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#walked eight miles out and eight miles back
bradshawssugarbaby · 2 days
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Easy Like Sunday Morning - Bradley Bradshaw x Reader
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pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x reader
warnings/content: smut, unprotected p in v (or at least, no protection mentioned), dirty talk, praise kink, Bradley worshipping you. Sort of CNC (both parties are awake though when the actual act occurs?)
word count: 1.5k
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The morning sun peeked through the curtains over the large window in your bedroom. You yawned and stretched, a much needed gesture after a solid eight hours of fighting Bradley for the covers throughout the night. Beside you, he lay in bed, still snoring peacefully - you were convinced at this point an atom bomb could probably detonate beside his eardrum and he still wouldn’t stir.  His tanned arm rested just over the covers, his hand loosely gripping the fabric as he slept. He turned onto his side, causing the blanket to drop slightly, exposing a landscape of golden sunkissed skin dotted with freckles across his shoulders and upper back. Bradley would never admit to it, but he’d been hitting the gym harder lately, and it was starting to show more so as the muscles in his back tensed and flexed as he got comfortable. 
Bradley had always been a good looking man. You swore that from the moment you first saw him - dressed in his khaki uniform walking down the streets in Coronado as he and a couple of friends decided to grab lunch off base that day after a briefing. You’d been out for lunch with one of your friends, and Bradley caught your eye from a mile away. Tall, dark, broad-shouldered and handsome - he was perfectly your type. As luck would have it, it turned out that he’d had his eye on you at the same time. Before leaving that afternoon, he’d stopped by the table where you were dining and flashed this beautifully crooked smile at you, the kind that made you just absolutely melt on the spot.
“Sorry for interrupting your lunch, but I couldn’t walk away without telling you how beautiful you are.”
His deep voice sent a shiver down your spine when he spoke, butterflies fluttering in your stomach as your brain processed what he’d said. He laughed when you told him he was sweet, his cheeks becoming rosy as you teased him, and that was that - within a couple of days, he was calling you for a date, and now, two years later, he was sound asleep in bed beside you, in the house you two had purchased together a few short months ago. 
You gently placed a kiss to his shoulder blade as you reminisced to yourself about meeting Bradley for the first time, causing him to murmur something softly, eyelids fluttering for a moment before remaining shut. After a few minutes, Bradley flipped back to lay on his back, grumbling quietly as he settled himself back into his rest. His curls were tousled messily from his tossing and turning, something that Bradley would quickly tame the moment he woke up with some hair styling products he had stashed away, specifically for making sure his hair remained in Navy regulation at every moment. 
You began to kiss his shoulder again, gently peppering his soft skin with tender kisses as he slept, showering him with affection. Bradley’s eyes fluttered again, a soft smirk forming on his lips as he glanced down at you, your trail of kisses now heading further towards his chest. He hummed softly and shut his eyes again, enjoying your display of tenderness towards him on this lazy morning. 
As you trailed your mouth down his body, you peeled back the blankets gently - trying your best not to wake him abruptly. You danced your fingers down his chest to his abdomen, your lips following suit. Once you reached the waistband of his boxer briefs, you delicately placed another kiss to the light trail of hair that extended from his naval to his waistline before sitting yourself upright. Carefully, you straddled his waist, taking care to seat yourself gently on his abdomen. You ducked your head down to begin kissing at his ear, which prompted a soft groan from Bradley.
“Mornin’, honey,” he said sleepily as he blinked his bleary brown eyes a few times in an effort to focus them on you. 
“Good morning, sleepyhead,” you hummed, your lips leaving a trail of warm, open-mouthed kisses along his neck, something Bradley could never resist. 
“Mhmm,” Bradley shook his head, a strained chuckle falling from his lips as he shifted underneath you in the bed. “Honey, you’re making it really, really hard for me to not just flip you over and-” 
You raised a challenging eyebrow as you hovered yourself over top of his lap, settling down on the tenting fabric of his boxers. Grinding yourself against him, Bradley let out a deep grunt, shaking his head as he reached out and grabbed at your hips. He held you firmly in place, guiding your as you moved back and forth, rubbing yourself over top of his boxers. 
Bradley gazed up at you with lust-filled eyes as he pushed you back onto his thighs for a moment, reaching a hand down to shove the restricting fabric back off his waist. Your fingers teased and taunted him as you slowly pulled back his boxers, his hardening cock springing forwards as you freed it. Taking his length in your hand, you stroked it gently, your thumb tracing soft, delicate circles around the tip. 
“Honey, you’re killing me here,” Bradley rasped, watching you carefully as you continued to toy with him, pumping your hand along his shaft with just enough pressure to drive him crazy.
“Tell me what you want me to do, Roo,” you purred, using his callsign as a means to tease him.
“Fuck,” he panted, shaking his head for a minute to try and compose himself, “I need you to ride me, pretty girl. Think you’re up for it?”
“I think I can handle it.” 
You lifted the hem of Bradley’s t-shirt that you’d slept in up, just enough to keep it out of the way as you positioned yourself over top of him. You slid down on to him with a soft whine, tilting your head to the side as you looked down at him, pressing your palms flat against his chest to steady yourself. 
“Fuck, that’s it, honey. Lookin’ so pretty bouncing up and down on my cock,” Bradley grunted, his large hands reaching for any part of you he could get a grip on, settling for your thighs.
You bobbed yourself up and down on him with ease, working yourself into a rhythm as you rode Bradley. His fingertips dug into the flesh of your thigh, causing you to whine as you sped up your movements. Bradley’s hands snuck their way up the bottom of your shirt, gliding their way against your sensitive skin before cupping your breasts. He gave them a playful squeeze before sliding them back down to your waist, guiding you up and down on him as he felt your walls beginning to clench around his cock. 
“S-so close, Bradley,” you whined, throwing your head back before darting your eyes down to meet his steely gaze. 
“That’s it, pretty girl. Let it go for me, honey, I’ve got ya.” he coached, his hands tightening their grip on your hips.
You gasped as you felt Bradley switch his hand placement, one of his hands drifting to your abdomen. He reached down and pressed his fingertip into your clit, massaging it in circles as you rode him. Your orgasm hit you almost immediately after he made contact with your sensitive nub, a wicked grin formed on Bradley’s lips as he watched your thighs shake and the movement of your hips become less precise as you fell apart on him.
Bradley snapped his hips forwards into you, thrusting hard and deep into your throbbing cunt. He desperately pounded into you, his breath hitching in his throat as he brought himself close to the edge. Your name fell from his lips like a sacred prayer, repeating it over and over as his voice rasped - as if there was nothing else on his mind than you.
“Fuck, so good, honey, you feel so fucking good. You’re so good to me, baby girl.” he praised, worshipping you as he came down from his climax.
Breathlessly, you leaned down, pressing your lips to his in a feverish, passionate kiss. Your teeth grazed at his plump bottom lip gently as you pulled your head back, a grin forming on your features as you looked down at him.
“That’s one way to wake me up,” he laughed, shaking his head before gazing up at you with pure adoration in his eyes. 
“Come on,” you grinned, tapping his thigh as you dismounted from his waist, “I’m gonna go take a shower, you coming with me, Roo?”
Bradley grinned, raising his dark eyebrow at you as he watched you walk towards the bedroom door. 
“I wouldn’t miss it.” 
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messylustt · 9 months
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We need more touchy & needy Hobie who has feelings for his friend (she's the prettiest girl in! the! world! and his eyes akhxsj) i can imagine him being that type who brags a lot about her too lol (but he's not with her.....yet, he's just crushing very hard)
my girl — hobie brown. longer name. your best friend, hobie, is a protective bastard.
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you were laying back against the couch, busy glaring at the tv. hobie walked in, a slight tilt to his head as he moved towards you. “please don’t hit it.” you shift your gaze to hobie sighing. “it’s not the tv i’m pissed at. it’s him.” you gesture to the actor on tv. “i mean can he be any more oblivious?” hobie bites down on his lower lip chuckling at your furrowed brows. he jumps down into a seat beside you, fingers reaching to smooth out the wrinkles on your forehead. you swat his hand away, and his eyes narrow. “i’m only tryna help.”
“with what?” you give him a side glance. his fingers shift back to grab your chin. “just makin’ sure you don’ grow too old, too fast.” you narrow your gaze on him, scoffing at his ‘wrinkles equal old’ joke. “and here I thought you were into older woman.” hobie scoffs, shifting slightly closer to you on the couch, arm moving to rest behind you.
“not that old. i prefer the forty to fifty age range.” you jab his side with your elbow, making him chuckle, slightly doubling over. “what time is it?” you suddenly ask, seeming to just realise how dark it had gotten outside.
“‘bout eight.” he comments, his hand moving to fiddle “absentmindedly” with your shirt — arm having to move further around you to do it. “eight? shit, i should go.” you move to stand, but hobie pulls you back down by a now permanent arm around your shoulders. you slightly fall back into him, the back of your head hitting his chest, as you feel it rumble in a chuckle.
you grab his wrist, preparing to move his hand, but hobie just pulls you closer. “jus’ stay ‘ere tonight. i don’ mind.”
“i should be getting back to my own universe.” you say, trying and failing again to move his arm. “hobie.”
“nah they won’t miss you.” he says, hand now rubbing the material of your collar between his calloused fingers. “that was nicely put, hobie.” you sarcastically say, twisting so that you can see him, but his hold still doesn’t let up.
“mhm.” he hums, a wide grin on his face as he catches your gaze. “you’re being clingy…” you narrow your gaze. he feigns innocence. “am i?” he wraps his other arm around your waist, pulling you even closer, making your breathing hitch a fraction. you quickly place your hands on his chest, so that you physically couldn’t get any closer. “yes. and it’s…weird.”
“weird? and here i thought ya were a nice and accepting girl.” his teasing smile hasn’t left. your tongue pokes out against your cheek, as you push farther away from him, finally managing to stand. hobie holds back from grabbing you again, having liked having his friend that close. his…friend.
that’s all you were, or all you saw him as. he saw different. he liked sparing you touches, and disliked when you would inevitably leave his hands. yeah, he knows you need to protect your universe but sometimes he wishes he could be a bit more selfish with you.
;;
when you were in groups, say with pav, gwen, miles and peter. hobie would have an arm wrapped around your shoulder. or when you all would sit, he’d make sure you were sat beside him, tugging your suit closer if necessary. the others found it rather sweet, how whenever you couldn’t make a ‘hang out’ being on a mission or something alike, hobie would use the time to talk you up. saying things like “yeah, did ya see y/n the other day? one of the best swingers i know.”
“didn’t y/n win that one? yeah i think she did.” he’s always been there to brag about you, but when someone else found a place to compliment you — especially if it’s the guy whose been eyeing you — hobie would use the terms ‘ma girl this’ ‘ma girl that’. “ma girl could have done better.” and everyone would know who he was talking about.
so, maybe he did have a little crush on you, maybe he wanted to get the spiders who paid extra attention fired. and maybe he liked your entire attention only on him. to anyone new you two would seem together with how hobie talks about you, but no, you’re ‘just friends’.
;;
hobie grins when you walk into HQ, but a frown soon forms when he sees how battered up you look. rushing past the others he reaches your side, grabbing your chin. you slightly startle at his fast movements. “oh, just a hard mission. i’m fine.” but hobie doesn’t loosen his grip, actually slipping his large hand further around you as he forces you to sit.
“what happened?” gwen asks, all of them having moved towards you after hobie. “just a mission. i’m fine though.” you somewhat chuckle, trying to stand again. “sit down.” hobie states, leaving no room for argument as he inspects your face full of cuts, his frown not lifting.
“hobie.” you move to grab his hand, but he only tightens it. your brows slightly furrow at his clear concern. you weren’t that badly injured, nothing life threatening. but to hobie it was the prospect of it, it could have been life threatening. “let me come next time.” he says, catching your gaze.
“you don’t have to — ” but he cuts you off. “i’m coming next time.” he sounds more sure of himself, as he grabs you into a stance. bringing you to the medical room, even after your protests of ‘i’m fine’. it goes in one ear and out the other, hobie just sitting you down as he mends your cuts, waving off the medical spiders.
“i feel like i should be flattered.” you slightly chuckle, as he tilts your head how he wants. “yeah, you should be.” he says, dabbing at a cut on your lip. “look at all this attention i’m giving you.” you chuckle, mouth opening a fraction. hobie shifts closer to you on the medical bed, hand moving to hold part of your ear and hair as he makes sure he got every cut.
“what is with all this…attention anyway?” you ask, forcing him to meet your gaze. “we’re friends aren’t we?” he asks, still not removing his hand from your face. “yeah, but…you’re acting….” you drift off brows furrowing. hobie shifts his fingers to smooth the lines on your forehead. “remember: forty to fifty age range.”
you raise your brows. “then i’m in the clear.” hobie licks at his lip ring. “not quite.” he mutters. you tilt your head, as hobie’s fingers leave your face by drifting down your skin, stopping by the cut on your lip. you both freeze at the movement, his touch sending shivers down your spine. “does it hurt?” you shrug. “more of a sting.”
“hm.” hobie hums absentmindedly, his gaze caught up in the cut. at first even he doesn’t realise how close he’s moving. your eyes slightly widen, as you lose your breath.
hobie moves closer a small tilt to his head, as his breath then fans over your bottom lip — over your cut. and then before either of you can say a word more, hobie’s lips are slowly wrapping around your lower lip, his tongue poking out to brush right along your cut, soothing the wound with his spit.
his hand has moved to your hair, a tighter grip accompanying. he draws back a fraction, your bottom lip now wet. hobie can’t help as his tongue comes back out to soothe at your cut again, dragging all the way across your lower lip, and stopping when he’s hovering over your entire mouth, tongue so close to slipping in. you feel lightheaded, as your grip has moved to his jacket, but hobie seems in a daze of his own.
“i jus’…it looked…” and he swiftly pulls you closer, hand now weaved completely into your hair as he slips his tongue into your mouth, lips connecting with yours as his head tilts for better access. “yeah…jus’ looked sore…” he pushes harder against your mouth, his hand slipping to grab your waist. ‘friends’ can now officially be used loosely, as hobie’s eager mouth takes ownership of yours.
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© messylustt.tumblr please don’t steal, copy or translate my work onto other platforms.
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kombuuuu · 10 months
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hii i really enjoyed ur miles 42 fic, was wondering if u could write something about reader and miles meeting for the first time? who was interested first🤭?
For the Soul (and the Heart)
Miles!42 x Fem!Reader
“I’ll be here. So pretty fun, i’d say”. “Guess you’re right, Chiquita.”
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AHHH meet cute x simpy miles we LOVE
Miles getting comfy w reader and reader getting progressively more combative the more time they spend together bc they luvvvvvvv each other? perfection
please don’t read if you get uncomfy with suggestive content, nothing too bad but still suggestive!
The morning was still. An odd occurrence for a Saturday. The winter chill had settled the night prior and seeped into ever cracked windowsill.
Streets coating in a thin layer of snow and trees dusted with the same. And acknowledging this freezing weather, obviously you decided to go for a walk. Snow crunched under your feet as you followed street signs, the only thing telling you where you were going was which street looked prettier.
Eventually you stopped, hugging your scarf closer to your nose and looking for a stall or shop that caught your eye.
Eventually it did, a quaint cafe stationed between two clothing stores, relatively small and pretty empty. The outside was decorated with white Lilly-of-the-Valley flowers, flower beds filled with the pretty things. Contrasting to the deep Mahogany of the wooden shop. Which looking into the wide window, seemed relatively the same. Deep furniture with white accents and a soft yellow light dancing along shiny hardwood floors.
Swirling cursive words cut into the wooden headboard swinging from a chain outside the door. “Morales Coffee.”
There looked to be seven or eight people in there currently, for how inconspicuous it tried to look, the amount of patrons at such an odd time (10:42 AM, not morning but not afternoon either.), You’d assume that coffee has to be amazing.
The door bell chimed sweetly at your entry, Barista turning to greet you.
The sweet woman gleamed over at you for a moment, turning back to her current customer while he pulled out his wallet. You lined up, looking at the pastries lining the glass displays. The ones catching your eye a Raspberry Danish and a cute baby blue Lunch-Box cake.
The man had moved away, leaving it your turn to order. The woman smiled at you and for once, approaching someone in costumer service didn’t feel as scary as it should’ve.
“Hi, What can I get for you today?” The curly haired woman had a twang of an accent curving her words. And a motherly vibe about her.
“Hey,” You smiled back at her “,Could I get a regular Mocha—.” You paused to let her punch it in. “.—A raspberry Danish and your blue cake.”
You pointed vaguely towards where the blue cake would be to her side of the display. “Yes, of course! That’ll be $18.40, thank you.”
Whilst you pulled out your purse to pay and she began to retrieve the items. She spoke up again. “Someone’s birthday?”
You laughed, not expecting her to speak so suddenly.
“Oh, no!” A chuckle left your lungs “Just want some cake recently. Saw your shop and its cakes. Thought may as well get it while i’m here.”
She laughed along with you, snorting a little as she boxed the small cake in the cardboard lunchbox. “Seems reasonable.”
“Thank you.”
She grabbed your danish and placed it on the counter, putting the cake in a bag and handing it to you.
“Thank you, again.”
“No worries, your mocha will be out shortly!” The bouncy lady turned around, going close to the back of the counter and opened a door you hadn’t realised was there, talking into it.
“Bebé, hay una chica linda ahí afuera que quiere un Mocha. Ve a hacerlo para ella. Y no la riegues.”
"Baby, there's a cute girl out there who wants a Mocha. Go do it for her. And don't mess it up."
Miles glanced up in confusion.
“¿Pero porqué me dices a mi?”
“Why me?”
“Pues es linda, y parece de tu edad.”
“She’s pretty, and around your age.”
“Ma, porfavor.”
“Ma, please.”
“Go.”
“Fine, fine.” He raised his hands in defeat and Rio kissed his cheek on the way out.
You found a seat with a cute view of the street outside and waited patiently for your coffee, people watching to pass time.
There was always a fear of crime in your neighbourhood. The lack of supposed ‘good guys’ coupled with the city being run down by anyone who wanted to escape trouble. Once news broke out of the first robbery in Brooklyn, where no one was caught. It was immediately put on the radar for any criminal looking to live somewhere safe.
The Prowler had been changing that. Little by little the Panther-esc.. Anti-Villain was scraping through the streets of Brooklyn and letting his blood stained claws drag over those in his way.
People feared him, the violence he brought with him.
You thought he was the closest thing to a hero you were getting, so who’s got room to complain?
If he’s not going to do the dirty work, who will?
The chatter of other people in the cafe had gotten slightly louder, four more people walking in while you sat.
“Miles, la chica linda de ahí.”
“Miles, That sweet girl over there.”
“Sí mamá, ya sé.”
“Yeah mama, I know.”
The smooth baritones accent of a boy around your age caught your attention. The way his letters curled giving you a rush of something down your spine. You looked up when you heard feet approaching, seeing probably the most ridiculously handsome man you have ever met bring you your coffee.
The way his jawline sharpened at a point, braids lying on his shoulders just below it. His lips that seemed awfully soft for someone who probably doesn’t even know what chapstick is. Lashes fluttering prettily over his high genes cheekbones, accenting his golden eyes. Jesus christ he’s pretty. His lips curled into a smirk at your face, your doe’d eyes gleaming up at him. He had some sharp canines.
“‘S one’s yours, Miss.” He placed the steaming mug on your table and you smiled. “Thank you!”
“No worries, Hermosa.” He looked at you a moment longer before the sweet lady called him back to make another order.
“Coming, Momma.” He called back to her, turning back to you for a second time and adding.
“I’m Miles, by the way.”
“Miles.. that’s a cute name.”
His lips upturned again at the compliment.
You gave him your name, which he hummed at, repeating it and rolling it around his tongue. His accent was gorgeous.
“Hope to see you ‘round, [Name].”
You choked out a pathetic affirmation, “Mhmma.— Yeah, yep.”
He laughed lightly and dragged his fingers along the table as he left.
Like claws.
Two days later you were back. It was some of the best coffee you’d ever had. And the desserts were the same, most of the cake still sitting boxed in the fridge.
Also there was an added bonus, being the coffee house owner, and her son.
The boy was interesting enough to keep your attention, sweet to you but held a sort of curiosity about him. Like he was hiding something but felt no shame in doing it, that it was righteously excused.
And to be real, you were dying to hear his voice again. Two days and all that had been playing in your head was the way he’d said your name, let the word travel down to his lungs and breathed life into it. A longing into it.
Miles was about the same, probably worse.
You saying his name was cute was probably his new lifeline. The way you had said it so innocently, sweetly to the likes of him. A twisted, wretched man. You had him swooning faster than he deemed safe, his body was going into overdrive. He had watched you while in their cafe, having never met someone so.. untainted by the world. Someone so sweet who carried nothing but a childlike innocence in their curios nature. Nothing done out of bad faith or in vain. You were nothing like him, he adored that.
So when you came wandering back into his Mommas cafe, he hoped to every universe it would be something you didn’t stop doing.
“Ah! Miss, You’re back!” His Ma greeted her, watching as the girl told Rio her name, and his Mom in return.
You guys chatted idly for a moment, your expressions clear as day. He could read you like a grown man could read a picture book, so easy it would be insulting to present him with it, if the content wasn’t you. The brightness and easy nature of you was something refreshing, he would say his Momma was easy-going, but times had been hard lately and his family needed a cheering up. You seemed like the perfect candidate.
Sweet, bubbly and looking at him right now- Oh. He waved at you, shivering at the eye contact and watching as you smiled at him and waved back, hands shaking. He likes how nervous he makes you.
You sniffled a little from the cold, dripping your hand as his Mom room your attention again. She handed you a cinnamon scroll and you paid quickly, dropping twenty bucks in the tip jar and quickly finding your way back to your seat.
“Miles! Un Mocha regular porfavor.”“Miles, regular Mocha please.”
He nodded to his mom, like he hadn’t remembered from last time. Like he hasn’t watched as you enjoyed something he made you.
“Bienvenida de nuevo, Chiquita.”“Welcome back, Chiquita.”
Sitting in the same spot as last time, staring at the idling passer-by’s, the light of a Winter morning danced off the snowy ground and highlighted your face, leaving a soft glow in your eyes.
You turned to him, paying him your whole mind.
“Thank you, Miles.” He placed your coffee in front of you, slightly leaning over you. He raised his eyebrows and hummed. You inhaled quickly, breath caught in your throat. Now realising the proximity between the two of you. Not only that, but there was a sweet smell that followed him around, coffee and cinnamon. How fitting.
His voice had gone deeper, smoother.
“I’m glad to see you back here—,” He leaned back again, hand dragging the same way it had two days prior. Your slow blink and parted lips made a deep rooted part of him begin to blossom once more.
He wanted to protect you the way he knew no one else could, wanted to lay his Soul down for you. Let you trace the veins imbedded in his skin with your teeth and take as much from him as you could. Run him dry, let him owe you his life so he can die protecting yours.
The speed his infatuation was growing probably wasn’t healthy.
“Really?” Your sweet, breathless inquiry silenced that though.
“Of course, Mami.”
“I—,” You paused, picking at you fingernails for a moment “,—I like it here, a lot.”
You leaned a little forward in your seat. Pressing your forearms against the wooden tabletop and leaning on them. He watched your back drop into a small arch, and for his own health, decided to ignore it. “‘S very cozy.” You glanced towards the window again. Watching another lad and her dog pass. He watched you.
“Mm, it is.”
“And you’re here.”
He sucked in a breath, fingers twitching.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Your gaze flickered to him once more and he held it.
He let his hand drift to your shoulder, rubbing it slowly while he peeled himself away from the table.
“I gotta go, Mami, but enjoy your time.”
“You too, Miles.”
“I’ll be working,” He smiled at you, a small thing.
“I’ll be here. So pretty fun, I’d say.”
He hummed.
“Guess you’re right, Chiquita.”
It had been around four Months since Miles had met you. And he was in over his damn head, not that he wasn’t at your first meeting. But progressively, over time, he’d fallen deeper and deeper for you.
Everything you did had him in a chokehold. The way you were so sweet with his Mom, or how even uncle Aaron liked you when he’d stopped by the cafe.
How you offered to help around with no pay, generosity basically leaking from your heart. When you would come over just to see him because you “missed his voice”.
Or would sit in his room and wait for him. If he ever came home late, injured from things you had no business knowing, you wouldn’t ask a thing. You stayed quiet, and patched him up. Let him rest his head on your collarbone while you softly rubbed his shoulders. Trying to lighten the weight of the world off of them.
Every little thing.
He was done pretending like it didn’t affect him. He could barely go a single day without you on his mind constantly, as if.
He knew you felt the same.
Still just as readable as your first meeting. He knew the frequent outings between the two of you were more than just friendly meet-ups to you. To him.
And when your gazes would catch one another, he’d try and tell you. Express without so much as a word how you were the only person he could do this with. The only one he felt comfortable to walk down the street with, and let you chat his ear off about any new movies you’d seen, books you’d have read.
He would let you sleep in his bed, bring little things into his room and give the bland walls life.
You had made a home in him. Cracked chips in his walls on by one until you’d found a single loose stone and happily let everything he’d built up fall just for you.
Miles had texted you around mid-day that he’d wanted to see you, in which you’d giggled at your phone dreamily.
Laying on your bed with your stomach down, kicking your legs like a girl gone stupid.
It hadn’t even been much to fret over, just a simple:
Can you come over later?
He had phrased it rather questioningly, but for no good reason. He’d known full well the moment he even insinuated you being with him, you’d jump at the chance.
And you did, swiftly replying;
okayyyy !!
I’ll pick you up at 7.
six…?
7, [Name].
>:(
Don’t be childish.
i’m nvr childish, see u at 6 C:
You got up, threw your phone somewhere on the bed and checked your, admittedly already-packed, overnight bag. Making sure nothing was missing before putting it at your door.
Your phone pinged again.
See you at six.
You smiled.
You spent the rest of that afternoon anxiously waiting for him to pick you up.
He showed up at your door five minutes late, greeting you at the door with a soft apology about the tardiness.
“Sorry, Mami. Took a wrong turn.”
“Don’t apologise, Miles.”
You smiled at him, stars in your eyes. He looked away for a second, a bit guilty for lying to you, but he feels it’s worth it.
“Grab your bag, ma. Let’s go.”
You hummed an affirmation, rushing to your room to grab the pink duffel bag.
You grabbed your phone off your night stand and did a double check for everything.
You walked out again, closing the door behind you. Miles was leant up against your doorframe. Forearm pressed on the wood and his torso stretched. A small sliver of his skin had peeked from under the fabric, you thanked the warming weather. Quickly averting your gaze, you noticed him watching your stare in intent, a curious smile playing at the corner of his lips.
“You good, Chiquita?”
“Uhuh—, yep. Fine.”
“Mmhm.”
You huffed out, pouting and pressing your palm to his chest, his very toned chest, and pushed back lightly.
“Get outta my way, lame-o, I gotta lock the door.”
He resisted for a moment longer, gazing down at you in humour. He trailed his hand up your arm slyly and pried your hand off his chest by sliding his thumb up from under your wrist onto your palm. Slowly pulling you off him.
“Maybe ask politely.”
You gave him an unimpressed stare and flipped him off.
“Miles.”
“[Name].”
“Oh my god.”
“It’s just a ‘please’.”
“..-Please, get the fuck outta my way.”
“Of course, Hermosa.” He snorted as he did.
You turned around, Miles still close to you in the cramped hallway, and locked your door.
You turned around, noticing his eyes glance up from where they were before and shot him a questioning look. He turned around and led you through you hallway, dismissing the look.
He opened the steel door to the cafe. The scenery of a rooftop garden with the same Lilly-of-the-Valley flowers up here as there were out front of the store.
Shrubbery lined the rooftop edge and the string lights hung from the veranda created an atmosphere that seemed almost cinematic.
“Jesus, Miles. This is beautiful.”
“Mm, thought you’d like it.”
“I do, so much.”
You stated in awe at the mural painted on a buildings wall behind the door. A man who stroke a resemblance to Miles painted surrounded by colours of any.
The moonlight basked against the neon colours, accenting the man’s features.
“My dad.”
Your gaze snapped up to him beside you, brows furrowing in a frown.
“I’m sorry.”
“‘S cool. Nothin’ you coulda known, Ma.”
He sighed at the image of his father, wishing him well rest.
Turning to you, he wasn’t surprised to see the greif in your eyes. He was, though, surprised at the lack of pity.
He was so used to having his far family whisper behind his back at how his soul had died with his fathers. How the light in his eyes had gone missing the day his hand had been forced, unable to get to his dad in time.
There was no escaping his death.
So to feel the understanding coming from you—. The confidence in your sorry but knowledge that pity would do no one any good, it was refreshing. Everything about you was.
He turned away from your watchful eyes, the intensity being unusual for him.
“Come sit, vida mía.”
You followed him dutifully, loyally. Like you had since the last Winter. Like you would continue for the next to come.
A set of pillows had been placed in the middle of the veranda. White wood covered in lively vines and the aforementioned string lights.
There was a layout of his pastries (which you had learned he was the baker of) laid out on a cotton blanket.
You sat on one of the pillows, legs crossed. Miles following short after.
“Oooh,” You begun to tease him “,This a romantic dinner date?” The tone of your voice was in jest, but when he had failed to answer— Your heart rate sped up and your face went hot to the touch.
“Miles? Y’know I— I was just jokin’—“ “If you want it to be.”
You stood stupidly for a moment, not quite reeling in his words like any other person would.
“Wh—.”
It was his turn for unsurity now, eyes dancing nervously between you and the skyline.
“No pressure, though. Just think it’d be nice.”
“It would.”
He refocused on you again, finding you already watching him owlishly. “Yeah?”
“Mm, we could—,”
He anxiously started picking at the blanket. Who knew someone usually so calm could be this nervous asking out the most harmless girl he knew.
“Try. We could try that, together.” You mumbled a bit, seemingly playing it off. “If you want, or something..”
“I do.” He gained some leg to stand on, finding it easier and easier as you spoke, your nerves somehow calming his own.
“I’ve wanted that for a while.”
“Oh good, cause—“ You placed your hand in your lap, cracking your knuckles. “—Me too, so. That’s good.”
He grinned at your awkwardness, knowing your lack of experience in the relationship aspect of life, this mutual agreement, instead of one asking the other out, probably hasn’t been an experience of yours yet. He liked he was the first.
“Don’t get all shy on me now.”
You puffed at him, punching his arm lightly.
“I’m never shy, that’s for dumb stupid lame people. And I am none of those.” “Oh, sure.”
“Wh— Sure?! Which one are you ‘sure’-ing? Dumb, stupid or lame?!”
“Uhuh.”
“Miles!”
“Keep saying my name like that, mami.”
“Oh my goodness!”
And when you both finally got into his bed, you’d slept tangled together like you had dozens of times before. But this time, Miles would grab your waist and pull you closer. Settle his face in your neck and trace his nose down the length of your shoulder, peppering a kiss on every inch of skin he could find, and you’d both finally felt sure.
Maybe people were right, maybe Miles’s soul had died with his father.
But meeting you, something new, something rejuvenating—.
It left him with a light he could search for, a new soul. A whisp of a being you’d taken from your own heart and placed in his. It left him breathless with life.
YIPEEE!!!!! another one 🗣️‼️
thank you to my translation helpers (bbgs) @kissmxcheek and @millyswife
(oh, wrong Miles! oops! 🤗⬇️)
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cleoluvrr · 5 months
Text
strawberry shortcake (rafe cameron x reader)
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got sent home to change 'cause my skirt is too short.
