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kitscutie · 6 months

Note

hi! i saw your post about snow omg, can i request a coriolanus x mentor!reader where she’s similar to like clemensia but she’s more close to corio and they have a secret relationship? thank you in advance if you do this rq! love ur tsitp writings sm 🥹

snow and roses: part I (coriolanus snow x fem!reader)

pairing: coriolanus snow x reader

warnings: none!

summary: you and coriolanus have been dating in secret for months, all it takes is one songbird for everything to come into the light.

a/n: first time writing for snow and I'm very excited about it! I've always loved the hunger games and this movie was insane in the best way so please enjoy! I will be making this a series and this is only part one so stay tuned for the rest!

word count: 2.2k

join my taglist here.

"You're going to get it Coryo, don't stress." You soothed the boy as you sat next to him. It was barely even six in the morning and the pair of you had woken up, well he had woken up and you with him as he blatantly needed your support, desperate for the Plinth Prize.

You didn't need the prize, already coming from a wealthy Capitol family and yet you felt the same hope that he would win as you would for yourself, stomach twisting into knots at the thought.

"There's good candidates Y/N, it feels as if the odds are already stacked against me." He sighed, leaning over as he sat so his elbows rested on his knees, head in his hands.

"The odds are in your favour Coryo, you're special. Different." With that he looked at you, a small smile gracing his pale lips. He leaned up kissing you gently, fully embracing the special moment before he got up from his place next to you.

"I'll see you at the Academy?" He asked, knowing you had to leave quickly back to your own house in order to change but also in order to avoid the suspicions of your own family who had no idea of your relationship with Snow.

"Of course." You replied, also standing up and pulling on last nights clothes as you left.

You studied the dark an empty halls of his house, ensuring Grandma'am was nowhere to be seen before you quickly walked to the door, exiting un-noticed until Tigris came around the corner, seemingly equally in a rush and holding a shirt you knew must be for Coriolanus.

"Oh, hello Y/N." She smirked as you both stopped, unsure how to approach the conversation. She was one of the only people who knew something was going on between the pair of you and still she wasn't quite sure what it was.

"Hi Tigris. You look lovely today." You said quietly, feeling like a scolded child even though you hadn't done anything wrong.

"Well if you're here I can only assume Coryo is awake, I'll see you again I assume?" She replied.

"Yes and yes." You answered awkwardly before hurrying away once again, letting out a sigh of relief as you heard her enter the house. You could only hope she wouldn't mention your interaction to Coriolanus.

You walked into the Academy at the same time as you did everyday, conveniently when Coriolanus would also show up.

"Coryo!" You yelled, spotting him across the room. He turned his head to you as though it was a surprise to see you, it wasn't.

"Y/N. What a pleasure." He smiled with his typical Snow charm, allowing you to link your arm with his.

"How are you feeling?" You asked him, thumb gently rubbing his bicep through his shirt. You rounded the corner past the food and yet you both avoided it for different reasons. You having already been fed by your family and their lavish lifestyle and he too nervous to even look at it.

"Never felt better." He replied with false confidence but no one else around you had to know that.

"Snow always lands on top." You teased as you entered the hall, spotting your friends if that's what you could call them stood in the centre of it all, as they usually did, talking about everyone around them no doubt.

"Y/N and Coriolanus, finally some real competition has arrived." Said Arachne, a glass in her hand and a smirk on her face as she always seemed to appear in public.

"Be humble now Arachne, you never know who will be chosen." You smiled, turning on your Capitol attitude in order to fit in. You were Capitol born and raised but your family taught you to be humble and kind. It was clear this wasn't common among parents here.

"Have you tried this lamb? It's scandalous." Said Felix, it made you chuckle how he used such a word to describe food.

"Only the vulgar eat with their fingers Felix, daddy not teach you table manners?" Snarled Festus, it was as though there was always a secret competition between the two of them, never quite made clear, never making sense.

"Maybe he would've if he wasn't so busy running the country. Hey they called us here for the Plinth prize right? 'Cause I heard Doctor Gaul's in the building." Felix changed the subject, knowing he had won. It was impossible to lose as the President's son you supposed.

You hadn't noticed but now Felix had mentioned it you took in the strange atmosphere, tense and mystery lingering in the air. "That is peculiar." You said, holding onto Coryo's bicep tighter subconsciously.

"Plinth. Look at his spawn. Who would've thought you could buy your way into the Academy." Felix once again snarled, he was always filled with such anger though it seemed todays anxiety only heightened this.

"Well you can't buy class. Did you see his mothers outfit? Sorry his Ma's." Festus joked, seemingly over his small tiff with Felix.

"Dress a turnip in a ball gown and it'll still beg to be mashed." Said Coriolanus, playing into their pompous ways. You knew he didn't agree, not really.

"Don't do that we all know you like him." Arachne spat with her spider like venom, raising her eyebrows at Coriolanus.

"I don't like him Arachne, I tolerate him. He's district." Said Coriolanus and he seemed pleased with his answer as you felt him relax under your touch. You however did like Sejanus and weren't afraid to show it.

"If I hear one more time how immoral these Hunger Games are I'll put him in the arena mys- Sejanus. You made it to the Reaping for once." Festus cut himself off, caught by Sejanus himself.

"And you made it to graduation Festus, we're both shocked." Sejanus replied and you couldn't help but snicker, hiding it as you realised no one else shared the same reaction. "Y/N, always a pleasure." He smiled at you politely. You couldn't help but note the way Coryo's jaw clenched, neck twitching as he looked at you to gaze your reaction.

"As are you Sejanus." You nodded. Arachne scoffed quickly mentioning the only thing she really cared about, the prize.

"Spill it, who won the prize." She asked.

"Well, no I'm not gonna ruin my father's big day. No one here actually likes him, but they do love his money." He once again hit back at the group around him, you felt sorry for the boy. Alone in a room full of people. "You know what that's like don't you Arachne?" He dug the hole deeper and you internally smirked, grateful someone was brave enough to stand up to a powerful woman like Arachne.

As the Captiol's anthem began to play you made your way to your seats, sat next to Coriolanus you placed a kiss on his cheek and whispered 'good luck' in his ear, though you didn't really think he needed it.

Doctor Gaul's chuckle resounded around the room in a menacing echo that always managed to make you shrink into your seat.

She commended you all for being star students before untroducing the creator of the games: Casca Highbottom.

He went on to tell you all that today was not the day the prize would be given out but instead there would be one more task to challenge you all and gage your true worth. Everyone seemed confused but not Sejanus.

"What's going on?" You whispered to Coriolanus. He sensed your anxiety placing a calming hand on your knee but gave you no other response which reassured you that you had not been left completely in the dark.

"The Plinth prize will no longer be determined by who was the best grades. But by who is the best mentor in the Hunger Games." With that there was outrage, to you it was dehumanizing for the tributes, 'mentored' by people their own age but for the others they only seemed to care whether they were given someone strong or weak. A 'runt' in Arachne's words.

The reaping commenced and you couldn't help but wish to be anywhere but here. You didn't want to do this, you didn't need the money yet you were forced to have another's life in your hands.

You got a small girl from 8 named Wovey, seeing her face on the big screen left you determined, determined to help her in anyway you could on the path to being a victor. Even if that meant Coryo may lose the prize.

Snow's tribute left the room in horror, her stage presence and brutality sent shivers down your spine, though you supposed that the outer Districts had it harder and that sort of survival must be built into her.

Standing up on shaky legs you grabbed Coriolanus up from his chair and outside of the room, you needed fresh air and you needed to talk to him about what you were about to face, arguably harder than any other test the Capitol could give you.

"Slow down Y/N, I can hardly keep up." He said, words laced with worry.

"I don't believe I can do this Coryo, did you see my tribute? She's hardly eligible for school never mind to be put into an arena where she's going to be killed. She's only a child." You paced while he leant against a pillar, beginning to eat some food he a had smuggled from the buffet table.

"I'm afraid you don't have a choice Y/N." He tried to help but only made it worse as you realised you were trapped in yet another one of the Capitol's games. He seemingly realised this. "Hey, hey. If there as anyone in that room who would get that tribute, I'm glad it was you. Arachne would've given up on her by now. With you she has a fighter. A chance at surviving." He said while grabbing your wrists to stop your pacing.

"It's not that simple Coryo-" You tried but he cut you off.

"It is Y/N." He said sternly and you understood what he meant. It was either play into their games or become apart of them, no other choice. "You're a born winner Y/N, give her some of it hm?" He stared down at you as he spoke and his blue eyes while at times piercing sucked you in, heart rate lowering almost immediatley.

"Okay." You said.

"Okay." He smiled, reaching a hand around your neck to bring you into a kiss. It started off slow and caring though quickly intensified as he turned you both around so now you leant against the pillar instead of him.

His hand tightened around your neck, not enough to actually cut off air but just enough to make you feel dizzy as he pushed his body further into yours, keeping you against the cold cement and trapped in his arms.

Your mouths clashed together intensely, tongues colliding in a rhythm you though you would only ever be able to find with him in this lifetime. He was your everything, your light in a blizzard.

"Ahem." Coughed Casca, drawing the two of you away from each other with baited breaths and rosy cheeks. "Just like your father, yes we were best friends. Once." He said, and with that it felt like you weren't even in the room.

"Tell me Mr Snow, what are your plans after these games?" Casca asked.

"I hope to go onto the university sir, naturally." Coriolanus answered, pulling his waistcoat straight where it had been wrinkled by your tight grip.

"And if you fail to win the Plinth Prize, what then?" Asked Casca, it suddenly became clear to you that he knew something, just what he knew you were unsure of.

"We'd pay the tuition of course." He scoffed, insulted at Casca's insinuation even if it was true.

"Look at you, in your makeshift shirt and too tight shoes. Trying desperately to fit in when I know the Snow's don't have a pot to piss in." Casca said. You felt your own heart drop and so you couldn't imagine how Coriolanus felt, the insult to his pride was one you knew he wouldn't take well and so you grabbed his hand subtly, hiding it behind your back as to not show any sign of weakness to Casca.

"Goodluck with that poor little Songbird." He said, and with that he left. Leaving you to do damage control.

"Ignore him Coryo, he's trying to get into your head." You reassured him, moving a Snow white hair from his face. His jaw looked similar to the way it did earlier when Sejanus had so much as acknowledged your presence.

"He's right Y/N. From the moment my father died I lost. The odds were never in my favour." He spat out, though his actions didn't match his words as he gently removed your hand from his hair before beginning his exit of the Academy. "Come on now Y/N, I've got a songbird to catch." He said sarcastically.

You sped after him hoping Casca's words hadn't knocked him too much, after all, Snow lands on top and he wouldn't be the one to change that.

TAGLIST: @runningfrom2am, @riordanness, @suvgs, @charmed-asylum

#coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow #tom blyth #tom blyth x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #the hunger games #coriolanus snow x fem!reader #young!coriolanus snow x reader

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safetypinxtales · 5 months

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Lonely with you | Azriel

summary: it seems like everyone's found their mates, except you. On a sleepless night you turn to your friend, in hopes that being alone, together, will feel slightly less lonely.

words: 1.5k

warnings: fluff, feelings of loneliness, thirsting over our boy az and his thighs, kind of just a drawn out drabble, some angst, generally just softness, Azriel with a book needs a warning in and of itself, very slight jealousy, neutrally described reader/no reader description, no use of y/n, PINING

notes: haven't written in years, and never befor for Azriel, or anyone from acotar, so bare with me. Not sure what I think of this, nor what the future might hold, but I had some time off uni and this idea that I just couldn't seem to get out of my head. Hope you enjoy it nonetheless!

part 2

You knew what picture was waiting for you in the living room of the House before you even rounded that corner. The distinct sound of pages turning, the hint of whiskey in the air, and him.

That scent that was just so distinctly Azriel it almost made you forget that echoing emptiness in your chest.

The sight that greeted you as you entered the room belonged in a museum, or at the very least at the front of some Day Court scribe’s lecture hall, being studied by the brightest minds in Prythian. You wanted to commission Feyre to paint it from your memories so it could be immortalized, even if just for your eyes. Because by the Gods, it was mesmerizing.

Azriel sat – no, sprawled across one of the couches, those thick, muscled, sweatpant-clad thighs so deliciously, invitingly, teasingly spread apart. The book in his hand was not one you recognized, but then his taste in literature was slightly more… sophisticated than yours. But that just made it all so much more enticing didn’t it? The thought of this gorgeously dark, winged male consuming deep, meaningful art? It would make any sane person fall to their knees.

The hazel of his eyes didn’t show any sign of surprise as his gaze met yours. He knew you were coming, most likely courtesy of the shadows leisurely curling around his shoulders. Cauldron, was he a sight…

… And your friend. Unfortunately.

“Are you just going to stand there all night or will you eventually move?” Right, right. How long had your feet been rooted to the floor? Judging by the humorous tone of his voice and that boyish sparkle in his eyes, probably a tad too long.

Forcing your body to take a step, and another, you tried to think of something – anything to say.

“Sorry, I–... I just didn’t expect you to be here is all,” liar, “I guess you caught me by surprise”. It wasn’t the best excuse in the world, but with the situation at hand it could have been a lot worse. Like, a lot. Besides, it’s not like you could have told him the truth.

Sorry Azriel, it’s just that I have been desperately yearning for you for the last couple of years and seeing you like this, looking all boyfriend-y, has me nearly swallowing my own tongue because of how perfect you look. I am just humiliatingly obsessed with every single little thing you do, as well as horrifyingly lonely to a default. In a non creepy way, of course.

… You would rather free-dive off the dining room balcony before ever admitting that to him.

His brows furrowed as he observed you, like he could see the lie written across your face, before humming lightly, almost as to himself. He reached a hand out to the glass resting on the coffee table and brought it to his lips, taking a sip of the amber liquid inside. Your eyes were trained on his mouth as he lowered the glass. Trained on the candlelight reflected in the alcohol wetting his lips. Those shiny, pouty, full–

His tongue slipped out and delicately swiped across his lower lip, licking off the remnants of the whiskey from the glass in his hand, and it took everything in you to not whimper at the sight.

Cauldron boil you.

Needing something to ground yourself, you made your way over to pour yourself a glass of whatever Azriel was drinking and collapsed beside him on the couch, trying to roll that stubborn stiffness out of your shoulders.

”Can’t sleep either?” He asked you on a slight chuckle.

“No, not with them going at it like bunnies,” you sighed, “how is it even possible for Cassian to… you know? I mean, not only is it day after day, but all night, non-stop? You need– I mean not you specifically, I don’t know anything about your sexual habits, just– just males in general,” oh Gods, “you– you need to rest, at some point – right?”

Azriel took in your flustered state, and pursed his lips as if to keep from laughing. His amusement did not help your case at all, only making the heat crawl further up your neck, your ears positively aflame.

“I guess the mating bond has its perks,” he surmised, and you couldn’t escape the huff that exited your nose.

That damned mating bond. The very one the Mother seemed to be handing out left to right lately, to everyone except you. And Azriel. But unlike you, he was a damn catch and could have anyone he’d like.

“Am I an absolute wench for being jealous of Nesta? And Elain? And Feyre?” You whined as you threw your head back on the couch.

“Not at all,” Azriel’s raspy voice comforted you, easing the tightness in your stomach. You still felt like one though; Nesta was your best friend and you were happy for her, but still–

“It’s just so unfair! They were born like, yesterday! I have been suffering through a mostly miserable existence for over five centuries now and I have never even come close to a connection like they have,” you rolled your neck, “I am over the moon for them, don’t get me wrong, and I hate to make their happiness about me–“

“But being alone around people who… aren’t, can be very lonely,” Azriel finished and your heart clenched as you looked at him. Beautiful, kind, caring Azriel. One of your best friends, and the male you were hopelessly, devastatingly in love with.

Knowing he, too, was hurting was painful in itself, but also slightly comforting. Knowing you weren’t alone in your loneliness.

“You’re in pain,” he mumbled, and you opened your mouth to answer, but you couldn’t. Because it wasn’t really a question was it? “Your shoulders,” he noted, “they’re tense.”

