before. But unlike you, he forces your hips up against his thigh, watching your eyes roll back from the delicious friction of his expensive trousers. “There are two striped balls left. As punishment for your attitude during my lesson, I want you to come on my thigh before I pocket both of them.”

Dumbstruck, you can only stare up at him, stammering at his demand as you feel your pussy flutter. “I- I don’t think…”

Zayne scoffs, silencing you by roughly thumbing at your lips again. “Don’t act so shocked. You’ve been humping me like a desperate brat all evening, so go on and come like one. Come for me.”

His words are demeaning, each one cold and seemingly emotionless as he stares down at you. But you can see the truth in his eyes as he watches your every reaction, their gentle green filled with an adoration so tender it terrifies you. You feel the truth in his touch, only moving with your consent, already having memorized your body to learn the way you tick and acting upon your every whim, only pushing you just as far as you wish to be. 

Zayne has never told you he loves you, but he has shown you that he does in a thousand countless ways. 

And he’ll prove it to you in a thousand more. 

”Unless, you want more punishment?” Zayne twists his head towards you with his next statement, and he feels the way it makes you flinch— it makes him throb at the same time. You shake your head. 

You can barely form sentences when he’s deliberately tensing the muscles in his thigh, each movement in time with every needy twitch of your hips like it’s a means to emphasize his point. 

“Use. Your. Words.”

“No.”

His grip tightens, fingers tensing against your neck, and you stammer back out the correction. “No, sir.”

“Good girl.”

Your heart flutters at the praise, a quiet whimper escaping you as you buck against him. Your lips are pouty from being bitten between your teeth, and you still hear muffled sobs and moans slip past your lips as you begin chasing the friction against his thigh, the upward angle punishing your clit. 

Despite how much Zayne likes to front that he’s in complete control, something tells you he’s having a harder time holding back than he’ll ever admit. You think maybe the bulge in his slacks and his low moans against your ear is proof enough of that.

Zayne’s not sure which is more distracting, the sight of your pretty pussy grinding against him, only just covered by the thin silk of your dress, or the sounds falling from your mouth. The room is filled with the wet sounds of your cunt, your whimpers, and Zayne's own groans.

Pressing his forehead against yours, Zayne leans in for another kiss, the tips of your noses barely touching. But the proximity makes you slow, and he clicks his tongue, reaching above you to line up his cue stick for the next shot. But he pauses, instead fully tugging off the tie you had loosed.

"Since you were so insistent on taking my tie off earlier, here. Keep it for me." Zayne grabs both your wrists with one hand, looping his tie tightly against your skin, skillfully making a knot without ever releasing your wrists. 

“Maybe this will help you behave properly,” Zayne whispers, voice low as he mouths your pulse point, a fresh surge of arousal rushing to your core as you feel his length pressing further into you. 

With a broken whimper, you hook an ankle around Zayne’s back as you begin to grind harder against his thigh, moaning at the new angle. It hardly compared to the feeling of his fingers or cock fucking into you, but you barely cared, arousal and lust spurred on by Zayne’s voice. 

You soon fall into a rhythm, painfully slow, the mere friction sending jolts of heat through you until you’re certain Zayne’s trousers must be stained. You nearly beg for something to hold onto, hands writhing helplessly against his tie as your sobs are muffled into your red-bitten lips.

But just as soon as the pleasure builds, you feel it plateau, hips beginning to stutter as the dull friction becomes too little, the coiling heat inside you desperate to be properly filled up by something, anything. 

Zayne, on the other hand, is faring no better. 

He’s thoroughly distracted with the pretty little thing desperately fucking herself against his thigh, caging you down to the table as his hands clench against the cue stick, nearly enough to make it snap. 

You continue to push yourself in desperation to fulfill Zayne’s order for you to come, his continuous praises mingling with the lewd squelch of your cunt, and your eyes roll back with a cry. Zayne’s voice is intoxicating, his steady tone rough with lust sending tremors down your spine, infecting you like an aphrodisiac. You were building further and further, mounting pressure in your core dizzying, desperation for release seeping through you, mind lust-drunk as you willed yourself to fall off the peak.

But the familiar sound of the billiard balls clicks somewhere above you, followed by two distinct thuds. 

A hum, and Zayne pries himself away as you whine at the loss, cold air rushing in. 

You failed. 

“How disappointing.” Zayne scolds as if he wasn’t the one who nearly came from your grinding instead. ”But you know what happens to students who fail to follow clear instructions, don’t you?”

Standing back, Zayne discards the cue stick entirely as one hand readjusts his trousers, and you whimper at the sight of him cupping his bulge, stroking and coaxing it against his thigh just so he can stand straight. 

“Turn around and lift your dress.”

You obey, propping yourself up on shaking arms before you flip around so the rough edge of the billiard table now presses against your stomach, the felt hot beneath your bound wrists. 

Zayne hums in approval, almost apathetically observing the way you squirm before he nods at you to continue. Lowering your eyes from his, you allow your leg to slip out from the slit in your dress, spreading your legs back and to the side as the silk falls off the curve of your ass, Zayne’s piercing gaze following every movement. 

“Didn’t think a game of pool would turn you on this much,” he muses, leaning against the rim of the table as he crosses his arms.

Unable to meet his stare any longer, your head falls between your still tied-up hands, every inch of your body burning in shame and lust as Zayne continues to wordlessly observe you. You swear you’ll burn up with the way he fucks you with his eyes.

 Still, Zayne doesn’t move. 

You nearly scream against the table, eyes scrunched as you snap. “Fuck! Zayne, I swear to god, if you don’t finally fuck me I’ll do it myself or find someone else who will.”

The words barely leave your mouth when a hand fists into your hair, pulling you backward until you arch back, and you gasp, mouth falling open at the sensation. Zayne's breath is cold against the shell of your ear, the growl undercutting his words sending tremors down your spine.

"Needy little brat," his fingers curl into your hair, pulling until your jaw goes slack. Zayne's other hand finds its way back to your underwear, the material so damp that it almost feels sticky beneath his touch, and you moan at the sensation, unable to formulate a retort as your eyes flutter closed. “I think you’re forgetting this is meant to be your punishment.”

He snaps the band of your panties, and you choke, knees wobbling.

"Remember to count, or we start over.”

Placing the flat of his palm in the space between your shoulder blades, Zayne pushes you down against the billiard table, the side of your face pressed against the felt.

You hear the sharp crack of his hand meeting your ass before you feel it, the burn returning with a vengeance as you scream into the table. The sting of his palm leaves a searing heat across the curve of your ass, and you bite down on the tie binding your hands to muffle the cries that escape you.

Then you remember his order, lips quivering as you say, "One."

Another smack. This time harder. The strike is so precise it nearly sends you toppling over, the sting and ache following pushing you further against the wood. You let out a sob, eyes beginning to water as you clench around nothing, the throbbing of your cunt only worsened by Zayne's firm grip on the base of your neck.

"Two."

The third strike comes down even harder than the last, the resounding echo of his slap followed by a strangled scream from you, the heat and pain making your knees give out, forcing you to rest fully atop the pool table. “Three.”

You feel tears running down your face, undoubtedly ruining your makeup. But before you can process the fourth smack, you feel the familiar sting against your ass and the paradoxically gentle rub of Zayne's hand against the aching spot, soothing the pain as you count.

 "F-Four." You shutter as you feel sheer cold bloom against your skin, his Evol numbing your ass as you whimper from the pleasure-pain.

Zayne’s thumb dips past the seam of your panties, gathering the slick that has been dripping out of you for the entire night. You feel the heat of his stare on you and the weight of his hand heavy on the small of your back, his other hand still gripping your neck with his thumb tracing soft circles against your pulse.

"So wet. Is this what you were hoping for, hm? Testing me until I finally snapped and ruined you?”

You don't dare look him in the eye. "Please, sir. I can't—"

"Can't what? Take anymore? Can't take any more punishment like the disobedient brat you are?" Zayne's voice is low, and you shiver at his words, unable to respond as the tears continue to flow, the mixture of pain and arousal leaving your vision blurred and cloudy. He spanks you again, this time hard enough to leave a mark, and you keen, legs spreading even wider in desperation.

"I can't— ah shit — please. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, sir, please, just fuck me already.” you plead, voice trembling as you beg, desperate to be filled by anything other than the emptiness. 

“Language.” Zayne reprimands, and the sting of his strike follows shortly after. “And you forgot to count.”

“Five! It’s f-five.” Your knees buckle with a sob, and Zayne has to hold your waist so you don't slide onto the floor, his touch paradoxically gentle compared to everything else he’s done.

“Shh, you’re far too noisy. It’s almost as though you want someone walking in to find us like this.”

Your dress is only noticeably bunched up from the back and Zayne is still fully clothed. Anyone walking by the billiard hall would just see a couple talking by the tables, but if they were to enter the room it would hardly take a brain surgeon to figure out what was happening. The realization has your walls clench around nothing.

Zayne hoists your wrists up, forcing you into a deeper arch before untying your restraints. You then watch him fist the purple silk into a ball before pushing it into your mouth, gagging you with it. “Don’t worry, this will help.”

It doesn't.

You moan against his tie, saliva pooling against the silky fabric as Zayne pushes the soaked garment deeper into your throat, his chest pressed against your bare back. You look up at him through watery eyes, sniffling, the tingling sensation of being punished in such a way overwhelming you completely. Zayne uses this opportunity to soothe you like he always does— never failing to find the perfect balance between rough and gentle.

"It's alright, I know, my little darling can’t make up her mind. I’ll help you, I’ll show you what you want." Zayne soothes, stroking your cheek with his thumb, his gaze gentle despite his steady and strict voice. Then, he leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he whispers, “If anything hurts or becomes too much, tap the table twice." 

You wouldn’t dare, not after finally getting what you wanted.

Zayne slips his hands under the backs of your thighs, easily lifting your weight against his chest as you whimper, the toes of your heels just barely grazing the tiled floor. The position is beyond embarrassing, ass up, face down, completely exposed and at his mercy.

He withdraws one hand, and you cry out, a garbled mess of pleas. The absence of his touch is torturous, the throbbing of your pussy and the soreness of your ass a painful reminder of the punishment you received.

The tent in his pants was tantalizingly obvious, even more pronounced once he pushed his pants down, taking out his length. He spits on his fingers, the slick sounds of him stroking himself making you whine in anticipation. It was oozing with precum, head red and flushed as he jerks himself off with sharp movements between your thighs. You grind your hips back, trying to tempt him, but all Zayne does is coo at your pitiful attempts.

"Look at you, so desperate. All that childish stubbornness just because you want my cock." He lines himself up, the head of his cock catching against your entrance as you shiver. The stretch burns, and you groan, eyes screwing shut at the feeling. "My beautiful, filthy girl."

Zayne whispers, curling an arm between your sweat-slickened bodies. You think he means to finally alleviate the needy throbbing against your clit, but instead his hand presses firmly against your lower stomach as he continues to fuck into you, torturously slow, allowing the blunt head of his cock to bully its way deeper and deeper still. 

The sensation is overwhelming, the stretch of Zayne's cock combined with the sting of his earlier punishment leaves you a mess, fluttering around him as he finally bottoms out.

He lets out a long moan, a low rumble that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. You're so full, the head of his cock pressing insistently against the bundle of nerves inside you.

Some distant part of you is mortified of every lewd squelch and moan that echos over the jazz in the public hall, but feeling Zayne gently cup your ass while the other brutally pins you down, hearing him come apart against the back of your neck, knowing that your stoic lover was pushed to such extremes has you keening.

You want to feel every inch of him, so you clench down, and Zayne bites the back of your neck in retaliation, his hips stuttering.

"You’re perfect." Zayne praises, and his breathless voice sends shivers down your spine. "So good for me, taking me so well."

Zayne finally starts moving, letting the tip of his cock pull back until the head catches on the rim of your cunt, trying desperately to keep him inside, until he thrusts back into you in a single harsh motion, watching you fall apart just as he knew you would. 

Your scream muffles into the gag, and Zayne reaches down to push the tie deeper into your mouth, the knot catching on the back of your tongue as he sets a steady pace. 

The hand against your lower stomach shifts, still pressing hard enough so Zayne can feel his cock throb through you, and yet now positioned perfectly to thumb against your clit too. He needs to make you come, to feel it around him. 

Zayne knows your body better than his own, knows exactly what angle he needs to hit, knows exactly where to touch to send your hips jerking back, and knows exactly where to tease to have you clenching down and sobbing into his tie.

It doesn't take long until you're coming, his fingers circling the bundle of nerves until you're screaming, thighs shaking, and he has to hold them open as you fall apart around him, cunt gushing as you squirt over his suit and trousers.