WARNINGS: mature content; dark!rafe, non!con, dub!con, spanking, use of belt, victim-blaming, manipulation, degradation, explicit language, depiction of explicit sexual acts
word count: 9.1k
masterlist
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you and rafe were…complicated. you’d known him just as long as you’ve known his sister, and yet, you’d never had a particularly great relationship.
your father worked closely with the cameron family. he and ward met each other in college, but went their separate ways after graduation. ward returned to the outer banks after a few years of living on the mainland, slowly making a name for himself as a real estate developer. your own parents moved back to charlotte after graduating, meeting at school and getting married in their hometown. raised in the city, all of your family was there, and all your friends were there. 
one fated day, your parents decided that your entire family was going to pack up and move to the outer banks. you were eight years old at the time, so of course it felt like your entire life was falling apart. everything you ever knew was going to be miles and miles away just because your parents said so. 
it felt so sudden, so unexpected. as far as you were aware, there was no one you knew in the outer banks. your family had a beach house there that you would visit every other summer, but that was all. to you, they might as well have said that you were moving to a deserted island with zero human interaction.
the moment you arrived the summer before you started third grade, it was a complete culture shock. you were used to living in the city; busy streets, skyscrapers that kissed the clouds and lit up with the colors of the rainbow, and so many people that you’d never see them more than twice. kildare was the complete opposite. you could drive across the entire town and back in under two hours and the tallest building in town was a church. everybody knew everybody, and every person had their place.
you only found that after your parents were pulled over by a police officer while driving around figure-eight. it wasn’t too often people that looked like you drove around the “nice” side of town in a shiny, new car. not that they’d never seen it, but they knew all the people that did, and nobody in your family was one of them. you couldn’t count the number of times someone had asked if you were lost or ‘supposed to be here’ when playing around your front yard, taking a walk, or existing in any public place on figure-eight.
your parents allowed you a week to adjust before they threw you into the merciless waters of small town social politics. 
the first time you were properly introduced to the cameron family was during sunday service. you didn’t grow up going to church despite being from the bible belt, mostly because big city life didn’t revolve around it as much as it did in kildare. your parents forced you out of bed early in the morning to get ready, your mother all but stuffing you into the best sunday dress you owned. like any eight-year-old, you complained about it. you hated blue, but your parents insisted on all of your outfits being color-coordinated. the mary janes and frilly socks made you feel like a little kid, but your mom wouldn’t budge on it.
begrudgingly, you sat through an hour long sermon in a church filled with flamboyantly dressed rich people. and then you sat through another hour of brunch with the camerons and their friends, even more annoyed than you were sitting through service in the hot, old chapel.
ward and your father had kept in contact over the years, and it was a couple years before the move that the two of them became business partners. your dad became the cameron family’s lawyer, and it was easier to actually be in the same place as them rather than hundreds of miles away. your mother didn’t mind the move; in fact, she was excited. she worked as an oncologist back home, and the lack of them on the island meant there was great demand for her work.
it was there where you met sarah cameron, the girl that became your friend at first sight. she was younger than you, but at that age it really made no difference. the little blonde girl was excited to meet someone new and declared that you two would be ‘best friends forever just like your dads. though it took some warming up on your part, ever since that day, the pair of you have been attached by the hip.
rafe, however, not so much. 
“hey, sarah?” you called out to the girl standing across from you, her surprised eyes wide as they snapped towards yours after being pulled out of the conversation with her boyfriend. 
“yeah?”
“could you tell your brother to fuck off?” a smile lit up your face as the question slipped from your gloss-covered lips. “please?”
you had come over to sarah’s house a few hours ago, the girl inviting you to attend a large party that her parents planned every summer for the fourth of july. at first, you weren’t too keen on coming, but the two of you hadn’t spent much time together this summer and you felt too guilty to turn her down. this was the summer before you left her for nine months to attend college, and  even though you didn’t want to come, you did it to make her happy.
the moment you stepped foot onto the property, rafe buzzed around your ear like a common house fly with comment after comment on your appearance. 
“what’s the matter, princess?” rafe speaks up from his spot just a few feet away. his head quirks to the side, a look of faux-concern covering his face. “stick up your ass a little too big today?”
topper and kelce chuckle at the comment, attempting to hide the sound by clearing their throats when they catch the dangerous cut of your eyes. your gaze meet rafe’s again and you watch as he raises the whiteclaw to his lips, the white can covering the smirk on his face as he takes a sip.
when you first met rafe, he was nice enough–very cordial. the boy was only older than you by a a year, but he acted as if the difference was so significant that he couldn’t be seen around you. he wasn’t necessarily shy, but every boy that age was concerned with catching cooties. it was impossible to keep his distance, though, especially since your dads worked together and you were constantly over their house. you and rafe maintained a somewhat friendly relationship with each other for years–never getting as close as you and sarah, but it was amiable. 
that all changed when you got to the eighth grade.
the older boy had started his first year of high school, while you and sarah were still in middle school together. 
the difference in maturity was beginning to have an affect on your relationship with both of them. you were turning fourteen and sarah was turning twelve; it felt like you were in totally different worlds. she was starting to become more of a little sister to you than a friend, but you loved her no less than before.
rafe was only fifteen, but he was in high school now. he hung out with guys older than him, and that meant doing whatever to impress them. he had completely brushed you off as a ‘little girl,’ and acted like you were a burden to have around if you were at tannyhill while his friends were there. 
it hurt you at first. you knew the two of you weren’t close, but to be completely disregarded for people he barely knew didn’t make you feel great about yourself. 
you were naive to believe it’d be any other way.
when it was your turn to enter high school, you felt alone. sarah was still in middle school, and rafe treated you like dirt on the bottom of his shoe. it was like you had to start all over now that you didn’t have either of them to cling onto. it wasn’t hard for you to make friends, but you still felt alone without your best friend–and betrayed by her brother.
“rafe, stop! you’re being an ass.” sarah shoves her brother, eyebrows furrowed as she scolds her older silbing.
“what? it’s a joke, chill out.” rafe barely stumbles from the shove. his eyes remain on you, not even sparing his sister more than a second of a glance. “she can take a joke. right, y/n?”
“of course i can take a joke, rafe!” you tilted your head in the same manner as he did just a few moments ago. “remember that time you asked me out senior year? that was really funny.” 
a smile grazed your lips softly as you watched him freeze in place for the briefest second before regaining composure. both his friends and sarah snorted at the quip, catching onto the implication. nobody noticed the look shared between you and the oldest cameron, nor the rise in tension.
it was the summer before your junior year and rafe’s senior–two weeks before midsummers, to be exact. rafe hadn’t let up on what was the borderline bullying he’d been subjecting you to since you started high school; in fact, it had only increased that summer. you were at the cameron’s house almost everyday with sarah, and her brother didn’t spare you a moment of peace when you happened to come across each other on the property–or off of it.
rafe spotted you alone by the dock, tossing rocks into the water as you stared into the dimming light of the july sky. you knew it was him approaching because his feet were heavy against the twigs lining the ground, not light and nimble like sarah’s. 
“y/n,” he called out from behind you, towering presence warm at your back. he sounded nervous, which struck you as odd. when he spoke to you, his voice carried the weight of condescension or irritation–never the champagne bubbles of anxiety. it was obvious he was trying to disguise it, but you knew him too well for it to work. “can we talk?” 
you responded with a disinterested hum, throwing the last rock into the water before turning to face him. you expected him to say something stupid, the sole purpose of him catching you there alone to bother you until you went back to your own house.
what you were not expecting, however, was for him to confess his feelings–feelings for you. you could hear your ears ringing when he asked if you would go with him to midsummers, brain sparking up with disbelief and agitation at the sound of the words leaving his mouth.
there were no second thoughts when he was met with firm rejection. 
you weren’t sure why it caught him by surprise considering he’d been treating you like shit for three years, but he acted as if you shot him at point blank. though you never told anyone, you had a crush on him at one point as well. it began to feel more like hopeless pining after he began to treat you like an incessant fruit fly, which is why you got over it–for the most part, at least.
that’s when the mistreatment from him became a feud on both ends. you felt justified in your feelings towards him, and rafe having the audacity to be mad at you for turning him down only fueled the fire. 
the oldest cameron sibling had his own issues, ones that made him quick to anger towards everything and everyone for no reason, especially you.
“you think you’re funny, huh?” the blonde looks displeased by his friends’ reactions, jaw clenching in annoyance. he could dish it, but he couldn’t take it.
“as if you know what that is.” you raised your brows at him, a smile still covering your face. you reached out a hand towards him, palm landing gently on his broad chest in a false gesture of comfort. “its okay, rafey, not everyone is made for being funny. stick to being useless, okay? you’re amazing at that!”
shoving past the blonde, you walked in the direction of the house after telling sarah you were going to sit inside for a moment to hide from the heat. the coastal carolina humidity was taking a toll on you, and rafe’s presence was only adding to the irritation. 
you took your time walking around the house, the massive interior surrounding you on all sides. the sound of your shoes softly tapping against the ground was the only sound filling the air, the commotion of the party outside left behind the further you ventured. your feet carried you up the grand staircase gracefully, hips swaying with each step until you reached the top.
the mansion was not unfamiliar. you and sarah had run these halls together countless times over the years, no room left unexplored by the two of you–including rafe’s. 
out of curiosity, your eyes drifted in the direction of the boy’s bedroom. the door had been left wide open for anyone to walk in, and there was an invisible force pushing you to enter. it’s been years since you’ve explored it, the last time resulting in being caught by its inhabitant. memories of you and sarah snooping around his drawers flashed through your mind, rafe coming in and cursing the two of you with colorful words you’d never heard in-person before.
this time, rafe wasn’t here to stop you. he was far too occupied outside with his friends to interrupt your impulsive decision to explore his room once more.
you shuffled towards the open door of his room, head peeking into the empty space before stepping inside. the room hadn’t changed much from the last time you saw it; it was still reminiscent of a teenage boy, just much cleaner. your feet softly padded across the floor to the window on the opposite side, staring out of the window at the crowd below. 
the music was just barely audible through the thick glass, the little ants of people wandering around with cups in hand as they interacted with each other. eyes scanning the crowd, your brows furrowed together in confusion. kelce, sarah, and topper were right where you left them, but rafe was nowhere to be found the longer you searched over the attendees.
“maybe he left…” you said to yourself, shoulders raising in a weak shrugging motion.
“who?”
you nearly jumped out of your skin at the sound of the voice appearing in the background so suddenly, a scream bubbling in your throat before you turned around to meet it’s owner. the sight of rafe cameron standing in the doorway barely did anything to calm your nerves, his stern face and crossed arms only making you anxious.
“y’know–i could’ve sworn i told you to stay out of my room?” his blue eyes bored into yours, gaze unrelenting and intense as they awaited an answer for your presence. 
“what are you doing in here?” you were tempted to pinch yourself as the question slipped from between your lips. 
“this is my room,” he said pointedly. “what are you doing in here?”
you shrugged again, the nervousness that filled you moments ago dissipating the longer you faced him. the worst thing he could do is tell you to get out, there was no reason to feel anxious about his appearance. you pushed yourself off the window frame you were resting against to walk towards the door, ready to make your exit now that you’ve been caught.
“not going through your shit, if that’s what you’re worried about. i was bored–now i’m leaving.” you were at the halfway point of his room, eyes rolling nonchalantly as you brushed him off. “what are you doing?”
rafe entered the room fully, a look of mischief shining brightly from behind his eyes as your own flickered to the door that shut behind him with a soft ‘thud’. you could feel your brows pinch together ever so slightly at the sight before you met his face again.
you didn’t flinch when he began to approach you with slow, rhythmic steps. his legs were long and he could have easily made it to you in just a few but he deliberately took his time walking in your direction, each soft noise of his shoe hitting the ground spaced a second apart. 
“what for? not like you have anywhere to be,” his hands were stuffed into the pockets of his shorts and his head tilted to the side in a feigned curiosity that was clearly heard through his voice. “actually–i think we need to talk…”
the blonde stopped barely a foot in front of you. he wasn’t quite invading your personal space, just pushing against the boundary lines of it. your eye twitches involuntarily, but you say nothing.
pushing the boundaries was something rafe had been doing for a while. mentally and physically. it was part of what further pulled the string of tension between you two.
maybe it’s because he’s a guy, but there wasn’t a day you could go seeing rafe without him making comments on your body or touching you without permission. your chest, your backside, your lips, your eyes–there was nothing spared from his overtly sexual thoughts. you weren’t sure if he was doing it solely to piss you off or make you uncomfortable, but being either one did nothing to discourage him. 
in fact, it only served as motivation for him to continue.
it had been more times than you could count that rafe had groped you and claimed that his hand slipped–that you were overreacting. sometimes he wouldn’t even deny it; he’d blame you for wearing a too-short skirt or a top so small that ‘you had to have been wanting the attention or you wouldn’t have left the house like that.’ he had a habit of standing uncomfortably close to you, so close that you could feel the rise and fall of his chest against your back or the hair on his arms tickling your own.
you just brushed it off as him being obnoxious, slapping away wandering hands and giving quick-witted responses to the suggestive remarks. guys his age were assholes and because of how long you’d known him, you never let it bother you too much. or at least, you refused to let him know that it bothered you.
“i don’t think so, rafe.“ you eyed him suspiciously. “what could we possibly have to talk about?” your arms raised to fold across your chest, fingertips cold from the air-conditioning as they rested against your bare skin. 
if it weren’t so hot and sticky outside you would have worn pants, but the frilly, pink skirt adorning your bottom half was far too tempting to pass up in this weather. you could feel the goosebumps rising over your entire body from the coolness of the house.
rafe just stared for a moment. you could see the synapses firing behind the blue of his irises, and the sight unsettled you. the feeling of his eyes raking over your frame did nothing to shake the discomfort either.
“your attention-seeking behavior. your disrespectful attitude.” his gaze flittered back up to meet yours and you could make out the ghost of a smirk wash over his features. “it's becoming a problem, don’t ya’ think?”
“what?” that was not on the list of things you were expecting him to say. you couldn’t help the amused laugh that escaped your lips in a breath. “what the fuck are you talking about right now?” 
“what am i talking about?” his dark blonde brows come together in an expression of concern–one you were sure he was faking.
rafe’s tanned arm reached out towards you, long fingers grabbing a braid from your head and twirling the end around the digits. not abnormal behavior, but you still squinted at him anyway.
“you must be the stupid one if you don’t know what i’m talking about.”
a scoff left your mouth and your hand lifted to smack his away from your hair. your eyes nearly strained out of their sockets from the amount of restraint it took not to roll them, lids blinking away the urge that fought against them.
“bye, rafe.” your path was blocked when you tried to move around him, the tall man following your step before you could even finish making it. “move!”
he caught the hand raised to push him out of the way with ease, the strength in his grip restrained but still felt as it surrounded your wrist. every attempt to take it back into your possession failed, your opponent unrelenting.
startled, a gasp left your mouth when you were pulled forward roughly, rafe’s body pressed tightly against yours as he brought his free hand to rest on your lower back. the ghost on his face was now living, a grin widespread over his lips that showed off the whites of his teeth as he stared down at you. 
“stop touching me, you’re being a creep.” you didn’t raise your voice at him, but you were firm in your demand.
“oh, please,” he rolled his eyes at you, as if you were the one acting out of line. “i think you want me to touch you.”
the hand that rested on your back fell even lower, the entirety of his hand capturing your ass in its grasp. you inhale sharply, the roughness of his fingers squeezing down causing you to jerk forward in an attempt to escape. you were met with rafe’s warm chest trapping you between him and the hand gripping your backside through the fabric of the skirt keeping it covered.
“rafe!” you said loudly. “what the fuck is your problem?”
it’s not like he hadn’t touched you there before; he’d done it plenty. but those were only light brushes in passing or pinching you when you weren’t paying attention. things that he could pretend never happened, things that you could brush off as him being annoying.
this was not that.
“you walk around town in these itty, bitty skirts,” rafe’s smile was gone now, the mischief behind his eyes remained but it was mixed with something else–something you didn’t feel too keen about. “like you own the place–walking around my house like it’s yours. always acting like you’re better than everyone. like–like you’re above all of us. do you think you’re better than everyone, y/n?”
you shook your head at him, doing the best job you could muster at remaining calm despite the alarm bells ringing in your head. the free hand you were using to push his hand away from your ass was useless; he wasn’t budging. however, even with the little voice in the back of your mind telling you not to, you couldn’t help but to give a smart-assed reply.
“i don’t think i’m above everyone, rafe,” the corner of your lips twitched as you fought back the smile that wanted to appear. “just you.”
he chuckled at that, but not because he found it funny. it was obvious by the way his face darkened, which is what queued you into thinking that you should’ve just kept your mouth shut.
relief filled you when he released the clothed flesh of your behind from his vices, but only momentarily. your feet stumbled over each other clumsily as rafe walked forward with purpose, forcing you backwards until your the crease of your knees hit the bed. you remained standing, but if he were to push you again you’d certainly lose your balance.
the oldest cameron sibling was much…larger than you remembered. you saw him practically every day, but you couldn’t recall his biceps ever being this big as your hands held onto them to stabilize yourself. you’ve never felt intimidated when standing near him, but as you craned your neck upward, all you could feel was the fear bubbling in your stomach. faced with his towering height, he could easily overpower you if that’s what he wanted to do–and you had a feeling he did.
a chill ran down your spine.
“you come over here every day wearing practically nothing, swinging that pretty ass in my face like a fucking tease, and then treat me like you don’t know who you’re talking to.” he shakes his head in faux-disappointment, the sound of his tongue tutting against his teeth filling your ears. “i told you to stop doing it, but you refuse. if you weren’t begging for attention, you wouldn’t act like that.”
“are you being serious right now?” you were in complete disbelief. the fear in your stomach remained, but a pang of vexation was thrown into the mix. “the last thing i want is your attention, rafe. i already turned you down once–stop being weird about it. just ‘cause you can’t keep your dick in your pants doesn’t make me the problem.”
the tall blond’s eye twitched, lips raising like hackles as he all but snarled at you. 
both of his hands dropped suddenly, giving you zero time to react as he gripped the bottom of your skirt in his hands and yanked it upwards. a sound of surprise rolled out of your mouth and rafe took advantage of your shock to spin you around and push you face down onto the bed. your body barely bounced once before rafe was seated on the mattress next to you, strong arms reaching over to grab your legs and throw them over his lap haphazardly as he pinned your arms behind your back.
you felt him lean his upper body against you and apply force, preventing you from lifting yourself up off the bed and leaving you completely at his mercy. 
“rafe!” you scolded as he hiked up your skirt even higher and exposed you further. his position under you left you unable to lie flat, back arched uncomfortably with your pelvis resting on his muscled thighs. panic was beginning to fill you. “rafe, stop! what are you doing?”
he doesn’t respond, a bump silence filling the tense air. you could feel the heat of his scrutinizing gaze, unable to control your squirming as the warmth of his hand palmed at your barely covered skin. he massaged at the soft flesh, squeezing it between his fingers like he was being entertained by putty.
“you look so pretty in pink.”
a yelp escaped your lips when he brought his hand down against your ass with a resounding smack. he repeated the action on the other side with the same amount of force before half-assing an attempt at massaging away the sting. you hissed from the pain, his rough groping doing nothing to ease the feeling.
he hums to himself, hand pulling away to deliver another blow. you cursed at him, leg kicking up out of anger but able to do any real damage.
“y’know,” rafe says and you couldn’t help but huff in anger. “you brought this on yourself. we wouldn’t have to do this if you were just a nice girl.” you could hear the disappointment dripping from his voice and it enraged you.
“maybe i’m not nice to you because you’re a fucking dick.” he smacked you again. “fuck! stop, rafe!”
“and you’re a loud-mouthed bitch who needs to learn that actions have consequences.” 
if you thought he wasn’t holding back before, you were proven wrong. 
he spared you no second to recover from the barrage of smacks that he bestowed upon you. each time his hand raised, it reconnected just as mercilessly as it did before. all you could hear was the sound of skin on skin echoing throughout the bedroom, mind completely encompassed by the fiery heat produced by his palm against your ass. 
you wanted to scream out, cry for help from anyone that happened to be wandering the halls of the old manor. you didn’t though. not because you couldn’t, but because you were scared. scared that if someone did come to help, they would see you bent over rafe’s lap like a misbehaving child. scared that the someone who came to your rescue would be sarah–or ward.
the humiliation would kill you.
instead, you settled on continuing with your demands to stop. you swore at him, threatened him, kicked at him as hard as you could. you tried everything to get him to let up, but he refused. the sound of your voice was nearly drowned out by the deafening sound of your backside being brutalized.
you were sure if someone were to walk past, it could be heard on the other side.
“i’m going to fucking kill you, rafe!” you gritted out through teeth clenched so tight that you could pop a blood vessel. “you’re disgusting!”
the blue-eyed man tutted from above you, abruptly pausing his assault. unexpectedly he pushed your legs off his lap and rose to his feet, leaving you in a heap on the bed. you almost sung out a praise to whatever angel had been keeping an eye on you, finally taking pity on your bruised behind. it felt like you were on fire; face hot, skin sticky with the sweat from putting up a fight, and the site of rafe’s abuse burning from the phantom of his hand.
your eyes snapped in rafe’s direction, pulled out of your thoughts by the sound of metal. he’d taken off his expensive leather belt when he stood up, the accessory folded in half between his hands as his hardened, amused eyes stared down at you. your eyes flitted between his face and the belt in his hand nervously, throat bobbing as you swallowed dryly.
he predicted your movement before you could even make it, moving so fast that you thought he was transported to you. rafe caught your legs as you attempted to crawl away and pulled you back over the edge. your feet landed on the floor but your top half remained pinned to the mattress, a strong hand keeping you in place as you struggled against it.
“change of plans,” he whispered against your ear. you were sure he felt you shiver against his hold from the breath on your skin. “i tried being gentle–well, as gentle as i can be with you. clearly, that’s not teaching you anything. “
“haven’t you heard? corporal punishment is outdated and ineffective.” it was in your nature to argue with him, even when he had you pinned beneath him like a wolf would a rabbit. “i’m not learning anything except for how much of a pervert you really are–not that i didn't already know.”
rafe chuckled at this, very darkly. he pulled away from your ear and positioned himself behind you, the heat of his presence radiating in a way that was almost suffocating. the silence was so loud that you could barely hear the sound of the party outside, blood rushing past your ears thunderously.
you braced yourself, unsure of what his next move would be. however, he made no moves. the blond just stood there behind you ominously, keeping your hands pinned to your back as he watched you noiselessly. the temptation to look behind you was overwhelming, and it was then when he decided to act.
the belt made fierce contact with your sensitive skin the moment your head twitched, the stillness between you no longer. 
it took all of your strength to contain the scream that itched to leave your throat, a pained groan coming out from your gritted teeth. this was worse than his bare hand by miles, the fury of the leather leaving you thrashing with a single lick.
“i think,” he landed another strike to your ass after he spoke. “corporal punishment is very effective. it just takes a little…more to break through girls like you. it’s okay, though, you’ll learn.”
the belt comes down again and you couldn’t hold back the scream this time. 
he gave no time for you to recover, the viciousness of each swat intensifying each time it landed. it was loud, much louder than his hands and in your foggy mind you worried endlessly about what would happen if someone else were to hear.
you don’t move when he lets go of your wrists, body paralyzed from pain and fear. rafe takes hold of your barely there underwear and yanks them down, the fabric pooling around your ankles leaving you fully exposed and hot with embarrassment. he takes no time to look between your legs and quickly returns to delivering your punishment.
the comforter beneath you fell victim to the deathly grip of your now free hands, talon-like fingers digging into the fabric as you used it to brace yourself. tears ran down your face uncontrollably and every muscle in your body was tense from the torment.
“rafe, please!” you cried out, hardly able to form a complete sentence. “ow! stop, stop! i’m sorry!”
you weren’t even sure what you were apologizing for, but you couldn’t take the torture for much longer. you’d fix your mouth to say whatever it takes to get him off of you.
“how many times have i told you to stop dressing like a slut? huh?” you responded with a pained screech. he paired the question with another lashing, your cries for mercy doing nothing to garner any of his sympathy. “and yet, you still do what you please. so i’m going to do what ever the fuck pleases me.”
it felt like you’d been here for an eternity, but it’d probably been maybe twenty minutes. twenty minutes since you walked into his room like a dumbass instead of going to sarah’s like you planned on doing in the first place. twenty minutes wasn’t a long time, and nobody would come looking for you any time soon.
a sob racked through your body at that. your hands reached back to grab at his weapon of choice in a desperate effort to stop the battery, and in response rafe put them right back where they were against your spine.
“you want everyone to see your ass so badly,” the leather slashed through the air and landed on you with a crack. “so i’m gonna give you something to show ‘em.” 
you had been reduced to a pile of tears and tender flesh. rafe’s hands holding you down against the bed were hardly necessary; the both of you knew that you didn’t have the energy to fight back anymore. all you could do was scream, cry, and beg for him to end the attack against your poor ass. the welts on your flesh were beginning to form, you could feel it.
“stop crying.” he says from above you. you could practically hear the sound of his eyes rolling, but he paused the lashings anyways. “begging me to stop but–” he cuts himself off, his silence falling loudly on your ears.
the sound of the belt falling to the floor as he threw it into a random corner didn’t even register to you, the metal buckle thumping against the wall. all you could focus on was the hand between your quivering legs, and the throbbing sensation that you hadn’t noticed before. rafe’s fingers gliding against the wetness of your core made you flinch from being unprepared for his touch.
“you're leaking all over yourself…” shame washed over you in a tsunami-like wave, the feeling amplified by the wet sounds coming from where rafe’s hand meets the junction of your thighs. “i don’t think you want me to stop.”
“no!” you shouted. rafe let out a breathy chuckle as he watched you shake your head desperately against the mattress. “no more! please, i don’t want it...”
he hummed in response, fingers still toying with your dripping heat. they were just barely brushing over your clit, the bud swollen with need and twitching with every ghost-like touch. if you could scream, you would, but all you had the energy to do was whimper pathetically as he held you in place.
“hm, alright.” rafe’s agreeance made you release a shaky breath you hadn’t even realized you were holding. “i know what you do want, though.”
you felt his thick fingers grazing your entrance; just the pads of them. he was being a tease, letting you soak in the humiliation of being so adamant on him leaving you alone but having your body betray you. 
he leaned down once again, the softness of his lips tickling the shell of your ear. you swallowed dryly as you struggled to focus on anything other than his torturous fingers sitting idly between your puffy lips. 
“you want me to fuck this little hole open with my fingers,” he hummed again, the vibration of it sending a shockwave through your body. “wanna drool all over my hand with that messy cunt.”
you shook your head, squirming against his hold once again in an attempt to escape his curious fingers. 
“no?” he asked and you shook your head again. “i don’t believe that.”
he only removed his hand from your long enough to flip you onto your back, barely exerting any strength to do so. instead of holding you down by your wrists, you were planted against the mattress by your neck with a firm hand. your own fingers moved to wrap around his arm while his returned to the heat building between your legs. 
you gasped at the feeling of a long, thick digit pushing against the tight resistance as it coaxed you open enough to slip inside. with him between your legs you couldn’t close them–all you could do was lie there pathetically as he did what he wanted. 
“aw, you feel that?” he cooed at you, eyes flickering up at your face briefly before dropping back to his hand. “it slipped right in…i think you can take two, don’t you?”
a whine slipped out at the feeling of a second finger slipping past the barrier of your hole to join the first one. his fingers were way bigger than yours, fitting inside of you more snugly than you were used to. he pulled them out at a snail’s pace, purposefully dragging against your spasming walls before pushing them right back in.
“yeah, you take it real good.” he grinned smugly, clearly enjoying the juxtaposition of the pained look on your face and the way you desperately latched onto his two fingers. “don’t want it, but your pussy’s sucking me in…why’s that?”
you couldn’t answer–not when you were panting like a bitch in heat, trying and failing at catching your breath as rafe stole it away from you. your arousal leaked out over his fingers and there was nothing you could do to stop it. his fingers felt too good, even if you didn’t want to admit it.
he continued with the bare minimum for what felt like forever, probably waiting on you to give in and beg him to fuck you. unfortunately for him, you would never do that. your will was much too strong to do something as desperate as that, and you were basking in enough humiliation as is; you’d never give up the single sliver of pride you had left.
it was rafe who broke first. he said nothing as the speed of his fingers increased, eyes focused on every scrunch of your nose and the whines that forced their way past your bitten lips. the heel of his hand kept making contact with your clit and it made you want to start crying again.
“such a pretty girl,” his eyes raked over your clothed body in satisfaction. something about you having to walk around in the same clothes that he turned you out in got him off, while it made you think about throwing them into a bonfire or burying them in the deepest part of your closet. “getting so wet and needy from me welting up her ass. i think you’re the pervert here, not me.”
“uh-uhn.” you protested the accusation immediately, reaching down the push rafe’s hand away weakly. he looked amused. 
“you’re not?” the blonde moved back to stare at your cunt grooling all over his hand, fingers fucking the mess back inside over and over. “why are you so wet then?”
you didn’t have an answer to that. his fingers pulled out of you completely, using the wetness as more lubrication to spread over your swollen clit. the bucket of sparks in your stomach had long turned into a bubbling cauldron, and the attention to the needy button did nothing but make it burn hotter.
his fingers dipped back inside with much ease this time and you nearly died from the embarrassment. your brain was foggy yet defiant, but your body worked against you by welcoming everything rafe had to offer. 
“no normal girl would get wet from shit like that. screaming and crying, beggin’ me to stop–but look,” rafe shook his head at you, eyes hot as he watched your frame twitch beneath his hands. “you’re squeezing down on my fingers like you want ‘em in there forever.“
he was right. you were screaming, you were crying, you were begging him to stop. now you’re letting him spread you open and getting wet when you should be screaming for him to get off of you. 
what was wrong with you?
you had no time to think about that, not when he added a third finger without warning. a cry filled the air–yours–from the stretch. you were so full. he sped up again, too, treating you with little compassion as he watched ruined your sopping pussy with the thick appendages.
“so pathetic to be this wet for me,” he shook his head at you, lips pulled together in a pout. “you know it too. you should be ashamed.”
you were.
“you’re not even gonna stop me, look at your legs shaking.” he pointed out the way you couldn’t keep still.
he was right; you weren’t gonna stop him. you couldn’t.
the veins in his arms strained with each pump of his fingers, biceps bulging against the tight sleeves of his shirt. you could feel your juices dripping down your ass, your other hole fluttering in sync with the one being stuffed with three fingers. every part of your body was tingling and desperate to be touched, and you were rapidly losing control of yourself the closer rafe brought you to the edge.
he noticed it, too. the way you couldn’t stop clamping down around him, how you unconsciously ground into his palm, the dazed look in your eyes and the desperation in your voice as you lost the ability to hold back.
“look at you,” he said. his eyes were filled with lust, dark and glossed over as he observed your behavior. “ready to cum after putting up all that fight. dressed up in this tiny, little skirt; you were practically asking for this. so disgusting.”
your breath was uneven and you felt like you were going to pass out, mind dizzy and drunk with the forced pleasure. he showed no signs of letting up, digging you out with a fervor that you’d never experienced. the sound of your whining became higher pitched, tears pouring from your eyes as you tip-toed the cliff ahead of you. 
“you’re about to cum, huh?” you nodded your head at him, eyes wide and wet with the lubrication. “yeah? you wanna cum?”
you screamed, but not for the reason you wanted to. 