“Oh, it’s fine, really. Nothing to worry about, just a small kink,” you tried to brush it off, but he looked at you with such intensity it made your whole body tingle.

“No it’s not,” it was like he could see right through you, “No, you have been worrying your neck ever since you sat down.” He pondered a moment before he sat up a little straighter beckoning for you to move closer. “Come on, let me help you with that.”

Your mouth fell open.

Was he insinuating he wanted to rub your back? Your half naked, barely-nightgown-clad back. With his hands. Those magical, beautiful hands. Oh Gods.

Your attempt of a protest died in your throat at the slight raise of his eyebrows. He was not to argue with.

He marked the page he was on and placed his book down on the table in front of you, his eyes not straying from you once. Like he was afraid you would bolt if he looked away, even just for a second.

In his defense, you very well might have.

A shaky breath released from your lungs as you put your glass down and readjusted your position on the couch until you were situated between his legs. With your back facing him, you carefully pulled your hair over one shoulder to give him better access, trying to block out the thoughts of how incredibly warm those bite-able thighs of his were.

The warm calluses of his hands on your skin set you ablaze, and as he carefully started to massage out the knots in your upper back you swore you could have melted, then and there.

You couldn’t help leaning in to his skillful touch. You also couldn’t help the breathy groan that escaped you as he started to work on a particularly tense area.

Or how your heart rate picked up as you heard what you swore was Azriel’s breath hitching in response.

You basked in the intimacy of the moment, fully enjoying all of his undivided attention.

The gesture, the moment, it all felt so domestic and comforting that the constant emptiness in your chest started to close over. Even if just for now. Even if it was all borrowed; a lovely, elusive fantasy – you let yourself feel whole.

You barely registered his hands slowing to a stop, or the new found looseness in your shoulders. Barely registered as his hands slid down your arms and slowly tugged you back towards his chest.

Not until you were engulfed in his warmth, his arms wrapped around you did you realize how well you fit together.

Like two pieces of a puzzle.

“Be lonely with me tonight,” his breath tickled your ear, “please.”

You knew it probably wasn’t wise. That tomorrow, when all of this would be gone, the hurt would resurface. The loneliness even heavier than before. But you couldn’t get yourself to care. To tell him no. Tell yourself no.

Instead you burrowed deeper in his embrace, closed your eyes, and even if just for tonight, you let his warmth fill the void in your chest.

Until that void had been replaced by a vibrating, golden, glow.

#acotar #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel fluff #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #a court of thorns and roses #azriel fanfic #azriel imagine #lonely with you

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altruisticalastor · 3 months

Text

↳˗ˏˋAlastor x Readerˊˎ˗ ↴

☒ Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six

☒ Summary: Your heart felt full as Alastor continued his lead. You both danced to the melodic sounds, relishing in the shared embrace. That night was one that you cherished for months to come. But on the contrary, your blossoming relationship with Alastor solidified the beginning of the end.

☒ Warnings: fem!reader, she/her pronouns used, prequel to the first two parts, alastor and reader are human in this part, 1930's period typical misogyny (NOT from alastor), fluff, falling in love, obsessive!alastor, reader is in hell for a reason, murder, gunshot wound, major character death, one suggestive scene involving finger sucking *giggles*, domestic!alastor, reader and alastor being an absloute power couple, blood, alcohol consumption, dancing

☒ Word Count: 6,276

You often dreamt of trading places with your dear old friend, Elaine. She had it all; money, family, respect.

You, on the other hand, had none of those things.

When your parents left without notice on your eleventh birthday— you ended up homeless in a matter of weeks. Elaine’s family took you in out of pity, and they made it very known throughout your childhood that they only cared for you to make themselves out to be saints. It didn't take a fool to see that they treated their own flesh and blood better than the rubble they picked up off the streets.

Elaine was often condescending toward you, but you put up with the brunt of it. It's not like you had any other choice- and when her father offered you a typist gig at his local radio broadcasting studio- you had no other option but to accept.

Your treatment from others at the studio was no better than the one you received at home.

If you could even call that loveless place a home.

The broadcasting biz was male-dominated, as most jobs were in your day. So, of course your counterparts looked down upon you as a woman. You were less than to them, and the constant berating about how you should be wed by now with kids to dote on ticked you off even further.

That was not on the itinerary for you.

The plan was to save enough of the slim earnings you made being a typist to run far away from this place. To be free of these people, from this town. You dreamt about how lovely it would be not to bite your tongue and endure all the nasty things people spat at you just to have a roof over your head.

Soon, just a little bit longer.

Grin and bear it. Don't let them know what you hide behind the façade.

"My, my! What a lovely smile!" A smooth voice pulled you from your stupor. You flinched back from your desk as the man standing before you ducked low- extending his hand.

"What's your name, little darling? I'm Alastor! It's a pleasure to be meeting you, quite a pleasure!" You took the man's hand, shaking it slowly sharing your name, and offering the same pleasantries, before peering up to get a good look at this Alastor fellow.

Based on first impressions, you thought he was a well-put-together fellow. His crimson vest hugged his slender frame well, you noted. His white dress shirt underneath contrasted beautifully with the seamless leather gloves adorning his large hands. The black bowtie was simply the cherry on top of his polished look. His features were handsome, and that darling smile of his caused your face to grow hot. His chestnut eyes peered at you behind his round-framed glasses, gazing at you as if you hung the stars in the night sky.

You had never been captivated by a man until this very instant. You always believed romance was a waste of time. But now... you weren't feeling as opposed.

"Say, what brings a fella like you to a place like this?" You stood from your seat as his hand released yours. His gloved fingertips lingered on your palm for a moment- but it was long enough for you to notice.

"Why a job, of course! You're looking at the new host of the biggest radio broadcast in all of Louisiana!" Alastor's grin widened as he puffed out his chest proudly, bringing his hands up to straighten out his bowtie.

"Oh, my! Congratulations, Mister. I look forward to working with you." Your voice was as lively as ever, putting in your best effort to come off as friendly. Alastor's deep chestnut eyes studied yours. It was almost intimidating.

Almost.

"Just call me Alastor, my dear! A beauty such as yourself is more than qualified to be on a first-name basis with me." His flirtatious nature had your heart rate accelerating at an alarming gait. Plus, the wink he shot your way to emphasize his statement only added fuel to the fire.

You were at a loss for words, simply nodding in agreement at his terms. Your gaze averted from Alastor's as you rubbed at your arm nervously. You had never been this flustered before. It was... uncharacteristically exciting for you. "Excuse my fowardness darling, but would you allow me to take you dancing tonight? It is a cause for celebration, after all!"

His offer left you stammering as you clutched your arm tightly, your sweaty palm bleeding through your vermilion dress sleeve. "Are you positive you want to celebrate with a woman you only just met?" You chuckled nervously, meeting his gaze once more.

"It would be my pleasure, little darling." You swore your heart skipped a beat as those words left his lips. Alastor was an enigma of a man, and he left you needing to know more about him. "If you insist! I'm flattered, truly."

Alastor chuckled lowly at your words as he took ahold of your hand once more. This time, he turned your palm downward before pulling the back of your hand up to his lips. Alastor's eyes bored into yours as he placed a chaste kiss atop your knuckles. His lips lingered on your skin for a few beats longer until he inevitability abjured from you.

"Lovely! I'll be waiting in the lobby once the workload is finished for the day. Meet me there?" You could only nod in agreement as your heartbeat resounded in your ears. Alastor bid you farewell, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

He just asked you on a date- didn't he?

Shit, shit- shit! A relationship was not on your to-do list.

The workday trickled on slowly. You were beside yourself— too focused on your plans with Alastor tonight.

Was your dress formal enough? It’s not like you could go home and change now— and you didn’t have the proper heels on. The pair that you usually switched into before you went dancing.

It would be fine— why were you even stressing over the little details?

More importantly… what were Alastor’s intentions with this— date?

You mulled it over the whole trip to the lobby of your workplace. You felt your nerves prickle your skin when your eyes met Alastor’s.

He was already waiting patiently for you near the exit. Alastor had a blazer on now, you noted— and he was smiling wider than ever. “Ah, there you are! Ready to head out, dear?”

Alastor’s voice was equivalent to a smooth amaretto. Silky and delightful, with a little bit of an edge to it. Your mouth felt like it was full of cotton from the nerves— and all you could muster was a quick nod.

“Wonderful! We better get going while the night is still young— ha!” Alastor opened the door, tilting his head; gesturing toward the exit. You got the hint, wobbly legs guiding you out of the building and to the dimly lit street.

You knew a speakeasy just up the other street, so you figured that was the spot Alastor intended on taking you. As your feet led you in the direction of the bar, Alastor let out an amused hum. “My, my… am I correct to assume you know your way around these parts of town?” You giggled nervously, as you felt Alastor’s arm brush up against yours as he walked beside you.

“You’re spot on. I’ve lived here all my life, and for a brief period, I was living on these streets.” Your voice was quiet as those words left your lips. Perhaps you should have kept that detail to yourself. You kept your eyes forward as you walked along the sidewalk. But you could feel Alastor’s eyes on you— without peeking over.

“Might I ask why, darling?” You swallowed harshly, not expecting a follow-up question. You secretly hoped Alastor would have skirted past that little detail about your past. “Ah well, my parents moved out of town on my eleventh birthday. I think they forgot what day it was, truthfully. They were too hopped up on pills and booze,” You laughed bitterly at the memory before continuing. “My parents owed the bank a lot of money, you see, so the first thing those brokers collected was the house I still lived in at the time.”

You shook your head in disbelief, scoffing as you continued the recollection of your youth. “Those money-hungry sharks didn’t even give me a month to collect my things or find somewhere to shack up. When the cops arrived, I told them I’d be staying with a relative— but that was a bold-faced lie!” The speakeasy was in your sights, so you tried to get to the end of this pitiful little tail. “Long story short— I lived on the streets for a couple of weeks until my friend’s parents took me in.”

Alastor swiftly opened the bar door for you, gesturing you in. You were met by the smooth sound of jazz the moment you stepped foot in the joint. The smell of cigarettes and liquor saturated the space. Alastor interlocked your arm with his as he led you to a nearby table. You felt heat rush to your face from the unexpected touch. “I’m truly sorry you had to experience such hardships at such a young age, my dear. That must have been very difficult for you to process.” Alastor’s voice was soft as he offered his sympathy. He pulled the wooden chair out, allowing you to sit comfortably. Alastor gently pushed your seat in before taking his across from you.

“Thanks for saying so. You’re the first person to actually consider my feelings.” You chuckled, raising your hand and gesturing your fingers in a come hither motion to grab the waiter's attention. “What ever do you mean?” Alastor propped his elbows on the table, cupping his face with his hands as he leaned forward. His eyes swirled with curiosity. Alastor was genuinely curious to know you better— your heart skipped a beat from the notion.

“Well— most people just praise Elaine— that’s my friend… if you could even call her that— anyway, as I was saying! Most folks boast about how heavenly Elaine’s parents are for taking in a poor old nobody like me.” The waitress knew you well, so he kindly placed your usual atop the creaky table. One for you and one for your date. You offered the fellow a warm thanks before taking a sip.

“Praise? Those folks did the bare minimum! Tell me more about your friendship with Elaine, hm?” Alastor didn’t bother downing the liquor just yet. He was too enthralled by you and your musings. You felt nervous under his curious eyes— so you took another sip of the saccharine quencher before continuing. “You sure—? I feel like I’ve been talking an awful lot, and where are my manners? I haven’t asked you a single thing!” You shook your head in disbelief, feeling embarrassed with yourself for your rude display.

Alastor’s gloved fingers wrapped around your hand in the blink of an eye. Your eyes flickered down to where the two of you were now connected before his voice tore your gaze back to his face. “Nonsense, my dearest! Please, I insist. I’d be delighted to know more about you.” His words were so earnest, and he spoke with much confidence. All you could focus on was the feeling of his gloved fingertips caressing the back of your palm and the echo of your heartbeat resounding in your ears.

“Alright— if you insist… but if I ramble too much, just tell me to shut it, will ya?” You downed the last of your drink as a laugh escaped Alastor. “I would never silence you, darling. Don’t ever allow a single soul to treat you that way for that matter, understood? Now, carry on!” You felt your blood pressure spike from his kindness, and your hand twitched under his grasp from the giddiness you felt before you continued on. “U-Understood. Anyway, um, Elaine is an old-school buddy of mine. But we grew apart the older we got… so, by the time we reached junior high, she practically hated my guts!” You laughed at the recollection as the alcohol buzz began to kick in.

“Elaine would make up nasty rumors about me and then deny the fact that she did. Any other friend I tried to make, Elaine would somehow do or say something to make them dislike me. I couldn’t do anything about it— I had to play nice because of the living conditions. I still do!” Alastor’s eyes never left yours, and neither did his hand. He continued to rub the back of your palm soothingly as you rambled on.

“Even my job at the radio station… it wasn’t my choice. But Elaine’s father owns the company, so he offered me the typist position. Not like it was really an offer, though— I had no choice but to accept the opportunity. Otherwise, I would have been ungrateful. Christ, I really hate those folks… they look at me as if I’m—“

“—Scum?” Alastor chimed in. His voice was low as he leaned in closer. Your head was a bit fuzzy from the alcohol as you felt his breath fan across your cheeks. “Yeah… like scum.” You felt his hand tighten around yours. His smile was smaller than before, a bit more rigid, for that matter.

“I knew you and I were the same. The moment laid eyes on you, I knew,” Alastor paused, bringing his free hand up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“You see, I was treated that same way my entire life, my dear. Until I decided I was quite the opposite of what those disrespectful wretches deemed me as.” His hand lingered by your face, daring to cup your cheek.

Alastor's breath had a hint of coffee and spice to it— you noted— as his face inched even closer to yours. “And you are too, my dear. Those fools don’t hold a candle to your magnificence.” Your body felt light, and all you could focus on was Alastor’s chestnut eyes— every breath you took fogged up his glasses a little.

“You really think so?” You muttered, a lazy grin stretching across your face as Alastor finally allowed his gloved palm to rest against your cheek.

"I know so, my sweet girl.” He caressed your burning face with much tenderness. Your heart was beating a mile a minute, and your thoughts were all out of sorts as you tried to articulate a proper sentence in your drunken stupor.

“What did you mean before when you said— that you and I are one and the same?”

Alastor let out a soft chuckle, causing your eyes to flutter shut for a moment. He leaned over the table, invading your personal space. Dipping his face low— lips lingering next to your ear. “You use your smile as a tool. Hiding how you truly feel behind that pretty little mask of yours.” Your breath hitched from his words— was it that obvious? Could everyone tell that your welcoming smile was nothing but a lie? Before you could spiral further— and as if Alastor could sense your worries— he eased your mind with his words. “Worry not, my dear. Only I can see through your façade. One should recognize themselves when looking into a mirror, yes?”

Alastor slowly pulled his head back. Allowing his face to come into your line of sight. “So you… and I… are alike in that way, huh?” You mumbled out, letting an airy chuckle escape you. Alastor squeezed your hand once more before he leaned back in his chair. You watched as the man sitting before you picked up his untouched glass of liquor. He downed his drink in the blink of an eye slamming his glass against the table before standing up from his seat.

“I take pride in keeping my promises, and I have intention to dance with you tonight, my dear. So, shall we?” Alastor outstretched his hands toward you, his toothy grin cascading across his features. You took hold of him without hesitation, giggling youthfully when he pulled you to your feet with ease. “I’d be delighted!” Alastor wasted no time pulling you to the open floor. The music was as vibrant as ever now that you were closer to the live band. The vibrations of the music reverberated through your sternum; as did the butterflies when you felt Alastor’s large palm drape around the small of your back.

His other hand took ahold of yours, and instinctively, you placed your other palm flat against his shoulder. Alastor began leading you to the melody of the song. Your cheeks hurt from how wide your grin was. You couldn’t remember the last time you smiled and meant it before tonight— all thanks to this mysterious man you met today. “Alastor, I know we only just met, but I feel like I’ve known you all my life!” You shouted loud enough for only Alastor to hear beyond the music. His chestnut eyes swirled with an emotion you couldn’t quite put your finger on as his eyebrows lifted in shock.