Your orgasm has your walls fluttering, clenching around his cock as it nearly begs for him to be buried deeper inside, and Zayne grunts, a broken moan ripped from his throat as his grip on your thigh tightens.

The pace of his thrusts grows sloppier, and you can tell he's close, the wet squelch of his cock inside your cunt driving you mad as his rhythm becomes inconsistent. You can feel his breath fan against your neck, labored and shaky, with the way he chases his high.

Your cunt aches with how full you feel, overstimulated and sensitive, but you push your hips back anyway, meeting Zayne halfway as you both chase the release that's been building up all night.

With one final thrust, Zayne finally comes inside you, a choked gasp followed by a low moan as his hips stutter, almost fucking his cum back into you as a sloppy mixture of your release drip down his cock and your thighs. 

Your eyes roll back into your skull, and your second orgasm takes you by surprise, your body convulsing at the overstimulation and the warm soothing sensation of being filled to the brim. 

"Fuck." Zayne whispers, his hands holding your hips as his thumbs trace circles against the dimples at the small of your back. The chill and comfort of his hands is almost enough to distract you from the ache, and you groan, legs finally giving out beneath you as you fall forward onto the pool table, the hard surface unforgiving as the wood rubs against your bruised knees.

Ever so gently, Zayne removes his tie from your mouth, turning you around so you’re pressed tight against his chest, burying his face into the crook of your shoulder. You can feel his rapid heartbeat and the way his hands tremble, and you smile, the familiar tenderness of his touch calming the both of you.

He slowly runs a hand down the curve of your back and you hum against the top of his head, your own hand coming up to gently stroke his hair. “I think I love you, Zayne.”

He doesn’t say a word, instead, you feel his other arm wrap around your waist, tucking you further into his embrace.

The two of you remain like this, tangled in each other until your breathing finally evens out and the fever that inflected you begins to cool. When Zayne finally speaks, his voice is muffled against your skin, and you shiver at the mere brush of his lips. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

“Hmm, not any more than I’d want to be.” 

You mean it as a joke, but Zayne immediately stiffens in your hold, pulling back just enough to inspect your neck, then your wrists and hips as he kisses each bruise and remaining mark with hushed apologies. 

"Did you mean it?"

You look down at him, his brows furrowed as you thumb at the stubborn crease that appears between them. You’re not sure why, but something in the way he stares up at you, waiting, longing, makes tears prick in the back of your eyes. 

"Zayne," your voice is gentle, and you cup his cheek. "I do. I love you."

The tension in his jaw melts, his expression softening into something unnameable. His hand comes up to cup yours, scarred thumb tracing circles against your palm. " Say it again."

"I love you," you repeat, the corners of your mouth tugging upwards. "I love you. I love you."

"Again."

"I love you, Zayne–"

The last syllable of his name is cut off by his lips against yours, and you smile into the kiss, pulling him up until his forehead finally rests on your again. 

"As do I," Zayne whispers, voice thick, and the sincerity in his eyes threatens to make you cry. 

And you believe him.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace fanfiction #love and deepspace x reader #lnd zayne #lads zayne #zayne x you #zayne x reader #zayne love and deepspace #lnds smut #l&ds smut #love and deepspace smut #lads x reader #love and deepspace zayne #fuck he has nice hands man

[luminiamore]

basketball player ony x black spiritual reader

first part here

warnings: bomb dick, vibrating panties (idea came to me last minute)

masterlist

The day finally arrived. The man you had been crushing on for months— the man who sucked the soul out of pussy just two days ago— was taking you out on a date. Your nerves were racking up, your breathing heavy as you stared at yourself in your mirror. The scent of lavender and the burning blunt you just rolled are lingering in your nostrils. It was 5 p.m., 30 minutes before Ony told you he was coming with your outfit.  

You were stuck in the mirror, fixing the baby hairs on your ginger wig as you took another hit. Your head was being hit pretty hard by the effects of the marijuana. Your gold and stone bracelets jiggled around with every movement you made. Why were you so nervous? This is the same man that slobbered over your clit on your clit appallingly not too long ago. So, why were you so nervous? You jumped when you heard a ding coming from your phone. 

“omw mama.”

Another hit. You read the text without even clicking on the message, and if Ony was the type of nigga to go 50 on a 20 road, you had about 10 minutes before he came knocking on your door. You quickly wrap a pink silk robe from one of your hangers on your body, not putting on panties because you have a gut feeling. You already showered, already lathered your body in your strawberry body milk. Your light makeup sat perfectly against your skin, your lips brown and glossed.

The only thing left for you to do was to spray a bit of your Kayali Sugar Candy perfume, and after the final spritz, you heard a light knocking sound coming from outside your room. Your heart is beating ten times faster— he didn’t even tell you he was outside. Another hit, and you ash it out outside your window. 

Your feet could barely be heard on the ground as you rushed to open the door and shit. Seeing Ony outside of his usual attire was doing more to you than you cared to admit. He was in a white dress shirt and black suit pants— all dressed up for the date he was taking you on. His hair was freshly cut, the first two buttons on his shirt were loose, and he had a freshly ripened hibiscus bouquet in his right hand and a medium-sized bag on his left. How did he know those were my favorite flowers?

“Heard you tell that girl you always with that you really liked these.” He smirks a bit when your eyes widen in realization that you said your thoughts out loud. You grab the flowers from his grasp, fingers burning when you accidentally graze his hand, and mutter a small, “Thank you, they’re beautiful. Come in, Ony.”

His aura alone was so potent, so calm and safe, and inside, you knew your spirit guides were probably cheering you on. Your cat’s immediate approach to him, rubbing its head on his legs, was a sign that you made the right choice. Waiting for him to pet her, she plopped down on the floor, and unsurprisingly, Ony crouched down to honor her wishes.

You wanted him to take you now, but you knew Ony was a man of his word. He wouldn’t fuck you until after tonight. You just had to wait until after tonight. You glance up to where a regular clock is hanging above your door. 

5:25.

..Waiting until after tonight suddenly seemed like forever. 

“Not as beautiful as you. You smoking in here?” The smell of it was immediately detected when you opened the door. He smiled internally because he was waiting outside your apartment in his Hellcat while he texted you and lit his own joint. You really were meant for each other. 

Ony thought you looked good enough to eat. Again. Nothing but a thin robe on you, accentuating your curves and showing a slight peak of your voluptuous brown tits. Flashes of you moaning his name and bucking your hips wildly onto his tongue started slipping into his mind— would it really be wrong to taste you again?

Your pretty voice breaks him out his thoughts, “Yea, you want a hit? Or two?” You release a chuckle, the sound making the tall man shiver a bit. He takes a deep breath— patience. He has to have patience. You’ll be moaning his name soon enough.

“Nah, was smoking before I got here. Here, mama.” He hands you the bag he was holding after you got done putting the flowers on your kitchen counter. You were a bit.. skeptical when Ony asked if he could dress you for tonight, worried that he might choose an outfit that you wouldn’t like. 

What you didn’t know is that Ony observed you. Studied your peculiarities and the way you dressed when you walked up into Econ, he wouldn’t have asked such a question otherwise. He had precise knowledge of what to give you, and it was evident when you took the bag from him and found an exquisite crochet skirt set. 

The skirt ended with shades of light to a deep royal purple, and the top had no straps. Flower patterns were all over it. There was also a pair of shoes, white mini heels with thin straps. And when you reached the bottom of the bag, you saw panties, purple, and flower patterns all over it, too. 

“Ony, this is- It’s gorgeous. I-”

He kisses your cheek and gently pushes the items to your chest, “Go put ’em on. Reservation’s at 6:30.”

You giggle and nod, rushing to your room on your tiptoes. In your living room, Ony is waiting for you, lying down on your comfortable couch and petting your cat after she jumps onto his lap. He has reason to believe that you two wouldn’t make it outside if he came inside your room with you. 

You take your time, slowly putting each piece on to not stretch the crochet material. Your last step was the panties, and you couldn’t help but feel that they were slightly heavier than any of the panties you owned. You’re about to examine it a little more, but you stop short when you hear Ony’s voice: “You ready, mama?”

Any confusion about the panties was long gone after you put them on, following the heels. After spritzing your perfume one more time, you grab your keys and head out the door, Ony following closely behind you. 

It was a peaceful ride to wherever Ony was taking you, with only soft Brent Faiyaz music playing in the background and the light-burning sound of the half-finished joint he offered you. At every red light stop, you would let him take the hit until both of you finished it. 

He parked his car in front of a garden-like spot just before you ashed it out, just in time. You are about to reach your hand to open your door but fall short when you hear a click!

“You should know better.” Was all he said before he got out of the driver’s seat and got to your side. As he opens the door for you, he grabs your hand to guide you out and leads you to a person who is ready to seat you both. Hand in yours the entire time. “Reservation for Onyankopon, please.”

The man gives a smile and gestures for you both to follow him. It would be an understatement to describe how beautiful the area was when you surveyed it. It was like a restaurant in a garden of flowers. You are led by the person to a table surrounded by grass and daises, with occasional butterflies flying around you. 

“How did you even find this place?” You ask in complete awe. Ony spent a while trying to find a place he knew you would like. You didn’t seem like the type of person to like classy restaurants, and he definitely didn’t want to take you to some low-end place. He wanted to find something that resembled you. A place where you would feel completely comfortable. 

And well, when you sat down, and a white butterfly made its way onto your awaiting finger... Ony couldn’t help but think he made the right choice. You look like a goddess. An ethereal being that was all his. “I drove by it one time, and it reminded me of you. You like it?”

He hoped you did. The expression on your face wasn’t telling him enough. He wanted to hear the words come out of your mouth, or else he would drown in his anxiety. All he wanted to do was please you. 

“I love it, Ony.” A bright smile graced your face. You never looked more pretty— aside from when you made those gorgeous faces when he was pleasuring you. 

A server came to take your order, Ony ordering for himself before the woman turned to you, 

“And for you, miss?”

“Could I please have the-” The sensation of intense pressure vibrating on your clit causes you to stop your sentence with a faint gasp. Both of your hands are gripping the table to provide support.

“Miss? Are you okay?”

“You good, mama?” You look up when Ony questions and catch the faux concern in his eyes, his lips twitching up a bit as he almost fails to contain his smile. This was his doing. You knew those panties were different. And you seriously should’ve questioned why he bought you a pair anyway. Fuck it felt so good.

You steady your voice so you don’t stutter when you speak up, “… I’m okay. Could... I have the-the Shrimp Fried Rice, p-please.”

You curse yourself internally when you stumble upon your words. You observe as she reluctantly nods and accepts your order. You would’ve flushed your head down in embarrassment, but in your defense, you had a vibrator going at full speed on your clit. Fuck whatever she was thinking about you right now. 

The minute she walks away from the table, you give Ony the meanest glare you could muster— which, to him, wasn’t doing much. In retaliation, he just turned the vibration up, causing you to yelp silently. 

“Ony! W-why?” You whimper out as quietly as you can so as not to raise attention from the people around you. He just shakes his head, amused at how weak he could get you. 

“You look so pretty like this, mama. Enjoy yourself, hm? You deserve it.” 

He couldn’t get his mind off the events that occurred when you came to his dorm. Could you even blame him? For wanting to see more of those pretty faces you make. For wanting to eat you whole again.

He realized he couldn’t outright finger you in a public setting, not here anyway. He didn’t want to wait to fuck you so he could witness you fall apart like you did last time. He longs for you with a strong desire. Even 72 hours later, the flavor of your juices is still lingering on his tongue. “But-”

“Shh. Just try not to get too loud, yeah? Don’t want anyone else seeing those gorgeous faces you make.”

Squeezing your thighs together, your head falls back against your chair. This goes on for a good while, Ony just staring at you, biting your lips to stop the moans bottling in your throat from getting too loud. He watches as your pretty lashes flutter open and close while your eyes roll in the back of your head.

You rub your lower hips against the chair subtly in quick, fast motions to stave off your impending orgasm. Light gasps released from your throat when you feel a burning sensation in your abdomen. Just when you start feeling like the dam is about to burst and ruin the only thing that holds you up right now, everything comes to an end. 

The vibration, your rubbing— nothing but your ears buzzing can be heard until you finally register what just happened. You don’t have time to dwell on it much because your waiter comes back with what you both ordered. 

“Would you like some water, miss?” And this time, Ony grants you the mercy of answering for you, ears still buzzing and clit still twitching because of your ruined orgasm. 

“She would, please.” When the waiter walks away from your table, Ony almost cracks under the pleading look you give him. He can’t believe it took him this long to ask you out. What if someone got to you before him? He wouldn’t be able to live with himself. 