“no.” rafe pulled his fingers away right before you fell off the edge, leaving your hips bucking against the air as you were denied the release he was forcing upon you in the first place. “you’re not gonna cum unless i tell you to.”
you would have rolled your eyes and protested, but the feeling of his hand coming down against your bare pussy made you yelp. your clit jumped and your nipples were begging to be released from the constraints of your shirt, the pain giving you a kind of pleasure that you weren’t equipped to handle. he did it again, and again. he did it until you were fighting to push him away and close your legs.
“aw, does that hurt?” he pouted at you when you whimpered out some semblance of a ‘yes,’ which was rewarded with another slap. “good.”
it was agonizing; how deliciously painful it was. it was so much–too much. you were becoming dumb, all brain function replaced with the pulsing of your abused cunt. he continued to slap your clit, entranced by the way it twitched and your hole clenched around nothing.
“you want me to stop?” you couldn’t answer; you were too stunned to form a coherent sentence and it made you feel like an idiot. rafe took pleasure in that. “stupid girl, you can’t even say anything. so fucked out and easy for me.” 
you were tempted to push him away and get yourself off, but even through your foggy brain you knew he’d never let you get the chance.
“need to taste this pussy…” he mumbled to himself, not caring if you heard or not.
he dropped to his knees with eyes still focused on you as he blew against your exposed clit, both thumbs spreading your lips open. he wasn’t worried about you trying to escape anymore; not really. it was clear you were too dazed to do much of anything but pant like a dog and take his abuse. 
he finally gave you his tongue after waiting for you to whine for it, the wet muscle flattening against the whole of your sensitive core. the texture of the appendage on your clit had you writhing, legs trapped in his hold and prevented from clamping down around his head.
you trembled as he lapped up your wetness, grinding against his face as he buried himself deep into your wetness. he was like a man starved, licking up your arousal as it spilled out of you in an endless fountain. the plush pillows of his lips encapsulated your clit, sucking on it roughly as he brought his fingers back down to fuck you open. 
your head fell back from the intensity, cries tumbling out of your mouth clumsily as he laved against your rosy bud.
everything was so wet.
“don’t you dare fucking cum.” rafe growled, pulling away from your pussy. his fingers kept going, but he kept his eyes on you now. it was impossible to ignore the way you pulsed around him. “i’m not gonna stop, so you better hold it.”
a broken wail left you and you wanted to curl into a ball. this was just as much of a punishment as being beaten with the belt in the corner, you were now discovering.
“please…” the rope in your stomach was being sawed in half by the second and you weren’t going to last much longer. “i can’t…”
he rose to his full height, staring down at your messy for; thighs covered in sticky precum with your skirt crumpled up at your waist. your skin was hot to the touch and covered in a thin layer of sweat, face wet with tears stains and eyes filled with lust fueled desperation. his fingers worked purposefully in the deepest parts of your pussy that you’d never been able to explore yourself. 
“taking me so fuckin’ deep, princess.” he teased you with his words, his voice only adding difficulty to holding back from cumming all over his merciless fingers.
“rafe…” you couldn’t tell him off; not when you were getting so close, so fast.
“‘rafe…’” he mocked the pleading tone in your voice. ocean blue eyes flickered up towards your own, dark with arousal as he watched you squirm. “you sound so pathetic.”
you could feel your thighs tensing as you tried your best to hold back. you didn’t know what he would do if you came without permission, but it was getting hard to care. his fingers were hitting repeatedly against a spot that had you seeing white and holding your breath. 
rafe let you stay like that for a while, desperately hanging on by a thread as he watched. 
“okay,“ he said, head tilted to the side. “you can cum–but i’m not gonna give it to you.”
“rafe!” you yelped. he pulled his fingers out and delivered a final smack to your already abused clit, smirking at your reaction. 
reaching up towards your face, rafe squished your cheeks together until your mouth was forced open. you audibly protested when he brought his wet fingers to your lips, the smell of your arousal invading all of your senses. your noises of defiance were ignored as he shoved the digits into your mouth. he coated your tongue with the wetness covering his fingers, fucking your mouth in the same way he used your other hole.
you couldn’t stop the saliva that fell from your mouth; it leaked down the sides of your face uncomfortably and you wanted to wipe it away. 
“you can go home later, and rub that dirty little cunt to the memory of this.” you stared up at him wide-eyed, mouth stuffed and clit pulsating at the wanton actions being performed on you. “every time you pick out a skirt to wear, you’re gonna sit on that welted up ass and you’re gonna think about how wet you got from my belt tearing you up.”
he watched you shift uncomfortably on your bare, bruised behind, but showed you no pity. 
the sting of it brought you back to reality, the weight of what just occurred finally coming to your clearer mind. rafe’s hand gripped your jaw and tilted it upwards to bring your attention back to him. the fear that you felt earlier bubbled back up. 
your mouth was relieved from the violating digits grazing the back of your throat. wet fingers slapped against your cheek twice, not hard enough to leave a mark but enough to make you wince from the sting.
“still think you’re above me?” rafe asked, face lowering to just mere inches away from yours. you shook your head the best you could, jaw still under the steel grip of his hand. “you–you should be thanking me, really…i’m older than you, remember? your job is to respect your elders, and my job is to correct you.”
you say nothing; not that you could anyway. he lowered his hand, pulling it away from your jaw and resting it on the circumference of your exposed neck. the tall man hummed at you, head tilting to the side like a puppy as he observed your disheveled form beneath him.
“i did it so that nobody else has to, y/n. jus’ looking out for you like i’m supposed to–even though you don’t deserve it.“ you blinked at him, prompting the fingers lying limply at your neck to squeeze as a warning. “say ‘thank you, rafe.’ you can do that right? ‘thank you for looking out for stupid little girls like me.’” 
you gulped away the part of you that wanted to spit out a curse at rafe, resistance vibrating deep in your bones. this had to be more humiliating than being spread out over his fingers, you thought.
“thank you, rafe.” the voice that came out sounded pained, and rafe could tell. he tutted at you, clearly dissatisfied.
“i don’t think you mean that…do you want the belt on your pussy this time?” his eyebrow quirked up at you, amused clear in his eyes as he watched your own widen in panic.
“no! no, i really mean it!”
his free hand landed between your legs again as it delivered the stinging punishment of his palm once more. 
“then fucking act like it.” rafe snarled at you, the heat of your center against his taunting hand. “‘thank you for looking out for me, rafe. you’re so good to me.’ and you better fucking mean it.” 
“thank you for looking out for me, rafe. you’re s’good to me!” you cried out weakly. rafe continued to slap at your achy clit with his flattened fingers, wordlessly telling you he wasn’t satisfied with your response. “i’m stupid ‘nd i don’t deserve–ah! i don’t deserve it. i’ll be nice, i promise!”
happy enough with your gratitude, he relented. he pulled his hand away from your quivering lower lips and stepped back, allowing your legs to fall shut and guard your crying, battered cunt from the cool air blowing against it from the ac.
“you’re welcome.”
you watch from your spot on the bed as rafe picks up your discarded underwear from the floor. he shoves the item in his pocket, leaving you bare with nothing to protect yourself. standing from your position on the mattress, your legs wobbled like a young doe before straightening themselves to their full length. 
you’d never felt so violated, so defeated. what made it even worse was the way your body still tingled with need. the feeling was deep inside you, walls clamping down on the phantom of rafe’s manly fingers. he was right, and it brought a cloud of shame that rained down on you. the first thing you’d do when you got home is stuff yourself with your own and pretend they were his. every time you sat down and felt the sting of his punishment, you knew you’d leak just like you were right now.
how could you call him a creep, a pervert? how could you call him disgusting when you were the one making a mess all over him after being held down and beaten?
feelings of guilt weighed heavy on your chest. you could pretend that none of this ever happened, but rafe would never let you forget; there’s no way he’d ever let it go.
shaking away the thoughts plaguing your mind, you pulled yourself together the best you could. a hiss sounded out through the room as you pulled the skirt down from around your waist.
the last thing you wanted to know was how bad your ass and thighs looked, the raised skin evidence enough as it painfully rubbed against the fabric of your skirt. rafe opened the door of his bedroom in a swift motion to reveal an empty hallway, eyes staring pointedly at you. the sound of your swift feet echoed off the floor, legs carrying you the fastest that they possibly could without tripping over each other.
before you made it past the threshold, rafe snatched your arm up into his grip. he leaned down to meet you at eye level, closely examining the way your breathing hitched.
“and stay the fuck out of my room."
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tvgals · 9 months
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‘ CHILL OUT ‘
— e42! miles morales x black! fem! reader
synopsis — you see miles walking around campus with a girl you’ve never seen before and it sparks a new issue .
cw ; cheating, fluff to angst, hurt/no comfort, black! reader, reader literally doesn’t deserve this shes so sweet, watched good girls during this so i think that’s where this came from, made up characters
— ENJOY !!
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you watch as your boyfriend walked into the cafeteria with a girl you’d never seen before. a mid-length honey blonde wig on her head and her nails done with french tips. you synch your eyebrows together in confusion and you turn to your friends. “who’s that with miles?” you ask, subtly pointing to her. “oh, girl! that’s the new girl, her name is jess or something, i dunno.” she says, shrugging her shoulders. “aight.” you say, shrugging your own shoulders and scrolling through instagram. miles and jess get closer to your table and that’s when you can hear their conversation.
“i love your braids! who did them?” jess asks, running the tip of her fingers over them. “awe, my girl did ‘em for me. there she go right there.” miles says, taking a seat next to you. “y/n.” miles calls your name. you look up at him and smile. “hey miles. who’s this?” you ask, looking at her features. “jess. she’s new so i just showed her around a lil.” miles explains, pulling you into his frame. “ohhh…” you say, widening your eyes and nodding your head. “well, y’know, i really need help with the spanish homework, could you help me?” you ask coyly, batting you eyelashes up at him. “‘course, chica guap.” miles replies, bending down to kiss you.
“get a room!” you hear from one of your friends, taking a video to post on her story later. you giggle and miles opens up his phone. jess looks over and seems to perk up. “you got snap?” she asks, pulling her own phone out. “oh, yeah,” miles replies, “i don’t use it like that though. i don’t talk to people like that.” the bell rings and you and miles say your goodbyes and walk to spanish. “so,” you started. “so?” miles repeats, curiosity in his voice. “where’d you meet her at?” you ask, interlocking you and miles’ pinkie fingers while you two walk down the hallway. “she came up to me while i was walking into the school, asked me to give her a tour.” miles dismissed your question, now taking the lead in you twos walk to class. “oh.” you say, searching through the sides of your backpack with one hand trying to find your lipgloss. “what’re you looking for?” miles asks, opening the door so you can walk into your spanish class. “my lipgloss..i can’t find it..” you mumble, sitting yourself down and sitting your backpack on your desk.
“chill, mami. i can buy you some more.” miles soothes you, taking the desk next to you. you sigh and pull out your notebook and pencil. you watch the front of the room, bored while the teacher talks. within the first thirty minutes of class, miles had thrown six folded up notes to you and texted you over five times. you pull your phone out as discreetly as you could and scroll through the texts.
‘she found my snap bro’
‘swear ts annoying’
‘i ain’t even talk to her like that’
‘bro she’s texting my phone foe’
‘i’m finna block her ass’
‘respond 😒’
you look over at miles and roll your eyes playfully, texting back.
‘js block her?’
miles turns to you and gives you a straight face, looking down at his phone and ignoring the ping of the snapchat notifications. this is bothering you and you don’t know why. you and miles have been dating for over eight months now and you’ve never felt like this before. is it jealousy? maybe. you doubt it though. you leave it in the back of your head just for the bell to ring again, signaling the last class of the day. you pack your stuff up and wait on miles in the doorway. “she keep on texting my phone.” mines groans, shoving his phone in his pocket.
“maybe she got a lil crush.” you snicker, feeling miles playfully bump your shoulders together. “nah. don’t need no crushes, already got my girl.” miles grins, pulling you in for a hug then having to pull away almost immediately. “see you at my dorm?” you ask, walking slower than before. “yep.” and with that, you two parted your ways until 2:30. you and some of your friends meet in the hall and make your way to your classes. you were taking your time walking to class, until your friend brought up a topic. a sensitive one.
“y’know, it’s be funny if miles were cheating on you with that jess girl.” she laughed while everyone else went quiet. “what?” you ask, looking around confused. “it was a joke, damn. if you were in a loyal relationship you wouldn’t get so mad.” she clapped back almost immediately, as if she was waiting to say it for a while now. “what are you talking about? i am in a loyal relationship.” you argue, pulling your phone out to text miles. “little do you know.” she replies in a sarcastic tone. your purse your lips together and turn around, making your way to the bathrooms.
“you didn’t have to do allat.” another one of your friends said, sympathy laced in her voice like she was just confronted with her own boyfriend cheating. you made it to the bathroom and opened a stall, sitting on the toilet seat. you open your phone and text miles.
‘so that’s wtf we doing now?’
you sit and wait for a response, getting one almost immediately.
‘wym??’
‘i mean you cheating on me’
‘who told you ts?’
you sigh and start to feel tears well into your eyes. you loved him so so so much, you met his parents, you ate dinner at his house, you’ve spent the night, you’ve watched him cry, bleed — everything under the sun and this is how he repaid you.
‘you don’t need to know all that. we’re done bro. don’t come by my house, don’t call my phone, don’t call my momma phone, give me back my house keys, and delete my number.’
miles fucked up, and he knew it.
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taglist — @venusluvslove @traqstarlo @mangolog @ohmaiscool15 @ohsanghoe @iiilovemilfs @garnetj @guapaneeseb @nekoweb @samdwitch @cloudniteee @azadabts @elitesanjisimp @theyfwkayla14 @lennielane @kelesisworld @aaliyahlia-babyy @dorkmuffin27 @markleedreams @violxtbxbyy @pinkluvrr @yourrfavzxri @noraloralei @blackgirlontheblock
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ddejavvu · 6 months
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pairing: spencer reid x reader
summary: you sneak off with Spencer during a team dinner, but not for the reasons the BAU thinks.
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You honestly hadn't even thought there was a chance you'd be caught. When you'd left Penelope was beneath the deck of Rossi's patio, Hotch was trying to pull her free, and Morgan was uncharacteristically terrified of the possum she'd managed to grab under there. You'd thought for sure that no one would notice Spencer's absence, or your own, and that your return would be no different.
Instead, when you crack open the gate of Rossi's backyard, there's 6 pairs of eyes staring intently back at you where you stand in front of Spencer.
And six grins, completely unfiltered and alcohol-encouraged.
"You two have been gone for two and a half hours," Emily calls, her voice only made stronger by the booze she's sucked down. Reid offers a very helpful, 'Two hours and thirty-eight minutes,' from behind you, but you're glad no one else can hear it.
"We took a walk around the lake," You inform your coworkers, referencing a picturesque lake that lays only a mile from Rossi's house. It hadn't taken you long to walk to, and you'd went for a pleasant stroll in the cool night air. Spencer tends not to drink at group parties, and you'd felt bad for the man sitting alone with something dim in his eyes. You'd invited him out for a walk, and you'd thoroughly enjoyed the time you'd spent together chatting about books, the perils of the grocery store on a Saturday morning, and the state of Spencer's left sneaker - which he's nearly walked right through - as well as his subsequent wet sock.
However, with a healthy sweat shining on your face from exertion, hair mussed from the wind, and your discarded heels in your hand, you presume you look a bit like you've been banging.
"Oh, in public, you dogs!" Morgan snickers, grin blinding, glowing brighter than the lights Rossi has on his porch.
"We were talking," You grunt, storming for the seat beside JJ, or more specifically, storming for the wine glass she's left unattended on the table. Suddenly you do think you need alcohol to get through the night.
"It's called moaning when it's during sex," Prentiss informs you, grinning around the rim of her glass. She lets out an example sound for you and it echoes out of the cup she's drinking from, inducing a round of boyish laughter around the table of your coworkers that are too old to be acting the way that they are.
You let your teammates' teasing dull into a low-pitched whine as you chug liquor fast enough to make your head spin. Your brain gladly accepts the exit ticket that you've offered it for the night, and you're barely coherent enough to get into the uber that Rossi calls for you at the end of the party.
You are perceptive enough, though, to spot Hotch slipping Spencer a silver-wrapped condom, the foil packet glinting in the streetlamps.
"Congrats," Hotch claps him on the back, walking away before Spencer can make his flustered stammering sound like real words, "Wrap it before you tap it, Doctor Reid."
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phfenomena · 3 months
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❝sleeping alone ❞ || william h. bonney x f!reader
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| A/N- was listening to flatland cavalry and i couldn’t resist a short n sad fic abt billy bc i’m evil
| WARNINGS- a sad man who misses his girlfriend a verrrryyy small mention of death and war.
william h. bonney x reader angst? fluff?
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as billy lays alone in the hostel bed he quickly begins to regret agreeing to jesse’s proposal of this job in lincoln county. he’s almost a days ride away from you and he has no idea if you’re okay. he can’t believe he used to sleep like this every night, no one to hold.
his mind wanders to the prayers his mother used to lay over him and joe, before everything turned sour in his life. he can’t remember the last time he prayed, feeling like no one’s listening. he doesn’t need a god when he has you, but he doesn’t have you right now.
he clasps his hands together just like he did all those years ago. “i haven’t done in this in quite some time, sorry if it’s not uniform prayer. i just want my girl to be okay without me, and for her to healthy and safe. oh! and for me not to get shot. amen.” he suddenly feels very stupid and confused as to why he thought his words into the empty air would assist him at all, but anything’s worth a shot. especially when it comes to his girl.
he rolls onto his side, just like he does every night with you. he holds a pillow to front pretending it was you instead a bag of feathers. he never realized how warm you were until he couldn’t feel your warmth at all. his eyes drift close and he falls asleep to memories of you.
eight hours away by horse, you lay alone in your shared bed with billy. only it’s not shared for a while, it’s just your bed. he’s working, he loves working! you thought trying to make yourself feel better about being by your lonesome. the bed feels like it’s miles long with just your body inhabiting it. you stare at the stationary sitting on your desk, illuminated poorly with one candle.
you write slowly and methodically to billy. he won’t be home for months so you figured you’d might as well start the letters. you write paragraphs upon paragraphs of how much you miss him, how much you love him, and how quiet the night is without his laughs filling the air. you trail off and start telling him about the town gossip you’ve heard but eventually get back on track. spraying your perfume over the pages and an invisible kiss by your signature, you fold it up and press the wax to seal it.
billy and jesse walk back in the saloon below the hostel’s doors. “oh! mr. billy you’ve got a letter! from a lady” the young boy wiggles his eyebrows and hands the letter to billy. he tries to fight the smile but jesse pats his back, rather hard but a kind gesture nonetheless. “the girl of yours is already sending letters after a day? you’ve got her wrapped around her finger.” billy shakes his head laughing. “that’s where you’re wrong, it’s the complete opposite.” he confesses and walks up the stairs to read your letter in private.
he instantly notices the scent of your perfume and all of the tension in his body melts away. he’s smiling like an idiot the entire time he’s reading but holds your letter to his chest after. he walks over to his own desk and begins his own letter to you, he might not see you for months but he’ll be damned if he can’t talk to his girl.
he consistently writes to you and letting you know what’s going on and how stressful things have gotten. you’re proud of him for switching to tunstall’s side because it was the right thing to do, you’ll always admire that about him. the worry for his well-being overtakes the admiration as you quickly gather your necessities and get dressed. you’re out the door and mounting your horse within the hour, riding to lincoln. you’d rather walk to hell and back than not see billy before he gets hurt.
you reach lincoln county much faster than you expected, maybe your horse sensed the desperation leaking from your pores. you ask a kind-eyed woman about tunstall and she directs you a few minutes north. you thank her make your way slowly to your destination. as your eyes focus on the beautiful country home in the dark, your heart flutters. you almost feel sick with how anxious you are, your eyes haven’t laid on billy in three months.
you quickly tie your horse to a fence post and rush towards the door, knocking rapidly. an unfamiliar man opens the door and smiles at you. “how can i help you, madam?” he speaks confidently with a british accent, this must be tunstall. “oh well, um, i was just wondering if billy was here?” he snaps his fingers and turns his head to yell for billy.
billy’s stomach dropped upon hearing his name being called, he’s thinking it might be jesse trying to pick a fight but when his eyes settle upon you his world stops. everything slows down but his heart speeds up to impossible levels. he smiles wide and laughs while running to you. his arms envelope you and you’re drowning in his scent, squeezing so hard he thought you might’ve bruised a rib. “what’re you doin’ here, doll? did you ride here alone? do you know how dangerous that is? have you ate? are you okay?” you giggle at his ambush of worried questions and put your hand over his mouth. tunstall walks away with a grin, never seeing billy so happy.
“yes i rode alone, yes i know the dangers, no i haven’t ate yet, and yes i am okay. i just couldn’t take the thought of you being so stressed with the possibility of getting hurt without me here. i also figured it was due time for a visit.” you mutter softly, never taking your eyes off him. drinking in the sights of the man you love with every fiber of your being.
he quickly ushers you inside and guides you to a main room. “gentleman, this is my girl.” he introduces you and you smile and manage a slight wave. “this the girl you’re always talking about and never shutting up about how pretty she is?” billy goes slightly red and opens his mouth up to talk before closing it. just nodding at the embarrassment. you smile up at him “you tell people how pretty you think i am? you’re so sweet! that’s adorable.” billy sighs and leads you to a seat at the table and fixing you a plate for dinner.
as you both lay together that night in the same bed, everything makes sense in the world. you understand war, they just want this feeling to be safe. your eyes begin to fill with tears as you’re just so relieved and happy to be with your love again.
“i was gettin’ real tired of sleeping alone. considered climbing into bed with charlie but i don’t think he’s as warm as you.” you laugh and gently slap his chest.
all is right in the world, because your world is filled with love.
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popquizhot-shot · 9 months
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Father mine. Miguel O’Hara x teen!Spider!reader
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Hope you like this :D it’s sad asf.
Warnings: mommy issues backstory, feelings of inadequacy, wanting to feel pain. Angst.
Miguel’s body shields over yours as Miles breaks through the force field and causes everyone to fly backwards. Your leg bends in an unnatural way and you resist the urge to cry out.
He holds you to him and does a once over of your form. You nod at him, not wanting to worry him and he looks to Miles.
You can see the exact moment where the rope finally breaks and he chases after the boy.
Your cries fall on deaf ears as you run behind him. Your legs screams with ever step and you’re forced to stop and look helplessly as he calls every spider and alerts them.
Soon enough there’s a hole broken in one of the windows as Miles jumps and Miguel follows. Every other spider jumping after the both of them like blind followers.
You join them, because you would follow Miguel to the death.
You try to focus all the power into your arms and your good leg but it’s fucking hard because you’re climbing the spaceship that Miles has somehow traversed.
In front of you, is every other spider that is a part of the society, and each of them is almost climbing on top of the others like mindless zombies that crave flesh.
Your spider sense tingles and you duck just in time for Miguel to fall past you and hang on to the spaceship with his claws.
You Web him and he looks at you gratefully.
“Gracias, Mija.” He grunts, his eyes glowing red.
You don’t answer. His hair is disheveled and he looks he’s been electrocuted or some shit, his fangs are bared and he snarles as he looks above you, “let me go now, and go back to the fucking tower.”
You scowl, “why should I?”
He tears through the webs, “because I said so, I’m already pissed off at two teenagers, don’t make me even worse.” He seethes and your lips form a thin line under your mask.
Suddenly, you’re eight years old trying to convince your mother to talk to you when she’s giving you the silent treatment and you have to gulp to try to keep your whimper of pain inside. You’re not a burden, you think, as he shakes his head and jumps past you.
something in you screams to go back, to listen to him. For once to listen to him, not just because you’re afraid he won’t love you anymore if you don’t but, call it spider sense pro, it helps predict the future so you listen to it.
You reluctantly jump out of the force field and swing. You can see the hole in the broken window and the jagged edges that form it. They resemble your heart and you clench your jaw and zoom through, tucking your legs inwards and crouching into a roll to minimise impact. The pain is still there when you hit the ground, but you wish it was harder.
You deserve to hurt right now. You deserve the pain in your leg and the pain in your heart because you’re not a good kid.
A groan leaves your lips as your spider sense tells you to go to where the go home machine is.
You run to the area and see spider byte and lyla walking around in a panicked frenzy.
“What the hell is going on?” You say out loud and they turn to look at you.
“Your dad is being a horrible person.” Spider-Byte scowls.
You look at Lyla and she doesn’t meet your eyes, only turning back to look at the monitors.
You squint and look at the go-home machine.
Miles. Invisible Miles.
You know why Miguel is mad, you know the risk that Miles brings, because you’ve seen first hand how a universe is destroyed. Your own was.
But Miles is a kid. He’s like you, wanting to save his dad. Just like you’re trying to help yours.
You can feel his panic and his anger and his hurt.
He turns visible at the last second and you meet his eyes as everyone storms in. Your own dad leading the party as the go-home machine starts to operate.
And then you look at the man who is your father. The man who has fed you and bandaged you and smiled at your jokes. The man who has been there with you through so much.
You watch as he shouts and tries to break the barrier. You see Peter’s horror. You watch as he pries open the field just the slightest. You see him try and kill a kid. A kid like you.
And your eyes fill with tears because this man is a monster.
By some dumb luck, Miles is able to escape and Miguel stands defeated. The go-home machine Scans him and he breaks it like it’s nothing. You flinch.
You watch as he turns and walks amidst everyone like nothing has happened. You watch as he dishes out orders as if he hasn’t just tried to take the life of a child. You watch him threaten Gwen, and you watch as he sends her to her universe. Ignoring her cries because to him, she’s an inconvenience.
Is that what you are? Now that you’re not on his side anymore?
He opens a portal and Jessica and another Peter you don’t give a shit about walk through. His eyes meet yours as his mask materialises over his face. You know he expects you to follow him, even if he tells you to stay. So he doesn’t bother and walks in.
You don’t follow.
Because this man, this cold, unflinching monster of a man is not your father.
Part 2 here
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saiiidahyunee · 2 months
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pole position
f1 racer!park jihyo x fem!reader || smut
synopsis: what better way to celebrate your racer girlfriend’s first f1 win with a special victory gift from you.
wc: 9.3k
warnings: smut!!! ; almost caught fucking in the van (and elevator) >.< ; edging ; thigh riding ; pussy slapping ; cursing ; mentions of food ; jihyo just being a top ; anything else i should add for a heads up?
a/n: happy birthday to the best leader and one of the most ambitious women i have ever seen in my life. (lowk double triple quadrouple tag teaming w sana momo tzuyu and mina in bias wrecking me)
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it seemed like a neverending rush of adrenaline overloading your senses. 
luckily, the racing team had accommodated you with noise canceling headphones to save your eardrums from the chaotic noises occurring in the paddock behind you. the low whir of these twenty million spaceship rockets built for the ground to defy physics, along with the many people clamoring over the noises of drills and terms you’ve only heard about for about eight months.
yet, your eyes were glued to the tv screen, watching the broadcast of the race as it neared its thrilling conclusion. 
you’ve read the narrative before; park jihyo, your girlfriend, was on the verge of clinching her first ever world championship title for jyp racing in the last race of the regular season. all she needed was to accumulate a few more points and she would have it—or better yet, just win the whole damn race entirely. 
on the screen, her car was behind two others in front of her, twisting past another chicane before the track rolled out into a small straight in the second sector of the street circuit. this was the second to last lap, and you could hear the crowd roar in excitement from the grandstands across from you. 
in a swift move, jihyo manages to find a gap between the two cars, slotting herself right in to take first position in the long straight. the wheel to wheel contact between other two racers now in her rear view mirror now making up for lost time while jihyo was now running away with the race.
“holy shit!” you hear one of the racing team owners yell out after witnessing the flashy move jihyo did to overtake the two racers in front of her.
“she’s gonna do it oh my god, she’s gonna fucking do it!” nayeon says to you, furiously tapping your shoulder while jeongyeon ran towards the screen to see what had happened.
“what a ballsy move, the racing coaches are losing their shit over it!” jeongyeon yells out as the sound of her car zooms past the grandstand and paddock at light speed. 
the other two racers, momo and sana, along with the fourth just trailing behind in tzuyu, were now fighting for second and third. you walk back to the tv screen overhanging the spot where the car was at before the start of the race, seeing that jihyo was following along her own driving line with so much precision—she had the fastest time in qualifying the day before, so there was no surprise that she’d be in first place at the end of all of this. 
the pit crew members start to run out to the main track, cheering on for jihyo as she zooms past the starting grid, checkered flag waving from the steward while the whole venue erupted in excitement for their new f1 racing champion. 
a victory lap later and you see jihyo with the other three trailing racers make it back to the grid, getting out of her car being mauled by the pit crew members and camera workers. she takes her helmet off, along with the brace that keeps her attached to her seat, waving her hair that was glistening in the lights, making her more ethereal to look at than she already was in that racing uniform. 
momo and sana walk up to her, exchanging kind regards and joking amongst each other of how well they each did up until the last quarter miles on the track.
“y/n!” 
you turn your head to see tzuyu, jihyo's racing teammate approach you. she’s been a really close friend with you, nayeon, and jeongyeon before she started racing in f1. you and her actually were on the same racing team back in your days with f2, before stepping away from the racing scene entirely to prioritize on other things that needed cultivating. 
“that was some nice driving in your second year of competing tzu.” you say, hugging her tightly as nayeon and jeongyeon jumped at you two in the tender moment.
tzuyu raises her helmet in the air, smiling at the crowd as well as the surrounding people near you two before being swept away by her racing team pit crew, “i’ll see you guys at the after party!” 
“ahh i’m so excited!” nayeon exclaims, walking past momo and sana’s cars towards jihyo's, who was still getting a well of congratulations from fellow drivers. a guard whispering in her ear that makes her head turn to you three approaching her. a smile is spread across her face as you begin to start running toward your girlfriend. 
she sets her helmet in the cockpit of her car, running at the same pace like yours before she jumps into your arms, spinning her around for a second while getting high on the scent of her hair filling your nose. jihyo meets your eye, the small height difference due to her being lifted off the ground by you before leaning in for a well deserved kiss to commemorate her victory. 
“congrats babe, you’re officially an f1 champion.” you mumble against her lips, smiling into the kiss more, not giving any mind to the flashing cameras catching you two. 
setting her down for another hug, she’s laughing, tears in her eyes, just clearly enjoying the moment that still hasn’t hit her yet. 
“oh my god- oh my god.” jihyo chokes out, running her hand through her hair as the noise of the cheers completely drowns everything out. 
once everything had calmed down and everyone on the grid had migrated to the podium part that was off the track, you stood to the side along with nayeon and jeongyeon—along with the pit crew members as you watched jihyo raise the trophy to mark the illustrious ending to a fantastic racing season. she’s handed a bottle of champagne that she pops open, spraying it in the crowd below and along with momo and sana, who both finished second and third respectively. 
a perfect night indeed, all it needed was the after party activities. 
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“what am i supposed to do against the fact that jihyo’s car is just a couple seconds faster than mine?” tzuyu asks, walking alongside you with your hands snaked around jihyo’s waist. she was out of her racing attire, wearing a sleek cropped leather racing jacket that showed off her midriff so well and apparently to you–the jacket was part of a new collaboration that she was a part of but didn’t say what it was about. 
“it’s not the car, it’s the driver’s intuition to read the track and find the best line for yourself possible.” jihyo says, dropping a hint of knowledge to tzuyu who closes her eyes, accepting the information without putting up an argument.