“You took the words right out of my mouth, my dearest! The moment I saw you, I knew you would be truly magnificent.” Alastor dipped you low, his grasp on you tightening to support you. He was slow when he dragged your upper half back up, allowing your chest to slot against his own.

“Well, did I meet your expectations?” You joked. Alastor ducked his head low, allowing his face to invade your personal space. This time, his nose brushed against yours, lips mere centimeters from colliding.

“You exceeded them.” Alastor’s voice was quiet, but you heard him. Loud and clear.

This moment felt too good to be true, and the longer you gazed into his captivating eyes, the more lost you became in Alastor. Your lips trembled in anticipation— and your hand at his shoulder clenched and unclenched— a small habit to help ease the nerves.

“Would it be foolish of me to say that I… feel like I’m falling for you.” Your voice was barely above a whisper as you searched for any displeasure that dared to cross his face from your confession— but you found none.

“And if I admitted to reciprocating those feelings… would that make me outlandish as well?” Alastor’s hand released yours, now opting to slide up between your bodies to cup your chin beneath his gloved fingertips. He tilted your head up just a touch more.

Alastor finally closed the gap between your lips and his. Your eyes widened in shock from the chaste kiss he gave you. You caught Alastor’s intense stare on you while he pressed further into you before your eyelids fluttered shut. The grip you had on his shoulder tightened as his lips danced along yours. They were warm and cracked slightly from his incessant smiling. But you didn’t mind it one bit. He tasted of your favorite liquor and conviction.

Your mind went fuzzy from the mix of alcohol running through your bloodstream and the feeling of sharing your very first kiss with a man you met only earlier today.

It’s strange. Even though you only crossed paths with Alastor this morning— he was the first person in your life to ever see you; the real you. The woman you kept hidden behind a plethora of masks and musings. You prided yourself on your foolproof façade, so when Alastor just waltzed past your guarded walls, it threw you for a loop. But this change of pace was the best thing that could have ever happened to you. For the first time in your life, you felt a sense of control over your own life— over your own freedom. Alastor believed in you, so why shouldn’t you believe in yourself?

Alastor parted his lips from yours slowly, savoring the moment with you for as long as he could. Your eyelids peeled open, taking in Alastor's pleased countenance. "Oh, my darling. There's no way I'm letting you out of my sight now."

Your heart felt full as Alastor continued his lead. You both danced to the melodic sounds, relishing in the shared embrace. That night was one that you cherished for months to come. But on the contrary, your blossoming relationship with Alastor solidified the beginning of the end.

You could hardly stay away from Alastor after your first date. It was as if a magnetic force was pulling you to him. He walked you home from the radio station each night and met you at your doorstep each morning. He even told you one time that he memorized absloutely every part of your day so you could always have time for each other. It was the little things that made you fall even harder for him. Alastor would leave a bouquet of roses atop your desk every Friday when you took your lunch break so that when you arrived back, you would be pleasantly surprised by his gesture.

Alastor was a proper gentleman, and his kindness and care toward you almost made you forget about the rotten things in your life— almost.

Elaine grew jealous of your new beau. She noticed you were livelier than ever, and that just wouldn't cut it. Misery loves company, after all.

She had her father triple your workload, forcing you to stay after hours. It took a toll on you and made it harder to keep time for Alastor.

But that wasn’t all— your room would be trashed by the time you came home. And somehow, your very few belongings started going missing.

The last of your patience went out the window when you noticed the locket Alastor gifted you for your one-month anniversary was nowhere to be found.

It didn’t take a genius to realize Elaine was behind your sudden stroke of bad luck. You put up with the torment all your life, but not anymore. You were at your wits end with Elaine and her arrogant family.

“Christ, I hate that wicked woman!” You groaned in frustration as you barged into Alastor’s apartment. The lanky man whipped his head in your direction from where he sat at the piano. His fingers stilled against the keys, ending his song with a dull note. “What did she do this time, my dear?” You stormed over to him before slotting yourself beside Alastor on the piano bench.

“The locket you gave me for our one-month anniversary is missing! She stole it— I just know it!” You gritted through bared teeth. Alastor wrapped an arm around your shoulder, hugging you close to his side as he cooed at you. “You know, the offer to move in with me still stands.” His voice was gentle as he placed a kiss atop your head. His large palm smoothed over your arm; in an attempt to ease your nerves.

Heat rose to your face from the mention of his proposition. Sure, you thought about it countlessly. But you and Alastor were only approaching that six-month mark of your flourishing relationship. You always believed in the notion of waiting to live with a partner until after marriage. That’s what you conveyed Alastor. “You know we can’t… unless you are willing to get hitched tomorrow,” You joked, turning your head slightly to peer up at him.

“Darling, you know I would marry you in a heartbeat. But one of us is not ready for marriage quite yet!” He quipped, dipping low and nuzzling his nose into yours. Your heart did a flip from his unyielding confession.

You knew Alastor would do anything for you at this point— this man was like no other. He worshipped the ground you walked on, yet you still were on the fence about marriage. You still had your personal goals you wanted to achieve before tying the knot, and Alastor respected your wishes. But you knew deep down he was aching to put a ring on your finger and claim you as his for good.

“Hey— don’t tease! I just… It’s becoming harder to put up with their nonsense. I wish they would all disappear! Elaine, her father, and her mother.” You let out a long sigh as your body slumped forward. You rested your head atop Alastor’s broad shoulder, smiling softly at his familiar scent.

“Well, I could make that a reality for you, my sweet girl.” Alastor’s voice was low and dripping with mystery. You laughed at his cryptic utterance. “Yeah, by doing what? Throwing them in a ditch?” You joked, raising a brow as his hand halted against your arm. The air became thick with tension as the silence grew louder.

“…Well yes, my dear! But the ditch part would be after all the fun.” You quickly turned to face him, your frantic eyes scanning his features for any semblance of falsehood. You found nothing of the sort.

Alastor’s features were as relaxed as ever. As if he asked you something as mundane as 'what day was it?’

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” Your voice was level as your eyes locked with his chestnut ones. You nervously anticipated his response. “Quite so! Have you noticed the lack of journalists around the radio station lately?" His question threw you for a loop.

Now that you thought about it- yeah, there has been a lack of jerks around the office. The same fellows that undermined you just for existing.

“Well now that you mention it— yeah, I have. What does that have to do with anything?” You tilted your head slightly, still not following where your boyfriend was going with this. Alastor’s grin sharpened as his eyes flickered to your lips. “My, dearest, you are too pure for your own good. It drives me crazy.” Alastor’s other hand drifted from the piano keys. His thumb and forefinger came up to grasp your chin. He pulled you in close as his eyes flickered back to yours.

“Well, I took care of those nasty good-for-nothings! They are resting comfortably in a ditch deep within the preserve. So, no need to worry your pretty little head over it!” Your eyes widened from his confession— his even tone and frenzied stare proved that what he said was factual.

“They had it coming! Speaking down to you in such a way. I could hardly stand it any longer, so I decided to take matters into my own hands.” Alastor sounded pleased with himself as he confessed to murder so casually. Your eyebrows rose in shock as he tugged you closer. Your lips ghosted over his. “You killed those men for my sake?”

You could smell the whiskey on his breath from this proximity. Alastor’s hand— that rested on your arm— now found purchase around your waist. “Indeed, and I would do it again in a heartbeat for your sake.” You could sense his anticipation to kiss you at that moment.

His love for you was suffocating in the best way possible. You didn’t know you were capable of drowning until you sank into his touch. “And I would take pleasure in ending Elaine and her parents’ lives. If it meant your precious mind would be at ease.”

Your heart fluttered as you closed the gap. Your lips molded against his, moving in tandem. You turned your body toward him through your shared embrace, sliding a leg up and over the piano bench— now straddling the seat. Alastor’s grip on your waist tightened. His fingertips twitched with need as they danced further along your side. You reached out for him, desperately carding your hands through his chestnut locks. Alastor’s chest pressed tightly into yours as his lips moved against yours with a searing desire. You only dared to pull back when your lungs started burning. Alastor rested his forehead against yours as you shared the same air.

“You really mean it?” You asked breathlessly, allowing your hands to cup his cheeks.

“My dear, I would die for you,” Alastor paused, the pad of his thumb swiping across your bottom lip sensually.

“I would lie for you,” His thumb pushed past your parted lips, and your tongue instinctively swirled around his deft digit.

“I would happily follow you to hell if you asked me to.” You gave his finger a playful suck, reveling in the sight of Alastor’s deep blush.

His chestnut gaze fixated on your mouth as you pulled off of his thumb with a wet pop. Alastor shuddered at your sultry display. His grip on your waist was firm.

“Please, Alastor. I want to be a part of it this time. We will be unstoppable together.”

Alastor swore he fell in love with you a thousand times over the moment those words left your lips. You couldn’t be any more perfect for him.

Alastor wanted to tell the whole world about the colors he saw in your eyes; the colors a man out of love could never recognize. He truthfully would have married you the first day you met. It was fixation at first sight.

He was overjoyed to commit murder alongside you— one of the many memorable first times you would come to share. Alastor saw the pieces fall into place before his very eyes the moment he witnessed you take someone’s life.

The frenzied stare you harbored; the blood spattering over your perfect face, decorating your smile in a picturesque way. Alastor swore meeting you was his life purpose, and assisting you on your first kill solidified that sentiment for him.

Alastor could not suppress the urge to touch you at that moment. He pulled you close, taking the lead like many times before. You danced around the dead bodies, laughter filling the barren space as the record player skipped from the other room.

He always knew red was your color. The first time you met, you were wearing a vermillion dress. But the deep crimson blood covering you from head to toe was your best look yet— he thought.

After you both hid the evidence and any proof of life— fabricating notes on Elaine and her parents' behalf to make it seem like they went abroad— you celebrated.

Celebrated the past no longer having you in its clutches.

Celebrated the freedom of never having to grin and bear it to survive; ever again.

Celebrated the ever-growing love you held for Alastor— as he did you.

Celebrated the new beginnings and the best that was yet to come.

You saw life in a new light from that day forward, seizing each day with delight.

With Elaine’s father out of the picture, Alastor became the man in charge at the radio station. He had full creative freedom to take his radio show in any direction he pleased. If folks dared to disagree, Alastor would promptly take care of them.

Business was booming for Alastor at the radio station, and you were finally out pursuing hobbies and careers that inspired you.

Alastor ended up popping the question a couple of months later as things began to settle down for you both. It was romantic, really. His gesture was over the top and grand in the best way possible but still entirely authentic to Alastor. You finally felt ready to take the next step in your relationship. And so, you said yes.

Alastor was over the moon when you agreed. You could have sworn you saw a single tear roll down his cheek— but he denies it vehemently.

You didn’t have any friends or family, and neither did Alastor— with his mom having passed years prior, so you truthfully had no need for a grand ceremony. Alastor sorted out the date for you to be wed. The anticipation only elevated your excitement by the day. And when the date finally approached, you could hardly contain your joy.

You took on the day like any other— you made breakfast, hung the laundry on the clotheslines, participated in your favorite pastimes, and met up with Alastor in the preserve to assist him in burying his most recent victim.

You didn’t know the dead fellow, but you were sure Alastor had a fair reason for killing him. The man probably took the last jar of special spice from the store that Alastor used to recreate his mother’s jambalaya— and in that case, the prick had it coming.

It was dusk. The sky was a mesmerizing red and orange ombré as you walked hand in hand through the woods with Alastor. Your free hand held a shovel, and his free hand gripped the ankle of the deceased man whom he dragged from behind along the rocky path. Now and then, the dead man’s clothing would cling to a stubborn stone, making Alastor halt in his stride. You would share a chuckle before he tugged the man free, continuing down the path with you by his side.

You were so excited to get this over with, so you could head to the courthouse with your beloved Alastor. As you recited your vows in your head, you suddenly heard a loud boom before your hearing failed you entirely. Everything was motionless after that.

Your mind scarcely processed what had happened until you turned to face Alastor. The sight before you had your stomach in knots. Your beloved was bleeding from his forehead, and as if you were in slow motion— your arms reached up to him as his legs buckled beneath him. You knew you were screaming by the burning sensation in your throat, but your ears were still ringing in a deafening manner. The last thing your conscious mind ever saw was the grim view of all light leaving Alastor’s eyes.

Those same eyes that grounded you. That brought you purpose and offered you nothing but love and devotion.

All of that was gone in a split second.

After that, you felt a searing pain in your head before your vision went dark.

It was as if you were underwater. You felt lighter than air as you sunk deeper into uncharted waters. You could hear muffled voices and flashing lights shining from the surface— but it was all out of reach. You just sunk peacefully. Enjoying the enshrouding darkness.

However, your peace was torn from you as quickly as it was obtained.

“She’s a Jane Doe. Poor girl got caught in the crossfire. I bet she didn’t even know the guy she was walking with was a serial killer!” Your eyes burned from the bright lights and the nauseating white ceiling that took up your line of sight as the distant people continued to chatter. “I bet he tricked her into thinking he was a good guy— bet he led her out in those woods just so he could kill her like that poor fellow he was dragging out there!”

The rhythmic beeping increased as all your focus shifted to the intense shooting pain coming from your head. “Oh— she’s awake! Miss, can you hear me?” You groaned softly as an older woman came into your line of sight. She was peering over you. You must have been lying down— you thought.

“Loud and clear.” You mumbled, trying to sit up only to be pushed back down by the stranger. “Miss you can’t do that! You’re in the hospital. You suffered from a severe injury. Please, don’t make any sudden movements.” Her words took a moment to process through your semi-conscious mind.

“What happened to me?” You managed to mutter as you closed your eyes. The intense lights were causing your head to ache even worse. “Miss, you were shot in the head. It was a hunting accident gone wrong,” The nurse paused, giving you a moment to digest her words before continuing.

“Turns out the man you were out in those woods with was a wanted serial killer. That Alastor fellow was an active murderer for decades! The papers say he was good at steering clear of the cops for all these years. The hunter wasn’t even aiming for you both. His target was a nearby deer,” Your mind was struggling to piece things together as the nurse rambled along.

“The bullet you took probably was the exact reason you’re still alive! Who knows what that maniac would have done to you? Which reminds me, do you remember your name, sweetheart? You didn’t have identification on your person. We asked around the area to see if anyone recognizes you, but we've had no luck with that.”

You were surely dreaming, right?

Everything this woman was saying sounded outlandish. How did you even end up in a situation like that, and more importantly—

Wait… what is your name?

“I… I don’t know. I can’t… remember a thing.” You shook your head, which only caused you more pain as your eyes shot open. You were still met by the sight of the noisy nurse, and the white hospital walls.

Nope, not a dream.

The nurse looked at you with a horrified look. “Oh geez… the doctor said your injury could cause memory loss, but it was a slim chance. Let me go fetch him. This is way out of my pay grade.” The sound of her footsteps echoed through your head before they slowly dissipated. You gaped up at the blank wall.

A clean slate, nothing to give the surface any character.

Ironic.

You had no clue who you were and no memories of your life before this accident.

You were left with more questions than answers.

The only thing you knew about yourself was that you were one of many Jane Doe's.

Fuck.

tags; @danveration @celestial-vomit @jyoongim @stygianoir @polytheatrix @mmik3yy @littlebullofblythe @cxrsedwxrlds @lillithhearts @nogiggleonlybitter @minniemumbles @chewbrry @lbcreations-blog @nonetheartist @call-me-nyxx @zombiesnips-blog @stawberrypimpsimp @wonderlandangelsposts @villxinmiixx @persephoneblck @maxlynn17 @littledolly2345 @karolinda007-blog @falling-endlessly @greekyoghurtwithberries @bladeismine @aloraaaxcrystalzx @doctorswife221b @scaramoochiie @fairyv-ice @chirikoheina @veroneverleft @tired-of-life-86 @saccharine-nectarine @c-thegingergirl @tsunaki @geminixbunny @softangxlicss @alleystore @sirens-and-moonflowers @fairyv-ice @honey132 @alastorsaries @zenix108 @michi-keinz

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its-rach-writes · 2 months

Text

Cinnamon and Art Galleries - Spencer Reid

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: Your friend, Emily brings a cute stranger to your art exhibition.