Your soft and crackling voice reaches his ears, “Please, Ony. Let me-”

“Eat your food, mama. I said enjoy yourself, never said you could cum.”

Giving him a pout is all you can do, and his tone indicates that this is not a subject for discussion. The rest of the night went surprisingly well. The conversation was full of rich details about both of you. Only told you many stories about him, how he got to be a basketball player, and how it was a dream of his since he was a toddler. In return, you told him how you even started your spiritual journey, spoke about your childhood even because you were just so comfortable around him. 

He didn’t turn back on the vibrator for the remainder of the evening, only listening to the sweet melody of your voice whenever you said something or laughed at something he said. It seemed like you hadn’t been here for that long when the bill came. You were truly in the present moment with Ony, so you lost all sense of time. But you caught a glance at your phone— 9:30.

Damn. It’s already been three hours? Ony takes out his wallet and pulls out some cash. He gently grabs your hand to pull you out of your chair so that you and he can leave together. Before you know it, you both are on your way back to your apartment. What catches you off guard is the intense vibration from the restaurant coming back, causing you to let out a loud moan in his passenger seat. Your passenger seat after tonight, if he was being honest. 

Your body thrashes against the seat belt, hips bucking wildly because you are still so horny after being left on the edge like that. “F-Fuck!”

He pretends to be unfazed, his eyes still focused on the road as you release the honey moans contained in his car.

“Can you hold it f’me? You’re almost home, mama. I’ll make you cum as much as you want when we get there.”

He must like torturing you. That’s the only explanation. At his words, you don’t think you ever worked harder to stave off an orgasm in your life. The pressure feels so good, your body bubbling with heat and the pleasure being felt in every corner. You wail when the vibrator hits a particular spot on your clit due to your hips rapidly shaking and moving.

Your breathing starts to become erratic as you release light hiccups. Your efforts to not cum are so intense that tears are falling from your brown eyes. Why was it taking so long to get home?

“I n-need to.. cum. Please!”

How do you do that? Look so divine while your pussy is being overstimulated? He almost wants to let you have cum because you look so pretty while trying to beg for him. But then he thinks about how he doesn’t want you finishing on anything other than the massive tent in his pants, and he figures— you can wait a bit. He’s pulling up in your garage anyway, and he wasn’t going to fuck you in his car for your first time together. 

Your heavy breathing and the sudden slam of Ony’s door are all that remains in the car when he puts it in park. He opens your door and swiftly holds you in a bridal style to your apartment number. He presses light kisses to your cheek, his tatted hand rubbing gently on your wide hips.   

He doesn’t wait a second to devour your lips once you open your door, your moans being muffled by the sheer force of the kiss. His lips were soft and sweet against yours, fitting perfectly as your lip gloss was smeared onto him. Still in his hold, you weakly point to the direction of your room, which he follows wordlessly. Heels are long gone, and been thrown in the hall amid your make-out session. 

He plops you down on your mattress, and you don’t hesitate to yank him down towards you into another brutal make-out session, your smooth legs encircling his waist. You gasp when he firmly squeezes the fat of your tits, allowing him to dip his tongue into yours, deepening the kiss.

Fuck, you wanted him so bad. Your skirt rises, and soon, there’s nothing but his pants and your panties separating the two of you. Ony was unusually big.. you knew this when you first saw his print at his dorm. And right now, as he was fumbling to take his belt off, your mind was scrambling, trying to figure out how you were going to fit all of him inside of you. 

All thoughts went out the window when he ripped your damp panties off in one go and immediately started playing with the obscene amount of slick that’s been gathering ever since he came to pick you up. Your cute sounds are heaven to him.

His deep voice whispers in your ear, “You’re so wet, baby. Don’t need me to prep you, right?” 

His fingers are moving rapidly against your clit, as he is awestruck by how his hands keep slipping off out of rhythm due to your wetness. Or maybe he was already drunk on you, desperate to split your pussy apart on his cock. His pants aren’t even entirely off before he’s fisting his fat cock out of his boxers and slapping his brown tip right on your pussy lips, creating wet squelching sounds.

“Could just slip right in with how you’re leaking all over your sheets. You gonna take it, mama?”

And he was right. Your wetness was creating a dark stain on your bed, likely gonna start seeping into the mattress. You sneak a glance down at Ony’s ministrations, and you immediately try to move your hips away. This man was dead-ass walking around with a third leg. It was so big, it actually scared you. How the fuck was that supposed to fit inside of you? Even your last fling wasn’t this hung. 

He immediately pulled your hips back towards him, refusing to let you run away from the deep fucking he’s been craving to give you. “Don’t do that. Take it f’me, baby. Please?”

You whimper, his pleading tone getting you even more wetter. “O-Ony.. you’re too b-big! I can’t- Ooo fuck.”

You didn’t have time to finish your sentence before he sank his length past your tight walls, making you feel every inch of him. Fuck, he was so deep, and he almost wanted to cum right there. He looks down at you and shit. 

You never looked more beautiful, as he said. Your mouth is constructed into a lovely “o” shape, and your eyes roll back so deep into your skull he can see your white eye sockets. You were drooling, the feeling of his dick inside of you simply too much for your tiny brain to handle. He wasn’t gonna last long.

Your wet cunt was so stretched out, and Ony didn’t even give you a second to relax before he started feeding you deep, harsh strokes. You could do nothing but let tears fall from your eyes and wail his name so loud you’re sure you’ll probably get a noise complaint from your neighbors. 

“Gorgeous. Such a good girl taking my dick like this, you love it baby? Talk to me, mama.” He pleads as his face is buried in the crook of your sweat-filled neck, the feeling of your pussy being better than he ever imagined. Than he ever dreamed of. The sounds you both were making were so lewd, so nasty. But it was bringing you much closer to splashing all over his disheveled dress shirt.

“So-so good, Ony! L-Love it s’much.” Your pretty cries make him groan loudly against you; you can feel it vibrating against your chest. Your mind is blanking, and the fire in your stomach that you felt twice today is coming back, only much stronger. Your already overstimulated clit is causing it to come much faster.

With every thrust he gives you, you give Ony a beautiful yelp. And he could only watch your face contort as you struggle to find something to hold on to, to ground you. You’re a bit dense if you think he would let you do anything other than feel every spec of what he gave you. He grasps both of your hands with only one of his hands and presses them above your head.

“Pussy’s so damn good, shit. M’gonna cum. Where you want it, mama?” 

And you respond to him so eagerly, choking on your spit when he presses down on your stomach, his bulge being prominently displayed every time he thrusts in and out of you. 

“Ahhh! M-me too! Inside, Ony. P-Please Ony, cum in m-me.” 

He can’t say no to you, not when you beg him to fill you up with tears like that. The final straw for you was when he forced his tongue into your panting mouth again, swallowing every gasp and moan that managed to fall past your lips. You make a sudden and unwarranted shriek against his mouth, and your pussy splashes all over him. 

He groans as you babble his name repeatedly, allowing salty tears to flow freely down your cheeks. Your body twitches as your pussy creams and squeezes tightly around him, and that’s enough for Ony to shiver as his cum spurts past your womb. He should have slowed down or stopped because now you both feel overstimulated. 

But he couldn’t. He couldn’t stop thrusting his hips rapidly against you, the feeling of you squirting on his dick quickly becoming something he wanted more of. He needs you to do that again. He needs you to spray your sweet juices so hard it reaches his face. Your chest is heaving as you try to wriggle your hands out of Ony’s grasp to slow him down. Your attempt doesn’t do much but make him tighten his grip on you,

“Give me another one, mama. Come on, just one more, baby.” And by the look on his face, even you can tell it wasn’t just going to be one more. You were in for a long night.

#onyankopon x black y/n #ony x black reader #onyankopon x reader #aot onyankopon #ony x y/n #onyankopon x black reader smut #onyankopon smut #onyankapon #onyankopon fluff #onyankopon x you #aot x black y/n #aot x reader #aot smut

[celestialprincesse]

Hello!!! Your biggest protector Simon fluff was SO cute!! Could we get an extension of that where he also gives you the confidence to do difficult things, and where you feel safe trying new things or messing up around him? (I know my anxiety really limits what I am willing to try, or makes me feel like I always have to be perfect or constantly apologize)

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

When you'd told Simon that you wanted to start going to the gym, you hadn't quite expected him to buy you a membership at the fancy place he and all of his friends frequent, mainly because they get a veterans discount - not to mention the fancy body wash and soft towels.

You'd not even had to dig through your drawers to find something resembling decent activewear, not when he'd unceremoniously chucked a pair of Lululemon leggings at your head, muttering about how he'd looked up the best women's sportswear and they'd been the most recommended choice.

Of course, you'd failed to consider that there'd be other people at Simon's fancy gym, people that know him, no less. You suddenly feel very, very out of your depths. As always, he recognises your discomfort almost immediately.

"Was thinking we could just start slow." He attempts to comfort you, a hand on the small of your back, herding you like a frightened animal towards one of the machines, which looks more like a torture device than workout equipment. "See what you like, what you don't, get a feel of stuff, yeah?"

Chewing at your cheek, you give a noncommittal "Mm", nodding in an attempt to seem enthused, engaged and not worrying about the unfairly glorious people who seem to know exactly what they're doing, and without breaking a sweat no less.

The anxiety from being the only one there who doesn't seem to know anything only worsens when he sets you up on the lat machine. Your cheeks burn even redder when he sets it to the lowest weight. Before you can protest, he settles his hands over yours on the bar, the touch immediately soothing. "Everyone starts somewhere. Let's not run before we can walk."

Over the next couple of simple reps, he's careful to correct your form, or tell you how great you're doing, how you're practically a natural. You know he's just trying to hype you up enough to stop overthinking, but you're still happy about his support nonetheless. So happy, in fact, that you walk out of the gym with a big, cheesy grin on your face, and an unexpected excitement for tomorrow's session.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

#cod mw2 #tf 141 #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #Simon ghost Riley x f!reader #Simon ghost Riley x yn #Simon Riley x reader #simon riley x f!reader #Simon Riley x yn #Simon riley #ghost x reader #ghost x f!reader #ghost x y/n #ghost mw2 #simon riley x you #ghost cod #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x y/n #simon riley cod #ghost call of duty #cod #ghost #angies asks!

[arieslost]

waking up from a nightmare, literally gasping for air and in seconds charles is by your side and holding you close. he’s whispering in your ear, trying to soothe you and is wiping your tears with his thumb bye i love my little precious leclerc

“my little precious leclerc” actually made me tear up i hope u know. i adore him

© arieslost 2024. DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT PERMISSION.

wake me up | cl16

you wouldn’t call it a recurring nightmare. more like a nightmare that started one night, years ago, and kept getting worse and worse as time went on, layers of hurt and fear and heartbreak settling on top of each other every time your subconscious displayed it in all its horrid glory. you can’t even pinpoint what the worst part about it is anymore.

it used to be waking up alone. by yourself, in your pitch black room, was almost as bad as being asleep and experiencing the nightmare. there was never anything to distract you from the feeling of tears sliding down your cheeks, your heart still racing from fear, your eyes conjuring up flashes of the nightmare even though you were awake.

now it’s waking up next to charles, wanting to wake him up, desperately craving the comfort that only he can give you, but refusing to do so because of how hard he works. you won’t deprive him of his sleep, certainly not for something as trivial as a stupid nightmare. especially because he has trouble falling asleep most nights; always thinking about things he might have forgotten to do, his schedule for the next day, the next race weekend, when he can get you your all access pass.

you always tell him not to worry about you, that he has enough on his plate and you knew that when you said yes to being his girlfriend. this, your nightmare, is certainly much more trivial than making sure you have a paddock pass for a race weekend. this isn’t even real. it doesn’t matter.

so when you sleep horribly because of it, and charles notices (because of course he does), you just brush it off, saying you couldn’t get comfortable, you were too hot, too cold, whatever excuse you can think up on a whim.

“you should’ve woken me up, amore.” it’s what he says every. single. time.

and you know he means it. that he truly wants you to wake him up so he can care for you in whatever capacity he possibly can. you just can’t bring yourself to do it because of this.

this time, though, you don’t have a choice.

there’s another terrifying layer to your nightmare tonight. you’re lucid to some degree, enough to know that you should have the ability to wake yourself up from this subconscious plane, but you’re incapable of doing so. you tell your eyes to open, but they’re glued shut like they have to see this through to the end, even though you know how this ends.

you fight, and fight, and fight, until finally, your eyes fly open, tears flooding your vision and a ragged gasp tearing its way out of your throat as you scramble into an upright position. the commotion wakes charles immediately, and he doesn’t even ask what’s going on before he springs into action.