“y/n would’ve been your rival if she got the call up to one of the other racing teams.” 
you eye jihyo who looks down with her eyes closed, a small dimple peeking through that gives you an urge to kiss her cheek impulsively, gripping her side while doing so. it had been a while since you and jihyo had quality time to spend together. now that the season is pretty much over, nothing could hold you back to being with her–no early morning team meetings, no racing sim sessions, just you and jihyo together. 
“if i did that, i wouldn’t have met jihyo in the first place.” you say to tzuyu, jihyo tapping your shoulder, blushing at the notion of you being a possible racer going against her, but luckily that wasn’t the case since you were already a long way out from getting a shot for a racing team.
“we could be rivals to lovers if you wanted to! you should’ve! you would’ve made some solid competition.” jihyo says to you, tapping your shoulder again, making you pull her waist closer to you that gets her flustered. 
jihyo was reeled in by the way you were adamant with how you showed your affection towards her. those quick glances before entering the cockpit before the race, and even both of your guys’ lockscreens shared a picture of you kissing her helmet as a sign for good luck—knowing that you were already proud of her for what she’s accomplished so far. 
intimate moments were always special with jihyo, but since she was now a big time racer and you had her slip under your race lights, she had little to no time for you since this was a make or break season for her racing career–luckily enough, she saw it through in the end. 
“i think if i were to race for a team, it would have to be with jihyo, not against.” you chuckle at the end as the five of you reach a designated car that was assigned to take you guys for a post race meal that left your stomachs rumbling. 
“y/n and i call the backseats!” jihyo yells out, hand snaking to your hips before she grabs your hand to enter in the fourth row of the van. everyone else followed suit to take the seats in front of you two once inside. 
if there was anything about jihyo that you were aware of, it was that the moment you incited anything sexual with her, it would always lead to disaster. 
clearly, you had a thing for disasters. 
the last time you and jihyo had time to yourselves was after the monaco grand prix. you and her had an argument before the race that lit a fire under jihyo because of how sexually frustrated you became—this caused jihyo to finish on the podium which was a much needed placement in second just behind momo. if she finished third or below, it would’ve put her out of championship contention until the next couple races before las vegas.
after the race, jihyo completely ignored her teams celebratory dinner because she needed to set you straight for getting her horny in a do or die situation. needless to say the morning after, she was well relieved knowing that she fucked you good like there was no tomorrow. 
since then, you two haven’t hooked up since—that was three months ago. 
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the van strolls down the street, the bright lights of the casinos and hotels illuminating through the windows, passing small rays of light to each row evenly. 
jihyo catches you through the side of her eye, leaning over for a quick peck to your cheek that makes you giddy, her smiling lips against your face as she pulls you closer, pulling your face away before she could get her lips on them again. 
“you’re so concentrated on me now, are you sure you didn’t think about me while you were on the track?” you ask playfully. 
jihyo shakes her head, hands still hooking to your waist, forehead against your cap as she laughs again. 
“hey, i don’t want to see you guys do anything funny back there.” jeongyeon warns, the light from her phone screen flashed towards you two, causing you to put your hands up to block it. 
“we’re not jeong,” jihyo laughs out, grinning at the pair of eyes staring at her in the darkness. “i just missed my girlfriend, that's all.” 
“you two have been extra touchy since we got in the car, i’m sure something’s going on.” 
“why don’t you just focus on giving directions to the driver for dinner?” you blurt out, tossing your cap towards the front of the car, accidentally hitting nayeon in the back of the head. 
“ow! what the hell was that for?!” nayeon yells out, clutching the back of her head in pain. 
“sorry, it’s dark in here.” jihyo adds, the whole car laughing out before calming down just seconds later. 
you lean back on the seat, eyes on jihyo again. feasting on the eye candy next to you with the racer jacket in all of its glory. her top just stopped a little bit before her abs that were clearly present, the small belly button piercing gleaming in the darkness from the light reflected off of it. you were staring, but jihyo knew that she was attractive. 
jihyo scoots next to you, snaking your arm around her hip, nestling herself on your chest and closing her eyes after, descending into the seat more. 
“you know,” you whisper to her ear, “i gave the recommendation to put you on the medium soft tires at around lap 30.” 
jihyo looks up at you, astounded with what you said, “i was wondering why my car was feeling a little bit lighter after that pit stop.” 
you hum against her temple, planting another kiss, “you wanted to keep the hard tires? just make it harder for yourself?” 
she chuckles softly, fingers sliding on your neck as every touch that was grazed on your skin felt like electricity to you.
“maybe you wanted something softer…” tension suddenly giving way through your hooded eyes. 
jihyo picks up on this and she knows. 
“are you talking about soft tires or?”
“i’m talking about this.” you answer her with a whisper, leading her hand under your shirt, only for jihyo to realize that you weren’t wearing a bra under at all that makes her gasp in surprise. 
“someone’s a little bold today.” jihyo mutters against your ear, sending chills down your spine as she fondles with your left boob for a bit, pinching the bud of your nipple as the neediness crept through your body like wildfire. 
“aren’t you gonna show me how to handle this?” you ask, kissing her temple again before nibbling on her earlobe, jihyo stifling a moan by biting her lip to keep quiet. “i know you want the same thing to happen like in monaco, and you’re gonna give it to me.” you order in her ear.
jihyo was a ticking time bomb when it came to moments like these. the only thing that was on your mind now was how long could she hold out until you two reach the hotel room?
jihyo slides her hand down from your waist to the button of your pants, undoing it with ease with her fingers that makes you giggle a bit, impressed with her sleight of hand.
“don’t tell me you’re not wearing panties under here too?” she whispers in your ear, answering her own question when the pads of her fingertips feeling the lacy piece of garments below, realizing that this wasn’t a usual pair that you wore. 
“a little something for you, but you’re gonna have to wait till we get to the suite.” you mumble victoriously—a big mistake as jihyo slides her two fingers over your pulsing core, causing your breath to hitch from the contact, closing your legs a bit to prolong the sensation a little bit more before jihyo stops at your clit. 
“let’s not get caught now shall we?” 
you were breathless, in the back of a van, with people in front of you, and your girlfriend teasing you at the tips of her fingers—all of this was your doing in the first place. 
“jih–fuck you’re—” 
“you know how fast our cars were going, imagine if you were against the crash fence and the wind sweeps under?”
this woman, will be the death of you.
“don’t get me tempted now, you still have something for me to show later right?” jihyo mutters against your neck before sliding down to your soaked panties, seamlessly pulling it to the side before slipping a finger in your pussy that makes you gasp out loudly.
“everything okay back there?” 
you place your hand over your mouth to keep yourself quiet from moaning, jihyo lets out an ‘uhh’ before answering, “y/n just dropped something here, i’m picking it up.” a clear lie as she continues her long middle finger inside you, hips gyrating to add more spice to the movement that’s keeping your lips parted.
“so pretty for me…” jihyo licks your neck, making your shiver in the seat, “when you’re like this.” 
fuck, this was going a lot more better than you expected. 
the soft heavy, breaths fill the cushioned interior of the van as it drives in the late night. jihyo was unrelenting by stimulating you, rubbing your cilt in addition to her finger pumping inside. your pulsing is starting to quicken at your core, thighs slightly shaking knowing that your high was nearing, but you used everything you had to not let that happen. 
jihyo realizes this, and she too wants this to be saved for later. so she slips her hand out from your panties, perfect timing as the van reaches its destination—a shabu place that was recommended by nayeon. mouths needed to be fed, but yours and jihyo’s were craving for a different meal in mind. 
as the van pulls up to the parking lot, jihyo jumps at you in the seat, lips crashing against hers. you cup her cheeks, jihyo’s hands get tangled in your hair, both of you are matching the same energy and destitution. tongues swiping each other like a sword fight, gripping her leather jacket as your other hand snakes to her neck.  
she’s fast, she’s needy and my god you need her to be like this with you more often. 
you two hear the van stop in parking gear, and jihyo pulls away, looking towards the front to see that everyone in the rows ahead were starting to get their stuff and head outside. the both of you sit up, hands scrambling to have everything look presentable to the best extent before stepping out. 
jihyo exits the van, letting out a sigh while meeting with nayeon, jeongyeon, and tzuyu outside. 
“what happened with y/n?” tzuyu asks at the sight of you stepping out, cheeks clearly stained with a blush of pink, hair tosuled with your hat at an angle, and the worst part of all, your pants were unbuttoned for the whole world to see.
“oh, she just got a little car sick, that's all.” jihyo replies swiftly, making you lean over to sell the act. “i don’t think we’ll be able to eat with you guys tonight.” 
the small group groans out, unhappy with the shock announcement as you faked a clear cough, grasping at your stomach with one eye closed. 
“sorry guys,” you huff out. “i think being in the back row was a terrible idea for us.” 
terrible. you’re clearly mistaken, it was the best fucking idea to nearly get caught by your closest friends in a moving car getting edged to oblivion. 
“alright, we’ll see you back at the airport y/n, make sure you get some rest.” nayeon says, patting your shoulder in comfort while faked being woozy, nearly losing your balance. jihyo catches you, letting out a small laugh once she set up upright. 
“so silly of you to be on your phone the entire ride baby.” jihyo coos out, rubbing your face, enjoying the pampering that she’s giving you with both of her hands tapping your cheeks. 
“can we go now?” you say, tugging at jihyo’s racer jacket with the most babyish face you could ever pull out of your ass—all for the lie you think, but jihyo plays along just well. 
“okay okay, we’ll see you guys soon okay?!” jihyo asks the trio of girls in front of you guys, waving as the both of you walk back to the van. 
“get better y/nnnnn!” tzuyu yells out before you wave back at them with both eyes closed, jihyo escorting you to the seat before mashing her face with yours again. 
“such,” jihyo mumbles against your cheek, “a naughty girl for me.” pulling away with an audible smooch. 
“you wanted your gift? i think you’ll like what i have for you.” 
“i can hardly wait.” 
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jihyo’s assault on your body picks up right where it left off on the swift ride back to the hotel. luckily, your chauffeur was walled off in the front of the car with a soundproof window that was rolled all the way up—this meant the moans you’ve been holding back earlier could now be let out to its fullest content to jihyo’s ears with ease. 
she starts by pinning you on the chair, hands snaking up under your shirt to clasp at your breasts. her hands weren’t the biggest, but they fit on your chest oh so perfectly as she massages them, earning another moan through your lips against hers. 
“fuck ji–ah!” 
“shhh, save it for the room baby.” 
oh she’s getting you race ready. i mean, that’s the name of her game after all.
your lips clash again, hands splayed on her back, stripping the unreleased racer jacket off of her to reveal a simple black tank top underneath—a tight fitted one that made jihyo’s boobs a lot more bigger than they originally were. this catches your eye, causing to pull away, biting her lip and tugging at it as your hands slide up against the skimpy fabric keeping her boobs hostage. 
“my my world champ, you had these under your uniform and jacket the whole time?” 
“i know you love my boobs baby, they’re always there for you to grab a feel.” 
indulging was something that you were always good at, jihyo just waved the green flag for you to slide your hands up even further, thumbs bruising over her clothed nipple as you heard her breath hitch at the slightest touch at them. 
despite laying on the seat, you found it paramount to return the same sort of pleasure in your position to jihyo as much as you could, leaning up to plant your lips at her neck, slightly nibbling at it while your hands kept themselves occupied by massaging her tits. 
“ngh, y/n baby…” jihyo says, her head dips even deeper next to yours, continuing to mark her up, making up for lost time like her qualifying races to get the highest placement before race day. 
“let me work you up too, relax.” you groan against her neck, causing her to whimper at the feeling of your lips sliding down her neck to the outfaced bone of her clavicle. while that was happening, you lift your leg up, shifting it over to her ass, your thigh pressing against her core through her jean shorts, making her moan against your ear that might’ve made you cum right then and there from the sound.
jihyo then stops you from sucking away from her neck to the point that she might have to have a better cover when her race coach kangin asks about it the next time she sees him, tapping your shoulder to lay your head back, crashing her lips with yours again, pecking left and right until the van does sudden stops and turns. 
the both of you start to sit up, jihyo having the higher position, looking at the window to only realize that they’ve made it back to the hotel that you and her were staying at. she gets off of your body, grabbing her racing jacket and zipping it up to cover the action that was happening below her neck as damage control. 
you fix your appearance as well, fixing your shirt and hat to make it look more presentable once the van comes to a complete stop and the both of you calm down from the second round of ‘whatever the hell this game of playing: who’s gonna break first from kissing, sucking, and getting the other person horny first’ stepping out of the van and into the lobby with hands twined with each others. 
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you’ve watched jihyo zoom past the track during the qualifying race the day prior to get first place against the nineteen best drivers in the world, but this woman who's leading you by the hand through the hotel lobby might have just set a new record full stop with how fast the two of you walked from the van to the elevator in record time. 
if you were to look back at this night and one were to ask what happened on the way to the room? you’d say that it’s the vaguest gray area in your memory that you’ve probably had ever really. you and jihyo share a laugh at you almost slipping in your chunky converse shoes in contrast to jihyo’s boots, her hand on your waist while yours was hovering just above her butt. the elevator greeted you with no visitors–a perfect setting for the prelude of tonight’s prime time events that you’ve waited for so long. 
“so no more races for the time being right?” you ask jihyo, her back turned to yours tapping on the panel to the floor of your room.
“for now, but i do want to have a joyride session on that track outside the city.” jihyo answers, scratching her head now facing you, before you pull her in for a hug, jihyo shifts herself again so that she’s now facing the elevator door. 
the metal box continues to ascend up slowly to the level–the highest level of the hotel to be exact, all part of your plan to keep jihyo’s motor running. 
jihyo exhales out, a hint of tiredness peeking as she rubs your hand with her thumb, humming along with the soft jazzy music that was coming out of the small speaker on the top right of the elevator wall. you lean your head to her right side, blowing air to the side of her face that makes her chuckle at the intimate action. 
“you know,” you whisper, “i overhead that you were almost told to give the position back to momo after backing out on her challenge on turn 11.” 
“but i didn’t.” jihyo replies, “the officials looked over that contact play thoroughly and i just kept my ground. sana caught up to us though and eventually i fell behind after oversteering one corner.” 
“and you still won.” you say, pressing a kiss to her neck. 
jihyo sighs out after closing her eyes, and she might just fall asleep with you right then and there. 
“since you didn’t give up the position, i’ll give you something else.” you mumble against her ear, hands snaking up to hold her tits under her jacket. 
“oh? and what that might be that you plan on giving me?” 
you couldn’t help but chuckle at her oblivious question, playing along to your act in this whole script that was devised in your head, a perfect ending–consider this to be the ninth symphony of beethoven’s repertoire. 
jihyo was five lights away glowing red and you pushed the crushing blow–the green light that jihyo has been waiting for all night. 
“i’ll give you my lips.” 
jihyo smiles with her teeth out to the world behind you, turning you around, lips on yours again for what seems to be the infinite time tonight, but this lip lock was more serious. pure lust had taken over jihyo like the adrenaline that rushed in her veins while racing earlier. 
your back makes contact with the wall behind you, her leg slots itself in between yours, pressing against your core as a get back for the same thing you did to her in the van, earning a moan into her lips that just simply upped the ante within jihyo. 
she pulls away eyes hooded, breaths matching together and they’re fucking heavy. the pace was overwhelming to jihyo’s resurgence in sexual frustration—to be fair, you were the one to start things in the first place so this shouldn’t come as a shock to you. 
in a millisecond of being off guard, jihyo forces herself on you, pinning your wrists to the wall, whining at the sudden grip your girlfriend was giving you, her mouth slashing at the new territory claimed with her tongue leading the charge. 
retreating with a ‘pop’ of the lips, followed by another quick peck with a slight tug at the end before making her way down to your neck for another bombardment of marks awaiting your flesh. 
“j-jihyo, y-y-you—fuck!” 
a clear ‘mmph’ could be heard as jihyo sucks away at your neck, smiling against it as she develops a steady rhythm. a bite here followed by a suck, and another bite followed by a second suck to soothe it. 
“you gave me the green light, so don’t back down now.” jihyo mutters against your neck, the scent of your expensive perfume filling her nose and taste buds. 
letting out a laugh with a moan mixed into your vocal chords, jihyo continued her work for what seemed like ages, only for her to stop to kiss you again as the elevator dings loudly, indicating that you two have reached the level that your hotel room was at. jihyo steps away from you, leaning back a bit to admire the damage that she had inflicted upon your face and neck—for now. 
she then takes your hand, leading to where your room was a few steps away from the lounging area that was across from the set of elevators. you catch a couple glimpses of your reflections and you smile at your devious but perfectly executed plan. 
your hat was the only thing covering your disheveled hair, lips were puffy swollen, and the marks. the marks. ‘jesus christ’ was the thought exactly at the sight of your neck being spread evenly out with red and the appearance definitely made you feel the way that it should.
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a quick swift of the keycard over the lock and you usher jihyo inside the room that you two were staying at. housekeeping did their handiwork cleaning up the room; the king size bed neatly made with all of the assorted bags left untouched on the right side where the tv was hanging. 
jihyo slides off her racer jacket, setting it on the chair while you went to the bathroom to freshen yourself up a bit while jihyo relaxed on the edge of the bed, discarding her boots by kicking them off under the desk. she then leans back, her head looking up to the ceiling above, her eyes closed in complete relaxation after a full day of logistical racing from the moment she got up from the bed this morning. 
surely that team dinner would be postponed until probably tomorrow given how tired jihyo was, right? 
(that tiredness would suddenly wash away when you stepped out the bathroom.)
she sees you leaning against the wall, nothing except the lacy panties that jihyo felt back in the van earlier on the way to the shabu place. your back was arching away from the wall with your ass still pressed against it, forming a figure in the low light emulating from the lamp behind. 
this image of you in front of jihyo had her salivating, lips parted with a small creeping beneath it as you made your way to the bed’s edge. her hands wrapping around your exposed waist, with your hands nestling themselves at her neck. jihyo was still speechless, eyes widened to the max while you prompted her hands to roam freely as they pleased–now with the proper privacy, there was nothing holding her back from ravishing you. 
“somebody’s a little preoccupied.” 
jihyo looks up at you, her pupils dilated at the sight of you towering over her for a moment. 
“fuck you’re so pretty.” jihyo responds, leaving a chaste kiss to your midsection, arms pulling you closer to her so that she can indulge more in your body. 
there’s something about the way her hands move, finding the right spots across your abs and back for you to let out a hitched breath or a sound of approval from your lips, lightly nipping away at the skin that was left unmarked from earlier on the way back that wasn’t your neck or face. her reactions were stupid fast when it came to racing, but now she was taking her time. scouting the valleys and curves on your body, just below your breasts. 
“who said that you could stop?” you giggled, initiating a squeeze from jihyo the second after, feeling your perky mounds to her own volition. 
“can’t believe you’re so perfect for me like this.” jihyo husks out, eliciting a soft moan to leave your mouth, dipping your head to give a kiss on the top of her head. you then tap her shoulders twice, stopping her movements. stepping away to get something from the mini fridge that was hidden away next to the main dresser, a bottle of rare champagne that would probably be worth half of jihyo’s salary, so you bought it under her name for this special occasion. 
“aw for me?” jihyo pouts, “if this was your celebratory gift i think we should just call it a night then.” 
“obviously not,” you say, “what do you take me as?” 
“i don’t know, maybe you’re just a stranger who’s staying in my room with me.” 
“we’re celebrating your first world championship, just with my own little twist to it.” you respond, cracking the bottle open and handing her a glass that was filled to the brim for her to drink. 
“uh y/n, you know i can’t finish this right?” 
“oh i know,” you say, “i just have other uses for that.” jihyo then takes a quick swig of the rare-aged champagne, sighing out after downing nearly half the glass in one gulp, giving it back for you to finish the rest before placing it down on the table. 
jihyo doesn’t pick up on this until the very last second, the sight of you straddling her with the bottle of champagne, her hands finding themselves holding you at the hips. you lean down for another lip lock with jihyo again, her fingers clutching down your pelvis trying to get something started. the heat is rushing down all over your body, a growing sensation from below building up, it took everything in your body to not feed into jihyo’s desire. 
you pull away to see jihyo’s dilated pupils, yours was doing the same. the heavy breaths were not helping as the tension rose in the space between you two once again. you give her another kiss before leaning back, raising the bottle a little bit over your chest, spilling the expensive alcohol over your body. jihyo doesn’t react to this either, she was too attracted to your image at the moment–the marks on the neck and chest, the way you were above jihyo with a gaze that made you ten-thousand times hotter than she initially thought. it was an overload, but you finally gave her the edging push that broke down her self control. 
“taste me baby, i need to be cleaned up anyway…” 
jihyo doesn’t hesitate for a single second, diving right in immediately after you said that, dragging her tongue across your chest, before kissing in between the middle part where your cleavage was. bathing in sweet champagne wasn’t an idea you were forward with, but clearly jihyo was loving the whole act you were putting on for her. 
“fuck jihyo–ah!” you moaned out while jihyo gave out satisfying lick after satisfying lick, leaving no spot open. she then changes the ante, taking your erected nipple and closing her mouth over it. 
she continues this for a couple more minutes, a trail of pecks across your body as jihyo continues to mark her territory. 
“is this ‘mmph–” jihyo mumbles in between kisses, “my prize?” 
“i’m all yours for tonight hyo, ruin me.” 
jihyo scans your body once more, deciding what to do first with you before instinctively forcing your hips down to her thigh. your core making contact with the skin that makes you yelp in surprise. this also didn’t help that jihyo lifted her leg up a bit, shifting your hips in a back and forth motion that makes you groan–longing for more, biting your lip as jihyo revels at the heavenly sounds that she’s hearing. 
“you like grinding your pussy on my thigh like that baby?” 
“jihyo you’re such a–” 
she shuts you up with a kiss, making you release a low whimper as you grind against her toned leg with your clothed cunt.
“keep moving and don’t stop.” 
fuck. 
your eyes catch jihyo licking her first two fingers, placing it upright against her leg where your pussy was making contact, sliding along your folds through the fabric—hips buckling at the angle that she made her fingers curve a bit, teasing you till the very end. 
“you really want me inside that badly huh?” jihyo asks, the neediness clouding your head at the sound of her low voice. “so fucking wet for me after your little stunt in the van?” 
yeah, you’re so fucked tonight. 
jihyo raises her middle finger above the others as the throbbing doubles in an instant. your head leans back as jihyo kisses your clavicle—your senses now overloading as you rode her finger which were now ripping away at you, her other hand moving your hips, shaky breaths petering out while jihyo circles your clit. 
she watches you with a feasting intent, the lust oozing through as you fuck yourself on her thigh, unclasping her bra with just one hand while keeping her eyes on you. she then positions her thumb where your clit was landing, now pressing against it when you’re dragging your hips on her
“fuck fuck fuck–” 
“yeah, i know you couldn’t resist fucking my fingers.” 
“god, jihyo you– shit” 
“mhm,” jihyo hums out, “you’re so close baby.” 
you curse out, basically shouting to nearby hotel guests staying on the floor. the words wobbling out of your mouth as jihyo worked your lower body. the desperation was there—all jihyo just needed to was force it out of you, in this case she did. you squirmed under her touch, gasping at the sensation with your stomach churning away in pleasure. 
jihyo withdraws her hand away from the problem that’s bothering you between your legs, making you whine, the sound almost like a confused kid that got their toy taken away after being in trouble. snickering at your act, you slap her shoulders lightly, playfully complaining as jihyo kisses you again to calm down. 
“you’re so-” 
“i’m giving you what you want, no? jihyo goes for another kiss. 
she isn’t wrong. 
“i thought you said that you were going to be my special present for tonight?” 
you nod. 
“that’s what i thought, now relax for me babe.” 
god. you are so done for. 
the pillows behind jihyo are met with your back against them, switching the places between you two as she crawls up your body, her knees between your legs as she leaned down for another kiss, hair getting tangled through your fingers, jihyo continuing her assault on your face and body with her lips. 
“i’m gonna treat you good okay?” 
you whimper in agreement, nodding your head as jihyo lowers her gaze, a smirk plowing through as she runs her hand on your face, cheeks flooded hot pink, placing her lips on your neck again before trailing down your body very slowly. 
jihyo is satisfied with how you are under her touch, but she always, always wants more for herself. her lips find themselves on your breasts again like earlier, returning the attention to your nipples while massaging your soft mounds. she knows that you’re gonna give into her desires—there’s no point in putting up a fight against her (you did the same thing to her back in monaco, but now the roles were reversed.)
mindlessly putting a hand to the back of her head, jihyo notes this, canvassing your body with her lips in every corner that she could possibly touch. she’d seen you model for underwear brands and daily outfits of the day on your instagram page, but when it came to the bed, jihyo memorized every soft spot there was to discover–she knew how to push your buttons and it showed. 
“you know what i want.” you’re practically begging for jihyo at this point. 
she happily hums out, ready to fufill the obligation. leaving your boobs down to your waist, trailing lower and lower. you try to look away, eyes shut from the sensing danger—the need to be everso fulfilled immediately. there’s a pause for a few seconds as jihyo hooks her hands to the tops of your thighs, staring at the underwear that you were weaning. 
and you just had to look up. 
you see her eyes filled with so much lust between your pulsing core, placing a kiss on your inner thigh, shuddering at the contact of her lips, inching closer to the middle, but she stops again with a smirk and you are left breathless. 
“i didn’t know you were wearing the unreleased pair today.” 
“you still have to post your announcement tomorrow, so i had to remind you somehow.” 
jihyo looks away, keeping her eyes on you, rather impressed at the effort you made, especially in a scenario like this. 
“i have an idea for the picture already, but i’m gonna need this back.” 
her fingers found the elastic waistband of the lacy calvin klein underwear that was keeping your pussy hostage from jihyo’s lips, pulling it down slightly, but it was what she did next that made everything in your body race. 
she pulls it down a little bit past your upper thigh, grabbing it with her teeth and pulling it away, her hands sliding down your legs as well in one smooth motion. the satisfaction clearly seen in her eyes once the panties were tossed off to somewhere in the room that won’t be found until sometime in the morning. 
this totally won’t come back to haunt you later, right?
you didn’t have to say anything, jihyo makes her way up your inner thighs again, the trail of kisses approaching the sensitive spot as she takes in the aroma of your sex, getting drunk in the sensation of it before placing a kiss to your wetness. 
“shit.” you mumble, your teeth catching your lip. whatever worries you had about earlier today or the flight you’re taking back home tomorrow, none of that mattered as jihyo’s instinct to please herself by having you destroyed was all that mattered. jihyo grunts against your heat, the vibrations from your cunt bucking your hips from the contact as her tongue lashes mercilessly inside you. 
“fucking hell jihyo you really–fuck!” 
the encouragement only pushes jihyo to get more out of you. pressing your legs to her head to lock her down in place, hands on your hips in a better position. “god, please. please.” you’re begging to let go under jihyo’s will, but it won’t be that easy to meet her needs. 
“so good jihyo, g-god you’re so g-good nnh” 
jihyo detaches her lips from your swollen clit, sliding her finger over your folds, fingertips getting soaked with your seeping liquid. your hips are off the bed, eyes rolling back from the overstimulating feeling of getting edged for the second time. it was all head racking, your voice filled with needy gasps that jihyo finds thrilling—for you to be all dumb for your girlfriend and it really is something to behold about if you’re jihyo. 
“fuck me please. i need you, just don’t be a bit-” 
jihyo slaps your pussy in retaliation to your needy attitude; the first and only warning you’re getting from her. 
“i’m gonna go along as i please, you don’t have a say on whether or not i get to fuck you dumb, i do.” 
she doesn’t hesitate after she says that, slapping your pussy again to make you yell at the sharp pain coming from your hips. 
“you’re gonna be a good girl for me. before, during, and after i ruin you.” 
two fingers slipped inside of you, knowing that you were already primed and ready from jihyo’s bombardment of lips and nipping of your skin regardless if she gave you the heads up or not. 
“yes! please, i need more–” you rasp out at the curling fingers of jihyo in your pussy, followed by her lips nibbling away at your clit. she speeds up the motions, building up a consistent rhythm to follow–her own driving line in tearing you up. 
there’s no delay for however long jihyo pleased you for her own pleasure. in, out. in and out. she continues to dive right in with her attention to detail, mouth and fingers working in complete cohesion like her pit crew, higher and higher the tempo increases until–
“wait- sh- i’m gonna– i’m gonna– ah i’m gonna—” 
your hips drag to the shape of jihyo’s fingers, jumping and twitching—fighting down the moan in her throat until it all comes down the highest apex that jihyo could create.
“yes yes yes– oh my go-ah! i’m cumming!” you could barely manage, and jihyo believes this to be true, eyes widening at the juices flowing down to her mouth, pulling away as she rubs your pussy furiously. “fuck i’m cumming – jihyo i’m cumming—” 
“such a good girl y/n; keep cumming for me.” 
the climax was well worth the time dragged out, your body still stuttering and sensitive to the touch even after jihyo’s fingers were pulled out from you. your eyes return back to their normal state, as your mouth was still parted open, looking at jihyo examining the slick from you all webbed up on her fingers, laying beside you with a kiss to your cheek and her hand to your mouth. 
“suck it off for me baby.” 
you don’t say anything but open your mouth, receiving your own taste from jihyo’s fingers as she watches you lick up every spot that was soaked with your cum, giving her a seductive look in her eyes that makes her own cunt throb at the sight of you. 
“shit y/n.” jihyo mutters, withdrawing her fingers from your mouth before kissing you sloppily, breaths between you two were still heavy and filled with a sense of hunger that had been there before, but now the desire was raised up to eleven. 
“flip over baby, let me see you from behind.” she purrs out, giving you space by getting on her knees while you roll over. your legs were already smoothened like water–belly down, ass up. the desperation for more was there– your body completely reduced to jelly as jihyo felt out your waist, kneading your ass.
there’s a pause for a brief moment, jihyo runs her hand through her hair, taking in the sight of your back all there in its basking glory, biting her lip before leaning down to plant a trail of kisses down your spine, each kiss making you pant more loudly than the last. 
“this view never gets old for me you know?” she murmurs, and all you could produce with your mouth was a muffled whine into the pillow. jihyo’s skin makes contact with yours, arching your back slightly as jihyo presses down on the small of your back. 
“please baby,” is all you can plead through the covers–the only offering you have to give is your body molded into the mattress. 
jihyo would draw out more of your begging, but she knew that she wanted to have more fun with you, slipping inside you again with a single finger to start, letting out a wail while shoving your face into the sheets more to keep it down, but jihyo wasn’t having any bullshit of playing it safe. 
dragging her finger out, her other hand reaches for you hair, making you look up–eyes shut with a gasp of air with your legs coming up as well in response to the rough handling of you. 
“i thought i told you to be a good girl for me y/n, you don’t get to have the patience for me tonight.” 
a sob leaves your lips, with your back arching even more up as jihyo tosses your head back to the mattress looking out to the side—slipping two curled fingers inside, resisting the urge to grab jihyo’s arm to pick up the pace. 
“yes yes. oh my gah-” the whines are barely understandable, throwing your hips back to meet jihyo’s hand down the middle. your walls getting more and more slicker with each thrust inching deeper and deeper. 
jihyo palms her free hand down on your back, setting you in place. a piton in the rock as a stepping point as your cunt is being stretched by three fingers. “you’re so good when you’re like this.” 
you’re saying nonsense, jihyo’s smiling at the image of you getting completely blown out under her ingrained into her head. it’s sloppy, the strokes are getting too much to bear–the sheets are crinkled to the point where it shouldn’t even be on the bed anymore. 