Warnings: fluff, fluff, more fluff, probably ooc Spencer

A/N: I hope you guys enjoy this! This was my first time writing for Spencer so he's probably out of character but please let me know what you think! I love you all! xxx

You smiled as you drew the cat in the hot chocolate foam and handed it to the little girl on the other side of the counter with her mom. It melted your heart when her face lit up and she waved at you as her mom steered her out of the café. It was slow in your café today but you didn’t mind, you used the time to set up for the beginner art class you were going to be teaching on Saturday.

“Hey girl,” you glanced up when the bell rang and your friend Emily walked in.

You smiled when you saw her and gave her a wave. She was the first friend you had made when you moved to DC.

“Hey,” you smiled, “having the usual?”

“Please,” she grinned.

You got to work, making her one black coffee, the other was a milky coffee with a shot of cinnamon syrup. You knew that Emily drank the black coffee so you couldn’t help but wonder who the overly sweet coffee was for. You carefully selected the cinnamon roll with the most frosting and slid it into a bag, being careful to not let it stick to the paper bag.

“I believe congratulations are in order,” Emily started and you scoffed with a laugh.

As soon as you found out your art was going to be featured in an exhibition, Emily was the first person you told, “the team are coming to see it.”

You raised an eyebrow, secretly you were grateful, “FBI Agents don’t have anything better to do?”

She laughed, “not tonight, I even managed to talk the good Dr into coming.”

“The elusive Spencer Reid?” you rested your hip against the counter as you handed her the coffees, “how did you manage that?” from what Emily had told you, it didn’t seem like Spencer Reid liked social situations.

“I’ve got killer interrogation skills,” she smirked, “he’s cute too.”

You internally groaned, yours and Emily’s definition of ‘cute’ were very different, for all you knew Spencer Reid was an aging Professor, “as long as you don’t try and set us up, like you tried with me and Morgan.”

“No promises,” she laughed as she backed out of the café, “I’ll see you tonight.”

Later that night, you were sipping champagne as people perused your exhibition, your paintings were both inspired by Pre-Raphaelite art and the King Arthur legends. You noticed a man was standing at your painting of the Knights of the Round Table, so you walked over and decided to strike up a conversation.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” his lips twitched into a small smile as he looked down at you with gorgeous deep brown eyes, “you’re the artist right?” when you nodded, he looked back at the painting, “you’re really good.”

“Thanks, I love Pre-Raphaelite art.”

“Did you know that the Pre-Raphaelites were a secret society of young artists, founded in London in 1848? They were opposed to the Royal Academy’s promotion of the ideal as exemplified in the work of Raphael,” he blurted this out like he’d memorised it from a textbook and you worked hard to conceal a laugh.

“I did know that,” you giggled.

“Right of course,” he flushed, “of course you knew that.”

Something struck a memory, something that Emily had told you, “wait, are you Spencer Reid?” he looked at you with slightly wary eyes before nodding and you smiled, “I’m Y/N, Emily has told me so much about you.”

“It’s all lies,” he joked and glanced over his shoulder, “she’s making the most of the bar right now.”

You laughed as you looked over too and she waved, lifting up a glass in a motion of cheers. When she had said Spencer was cute, it was an understatement, he was young and gorgeous.

“Are you interested in art?” you asked as you sipped your champagne.

Spencer nodded, “I like looking at it, I’m afraid I’m not very artistic.”

“And here, we thought you were perfect,” you heard a chuckle from over your shoulder and you turned to see Derek Morgan and the rest of the BAU, Morgan pulled you into a hug, “congratulations sweetheart.”

“Thanks,” you smiled as you pulled away and looked at the others, “thank you for coming.”

It was a great night and you were grateful for everyone that came but soon, you were starting to get overwhelmed so you went out onto the balcony for a cigarette. Though it seemed as though someone else had beaten you to it. He ran a hand through his hair and glanced over his shoulder and smiled at you.

“Hey, you want some company?”

“Sure,” he smiled.

There was comfortable silence for a while as both of you looked over at the lights of DC, your cigarette smoke curling in the air. Soon enough, Spencer spoke up.

“So what do you do? Is art your full time thing?”

“I own the café by the library, but I’m integrating art into the café, I’m teaching a beginner class at the weekend from there.”

“No way! Seriously?” he smiled, looking animated, “your coffee is so good and your cinnamon rolls? Amazing.”

You laughed, “Emily gets the cinnamon roll with the most frosting for you?”

“Yeah,” he flushed, he opened his mouth to say something else when he was interrupted by Aaron Hotchner.

“Reid, we just got called in,” he glanced at you, an apologetic look, “I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“No, it’s okay,” you smiled when Spencer pushed himself off the railing, “it was really nice to meet you Spencer.”

He flushed and offered you a shy smile, “it was nice to meet you too, I’ll see you soon?”

You nodded and Emily pulled you into a tight hug, whispering in your ear, “I’ll make sure he sees you soon,” you laughed, shaking your head as she pulled away.

On Saturday, you were setting up for the art class when you heard the tinkle of the bell and you glanced up. None other than Spencer Reid was standing in the open doorway, the sun like a halo around his head.

“Thought you might need a hand.”

#spencer reid #dr spencer reid #dr reid #reid #spencer #criminal minds #emily prentiss #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n

1K notes · View notes

vultbae · 3 days

Text

negroni ✩

art donaldson x female reader

↳ summary: After winning against Patrick, Art takes the night off to grab a few drinks at the Ritz Carlton lobby bar. There, he meets a profound admirer.

Things go wrong with the girl who bought him a Negroni.

↳ warnings: fingering (minors dni), age gap (reader is 22), manipulation, infidelity, angst towards end.

↳ extra warnings: english is not my first language pookies + my first fic + yall I'm messyy so I added drama out of nowhere. if u read this I love u thank u for giving me a chance

word count: 4.9k

✩

"Excuse me, no smoking."

The blonde man lifts his chin to encounter a young waitress warning him about the cigarette dangling off his mouth. His middle and index fingers immediately approach the cigarette and gradually pull the filtered end from between his lips. "Sorry." Art frankly apologizes.

The waitress's purposeful avoidance of directly looking at him makes Art borderline giggle. He can't help but discreetly give her a comprehensive look; the girl is attractive, with velvety skin that impersonates caramel and peaceful facial features. He shushes all the pushy thoughts resembling the waitress to his wife staying upstairs. He is not that desperate, plus, everyone knows he is married to the Tashi Duncan.

Art audibly clears his throat and articulates before the young woman strolls away, "Can you get me a Negroni, please?" He requests, showcasing a courteous smile. The woman nods.

He didn't even realize when he positioned the cigarette between his lips. He had been anxiously waiting for an instance when he could be alone -at least since the match against Patrick. Tashi cheerfully agreed to let him descend to the lobby bar to grab a few drinks.

✩

Art had been attentively scanning his frame on the wide mirror and adjusting strands and strands of hair as he paid more attention to his hairstyle; his somber eyes descended from his impeccable hair to the unfastened buttons of his seersucker shirt, revealing a fraction of silk-like, gloomy skin from chest to lower stomach, his well-grooved muscles casting shadows under the bathroom's dim yellow lighting.

"I'm going out!" Art shouted from the bathroom as he fastened the remaining buttons of his shirt.

From the corner of his eye, he sensed Tashi approaching the bathroom doorframe and standing by it. Art tilted his head up to encounter Tashi, his wife, silently grinning, dressed in a beautiful pearl-white silk robe, "I won't be gone for more than an hour-

"It's fine," Tashi interrupted. "I'll watch a movie with Lily. We can talk about it later."

Art nodded. His eyes stared at her with minor fascination. Tashi couldn't figure out why, but the feral spark on Art's orbs evaporated. She walked away.

Art slightly opened his mouth to say something but suddenly cut himself off, lips slamming together. He didn't say anything. He allowed the slim figure of his wife to vanish from his eyesight. He authorized himself to go out alone for the first time in years and think about his relationship with Tashi and tennis -if, at this point, they were not equal. And his relationship with Patrick, of course.

After today, he felt things he hadn't felt in a while.

✩

An insistent tap on his shoulder provokes Art to flinch and abruptly land on earth again.

"Excuse me, Negroni..?" Another waiter says in a quivering voice—a statement rather than a question—hardly maintaining eye contact. He is holding a tiny round silver tray with a bloody-looking Negroni sitting on it.

Before the amateur waiter can shakily grasp the crystal glass to place it on Art's table, Art raises his arm and moves the Negroni himself. As soon as he places the glass on the marmol table's surface, his long fingers seize the thin wedge of orange embellishing the glass, bringing it to his lips and sucking on it instantly.

He doesn't realize that the one time he and the waiter are maintaining eye contact is while he sucks on a slice of orange -slowly.

"Thank you." Art says, dragging the wedge out of his mouth, detecting the scarcity of color on the waiter's facial canvas. "Why is he so pale?" Art thinks. The meddling stare from the waiter endures for maybe five seconds before Art frowns his eyebrows slightly in confusion; the poor guy nearly jogs away from Art's table.

Does he carry that much power over people? It has been long since Art calculatedly flirted with or attempted to gain someone's attention. To be accurate, since Tashi entered his life. He has officially lost the "open-to-the-public" charming spark and neglected his intrinsically flirty side.

But today, for some reason, he feels different than usual. Not that he is trying to test it...

The Ritz lobby bar is moderately quiet. Art peeks at a few travelers relaxing with their baggage as they sip cocktails in miniature glasses and couples drinking -"probably pre-gaming before a night out," Art assumes. His gaze disembarks over two guys in their premature 20s, brunette, and blonde, chuckling and vividly chitchatting about topics he can't overhear properly. Art is hooked to the scenario in front of him as he stares enthusiastically: it bitterly reminds him of his friendship with Patrick, whom he hasn't heard of since the match.

As he finds himself —once again— daydreaming about what once was, Art takes decent-sized sips of his Negroni, with his right hand hugging the crystal glass just right. He is sitting on one of the many hickory brown leather armchairs dispersed across the bar, manspreading as his left hand lays over his lap.

Suddenly, a personal reflection pops into his mind like a light bulb unexpectedly turning on; what is he doing? Sitting submerged in loneliness in a 5-star hotel lobby bar will not change anything. It simply won't. He would rather go back to the suite and have some pleasing fucking sleep. He is feeling tired, and confused, and depressed, and—

Well, If anything, people who recognize him could come and disturb his night.

Art locks eyesight with the first waiter wandering across his vision field; he pitches a writing motion with his hand and requests the bill. As the waiter walks in his direction, he chugs down the leftover sips of cocktail in the glass.

"Bill?" Another waiter wearing a burgundy uniform asks Art. The tennis player shakes his head up and down, murmuring a yes please, "Don't worry, on the house."

"I can afford it." Art stresses, with a robust sarcastic undertone tinting his voice tone while attempting to maintain the most benevolent smile on his catalog.

The waiter chuckles in exaggerated glee. "I know, Mr. Donaldson. Your bill has been cleared by another customer," he clarifies, standing in front of Art with the straightest stance and hands intertwined in the manifestation of hospitality. The waiter clears his throat, "Actually, by the young woman over there," and discreetly points his finger at the stools by the bar gantry.

Art's gaze dashes over to a woman standing by the bar gantry. He can only see her back, not her complete complexion. Although he has internally accepted this demeanor as improper, he allows his eyes to scan over the woman's silhouette freely, lingering a little longer on her legs. In the background, he can faintly attend to the waiter talking about hotel-specific branch issues and how stays such as his and Tashi's benefit the hotel's branding -isn't this the Ritz Carlton?

"Yes, I agree." Art blurts out as soon as he realizes the waiter has concluded his monologue, his gaze glued to the enigmatic female standing five meters away from him.

"Thank you, Mr. Donaldson. Have a great night." Just as Art opened his mouth to greet him in return, the waiter had already shifted on his feet to approach another table.

Art reevaluates what he is about to do. Should he greet her, thank her, or gently communicate how unmannered it can be to buy a married man a drink?

But also, what if it's an obsessed groupie attempting to instigate drama?

It doesn't matter. Buying Art Donaldson a drink is disrespectful. Literally everyone —quite literally everyone— who knows Donaldson knows he is married to Tashi Duncan!

Come on, a woman, unattended in a bar, buying me a drink? Art thinks.Of course, she has hidden intentions, he reassures himself. Art shifts on the armchair, resting his elbows on his knees, still pondering whether he should approach her.

Why isn't he simply disregarding this and walking away?

He hadn't felt so much excitement about something so childish in a while. It felt like being nineteen again. After hugging Patrick today, he sensed a heartwarming relief regarding Tashi cheating on him. But, on the other hand, he's a fucking human.

Fuck it. He just wants to chat with the girl and perhaps communicate that she shouldn't do that again. Right, that's it.

Art picks up his belongings and strides towards her.

"Hey, sorry..." Art speaks, dragging the stool beside the woman and grinning warily at her. His soothing, recognizable tone of voice instantly captures her attention.

Art expected many things, but not a drop-dead gorgeous woman. A girl. She looks...young— not underage kind of young, but unquestionably not over twenty-five. On the other hand, as a well-known tennis player, he's had plenty of exquisite-looking women begging for attention; Tashi herself is stunning. Somehow, this woman left his lungs tightening for a sizzling second, which is concerning.

Plus, her aroma. Jesus, the scent, Art thinks. He would continuously go weak on the knees when Tashi wore that damn tangy, dark cherry fragrance she had. He immediately identified the distinct smell.

"Mr. Donaldson, oh my god..." The girl's voice pitches high, and she extends her right hand in his stomach direction as if she had been rehearsing for this moment. "I didn't believe you would accept the drink," she adds enthusiastically.

Her voice is too harmonious for his ears.

Art stretches his hand and shakes hers. "Well, I didn't." Art retorts, unconsciously smirking at the girl's harmless bliss, "I was pretty much obligated to accept the free Negroni."

"Well, either way, I am honored," she says with a slight shrug and giggles, "Names Y/n; by the way, very nice to meet you, Mr. Donaldson. Big fan of yours"

"Nice to meet you too, Y/n," Art unpretentiously expresses. His facial expression goes abruptly blank as he realizes he might be snitching on himself. "Uh, Y/n, I don't wanna sound rude, but what you did... with the drink," he struggles to word it nicely, worrying about coming out as unpolite. He laboriously swallows as Y/n raises her eyebrows, expectant. "You shouldn't buy drinks to married men," he concludes.

Y/n lets out a gigantic gasp, "Oh my- this is so embarrassing," her hands fly over to her mouth, covering it in mortification, "I am so sorry, Mr. Donaldson-

"Please, call me Art," Art interrupts, a smirk rising on his face.

"Well, Art," Y/n corrects herself, now speaking with a mischievous undertone, still with an infectious grin plastered on her face. "I go to Stanford. I couldn't stop hearing about you —your skills. Well, I grew up in a household of tennis enthusiasts, and I, myself, am a tennis player. I just wanted to show my appreciation for what you've done for the tennis culture."

Art's cheeks feel hot. Heck, they are burning.

"Oh.." he mumbles, mainly to himself out of amazement.

"I would never, don't worry, Mr. Donaldson- I mean, Art." Y/n reassures, emphasizing the never. But as she justified herself, a sad half smile crooked on her plump lips, "I mean... No one can deny you are very handsome, but I am a respectful woman-"

He unmistakably heard the last sentence but will bypass it for his mental stability. "It's fine, Y/n." Again, he runs over her words, interrupting, "I should be apologizing; I don't want to come across as an entitled asshole."

For some reason, Art can't stop feeding the conversation. You are a fucking horndog, Art internally insults himself.

"Let me buy you a drink as an apology," Art says bluntly, requesting clearance but simultaneously demanding. Y/n, on the other hand, has her eyes set on the blonde man in front of her, both gazes perforating each other. "I mean, if you are of age.."

She giggles.

"Twenty-two. Took a gap year," the girl admits, "and I wouldn't mind a Negroni," she adds, now faking a nonchalant accent.