“breathe, baby,” he murmurs softly, gathering you into his arms. “listen to my heartbeat.”

you’re trembling, trying your hardest to calm down as you instantly melt into his embrace, his warmth spreading into your limbs and working to ease the tension you didn’t know they were holding.

“i-i—” you try to say, your mouth struggling to form the words.

“shh, it’s okay. i’ve got you, i’m right here.” he whispers, kissing your forehead and running his hands along the backs of your own.

“i’m sorry,” you say finally, nuzzling your face into his neck and breathing in his comforting scent.

“don’t apologize,” he replies firmly. “is this why you’ve been having trouble sleeping?”

you nod slowly, already knowing what he’s going to say next.

“why didn’t you ever wake me up?”

“i just...” you sigh, shifting closer to him and tilting your face towards him as he reaches to wipe your tears. “it’s stupid. i’ve been having this nightmare for years now, and it just keeps getting worse. this time, i couldn’t wake up. usually i just wake up and deal with it. you work so hard every day, and this really isn’t important—”

“i’m going to stop you right there, amore,” charles interrupts, cupping your face with both hands. “i don’t ever want you to say that anything you’re going through isn’t important.”

“but—”

“yes, i do work hard. i have a lot going on more often than not. but out of everything, i work hardest for this. us. do you know what the most important thing in my life is?”

“ferrari?” you answer immediately, only half joking.

“no, ma drôle de fille,” he laughs, “it’s you. i’m going to retire from racing one day, but i’m going to be with you until the day i die. and even after that.”

you feel yourself tearing up for a whole new reason.

“so don’t tell me that it’s not important,” he continues, leaning back into the pillows and bringing you with him. “if it’s bothering you, it bothers me too. you hear me?”

you nod.

“and you’ll wake me up next time?”

you nod again.

“good. now close your eyes. keep listening to my heartbeat. i’ll fight off the nightmares for you, okay amore?”

“you are so cheesy, cha,” you grumble, snuggling into his chest.

“shh, go to sleep,” he coos quietly, stifling a laugh as he pets your hair.

you shut your eyes dutifully, focusing in on the steady beat of his heart, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest.

you dream of him.

word count: 907

masterlist — join my tag list here!

note: every charles leclerc request i get makes my heart soar because not only do i get to write about my favorite driver but i also get to improve on said writing THANK U ANON

ma drôle de fille = “my funny girl” (i hope)

my inbox is always open for comments, criticism, and conversation! feel free to pop in!

reblogs are always appreciated <33

dividers by @/saradika

tags: @venusacrossthestars @67-angelofthelordme-67 @emails-i-can-send @nelly187 @cixrosie @fangirl-dot-com @sainzluvrr @imheretoread @mellowarcadefun @yourbane @monsieurbacteria6 @c-losur3 @papayatori @ssprayberrythings @namgification @maih23 @evlkking @witchycarmen @ilovethispookie @maxverstappenfan79 @sya-skies @sweatrevenge5436-blog @kimis-gloves @mia-rrrs @decafmickey @customsbyjcg-blog @bigheartsthings @tania2748 @scuderiadevils @iloveyou3000morgan @ctrlyomomma @hiireadstuff @daemyratwst @arian-directioner @evelyn-ny @avg-golden-retriever @likedbygaslyy @vintagefucksstuff @piastorys @jisungstuff @personwhoisther @bernelflo @ahgase99 @ferrarisfailedstrats @levidazai @brune77e

#aries answers #anon <3 #request #blurb #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc fanfic #cl16 fluff #cl16 imagine #cl16 x you #cl16 x reader #formula one x reader #formula one fluff #formula 1 x reader #formula one imagine #formula 1 imagine #formula one fanfic #formula 1 x you #formula one x you #f1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 fic

[seireiteihellbutterfly]

If You'll Have Me

A/N: Finally, this is here. Got this request back in March I think so anon, here ya go, sorry it took so long. Pairing: Megumi x Fem! Reader *(Both are 21 here) Warnings: Angst, breakup, pregnancy

It rained the day Megumi broke up with you. He sat there on your sofa, looking detached and apologetic, and you felt like your heart might choke you to death, the way it pounded frantically in your chest.

“I gave you everything!” You whispered furiously. “I supported you! Waited long hours for you to get home, without knowing what may have happened to you! I looked after Tsumiki when she became bedridden!”

“I know. I’m sorry.” Megumi’s eyes are like dark tunnels, with not a trace of warmth or emotion in them. “With everything that’s happened…I don’t feel like I’m worthy of you.”

“Oh, how noble of you!” You spat, feeling utterly humiliated. “I suppose you’ll say it’s not me, it's you?” 

“It is me. I see the fear in your eyes whenever I leave you for a mission. I hear the pain in your voice when I tell you I’m coming home late. I hate being the person that makes you feel that way. You’re such a good person. That’s why I think you’d be better off without me.”

“Get out.” You managed to squeeze the words past your tightening throat, your eyes stinging painfully, tears spilling from them. Wordlessly, Megumi gets up and walks towards the door.

Perhaps you’d been daring him to go because your heart stopped for a second as he got to the door. Part of you wished he’d stop, look at you, and gather you close, saying he couldn’t live without you. You’re begging him with your being to not throw this away. 

He’s supposed to stop, isn’t he? He’s supposed to realize he’s being irrational, that there’s no one better than him for you? You were a pair, meant to be. His look haunts you as he turns the doorknob.

“I’m sorry,” he says brokenly, before disappearing into the rain. 

You stood there, watching the downpour, feeling your heart crack and splinter, like a delicate teacup that had fallen from a shelf, no safe hands ready to catch it and prevent it from falling to its doom. 

.・。.・゜✭・.

A month later, you feel exhausted, more than usual. Getting out of bed feels like a chore. Your back and feet hurt, and nothing stays in your stomach. You try everything. Soup, saltine crackers, toast, applesauce. Whatever you ate made you nauseated and dizzy. 

You started worrying you had caught a really persistent form of the flu, but when your period didn’t start, you felt a wave of dread. 

Now, as you stared at the positive pregnancy test in your hands, you felt like someone had torn your body open, invisible wounds reopening and stinging afresh, chaotically spilling your feelings everywhere. 

“You need to tell him.” Gojo leans back in his chair, assessing you critically. You look at him coldly, cursing his six-eyes technique.

“I do not. And it’s none of your fucking business.”

“It is. Believe me when I say Megumi will not shirk his duties as a father. It would devastate him if he ever gets to know he has a child and that he was absent from its life.”

“How can you possibly assume that?” You cross your arms over your still flat belly and glare at him. Like it wasn’t bad enough that you were Megumi’s ex, now you were knocked up with his baby. “He wanted nothing to do with me. That man was barely able to keep promises to me as his girlfriend. What makes you think he’s going to step up and be a father to a child he probably doesn't want?”

“Because he knows what it’s like to be that child,” Gojo says the words quietly but with a firm edge that had you staring at him in disbelief.

“What?”

“Has Megumi ever told you about his dad?” Your silence says it all and Gojo narrows his eyes. “He’ll probably want my head if he ever finds out I told you this but I think it’s necessary.” Gojo sighs deeply and continues.

“Megumi’s dad loved him. But he simply wasn’t fit to be a parent. He abandoned Megumi and Tsumiki. Megumi was 7 years old at the time.”

You blink back tears as Gojo continues. “Megumi grew up as my ward. I don’t pretend to be his dad, but I can’t just let this slide. I understand you probably harbor resentment towards him, but cutting him out of this decision isn’t the right way to go about it.”

“I don’t want him to feel like he has any obligations towards me because of the baby. That’s the only reason he’d try to get in touch with me now, right?” You can’t forgive him for deciding to walk out of your life just yet, no matter what his childhood was like. 

“How long do you think you can keep this a secret? Megumi might not be around that much anymore, but you’ll start to show soon enough. If not me, someone else will tell him.”

Your expression hardens and you stand up with steely resolution coursing in your veins. “Thank you for your opinion. But the last I checked, though it takes two to make a baby, it only takes one to raise it.”

You pack your belongings and urgently move out of Tokyo by the end of the week.

.・。.・゜✭・.

Surprisingly, no one comes to bother you. You start over and manage to find work at a small accounting firm as a secretary. Your boss is sympathetic to your situation and doesn’t give you a hard time about needing maternity leave. Everything is going well despite the constant worry about running into someone from the jujutsu world but so far, nothing has happened. Your tummy swells and grows, the baby healthy and full of life. It brings you joy, knowing you carry this little being inside you.

One night, you wake up with a strange feeling inside your abdomen. Worried that the stress was getting to you as you entered your eighth month of pregnancy, you restlessly forced yourself out of bed and tried walking around the small apartment to ease your nerves.

It was a curious sensation, like something unseen was flowing through your veins, not sinister but a little unsettling. You place a hand on your swollen middle in hopes of soothing the baby then freeze when you feel the flow of cursed energy in your womb. 

You’d heard it wasn’t uncommon for sorcerer babies to begin regulating and channeling their cursed energy in utero, but it filled you with awe at how familiar the energy signature was to Megumi’s, vitality coursing under your fingertips as you felt it kick and turn. 

A soft rustling has you turning in panic, a gasp escaping your lips as you see 2 dog-like figures padding over to you from nowhere, their eyes glowing in the dark. Up close, you recognize them as Megumi’s divine dogs, their tails wagging as they approach you.

Motherly instinct has you clutching your stomach and angling away from them. Had Megumi finally figured out the truth? But the dogs’ demeanor didn’t seem to match that scenario. If anything, they looked curious and friendly. One of them finally gets close enough to nose your belly with its snout, before nuzzling the bump affectionately, which the other one mirrors. You watch in silent fascination, then feel a surge of energy from your womb. 

The baby was responding to the dogs. 

They recognized it as their owner. The dogs weren’t here because of Megumi. The baby had subconsciously summoned them. With a shaky hand, you pet both of them, seeing their eyes close happily. They bring back memories of Megumi and your eyes fill with tears.

“Does he want to be a father?” You ask them. They look at you with intense yellow eyes and before you can say anything else, vanish in a blink. 

.・。.・゜✭・.

The day the baby arrives is one of the happiest and emotionally draining days of your life. You lay on the labor bed, gripping the sheets as the contractions relentlessly come and go, each more painful than the last. 

You almost scream, not from the pain but in shock, as something noses your hand. Turning, you see the divine dogs at the side of the bed, unseen to the normal humans. You could’ve wept with relief, knowing you weren’t quite alone. You pet them and grip their fur as you finally deliver your baby boy into the world. 

The small pink bundle was a miniature of Megumi, the beautiful black hair plastered to its little head, screaming with the rage of life. With shaky hands you accept him, your heart so full of love you feel like it could burst. You’re so occupied that you don’t notice the divine dogs quietly padding outside, tails wagging, as someone lingers near the door.

Megumi has tears in his eyes as he hides just outside the room. He sees his child, and you, the person he loves and cherishes. You’re cooing at the baby, getting him settled down to suckle, his little hand wrapped around your finger so tightly.

Megumi balls his hands into fists feeling his fingernails dig into his palm, emotions raging through him. He’s so glad the two of you are healthy, and there’s regret for his mistakes of the past. He understands why you left Tokyo. You were a proud woman, independent, determined to not need him after he’d broken up with you. It wasn’t like you to grovel or beg. He was sure if the baby hadn’t summoned the divine dogs by accident, he would’ve never found you. 

Yet he felt like an intruder, an outsider, unworthy of entering the room. He understands what he broke the day he left and it eats away at his soul knowing that he was the reason you didn’t come to him after finding out you were pregnant. It had taken so long for you to let your walls down, to learn to depend on him finally, and in an instant, he had taken that away from you, the one thing you had avoided for so long; the need to rely on others.

It was that which drove you, the shattered dependability, and he remembered how long it had taken to reassure you to be less guarded on that front. He was awful, no better than his own father. But he had to try. He knocks on the door.

You turn, breath catching when you see him in the doorway.

“Hi.” He tries to not let his tears show, but when your eyes fill, he can’t contain himself. He closes the gap and embraces both of you as you sob uncontrollably into his shoulder.  

.・。.・゜✭・.

Megumi sleeps on the sofa, taking care of his child with such tenderness and love. He relearns everything about you, appreciating all that you are. It takes time but the relationship rebuilds steadily.

“How did Gojo not rat me out?” you ask one evening as Megumi cooks dinner while you cuddle the baby on the sofa. 

Megumi pauses, and looks over uncertainly. “He did.”

“He did?” 

“Yeah.” Megumi’s voice is low. “He told me and said I’d regret it if I didn’t try to find you. I was a coward.” He turns the stove burner off and faces you. “I never stopped thinking about you. You were the best thing to ever happen to me. I still believe I’m not your equal, and I never will be. You were my home base. The single person holding my life together. How much more could I ask you to do?”