“fuck jihyo, please so close– ‘unna cum again–” 
jihyo leans forward to your ear, not letting up on the pressure of her three fingers inside of you—shifting your head to meet hers on the left side so that she can hear your huffing moans more clearly. “yeah? i love when you sound like this–all fucked out for me that you’re begging for more?” 
don’t stop. please it’s so fucking amazing. 
“jih–hngh! please, fuck - its so - ngh, god i ca-” 
your lidded eyes meet hers that were burning with lust, throwing your hips back continuously for a couple more seconds, whimpering through your open lips–fervently shaking at jihyo’s fingers giving one more curl at your g-spot, pushing you to the edge.
“mmmph fuck god-” 
and just like that, your walls clamp down around jihyo’s fingers–closing your legs from her underhand grip to prolong the feeling. she slides her hands out of your worked cunt, hips shaking even with your ass up in the air before crumbling down to the mattress beneath you. 
jihyo gives you some space again, dismounting from your lower thighs, as it took almost the remaining strength you had left to lay upright, the sensation from two orgasms back to back (this was still the beginning of the ‘night’ so there was a lot more in store soon.) the afterglow looked heavenly on you as jihyo laid right next to you, pressing her lips against your jaw while you hummed out despite your disheveled state. 
“so pretty…” she whispers to you, meeting your eyes for another sloppy kiss and massages your scalp while your breathing returns to normal. you lean up jihyo’s chest as you close your eyes for a few moments, enjoying the embrace that you’ve missed so much from her until tonight. 
“fuck,” you sigh out, still trembling and already fucking sore, but jihyo knew that there was still work to be done with you, and she knew that you were aiming for a fair trade of pleasure. 
“you ready to go for another one?” jihyo asks you, rubbing your boob with her finger, grazing your nipple again, lightly pinching it. you stayed still for a second before jihyo would be caught off guard with the surge of control that flowed through your body.
in a split second you flip jihyo over, hovering over her body while you dive back for another kiss, biting her lip again before lowering yourself to her pulse point at the neck, earning a moan of approval from her,
“why don’t you explain to me about the future plans of jyp’s racing team while i eat you out?” you ask in between kisses as you make your way down, keeping your eyes with jihyo’s while sliding off her jorts and panties, raising her legs up in the air–a complete dynamic switch from her being on top of you to sinking into the mattress. 
jihyo is left flustered at your request, knowing that her special present for winning the race would have her running laps for the entire night. 
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a PA system is overheard announcing a departing flight from las vegas to somewhere out in the east coast that was probably a connecting flight, but it wasn’t yours. 
“so, i think everything went well with the after party two days ago.” your eyes lock onto nayeon who was sipping away a thai tea drink, scrolling away on her phone while you look at your laptop that showed the picture of jihyo getting drenched in champagne at the podium ceremony. 
“i think the hangover is still lingering.” you hear tzuyu say, patting her shoulder out of genuine comfort for your close racing friend. now that the offseason was underway, it was a definite break for the drivers to get the downtime that they so thoroughly deserved after a long season, and before you know it, it’ll come back around again. 
“i thought jeongyeon was gonna be with us.” you say to nayeon, looking up from her phone to meet your gaze with those round glasses of her’s that just fit her vibe so well. 
“it actually turns out that she met someone at the club last night, so she’s gonna stay with her for another day or two.” 
“does her someone have a name?” 
“mina, i think.” 
interesting news of development from your close circle of friends. speaking of developments–
tzuyu scrolls away on instagram, noticing a picture from jihyo’s profile that made her gasp out in public, a few surrounding people from the seating area behind you three taking notice of her being startled. 
“what happened tzuyu?” 
“jihyo’s the new ambassador for calvin klein?!” 
you act shocked, but you already knew the news and to be fair, you did remind her that night about announcing it. 
“really!? let me see.” nayeon asks, tzuyu handing the phone to her for nayeon to have a look, her mouth forming an o in surprise to how she announced it. 
once you saw the picture, you didn’t think anything of it–until you got a second glance at what it actually was. 
the picture was set in the hotel room, a familiar hotel room. the curtains were parted as the morning after that certain night was a cloudy morning–a perfect backdrop for a spontaneous photoshoot. jihyo stands at the window with her back facing the camera arms raised with the view behind her. she was wearing nothing but the same fucking lacy panties that jihyo drew down your legs with just her teeth. her bare back clearly toned showing in the picture and with a large CK on the corner of the photo. 
“how come we didn't see you back at the hotel room y/n?” nayeon asks you, looking at the photo again with tzuyu’s phone in your hand still. 
“well...” you try to answer, still thinking about that night–the sounds of grunts and moans filing your head, the sight of jihyo's face completly wrecked at the sight of fucking you before snapping out of it.
“you still haven’t told us what you were doing that night when we were supposed to eat out.” 
"i thought i told you guys that ji-"
tzuyu gasps again, but this time in a more quiet manner. 
“what is it?” nayeon gasps again at tzuyu’s small scare. 
“look what i noticed in the bottom corner of the picture.” 
tzuyu points at bottom corner, a small circular mirror on the table. the reflection from that said mirror shows a person wearing a red and black racer jacket with a smile creeping through at the very top of the mirror. their neck riddled with marks all over and the jacket not zipped up, exposing a little bit of their breasts in between.
“i know that smile from anywhere, and that jacket really looks familiar.”
“she’s not even wearing anything under that jacket either!” 
the two girls look at you, a beaming smile on both of their faces with the tsunami of questions that they were going to sweep you in. 
easy to say that jihyo’s underwear model announcement on her instagram page after winning the formula one championship was nothing more than a simple photo finish.
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luvjunie · 9 months
Text
— roller skating
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pairing: e-42!miles x fem!reader
contains: romance, slightlyyy (barely) suggestive fluff, miles and reader are in their late teens for realistic purposes
summary: you and miles go on a date to the roller rink and you have a hard time picking up the skill. you ask him to demonstrate for you and he obliges, but you’re so caught up in him that you’re not sure you learned anything at all. wc: 1,254
a/n: if you want to listen to the song mentioned while reading, i suggest you start it when you come across the spotify link i added during the exact scene it’s playing in the story. i highly recommend waiting until prompted so you can experience exactly what reader did cause chileeee. it hits differenttt like i fr made myself fall in love with this one 😭 also if you didn’t know, this is the exact vibe of a black roller rink lol. example 2
🎧: Close To You - Dreezy, T-Pain
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“miles, i’m going to fall.” you whined nervously, your body basically glued to the length of your boyfriend’s right arm.
“you won’t ma, i got you.”
he laughed gently at your uneasy stance, and secretly at how terrified you were of participating in what’s been one of his favorite activities since he was a child.
his skates rolled smoothly against the floor as he guided the both of you to the rink; but yours, however, awkwardly clunked around as you settled for taking wary steps, instead of actually gliding like you were supposed to.
how you ended up agreeing to a date at the roller rink with miles was beyond you. you were someone who tripped over your own two feet at least twice a day from simply trying to walk. but with his promise of teaching you and his guarantee of going slow, your nerves had dissipated some— until you’d actually slipped the skates on and got out onto the rink.
“don’t pick your feet up mama. just push them out to the side, one after the other and lean your body forward. you got it.”
you heard his instructions loud and clear, but your brain still struggled to send the correct signals to your unsophisticated body.
you wobbled against the browned, laminated wood, not really a fan of your newfound lack of control when it came to your own legs. right hand hovered out beside you in preparation for a tumble, the fingers of your left were tightly clamped around miles’ bicep as an effort to keep your balance. you had a death grip on him, too focused on not eating shit to wonder if you were hurting him or not. you weren’t, but even if you were, he wouldn’t tell you.
“you’re overthinkin’ it.” he smiled down at you, finding your instinctive need to hold onto him adorable.
“how the hell do you do this without falling flat on your ass?” you asked, already exasperated from your short trek from the bench.
“i’m just like that.” he shrugged suavely, chuckling discreetly when your head turned towards him with a pointed glare. “practice. my moms taught me when i was eight,” he rephrased, and you stumbled suddenly, but he quickly caught you by your arm, two strong hands steadying you before your feet could sweep out from under you.
“okay, no, this isn’t gonna work,” a shaky breath pushed passed your lips and somehow you managed to bring the both of you to a stop over by the wall of the rink, hand instantly finding purchase on the railing. “can you just, i don’t know… demonstrate, first?” you waved your hand around, motioning towards the other people out on the floor to get your point across. “maybe if i watch you do it, it’ll come to me easier.”
he nodded, retreating from you slowly, backwards. he gestured back and forth between the both of you with his finger, your eyes unintentionally falling to it. “eyes on me, aight?” he instructed with a subtle smirk, a sultry trace lingering in his tone.
you couldn’t take them off him even if you tried, so that wouldn’t be a problem.
you were convinced your attraction towards this man couldn’t become any stronger than it already was, until “Close To You” by Dreezy started playing through the speakers and the spot lights on the ceiling dimmed dreamily to a mellowed pink, blue, and orange— blending into a seductive mix of captivating hues that illuminated the rink. you felt yourself swoon, and had half a mind to curse out whoever was on music and lighting for aiding in the palpitations of your heart as your eyes followed your boyfriend closely.
you watched his feet first, as one fanned out in a small half-circle after the other, the movement allowing him to skillfully glide out onto the bustling rink.
how he was able to skate backwards when you had such a hard time grasping the concept of even doing it the normal way, you didn’t know. not to mention sifting through people without bumping into a single one of them. and while the technique of it all seemed simple on paper, what really impressed you was how effortless he made it look.
facing the opposite way of everybody else as he cruised, his hips languidly swayed to the beat of the music, upper body leaning just the slightest with them and you had no choice but to gawk at him— at how handsome he looked, at how good he was at this. at how his lips were absentmindedly tucked into themselves due to his focus, then unfurled to faintly mouth the lyrics.
lord have mercy.
you were mesmerized to say the least, lips parted somewhat and mouth dry. it was like everyone else had disappeared, like the two of you were the only ones in the room; time moving slower than it usually did.
once he started enjoying himself and got into a groove, he’d forgotten you were even watching him, until he caught your marveling eyes transfixed on him from across the rink, chin dropping to his chest for a beat as he simpered to himself. tongue wetting his lips, he shook his head in amusement. he already knew why you were looking at him like that.
with one foot expertly crossing in front of the other periodically, he maneuvered himself through a few stragglers with a brief look over his shoulder, swiftly spinning around a couple that happened to be in his way.
yeah, now he was just showing off.
you had no idea what your face looked like, but as he rounded back over to where you were, he laughed at your awestruck expression and called out to you.
“you droolin’, mami!”
if your jaw wasn’t already dropped from watching him nonchalantly coast around, it definitely was now.
your fingers mindlessly rushed to check, because honestly you wouldn’t be surprised if you were, only for a playful glower to settle onto your face when you realized he was messing with you.
having forgotten you were supposed to try for yourself, your eyes widened in slight panic when he suddenly skated over to you and gently took your hand, pulling you out onto the floor against your will.
“no no no no-!”
“cálmate, mama.” he drawled, his words dragging on as he shot you that same charming smile that’d made you fall in love with him in the first place. “i’ll hold you, no te preocupes (don’t worry). just c’mere,”
you gave him a look of uncertainty, but reluctantly moved your feet just enough to get closer to him anyway. he met you halfway, and snaked his right arm around your waist, expertly turning you so your backside was facing him before he pulled you flush against his body, and your teeth found your bottom lip before you could stop them.
his left arm then came around to your front to meet the other and your lungs drew in a wavered breath at the feeling of his hands resting on the soft of your inner thighs, dangerously close to having your knees buckling. your face bloomed with a sweltering heat, mind entirely corrupted by him and him only. how the intoxicating aroma of his dior sauvage cologne invaded your nostrils; how it felt being against him like this. lashes fluttering and mind turning to putty at the way he was holding you, your warning to him was merely a whispered reminder.
“miles.”
“shhh, i know what i’m doin’.” his response had a double meaning to it as he kept you tightly pressed to him, figure hunched over yours a bit. his breath warmed your skin and his lips brushed the shell of your ear when he spoke, his hands tapping rhythmically against your thighs to keep up with the beat of the song while he helped guide you into the same fluid movement he’d demonstrated prior.
your hands came down to rest overtop his, and you were shocked at the way your body naturally began to sway in sync along with his once you let yourself relax into him; the both of you settling into a comfortable stroll.
“see, ¿que te dije? (see, what’d i tell you?)” he teased, his voice a deep hum against your cheek. “you got it.”
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- please don’t plagiarize, copy, or repost my works to any other platforms!
likes, comments, and reblogs are very appreciated 💗
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inthe-dark-tonight · 3 months
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what she wants, anywhere
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frankie morales x f!reader
summary: trying to hide the fact that you're horny from frankie while on an international flight leads to unexpectedly joining the mile high club
word count: 4.4k
warnings: E (18+ mdni!!!) dubcon, smut, porn w very little plot, pet names, established relationship, unsafe p in v, airplane sex, slight breeding kink (special just for cami hehe) creampie, reader uses frankie's hand to try and get off, no mention of age gap so read how you’d like :)
notes: this idea has been in my head for a few months but I never really knew how i wanted to write it, then an unreleased harry styles song came on shuffle (complicated freak - iykyk) and that just kinda fed the brainrot even more and…. now here we are. i'm also very aware that this is pretty unrealistic but it's fic so!! also let's pretend that airplane bathrooms aren't super gross i'm sorry. thank you to the loml @javiscigarette for always beta reading and listening to my insane rambling, i don’t know what i would do without you and our single shared braincell ILYSM xo
i also hit a new follower milestone this past week so i just want to say an extra big thank you to everyone that reads, likes, comments, reblogs or follows 🤍 enjoy!! :)
You and Frankie have had this trip planned for almost 6 months now, the two of you needing a vacation from work and day to day life. Now the only thing standing between the two of you and a week long vacation in Italy is an eight and a half hour flight. 
From the second you got to the airport you were on edge, worried about your bags, your tickets, your passports, if you had forgotten anything in your carry on, up until you got to security when you finally calmed down. When you got up to the belt, Frankie grabbed a few plastic bins throwing both of your carry ons into one as you removed your jacket and shoes. As you stuffed everything into your bin, you glanced over at him, watching him intently as he started to take his jacket off. 
You watched the way his biceps flexed as he slipped his jacket off of his broad shoulders and tossed it into the bin. Next he removed his hat, running his calloused fingers through his tousled curls, pushing them back before preparing to remove his belt. At that point you were noticeably gawking at him, watching the way his thick fingers unfastened his belt buckle before rapidly pulling it out the belt loops of his jeans and tossing it into the bin as well.
He looked over at you, giving you a quick once over before asking, “That everything?”
You weren’t able to conjure up any words, just a quick mhm and a nod of your head as you two moved forward. When he stepped into the metal detector, your eyes were glued to him the whole time. As he lifted his hands above his head, his shirt lifted the slightest bit, causing a small sliver of his soft tummy to peek out. A warmth started to build deep in your core from that moment forward. 
Once the two of you were through security, he slipped his belt back on followed by his jacket. You swiped his hat before he could grab it, quickly stuffing it into your carry on. 
He laughed, head tilting to the side as the dimple on his cheek deepened. “C’mon” he shot you a look. “Give it.” He held his large hand out towards you. 
“We’re inside now, don’t need it.” You smiled at him sweetly, a warmth blooming in your chest as his eyes met yours. 
He grunted, grabbing your bags with a small smile still plastered on his face before turning to walk towards your gate. Your eyes are glued to him as you walk, keeping a few steps behind him. 
By the time you finally sit down at your gate, the heat in your lower stomach has grown even more and Frankie is painfully unaware of the way you’re watching him, desire growing each second. The terminal was crowded and there weren’t many seats, so you sat across from him a bit upset at the distance while also enjoying the view of your man.
You sit across from him with a book in your hand, legs crossed as you peeked up over the top of your book every now and then to admire him. He was leaning back in the chair, one arm on the armrest and the other casually resting between his legs, right where you want him most. His legs were spread wide, hair perfectly tousled, one leg bouncing from nerves and brows furrowed as he focused on something on his phone. How could you possibly not stare? 
He caught you once, eyes lingering on him a little too long, causing heat to rise from for chest up to your cheeks. Your eyes roamed up his body, checking him out, before locking with his own as he shifted in his seat. 
Hm? He raised his brows, a smirk growing on his face. 
You quickly shook your head, looking back down at your book as a shy smile formed on your face. 
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Boarding the plane went by quickly. You stood close to him as you waited for your group to be called and he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you into his side. The comforting feeling of his warm body pressed against yours worked you up even more, if that was even possible, and Frankie held your hand the whole time during take off.  
Now you're seated on the plane, his thigh resting against yours, fighting the urge to keep your hands off of him and satisfy the throbbing need in your core. He’s surely noticed the way you’ve been squirming in your seat, crossing and uncrossing your legs a million times and the not so subtle staring. 
You turn on the screen in front of you, switching to the live map and checking the time on the screen. It’s only been 45 minutes, this is going to be impossible. You clear your throat and let out a deep sigh as you look out the window at the dark sky, only a small peek of blue light shining over the horizon now. 
“What’s wrong?” Frankie’s soft voice in your ear startles you slightly as you turn to see him leaning in close to you. “You nervous?” He moves his hand to rest on your thigh. 
You swallow before answering. “No.” You blurt out causing him to raise his brow in curiosity. “I mean, it’s not that.” Your eyes land on his lips after the last word leaves your mouth. 
“Then what is it?” He rubs your thigh lightly and you bite the inside of your cheek. 
He sounds concerned, but there’s no way you’re telling him that you’re horny with 7 hours left of this flight. All you can do is hope that as the time passes  the ache in your core dulls, or better yet goes away. 
“Just-“ you try to think of an excuse on the spot. “Excited actually.” You smile up at him and he returns it, the dimple on his cheek growing. 
“We’ll be there soon baby, the flight will be over before you know it.” He lifts his hand from your thigh and rests it on your cheek, rubbing your soft skin with his thumb before pecking your lips. 
You nod in agreement, closing your eyes as you toss your head back and lean into your seat. If he only knew.
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You’ve been looking out the window for who knows how long, the lights in the cabin are low, almost completely off now, and the flight attendants haven’t walked up the aisles in almost half an hour. You look at the time on your phone again, only two hours in, how is that possible? The ache in your core hasn’t subsided.  
You look over at Frankie watching a movie on the screen in front of him, Top Gun, before reaching for your carry-on bag under the seat in front of you. You grab the sweater you stuffed into it and throw it across your lap. 
“Cold?” Frankie’s voice is soft yet gravely as he leans in close to you, whispering for just the two of you to hear. 
You look at him, eyes slightly widening. “Yeah.” You aren’t lying, the cabin is chilly, but that’s only half of the truth. 
His tongue darts out to wet his lips as he takes in your features in the low light. You scoot closer to him, leaning into his side as you get comfortable. Frankie smiles and plants a kiss on your temple before turning his attention back to the screen in front of him. You lay your head on his shoulder, wrapping your arms around his bicep as you watch the movie with him. 
It’s not long before you’re distracted again, letting go of your grip on his arm and laying back in your seat. Your eyes linger on the way his pants hug his thighs. He’s not wearing his jacket anymore, the way he’s sitting with his arms crossed give you a  full view of his strong forearms and biceps.
You’re not sure how much longer you can ignore the heat pooling in your stomach. You decide to test something and reach your right hand over to rub the side of his thigh, resting there for a moment. He doesn’t move, eyes still on the screen, and you take that as a sign to keep going. You slowly inch closer towards where his cock is confined in his pants, resting your hand on the inside of his thigh and keeping it there for a few moments. He doesn’t react, but you hear his breathing picking up. 
As you start to rub small circles on the inside of his thigh and inch ever so slightly closer to where his member is hidden, he grabs your wrist. 
“What are you doing?” He whispers. 
His large hand is still wrapped around your wrist as you lean in, resting your chin on his shoulder as you look up at him. “Nothing.” That’s a lie, and he knows it.
“Querida...” His eyes burn through you as he stares back at you. He knows. 
You clear your throat and tilt your head up to whisper in his ear. “I’ve been worked up since we went through security.”  
“Hm.” He nods his head, the deep vibration causes goosebumps to raise on your skin.
You pull back and he looks into your eyes again. His hand finds yours on your lap, warm as it wraps around yours and squeezes lightly. 
“Once we land and get to the hotel, promise.” He raises his hand to rest on your cheek and plants a feather light kiss on your lips. 
You let out a small sigh as his hand moves from yours to rest on his lap and you turn to look out the window, trying to distract yourself from the pool of heat that burns in the pit of your stomach.
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You’re not sure how much time has passed now, when you look over at Frankie his eyes are shut, mouth slightly parted as you admire his features. A small smile forms in your face as your eyes roam over him, landing on his hand still resting on his lap. 
At that exact moment, an idea comes to your mind. Something that could possibly give you a small amount of relief. For now. It’s not your best idea, but it could work. 
You look back up at his face as you reach over to rest your hand over his, he doesn’t open his eyes. You stay still for a moment, making sure you won’t wake him from the movement. When you think the time is right, you lift his hand, quickly resting it on your lap. Your eyes land on where his hand now lays over your sweater on your lap, so close to the dull thrumming at your core. You bite your lip and look back over to be sure he hasn’t woken up, you smile at the way his soft lashes rest on the tops of his cheeks as he rests, a warmth spreading through your chest. 
You keep your eyes on him as you slowly move his hand underneath where your sweater lays to rest on your inner thigh. His warm hand burns straight through the fabric of your pants, causing your skin to heat up from the touch, and your stomach to churn. He still hasn’t opened his eyes, so you take that as a safe sign to keep going, slowly moving his hand up your thigh until it rests over your clothed heat. 
A low whimper escapes your throat and your eyes widen at the realization, looking back over at where Frankie lays with his eyes shut. You watch him take a deep breath, letting out a sigh as he shifts slightly in his seat, head rolling slightly to the side as he stirs. You stay still for a few seconds, making sure he hasn’t woken from your movements. 
You look away from him, back to where his hand is touching you under your sweater, and you begin to press the heel of his hand into your clothed cunt. You let out a long, relieved breath from your nose and your eyes fall shut. The pressure of his large warm hand resting over your sensitive nub is just enough to give you some of the relief you were looking for, but it’s not enough. 
You take a deep breath before grinding yourself against the palm of his hand in a slow rocking motion that causes the seam of your pants to rub over your clit. Trying your best to be quiet, you bite into your cheek as your hips buck forward. A low groan escapes your throat and you let out a shaky breath. 
You're lost in the moment, relishing in the feeling of his large, warm hand resting over your clothed sex as you grind into it. Suddenly you feel him move and your heart leaps into your throat. His arm tenses up, hand grabbing at your clothed cunt as he applies more pressure than before. Your eyes fly open wide and you turn to look into his own. Heavy lidded as a small smirk forms on his face in the dim lighting, he leans in closer to you. 
“Bathroom at the back of the plane. I’ll be there in five.” He says slowly, just above a whisper. 
You blink, mouth agape as his words sink in. “W-what?” You watch the way his chest rapidly rises and falls as you wait for his response. 
“Now.” He presses harder into your clothed core before pulling his hand away.
You let out a gasp, reaching for your seat buckle as fast as you can before standing up. As you squeeze past him and make your way into the aisle, you take a quick glance around to look for the flight attendants. They're nowhere to be found, and as you walk towards the back of the plane you notice that almost everyone on the plane is asleep, has their nose in a book or eyes glued to something on the screen in front of them. You try not to walk too quickly as you make your way towards the back of the plane where the vacancy sign is glowing brightly. 
Your heart is racing and you feel giddy as you approach the door, pulling it open and stepping inside before closing it behind you. As you wait in the small stall for Frankie, you stand there for a moment with your back against the door, eyes falling shut as you take a deep breath in anticipation for what may happen next. Then you hear a light knocking on the door, causing you to flinch as you reach to pull the door open. 
Without giving you a second to think, Frankie pushes the door open causing you to step back, closing the door behind him and locking it before guiding you towards the sink. It's a tight fit with the two of you in there but right now you could care less. He presses close to you, causing your lower back to press into the small plastic sink as his hand flies down to grab you where you're wet and aching for him, the other grabbing your wrist. 
He leans in, nose grazing your cheek before speaking low in your ear. “This what you wanted?” His voice sends a shock straight to your core as he applies more pressure where he's caressing your clothed core, causing a moan to slip from your mouth.
“Frankie,” you say breathlessly. 
“Shhh.” his hand leaves your wrist to lightly cover your mouth. “Gotta be quiet for me baby, don’t want anyone to catch us committing a fucking felony now do we?” A small smirk covers his lips and your chest flutters with excitement at his words.
You look up at him with wide eyes and shake your head, then he removes his hand from your mouth and plants a needy kiss to your lips. Your eyes close and you melt into it, hands gripping his shoulders as his tongue parts your lips to tangle with your own. You press against him, slightly bucking your hips to feel the growing bulge in his pants. He groans before breaking the kiss, pulling away to catch his breath as his eyes roam over you. His large hands grab at your waist as he looks back into your eyes.
“Turn around.” you do as he says, turning your back to him and pressing your hips flush against the tiny sink while your hands grab onto the edge bracing yourself. 
Frankie’s large hands land back on your hips, smoothing over the fabric of your jeans to rest on your ass for a moment, squeezing lightly before moving back to your hips. he presses his hardening cock into your ass and lets out a low grunt as your eyes flutter shut, your head falling forward as you sigh.
His hands leave your hips and you hear the sound of his belt buckle. “Gotta make this quick.”  his voice is low and gruff, you lift your head to look at him through the mirror in front of you.
You watch him as he looks down between the two of you to unbutton his own jeans, stray curls falling onto his forehead. His muscles flex, the fabric of his shirt stretching as he pulls his jeans down just enough for his cock to spring out. His head snaps back up, dark eyes meeting yours in the mirror. His hands snake around to the front of you, reaching for the button on your pants, his thick fingers moving quickly to undo it before pulling at your zipper. 
His eyes never leave yours as he tugs your pants down just enough to expose the soft skin of your ass along with your soaked heat. Your mouth falls open as his hand moves towards your core and you stifle a moan as his fingers start to glide through your slick folds, his other hand resting back on your hip.
“Been thinking about me filling you up this whole time, huh?” You take in a deep breath, pressing your lips together as you try to hold in a moan. “Thinking about me filling you to the fucking brim with my cum?” 
You frantically nod your head, unable to form a single word. Frankie watches you through the mirror as your head falls back onto his shoulder and you press yourself back into him. A small gasp leaves your mouth as you feel his stiff cock press against your bare ass. He starts to rub small, slow circles on your clit and you raise your head to look at him through the mirror again. Your eyes immediately meet with his having never left you, and you watch him as he leans in closer to you.
“Wish there was time for me to taste this perfect pussy.” His nose grazes the side of your cheek, his low voice vibrating through your whole body. 
You bite your lip trying to keep quiet, squeezing your eyes shut as he applies more pressure to your swollen clit. You also wish there was time. He plants a kiss on your neck, scruff slightly scratching you as his warm lips press against your skin. It’s like he read your mind.
“Once we get to the hotel, I promise.” He lightly squeezes your hip, pulling his other hand away from your sensitive nub causing you to hold your breath. “Bend over for me baby.” 
You do as he says, bracing yourself on the sink once again as you slightly lean forward. One of his hands stays on your hip, the other lines his cock up with your soaking wet entrance. Your eyes are still glued to him in the mirror, your beautiful man. He’s focused as you watch him, and when you feel his tip slowly start to press in, you watch the way his face relaxes. You close your eyes, relishing in the feeling of him slowly filling you to the brim.  
“Fuck.” You watch as his head falls back, a blissful look on his face. “Feel so good cariño.” 
He stays still for a moment, taking in the feeling of your wet cunt pulsing around him. You’re not sure how long you’ve been in here, but you know that the two of you should hurry up before someone notices what’s going on. You wiggle your ass back and forth against Frankie to try and get his attention as you bite your bottom lip while looking up at him through the mirror. 
He lifts his head up, dark eyes meeting with yours. A deep almost growl comes from deep in his chest as he pulls out and slams his cock back into you. Your body jolts forward, mouth falling open as you brace yourself for his brutal pace. You’re not sure how long you’ll last, the feeling of his cock pumping in and out of you bringing you so close to the release you’ve been waiting for. 
You watch him in the mirror, transfixed on the way his biceps strain the fabric of his shirt as he holds onto your waist for dear life. The feeling of his cock splitting you open so perfect. He leans down and wraps an arm around your torso, pulling you to stand straight up with your back against him as he continues to fuck you at the same brutal pace. 
His hand roams over your body and his eyes follow, finding the hem of your shirt as he slips his large hand beneath it. You press further back into him, a sigh leaving your mouth at the feeling of his warm skin against yours. 
“Francisco…” You murmur. 
His hand continues to travel up your body, leaving goosebumps in its trail up towards your breasts. You suck in a breath as his hand finds the cup of your bra, slipping underneath to caress the soft skin of your breast. He’s still staring at you in the mirror, tracing over your soft skin and curves with his eyes as he moves his hand to lift your shirt up to your chin. 
“So beautiful,” he whispers right beside your ear. “Look at you.” 
You’re just looking at him, the way his large hand is splayed over your chest, the light flush on his cheeks from being cramped in this stuffy bathroom, and the way his hair has fallen over his forehead. The coil in your stomach is ready to snap, any second now as he slows down his thrusts. He can feel it, the way your walls flutter around his thick cock. His hand slides back down your chest, stopping to rest on your stomach as he holds you against him.
“Come for me, come on baby.” His deep voice travels straight through you to your core. 
“Oh my-” Frankie’s hand flys up to cover your mouth before you can finish. 
“Shhh, quiet.” The vibration of his deep voice whispering in your ear sends you over the edge and a white hot feeling spreads through your body, radiating from your core as your orgasm takes over. 
“There you go.” He whispers, nose grazing your cheek as he speaks. 
Your hand reaches behind you to pull at the curls on the nape of his neck and you squeeze around him as your orgasm comes to an end. He lets out a deep moan as he buries his face into your neck, muffling the sound. He thrust one last time, stopping when he bottoms out, hot cum spurting out and filling you up. His shoulders rise and fall as he catches his breath, head still buried in your shoulder and your head lays back on his. Both of his arms are wrapped around your torso and you rest yours over his, squeezing his forearms lightly as he stays there for a moment longer, making sure all of his seed stays put. 
He kisses your neck before lifting his head up and looking between the two of you as he pulls out, pulling your underwear back on quickly to make sure his come stays put. His hands rest on your hips as you fix your shirt. You slide your pants back on and spin around to face him as he buttons his pants, watching the way his fingers move. A smile forms on your face as you watch him, a warmth growing in your chest. 
“Hm?” He looks up at you through his lashes as he fixes his belt.
You shake your head, reaching to rest your hands on his shoulders as you kiss him. He sucks in a deep breath, making a content sound as he kisses you back and wraps his arms tightly around you. When he breaks the kiss, his eyes roam your features before speaking. 
“We should go back.” One of his hands comes up to caress your cheek and he pecks your lips one last time. 
“You go first.” You lean into his touch, squeezing his broad shoulders. 
His thumb rubs your cheek before pulling away and turning to pull the door open. He slips out, quietly closing the door behind him. Once he’s gone you turn towards the mirror to fix yourself up and wash your hands before going back to your seat. You replay what just happened in your mind as you wait a few minutes to leave. 