Y/n can hardly believe the circumstances she has put herself in. She observes the man standing before her, deftly moving from how he calls the server to how he licks his lips after ordering the Negroni. He's so fucking hot, she thinks. She had only seen him through flat screens and once attended one of the numerous lectures he gave back on campus.

But no, Y/n wasn't an obsessive stalker. Earlier that day, she had been at the New Rochelle Tennis Club with her father and the new newbie guy he was coaching —she can't even recall his name. Long story short, the guy had asked her on a date, and as a grandiose concurrency, Y/n had suggested the Ritz —they serve finger-licking cosmopolitans at their bar. It wasn't until she reached twenty minutes earlier by mistake that she contemplated bailing on her plans. Why? Because she laid eyes on the mouthwatering blonde man sitting by himself, ingesting a depressing ass-looking Negroni.

She knew it was a hit or miss. But she would rather miss if it came to the possibility of messing around with the man of her most soaked dreams.

Y/n's nostrils pleasingly burn as she inhales a warmish, spicy fragrance emanating from Art's clothes and skin. She can't dodge the impulse to frequently peek at the opening of his shirt, revealing milky skin. Her breathing becomes erratic just by fantasizing about him without the fucking seersucker shirt. She knows he's fucking ripped.

Y/n chews on the bottom of her lip anxiously, contemplating her words. "By the way, what you did today was insane."

Art arches a brow. "You mean playing tennis?"

"That wasn't even tennis; that was an entirely different game," Y/n responds as if Art had offended her. "It felt as if the court was entirely yours," she overpraises him, feeling rewarded by the minuscule giggles escaping from Art's lips.

Art feels his heart warm up at the familiar sentence choice. "It is not a big deal, just a good tennis match," he elucidates.

She rolls her eyes. "Sure... or maybe you are just too skilled for other players." Y/n softly laughs.

Art bits back the tiniest groan of frustration. He feels his dick hardening underneath the light-washed denim jeans he's wearing. He tries to comprehend if it is because of the sudden sensual undertone in her delicate voice, her unmistakable submissive look penetrated deep into her big eyes, or the fact that Tashi had not touched him below the hipline in months and turned him into a precocious motherfucker. Or it could be the alcohol making him horny. He hadn't noticed before how tight her clothing was —it took one swift glimpse at her body for Art to see her thighs spilling out of the hem of the strapless mini-dress. It took another one to realize she was now gently caressing his arm.

Art was convinced there was nothing left to wipe the carefully crafted agitated expression from his face. "Could be, yeah," he says, subsequently coughing to avoid strangling on his own spit. "I don't want to be seen as some kind of God."

"Well, you move like one," Y/n affirms, chuckling at her own filthy sentence, her fingers playfully stirring the brand-new Negroni sitting on the bar table with the cocktail straw. She licks her lips, "You know what I mean."

Bullshit. There is no way this girl doesn't want to fuck.

She dodges eye contact, but there is a peculiar shift in the air, and a smirk exponentially extends her lips.

"I know what you mean." Art snaps back, incapable of looking away from the cocktail straw now entrapped in between her glossy lips.

His muscles and head feel more lightweight, but his ocean eyes remain entirely tied to her outline.

Their bodies have shuffled negligibly closer—inappropriately closer. Art senses warmness filling his face from the subtle friction of their knees: the coarse texture of his denim and Y/n's smooth, bare skin.

From her peripheral vision, Y/n glimpses a security guard patrolling the hotel lobby. She makes eye contact with the robust man for a split second, whose facial expression reshapes in dull stunner as he peeks at who's sitting next to her.

Y/n sets her crystal glass on the bar counter. "Thank you so much for the drink."

"Wait. Are you leaving?" Art questions, with feigned etiquette that reeks of desperation.

Y/n's eyes dart to the man standing near their stools. Art tracks her gaze and sighs. "You already gifted me minutes of your time and a Negroni. That's enough coming from Art Donaldson."

Art hesitates. "They are not in my business." He practically whines, progressively revealing his despair to the young woman sitting before him.

"I still need to Uber home," Y/n excuses, pouting at her words. "A woman can't be alone that late-

"I can drive you."

✩

The drive is around twenty-five minutes.

Y/n quietly sits in the copilot seat of Art's Bentley Bentayga. By her left side, Art grips the steering wheel confidently, his fingers switching effortlessly over the controls as they drive through the streets of the suburban county of Westchester. She peers through the shadowy window glass on her side —there's a winter storm outside.

"How many days are you staying in Westchester?" Y/n asks while her gaze stays fixed on the passing scenery framed by the window.

Art clicks his tongue. "Not much. Most likely leaving tomorrow morning."

"Did you do anything fun around the county?"

"Well, a rich-people county isn't the most amusing place to visit." Art jokes, speaking with a devilish tease.

Y/n doesn't reply. Instead, her eyes quickly flicker to his silhouette under the fuzzy skyglow leaking through the car's transparencies. Art's blonde hair captures the faint illumination beautifully, each strand seeming to shimmer under the dim light. His muscles tighten at—

Red light.

When the car stops, Art twists his head to the right, his and her gazes collapsing. He runs his tongue over his upper lip before talking, "You mentioned something earlier..." he begins to say.

In the stillness of the moment, the only sound is the soft hum of the engine idling.

"I mentioned many things," Y/n corrects.

A faint crease of discomfort crosses Art's brow, and he shifts slightly on the red leather seat. Y/n examines each of his subtle hip and torso motions as he gets rid of the discomfort. Finally, again sitting still, he resumes. "Let me be specific. You mentioned I am handsome."

A sudden warmth spreads across her cheeks, an unmistakable flush of embarrassment.

"I don't think this is appropriate."

"I don't think neither of us cares about what's appropriate anymore."

It feels as if the world has stopped for Y/n. It feels as if a spell had caught both of them, leaving them besotted, and fucking horny, and awaiting the other to give the—

Green light.

"I think there's a parking lot next to a store that shut down recently 3 minutes away."

That's all Y/n says. Art presses down the gas pedal and tightens his grip on the wheel to suppress some exotic sensations that rocket down his spine.

Raindrops splatter against the windshield and the car's roof, and the blonde guy continues to drive through a road of infinite rain-soaked side trees swaying in the wind's rhythm and closed shops.

It takes four minutes and fifty seconds to reach a gigantic parking lot beside what once was a Dollar Tree. Although Y/n can scarcely appreciate the space due to the weather conditions and the tinted glass, she can see some faded, bright yellow parking lines now covered in dirt and droplets of rain. The place is totally empty.

Y/n's heart sprints ten times faster when the engine settles into a contented hum. Goosebumps flourish on her skin as serenity inundates the car interior—complete silence. The SUV has parked on a random corner.

And she doesn't want to look in Art's direction because she knows he's already looking.

She plays it credulously. "I think this is a great place to talk in peace," Y/n murmurs, finally turning her head towards him.

The fleeting moment her eyes cross with his evokes a sense of vulnerability for the girl. Art's orbs shamelessly spark with a glimmer of mischief, like a predator stalking its prey. The unbridled desire is nowhere near disguised now, and Y/n knows the guy won't keep playing the innocent role anymore. Is buying him a drink disrespectful? Bullshit. But she's grateful the poor, troubled man will have some fun. She knew he'd surrender faster than expected.

Yeah. Art had lifted the white flag as soon as he reached out a hand to grasp the door handle of his sexy ass Bentayga to open it for Y/n, and his eyes had flown by instinct to the girl's ass when she was hopping on his car.

Now, he can't tear his eyes off her lips.

"I've had a fucked up day." Art suddenly breathes out. There's a steady rise and fall of his chest, but Y/n can tell he's struggling to maintain it. His eyes ascend to lock in with hers. "I want to forget who the fuck I am."

Y/n is drowning in the noise of her own accelerated heartbeat. "I can help you." Y/n's words shoot out in submission, haltingly batting her eyelashes at him.

It's humorous mainly because she has no idea what is happening in his life. She doesn't know the mess between Tashi and Patrick; the fact that Tashi allegedly fucked Pa—well, whatever. Y/n doesn't know. She understands the man is disturbed, though, because the instant she stepped inside the luxurious lobby of the Ritz Carlton, she could tell the man had no emotion on his face. She recalled watching his matches when she was younger, and one thing about Art Donaldson was the radiant vitality his presence brought to any room he was in.

It's evident that the radiance was gone. For whatever reason.

Their bodies draw closer, the only barrier being the gear stick and seat partition between them. Y/n can feel Art's warm breath clashing against her lips, a slightly intoxicating and crisp scent of gin climbing to her nostrils. She moistens her lips with the tip of her tongue before grabbing Art by the collar of his shirt and pulling him into her mouth. He briefly widens his eyes but reciprocates instantly.

He is the sort of kisser who goes slowly but deepens as much as possible, inserting his tongue everywhere attainable. Y/n tastes good and, heck, excellent —sweet and spicy, as if she chewed cinnamon gum before assaulting his mouth. The flavor and the satiny texture of her lips push him to near insanity; Art pumps his tongue in and out, desperately, sweeping against hers because of the faint, delicate moans leaking from her side every time he does it —it makes him vertiginous.

It isn't until Y/n sucks on his lower lip that he splits off to breathe. "No marks." Art forewarns with his face dropped in soberness, heavily panting.

He discerns something shifting inside of him when Y/n's beautiful features soften for a beat, casting a veil of a peculiar sentiment he's too emotionally dumb to interpret —bitterness? sadness? He can't tell. The fuzzy thoughts fade when her lips attack again, parting his with ease, allowing her tongue to slip inside. "Shut up." Y/n spits lowly between kisses.

A couple of sizzling minutes of pure, obscene french kissing pass before Art realizes the pressure underneath the light-washed denim over his crotch is tormenting him. His left-hand glides over Y/n's thigh and gently squeezes, letting her know he needs to move forward. At this point, he has readjusted the position of his body over the red leather seat, facing Y/n straight; the hand resting over her thigh gradually shoves the hem of the mini-dress upwards, revealing more skin and dangerously approaching her pussy.

The tempo of Y/n's kisses becomes unsteady with the sensation of his physical touch near such an intimate area. It felt weirdly mortifying for her to be this wet this early —her pussy felt slippery and willing to take whatever Art proposed. She breaks off the kiss out of involuntary reflex, with her gaze immediately descending on Art's left hand, too big for her, and skillfully positioning the lace of the light-pink panties aside.

If Art was a magician and opening her legs was a challenging magic trick, goddamn, he'd be a good magician. Y/n had no idea how, in such an undersized space, her legs had managed to spread that wide. The specific moment when Art's middle finger comes in contact with her wetness is a blur, but the filthy, low-pitched groan that his mouth emits as the first finger rubs her pussy lips will never be forgotten. Y/n unconsciously rocks her hips in search of more friction-

"Stay still." Art demands, chest rapidly going up and down. Although he attempts to sound demanding, his voice is weak in want and ridiculously desperate. Y/n's cheeks flame up when he begins toying with her clit, rubbing slow circles, with an equally attractive and irritating cocky grin resting over his face.

But she wants that one finger to go in. Y/n sighs in eagerness, muttering a series of pleasepleasepleases.

"Art..." Y/n mutters between choked moans, bucking her hips forward into his hand. Art gazes at her, intoxicated by her facial expressions and the mild tone of her voice, delivering such nasty noises. His eyes don't leave Y/n's face as he thrusts his middle finger past her slick folds. He feels his dick twitch at her exaggerated facial response.

What was one finger quickly became two, picking up their speed and twirling inside, hitting the sweetest spot. "Not a virgin, right? " Art abruptly asks, terrified but astonished at the tightness her pussy held, clenching down on his digits and squeezing.

"No... oh my god—" Y/n yelps, hardly managing to articulate words as his fingers keep steadily penetrating her pussy.

Y/n tilts her head back and instantly feels a trail of sloppy, wet kisses on her jaw; Art is nearly over her body, working his way downstairs and upstairs, too. The accelerated rhythm of his fingering ceases for a hot second as his available hand reaches her chest to unashamedly pull down the neckline of Y/n's mini-dress, freeing her tits and letting them bounce out of the expensive cloth.

As a sheer coincidence and dissolving in pleasure, Y/n's eyesight dismounts in one of the tall buildings in front of the parking lot. What she sees is practically ironic. An immense billboard with Art's face crammed inside, by his side Tashi Duncan's iconic facial features, and an oversized Aston Martin logo. "Game Changer," the thing reads. Funny, she thinks. He is a game changer, though —not sure if he is the same kind Aston Martin broadcasts.

But seeing his face and Tashi's painfully reminds her the man is not hers.

In fact, the man has a whole wife.

"Fuck me." Y/n requests, still a complete mess, moaning, arching her back, breathless.

And nothing happened where she thought the fire test lay. Art obliged. In fact, he seemed enthusiastic. He wants to make her his. Y/n modestly smiled at the thought.

"Yes... fuck, yeah." With a deft hand, he reaches down and unfastens the button of his pants; he eases the zipper down, and the faint sound of it sliding makes Y/n nauseated of anticipation.

Art reaches into the back pocket of his jeans, pulling out a beautiful, black leather wallet. He flips it open, his brows furrowing in concentration as he sifts through its contents. With a muttered curse under his breath, he begins to dig deeper; Y/n doesn't understand what's happening —is he searching for a condom?

After eternal seconds, the blonde guy lets out a frustrated sigh and shakes his head, resigned.

Y/n sits beside him awkwardly, unhurriedly pulling up the neckline of her dress, covering her now shivering body.

"...So?" she questions.

He remains silent.

"I don't have condoms."

"I'm on the pill." Y/n offers.

The look Art shoots at Y/n isn't gracious. In fact, it triggers a big spark of frustration on his face, eyebrows knitting together in a light scowl as he looks at her incredulously.

Then it turns worse when, by mistake, his gaze falls on the same billboard Y/n had seen earlier.

"I can't. Sorry."

Y/n slowly closes her legs and adjusts her neckline. "Why?"

Art's eyes fall to his lap. "Well, starting from the fact I have a family-

Y/n interrupts. "Well, you didn't seem to care when you offered to drive a total stranger."

It was most likely the sassiness and the blaming in her voice that unexpectedly threw him off. Really threw him off.

"That's none of your business. I just took the opportunity of a warm hole."

In one swift, rampant movement, her hand connects with his cheek with a resounding crack, the sound echoing through the air like a crash. His head jerks to the side. A slap.

She had fucking slapped him.

With a trembling breath, Y/n doesn't think twice before she pushes open with unmeasured force the door of Art's fucking ugly car —or that's how she thinks of it now. The storm still persists, rain pouring down in sheets. Tears accumulate over her eyes as she steps out into the downpour, grabbing her purse tightly.

"Hey, hold on..."

She completely ignores Art's words, which get easily lost in the roar of the rain.

But she turns to face him one last time, sitting on the pilot seat, visibly ashamed of himself —and still with unbuttoned pants.

"Fuck you. I hope you lose every single fucking tennis match." And with a forceful push, she slams the car door shut.

As Y/n steps away from the vehicle, leaving a splash in the puddles on the floor, she wishes the man she met two hours ago had run after her and begged forgiveness. But of course, he didn't. Instead, she watched as the vehicle got started again and drove past her, quickly rejoining the road and disappearing in the darkness.

✩

#art donaldson smut #challengers fic #challengers smut #challengers fanfic #art donaldson imagine #challengers x reader #art donaldson x reader #smut #fanfic #imagine #mike faist #challengers

759 notes · View notes

gurugirl · 3 months

Text

Next Door Neighbors | Part 2

neighbor!harry x reader

Summary: Your neighbor, Harry, goes feral after seeing you sweating in your garden.

A/N: Read Part 1 HERE!

Word Count: 5k+

Warning: 18+ only, smut, slight breeding kink, descriptions of bodily scents and tastes (sweat and the like), fluff

. . .

Harry couldn’t help but peek over the fence to watch you when he noticed you were in your backyard gardening. Wearing shorts so short he could almost see your cute ass. And he knew you had a cute ass. Cute everything really.

Though, the longer he watched the more like a creeper he felt. Like an actual creep watching you bent over with your knees and hands in the dirt and sweat soaking through the back of your tank top while you were totally oblivious. But you sure were a sight to behold. He imagined how your sweat must taste and smell. There was something going off in his brain as he watched you that was nonrational, quite carnal when he got right down to it.