He joins you on the sofa, taking his son into his arms, rocking him softly as he starts to doze off. “I was so scared to ask you to forgive me. I felt like a hypocrite, reassuring you all these years that it’s ok to depend on me, and then taking that security away from you. I was the worst kind of asshole. But I knew I couldn’t be a deadbeat father. I looked for you. But you did such a good job covering up your tracks. Honestly, if the baby hadn’t summoned the divine dogs, I probably would have never caught on.”

The baby yawns and drifts off to sleep in his arms. Megumi stares at the little face, unable to forgive himself for what he almost missed out on.

“I want us to be all right. I want us to be a family. Can we?” He looks at you with doubt, knowing if you said no, it was well within your right.

You take the baby from his arms, carefully settling him down in the portable bassinet next to the sofa, and take Megumi’s face in between your hands.

“Yes,” you whisper, your voice choking up. 

Megumi pulls you against him tightly. “I love you so much. I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure to live up to being your equal.”

You nod, letting your tears flow freely.

“I love you too.”

all dividers and banners by @/ cafekitsune

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#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #megumi fushiguro #megumi fushiguro x reader #jujutsu kaisen megumi #jjk nanami #megumi fushiguro fluff #megumi fushiguro angst #megumi fushiguro x you #fushiguro megumi #jjk fluff #jjk angst #megumi x reader #jjk megumi #vee writes

[luveline]

Hellouuuu! I loved the Hotch teacher au, and I was wondering if could request more of them? Something a little more flirty/more direct but still a tad worried about crossing lines

—Hotch worries about crossing a line, but he can’t stop himself any longer. fem, 1k

“Hello, Mr. Hotchner.” 

Aaron is far past the age where he gets nervous around women —age, or something else?— but the sound of your voice excites his heart. One moment he’s relaxed, watching idly as Jack races around the park on his bike with a grin, the next he’s alert. He’s sitting up. 

He says your name more to himself than to you as you take a seat on the grass beside him. You’re in a summer dress, leaves of your skirt falling gently against your thighs as you shift. 

“Hello,” he says. 

“Hi, Aaron.” 

He looks over the sunny grass and his surroundings in a slow catalogue of threats. He chose this park because it’s small enough to keep an eye on everybody. There are no surrounding woods, no wild animals, and no chances of Jack being snatched. Or, Jack could get snatched, but Aaron had confidence in his ability to keep pace. 

“Are you looking for danger?” you ask softly. 

He turns to you with a frown. “Why, is there something I’ve missed?” Your laugh ends his facade swiftly. “I want to give you my full attention,” he clarifies, “but I worry when he’s alone.” 

“I can cope with half of it,” you say. 

In a move that awakens some young notion of romanticism in him, you rest your face on your arm, squinting in the sunshine. The golden hour kisses your neck. 

He can’t take it anymore. You’re Jack's teacher, but he can’t. 

“You look beautiful,” he says, tone lowered in an attempt to match the air. 

You laugh in your squinting and turn your face from him completely. Your arms shake with your laugh, the strap slipping down as you move. “You intimidate me so much, sometimes,” you say through it. 

“I do?” 

“I feel like you can guess everything I think.” 

“I can’t. I can try.” He looks down to see Jack’s discarded his bike in favour of kneeling in the grass, a stick in hand. “But it requires some effort, sometimes, and while I’m not uninterested in knowing what you’re thinking, I’m not interrogating you.” 

You sit up, smiling once again. “Well, what am I thinking now?” 

“I thought you were scared of me?” 

“I’m not scared of you, Aaron. I said ‘intimidated’.” You cross your arm over your stomach. “Is that okay? Will you tell me what I’m thinking about?” 

He pauses. Take a deep but paced breath. “You’re thinking about me, but… You have your arm over your stomach, and your chest. You're guarding your vulnerabilities and yet you’re smiling. You’re wearing a dress in the same cut as the one you were wearing when I first called you pretty, but you couldn’t have known you’d see me here. It’s new. A new dress.” 

You remember that he called you pretty, and you’ve begun to gravitate toward the same cut unconsciously, he can see easily from your little frown you hadn’t realised it until now. He has no intention of upsetting you, and he continues. 

“You’re thinking about when I’m going to ask you on a date,” he says carefully. 

“How could you know that?” you ask, still speaking softly, giving little indication as to whether he’s right or wrong. 

Aaron could tell you it’s a professional hunch. Isn’t that what profiling is? Educated guesses that are often correct. But it’s more than that. “You look at my mouth when I talk,” he says. He’s not condescending you but he can’t help laughing. 

“You look at mine,” you say. 

“I do.” He meets your eyes. You smile without shyness back at him, but there’s apprehension in your eyes that he wasn’t expecting. “What’s wrong?” he asks. 

“Jack’s coming up the hill, but he can’t carry his bike.” 

Aaron winces. Sure enough, Jack’s at the bottom of the hill (which isn’t a very big hell, just Jack is still quite small) grunting with the effort it takes to drag his bike behind him. 

“Buddy! Leave it there!” Aaron shouts with another laugh, this one distinctly affectionate. “Come on, don’t make your arms hurt. I’ll get it later.” 

Jack drops his bike and rushes up the hill, grass on his knees and dirt on his hands as he drops himself down on Aaron’s leg. “Hi, Mrs. L/N,” he says. It’s a rare occasion where he doesn’t sound happy to see you, “why are you here?” 

You turn and point toward the cafe across the intersection just past the fence of the park. “I was right there finishing my coffee when I thought for sure I could see your dad, and I did. So I came to say hello. Why, did you think you were in trouble?” 

“No,” Jack says, driving his face into Aaron’s chest with a guilty giggle. 

“What do you have to be in trouble for?” Aaron asks him. 

“Nothing!” Jack laughs. 

“I hope you’re telling me the truth.” 

“Dad, I am!” 

“You’re not in trouble,” you say. “Just here to talk to your dad, that’s all. He’s good at talking.” 

“I know,” Jack says. 

Aaron hugs Jack to his chest with one arm. The sun will set soon, and he’s promised Jack they’ll make dinner together, that he’ll let his son do all the dangerous chopping if he’s super careful. He can’t stay here flirting with you forever, as much as he’d like to, but he can’t leave you hanging again —what if the next man who sees you in your sundress with your face pressed to your arm gives you the attention you deserve? 

“Would you like to get dinner with me?” Aaron asks you. 

“When?” you ask. You don’t miss a beat.

“When are you free?” 

“Anytime after three thirty,” you say. “Well, except for Wednesdays. That’s when I host craft club.” 

He holds in a smile. “What are your plans this Friday?” 

You shake your head, your own smile pressed into an excited line. “Nothing. I’m not doing anything.” 

“Then… it’s a date.” 

You press your hand to your cheek. “Okay.” 

He could tell you what you’re thinking now, just it might come off smug. And besides, he has a bike to retrieve at the bottom of the hill. 

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotch x reader #hotch #hotch x you #hotch blurb #hotch drabble #criminal minds

[yourejinx]

Wasted Times

CASSIAN X F.READER

Warnings: SMUT, little plot. A bit of angst. Minors do not interact.

A/N: a little something, not proof read. I'll be editing tomorrow. Comments are welcomed 👏🏻

You used to think he found you pretty, always sticking next to you or seeking your company, you're fairly sure he even flirted with you sometimes. In his own not-ever-gonna-out- right-tell-you-what-I- mean–way, but you could tell there was something there. That's until the middle Archeron sister came into picture, with her beautiful doe brown eyes and soft silky-looking skin, her pink lips and long curls. Elain was a vision. Azriel was completely mesmerized with her, and it stung like hell to sit and watch as he leaned into her ear to whisper the mother knows what, his fingers delicatedly brushing her bare shoulder. 

You sighed and drowned the dark liquor of your glass in one gulp. You were so tired of this shit, wouldn't have made it through half the dinner without Mor and Cass there. 

"Everything alright sweetheart?" Cass asked loud enough just for you to hear. 

"Yeah, I'm just bored." You smiled dismissively, hopefully convincing enough to ease the worried look he was giving you. 

"We should go to Rita's" Mor chipped in, just in time to save you from interrogation. 

"Yes! The three of us hadn't been out alone in ages." You agreed quickly, really needing any excuse to get the fuck out of the house. 

Cass chuckled. "Yeah, last time I don't really remember how we ended up at Helion's door. Rhys had to go get us." 

You laughed, a real sound this time and Cassian's eyes sparkled in amusement. He was always there for you, through thick and thin, ever since you met him. It was instant, the connection between the two of you, he knew you better than you knew yourself. Your best friend, your personal ray of sunshine. You had a feeling he suspected of your...affections towards his brother but you always managed to play it out small, just a friendly teasing. He wasn't a fool though, but kept quiet about it. 

"What do you say Cass, are you up to some fun?" You asked, a smirk tugging at your lips. 

"I'm always ready for a night with you sweetheart." He winked and leaned back in his chair. 

You weren't entirely sure if it was the wine you had been indulging in all night, or the fact that it's been a while since someone flirted with you but your cheeks turned a light dusty pink at his words. Body feeling a little tingly. It wasn't uncommon for Cassian to flirt with you, he was built like that. He pretty much flirted with everyone. But something felt different tonight, maybe the fact that you were feeling a little unsure about yourself as of late, given that a certain shadowsinger had started to pay attention to more... beautiful, delicate things. So you didn't question how the General's words had affected you. You let yourself enjoy it, make you feel good. Cassian always made you feel good.

You rolled your eyes at him and gave him a playful smile, taking a sip of your glass. 

Mor almost squealed in excitement. With Rhys and Feyre navigating their new parenthood, Amren and Varian barely leaving her apartment, and Azriel annoyingly pinning after Elain, there wasn't really much fun going on for your blonde friend. You had been over working a lot to be honest, anything to keep away from the house and the irritation that came lately when crossing paths with the shadowsinger, but you were tired and you missed your friends. So you finally decided to come home and a night out with your two best friends sounded esplendid. 

"Alright then, let's go" you stood up, pulling Cassian with you, Mor on your heels. You waved your friends goodnight from over your shoulder. Not lingering to see hazel eyes trailing after you. 

--------------------------------------------------------

"Is it me or is tonight more packed than usual?" You shouted over to Mor, making your way through the crowd of sweating bodies to the bar across from the dance floor. 

Mor chuckled, pulling out a seat for you and signaling for the barman to come over. "It's Friday, of course it’s packed. How long is it since you last went out?" 

"Two months, I guess? Since I took the job on the border" you shrugged. 

"So, almost three months," Cassian added. Mor sent him a smirk. 

"But who's counting, right?" She joked, Cass just rolled his eyes at her and ordered our drinks. 

"Aww, did you miss me Cassie?" You prodded playfully at his shoulder. A smirk stretching across your red tinted lips. 

"Of course I did, smartass, I didn't know the House could be so silent without your incessant morning rants!" He smiled. You smacked him in the arm. "Ouch! That hurt" 

"I didn't even hit you that hard, you're just being a big Illyrian baby." You rolled your eyes, taking a sip ro your drink. 

"You love me anyways," he threw an arm around your shoulder. "but for real sweetheart, don't take any more long ass missions for a while." 

A warm, real smile made its way to your lips. "Don't worry Cass, I don't intend to." 

"Good. Cause Azriel's been a real pain in the ass, I can't stand him anymore on my own." He chuckled. 

Your smile weavered a little at the mention of the shadowsinger. "Ugh, don't even start. But let's not talk about him, yeah? I wanna dance." 

Cassian opened his mouth but before he could answer, you were already tugging Mor towards the dance floor. 

The night passed by between drinks and laughter and dancing, you were currently sandwiched between Mor and Cassian, swaying your hips to the dark tune of the rhythm, arms thrown around the shoulders of your blonde friend, back pressed against Cassian’s hard chest. It was hot and fun and you’ve never felt so free and careless, maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe the heat of the hands resting heavily on your hips was starting to mess up with your head. Either way, you felt bold and beautiful, a taunting smirk adorning your lips as you caught the eye of some male across the room. He gave you and Mor a run over, biting his lip as he made his way towards you. He was handsome, not quite as breathtaking as the males in your family, but he had some pretty attractive features. Sharp jaw and glinting dark eyes, and he looked confident enough that he had found his entertainment for the evening. You smiled playfully at Mor, angling your head to the male as if not to be so obvious, she looked over her shoulder, blonde curls like melted honey dripping over her back and flashed him a devilish smile. That’s when you knew you were out of the game. Mor was beautiful, ethereal. There was no comparing your darkness to her striking beauty, even the shadowsinger had favored her over you, some time ago. 