Once you think it’s safe to leave, you slip back out into the dark cabin. You glance around, still no flight attendants in sight as you make your way back to the aisle where Frankie is sitting and waiting for you. A smirk forms on his face as you squeeze in front of him to take your seat at the window. You get comfortable, resting your head on his shoulder as his hand finds a spot on your lap and you close your eyes. As you start to drift off you feel Frankie shift in his seat. 
“Don’t think I forgot about my promise either.” He whispers for just you to hear. 
Your chest flutters, a quiet laugh leaves your mouth before you drift to sleep. Only 5 more hours, you’re almost sure you can wait this time.
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thank you for reading <3 any feedback is appreciated and my asks are open!! xo
tagging a few moots: @ilovepedro @gracieheartsspedro @sapphic-gardn @northernbluess @tieronecrush @joelsversion @pr0ximamidnight @daydreamingmiller @hearteyesforjoel <3
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eideticmemory · 6 months
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ALONE TOGETHER | SPENCER REID
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A chance meeting on a dating app spirals into an odd type of…friendship? Relationship? Who knows, but it means a lot to you.
Word Count: 8.6k
Warning/Includes: Excessive smut, fluff, 7 year age gap.
You are so sick of crying. You are nauseated from lying in bed, staring at a ceiling fan that does nothing but spin. You’re angry. You’re restless. You’re impulsive. And it is this impulse that takes you on Bumble, but more specifically, makes you set you preferred range between the ages of exactly twenty-eight and forty. You think, I just need someone to pay attention to me. You think, I need someone to make this go away because I just can’t.
Old men are gross, but they like you. They just can’t get enough of you. You’re flooded with hundreds of admirers, but you rarely match with any of them. You swipe. You swipe again. Again and again and it is with the teeniest, tiniest little bit of hope that you wish for someone to take your breath away. You wish for a man with a pretty face and kind eyes and a name that sounds nice when you say it with a moan.
And there he is.
Spencer. Age 30. 5 miles away.
You actually gasp.
You swipe right and it is a match!
You gasp!
It’s up to you to make the first move. There’s prompts you could send, questions you could ask, and just down the street, Spencer, who has just landed back home recieves a message only saying -
Hey :)
He immediately covers the notification on his phone as he exits the jet. When he swiped on your profile, truthfully, he didn’t expect a match. Let alone a message. So in less than three seconds, he becomes anxious and flustered and cannot stop shaking his hands because he can’t feel his fingertips.
He waits until he’s alone to message you back. He has no idea what to say, no idea if you’re even still interested, but down the street, you are lying on your belly and kicking your feet and you get a reply -
Hi, [y/n] :) How are you?
It’s not a lot but Spencer feels like he’s going to pass out.
You squeal, cover your mouth and type: Good! How are you?
And Spencer doesn’t even know how to answer the question. It’s not a hard question, it’s not a trick question, but he can’t figure out what to say so he stays objective.
I’m okay. I’m leaving work now.
You furrow your eyebrows, A little late, isn’t it?
He chuckles under his breath, Kind of early for me, actually.
Here, is where you decided to get bold. You make the decision before you even figure out what to say. How to say it.
I’m sure you’re worn out from a long day. Was hoping I could see you tonight. If not, maybe another time?
And aside from the millions of things that rush through his head, that are always rushing through his head, the first thing he thinks is: Oh, god, I wish Morgan were here. Although Spencer’s a little mad at him at the moment, he knows Morgan would tell him what to say. But no one’s here. It’s just him, pacing the empty halls of the bureau, a satchel with tums in it, and a pretty girl trapped inside his phone that wants to see him in person.
He types and he goes back, he types and he goes back, and then he asks, Do you like coffee?
You smile as you type, I love coffee.
So he has you meet him at this coffee shop in town. You stand outside, cradled in a cozy jacket, your hands stuffed in your pockets. Spencer sees you before you see him. And anyone with common sense would’ve walked up to you right away. Except, Spencer doesn’t really have common sense. He’s worried that you’ll figure that out. Still, he walks over to you and you’re only alerted by the sound of his timid footsteps. You turn to him with a grand smile and he immediately forgets how to breathe.
“Hi,” you greet him, holding your hand out. “Spencer?”
He looks down at your hand and then back at you and then back at the floor and your brain goes: ???
“Are you…not Spencer?”
“No, no, I am. Me…Spencer, yes. I just…I don’t like to shake hands.”
“Oh,” you retract, hold your hands behind your back.
“I mean not that there’s anything wrong about your particular hands. They’re just dirty- Not! Not-you’re not dirty, I know, you smell really good. I…” he stops, takes a breath, “The number of pathogens passed during a handshake is staggering, it’s actually, uh, safer to kiss.”
You tilt your head at him for two reasons. One, because you cannot believe he just used the word pathogens in casual conversation. And two, because you take his fun fact as a challenge that is readily accepted. You step towards him, slowly, because with the way his eyes go wide, it looks like he might run away. He grips onto the strap on his satchel so hard that his knuckles turn paper white. He goes cross eyed trying to look at your face as you lean in. And with a tiny smirk on your face, you press your lips to his.
It’s kinda, awkward. Spencer stays frozen in place and you mush your face into his and he doesn’t start to lean into you until the last second.
His face has gone bright red and you smile and say, “Nice to meet you.”
“Nice t-to meet you,” he stutters.
You look around, “What is this place?”
“Oh, um, it’s, uh, it’s a coffee shop. It’s also a library. It’s, uh, it’s open late and I come here a lot when I can’t sleep.”
“It’s cute,” you smile.
He holds the door open for you and buys you a latte and you two sit at a table by the window. You sit in silence for a minute, neither of you really sure what to say and then when you do go to speak, you do it at the same time. It cuts the tension and you both laugh.
“You go first,” you tell him.
“I, uh, I was just going to ask if you’re from here?”
“Oh, oh no, I just moved here for med school. I’m in my first year at Georgetown.”
“Oh! Nice. That’s cool.”
“Yeah, it’s alright so far. We’ll see how I’m doing in the spring.”
“I’m sure you’ll do great.”
You smile, “What do you do? What has you getting off work so late?”
“I’m, um, I’m a profiler…for the FBI. I, uh…”
“Analyze criminal behavior,” you nod. “Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard of that. I love forensic sciences.”
He can’t help but smile at you, “Yeah. It’s tiring but I like it,” he shrugs.
The conversation goes dead again and you sip on your latte, “Should we…should we just keep asking each other questions?”
“I guess so.”
“Okay, I asked the last question so it’s your turn.”
“Um…” he ponders. “What’s your favorite color?”
You snicker and he instantly puts his face in his hands out of embarrassment. You giggle, “My favorite color? Seriously?”
“I couldn’t think of anything else,” he shakes his head, smiling, “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. Blue. You?”
“Purple.”
“Ooh, that’s a fun one.”
“I like it. Okay, your turn.”
“Okay, um, what’s your biggest fear?”
He raises his eyebrows at you.
“What? We got the favorite colors out of the way.”
He nods, agreeing, “Having nothing to show for my life.”
You nod, “Same. Your turn.”
“Why do you want to be a doctor?”
“Oh. You got me with that one. Um…because I’m not squeamish and I’m good under pressure and I want…to make a difference. Y’know, actually do something with all this ambition. Aaaand, I’m good with anatomy. I’m good with people. I like medicine.”
“Did you say all of that in your interview?”
“That’s two questions…” you grin.
He chuckles, “You can ask me two.”
“No…I told them what they wanted to hear. And admissions doesn’t wanna hear that you’re doing this for yourself. They wanna hear that you’re selfless, Mother Theresa, Princess Diana selfless.”
“And you’re not selfless?”
“That’s three!”
“Okay, okay, your turn,” he laughs.
“How’d you get into the FBI?”
“Um, about 8 years, 11 months and 3 days ago, I attended a lecture on criminology hosted by some members of the BAU. I…became fixated. I wanted to join. I wanted to make a difference-“
“Oh now you’re just copying me.”
He chuckles, “I applied and, uh, yeah.”
“That’s so cool,” you tell him. “So you’ve been working there since you were…22?”
“Yes.”
“How did you become a profiler at 22? It takes forever, I thought?”
“That’s three!” he laughs.
“Oh, c’mon! You can’t leave me on a cliffhanger here.”
“I, um, I graduated college when I was 16. Had my Phd at 20. I’m…not the fittest guy so I skipped a lot of physical assessments.”
“16?” you gasp.
“That’s four!”
“20?” you shout. Emphasis on the ???
“That’s five!”
“Oh, no, nuh-uh, forget that, you’re filling me in on this.”
And so, he does. He tells you everything. About the eidetic memory and the IQ of 187 and you just sit there in awe. You fire questions at him and the last one is, “What’s…” you type in your calculator. “34 times 106?”
“That is a different genre of question.”
“But what’s the answer?”
He sighs and shakes his head, “3,604.”
You look at the calculator and he’s right and you gasp, “You’re a fucking genius.”
“That’s what I’ve been told.”
“Are your parents geniuses?” you ask.
“My dad is a…” he pauses. “I guess the colloquial term is deadbeat?”
You burst into laughter but quickly cover your mouth. That’s not funny. But Spencer is smiling.
“And…my mom is…smart. Yeah, she’s a genius.”
“Is she…dead?”
“What?”
“You just got, like, super sad there.”
“She’s not dead. She, uh, she has schizophrenia.”
“Oh. I’m an asshole.”
“A little bit,” he chuckles. “But, I’m-I’m not sad…she’s been that way my whole life.”
You can see on his face that it’s a sore subject, so you say, “Okay. Your turn. Ask me a question.”
And he wants to ask something that will get you talking. Something he can poke around like you have at his brain.
“Who is…” he starts. “Your very best friend?”
He asks this as you’re taking a sip of your latte and you very suddenly slam your cup down on the table.
“Whoa,” he says.
“Sorry.”
“No, no, I’m…I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”
“I haven’t spoken to her since I moved. Any of them. I…we…we had a disagreement.”
Spencer studies your face, “How many friends are we talking about here?”
“Three,” you spit out. “Three. I’ve had the same three friends since I was twelve and I’m not talking to any of them.” Your hands shake around your mug and you clear your throat, avoid eye contact.
Spencer feels so bad for dulling your light that he doesn’t even know what to say. He knows it’s an illogical guilt, but a strong and pulsating guilt nonetheless.
He watches you take an anxious sip of your drink and he sighs, “Today’s my birthday.”
You almost spit out your latte, your hand flying to your mouth, all of your own thoughts and worries dissipating as you look him in the eye, “You’re…you’re kidding?”
“No.”
“You’re joking. You’re just saying that to distract me. A psychology trick.”
“As of…” he checks his watch. “Twenty-three hours and ten minutes ago, I’m thirty,” he can hardly say it. “Thirty years old.”
You sit for a moment. You realize your mouth is wide open so you close it. You realize your eyes are wide so you shrink them. You stutter, “You’re…not kidding?”
“No. I’m thirty, and I…worked a case for days straight and…and it was awful and we were too late and…I’m scared I’ll sound self-centered…”
“And…” you encourage him.
“And…it wasn’t enough. The case. The chaos. It wasn’t enough. I hoped…I hoped it would help. That I would…that I would get so lost in the rush that…that I’d forget I’m having an emotional crisis. I don’t know how to be thirty. I don’t know how to be an adult. I’m a child progidy…I’m a child prodigy and now I’m thirty so, what does that make me? What am I now?”
The question hangs in the air because you cannot answer it. You just reach across the table, put your hand over his, and trace his knuckles.
He releases a long sigh, “I’m having an emotional crisis and I’m thirty and my-my team…my friends…my family, the closest thing I have to a family…they, um, they forgot. And it was…it was a really bad case, it was a really tough case and it was enough for them to forget. But not me. It wasn’t enough for me.”
He lets you take his hand in yours, your pathogen ridden hand, and he can hardly look you in the eye.
“Hey…” you whisper.
His eyes flicker up to you and he looks so sad.
You give him a small grin, “Let’s get out of here.”
He lets you drag him outside into the cold air and the two of you stand under the soft light.
“Do you drink?” you ask him.
“Um. No. No, I used to do drugs so I’m scared if I drink, I’ll forget to…not do drugs.”
“Oh!” you raise your eyebrows. “Okay, fair enough. So, no weed then?”
“I…” he laughs. “You do know I’m a federal agent?”
“Ah! So scary!”
He cackles, “No marijuana.”
“Marijuana,” you roll your eyes, “Okay…okay…” you look around and the city is asleep. It’s cold. Another block over, there are clubs and people fighting the weather for a chance to party. Spencer does not want to party. “Okay, my place?”
He looks at you, “What are we going to do there?”
“Have a birthday party!”
“I don’t want a party…”
You pout, look around, “Do you want a donut?”
He nods.
You grab a couple donuts from a late night bakery down the road and you drive him back to your place. He grips onto the door as you whip your car into another lane, his breath trembling.
“Dude, chill out,” you tell him. “I’m a good driver.”
“Good…in the way that tsunamis are good waves.”
You look over at him and your eyes lock and he smirks at you. It has you so flustered that you’re quiet for the rest of the drive.
You let him inside your apartment and close the door as you two step into the entryway.
“Okay, wait here,” you tell him, quickly taking the donuts and taking off into the kitchen.
“What? Why?”
“Just wait!”
He can hear you banging around, drawers opening and slamming shut. Things falling to the floor. You muttering, “Shit!” under your breath. You rush by him and into the living, so quickly that his brain can hardly process it.
“Okay!” you call. “Come in!”
He slowly steps inside, a bit anxious at first, but then he sees you and his shoulders relax.
You finish lighting the last candle and look up at him, throw your hands in the air, “Happy birthday!”
His face breaks out in this great, big smile and he can’t help but laugh. It’s not much. One single glazed donut with chocolate, sprinkles and candles on top.
“Three candles?” he questions, stepping over to the coffee table.
You stand beside him as he sits on the couch, “Well, yeah, three because three and then none because zero. Three zero. Thirty!”
He furrows his brows, “Actually-“
“Hush,” you cut him off, putting your hands on his shoulders, “You gotta blow out your candles.”
So he goes to blow them out and you shout, “Wait!” and his heart stops for a second. “I have to sing the song?”
“Oh, no, really, I don’t need the-“
“Haaaaappy birthday to you, happy birthday to you…”
He covers his face to blush and laughs into his hands.
“Happy birthday, dear Spencer, happy birthday to you! Mwah,” you kiss his cheek. “Now make a wish!”
“Okay, I wish-“
“Whoa, stop! What are you doing? You can’t say it out loud, it won’t come true.”
“Well, actually-“
“The candles are melting.”
“Yep, right,” he nods. He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, makes a wish and blows out all three candles.
You cheer and clap your hands. You go to remove the candles from his donut and stop, “Oh. Should I? Can I?”
“You’ve already touched it. I think, uh, that ship has sailed.”
You take out the candles and sit down beside him, “Should I have picked it up with my mouth?”
He giggles and picks up his donut, holds it out to you, “Cheers,” he smiles.
You pick yours up from the table and touch it to his, grinning, “Cheers.”
As you eat your donuts together, you can’t help but watch him. “I hope this made your birthday a little better.”
He shoves the last of his donut in his mouth and the corner of his lips is covered in chocolate, “It did,” he says with a full mouth.
You chuckle and lean in, wiping the chocolate from his lip with your finger and sticking it in your mouth.
He watches you, chewing slowly until he swallows and clears his throat, “Is this…is this weird to do with someone you just met on bumble? Genuine question because I have no frame of reference.”
Your mouth turns up in a small smile. And you nod. Slowly, quietly, “Yeah. Yeah, it’s a little weird. But I’m having fun.”
“Me, too.”
You look around, awkwardly rolling your next words around your head until you can say them out loud, “Do you…wanna do something that’s…not weird with someone you met on bumble?
His raises his eyebrows at you, “What’s that?”
You take a sip of water, eyeing him in your peripheral and set down your bottle. You lean your body into his and this time, Spencer is ready. You catch his mouth on yours and he kisses you back, even though his heart is racing under your palm. Your hand travels down his chest, over his tummy, and to the hem of his pants.
His breath catches in his throat as you kiss his neck, “What…what are you doing?”
You pull away and undo his pants, taking his cock in your hand. He whimpers and his body goes limp and you furrow your eyebrows at him, “It’s your birthday?” you explain. And then you kiss him again.
His neck. Down to his chest. Down to his tummy. And Spencer watches you drop down to your knees in front of him and he goes, “Oh, my god,” and he only says it once but his brain keeps going: oh, my god, oh, my god, oh, my god, oh, my god, oh, my god.
“Is…is this okay?” you ask.
But he can’t talk! He can hardly breathe! You’ve got his dick in your hand and he’s looking at you with these wide eyes and you look perfect and he’s just worried that he’ll bust all over you before you get a chance to do anything. So, he nods. He nods and nods and nods and leans his head back.
You smile and with a few pumps of your hand, his whole body tenses up. He grips onto the couch and struggles to breathe. Then your mouth is on him and he goes limp. Dead weight, not a feeling in his arms or legs or chest, just the warmth of your mouth around his cock, taking it all the way to the back of your throat. His nails scratch at the fabric of the couch and as undignified as it feels, Spencer gets noisey.
You bob your head, up and down, in slow and sticky motions, swirling your tongue over his tip and a loud moan burst from the back of his throat.
“Oh…oh, my god,” he pants.
You move your mouth on him and run your hand up his tummy, feel it heaving up and down in your palm. He nearly breaks a nail on the couch so he grabs onto your hand, squeezes it really tight and groans. The sounds he’s making are so whiny and breathless and sexy that you have to squeeze your thighs together before you go leaking down your legs.
His other hand takes hold of your face, caressing your cheekbone with his thumb. You lean into his palm a bit but you keep your pace, letting him hit the back of your throat, feeling him twitch between your lips. You look up at him and all you can see is the veins on his neck, his jaw clenched tight. His fingers slip through your hair, over your scalp and you hum, but just quietly.
The soft touch encourages you to speed up just a bit. His whole body trembles as you take the base of his cock in your hand and jerk him in unison with your mouth. It overstimulates him immediately and he yells out, gives your hand another tight, tight squeeze.
“Oh-oh, my god, [y/n],” he moans, and you squeeze your thighs tighter.
He doesn’t ever want this to end. And so he fights the fire burning in his belly with everything he’s got, but he knows it’s useless. You’re too good. You’re so good.
He lifts his head and looks down at you, his face red all over and his eyes locked on yours. He holds your hand against his chest, caresses your face softly and lets out these soft, desperate whimpers. His body tenses up, leans towards you a bit and his jaw hangs wide open with very little sound coming out. He gives you this look, maybe a little warning, and then he’s gripping onto your hair and hunched over your body, filling up your mouth and whining into the air.
You put your hands on his waist and keep him in your mouth until he rides it out, falls back onto the couch.
You tower over him, wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and put your hands on his shoulders, “Good?”
“Yes. Wow,” he pants. “Thank you.”
“You’re so welcome,” you smile.
He huffs and he puffs, yet he can’t seem to catch his breath. “You know…” he breathes out. “That entire time…I actually forgot I was thirty.”
You burst into laughter and put your forehead to his, your giggles mirroring one another’s.
Spencer fixes his pants and huffs, “Will you…will you lay with me for a second?”
Your heart melts a little. You climb onto the couch, taking a seat beside him and swinging your legs over his lap.
And you sit like that. For hours. Talking until it’s no longer Spencer’s birthday and he’s just…thirty. You try your best to convince him to stay the night. He declines. And he declines and he declines.
Then he falls asleep in your arms.
In the morning, he wakes up alone and for a one whole minute, he forgets where he is. Then he remembers you and he goes looking for you and finds you in the kitchen.
“Oh,” you smile, “Hi, you. Breakfast?” you hold out the box of cereal that you’re eating out of.
He glances at the box and then back at you and he stares.
“What?” you ask.
“I…” he trails off. “I thought…I thought I dreamt you. For a moment, I thought it all was a dream.”
You tilt your head at him, “I’m very real.”
He chuckles, scratches the back of his head, “And…and the…the…”
“Blowjob?” you laugh. “Yeah, that was real, too.”
“The donuts?”
“Yes,” you laugh. “All of it.”
He continues to stare at you, this soft smile on his face and you hold out the cereal again. Shake it around.
“I’m okay,” he chuckles, stepping over to you. “I should…I should probably get going.”
“Oh, but why?” you whine.
“Because I…need a shower,” he laughs. “And to brush my teeth and lay in bed until I get called in again.”
“Yeah, I should probably start preparing for my lectures this week, too.”
You stare into his pretty, pretty eyes and you set the cereal down, hold his face, “You’re not gonna ghost me are you?”
He furrows his eyebrows, “Ghost you? What does that mean?”
“Oh, I forgot you’re old,” you laugh.
“Stooop,” he whines. “Stooop.”
“Ghost me. You’re not gonna go radio silent? You’re not…not gonna act like this never happened? Like I don’t exist?”
And Spencer instantly thinks: I don’t think I’m ever going to leave you alone. But instead of vocalizing it, he strokes your waist and he says, “No. Of course not.”
And he really meant that.
The next time he got called out on a case, he let you know that he’d be gone for a while but he’d be back. And he’d really, really like to see you when he’s home. He tries his best not to text while working, but when he’s laying in a hotel bed, unable to stop thinking about you and what you’re doing, he opts for a phone call.
“Hey, Sherlock,” you greet him. “Crack the case yet?”
He chuckles, “No. Almost. I wouldn’t be surprised if we were home in a few days.”
“And then you’ll come see me?”
“Yes,” he nods. “I’ll come see you.”
“Good.”
“What about you? How’s your journey to being a selfless doctor going?”
“Terrible. I missed like half of my lecture this morning because I blew a tire on the way.”
“Oh, no, are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine, just hit a pot hole and swerve a little bit but it’s not my first time.”
“Oh?” he nods. “That’s…not good,” he laughs.
“I survived. I’m tough.”
“Yeah, you are, aren’t you?” you can hear the little grin in his voice.
You bite down on your lip, “Okay, tell me what’s going on there. Serial killer? Kidnapping?”
“Confidential.”
“Booooo!”
“Okay, okay,” he laughs. “Um, a couple days ago a body washed up on the beach and…”
You talked until you both were nearly asleep. In the morning, Spencer rolls out of bed and the lack of sleep hits him like a truck, but he thinks about you and your sleepy, soft voice and he smiles. He smiles out the door and down the hall and Morgan strides up beside him.
“Morning, kid,” he says.
“Morning!” Spencer replies and Derek eyes him because it was just sooo cheerful.
Derek bites his tongue for a moment, but is incapable of doing it for any longer so he asks, “Who were you on the phone with last night?”
Spencer trips over his feet at the question and stutters, “O-oh, me? Me? I wasn’t talking to anyone.”
“Mmhmmm,” Derek hums.
“No. N-nope, just the voices in my head.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
Spencer comes back home on a Thursday and immediately hops on foot, on a train, to get to your apartment. You open the door for him and pull him inside, taking him in a big hug.
“Hi, you,” you whisper in his ear.
“Hi,” he snuggles into you.
“I made dinner. Pasta. It’s the only thing I know how to make, but there’s plenty. You hungry?”
“Yes,” he nods, pulls out of the hug. “Thank you.”
He goes to walk into the kitchen, but you grab his hand, “Hey, wait,” and you throw yourself into his arms and take him in a long kiss. He grips onto your shirt and goes weak in the knees, smushing his face into yours.
You step back, “Okay, now we can eat.”
He mumbles something incoherent and walks into the wall and you laugh, putting your hands on his shoulders to guide him into the kitchen.
The entire time that you two are hanging out on the couch, his arm around your shoulders, you can feel him looking at you. The one time that you catch his eyes, you lean in for a kiss and he is much more forward when it comes to kissing you back. He pushes his body into yours and a soft moan empties from your lips. It gives him enough courage to drop to his knees in front of you.
“Whoa,” you exclaim. “What are you doing?”
“I…well, I…I wanted to do this for you and I’m ready, I researched it.”
“You…researched how to eat me out?”
“I just want to return the favor.”
“But it’s not my birthday?”
“Is that a…requirement, or?”
“No,” you laugh, cover your face, “Okay. Okay, show me what you learned.”
And so Spencer disappears under the hem of your shirt, pushing it up your thighs and grabbing onto the thin straps of your underwear. He pulls them off your legs and you chuckle as they fly off. His face flushes bright red and he gives you a soft smile, taking a deep breath before he leans in and kisses your thighs. You hum under your breath, spread your legs for him out of instinct.
He’s very timid at first. Peppering gentle kisses on your hips, teasing his tongue on your clit. Then your back arches, his face falls into you and all the notes and research just fall right out of his mind. He wraps his arms around your hips and moves his tongue in this rhythmic up and down motion that he can tell you love so he keeps at it. And at it and at it, stepping off with a sharp suck that makes you yelp.
You rest your head on the couch, licking your lips because they’re so dry from your gasping, your constant moaning. You grip onto his hair and moan his name, only twice because you’re losing your breath. His fingertips press into your skin, spread your pussy open so he can bury his face in you.
Your body starts to twitch and tremble, your toes curling into themselves so tightly that it cuts off circulation. Your voice is high and whiny, growing louder by the second. Spencer feels your thighs tighten around his face and he knows now is not the time to let up. He swirls his tongue over your clit and you tighten your grip on his hair, straining your throat from moaning so loudly. You try to say his name, one last time, but then your back is arching off the couch and your orgasm washes over your entire body. From the tip of your head to the tip of your toes.
Spencer wipes his mouth off with your inner thigh and stands up looking so, very proud.
“Fuck,” you laugh. “What did you read?”
He cackles and gives you a wet kiss on the cheek and then the lips. Immediately after, you push him down and suck him off and as he holds you afterwards, he breathes off, “Remind me to return the favor again.”
“Oh,” you giggle. “Believe me, I will.”
The next few days, you two are inseperable. He spends two consecutive nights at your place, bitching and complaining and listening to each rant for hours at a time. He helps your study for your next exam. It’s not until he gets called out again that real life creeps in. It’s the first time goodbye is really hard.
You joke over the next month that he should just move in. This constant pattern of fly out, fly in, visit and repeat is a lot of run around.
“You’d get sick of me,” he replies.
And you hold him real tight and shake your head, “Never.”
When he’s on his next trip and calls in the middle of your lecture, you only step out and answer because a feeling in your gut tells you something is very wrong. Spencer never calls in the middle of the day. He’d never want to inconvenience you. But, today, it has to be you.
“Hello?” you answer.
“[y/n]? Hey…” he huffs.
He sounds distraught, like his chest is tight as he speaks and you take a seat on the floor, “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“I’m…I think I’m having a panic attack. I think…I think I’m dying.”
“What? What happened? Honey…”
“Just tell me something to calm me down, anything. Anything. Please.”
“Um, um, um, uh,” you sutter. “I think we should have sex.” As you say it, someone walks by giving you a dirty look and you shake it off, wait for Spencer’s response.
His breath has slowed, but just a little, “Oh…that works.”
“Yeah,” you clear your throat. “You know, I’ve just been thinking about it. A lot, aaand yeah, when you get back, I-I think we should do that.”
“Okay.”
“Okay,” you whisper. “Do you wanna tell me what happened?”
“When I see you,” he says. “I know you’re busy and I should get back.”
“You sure?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
“Glad I could help,” you laugh. “Call me back tonight, okay?”
“I will. I miss you.”
You smile to yourself, “I miss you, too.”
When you hang up, you’re happy and giddy, grinning to yourself like a fool. Then you look up to find the same person from before, whispering with their friend as they watch you.
You roll your eyes and shout, “What the fuck are you looking at?” and you walk back into the lecture hall.
The day Spencer tells you they’re flying back, you start preparing. Shaving, showering, spraying on some nice perfume. You walk around your apartment in a silky, short nightgown, lighting candles in the hall and all over your bedroom. When you’re content with the atmosphere, the only thing left to do is wait.
And wait.
And wait.
You check your phone several times and when there is still nothing hours later, you think it’s time to blow out the candles, lay in bed and cry. For a moment, you feel so stupid and confused and angry that you almost throw a lamp at the wall. Then there’s a knock on the door.
Spencer stands there, immediately saying, “Don’t be mad.”
“Too late, I’m mad,” you snip, turning away from him.
He lets himself in and grabs your hand, stutters when he finally notices your nightgown, the candles, “Oh. Wow. You did all this?”
“Spencer!” you whine, crossing your arms.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I…I bought you a donut,” he holds the bag up to you. “Your favorite. I’m so sorry, please don’t be mad. Not tonight. Any other night but tonight, please?”
Maybe if he wasn’t so good at the kicked puppy eyes, you could’ve held out a little longer. But you’re happy he’s here and your horny and this is happening no matter what time it is. You snatch the bag from his hand and just as quickly as you drop it, you pull his body into your, gripping his waist, your mouth open on his.
He trips over your feet as you pull him down the hall and into your bedroom, the two of you tangled up so tight that you collapse on the bed in one big sweep. He falls on top of you, between your legs, kissing you hungrily.
“Wait,” he huffs, breaking the kiss. “Wait.”
You stare up at him, his face only visible due to the candles, “What is it? Did you…already?”
“What? What? No,” he laughs. “I just…uh…um…I’m not an expert at this. I…I don’t…I’m not experienced in this area and I will do everything I can to make it good for you. I just don’t want to disappoint you.”
“Aw,” you whisper, caressing his face. “Take your clothes off.”
“Huh?”
“Spencer. I’ve been thinking about having sex with you since I first saw your picture on bumble. Now it’s happening and you were late so we gotta catch up.”
You pull him back in for a kiss and reach between your bodies, undoing his pants so you can grab his cock. He gasps and moans into your mouth.
“Don’t overthink it,” you mumble, staring in his eyes, “Just do whatever you want to me.”
He moves his hips forward, stroking himself with your palm and whimpering against your cheek. He starts to kiss your neck, gripping onto your waist, bunching up your nightgown in his hands. You push his shirt up his waist and he quickly pulls it over his head, catching you in a kiss as soon as he can.
“Can I take this off?” he pants, pinching the hem of your clothes. And you sit up, allowing him to pull it right over your head.
His eyes rake down your body, lingering on your breasts, “Can I…?”
“Oh, god, yes, please,” you nod and lay back on the bed, holding your hands above your head.
Spencer chuckles and leans down, taking your nipple into his mouth ever so gently, swirling his tongue around the hard bud. You purr, grab a fistful of his hair, and lick your lips. He presses his body weight onto you, holding your other breast in his hand and sucking on your skin.
“F-fuck,” you moan. “Spencer…”
And he moves to the other side of your chest, now more confident, now unstoppable, flicking his tongue on you so fast that it makes your body twitch. He kisses down your tummy, looks up at you as he slides your panties off, kisses on your thighs. He knows how to do this. He’s good at this, per your review and when he puts his mouth on you, the most broken, whiny little noise falls from your lips.
He hums between your thighs, holding your hips tight and flush against his face. With your moans rattling around his skull, he loses all inhibition. He works his tongue on you slow, methodical, in all the right places. You give his hair a soft tug and he grunts, his hand trailing up your waist. You brace your hands on his biceps, squeezing them between your fingers, sighing out his name.
You hook your legs over his shoulders, tightening your thighs around his face, moving your hips up and down to feel his tongue gliding. Wet and sticky like he’s drowning inside of you.
“Oh, god,” you moan. “Yes, Spencer, yes, yes.”