He hadn’t seen you in a couple of weeks. You’d both been busy with your separate lives and jobs. And it was always awkward for anyone to try and initiate another “get-together” when who knows what the other person is thinking? Maybe to you, it was just a fun one-night thing. Because in a way that’s all it was to him. Not that he wouldn’t have been interested in doing it again, he just didn’t know how you felt about some kind of ongoing, no-strings-attached thing. Or if you even wanted ongoing. Or no-strings. There were too many ifs in the equation.

But he knew one thing. He couldn’t just stand there like a weirdo and stare at your backside for too much longer. So he had an idea, returning to his kitchen he poured two glasses of iced tea then walked back toward the fence and cleared his throat putting a grin on his face, “Looks nice,” he called out to you.

You dropped your trowel and turned around to see your neighbor looking over the fence at you holding up two glasses of something amber-colored. You smiled, standing up, wiping the dirt from your knees and palms, “Hi, Harry. What looks nice? Not much to see yet,” you began to walk toward the fence to get a better look at him.

“Well I can see you put in brick around the beds and ya know… just looks nice.” He shrugged.

“It’s just gonna be easy to care for flowers and shrubs. Some lavender too, for the mosquitos. I’ve been out here for almost two hours. It’s so much more work than I thought it would be. Never had the chance to have a garden before so I’m going to take advantage of this,” you smiled and watched Harry’s pink lips curve upward as his eyes ran down your frame.

“I guess it is a lot of work. Two hours is a lot of time to be out in the sun. I got you a glass of iced tea if you’re interested,” he held it out toward you over the fence and you took it, the icy glass immediately cooling to your palm.

“Thank you, Harry. This is nice of you,” you took a drink because you were thirsty. Parched actually. “Come over if you want to sit with me out here,” you gestured toward the table and chairs that were set up on your back patio. And maybe you were more than just thirsty. Perhaps you wouldn’t mind spending a little more time with your hot neighbor.

Harry grinned and nodded, “Think I will if it’s okay.”

You watched Harry round the fence and then open the gate to yours to let himself into your backyard and you saw the way he looked down over your skimpy attire not meant for public eyes.

“Oh…” you looked down at your soiled white tank top and sweaty chest, “Mmm… maybe I should change first? I’m a gross mess.”

“You look great. Don’t worry. Come on let’s sit.”

And he meant it. You did look great. You looked quite like a treat if he were honest. A little sweaty treat but that wouldn’t deter him one bit.

Now you were feeling that bit of tangly excitement strum through your veins at just the sight of him. He was so good looking and it’d been, what? Two weeks since you’d heard from him? It was a little disappointing to you that he never called or texted or dropped in to say hi. Especially after that night you spent with him on his birthday. He had your number because you both swapped them before he walked you back to your house after you had sex.

Of course, you knew what you were doing when it was happening. It was unlikely that you two were going to suddenly fall in love and get into some kind of relationship. You were an adult and it was a fun night. Nothing more. And that was fine. Really, it was. A touch discouraging but nothing to be upset over.

You and Harry sat at your table with your glasses of tea in hand and you took another big gulp to cool yourself down.

“So what’ve you been up to?” He asked as he watched you wipe the sweat off your forehead with the back of your hand.

“Just normal stuff… work and I go to a book club once a week. Went out and bought all the stuff I’d need for the garden yesterday. Things like that. Nothing exciting. What about you?”

“Same mostly. Been working late this week, just got off actually. Today was an early day. Uhh… I mean that’s it really. Owning a small business means anytime anyone can’t work I’m doing their job for them. One of my guys is sick. He’s been out all week. Kind of sucks but I don’t want him going to a job and getting everyone else sick.”

You nodded, “Wow. That does sound like a lot. Does it happen often that you have to fill in for your employees?”

Harry shrugged as he took a sip from his glass, “Sometimes. It’s part of the gig. I knew that going into it. I really don’t mind it much. Does put a hamper on my social life, though.”

You weren’t sure why that somehow pleased you. Perhaps that meant he had little time to date around. Lack of social life but with a nice little neighbor next door who was always there when he got home… You swallowed a gulp of tea and grinned, “Makes sense.”

Harry tried to keep his eyes on your face but it was hard with the way your white tank top was nearly see-through where you’d sweated. Just under your breasts was wet and along the collar portion and down through the middle of your bra. He could tell you were wearing some kind of sports bra.

“So, uh…” Harry took in your face and realized that when you wiped the sweat from your forehead, you’d smeared dirt under your hairline. He placed his glass of tea down and scooted his chair toward you, cupping his hand at the back of your neck, “Here… you’ve got something…” he wiped his thumb over your forehead and your pulse immediately began to race.

Having his hand on the back of your neck to hold you in place as he used his other one to wipe your brow felt far more intimate than maybe was intended. You watched his face as he cleaned you up and then he lowered his gaze to yours, “You are a bit of a mess aren’t you?”

He grinned and licked his lips as he moved his hands away and you felt stunned as he lowered his sight to your tits. Maybe he did intend for it to be as intimate as it felt. Maybe he’d done it on purpose.

Looking down at yourself you saw how dirty your tank top was and how clearly sweaty you were. You hadn’t imagined anyone would see you like this but now here you were with your gorgeous neighbor’s green eyes on you.

There was definitely something in the way he was looking at you that made you feel extra hot. Even the sun wasn’t as searing hot as his eyes were on you, “Thanks. Sorry I know I’m so gross.”

Harry shook his head, “Not at all. Quite pretty actually.”

You laughed and looked out into your garden, “Not true. I smell like an unwashed trucker right now.”

Harry laughed with you and he took the arm of your chair and pulled you closer to him, your knees bumping into his as he did so, “Let’s see,” he looked down over the skin on your neck and to your clavicle, leaning in toward your throat you could hear him softly inhale, “Smells more like a sweaty girl who was working in her garden for two hours.”

His nose brushed against your jawline, “A little sweet-smelling, maybe a touch acrid,” he sat back to look at you, “But I’m not picking up any unwashed trucker notes on you.”

His smile was excruciating. You shook your head and balked with a laugh, “You’re crazy.”

He tilted his head and you watched as his seafoam green eyes landed on your lips, “Maybe a little.” He looked back up into your eyes and licked his lips with a soft grin spreading over his lips, “I happen to think you smell really delicious right now.”

Your eyes widened as you scoffed, “You really are crazy in that case. Delicious?” And even though you tried to sound like you weren’t aware of his sudden advances you could tell he wasn’t deterred one bit as he softly placed his middle finger over your knee and pushed up to your midthigh before bringing it back down toward your knee again.

“That’s what I said. Wouldn’t mind getting a better whiff, in fact,” his pink tongue pressed between his lips and you could see the tip of it slowly push outward as his mouth parted slightly, “A taste even.”

You gulped thickly and looked from his finger that was still working a path up and down the top of your thigh and up to his mouth and then his eyes. You could think of nothing you wanted more than to tear his clothes off and have another go with him. Except that you were stinky and even though he was hinting that he liked it you weren’t sure how that was possible.

Harry could smell you with the closer proximity. And he didn’t know what it was about your natural smell that was making his mouth water. He’d heard of pheromones and how sometimes body odor could be a turn-on for some people. He hadn’t ever experienced it until then. But you did smell incredibly sexy. Something primal in him was working its way to the surface and even making his cock twitch in his shorts.

“Do you want me to stop? Am I making you uncomfortable?” He asked.

You shook your head, “No. I’m just… a little surprised is all.”

Maybe Harry had a thing for sweat or something. You weren’t sure. But he was definitely coming on to you.

“So if I got onto my knees right now, pulled your shorts down, and then stuffed my nose right between your legs you wouldn’t be uncomfortable with that?” The grin on his face was facetious but somehow you believed him when he said it.

And what would your answer be? Would that make you uncomfortable? Or would that make you feel good? Would you enjoy Harry smelling your crotch?

“I don’t…” you laughed and looked down at his finger on your thigh, “Maybe it would be a little strange. I’ve just never… Like it smells bad,” you looked back up into his eyes as he scooted toward the edge of his chair closer to you.

“It doesn’t smell bad. I promise you. But would it make you uncomfortable?” The facetious grin disappeared suddenly and you were aware that he wasn’t playing around.

You laughed out a breath and blinked, “I don’t know.” You turned your head to look at the fence, “Oh my god this is so embarrassing.”

Harry took both of your hands in his and that drew your attention back to his eyes, “Let me do it. If you don’t like it I’ll stop. Okay?”

You couldn’t believe what was happening as you nodded and smiled shyly. You watched Harry scoot out of his chair and get onto his knees with his eyes on yours as his hands ran up your thighs to your shorts, “It’s okay if I take this off?”

You let out a woozy breath and nodded, “Okay.”

Harry smirked as he began to pull down the stretchy material to reveal your cotton thong underneath. The soft groan he let out when your shorts were placed down on the grass as he pushed your legs apart had your heart pumping hard in your chest.

You pulled your lips into your mouth and held your breath as he bent toward your thighs and his fingers smoothed along the plush inside part of your legs and up to your crotch.

He scooted in closer, tucking himself between your legs and then you felt his hands on the meaty part of your hips as he pulled you toward the edge of your chair before he tucked his face in between your thighs and moaned at your smell.

You couldn’t see his face. Only the top of his head and then his nose as he pressed it against the fabric of your sweaty panties. But when he did that he bumped into your clit and you gripped the arms of your chair at that little nudge. And he did it again before he looked up at you, soft green wandering up your body to your eyes.

“Let me eat you out. Y/n,” he swallowed, “my mouth is literally watering right now. You smell so good and I want to taste you. Didn’t get the chance last time.”

You bit your lip and screwed up your brows as you looked down at the man between your legs.

“Are you sure? You really wanna do that? I just can’t imagine that it’s going to be pleasant.”

Harry brought a hand to the back of your neck and pulled you in for a kiss. A sloppy, wet kiss that displayed just how much his mouth was watering, “I want to so bad. You can stop me if you don’t like it but don’t worry about me. I’m gonna enjoy myself if you let me.”

You huffed a breath and nodded, “Fine. But… Are you sure?”

His thumbs were pressing against the apex of where your thighs met your crotch, “Is that a yes?”

Rolling your eyes you nodded, “Yes.”

The grin on his face widened as his lips parted and he looped a finger into the fabric covering your pussy and pulled it aside. He dragged his middle finger through your crease and looked from your labia up to your eyes, “Relax.”

Harry bent down and licked a wet tongue over your pussylips and repeated, licking up and up until he pressed into your labia, spreading it apart and lapping through your folds.

He wasn’t sure why he loved it. He enjoyed the scent of women in general but your sweaty, natural scent, unwashed and concentrated had his mind going blank. Like he was an animal and needed to permeate himself with your smell. Needed to eat it and digest it and roll his body around in it.

And the tangy, salty flavor was so feminine and powerful and real… He moaned as he wrapped his soft lips around your clit and carefully tongued over your bud. You let your head loll back as you kept a grip on the arms of the chair you were sitting in when Harry lifted one of your thighs and draped it over his shoulder so he had a better angle of your cunt for his access.

You hoped the neighbors on the other side of the fence couldn’t see anything. If they did, it would just be your back with a man on his knees in front of the chair you were sitting in. But more than that it was the noises you were making that could pose a real problem.

Biting your lip to stifle your moans you looked back down at him. Soft curls on his head, eyes closed, pink lips smoothing against your pussy and lapping at the arousal he was creating. You could see your shiny slick on his tongue as you grew wetter and wetter. The angle at which you were sitting gave you the dirtiest view.

Harry tugged at the fabric of your panties again and ran his tongue along the outside of your pussy under the material of your panties and then he looked up at you as he brought his lips up to your clit and smushed them down onto you and kissed softly before parting from your pussy, “I need to have you riding my mouth,” he panted, “Need this all over my face. Can we go inside?”

You were in a daze. Harry had very efficiently worked you up in a frenzy and you’d nearly forgotten about your smell as you nodded and he pulled you up out of your seat, walking you into your house.

He was rushed as he pulled you along and into your bedroom where he gripped onto your hips and smeared his you scented lips against yours. You weren’t a fan of the smell in all honesty. It was too much. You didn’t mind your scent when you were clean but you hadn’t showered since that morning and to you, it just smelled like unwashed crotch.

His hands slid under the band of your thong as he pushed them down your hips, “Want you naked,” he breathed against your lips.

You moaned when he pulled your panties down your legs and then stood up to take off your tank top, slipping it over your head.

You reached under the elastic band of your sports bra and peeled it off as Harry stripped his own shirt off and then slid his shorts down his legs leaving him in only his boxer briefs.

He wrapped his hands around your middle and pushed you toward your bed before taking your breasts in his hands and running his thumbs over your nipples, “I’m just gonna say it, Y/n… I’m so fucking attracted to you. You’re gorgeous but the way you look right now and your taste… Kind of having a hard time thinking straight to be honest…”

You smiled at him in disbelief, but maybe you did believe him. He was acting like you were a long-awaited prize. Something he’d been saving up for and finally had the chance to have it. Could your smell be that much of a turn-on for him?

He pulled you with him into your bed, making you straddle his lap as he scooted himself into the middle of your blankets. His cock was already hard under his briefs as you brushed your pussy against the cotton fabric and you were reminded that you’d recently bought condoms. Should something like this ever happen again. But then that reminded you that you were ovulating. Big time. In fact, it was probably THE most fertile day for you in your cycle. You wondered if he could smell that somehow? Was there some kind of innate sense men had during a woman’s ovulation?

You felt his hands around your waist as he laid back and brought you up his chest, “Sit over my mouth,” he mumbled his words and his eyes were heavy as you tugged at you.

You laughed at his desperation as you pressed your knees into the mattress on either side of his head and very gently lowered yourself. You didn’t want to hurt him but he grabbed your hips and brought you down, making your pussy smother his mouth and tilt against his nose.

A gasp fell from your mouth at the sensation of his wet lips under you. He placed his hands on your ass and pressed you down further, making your clit run against his nose.

Harry would bathe in your scent. Use it as his shampoo and deodorant. Would bottle it up and make a perfume out of it. Yeah, he was losing his mind he was certain. In all his years of being sexually active, he hadn’t been so instantly obsessed with scent in this way. But it wasn’t just your scent. There was something else. Things were budding in him, like an instinctual impulse. It was something that felt ingrained, bestial. It was a base impulse that he couldn’t control.

He suctioned his mouth around your clit and looked up at you with your tits bouncing softly as you bucked your hips on him. Your pretty lips were parted and soft pants were falling from your mouth. He wasn’t sure what was happening but he needed more.

A deep, vibrating moan thrummed through your core, “Harry…” you breathed his name and looked down at him. His eyes were on yours already as he moved his mouth and tongue against you like he was a barbarian, a savage starved and heated… furious with hunger and you were his defenseless prey. A victim being fed on, eaten alive. It was filthy and so hot and he had your insides twisting and boiling with every suck of your clit.

“Fuck… you really like that don’t you,” you coughed a laugh before softly moaning as you placed your hands into his hair.

Harry’s brows were furrowed as he grunted and continued lapping and sucking. Like he had no time to respond to such a dumb question. It was obvious he liked it. No. He fucking loved it. He needed it.

His fingers pinched into your skin and you hissed at the sensation of it all. He was rough but it was good. It had you feeling like some kind of sought-after goddess over him. Like you were actually something special and he couldn’t get enough of you.

Your limbs started to quiver the closer you got. You rolled your hips down, pressing your pussy on his lips and bumping your clit against his nose as you moaned in ecstasy. The nearer your orgasm was the louder your voice became.

He drew your clit into his mouth and you felt his tongue slip up and down against it. The way you began to convulse and unravel over him nearly had you collapsing but he moved his big hands up to your waist to keep you steady as you cried out, rocking your pussy over his face.

You couldn’t control the way your body shook in your orgasm. It didn’t feel like you had full control of your movements as he continued to lick you through your release.