Why had your thoughts taken such a pitiful turn? You were having a good time right? you wouldn’t let your insecurities take root in your head once more, you were here to avoid them after all. Still, you faltered in your steps as the male gently tapped Mor’s bare shoulder. You couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed, unconsciously leaning in on Cassian. Mor, completely oblivious to the downturn in your mood, gave you a playful wink and headed off with the male. 

“Nevermind him,” rang Cassian’s deep voice in your ear, “he doesn’t know what he’s missing.” He gave a little squeeze to your hip, breath fanning over your neck and causing goosebumps to erupt in your skin. 

“Doesn’t he now? He’s got his hands on the big prize tonight” you murmured. 

Cassian’s grip on your hip tightened, pulling you even closer to him, right hand splayed dangerously low on your abdomen. “He’s so beneath you, sweetheart.”  

You let out a sigh, finding comfort in the heat radiating off of his body. Cassian’s strong arms enveloping you almost possessively, hiding you away. “Cass,” you called him softly, half turning to face him, “dance with me?” 

He flashed you one of his signature smiles and leaned down to press a kiss to your shoulder, “For as long as you want.” 

You didn’t really want to think about why you felt so compelled to believe Cassian’s words, it was like everytime he reassured you, you got this warm feeling in your chest that spread throughout your body, all the way to the tip of your toes. You felt lighter, confident, pretty…even, in his presence. There was this sense of sincerity about him, and Cassian –your Cassian– would never lie to you. So you relaxed in his embrace and allowed yourself to get lost in the rhythm again, enjoying the way he seemed to understand your body better than anyone, smoothly following your movements. 

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was around the sixth glass of fairy wine when Cassian decided that maybe you had had enough to drink, and maybe it was time to get some fresh air. He wasn’t entirely sure the suffocating heat was due to the way-too-packed dance floor or because you had been grinding down on him all night. If he had to be honest with himself, it was probably the latter. He couldn’t understand how did you dare think so low about yourself, in his eyes you were the most stunning female he had ever met, but tonight with that unfairly short, tight dress that hugged all the right places? You were absolutely ravishing. Full plump red lips so close to him, he had to refrain from kissing you until they were bruised and swollen. 

“You know what I really want?” you asked suddenly, pulling him out of the trance he had been for the last ten minutes. Your head was resting on his shoulder, eyes glazed and heavy looking up at him. He swallowed, you were definitely tipsy. You’d never look at him like that otherwise. 

“What do you really want?” He asked, shamelessly tracing the shape of your mouth. 

“A piece of chocolate cake,” you pouted. That pulled a laugh out of him, he wasn’t expecting it.  

“You’ve got chocolate cake at home,” he answered, still smiling at your frowning face. “I bought you some this morning, when I heard you were coming back.” 

You beamed at him, and Cassian’s heart made a flip in his chest. It was as if he had told you the secret of the universe itself. 

“Really?” you asked, smiling widely. He chuckled. “Can we go home now?” 

“Yeah, let's get you that chocolate cake sweetheart.” 

With one arm securely wrapped around your waist and the other hooked under your legs, Cassian lifted you up easily, as if you weighed the same as a feather to him. A small gasp escaped your mouth once he took to the skies, it never failed to amaze you how truly powerful he was. How disciplined and graceful, even. There was nothing brute about Cassian, despite some awful claimings from equally awful people. This sight of him, the wind in his hair, strong wings on full display, was nothing short of a masterpiece. 

As if sensing your ogling, Cassian looked down to meet your stare with a bashful smirk. “Why are you looking at me like that?” 

“You know Cass, you're my favorite person in the entire world.” you whispered, smiling up at him. 

His smirk widened. “Oh, you're so drunk.” 

You frowned, a little pout forming on your lips. “I'm not drunk. Just tipsy with no filter.” 

He chuckled. “I thought Az was your favorite.” 

Your frown deepened and Cassian swore your body had stiffened a little. “Why? We barely talk anymore.” You scoffed. 

Cassian gave you a sympathetic smile. “He's just been busy,” 

“Yeah, whatever.” 

And just like that your mood had gone back to the beginning of the night. Sour insecurities resurfacing in your head. It wasn't Cass’ fault though, he's been perfectly charming the entire night. It didn't sit right with you, this awkwardness surrounding you. “He didn't get me chocolate cake though, so you're still my fav.”  You tried lifting the mood with a tentative playful smile. He mirrored it, but still he caught your change in demeanor, having fallen silent the rest of the ride home. 

Even once inside the House of Wind, comfortably sitting on the counter top in the kitchen, eating a slice of cake, shoes discarded on the floor. You hadn't uttered another word, too lost in your thoughts. 

Cassian observed you intently, eyes downcast, hair a little windswept, full lips engulfing the last bit of cake. He swallowed. He didn't understand his brother, how could he resist when you so openly flirted with him? Had it been him on the receiving end of those heated stares shared during training, he would already have you pressed against the nearest wall, devouring your mouth until you couldn't breathe. There was no denying the beauty of the middle Archeron sister, but you? No one could compare to you. Long dark lashes, beautiful plump lips, the subtle sun-kissed glow of your skin… and those thighs. Those godsdamned thighs, you could choke him to death with them and he would die a happy male.

Yet, you didn't seem aware of the effect you had on males —and females as well— whenever you’d walk into the room. 

“What are you thinking about?” He asked, low enough not to startle you. 

“Am I not pretty enough?” You blurted out suddenly, as if you couldn't contain the thoughts inside your head anymore. Feeling embarrassed about how that came out, you averted your gaze away from him.

“Why would you think that?” Cassian asked softly, a small frown taking form in his face. When you didn't answer he moved to stand directly in front of you. “Sweetheart look at me, please,” his hand came to cup your chin, forcing your head up and causing your eyes to meet. 

“It's just..” you huffed, mouth forming a small pout. “I'm not exactly soft and delicate, my body is too strong and maybe I laugh too loud,” You bit your lip trying to stop the spiraling of your thoughts. “I’ve never been…courted, I've had sexual partners, sure, but none of them had wanted to stay. No one has approached me for a while and tonight I thought– but of course not, Mor was there and she's stunning like the sun! I don't know, maybe I'm not feminine enough, that's all I'm saying.” You shrugged, trying to downplay it. 

“That couldn't be farther from the truth. You truly have no idea what you do to every male in Prythian that sets their eyes on you.” He declared, looking so intensely at you that you couldn’t look away. The hand that was cupping your chin had moved down to rest on your waist and you sucked in a breath at the sudden rush of heat that act alone had caused to spread all over your skin. “You have no idea what you do to me.” Cassian’s voice had dropped to a low deep purr that had you feeling dizzy. “Breathtaking is not a strong enough word to describe your beauty. You don't think you're soft and feminine?” His free hand dared to trace a path from your hips up to your ribs, stopping just below your breasts. “I can point out a few soft and feminine spots if you wish.” 

His eyes had taken a darker tone and you swallowed dry, feeling all tingly where his hands were currently resting on your body. Cassian was beautiful,  perfect. You had always known that, but you would have never thought this male to have an attraction towards you. It was simply impossible, you've been best friends for as long as you remember, he had seen the ugly in you, the dark, awful sides of you. And in contrast, you've seen him take gorgeous lovers along the years.  So you never gave it much thought, contempt to have him as your partner in crime, your own personal sun. But there was no denying the way he was watching you now, such hunger in his darkened gaze; there was no denying the way your mind and body were reacting to him either. 

You didn't know when you had leaned in closer, or had that been him? Your hands were resting on his chest in a poor attempt to keep some composure but you knew he could smell the sweet vague scent of arousal coming off of you. Your face heated up, a faint blush all the way to the point of your ears. 

When you didn’t say anything he added: “D’you wanna know why no one dares to approach you?” His breath fanned over your face. “That’s on me, sweetheart. I can’t help it, whenever I’m around you and some poor excuse of a male even thinks he might be worthy to touch you, my blood boils in my veins and I become violence incarnate. I know that. No one would be stupid enough to defy me.” 

“But– but why?” you choked out. Too stunned to act cool. 

He chuckled, a dark, dangerous sound. “Why? Because I want you. Because I dream about you. Because I need you.” 

You tilted your head slightly upwards to stare at him, mouths mere inches away. There was such raw devotion in his eyes, it unleashed something primal from within you. It burned and ached more and more by the second, desperately wanting to be free. Oh, you wanted him. All of him. 

“Then have me. Show me all the soft spots you like,” you whispered. 

Cassian growled low, “I'm gonna show you just how beautiful you are.” And then he crashed your lips together in a hungry kiss. He kissed you deep and rough, hands tightly holding your hips and bringing you closer to the edge of the countertop. 

Your own hands came to rest at the nape of his neck, fingers twisting and tugging at the strands there. You bit down on his lower lip, immediately dragging your tongue over it; groaning softly, he grabbed handfuls of your ass, kneading the flesh there. Arousal shot through your body, all the way to your core, thighs clenching together. You were almost certain your panties were drenched. 

“This I like,” he managed between kisses, landing a spank to your left cheek. You gasped and he took the opportunity to explore more of your skin, kissing and nibbling that sensitive spot on your neck. He went lower, licking at your collarbones and you arched your back to give him more access. 

Rough, calloused hands slid the thin straps of your dress down your shoulders, exposing your breasts to him. Cassian wasted no time attaching his mouth to your right breast, swirling his tongue and biting softly at the perked nub. Expert fingers twisting at the other before switching between them. You moaned loudly for him, hips jerking, searching for friction. 

“These I like,” he said, releasing your niple with a sinful ‘pop’. Then his eyes darted down to your legs, forcing them open with his hips. Your dress had ridden up your hips, lace panties on full display for him. The fabric was soaked and Cassian growled at the sight. All for him. He fell to his knees before you, teeth grazing the sensitive flesh of  your inner thighs “but these,” he murmured in between love bites. “I love these,” The General moaned before ripping your panties off and letting his tongue drag a long strip up your folds. 

“Oh Gods” you couldn't help but moan out loud, fingers finding their way into Cassian's hair and pushing his head further in between your legs. Hips desperately chasing after that sinful, skilled mouth of his. 

He chuckled darkly and the reverberations caused pleasure to shoot up your spine, eyes fluttering shut. You were almost sure you could touch the sky with your hands when he sucked harshly at your clit, and all thoughts emptied from your mind. It was just you, and Cassian, and the mindnumbing pleasure coursing through your veins as he fucked you with his tongue. It was all too much, too hot, too messy. His mouth felt so warm on you, fuck, drinking up your juices like he might die of thirst. You couldn't get enough of him, how did you get so long without succumbing to his charms? 

Cassian groaned as yet another wave of arousal came gushing out of you, licking it all up, not a single drop to waste. Your taste was divine, he thought he may be high on it, head empty except for the carnal need to make you come undone on his mouth, and then fuck you into oblivion. He was so painfully hard, he could’ve just cum right there at the sight of you above him, looking all fucked up and he had yet to take off his pants. He could feel how close you were as your whimpering grew louder, head threw back in pleasure, too lost to notice the lone shadow that had made its way towards you. Cassian growled in warning, wings flaring proud in a display of dominance as he heard the light footsteps approaching. “Mine.” He seemed to growl on your skin, and you felt yourself tripping over the edge when you locked eyes with the intruder. A plea of The General’s name on your lips. 

“Cass please, I'm gonna–” your release barreled through you with blinding force. Cassian rode you through your high, never faltering until you came down. 

When you opened your eyes the intruder was gone. It was only you and Cassian in the room, he was smiling brightly at you, your heart gave a flip at the sight. He was still on his knees, lips shiny with the remnants of your orgsm, eyes still full of lust. He was so beautiful. You couldn't resist but to urge him up and kiss him breathless. 

“I take it, you liked it” He murmured amusedly, hands still roaming over your body. 

“Very much so, yes.” You smiled, leaning in for another kiss. He pressed himself against you, hard and ready, making you moan again. 

A sudden new wave of lust (and a tinge of longing) invaded your senses, followed by a tentative tug. You gasped into his mouth, breaking the kiss to look up at him. 

“You're…” you mused in awe, not able to form a coherent thought. His smile only grew wider and he dragged his mouth leisurely down your neck, biting softly. 

“I'm not half done with you yet, love.” 