He moans under his breath, quickening his tongue, clamping his hands down on your thighs. You pull at his hair as your back arches off the bed and your legs tremble around his head. He gives your clit a sharp suck and you cry out, gripping onto his hair at the scalp. And when your voice gets so high and whiny that it could break glass, he knows you’re close and he spreads your pussy open, works his tongue on your clit and doesn’t stop.
Your body tenses up and you hold him tight, tight, tight, crying out his name, your breath catching in your throat. And when you come, you collapse with a long and drawn out groan, shoving your fingers in your mouth to catch your breath.
You instantly reach over to the nightstand and grab the condom that’s been waiting all night to be used. Spencer brings his face back to yours and you kiss him instantly, grinning when you feel him pushing his pants down his legs. He lets you roll the condom onto his hard, leaky cock and asks, “Do-do you wanna be on top?”
“No,” you shake your head, wrap your arms tight around his waist. “Stay on top of me,” you say against his lips, “I like it.”
“Okay,” he nods into a kiss with you and settles between your legs. You help him align, you kiss his neck and hold him close as he pushes his cock into you. The both of you gasp, your noses smushed together. “God…” Spencer moans. “You okay?”
You nod, “Mhm. Are you?”
“Mm…” he hums. “Trying not to explode.”
You two chuckle, catching each other in yet another hungry kiss as Spencer starts to move in and out of you slowly. His breathing in low and jagged, hot against your face. He’s so gentle with you, pushing into you with little pressure and caressing your face.
“H-harder…” you pant. “You’re not gonna break me, I promise.”
So he plunges into you a bit harder, a bit deeper and you gasp, “Harder.”
He obeys and angles himself above you, watching your face as he pushes into you with the right amount of force. You moan, your eyes rolling back and your head along with it, “Oh, fuck, yes. Like that.”
“Yeah?” he repeats the movement, his moan blending in with yours.
“Yes,” you nod. “Yes. Yes. Just,” you reach down and start rubbing your clit. “Fuck, keep going.”
And he does. He focuses on keeping his rhythm, slow, but intense, the bed squeaking everytime he moves his hips into yours. You gasp against his lips, wrap your arm around his waist, your hooded eyes focused on his. He runs his hand over your hair, whimpering to you, melting into you, and taking short breaks to keep himself from finishing too soon.
Your fingers get cramped and soaked from the incessant rubbing on your clit but it’s like you can’t stop. Spencer leans in to kiss your neck, his hand absentmindedly running up your ribs and gripping your breast. You hold onto his hair and groan into his ear, his low and breathy moans vibrating against your skin.
“F-fuck!” you cry out as he slams into you. “I’m gonna come, don’t stop. Fuck, please don’t stop.”
But he does, only for a moment because the dirty combination of your voice and your hand tugging his hair and your pussy tightening around him, he’s dangerously close to bringing this entire thing to a premature end. So, he pauses. He takes a breath and he pounds into you. Even slower, over and over and over, watching your face closely, watching you fall apart.
“Oh,” you whine, your fingers quickening on your clit. “God, Spencer,” you moan and then body trembles, tensing up underneath him as you come so hard that you lose your voice. He grunts, falling into a sloppy kiss with you and following right behind you, his body suddenly going weak as he comes, his entire weight placed upon you.
Spencer collapses beside you and instantly pulls you into his chest, squeezing you in his arms and peppering your forehead with kisses. “How was that?” he asks, looking down at you. “Was that good for you?”
You touch your fingertip to his chin and smile, nodding, “Oh, yes.”
“Good,” he hugs you. “Good, good, good. For me, too.”
You smile into a long kiss with him and giggle against his lips. Lying there, your breathing falls in sync and you trace the center of his tummy, sink into the bliss.
“They, uh…” Spencer starts. “They remembered my birthday today. That’s why I was late, they threw me a party.”
You glance up at him, but only for a moment and then you put your head back on his chest. “Oh.”
“It was nice,” he shrugs. “It was fun, but the whole time, I just…thought about you. I thought about how angry I was that they’d forgotten at all and how…how you just made everything so much better,” and he tilts your head up to say this next part directly to you, “You always make everything so much better.”
And as you stare into his eyes, the corners of your mouth turned up ever so sightly, your eyes start to water and your lip starts to quiver.
“Oh,” he softens. “Oh, no. Nooo. Are you crying?”
“No,” you shake your head. Then you put your face in your hands and nod, suddenly sobbing.
“Oh, no, no, [y/n], no, I’m sorry. Did I say something?”
You shake your head.
“What is it? What-what just happened?”
“I-I-I-“ you stutter. Lifting your head from your hands, you cry, “I-I just wish I could tell my friends about you.”
He frowns and takes you into a tight hug, rubbing your back and kissing the top of your head, “I’m so sorry,” he whispers to you. “Oh, [y/n], I’m so sorry.”
And because he’s never really seen you cry before, his only thought is to ask, “Do you-do you want me to go down on you again?”
You look up at him, your lip poked out in a dramatic pout and you nod.
“Okay,” he says, climbing on top of you and wiping the tears from your face. “I can do that for you.”
It works. It leads to more sex. The two of you don’t go to bed until the sun has nearly risen and don’t get up until well in the afternoon. Spencer thinks you’re using his dick as a distraction and you fear there’s no respectful way to say: I just can’t get enough. He gives you a few days and nights worth of it and still, it’s not enough.
He’s actively trying to get inside of you when he gets called into work. He’s on top of you, between your legs, pushing his tongue into your mouth when his phone goes off. He pulls away to check it and you whine, “Nooo, noooo, don’t goooo.”
“I have to. People are dying,” and as he speaks, you kiss his neck, touch your tongue to his jaw and he moans, “Oh, god,” before he can stop himself. “[y/n]….”
“Just-stay. Stay. They can save one day without you, can’t they?”
“Actually, I don’t think they can.”
“Ugh. You and your big, useful brain. I’m sick of it.”
“I’ll be back,” he gives you a kiss.
“Nooo, stay,” you hold him tight so he can’t move and he busts out laughing.
“I have to go, I’m sorry.”
So he showers and gets dressed and you sit on the bed pouting the entire time. He comes out of the bathroom and frowns, matching your pissy and childish expression.
“I will be back,” he tells you as he takes a seat on the bed. “I always come back.”
“I know, I know, I’m just being dramatic. Let me be dramatic.”
“Okay,” he chuckles and gives you a kiss. Nuzzling his nose against yours, he whispers, “You should call your friends.”
You instantly recoil and he puts his hands on your shoulders, “Okay, okay, I know. I know. But I think it’s time. You need them. They need you. You’re an easy girl to miss.”
You roll your eyes and he sighs, kisses your forehead and squeezes you in a hug. “Call them,” he says and then he leaves.
You sit there for a moment, ponder on his words. Ponder on the entirety of the past few days, past few months. You pick up your phone. You stare at it in your palm. You dial your friend’s number and though you don’t expect an answer, she picks up with a, “Hello?”
You take a deep breath, “Hey…”
When Spencer arrives at work, he finds himself heading up the elevator with Morgan who is so completely and totally normal that Spencer thinks he can smell the sex on him. He watches Derek from the corner of his eyes, fidgeting with the strap of his satchel and shuffling on his feet.
Suddenly, Derek smashes the emergency button on the elevator and brings it to a halt. Spencer falls back and grabs onto the wall.
“Why-why-why did you do that?” Spencer stutters, his pulse starting to rise. “Why did you do that? You remember what happened the last time you messed around with the elevator? Turn it back on.”
“Not until,” Derek says, turning to him. “You tell me whatever it is that you’re dying to tell me.”
“I’m…I’m not dying to tell you anything. I’m just scared of dying.”
“Pretty boy. I step in the elevator, you start sweating. I act like I don’t notice, you’re giving me the side eye up four floors. What’s up?”
Spencer closes his eyes and shakes his head. Then he stands up straight. Then he falls back again.
“Kid?”
“I’m…” Spencer starts. But he can’t finish. “I’m…” He thinks he doesn’t know what to say. Key word: thinks. But there’s only one sentence swirling around his brain and he has to say it, but he doesn’t want to say it and so he bites his tongue. He shakes his head and then looks up at Derek, “I’m having sex!”
And he says it with such a whiny voice that Derek can’t help but laugh. Visibily.
“I knew it,” Derek says. “You’re shaking in your converse to tell me that?”
“What? What do you mean you knew it?” The response sobers Spencer up a bit, his anxiety weakens just enough so he can figure out why Derek is laughing.
“Don’t think I haven’t noticed you walkin’ on in here everyday with a lil’ extra pep in ya step,” Derek chuckles. “You’re not that sneaky, kid. I knew there had to be someone.”
Spencer sighs, lets his shoulders relax. “It’s-it’s not that big of a deal. It’s just…sex…lots of sex. Lots of really, really good sex. I think. I think it’s good. It…feels good, seems good. I don’t have much to compare it to but, um…yeah…”
“My man,” Derek laughs and Spencer breaks a smile. “Who’s the lucky lady?”
Spencer smiles wider, “[y/n]. She’s gorgeous and smells good and makes me laugh and I…don’t feel weird around her she makes me feel so unbelievably not weird and y-yeah, she’s a little bit younger but I hardly ever notice.”
Derek puts the elevator back in motion, “How young are we talkin’ here?”
“Um, she’s twenty-two.”
Derek replies with nothing more than a whistle and Spencer rolls his eyes, “Stop.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You said plenty.”
The elevator dings and they step off, Derek swinging his arm over Spencer’s shoulder, “Don’t worry, pretty boy, we’ll get you back to your lady soon.”
And Spencer laughs it off but in his head, he’s thinking: yes, please.
It’s the first week out of town that Derek is suspicious every time Spencer checks his phone. When the case starts to get heavier and harder, Spencer missing a few of his nightly phone calls, you worry. You can’t help it. He texts you when he lands and it’s stupid how wide you smile.
Library? he texts.
Y: Literally on my way.
You approach each other at the front doors, and from far away, you can see the bags under his eyes and the hunch in his shoulders.
“Hey, you,” you cradle his face in your palm. “Tough week?”
He leans into your touch, nodding and closing his eyes to take a moment and reset. When he opens them to find your face, illuminated by the light, he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you in for a kiss. You giggle against his lips and your leg lifts behind you, almost uncontrollably.
You smile at each other and Spencer asks, “Do you like coffee?”
You cackle, “I love coffee.”
He holds the door open for you, asking, “Hey, what do you think about meeting some friends of mine?”
You smile, turn to him, “I was just about to ask you the same thing.”
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messylustt · 9 months
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𝐞𝐥 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐨 (𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐥) — 𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐡𝐞𝐦
miguel o’hara x fem!reader. a lot of words.
fic masterlist previous part pt eight next part
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violence + blood + injuries; making out; suggestive content; my god whew — miguel’s hand raises to…what? you don’t know, because the spider society’s alarm bell is ringing. mayhem, fire, fights…masked men. you only want to help. when miguel confronts you about your ‘help’ clearly displaying anger and well…worry, something unexpected happens…you both getting as close as you did before…maybe closer?
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You’re still staring at Miguel, staying close. Closer than you probably should be. And just as his hand reaches up to…to what? What was he going to do?
Because now the alarms are sounding. Followed by the cries of spider-people. You quickly whip your head to the door. And at first Miguel doesn’t look away from you. As if the word ‘emergency’ isn’t registering in his brain. No. He keeps his eyes on you, his lifted hand having to drop away as you rush to the door.
Miguel clenched his jaw, cursing the whole idea of having an ‘emergency bell’.
You’ve reached the door and then the hallway seeing mayhem. Everyone is running (or more so webbing) around, as a fire had started in the centre.
Miguel is soon joining you, just as you spot Miles and Hobie running up. “There you are, mate.” Hobie sighs in relief, grabbing your shoulders as he goes to move you.
“Wh-“ You look around. “What’s going on?”
Miguel narrows his eyes on Hobie’s hands. He knows now’s really not the time to feel petty, but part of him wants to break his ringed fingers. Hobie moves you with him further down the hallway. “If they recognise ya, they’ll wanna kill ya, luv. So, let’s maybe go…ay?”
Your eyes widen. “Kill?! What? Why?”
Miles is hot on both your heels. Miguel not far behind him. Then Miguel notices Miles, brows slightly furrowing. “Why are you here?” He asks, making Miles glance back.
“Uh…I was invited.” He says slowly.
“Uh huh.” He eyed the kid. “By who? Gwen?”
Miles gulps at the look Miguel is giving him. “Yeah…”
“Mm.” Miguel hums, looking distasteful as he walks past Miles, catching up to you and Hobie. “Now we’re letting anyone in?” He mutters to himself with a small scoff.
“Hobie, what happened?” You ask, as he continues to move you, his grip staying on your shoulders. He brings you to the tech room, it appearing empty. You look behind you at the way you came. “I didn’t know you could get here through there.” You mutter.
“Lyla.” You hear Miguel say, her appearing by his shoulder. “What is this?” Though the look Miguel is displaying makes you feel as though he already knows.
“An attack on HQ.” Lyla says, beginning to tap away at her little screens.
“Okay, there are way too many of them.” You hear Pav say, running into the room.
“We held them off as much as we could.” Gwen is close behind. “But their strong. Like freaky strong.”
“Y/n!” Pav exclaims, bringing you in for a hug.
“Oh—“ You weren’t expecting the hug, everything happening so fast, as you slowly pat his back.
“Where were you?” He sounds concerned.
“I was just…” you drift off, licking your lips. “Gwen, whose really strong?” You quickly look to her.
“You remember the men who attacked last time? The one’s with the masks?” Gwen asks, to which you slowly nod, catching on.
“They’re back?” You ask. Gwen nods.
“But they look different.” Gwen’s says—her having seen the ones who attacked you and the tech room when they were in pools of their own blood, curtesy of Miguel. “They’re…”
“Bigger.” You mutter, picturing the masked men that were in Miles’ universe. “Better suits? Strangely taller?” You ask her.
“Yeah…”
“They’ve upgraded.” You mutter.
“Which means they aren’t here for a tiny thief job.” Miguel says, walking past you all to one of the only computers that didn’t get smashed. He pauses though, licking his teeth, as he mutters rather quietly. “Does anyone know the password?”
You hold back your amused smile, as you walk up to the computer. You lean down, tapping at the keyboard. The screen glitches a little, but for the most part it works.
“You’re looking for the security cameras right?” You ask Miguel, still staring at the screen. Lyla was clearly too busy to compute it, so you tap at more keys, bringing up roughly twenty different security camera images.
You zoom in on the middle three, displaying the fire and the masked men. Miguel leans over the desk beside you, staring at the screen. “They started the fire by smashing the tech there.” You point to a far spot on the screen, noticing the destroyed screens and machines.
Everyone had begun to surround the computer. “Why do they want to destroy tech?” Pav ask, as you shift your gaze to Miguel.
His gaze is focused on the screen, and more specifically on one specific ‘masked man’ . You narrowed your gaze on him. Where had he gone earlier? Has he met this guy? How does he recognise him? They all look the same to you.
Green woven—now metal—suits, but still those handmade masks…except now with added metal elements scattered randomly. “Miguel.” You say, making him shift his gaze to you.
You tilt your head, silently communicating that you know somethings up. The raise of your brows asks him why he isn’t voicing anything.
Miguel’s teeth are grinding as he stares at you, silently communicating back. You narrow your eyes upon understanding his expression as one showing he’s not going to voice anything. If he doesn’t have to anyway.
Hobie stares at you two for a moment, blinking. “Can you two read each others minds now? Is that what we’ve been missin’?”
You shift your gaze to Hobie, who’s standing, arms crossed. Then a rather loud scream makes all your heads whip to the computer. A masked man is holding up a spider-person by the throat. But what makes you want to puke is the way his claw is beginning to stab into the spiders chest and running down, tearing skin and other bodily flesh.
Hobie, Gwen, Pav, and Miles are quick, rushing out of the room and assumably to the lobby, where the guy’s screams are easily heard. Other spider-people are trying to fight back, but the masked men seem to be knocking them down a little too easily. How are they doing that so easily?
You swiftly turn your gaze to the screen, eyes darting, as your chest heaved. “One of them took it, Miguel.” Lyla says, making you shift your gaze to him.
He’s moving away, most likely to get to the action to help as well. He meets your gaze. “Don’t you dare move.” He warns, before he’s slipping through the secret entry.
What did Lyla say? One of the masked men took what? You look back to the computer, wincing every time a spider-person got hit. Hard. You take note of one guy, his hits extra painful to watch—the one Miguel was staring at. You wanted to help. You wished you could help.
Then you hear the shuffle of metal making you spin. But your heart slows upon seeing Peter and Mayday. Wait…mayday?!
You rush forward, seeing Peter’s frantic expression. “Y/n, Thank god. I didn’t—I didn’t know what to do.” He gesturing to Mayday.
“Peter why is she here?!” You’re extremely worried.
“I didn’t know an attack was gonna happen! I would have left her home.” He’s looking behind him, clearly knowing he has to help, but still holding tightly onto an unbothered, babbling Mayday.
You quickly grab her, pulling her into your arms. “Go.” You say. “They need you out there. Go.”
Peter looks hesitant, and you understand why. “I’ll hide.” You say, knowing he’s skeptical because you’re well…human and could barely fight back against those men. Especially if spider variants are getting knocked out.
“They won’t find me. They won’t find her.” You hold Mayday close to you, as she rests her head on your shoulder, her smile still present.
Then Peter is nodding. He trusts you. He knows you’re not one to be stupid. “Go.” You say again, and he moves, rushing out towards the action.
Your heart is beating on overdrive. Holding Mayday tightly, you turned back to the screen. None of your friends were knocked out, injured or…dead. But just as you go to find somewhere to hide—as you had promised, you noticed something.
A small machine, with a switch, it’s almost unseeable through the screen, but you catch it. That isn’t the spider-society’s tech. That’s from the masked men.
No. It suddenly clicks. Why all the spider-people were getting knocked out easy, why they could never sense when a masked man was l close. It was as if someone switched off their spider-sense and strength.
You felt Mayday lean away, using her own spider webs to attach to a farther desk, yanking you along the ground. “Mayday.” You hold her back. Now was not the time. Why did Peter give her her own webs?
You rip the web, pulling her back. “Mayday.” You say making your look at you, hair curling around her face. “You have to stay still. Okay? Just stay in my arms. Then how bout we play a game after?”
Her face lights up. You’d played these games with her, the main two being learning fun handshakes, and the other was hide and seek. “Alright?” You ask gently. She excitedly jumps in your arms. “You gotta stay still, though.” She stills, wrapping her arms around your neck.
You sigh, turning back to the screen. You can spot Gwen looking confused, clearly feeling the effects of not having a spider-sense. Then you spot Miguel. He seems unaffected by the change, noticing the masked men a lot quicker than the other spider people. Then you shift your gaze back to the switch.
The spider variants didn’t know. Shit, shit, shit. You had said you’d hide, to keep Mayday safe. But you can’t just do…nothing. Then you decide something incredibly stupid, like beyond a seeable level of stupid that could turn out terribly.
But you had to try. Because they weren’t winning out there. You pull Mayday away, making sure she caught your gaze. “Okay, Mayday…we’re gonna a play a game now. How’s that?”
She nods quickly, clapping her hands. “Alright…you remember hide and seek?”
She again nods at you, slightly playing with your hair. “I’m gonna count. And you’re gonna hide. Somewhere good. Really good.”
She begins to try and get out for yours arms, eager to play. “Mayday. Find somewhere really good.” She’d always been very good at choosing a hard hiding place. It always took you forever to find her. And you were counting on that.
Then you reluctantly let her go. You wouldn’t be long. You wouldn’t be. “One…” you pretend to cover your eyes, as you watch her waddle away through the cracks between your fingers.
You were stressed. This plan couldn’t go wrong. You wouldn’t let it. “Two…”
You were gonna reach that switch. “Three…”
And now you can’t see Mayday, knowing what direction she ran in, and roughly where she had hid, so that you could rush back to her. You had to be quick.
You ran towards the secret exit, grabbing a loose pipe. You’d rather go out there with a weapon. Loud sounds reach your eardrums when you made it outside the room, but you continued to run.
You couldn’t slow, or take your time. You rushed past spiders, thankful none are noticing you. Just stay unnoticed—you keep repeating to yourself. You reached the middle of the mayhem. And god was it hectic.
You couldn’t let Peter see you. You couldn’t let Miguel see you. You couldn’t let any of them see you. It’s as if you never came here. You ran, skirting past broken tables and machines.
Everything felt hot, the fire still partially there. You held back a scream as a tumbling, fighting duo nearly barrelled into you—it managed to knock away your pipe, but you couldn’t stop to dwell. The switch, the switch, the switch.
You slid to your knees, rushing under a table. You’ve almost gotten punched, and you’re sure a cut is bleeding. But you run, you can now see the switch, and also your friends. They look terrible.
You grit your teeth moving quicker. You’re so close. And just as you think relief is near, a body hits you, knocking you down. You wince, looking up to see a masked man. He tilts his head, blood coating his entire claw along with his suit.
You shuffle back along the floor, trying to get to your feet. But his boot comes down onto your chest, making you wheeze. “Aren’t you that chick who got away?”
“Different chick.” You wheeze out, scrabbling to get his foot off you.
“Nah, I remember the poster they put up in the lab. Your face is recognisable.” He presses harder against your chest. Your hand scrambles to the side, against the dirty floor. Find something. Anything.
Your hand finally clasps around a loose peice of metal. You tighten your hold, the sharpness cutting your palm. You swing your arm across, stabbing it into the guy’s calf.
It goes in deep, resulting in him lessening his boots hold. You manage to roll away, swiftly getting to your feet. He goes to lunge for you again, but your arm shoots out in a punch, right across his face. He stumbles slightly back.
But you seem to be more hurt then him. “Mother fu—“ you hiss, holding your now bruised knuckles. “Shit…why did I do that?” You mutter to yourself.
But you try not to dwell on the pain as you run past him and the others, finally reaching the switch. One hand is bloody while the other is bruised and you’ve never felt more relieved. You push the switch, a small whirring sound reaching your ears.
Then suddenly you catch sight of all the spider-people’s spider-senses turning back on, practically animated. But your relieved smile drops as practically all the masked men shift there gaze to you. Shit.
With all the turned heads, you catch Hobie’s turn as well. His spider-sense now taking note of you. His eyes widen in a mix of confusion, worry and anger? Wow you’ve never really seen him angry before.
Miguel takes note of you now as well now, as you shift your gaze to him, pressing your lips together as you breathe through your nose. Miguel’s expression is downright terrifying. You watch as he snaps one the masked men’s necks as he moves towards you.
You gulp, noticing some of the masked men move to you as well. You swiftly grab the small switch machine, and begin to back out of the room, or at least try to.
And just as a claw reaches for your face, an orange web yanks you aside, nearly making you tumble, but a tight hand wraps around your upper arm. “What the fuck are doing here?” Miguel lowly hisses out.
“Miguel— I have to go.” Mayday. You had to get to Mayday.
“No, no you can’t just go anywhere. You were already practically an enemy to these guy, but oh now they want to kill you.” He says this while slicing his claws across one of the guys throats—having tilted his head back to display the guys bare neck.
“Miguel.” You hiss. “Let go. I have to go.” You rush these words out.
But Miguel didn’t want to let go. You were bleeding, bruised, and almost dead. “Why didn’t you stay put? Why didn’t you stay goddamn put?” He growls.
You’re breathing hard. You had to go, and you didn’t have the time to explain. So you do the best thing you can think of. “I’m sorry about this...”
Your hand had reached for something on the a table, a plate, another peice of metal, whatever it was you knock it across his face. Not to cut, or harm, just so that his grip would loosen around your arm.
And it does, leaving you room to run. And god did you run—fast. You skirted past fighting people, the spider variants finally knocking some of the masked men down, now that the switch was off.
You reached the secret entrance, rushing into the tech room. You kept the switch machine close to you as you rushed to Mayday’s hiding place. You tried to slow your breathing, not wanting to freak her out. You wiped your bloody hand on your pants, wincing as your cut rubs against the material.
You didn’t want to scare her.
You reach the small cupboard type thing, having to lift yourself up. She had clearly webbed herself towards it. But with you being taller than her you managed. You took a breath. Pretending that you had been playing the entire time.
“Oh, Mayday.” You sing songed quietly. “I wonder where you are?”
You neared the closed cupboard door, hearing a faint giggle. You sigh in relief at the fact that she’s still here. You whip the doors open and you hear a small squeak. You scoop her up.
“Found you.” You said softly, earning now huffing giggles from her. She was okay. She was okay.
But then your heart drops. You hear heavy scuffing boots enter the room. No. Please no. Without thinking you rush into the cupboard, shutting the door.
Mayday begins to babble on about something, but you put her head into your neck. “Shh.” You shakily whisper. “Shh.” You stroke her hair. She moves a little, but luckily she begins to relax in your arms.
You can hear the taunting boots near. And you hold your hand over your mouth, quieting your heavy breathing. Please stay quiet Mayday, please stay quiet—you think to yourself, holding her closer to you, as you slide to the floor of the cupboard. It only just fit you both.
Then the door is getting harshly pulled open and your eyes widen. No, no, no. But then just as the masked man comes into view, his body is getting harshly lifted, his feet raising as blood bleeds out from his stomach. Your eyes widen.
Then he falls to the side, revealing a heaving Miguel. Your head knocks back against the cupboard back wall, as you hold Mayday tighter to you. You couldn’t let her see. Any of the blood, you wouldn’t let her see.
Miguel meets your gaze, just as Hobie, Pav, Gwen, Miles and Peter rush to a stop beside him, all staring into the cupboard.
You begin to shakily stand, still holding onto Mayday for dear life. You were scared. Your adrenaline slowly disappearing.
Peter rushes forward taking Mayday from you. He notices there isn’t a scratch on her and Peter is beyond relieved. “Make sure she doesn’t…see.” You say, sounding somewhat out of it as you blink, so your eyes would stay open.
Then Hobie is slipping his arm around your midriff, supporting your legs, as you gulped down arising tears. You wouldn’t cry. Not in front of everyone.
“What the hell was that?” For once there is no joke in Hobie’s tone.
Your eyes a blurring, but you wanted to stay awake. You hated how much your body could exhaust. “You were supposed to stay up here.” Miguel is saying, his breathing still heavy.
You know that you arriving back to the tech room, alerted that now dead masked man of where you were.
For once Miguel doesn’t mind that Hobie is holding you. He’s helping you. And though Miguel would rather help you, his hands are covered in blood—Hobie having used his surroundings and web to mainly fight them, his hands being rather clean from the red.
You half heartedly chuckle. “You can just say thanks.” You meet his gaze, a small smile edging your lips.
“Are they…” You drift off, Gwen filling in.
“They left. They aren’t dead. Some of them are. But the others…left.” She says, making you nod.
“Thank god.” You mutter out, the pain finally feeling like it can catch up to you. “And fuck…” You slightly push off of Hobie, shaking your bruised hand. “When were any of you gonna tell me that punching someone really fuckin’ hurts.”
“Well, usually punching someone with a metal head tends to hurt.” Pav says, raising his brows slightly.
“Eh.” You chuckle, continuing to flex your hand.
;;
Miguel didn’t leave your side when you went to medical, you getting stitched, and mended.
“Don’t sleep in here.” He says, gazing around at practically every spider person. The medical was of course packed.
“But the fire reached my room—“
“Not mine.” Miguel says, already slipping his arms around your body—though he keeps his hands, for the majority, off of you. His hands were still covered in blood, though dry, meaning the blood wouldn’t taint you, he still couldn’t.
“That’s fine—“
“Shut up, and move.” Miguel wasn’t looking for your acceptance, taking you to his room.
;;
Once inside, he shuts the door, leading you to sit on his bed. As you did, he had slightly begun to pace the length of his room.
“What are you doing?” You ask, watching his stressful state. “Can you stop?”
He shifts his gaze to you, semi stopping. His body was still tense, his jaw clenched. “Sit.” You say, gesturing to the chair. You narrow your gaze until he obeys, moving the chair to face you, as he took a seat.
Glass still slightly littered the ground, the slight scratch marks on the chair staying easily visible.
You noticed for a moment that he couldn’t look at you. His gaze instead getting caught up with his wrist. You glanced down at it, noticing a thin…bracelet? It was covered in blood, and he had begin to fiddle with it, making your brows furrow.
“What’s that?” You ask. But he still doesn’t meet your gaze, clenching his hand into a fist.
“Nothing.” He says. But it wasn’t nothing of course. It was your bracelet, the one he had found in your rooms doorway, back in your universe when you had went missing.
“I didn’t know you were one to wear jewellery.” You speak light heartedly. But he barely reacts. “Miguel.” You say, sighing. “Can you at least look at me?”
And it’s the slight sadness in your voice that makes him. He looks up and you’re shocked to see a million different emotions swirling in his eyes.
“Why did you do that?” He asks, now not looking away from your eyes.
“What?”
“That.” He hisses lowly. “You were supposed to stay in the tech room.”
“Miguel you do realise that I couldn’t have just stood there and literally watched…right?” You ask, seeing his gaze flicker everywhere on your face. “I saw something important, and thought i should help.”
“But you shouldn’t have.” He says.
“Yes, I should have…” You stand up now. Miguel moves to stand also, but you hold your hand out, making sure he stayed seated. “I want to help Miguel. I want to be of help.”
“Yeah, well you being of help nearly got you killed.” He snarls.
“Exactly the same as all of you.” You say, stepping closer to his seated self. “You guys go through so much dangerous stuff all the time. And finally when I can actually help you hate me for it.”
“Because you’re—“
“A weak human, yeah I got it. But I wanted to help. And It worked…none of you guys are dead!” You exclaim, breathing heavy.
Miguel stares up at you, his breathing close to matching yours.
“That is all I’ve ever wanted to do, Miguel.” You say. “Help.”
“You almost died out there.” His voice had begun to soften.
“And so did you!” Yours hasn’t yet, though.
He couldn’t resist. Slipping his hand under your thigh he pulled you towards him, making your body tumble. He caught you by a second grip on your other thigh, making sure you landed in a straddle over his lap. His legs were still a fraction spread, which made yours naturally spread further around him. This satisfied Miguel’s want to keep those legs spread. Wide and open for him.
He pulled you even closer, your body sliding along his thighs, right up against him. Your heart was beating like a drum in your ears. You couldn’t think. You couldn’t speak. All you could do was breathe and stare. Stare at Miguel’s piercing red eyes that now practically told you everything he hadn’t voiced yet.
Miguel stared at you, his eyes seeming to hood over on their own. You were yet again, so close. He could taste your breath. And he wanted to. God did he want to.
He’s sure it would taste so sweet. You would taste so fucking sweet. His clawed hands stayed wrapped around your thighs, as he began to lean in, his eyes focused on your freshly wet lips, your nervous habit. You were nervous. He met your gaze once more, before darting his eyes down again. He couldn’t stop leaning in.
Your heart has stopped, having been beating rapidly in your ears. You want to gulp down your nervousness but Miguel is now so close to your neck.
His warm breath fans over your skin as his mouth opens a fraction. His hands ran up your body, to grip around your waist. Then he leaned in, his lips attaching to the side of your neck. You heard him hum, the vibrations sending shivers up your spine.
His hands begun to slip under your shirt, the feel of your bare skin making him go practically insane. He couldn’t believe it. He began to slowly litter small kisses—at first—his breathing growing heavier and heavier.