You jolted at how sensitive you felt, your clit suddenly feeling quite delicate and you pushed your hips up to separate from his mouth but he pulled you back down with a deep gravelly groan as he went in again, his mouth and tongue allowing no mercy.

“Harry! Fuck!” You giggled and pressed your palms onto his forehead and used your thighs to gain leverage to pull away from him, “Too much!”

You backed down his chest to move away but Harry sat up and grabbed your hips harshly, pushing your back down into the mattress after he crawled over you, “I’m going crazy or something…” he kissed down your neck and lowered his mouth to your breast and sucked the skin, swiping his tongue over every inch until he moved to the other side and delicately nibbled your nipple and pulled at it with a moan. When you felt his mouth begin to trail down your tummy as his hands began to spread your thighs again you snapped your legs closed and laughed, pushing at his forehead, “Are you serious? I’m too sensitive, Harry!”

He groaned and looked up at you, “I want more…”

You kind of loved this if you were honest. Loved how he seemed possessed by you.

“You can fuck me if you want. My clit needs a little break from your mouth, though,” you grinned at him, “Wouldn’t mind feeling you inside of me again. I have condoms this time.”

Harry sat back onto his haunches and you saw just how erect and hard he was. His cockhead was pushing at the top band of his underwear, begging to be let loose so you reached for it and pulled it away from his hips, letting his tip poke above the band, “Do you want to?”

He swallowed thickly and nodded, “Yeah. Fuck, okay.”

You pried his hands from your hips and moved to the edge of your bed to open up your bedside table, pulling out your fresh pack of condoms. Harry had removed his underwear quickly and then took the box from you as he moved behind you and tore the pack open to pull out a foil wrapper.

You bit your lip as you watched him toss the box onto your bed and rip the wrapper to bring the rubber out.

He looked up at you as he placed the condom on his tip, “Wish I could fuck you raw, Y/n. I know that’s a bad idea in my logical mind, but…” he looked down as he rolled his hand down his shaft and then back at you, “Something about you makes me want to do a really stupid thing,” he puffed out a laugh as he grabbed you by your neck and pushed you back into your bed.

You were completely caught off guard by his dominance but it did nothing but turn you on even more, “What really stupid thing?” You asked as he grabbed your thighs and pressed his palms to the back of them, pushing your legs out of the way of his hips as he pressed himself against you.

“It’s just a thing…” he looked directly at you as his crown pressed through your muscle, spreading you open gently, “Like lizard brain. Spreading my seed, claiming you…”

Your mouth dropped open as he plunged himself into you. That thick cock taking up so much space on your insides it ached.

“Oh fuck you feel so good, Y/n…” he growled as he began thrusting himself through your walls, getting himself good and deep, “Want to fill you up with my come is what I want…” he groaned, another stiff rut through your slick pussy, “Show everyone what I did… how I made you mine… fuck…”

You understood what it was he was saying. It was that primal thing most humans had in them to procreate. Especially men. And your ovaries were not opposed to what he was saying at that moment. But you knew that feeling would pass once you stopped ovulating.

You sighed as he rocked into you, his chest flushed and his arms flexed as he drove himself back and in over and over again until his rhythm grew brutal and he was hammering into you with deep moans.

You whined at the way he was punching into you, sliding through your cunt like he was going to die if he didn’t put his all into it. He was fucking into you like a madman.

“Oh shhhit, Harry!” You yelped out when his hips pasted against yours and he choked out a loud groan as his cock began to throb in heavy pulses inside of you.

“Fuck, I’m coming… Shit!” His face twisted up as he released into his condom, wishing he was coating your walls and letting his sperm seep into your ovaries. He felt a little bad that he didn’t make you come again, but he couldn’t hold back. He was in caveman mode, or whatever it was… completely blissed out and not thinking rationally.

You watched his handsome face scrunch up and then relax as his lips parted and he ground into you, swiveling his hips against you so hard it made your pussy clench with a pang of pain. The good kind of pain. This was the kind that was worth it. To watch this big man over you in ecstasy, soft gasps falling from his lips as his come drained out of his cock in relief.

When he finally opened his eyes and looked down at you he felt your hand on his jaw with your lips turned up in a soft smile, “Better?”

He laughed and nodded, “Yeah. Sorry. That’s… I don’t think that’s ever happened to me before.”

You gulped and pulled at him, both of you rolling to your sides, “I’m ovulating so I wonder if you’re like smelling the pheromones or whatever?”

He grinned widely and the corners of his eyes crinkled, “Maybe? I guess that’s a thing right? But… I’m sure I’ve been around other ovulating women. Never made me insane before.”

You raised your brows as you brought a hand to his temple and smoothed his hair back a little, it was all messy from you sitting on his face, “Maybe I’m just special.”

Harry licked his lips and his grin turned into something playful with an edge of lust, “Well you certainly taste special,” he lifted your arm up and leaned in, licking up the curve of your armpit and you squealed in shock and laughed.

“What on earth? That’s so gross!” You pushed at him but he pulled your arm around his middle so you couldn’t shove him too far.

“Mmm… I swear you have something in your sweat that’s making me crazy.”

You rolled your eyes with a smile, “I think it’s just lizard brain. Like you said.”

Harry shrugged and nuzzled in closer to you, “Maybe. The only way to find out is if we do this more often. Probably shouldn’t wait so long between seeing each other anymore.”

You were not disappointed by the turn this took. You’d be down to see him more often if he wanted, “Yeah?”

“Definitely, yeah.”

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peachesofteal · 4 months

Text

Light On Simon Riley/female reader (mama) & Emmaline Valentine's Day special This was heavily requested when I was still writing for these three. Light On is finished, but holidays make me sentimental. Consider this a little treat for Valentine's Day

The aquarium is a zoo.

Once, the throngs of people, masses of children and parents swirling around and screaming, running and jumping all over the place would make him uneasy, unsettle him, drive him back to his apartment, to the dark.

Once.

Now, he navigates it well. Confidently. He's here with his family, his girls. He even enjoys it, taking in all the tanks, the fish, the stingrays, the sharks, and he's proud, when Emma manages to screech out the word fish here and there, giving her positive encouragement, sliding the cloth mask down to place a quick kiss to the top of her head.

He grounds himself with one hand on the small of your back, the other pushing an empty stroller. Having you close, within arm's reach, numbs the anxiety constantly buzzing in the back of his mind, and he tucks you into his side every time you'll let him. Emmaline occasionally peers at him over your shoulder, or when he's not immediately in her line of sight, whips her head back and forth, trying to figure out where he's gone.

"'m right here." He soothes, rubbing her back. "Right here, baby girl." You roll your eyes, smile sweet for him, for her, and lean forward, smacking a big kiss on her cheek before pointing at the curved glass of the tank.

"Look, Emma!" A group of jellyfish drift weightlessly in the middle of the room, and he urges the two of you forward so she can see, unbothered by the five and six year olds that jostle one another around his legs. She shrieks with glee, giggling like mad when she smacks her hand against the glass as hard as she can, earning her an immediate, soft redirection from you.

"Gentle, baby. Gentle." Her little brow furrows, frustrated, and she bobbles in your arms, turning again to find him. He's about to reach for her, give your back a break, when she starts to babble, high pitched sounds gurgling into a jumble of words and-

"Dada." Your eyes go round. "Dadadada..."

Simon's heart breaks open inside his chest, torrent of emotion crashing over him, washing him away in the wake. A palm claps over your mouth, dropped open in shock, and he sees joy in your eyes, joy and pain, the presence of a ghost still haunting your happiness, like one haunts his.

"Here, uh." you lift her into his arms, and he stares down at her sweet, cherub face, cheeks swelling with an almost toothless smile, tiny fingers stretching for his mask.

"Dada!" He doesn't answer, his silence frustrating, and she grows more demanding, happy pitch changing into a growl of dissatisfaction. "Dada, dada!"

"Shhhh, hey. It's okay." He bounces, cuddling her close. "I'm here." You stand back, expression heavy with grief, light with happiness, and he locks eyes with you.

He doesn't need to speak, to ask.

Are you okay? Are you okay with this?

Your hands clasp together, and you nod.

After a beat, he clears his throat. "How did she..."

"I might have been calling you dada, at home, when I refer to you, you know?" You're wearing the mask of a million emotions, embarrassment and shame, sadness, and elation. They all mix together to bring more tears to your eyes, and you laugh uneasily as you wipe them. "I... I'm sorry. I don't know how to feel, about her saying it, and I didn't ask you, either. It's... it's, I,-"

"I know, sweetheart. I know. It's okay." He steps close, Emmaline chewing on the edge of his mask, burrowed in his chest. His forehead taps yours, and he closes his eyes. He doesn't know how to thank you, for this gift, this love, this life you've given him, so all he can say is the three words he says all the time, the three words he whispers into your skin at night, the three words he gives Emma when he tucks her into bed. "I love you." Your fingers hold tight to his, watery smile lighting up the entire room.

"We love you too."

#light on #peaches writes #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader

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lightsoutnaway · 25 days

Text

I'm not clingy, you're clingy.

PAIRING: Max Verstappen x reader

WARNINGS: suggestive ending

SUMMARY: Max doesn't want you to go out on a night with your friends but insists he isn't clingy.

W0RD COUNT: 1,192

“Maxie, can you come here?”

Max was in the middle of a round on his simulator, but when he heard your voice he paused the game and got up at once. Not once had he ever told you to wait when you called for him. Max may have been serious about his career, but even before that his job was to take care of you. He truly felt his first purpose was to make you feel happy and loved.

“Coming, liefje,” Max called down the hallway. He took his glasses off as he walked down the hallway, cleaning the lenses on his shirt. He got into your bedroom, put the glasses back on and looked up at you. “Wow,” he murmured quietly. You looked up and saw him and your cheeks warmed bashfully. It didn’t take much from Max to make you feel beautiful. You were dressed in a form fitting party dress that was made of a spandex like material that smoothed your curves and gave you the perfect figure. It was black and shimmery and you had paired it with a pair of sparkly silver heels. Max had bought them for one of the many galas you went to with him.

“Can you zip me up?” You asked, turning around to reveal the open back of your dress to him. Max walked up behind you. He put his hand on the zipper, but before he moved it an inch his lips came in contact with your skin. The hand that wasn’t on the zipper slid over your waist. “Max…” You warned. Max pressed a firm kiss to the side of your neck before sighing as he leaned back and pulled the zipper up. You turned around to face him.

“I forgot you were going out with your friends,” Max told you. You could hear the slight disappointment in his tone. He knew partners weren’t allowed to come. He had been complaining about it all week after you told him you were going out without him.

“I won’t be out that late,” you comforted. “They know how clingy you are. They won’t mind when I go.”

“I’m not clingy,” Max replied, seeming slightly offended that you might say that.

“Maxie, you call me in between qualifying rounds sometimes,” you reminded him.

“That was one time! You were in the hospital!” He defended himself.

“I was just getting a blood test.” There was a moment of silence while Max attempted to think of an excuse.

“I’m not clingy,” Max repeated when he couldn’t come up with anything else.

“Sure, baby,” you said and patted his muscular chest as you went to check yourself in the mirror one last time. Max walked up behind you, snaking his arms around your waist and tucking his chin into the crook of your neck.

“I don’t get why I can’t come,” he complained. You held in a chuckle.

“We haven’t all been in the same city in over a year,” you told him. “We just want to spend the night together.”

“You’ll come home to sleep though, won’t you?” Max asked. You could hear the slight fear in his voice. He didn’t want to sleep without you. He had to do it often enough when you weren’t able to make it to races. He didn’t want to do it when you were both at home.

“Yes, Maxie. I can’t sleep without you either,” you cooed. He blushed and hid his head in your neck, nuzzling his nose against you as he avoided your eyes in the mirror.

“What time are you going to come home, schatje?” He murmured in question.

“I don’t know. Around midnight?” You guessed. Max sighed.

“What am I supposed to do until then?” He whined.

“Go back to your simulator,” you suggested. “You know how wrapped up you can get in it.”

“Not when I know you aren’t in the house,” Max said. You raised an eyebrow.

“It’s easier for you to focus on sim racing when I’m here and you’re ignoring me?” You asked.

“I’m never ignoring you, liefje.” Max knew you were joking, but he couldn’t even stand the idea that he might not give you all of his attention whenever you wanted it. “I never go unless you’re already doing something else.” You were quiet for a moment as you thought about this. You knew he would leave his simulator for you, but you had never realized that he had never chosen sim racing over you–even in the off season when he was supposed to be practicing as much as possible.

“I didn’t realize until now,” you admitted. Max smiled softly at you in the mirror. His eyes flicked away from yours and he let go of you. You stayed in place but turned to see him approaching the dresser. He picked up a necklace off the top of the dresser. You ran your hands over the empty spot on your chest where the chain usually hung. Max was remedying the absence of your necklace quickly, wrapping the white gold chain around your neck and locking the clasp. The pendant fell down against your chest. It was a circular pendant with diamonds bordering the edge and an “MV” engraved into the metal.

“Can’t let you leave looking this way without your necklace on,” Max spoke quietly. You looked into his eyes in the mirror. There wasn’t a man alive who understood the concept of devotion like Max Verstappen and despite what many might think the thing that he was most devoted to was you. Your heart was bursting and when you looked into Max’s bright blue eyes you couldn’t help yourself.

“I’m canceling,” you told him. Max furrowed his eyebrows.

“Canceling what?” He asked.

“Tonight with my friends. I’m staying home with you,” you explained. A small smile flashed across his face.

“Are you sure, schatje?” Max asked. “We could just invite them over here,” he offered. You shook your head.

“Uh-uh,” you grunted in disapproval. “I just want you.”

“You haven’t seen them in a long time,” Max reminded you.

“We’ll all be in London over summer break,” you told him. Max was holding in a smug grin, but he couldn’t keep it totally off his face. “Stop gloating.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Max defended himself.

“You didn’t have to say anything, you’ve got that look on your face,” you said. Max kissed your cheek and wrapped his arms tighter around your body.

“You’re clingy too,” he murmured after a comfortable moment of silence.

“You asked me to stay before I said I would,” you tried.

“No, I asked if I could come with you,” he corrected.

“Same, difference,” you muttered.

"No, I was going to go with your friends. You want us to be alone," Max said.

"I"ve never heard you complain about being alone with me before," you teased. Max smirked at you.

“Who said I was complaining?" He asked. He pushed the strap of your dress to the side and kissed your shoulder softly. He looked at you in the mirror before he spoke again. "Now take this off and get on the bed."

#max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x gn!reader #max verstappen fic #max vertappen x you #max verstappen fanfic

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bluesidez · 5 days

Text

[The Ideal Gaze]

lab tester: @ichigosluvrr 🩻

pairing: DadBod!Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Reader

summary: Miguel is feeling a bit out of your league, so you remind him that he’s just in your lane.

content warning: established relationship (they’re married with kids!), domestic fluff, mild hurt/comfort due to Miguel being an idiot that does not understand The Female Gaze, some miscommunication between reader and Miguel, 18+ so MDNI, a little raunchier than I intended tbh but hopefully I presented DB!Mig well, body worship, heated tension, reader is like obsessed with Miguel’s new Dad Bod, deepthroat 😗, missionary position, unprotected p in v sex (WRAP IT UP 🫵🏾), the word Ma as a term of endearment from Miguel to reader two times

word count: 5.3k, halfway proofread

a/n: Fulfilling this first because this was technically my first request! I added a few more elements (thank you Miguel server!), so I hope you don’t mind. There were no specific requests other than fluff and smut, so I went with the flow. I hope you enjoy! (Also, I found the original artist's post here!! Go give them some love!)

Your blood is pumping as you round the corner, only a few more steps until you reach the driveway.

The jog today was pretty refreshing. There were no calls from work asking about things that could wait until 8 AM, no toddler fussing about waking up, and no child whining about getting homework done. It was just you, your FitBit, your steamy audiobook, and the lingering thoughts of meeting your husband’s eyes this morning. Lately, it’s been like a little game to rile him up.

You’ve been married for a few years and a family of four for seven years with a sweet little girl, a second grader with the attitude of an old lady, and a precious little boy, a preschooler with keen intuition. With your lives being consumed with work and taking care of the kids, you feel like your relationship has been put on the back burner. Long gone were the days in which you two made love at the drop of a hat, fucking on anything that could hold you. Now, you were lucky enough to get a little dry humping.