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar fandom #acotar series #acomaf #acowar #cassian acotar #cassian x you #cassian #cassian x reader #azriel x reader

[satoruluvies]

7 minutes, not in heaven just yet but still heavenly

“after death the human brain lives on for seven minutes to replay its best memories”. nanami can't help but think about what his last seven minutes would look like.

nanami had recalled you telling him about a silly trend going around about people making videos of what their presumed 7 minutes just before their complete death would be like.

as reluctant as nanami was to think of either of you dying, he finds himself pondering upon two questions: what would your and his last seven minutes look like?

one of the question was answered by you a few seconds later. “hm mine would probably be all with you, and some with my family… maybe our colleagues as well.”

at that time, it warmed his heart immensely even after knowing full well his best memories were with you too.

the other question however, wasn't answered. it was in the form of a revelation.

nanami was tired. his body and mind just barely holding onto the thin string of his duties he told himself to finish before succumbing into the lure of resting.

he was sure he was in an underground train station fighting and slashing disfigured humans with the little strength he has left but why did it also feel like dancing?

dancing? ah yes gliding through the air under the warm sunshine in … a beach? a beach in malaysia yes you had always wanted to go there with him.

the grainy sand beneath his feet and the cool air blowing through his clothes and into his skin made nanami feel like he was in paradise, just not yet though because you weren't here.

you weren't here.

suddenly he wasn't in a beach anymore. the grainy sand turned into hard concrete and the warm sunshine was replaced by luminescent artificial lights. he was no longer dancing but grasping into his cursed tool, the blood of hundreds dripping down from it.

and yet you were here. the distress and horrified expression on your face made his heart ache. nanami observed you panting in exhaustion, you must have ran.

and finally there were tears flowing from your eyes, all the way down your cheeks and onto the hard concrete floor. he wishes he could wipe them away and hold you tighter than he ever did before.

but he couldn't bring himself to move. a hand was on his shoulder, the hand of the cursed spirit who was responsible for the numerous disfigured humans he had forced himself to kill.

he called out to you meekly observing how your body forces itself to look into his eyes despite freezing in place.

“i’d always save the last dance for you.” he hears himself say. he wanted to make things right and apologize profusely for ever letting you cry so painfully like this, especially over him.

“i don't think i have 7 minutes.”

mahito’s idle transfiguration would've allowed some level of consciousness to the humans he disfigured but nanami wasn't just a human. he was a sorcerer and neither was he disfigured.

“... 7 seconds.” and then he was gone.

the world was never fair. it was always ruthless and ugly but amidst that, it was also kind. kind enough to let you meet nanami.

but in a moment like this it felt like the world was purposely allowing you to feel this way, just so it could chew you up and spit you out only to step on you and laugh at your misery.

nanami’s last 7 seconds were with you, his beloved. perhaps returning to the sandy beach with warm sunshine, playing blissfully in the sea water, its currents pushing you both a little more closer, falling in love a little more deeper.

wrote this in a haze i need u all to suffer with me. i miss kento sm i will curse gege to no end </3

#jjk x reader #jjk angst #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk nanami #jjk au #jjk fic #nanami x reader #nanami x y/n #nanami x you #nanami kento x reader #nanami angst #kento nanami angst #jujutsu kaisen nanami #jjk drabbles #jujutsu kaisen angst #nanami kento #kento nanami

[roosterforme]

Aim for the Sky Part 5 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley is thankful every day of the year, but over Thanksgiving weekend, you and the Nugget give him even more than he anticipated. When he takes you back to the scene of the crime for your first wedding anniversary, he shares more of his notebook with you.

Warnings: Fluff, smut, cum play, swearing, pregnancy

Length: 5000 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Aim for the Sky masterlist. This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order.

"Why is it so crowded?" you whined, pushing a shopping cart behind Bradley as he wound his way through Costco on Monday.

"Because everyone is doing the same thing we're doing," he said as he grabbed whichever turkey he could get his hands on. "Shopping for Thanksgiving dinner."

You were exhausted and tired of getting jostled around. You were getting close to the end of your second trimester, and you felt like you could curl up in the shopping cart and fall asleep. Today was also the first day of your annoying new routine of visiting the ladies' locker room after work to change out of your maternity tent. At least you got to talk to Phoenix for a few minutes. She even made a fuss over your belly and called you cute. But there was no way you were leaving base in your new uniform.

When you looked down at yourself in your stretchy tank top, even you could tell that your sore boobs looked bigger. You caught Bradley eyeing them up so frequently, it was almost comical. When you called him out on it, he would grunt some sort of response while his cheeks turned pink. And every time you let him take your bra off and do as he pleased, he was a rock hard, needy mess almost instantly. But he was also gentle and tentative, almost bringing you to orgasm with his mouth on your breasts alone.

You moaned softly, and he turned to look at you with wide, brown eyes. "Excuse me?" he asked, eyebrows shooting up. "You okay back there?"

"Yeah," you whispered breathlessly. "You know how much I love my Costco Daddy." Now you were thinking about the time you earned a spanking during one of your shopping trips, and you didn't know how you were going to make it home when your husband looked so fucking good in his uniform.

"What did you call me?" he asked playfully, his hands coming up to his narrow waist as you slumped against the cart and whined.

"Costco Daddy." This time you said it loud enough that a few people turned to see what you were talking about, but you didn't care. 

"I guess we should hurry up then," Bradley remarked casually, but that was pretty impossible to do when the store was as crowded as it was. You watched Bradley fight his way through the produce area so he could grab carrots and sweet potatoes, wearing a little smirk on his face the whole time. You tried to push him with the cart when he was taking too much time picking out a can of cranberry sauce, and he just chuckled but didn't budge at all.

"Roo," you whined softly.

"This is the last thing we need to get," he said, and then he made things even worse by standing behind you with his hands on your belly while you waited in line to pay.

His lips were soft on your ear and the side of your jaw as you gripped the shopping cart. His body was pressed against yours as he asked, "Is she moving around right now, Sweetheart?"

He'd been on a quest to feel the baby doing her somersaults, but he came up empty handed every time. "I think she's sleeping," you told him as his big palms moved around slowly. "You'll feel her soon. She loves it when you're around."

Bradley let his chin rest on your shoulder, and you were treated to his deep, needy sigh. You had no doubt where he was looking as the line started to move up and his thumbs grazed the undersides of your breasts. "As soon as we get home, your shirt is coming off."

"You're obsessed, Roo."

Even when it was your turn to pay, Bradley kept his eyes on you as he loaded up the cart again. The two of you walked to the far side of the parking lot where he insisted on leaving the new Bronco so it didn't get dinged up. Then he got you buckled in while he unloaded everything into the back, but you surprised him by climbing right onto his lap as soon as he was in the driver's seat.

He let his hands settle on your hips with a big smile on his face as you straddled his right thigh. "I don't know what you're planning on doing here, Baby Girl, but it's not quite dark out yet. Not that I mind. I know how much you like it in public."

But you started rubbing yourself against his leg, and he got quiet, his smile remaining intact. You tried your best to keep some space between his upper body and yours while you rubbed your pussy against your husband with two pairs of uniform pants between you. The friction was delicious, and Bradley leaned back in the seat with his hands still on your hips as you whispered, "I couldn't wait until we get home."

He helped guide you along as the rolling motion as you rode him brought you closer to where you needed to be. "I can wait until we get home," he rasped. "But when we do, I want you on your knees with those tits covered in my cum."

"Bradley!" you whined as his hands eased up your sides, grazing your breasts, goading you on faster.

"Take your time," he whispered, and you could feel how hard he was getting. But you didn't even need more time when he looked and smelled so damn good. Your hands settled on his insignia pins and name tag as you ground down harder and moaned his name.

He let you collapse against his body as you came, whining about how horny you were all the time right now until your orgasm started fading away. Then his hand slid down and squeezed your butt and he whispered, "Let's get home. Now."

Bradley helped you buckle in again, and then he took your hand in his as he started quickly driving home. When he needed both hands, he set yours down right on his hard length. You were still in a daze as you stroked him, working him up and making him throb. He grunted your first name which brought you back down enough to unzip his pants as he turned down the block toward the craftsman.

"You still want me on my knees?" you asked a little breathlessly as you got your hand around him, and Bradley's deep chuckle in response gave you goosebumps.

"There is only ever going to be one answer to that question, my love."

You were practically drooling at his words as he parked in the driveway and carefully withdrew your hand from inside the fly of his pants. Then he hopped out of the Bronco with his pants unzipped and his shirt an untucked mess before helping you carefully down onto the driveway. He gave you one of the sweetest kisses of your life which surprised you before he laced his fingers with yours and led you up the walkway at a leisurely pace. 

Once the front door was unlocked, he leaned in, kissed you one more time, his hard cock brushing your pregnant belly through his pants. "Yes, Baby Girl," he rasped. "I still want you on your knees."

You couldn't help but smile as you held his hand a little tighter, and he helped you get into position to give him exactly what he wanted. After he shut the door, you yanked your shirt and bra off and listened to him groan so loudly, Tramp briefly ran into the living room and back out again. After you got Bradley's pants and boxer briefs down around his boots, he lasted about thirty seconds between your lips before he was panting and stuttering.

"B-Baby Girl. Sweetheart." You let him jerk himself off, coating your chest in cum, just like he'd done in the garage last week. Just like he'd done in the shower two days ago. Then you let him play with it, making an even bigger mess before he helped you get cleaned up.

You had the distinct feeling that if you wanted anything in the whole world right now, all you'd need to do is ask him for it while topless, and it would be yours.

---------------------------

"I'm trying my best," Bradley growled. The turkey he randomly grabbed at Costco on Monday while you were a horny mess was huge, and it didn't really fit in your fancy baking dish thing.

"How am I supposed to stuff it?" you asked him, pouting in your sports bra, underwear, and I Love Meat apron. He was about an inch from telling you he didn't even care about the turkey and wanted to stuff you instead, but he knew you'd make a face at him since company was coming over. Not that he thought Jake Seresin counted as company. Now if your parents were here today, sure, he'd be on his best behavior. But Jake? Nope.

He shoved the turked into the baking dish and said, "That's as good as it's gonna get. Stuff it, and I'll lift it into the oven for you." 

He kissed your cheek and retreated to the bedroom where he wanted to go over his list one more time, just to make sure he knew what he had to do before Saturday. As he pulled the sheet of paper from his nightstand drawer, he sat on the edge of the bed. He had to find a way to sneak a cake into the house tomorrow and hide it from you. That was going to be challenging. There was also the matter of hiding all of the flowers if he decided to pick them up ahead of time.

"Shit," he muttered, remembering he needed to get the non-alcoholic champagne down from the torn apart attic sometime tomorrow. Maybe you wouldn't notice him messing around up there if he did it later when you were in the shower.

"Bradley!" you called out, your voice echoing down the short hallway. "Come here!"

He was on his feet instantly, heart pounding as he let the paper fall to the floor while he raced for you. "What happened?" he called out, panicking even more when he saw you doubled over as he reached the kitchen. "What happened?" He had his hands wrapped around your biceps, heart climbing up into his throat. You finally looked up at him as you gasped and started to untie your apron.

"She's moving so much right now," you told him, and it took him a second to realize you were smiling as the apron hit the floor. "Maybe you'll be able to feel her."

"Oh," he gasped, relief flooding his system even as he sank to his knees in front of you. When he placed his big hands on your belly and looked up at your perfect face, you slid his hands further to your right side. Bradley leaned in and kissed your wedding rings as you guided him along, and that's when he felt her.

"Holy shit!"

"Yeah?" you asked, voice laced with giddy excitement. "You felt the kick?"

"Yes," he whispered in amazement. Then she did it again, and he scooted himself a little closer, pressing his lips to the spot next to your belly button. "Hey, little Nugget." He was met with another thump that left him smiling. "I love you."

You laughed as you ran your fingers through his hair and let him rest his cheek against your soft, warm skin. "She's doing somersaults now," you told him, and he could feel something like a soft squirm against his hand. "She gets really excited when she hears you."

"Is that true?" he asked softly. "I get excited when I even think about you." He stayed there for a very long time, letting you adjust his hand placement over and over so he could feel her, and he never wanted to let go. He thought about taking you to bed so he could lay next to your belly, but he was afraid his daughter might get too cozy and settle in for a nap.

Bradley was running his nose along in a little pattern where the baby was kicking when you eventually removed your fingers from his hair and said, "I need to start peeling the potatoes."

"I can do that," Bradley replied, and he felt another hard thump. "You're right, Sweetheart. I swear she knows it's me," he whispered, looking up at you again.

"She absolutely does, Roo."

After that, he had his hands all over you. When you left the kitchen to finally get dressed, he went along, too. When you went back to the kitchen to check on the turkey, he stood behind you with one hand wrapped around you. If you found it annoying, you didn't say a word about it, thankfully. When Jake, Cat and Jeremiah arrived, Bradley had his arm slung over your shoulders as you walked to the front door.

"Is she moving around right now?" he asked softly.