Your chest was heaving as he pulled you tighter to him, his lips now pressing harder against your skin. When they turned open-mouthed you could feel the drag of his fangs, his tongue coming down to soothe forming bruises.
Your head had begun to roll back, your hands tightly gripped onto Miguel’s shoulders. “I couldn’t let you die, cariño.” He whisper-groaned into your neck. His panting breath only occasionally felt, because he couldn’t back away from your skin.
His kisses began to lead up to your jaw. You were flushed, your body hot, everywhere. “Miguel—“ you breathe out.
“Shh, I just wanna…I just…” but he couldn’t even finish the sentence as he reached to hover over your lips. His hand slipped to the back of your neck, his claws embedding themselves into your hair, as his other hand tightened a fraction around your waist.
Now you’re breathing hard, your eyes slightly glazed over, your mind utterly dazed as you stared at Miguel. “I just want to…”
You gulp. “Want to what?” You quietly asked, your own eyes flickering to his lips.
“I— carajo.” Was the last word he managed before his lips found yours, your head knocking back. Miguel wrapped his lips around your bottom, breathy groans easily escaping him, as he pulled you impossibly closer. His heart was beating on overdrive, nearly at a concerning tempo as he lapped at your mouth.
And god did you taste sweet. So fucking sweet. And he gets to feel you—have you. He doesn’t have a care in the world as long as you stayed this close. Right against him letting him keep you this close. Your tongue dragged across his bottom lip, soon finding his tongue. His head moved to push further against yours, as he swirled his tongue around your mouth.
Then your body slightly jolts. His hand that was gripping your waist had tightened to a point that his claws had cut you a fraction. Miguel immediately let your waist go, realising that his body’s reaction—tightening around you, was to make sure you wouldn’t leave. “I’m—“
But you’re cutting him off with another kiss, slightly raising on your knees, so that his head had to tilt up to stay kissing you. His hands slipped to wrap around your raised thighs. “Tell me you weren’t gonna apologise.” You spoke to his lips, leaning away a fraction.
But Miguel eagerly chased your mouth, managing to pull your head back down, with a swift grip to your hair. “Miguel—“
He shook his head, his lips brushing against yours. “If I say no, will you keep kissing me?” He tilted his head, lips still lightly brushing yours, as his tongue came out to lick your top lip. “Mm?”
“Yea—“ but Miguel cuts you off, kissing you hard as one of his hands stoked up and down your thigh. “Then I’m not sorry at all.” He muttered between kisses. He was addicted. That’s the simplest way to put it. Utterly addicted. “Dios…I’m not sorry.”
Your hands slipped around his neck, beginning to play with the ends of his brown hair, your fingers soon sinking to softly grip the strands. A breathy moan escapes Miguel’s lips at the feeling of your fingers, his mouth opening against your own. A small forming smile edged your lips at the reaction.
“Shut up.” He whispered, smashing his lips back to yours. His kisses had grown even more heated—if possible—spreading across your cheek, his nose brushing against your hair. “Dios, y/n, can I touch you…mm por favor…?” He asks, trying to pull your thighs back down onto him.
But you held your own, staying just out of reach—legs either side of him on the chair. When Miguel would much rather you pressed against him. Of course he was hard, aching almost painfully. “Y/n.” He lowly growled out.
You grabbed his chin, lifting his head up, as you teasingly pecked his lips. “I’ve never seen you beg, give me a moment to enjoy it.”
Miguel clenched his jaw as he harshly pulled your thighs further apart, making you gasp, landing right on top of him. He moved his hands to your hips, keeping you still, as his head slightly leant back at the feeling. “Mm…that’s it…” He whispered out.
You could feel his bulge right under you, making your core ache. Now you felt hot. And as you looked at a breathless Miguel, his chest heaving mismatched you couldn’t help but begin to slightly move your hips.
Miguel’s breathing hitches, his hands gripping your waist. “Y/n…”
“Shh.” You partially mocked, earning a small growl from Miguel. “Didn’t you say I had to do anything for you?” You moved your hips along him, grinding torturously. “This seems like it would certainly help.” Your tone is breathy, as your hips movements sends jolts through you both.
“For a…mission.” Miguel remembers the start of the deal—the conversation—correcting you, through heavy breaths. God, what were you doing…keep doing it.
“Which loosely means for you.” You copy his previous words.
His head slightly falls back. “Mierda, cariño…”
You go to place your hands on his chest, when his head comes back up, his grip slipping from your waist to your hips and managing to stop you. He leans towards your ear. “But do you really think I’m gonna let you grind on me like that? Make me pathetically reach my high with clothes…still on?”
Your breathing hitches. His hand reaches up your shirt again, but pauses by the side of your waist. Then before you know it, Miguel’s holding your thighs—wrapped around him—as he stands. You quickly wrap your hands around his neck thinking you would fall.
Miguel chuckles at the reaction, instead, effortlessly walking with you towards his bed. He leans forward, resting you down as his hands came to cage you in. You’re resting on your elbows, pushing a little higher up. Miguel leans even more forward, so that you’re forced to lean back with him.
“Lie back…eso es (that’s it)…that’s ma’ girl.” Miguel breathes, as your head rests back against his sheets. My girl. His girl. All of Miguel’s previous loud voices, the ones that had quietened when you hugged him have become one. Repeating the words—my girl, my girl, my girl.
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my god, that was a trip. and finallyyyy! AHHH — I hope this is what you guys expected and hope you all liked it
I promise promise promise, I will carry on this smut on the next part <33 it was just getting so long—I couldn’t stop writing (I’m sorry guys I gotta keep eedging ya)
plus since it’s the last part (part 9) next, everything will be concluded, and all mysteries solved! coz that’s just plain cruel if I utterly leave you guys hanging
taglist: @dangerousdreamkitty @ale-maral @inosukesweirdwife @flooftoof @cynicallyaestetic @silassinclair @mariiyoushi @ilovedilfjake @toastlover21 @wlellsl @k1rbbo @bitchotine @guacam011y @blnk338 @wolfiepirate @kurxxmi @corpsebridenightamare @ohantonia @yunonaneko @irenered-20 @z3r0art @sunflowercandie @perilous-pasta @gloriouskryptonitecrown @whyamistillhere78 @ritzzzsblog @mm1sta @tealcoloured-murder @aweebsimp101 @livelaughlaurv @s0dium @roguepancake @sunshiines-stuff @internal-soundtrack @oscarisdaddy69 @clairacassidy @captainquake42 @nanaloverz @ilyless @sindulgent666 @shine101 @thebadasssass @hibeejibees @nirishin @ily2lia @lillunna @cinnamoncattie @futuristicpandakid @maroonobserver @thatsopanu @edgyficuselastica @kittekat420 @stararctic @maxi-ride @renn-pumkin-head @scaraza @justanotherkpopstanlol @fauxizs @cloudsandrenoswife @ilmovor @larissa-lolll @elliemm @httpkiyoomi @j2warren @arquiiva @ilovemiguelohara @a-monster-can-filled-with-cum @fandom-gal44 @elwyn7 @albiebright
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snaileer · 5 months
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Everyone Loves a 2-for-1 Sale Part 3
Part 1 & 2 (And original Prompt)
The dining room was suspiciously quiet for a Wayne breakfast when Danny walked in.
He glanced up from his phone, pulling one earbud out, “Oh feel free to continue arguing my morality like I’m an object, my music’s on full volume.”
Dick looked uncomfortable, “We weren’t-Look, Ti- Danny, we are just a bit curious as to why you’re…. here,” Dick finished, glancing at the others like asking if they’d share the plate of batguilt-fries with him.
“Surely the world could have done without a second Drake,” Damian cut in before Danny could even start.
“And we could have done without even one of you, yet here you are,” Danny glared, “Factory defects and all.”
Damian jerked upwards with a raised knife, narrowly pushed back down by Dick.
Danny rolled his eyes, turning his attention back to his phone-Tim’s phone-their phone. He held a folded paper out to Bruce with two fingers, still typing, “I have a list, if you want it.”
He continued typing as they opening the note and read it, he knew what it said.
To Do in Gotham:
1. Get to Gotham
2. Find original - don’t freak family out
3. -Find- Talk to Bruce
4. Convince Vicki Vale that Tim is/ actually engaged to Tam Fox
5. Get safe house
6. New identity? (what do clones do? - ask Connor)
7.
8.
9. Leave?
“What’s number seven and eight?” Dick asked, and Danny actively made sure his typing pattern didn’t change.
“Don’t know yet,” He answered with a shrug, the picture of nonchalance. Bruce probably didn’t believe him.
Didn’t matter. Dick did. Because Dick felt guilty.
Bat guilty.
About time he believed him about something.
And Danny didn’t care about Damian’s opinions one way or another.
He stepped away from the table, plopping another grape in his mouth as he walked past, “Welp that’s it for me, busy day, fake engagement, gotta find some crutches because I don’t think Vicki will accept my ‘you got new legs Lieutenant Dan-ny’ joke, all that,”
Danny slipped out the door past a sleep-deprived Tim with a jaunty salute, “All’s well in Clone Town!”
Danny kept walking, his brain running miles ahead of him, Ted Tobin steering the wheel with his fingers on the keypad of his phone as he moved forward and mentally filled in the list.
Number 7: Find Ra’s Al Ghul and the Lazarus pits.
Number 8: Stabilize yourself.
Danny continued up the stairs. He had people to see and rings to buy. Busy is the life of a saboteur.
Red Robin watched his clone linger in the jeweler’s store, trying to keep the frown from taking over his whole face.
He was making Tim’s life difficult. Tim suspected it was on purpose.
Largely because people would ask way too many questions if two Tim Drakes showed up in Gotham at the same time.
Hence, Red Robin being relegated to rooftop surveillance.
He turned his attention back to the clone, watching as he left the shop and turned down the street. Red Robin swept after him, following from above.
The clone remained focused on his phone- which was also Tim’s by the way, and stolen- as he walked down the street, turning into an alley without even looking up.
Tim tilted his head and swung to the rooftop, peering into the darkness.
“You could always just come down and actually talk to me, you know?”
Tim dropped into the alley, unsurprised to come face to face with the clone. It was weird to see his own face look so annoyed by him.
“Thought it was best to stay out of sight. We’re not exactly a daylight hero.”
Danny rolled his eyes, “Already annoyed with Vicki Vale?”
Tim nearly growled, “That is your fault,”
“Oh come on, you can’t tell me it’s not hilarious.”
“You’ve spent all morning in ring shops! I have meetings!”
“Lucius can handle them. It’s not like we actually did anything this last year anyways.”
Tim stared at him for a second, confusion in the squint of his eyes and laced with suspicion.
Danny groaned with a roll of his eyes, “Fine, you want me to stay put somewhere so you can do your civilian thing?”
“Yes.”
“I am not staying in the manor. You can’t make me.”
Dread filled him as Tim smiled, “Not a problem.”
Danny glared at Tim standing arms wide in the center of the room of his emptiest safe house, “This is so not what I meant and you know it.”
Tim’s face betrayed nothing, “Look, none of us are happy with this situation-“
Danny scoffed. Understatement of the century.
“But..” Tim continued with a pointed look, “It’s my fault, and I get that. So…compromise? You stay here, work on cold cases while I sort out my current job, and when I’m done, we’ll figure out what to do, okay?”
Danny sighed, feeling Ted Tobin stir to life with plans already forming.
“Fine.”
Tim nodded succinctly, reaching for a laptop and multiple cords, “Ok, here’s my old computer, -huh, I could have sworn that had a different charger- anyways- I’ll take this,” he plucks the phone from Danny’s hands in one smooth motion, giving a mocking smile in return to Danny’s glare, “Thank you very much, now I just have to-and find the guy who…”
Tim’s voice tapers off into mumbles as he heads into the bedroom to peel off his suit, fingers focused on the keypad of his newly reacquired phone.
Danny slumps himself down on the secondhand couch, dust echoing around him. This was fine, he could do stuff in the meanwhile, maybe help Tim with his case -or solve it himself, he bets he could- and then finish the new specs for the suit wings that Danny’s suit still didn’t have.
Tim fumbled through the doorway, now in civilian clothes, already on a call with Lucius probably, or Tam. Tam helped him a lot.
Danny slouched further into the silence.
It felt like being left behind by his parents.
They had bigger priorities.
Archaeology.
Ghosts.
Danny shook his head, opening the computer and letting Ted Tobin fish through the passwords for case files.
He’s nearly 3 hours deep when he really pauses for the first time, finally stopping the continuous notes sitting next him, each a different clue. Most for different cases.
The current case pulled up on his screen scratches at him, facts slotting into place with rapid fire precision.
The officer assigned to the case is a vet.
The case is perpetrated by a senatorial candidate.
The officer assigned served on three active fronts and 2 undisclosed.
The guilty candidate is running support for a bill cutting veteran supports.
Best of all?
It’s not in Gotham.
Danny smiles as Ted Tobin’s plan fills in, piece by piece.
Ra’s Al Ghul should really make it harder to hack into his confidential back market mercenary dealings.
Then again, maybe it was for the better. How else would he make sure Red Robin was able to intercept the assassin in time to save that poor officer’s life the night before his case-closing arrest?
“Detective, I assumed holding my business outside of Gotham would keep it from being the concern of you and yours,” Ra’s’ voice is muffled through the bag over his head, “It seems I was wrong.”
“Oh well, you know me…,” The bag is ripped roughly off his head, leaving him blinking rapidly against the light even as he smirks, “Always butting into things when I shouldn’t. It’s kind of what we do.”
“Tell me, Timothy,” Ra’s says, turning his back to him once more, as he waves his ninjas away, “What does this officer matter to you, more than a state away from your usual stomping grounds? What-“ Ra’s pauses as a different ninja approaches him to whisper in his ear. His body stills.
“Well, we’ll start there. First of all, as I’m sure you just found out, I’m not Timothy,” Danny says, standing up smoothly. He relishes the look Ra’s gives him as he turns around. “And secondly, the officer wasn’t what mattered. Getting you here on the other hand. Now that.. that takes a little more planning.” Danny brushes himself off, removing the cowl to leave just his own domino behind.
Ra’s al Ghul hums, his eyebrow twitching up even as his eyes narrow in suspicion.
“What? No sudden desire to stab? No impromptu attempt to put a sword through my chest?”
“You are curious. So much like the detective, and yet… my people tell me he is currently patrolling in Gotham with the Grayson boy.”
Danny scoffs, “Oh great, another fruit loop interested in me, like I need a new one of those.”
Ra’s’ stare doesn’t change. Albeit a bit more annoyed, but still flat and calm.
“You wanna know what makes me different from Timothy, Ra’s?” Danny pauses, taking a deep breath and letting the ectoplasm ripple inside him for the first time in months. “The difference between me and him,” When he looks up he knows his eyes glow fluorescent green, “Is that I’m stronger.”
Bonus Scene:
Dick stared at Tim’s clone as he left, sweeping past the original’s bleary form stumbling to the coffee machine.
“Are we sure he’s Drake’s clone? He seems… less of a fool,” Damian sneered, watching Tim stand listlessly in front of the cabinet, coffeemaker off, and tablet in hand.
He looked out of the Dining room doors, spotting Danny standing not far away in front of one of the closets by the stairs rather than the actual steps, fingers tapping away.
Damian turned back to his breakfast, “I retract my statement. Clearly his stupidity was simply blinding.”
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When private equity destroys your hospital
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I'm on tour with my new novel The Bezzle! Catch me TOMORROW in PHOENIX (Changing Hands, Feb 29) then Tucson (Mar 9-10), San Francisco (Mar 13), and more!
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As someone who writes a lot of fiction about corporate crime, I naturally end up spending a lot of time being angry about corporate crime. It's pretty goddamned enraging. But the fiction writer in me is especially upset at how cartoonishly evil the perps are – routinely doing things that I couldn't ever get away with putting in a novel.
Beyond a doubt, the most cartoonishly evil characters are the private equity looters. And the most cartoonishly evil private equity looters are the ones who get involved in health care.
(Buckle up.)
Writing for The American Prospect, Maureen Tcacik details a national scandal: the collapse of PE-backed hospital chain Steward Health, a company that bought and looted hospitals up and down the country, starving them of everything from heart valves to prescription paper, ripping off suppliers, doctors and nurses, and callously exposing patients to deadly risk:
https://prospect.org/health/2024-02-27-scenes-from-bat-cave-steward-health-florida/
Steward occupies a very special place in the private equity looting cycle. Private equity companies arrange themselves on a continuum of indiscriminate depravity. At the start of the continuum are PE funds that buy productive and useful firms (everything from hospitals to car-washes) using "leveraged buyouts." That means that they borrow money to buy the company and use the company itself as collateral: it's like you getting a bank-loan to buy your neighbor's mortgage out from under them, and using your neighbor's house as collateral for that loan.
Once the buyout is done, the PE fund pays itself a "special dividend" (stealing money the business needs to survive) and then starts charging the business a "management fee" for the PE fund's expertise. To pay for all this, the PE bosses start to hack away at the company. Quality declines. So do wages. Prices go up. The company changes suppliers, opting for cheaper alternatives, often stiffing the old company. There are mass layoffs. The remaining employees end up doing three peoples' jobs, for lower wages, with fewer materials of lower quality.
Eventually, that top-feeding PE company finds a more desperate, more ham-fisted PE company to unload the business onto. That middle-feeding company also does a leveraged buyout, pays itself another special dividend, cuts wages, staffing and quality even further. They switch to even worse suppliers and stiff the last batch. Prices go up even higher.
Then – you guessed it – the middle-feeding PE company finds an even more awful PE bottom-feeder to unload the company onto. That bottom feeder does it all again, without even pretending to leave the business in condition to do its job. The company is a shambling zombie at this point, often producing literal garbage in place of the products that made its reputation. Employees' paychecks bounce, or don't show up at all. The company stops bothering to pay the lawyers that have been fending off its creditors. Those lawyers sue the company, too.
That's the kind of PE company Steward Health was, and, as the name suggests, Steward Health is in the business of stripping away the very last residue of value from community hospitals. As you might imagine, this gets pretty fucking ugly.
Steward owns 32 hospitals up and down the country, though its holdings are dwindling as the company walks away from its debt-burdened holdings, after years of neglect that have rendered them unfit for use as health facilities – or for any other purpose. Tcacik's piece offers a snapshot of one such hospital: Florida's Rockledge Regional Medical Center, just eight miles from Cape Canaveral.
Rockledge is a disaster. The fifth floor was, at one point, home to 5,000 bats.
Five.
Thousand.
Bats.
(Rockledge stiffed the exterminators.)
The bats were just the beginning. One of the internal sewage pipes ruptured. Whole sections of the hospital were literally full of shit, oozing out of the walls and ceiling, slopping over medical equipment.
That's an urgent situation for any hospital, but for Rockledge, it's catastrophic, because Rockledge is a hospital without any hospital supplies. Steward has stiffed the companies that supply "heart valves, urology lasers, Impella catheters, cardiac catheterization balloons, slings for lifting heavier patients, blood and urine test reagents, and most recently, prescription paper." Key medical equipment has been repossessed. So have the Pepsi machines. The hospital cafeteria had its supply of cold cuts repossessed:
https://www.reddit.com/r/massachusetts/comments/1agc1j4/comment/kolicqo/
It's not just Steward's nonpayments that reek of impending doom. Its payments also bear the hallmarks of a scam artist on the brink of blowing off the con. The company recently paid off a vendor with five separate checks for $1m, each drawn on "a random hospital in Utah" (Steward recently walked away from its Utah hospitals; its partners there are suing it for stealing $18m on their way out the door).
This company – which owns 32 hospitals! – has resorted to gambits like sending photos of fake checks to doctors it hasn't paid in months as "proof" that the money was coming (the checks arrived 22 days later).
Steward owes so much money to its employees – $1.66m to just one doctors' group. But the medical staff keep doing their jobs, and are reluctant to speak on the record, thanks to Steward's reputation for vicious retaliation. Those health workers keep showing up to take care of patients, even as the hospital crumbles around them. One clinician told Tcacik: "I watched a bed collapse underneath a [patient] who had just undergone hip surgery."
Rockledge has nine elevators, but only five of them work – the other four have been broken for a year. The hospital's fourth floor has been converted to "a graveyard of broken beds." The sinks are clogged, or filled with foul gunk. There's black mold. Nurses have noted on the maintenance tags that the repair service refuses to attend the hospital until their overdue bills are paid. The fifteen-person on-site maintenance team was cut to just two workers.
Steward is just the latest looting owner of Rockledge. After the Great Financial Crisis, private equity consultants helped sell it to Health Management Associates. The hospital's CEO took home a $10m bonus for that sale and exited; Health Management Associates then quickly became embroiled in a Medicare fraud and kickback scandal. Soon after, Rockledge was passed on to Community Health Systems, who then sold it on to Rockledge.
Steward, meanwhile, was at that time owned by an even bigger private equity giant, Cerberus, which then sold Steward off. That deal was performatively complex and hid all kinds of mischief. Prior to Cerberus's sell-off of Steward, they sold off Steward's real-estate. The buyer was Medical Properties Trust, who gave Cerberus $1.25b for the real-estate: three hospitals in Florida and three more in Ohio. Steward then contracted to operate these hospitals on MPT's behalf, and pay MPT rent for the real-estate.
This complex arrangement was key to siphoning value out of the hospital and to keeping angry creditors at bay – if you can't figure out who owes you money, it's a lot harder to collect on the debt. The scheme was masterminded by Steward founder/CEO Ralph de la Torre. De la Torre is notorious for taking a massive dividend out of the company while it owed $1.4b to its creditors. He bought a $40m yacht with the money.
De la Torre was once feted as a business genius who would "disrupt" healthcare. But as Steward's private jet hops around "Corfu, Santorini, St. Maarten and Antigua" as its hospitals literally crumble, he's becoming less popular. In Massachusetts, politicians have railed against Steward and de la Torre (Governor Healey wants the company to leave the state "as soon as possible").
Florida, by contrast, is much more friendly to Steward. The state Health and Human Services Committee chair Randy Fine is an ardent admirer of hospital privatization and is currently campaigning to sell off the last community hospital in Brevard County. The state inspectors are likewise remarkably tolerant of Steward's little peccadillos. The quasi-governmental agency that inspects hospitals has awarded this shit-and-bat-filled, elevator-free, understaffed rotting hulk "A" grades for quality.
These inspectors jointly represent a mismatched assortment of private and public agencies, dominated by a nonprofit called Leapfrog, the brainchild of Harvard public-health prof Lucian Leape, who founded it in 2000. Leapfrog likes to tout its "transparent" assessment criteria, and Steward are experts at hitting those criteria, spending the exact minimum to tick every box that Leapfrog inspectors use as proxies for overall quality and safety.
This is a pretty great example of Goodhart's Law: "every measurement eventually becomes a target, whereupon it ceases to be a good measurement":
https://xkcd.com/2899/
But despite Steward's increasingly furious creditors and its decaying facilities, the company remains bullish on its ability to continue operations. Medical Properties Trust – the real estate investment trust that is nominally a separate company from Steward – recently hosted a conference call to reassure Wall Street investors that it would be a going concern. When a Bank of America analyst asked MPT's CFO how this could possibly be, given the facility's dire condition and Steward's degraded state, the CFO blithely assured him that the company would get bailouts: "We own hospitals no one wants to see closed."
That's the thing about PE and health-care. The looters who buy out every health-care facility in a region understand that this makes them too big to fail: no matter how dangerous the companies they drain become, local governments will continue to prop them up. Look at dialysis, a market that's been cornered by private equity rollups. Today, if you need this lifesaving therapy, there's a good chance that every accessible facility is owned by a private equity fund that has fired all its qualified staff and ceased sterilizing its needles. Otherwise healthy people who visit these clinics sometimes die due to operator error. But they chug along, because no dialysis clinics is worse that "dialysis clinics where unqualified sadists sometimes kill you with dirty needles":
https://www.thebignewsletter.com/p/the-dirty-business-of-clean-blood
The bad news is that private equity has thoroughly colonized the entire medical system. They took hospitals, fired the doctors, then took over the doctors' groups that provided outsource staff to the hospital:
https://pluralistic.net/2020/04/04/a-mind-forever-voyaging/#prop-bets
It's illegal for private equity companies to own doctors' practices (doctors have to own these), but they obfuscated the crime with a paper-thin pretext that they got away with despite its obvious bullshittery:
https://pluralistic.net/2020/05/21/profitable-butchers/#looted
The financier who decides whether you live or die depends on an algorithm that literally sets a tolerable level of preventable deaths for the patients trapped in the practice:
https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/05/any-metric-becomes-a-target/#hca
Private equity also took over emergency rooms and boobytrapped them with "surprise billing" – junk fees that ran to thousands of dollars that you had to pay even if the hospital was in network with your insurer. They made billions from this, and spent a many millions from that booty keeping the scam alive with scare ads:
https://pluralistic.net/2020/04/21/all-in-it-together/#doctor-patient-unity
The whole health stack is colonized by private equity-backed monopolies. Even your hospital bed!
https://pluralistic.net/2022/01/05/hillrom/#baxter-international
Then there's residential care. Private equity cornered many regional markets on nursing homes and turned them into slaughterhouses, places where you go to die, not live:
https://pluralistic.net/2021/02/23/acceptable-losses/#disposable-olds
The palliative care sector is also captured by private equity. PE bosses hire vast teams of fast-talking salespeople who con vulnerable older people into entering an end-of-life system before they are ready to die. Thanks to loose regulation, the nation is filled with fake hospices that can rake in millions from Medicare while denying all care to their patients (hospice patients don't get life-extending medication or procedures, by definition):
https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/26/death-panels/#what-the-heck-is-going-on-with-CMS
If you survive this long enough, Medicare eventually tells the hospice that you're clearly not dying and you get kicked off their rolls. Now you have to go through the lengthy bureaucratic nightmare of convincing the system – which was previously informed that you were at death's door – that you are actually viable and need to start getting care again (good luck with that).
If that kills you, guess what? Private equity has rolled up funeral homes up and down the country, and they will scam your survivors just as hard as the medical system that killed you did:
https://pluralistic.net/2022/09/09/high-cost-of-dying/#memento-mori
The PE sector spent more than a trillion dollars over the past decade buying up healthcare companies, and it has trillions more in "dry powder" allocated for further medical acquisitions. Why not? As the CFO of Medical Properties Trust told that Bank of America analyst last week, when you "own hospitals no one wants to see closed." you literally can't fail, no matter how many people you murder.
The PE sector is a reminder that the crimes people commit for money far outstrip the crimes they commit for ideology. Even the most ideological killers are horrified by the murders their profit-motivated colleagues commit.
Last year, Tkacic wrote about the history of IG Farben, the German company that built Monowitz, a private slave-labor camp up the road from Auschwitz to make the materiel it was gouging Hitler's Wehrmacht on:
https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/02/plunderers/#farben
Farben bought the cheapest possible slaves from Auschwitz, preferentially sourcing women and children. These slaves were worked to death at a rate that put Auschwitz's wholesale murder in the shade. Farben's slaves died an average of just three months after starting work at Monowitz. The situation was so abominable, so unconscionable, that the SS officers who provided outsource guard-labor to Monowitz actually wrote to Berlin to complain about the cruelty.
The Nuremberg trials are famous for the Nazi officers who insisted that they were "just following order" but were nonetheless executed for their crimes. 24 Farben executives were also tried at Nuremberg, where they offered a very different defense: "We had a fiduciary duty to our shareholders to maximize our profits." 19 of the 24 were acquitted on that basis.
PE is committed to an ideology that is far worse than any form of racial animus or other bias. As a sector, it is committed to profit above all other values. As a result, its brutality knows no bounds, no decency, no compassion. Even the worst crimes we commit for hate are nothing compared to the crimes we commit for greed.
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If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:
https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/28/5000-bats/retaliation#charnel-house
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Note
If I were Sunshine I would smack Ari’s ass with a towel and run off 😎
It's hard to sneak up on Ari. Even harder to get your hands on his ass.
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Pairing: Biker!Ari x Reader
CW: Spanking, mentions of smut, implied primal play kink.
AN: Unbetad drabble, written on my phone.
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Between his fast reflexes and his keen awareness of his surrounding at any given time, you've learned that you can't just sneak up behind the tall biker and slap his ass. Doesn't mean you don't try.
His firm, round cheeks are begging for it. The same way you he had you begging last night. And this morning. And during the ride over to Steve's house.
The first six or seven times of you futility attempting to land one blow, one little smack on his ass ended in him reaching behind him, grabbing your wrist, pulling you around him until your back hit his hard, smooth chest, lips descending to your ear. "Give it up Sunshine. The only ass that's getting spanked around here is yours."
It's the nice try though tinged with a hint of condescending amusement as he kisses along your throat that has you glaring at him, like you can really take on your biker. You could if you wanted too. Maybe.
You have never backed down from a challenge and you're certainly not going to start today. Now you have to smack his ass. You have to.
Only you can't.
He hears you coming from a mile away no matter what you do. The more you fail, the cockier his smirk becomes, the more oh that was cute Sunshine, so close that time gets kissed along your shoulder, across your throat and on your lips.
Then one day, you get the perfect opportunity.
Ari has this particularly enticing habit of walking out of the bathroom after a shower with his towel around his shoulders, water rolling down his muscular, tattoo laced body.
You're walking back to his bedroom to ask him something when you see Ari standing in front of the closet, his large, naked body still damp. Music blasting from his phone, steam rolling out of the bathroom, warming the room.
He tosses the towel in the dresser, stretching his long arms over his head, his firm ass flexing.
"Don't even think about it." He warns, blue eyes perusing his collection of shirts.
You have the towel twisted in your hands, whipping out before he could turn around. It might have been because you were trembling with nerves and excitement but you hit him a little harder than you anticipated. The end of the towel snaps across his right cheek, the sound make your eyes widen as his pale cheek reddens.
Ari takes a deep breath in, rolling his shoulders. "Ten." He puts his shirt back on the hanger. "Nine." Calmly shutting the closet doors. "Eight."
"It was worth it," you state, voice firm and unapologetic even as you inch towards the hallway, plotting your escape route.
His brow raises. Let's see if you think that when he's done with you Sunshine. "Seven."
"It's not my fault you have all that ass Ari."
"Six." You swear you saw his shoulders shake like he was trying to fight a chuckle.
He turns around, catching the way your eyes drift down his chest, past the his defined abs to the trail of hair leading to his cock, he knows the second you see him get hard, his length thickening, growing because your pupils dilate and your chest rises on a shaky breath. "Five."
"I'm going to do it again." It's a promise. You take three more steps back, almost at the hallway.
He knows you will. And he's going to punish you every single time you do. His sweet, wild girl. "Four."
"And you didn't technically tell me not to spank your ass this time," you explain, holding up one hand.
"Three." Ari cants his head to the side, gesturing for you to continue. He can't wait to hear this.
You point a finger at him, unable to look away from his impeccable body, your hands aching to feel his warm skin under your palms even as the sensible part of you is saying you're in danger.
"You said don't think about it." His lips quirk when you mock his deep voice, fingers making air quotes.
"Two."
"So I didn't think about it, I just—" you shrug, "—acted on instinct."
Oh he knows all about giving into his instincts, there's one pulsating through his veins, urging him to chase you down. To bend you over his knee and spank your ass until you're dripping down his thigh. To fuck you, making you cum over and over as he keeps you wrapped around his cock, taking every orgasm from your sweet tight cunt like they belong to him.
Because they do.
"One." Ari smiles, it's a dark, sinfully decadent twist of his full lips. He's going to have a great Saturday. "I suggest you run Sunshine."
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