You smiled up at him. "I think she's snoozing. I'll let you know when she's back at it again." Then you pulled the door open, and his peaceful little bubble felt like it had been burst as Jake walked in carrying several pies and some coleslaw.

"Happy Thanksgiving, Angel," the blonde said before kissing your cheek. Bradley rolled his eyes as Jake headed for the kitchen with a little grin on his face. A split second later, Cat came in, and then Bradley had his arms full of Jeremiah.

"He might need his diaper changed," Cat told him before she followed you to the kitchen as well. "Now let me finish cooking everything while you rest," she told you with a smile, and Bradley was happy someone who knew what they were doing was here to help you now. And he supposed that the next best thing after feeling his own baby kick was getting to hang out with Jeremiah. 

Jake was digging around in the refrigerator, and he pulled out two beers before nodding at Bradley. "Let's go see how the playset is looking, old man," he said, opening one of the cans and handing it to Bradley.

The playset was almost done, and Bradley would have probably worked on it a little bit more today, but he got so distracted following you around everywhere. "You know, I'm not that much older than you," he told Jake as he carted Jeremiah over to look at the slide.

But Jake didn't seem to be in a teasing mood any longer as he looked at Cat's son in Bradley's arms. "You know... you never really told me how you did it."

"Did what?" Bradley asked, watching two little hands reach out toward the can of beer before he touched the rope ladder instead.

"How you got Angel to marry you. The more I think about it, the less sense it makes."

Bradley glanced back through the sliding glass door where you were sitting at the kitchen island while Cat started to boil the potatoes he'd peeled for you earlier. "You know, if you're going to be an asshole, you can just go home. I'll drive Cat and Jer back to Hondo's later."

"Shhh," Jake told him. "You can't say bad words in front of him. He's learning how to talk now."

"Sorry," Bradley whispered to the little boy who was all smiles. Then Jake's words really started to sink in as he studied Jeremiah's dark eyes and sipped his beer. "You want them to be your family."

Jake was pacing around the patio, rubbing his temple with his fingers. "Of course I do. But she won't go for it. Every time I bring it up, she has some sort of excuse. Last night, after I told her how much I love her, she tried to tell me that I'll grow tired of them and want my freedom."

"Damn," Bradley muttered. 

"What did I tell you about the bad words?" Jake snapped. 

"Sorry." Bradley watched him pace while he thought about how he proposed to you in a dirty storage unit surrounded by cardboard boxes and ugly antique furniture. "I don't know how I got her to marry me, Jake. All I know is as soon as I was holding the engagement ring, I needed it to be on her finger. Like suddenly there was no time to waste."

Bradley knew Jake would be a good dad. He obviously loved Jeremiah. But their conversation was cut short as you poked your head outside and said, "Roo? Will you come help me set the table?"

"I'm coming, Baby Girl."

------------------------

Thanksgiving dinner turned out fantastic with some help from Cat. You saw how comfortable the other woman looked in the kitchen, so you just sat down and let her work. And while everything was delicious, nobody batted an eyelash when you made yourself some carrot sticks to dip into hot sauce. And then you covered your turkey in hot sauce. And you dipped your stuffing in hot sauce.

You were helping Bradley clean up before dessert when you said, "Oh! She's kicking again!"

He basically tossed everything into the sink and came running for you with wide eyes. "Where is she?" he asked softly, and you placed his hands for him. A second later, after you kissed the few silver hairs at his temple, he turned his head to smile at you while he said, "There she is."

"I want to feel the baby," Jake said, as he carried more dishes into the kitchen. The way Bradley pulled you in a little closer to him was almost comical; it wasn't like Jake of all people was going to hurt you.

"Just one little kick," Bradley insisted, and you reached out for Jake's hand. But as soon as he was touching you, the baby stopped her round of somersaults.

"I don't feel anything," Jake drawled, moving his hand slightly.

You shrugged and said, "She really seems to like Bradley's voice the most."

You watched your husband absolutely strut back into the dining room with a pie in each hand after that. And he was still grinning as he ate three slices. Even after your company left for the night with containers of leftovers, he looked smug. As soon as he got you snuggled up in bed, he propped his head on his elbow next to your belly and whispered, "You like Daddy's voice the most, huh?"

She seemed to respond by squirming a little bit, and you had to roll your eyes. "Of course she does. So do I."

He smiled up at you before kissing your belly and pulling your shirt down. "I'm going to try to finish the Nugget playset tomorrow, and then Saturday is my favorite day of the year."

"Our anniversary," you whispered with a yawn.

"The first of hopefully a hundred."

You were sound asleep before you could respond. Most of Friday was spent feeding Bradley little snacks while he worked in the yard and shopping online for nursery decor.

"Oh, this looks really cute," you said with a smile as you held up your phone. He came running over to see what you found, only to be annoyed by the U.S. Army themed baby bedding. "It was a joke!" you insisted before switching tabs to the one you actually liked. "This one is not a joke."

Bradley's face lit up as he looked at the pastel airplanes and soft blue and white clouds. "That's perfect," he whispered. "Just what our little girl needs."

"It's kind of expensive."

He just shook his head as he continued to look at your phone screen. "The Nugget wants it."

You were afraid that was going to become his new mantra. The baby had a full nursery worth of items purchased by the end of the day. But Saturday was a different story. When you woke up late and stretched, you realized you were in your bed alone. On your anniversary. Upon further inspection, you realized Bradley wasn't even home at all.

"What the fuck," you muttered to yourself as you stood in the kitchen. Your intention had been to make him stuffed French toast and coffee. You were even going to arrange some fruit in the shape of a heart on the plate, but now that he wasn't here, your idea just felt stupid. You got the fruit out anyway and dipped it in hot sauce for yourself instead, and after polishing off almost an entire carton of raspberries, you heard Tramp run for the front door.

Bradley rushed in wearing snug jeans and one of his tropical print shirts. His aviators were perched low on his nose, and he was holding a bouquet of yellow roses with a smile on his face. You were still wearing his ratty, old shirt, and you didn't even wash your face yet, but he took you gently in his arms and kissed you like you were the most incredible thing he'd ever seen.

"Happy anniversary, Baby Girl," he muttered against your lips. His body was warm from the sun, and he smelled fresh and delicious, and you melted into his arms. 

"Where were you? I was going to make you breakfast. Well, lunch I guess at this point."

Bradley cupped your cheek gently in his hand and said, "I had to get a few things ready for this afternoon."

"Right," you said, perking up a bit. "You said we're going back to the scene of the crime."

"We sure are," he confirmed, stroking your cheek with his thumb. "And I just want everything to be perfect for my girls."

You moaned softly. It was actually impossible to be annoyed with him when he was so sincere with pink tinted cheeks and flowers in his hand. "I'll make you some French toast," you whispered, and of course you ended up arranging the fruit into a heart. And of course you sat on his lap while he devoured two servings of the meal you made for him. 

"When are we going to the crime scene?" you asked as you brushed his hair back from his forehead.

He rubbed your belly and checked the time. "We can leave pretty soon. Go for a drive maybe? Then I'll surprise you with how romantic I am."

You kissed his nose and said, "I'm not even sure exactly what the scene of the crime is. That could be a lot of different places actually. Maybe the parking garage at the airport?" you asked with a raised eyebrow. "Or my old apartment?"

Bradley shook his head. "I don't think I could get Maria and Bob to stop fucking long enough for us to stop by there." You burst into laughter as he added, "But you'll find out shortly."

You let him keep his secrets as you finally got yourself ready to go out. You managed to squeeze into one of your sundresses, but you paired it with a zip up sweatshirt just in case it got chilly later on. When Bradley helped you into the blue Bronco and buckled you in, you asked, "Why does it smell so good in here?" The backseat and tailgate areas were covered with sheets and blankets so you couldn't even see anything, but it smelled sweet and flowery. 

"Don't worry about that yet," he rasped with a satisfied little smile on his face. "Just let me show my wife how much I love her." 

When he started the engine, he had already queued up the enormously long playlist of songs that reminded him of you, and you got to listen to him singing softly as he drove up the coast a little ways while the sun dipped lower in the sky. It was the perfect November day with a few clouds and warm air, and you held his hand while he started to head south again just as your stomach growled between songs. 

"You're hungry," he remarked, and you started hoping he had something planned involving food. "I made dinner, and we'll be there soon."

"You made dinner?" you asked, panic lacing your voice. "What did you make? Is everything okay?"

Bradley started laughing as he turned left. "Okay, made is a strong word. It didn't involve actually cooking anything, I'm sorry to say. But I wanted it to be edible for you."

You sighed and eased back in your seat, and that's when you realized where you were and what he had planned. "Roo," you whispered as the parking lot came into view. There were some orange cones lined up at both entrances, and when he pulled up and hopped out to move them, you read the permit attached to one of them.

SPECIAL PRIVATE EVENT

CITY OF SAN DIEGO

NOVEMBER 28

Then he hopped back in, pulled into the narrow parking lot that overlooked the cliffs beach, and he backed into a parking spot. He looked at you as he shifted into park and said, "The scene of the crime, Baby Girl. You stole my fucking heart."

You loved him so much, it was hard to put into words. "I wonder how many times I've kissed you since then," you whispered as you crawled toward him. "Since the first one, right here in this parking spot."

"Millions, probably. Could use a few more though." He was grinning as he patted his lap, and you were there in an instant. "Happy anniversary."

His words were muffled by your lips, and even with your growing belly, you seemed to fit perfectly against him. Bradley's big hand ran up your thigh and underneath your little dress, fingers stroking your skin with reverence as he parted your lips with his and tasted your tongue.

"I love you, Bradley."

The loud growl of your stomach left him laughing even as his hand made its way up to the lace trim of your underwear. He patted you on the butt and popped his door open. "Let me feed you and the Nugget dinner."

You eased yourself down onto the pavement, and Bradley followed you. When he opened the back door and pulled the blanket off the seat, you found a picnic basket, a cooler and a bakery box. When he dropped the tailgate and helped you climb in so you were overlooking the ocean, he pulled a sheet away to reveal probably hundreds of colorful roses, but most of them were yellow.

Tears filled your eyes as he ran around and unpacked dinner which consisted of carrot sticks, hot sauce, and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. "I made your sandwich to your exact preference," he promised, also procuring a bottle of non-alcoholic pink champagne from the cooler. "And this is even safe for the Nugget."

You tried not to cry as you sat amongst the sweet smelling flowers with your sandwich in your hand and music playing softly. Bradley hopped in as well, and you felt the Bronco dip slightly as he settled in next to you with his own sandwich. He kissed your cheek just as the sun hit the horizon. You turned so your lips met his briefly before you said, "I'm obsessed with you."

"I'm obsessed with both of you."

---------------------------

The sun had set, and you were laying with your head in Bradley's lap, skimming the Nugget notebook which he'd brought along for a very specific reason. You read some of his musings out loud, often laughing at what he had written in there. He let his fingers drift along your belly while My Girl played from the front seat speakers, and he hummed along, occasionally pausing to feel his daughter kick.

Eventually his hand was under the fabric of your dress again, skimming along your embroidered Mrs. Bradshaw underwear, making you gasp softly before continuing up to your belly. You and he were alone in this parking lot where you got married, which was already pretty secluded on a regular day, but the permit ensured he could touch his wife like this to his heart's content.

The soft purple sky was pretty, but it had nothing on you as you looked up at him with wide eyes. "You wrote down some baby names," you sighed softly.

"I did." This was the reason he brought the notebook along. This was something he wanted to talk about when there were no other distractions except for him and you. "What do you think of them?" he asked, heart beating a little faster as he thought about his unborn child.

You read each of the girls' names softly out loud, and of course he still liked all of them, but when you got to his favorite, you read it and paused. "Rose." Bradley nodded, and you smiled, reaching to run your fingers along the plethora of soft petals that filled the back of the Bronco. "I think you like that one the most."

Bradley swallowed hard, holding his hand in place with his palm covering your belly button. "Rose Bradshaw. Yeah, that's my favorite one."

"I like it, too," you whispered, biting your lip with your eyes closed as you set the notebook aside.

"Yeah? You do?" he asked hopefully. "Because it makes me think about how we listened to the song together. Roses. Before you fell in love with me."

You started to sit up, and he helped you. "I remember. You played it for me on the piano," you told him with a smile. "That was the night at the Hard Deck when I scared the other girls away from you, because I was so jealous. I wanted you all to myself."

Bradley's heart felt lighter than air as he collected you in his arms. "I was already falling in love with you," he promised. "You just took a little more coaxing."

As your lips ghosted over his, you whispered, "Rose. Rosie. Yeah. I love it."

-------------------------

Okay, so that's a throwback. I love little Easter eggs and throwbacks! The Nugget has a name! Thanks for reading! Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

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