It was getting depressing, and more annoyingly, frustrating, so you started to put your riled-up energy elsewhere. You were up at the crack of dawn making everyone’s lunches and going on occasional jogs, you were using your PTO for brunches with the girls and spa days, you had regular pilates classes, the real pilates, and most importantly, you were finding small pockets of time for yourself.

From buying yourself small gifts to filling your Kindle with romance books to pleasuring yourself on the nights Miguel worked overtime. You were sure to keep yourself busy. All of that, and you still couldn’t get the thought of Miguel entangled with you out of your head.

You heaved out as you stopped at the end of the driveway, taking a few breaths to calm your state. The book you were listening to was on a particularly enthralling scene and you wondered if it was something that Miguel would be interested in trying.

You looked down at yourself and decided to unzip the top of your athletic jacket, letting the tightness of your bra and the fabric push your cleavage up. One smooth swipe of your clothes and you were walking to the front door.

It was 6:40 AM, so there was plenty of time to have a little quiet moment with your husband.

You walked into the kitchen and saw him standing in all of his glory. A newspaper in his left hand, because some things didn’t need to be digitized, a “Best Papá Ever” mug in his right hand, black glasses on his face, and your favorite thing, a naked plush torso on display.

In the first years of parenthood, his metabolism was through the roof. Despite him joining you for every snack, meal, and midnight dessert, he never lost that tiny little waist or those washboard abs. It wasn’t until your youngest was born and babbling that his appearance started to change. His arms became a mix of muscle and cellulite, his thighs were softer than ever, his chest was full and plump, and his waist widened gifting you with his soft belly and a happy trail that continued to his belly button.

The early time didn’t stop the coil of neediness in your stomach from forming.

“Good morning, hubby,” you say with a lilt to your voice. You walked closer to him, an extra bounce in your step, and leaned on the island.

Sure enough, Miguel was peeking at your chest from over his glasses, mug hovering over his lips.

You only smiled coyly, waiting for his response.

“Good morning. How was your jog?” he puts the newspaper and mug down, folding his arms under his chest.

You stared at his bulging arms, pressed-up pecs, and his tummy that moved with him and almost whined.

“It was really good. Super nice and refreshing. Maybe a little warm,” you crossed your legs, impatient. “How’s your morning so far?”

“It’s better,” he says, making the short distance to crowd your space. He leans over you, hands going to the island. “My wife is here now.”

You smile at his words, hands itching to touch him but not wanting to ruin the stride. Instead, you look up at him and pan his lips.

“I’m feeling better, too,” you whisper, waiting.

Miguel leans forward to press his lips onto yours, the smell of coffee hitting your senses. You feel little fireworks go off as he starts to open your mouth. Everything felt just right in this moment.

When his hand slid across your back, you almost jumped up to wrap your legs around him. You tilted your head and wrapped your arms around his neck. You could feel yourself slipping against the counter, but Miguel was right there to steady you.

For what felt like hours to you after so long of a heated connection, the two of you made out on the kitchen island. Only some birds chirping, the occasional car passing by, and the hum of the washing machine could be heard next to the sound of you both breathing into each other’s lips

“Come with me to the shower?” you say, eyes heavy and pleading.

You could feel Miguel tense up, back rigid as he moved back.

“I better stay. Raul might wake up soon and he was having a hard time sleeping last night.”

Your heart dropped at the rejection. You were hoping that this would be the one, the moment that you’ve been anticipating for months. Some form of sexual connection.

“Ok. I’ll be out soon,” you turn and go to the master bathroom, tugging the zipper down hastily. You felt a bit dejected and embarrassed, but you’re trying to let it go. Your mommy side knows that your youngest woke up in distress last night so it makes perfect sense that Miguel wants to be alert for his cries, but your wife side wants her husband back and can’t help but feel like he didn’t want you.

With this brisk shower, you hoped this self-doubt and neediness washed away with it.

You tapped your fingers against the desk, staring off at your computer. Work today was slow, which you didn’t mind because that meant you could frequent your watchlist, but your mind kept wandering off while watching some random K-drama.

Last night, you woke up to what sounded like Miguel getting off in the bathroom.

He got off work super late that day, so you took the initiative to get the kids to bed and go to bed early.

What you didn’t expect was to wake up to the sound of his grunts coming through the bathroom door.

At first, you were a little hurt that he didn’t wake you up to help him out, but then you were so overcome by the sound of him whimpering and moaning that you couldn’t help but pleasure yourself.

He sounded so desperate and wanton, cursing every once in a while. You bit your lip as you imagined him right next to you, voice right in your ear. You wanted his weight on you. You wanted to feel his skin against yours.

You lay in the empty bed rubbing yourself until you came, his noises stopping a while before you finished. You were hoping he would come out and see you so you prolong your orgasm to no avail, sleep coming to claim you before he did.

When you tried to ask him about it in the morning, he kept avoiding your eyes, saying something about his stomach giving him the blues.

You let it go then, but that didn’t stop you from thinking about it all day.

In a spur-of-the-moment decision, you decide to text him a flirty message, running to the bathroom to take a picture to match. You waited a little bit, hoping that he could take at least a peek.

“You look gorgeous, honey.”

Just gorgeous? Not hot? Not good enough to make him want more?

You scrunched your mouth to the side, asking if he could send a picture back.

“Baby, you know I can’t. I’m at work right now.”

You huffed at that. You knew he was just in his lab by himself. There was plenty of time and solitude to take a picture. He used to send random pictures of himself all of the time.

For the rest of the day, you were irritated, feeling slighted at the hands of your husband.

You took a break from trying to seduce your husband, tired of the pushback. You put your all into taking care of the kids and maintaining the house when you could.

“And how many sticks does that leave Cassie with?” you asked Gabriella. You both were at the dining table with her math homework sprawled everywhere while dinner was in the oven.

“27!” she shouted, voice becoming more confident over the course of the math sheet.

“Correct! You’re knocking ‘em out, girl!”

“Buen trabajo, mija,” Miguel said with vigor as he came by to kiss the top of her head. “You’re doing so well.” (Good job, mija.)

“Does this mean I can get a cookie?” she asked, quick to melt her father’s heart.

“Not before dinner, Gabriella, you know this,” Miguel bounced Raul in his arms, a little fussy and sniffly.

“Please, papá!” she looked up at him with big brown eyes and a pout.

Miguel sighed, unable to say no to her 9 times out of 10.

He looked at you frantically, watching you snickering behind your hands, “You have to ask Mamá.”

Whenever he really wanted to say no, he used you as a trump card.

Gabriella’s shoulders drop as she turns to you, already knowing the drill.

“The answer is no. You can wait until after dinner,” you say, squeezing her cheek.

“You always say no,” Gabriella whines dramatically, slumping in her seat with her arms crossed, pout just like her dad’s.

“And you can always go to bed with no cookies,” you chide as you get up to go check on dinner. “Now go put your homework up and wash your hands, dinner is almost ready.”

She puts her papers back in her folder with the theatrics of a Broadway actor, sighing dramatically with each step she took to her room.

Miguel laughed at her actions watching her leave, “She’s just like her Mami when she gets like that. Fussy.”

You pause to put your hand on your hip, “No, she’s just like her Father when she can’t get her way. Whiny.” You open the oven and pull the lasagna out to the stove to cool a bit.

“Well, I can’t say no to her just like I can’t say no to you,” he says, placing Raul at the table with a hand running over his soft hair. “You both have the same puppy-dog eyes.”

“You like leaving the hard parenting to me.”

“That is not true. I just tussled with a four-year-old to get him to take his cold medicine and made a promise of not one, but two bedtime stories,” he says, coming up behind you as you reached to get the dishes. He got them down for you instead, hand on your hips and stomach pressed against your back.

You bite your tongue in order not to will your negligent, horny brain from awakening. You didn’t have time for those thoughts, little feet were near, and every advance you gave him ended in failure.

“Is he doing ok?” you say, referring to Raul he sat at the table with his head down, a teddy bear hugged against him as he pitifully moved his toy car back and forth. It was definitely a big shift from his usual talkative demeanor.

“We might have to go to the doctor again. His allergies are really acting up.”

You leave Miguel’s side to go squat down by Raul, “How are you feeling, sweetheart?”

You rubbed his back, trying to see if he felt warmer than usual and sure enough, he was burning up.

“My throat hurts, Mama,” he said, little voice just about gone.

“Oh, I know, my sweet baby,” you say with a soft voice. “Do you want me to make you some alphabet soup?”

Raul’s face twists up, lip a little wobbly, “But I want some cheese noodles.”

“Hey, it’s ok!. You can have some lasagna. I just want your throat to feel better. Hot things will make it feel better.”

“The cheese noodles are hot, too.”

You smiled, “That’s right, the cheese noodles are hot, but I mean a hot liquid.”

He stayed quiet for a moment, hands squeezing his teddy bear as he thought, “Can I have hot chocolate?”

“Of course you can. Can I give you a kiss?”

He nods his head slowly and you lean over to kiss his head. You needed to get him under the covers soon. Before you could pull away, he wrapped his arms around your neck, snuggling up to be held. You couldn’t resist holding your baby, especially when you couldn’t take his pain away.

You get up to see Miguel helping Gabriella plate the slices of lasagna on each plate and setting up the side salad. Your heart filled with joy watching them giggle over the stretchy cheese. It was moments like this that reminded you that you were taking the right steps, that this was the perfect little life.

As they set up the table with the plates and drinks, you kept Raul in your arms, ready to help him with tonight's dinner.

“Thank you for the food, Mommy,” Gabriella said with a toothy smile.

“You’re welcome, baby,” you say, cutting Raul’s food up even smaller, not wanting him to struggle any more than he had to tonight.

The table was quiet, save for Gabriella and Miguel smacking their food occasionally and Raul’s wheezy breaths.

By the time dinner was over, Gabriella was buzzing in her seat for cookies, and Raul was close to falling asleep in your arms.

You couldn’t ask for anything better.

With Raul sound asleep, Gabriella tucked in bed, and Miguel watching cable, you had a moment to yourself to think.

Did today’s small touches mean anything?

You stood in the bathroom moisturizing your skin after a hot bath. You said you were going to stop trying to fish for your husband’s attention, but if you were honest, today’s brief moment of connection did it for you. You couldn’t stop your thoughts once you were alone.

You decide to wear just a pair of panties and one of his old t-shirts to bed: a look that wasn’t trying too hard to get his attention, but you’re sure he’s going to notice it.

You sat on the bed and decided to read until he came into the room. You hope you were giving a sexy girlfriend vibe. Your skin was all smooth, you smelled good, and you knew you looked good.

When Miguel walks in, he pauses at the door to stare at you.

“Why are you looking at me like that? Come to bed,” you say.

Hook, line, and sinker.

Miguel shuffled over, eyeing you from head to toe. He looked delicious in his tank top, fabric stretched in the best possible ways.

He crawled on the bed next to you, “My band t-shirt?”

“Yeah! It’s comfy.”

He rubbed his hand up your naked thigh and your nerves started to sing. Any further up, and you might just wet your panties from his touch alone. You missed it so much.

He leaned over to kiss the juncture your neck and shoulder, your neck, your cheek, and then he stopped.

He just…stopped.

“Well, I gotta go in earlier tomorrow, so I’m going to sleep early. Is it ok if I turn this light off?

You felt your throat dry up, “Yeah, ok.”

He got under the sheets and switched his lamp off, leaving you in the dark with the faint light of your Kindle illuminating the room.

“Goodnight, honey,” he said with a yawn.

“Night.”

You turned your Kindle off and just sat in silence, his snores breaking the illusion of the dark consuming you.

You’re starting to think the worst.

You kept up a number of tactics subtle to glaringly obvious to appeal to your husband from changing up your perfume to what you would say was an amazing strip tease. Absolutely nothing is working.

He kept listing off excuses from the kids to his job to his parents to his brother, anything to avoid an intimate session with you. He even chose a night out with his boys over a night in bed with you which was jarring because he always made you feel good before going out to have a good time.

Did he not find you attractive anymore? You knew childbirth brought a lot of change, but you were still the same woman he met and fell in love with.

Did he not love you anymore? He often praised you for being a good mom and his pet names never stopped, but after that, his declaration of love for you had been very surface-level.

Is he cheating on you?

You really didn’t want to entertain that thought, but your heart couldn’t take any more pain than it already had.

So, one day when you say you’re taking the kids to the park, you drop them off at your mom’s place instead, hoping that if there was something going on, no little hearts would be broken once you unleash a beast in the house.

You pull back in the driveway to see that he’s still here, just as you suspected. You make your way quietly through the house, inching closer to you all’s bedroom.

Your heart almost stops when you hear the sound of Miguel’s voice, high and breathy in a way that should only reach your ears. You don’t think when you swing the door open, adrenaline pumping high.

Miguel yells, scared to death but alone.

“What are you doing?” you ask, voice frustrated.

“What am I doing? What are you doing?”

You look at the state he’s in, shirt up, waistband under his dick, and a mystery fabric in his hand.

“Were you getting off?” you say, hands dropping to your side. “Do you…do you not love me anymore?”

“What?”

“Do you. Not. Love me anymore. You avoid me every time I’ve tried to initiate something with you. We haven’t made love in so long. You keep making excuses to not be alone with me. You don’t even want to do normal things with me like send pictures or makeout until we’re out of breath. I’ve heard you in the bathroom during the night and now you’re here doing the same thing, without me, your wife.” Your eyes start to water after it all, feeling utter defeat.

“Cariño, this is a misunderstanding,” he pleads, voice distraught. “I do love you. I’ve never stopped loving you.”

“Then why are you doing this to me?”

“Because,” he pauses, fixing his clothes to have some decency. “I…haven’t felt the greatest about my body.”

Your tears dry up as soon as the statement resonates, “What? What do you mean?”

Miguel sighs.

“Lately, it’s getting harder and harder for my old clothes to fit me anymore, I’m way too busy to hit the gym and more than anything, I think you deserve a man who’s a little less,” he gestures to himself, “let go.”

“Says who?”

He looks at you as if you’ve grown two heads, “Uh, everybody?”

“Well, who is everybody because I’d like to strangle them for letting you think that my husband isn’t good enough for me.” You walk deeper into the bedroom crowding Miguel’s space. “You’ll always be perfect for me. The vows I promised to you will not be broken over something so normal as weight gain.”

He looked like he could cry.

“Why did you hide you were feeling this way, baby?” you hold his head in your hands scratching at his scalp.

“It felt stupid and silly. You’ve been doing so well socially and physically, I wanted to see if I could fix it on my own before bringing you down with my problems.”

“Miguel O’Hara,” you say, gripping his jaw firmly. “I’m your wife. I might not be able to solve everything, but at the very least, you need to talk to me. Tell me how you’re feeling, express yourself with words. Don’t hide.”

He wrapped his arms around you, sniffling, “I know. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

You pressed a long kiss into his scalp, rubbing his back.

“Oh my gosh,” you chuckled. “You were feeling so much internally, meanwhile I was practically screaming at you to fuck me. I thought you weren’t attracted to me anymore.”

So much for communication.

Miguel just burried his face in your chest while he groaned, “That’s the thing! You were driving me crazy with your tight little workout clothes and your lingerie. You looked so good, but I couldn’t get out of my own head. I’ve been…”

“You’ve been what?”

“I,” he got red in the face. “I’ve been using your underwear.”

You look down to Miguel’s crumbled up hand and it was in fact your underwear from the night you wore his band t-shirt, drenched in his essence.

Your stomach turned with excitement.

“So this is what you were doing in the bathroom in the middle of the night, hm? Using my panties? Giving them more action and attention than me?”

Miguel nodded, eyes hazy.

“Did it feel good?”

Another nod.

“I bet it did. I would wake up and hear you trying so hard to cum.”

You don’t know how, but his face got even warmer.

“You left your poor wife all alone, thinking about you on top of her until she came too.”

“I did?”

“You didn’t know?” you ask, playfully. “I was up all night imagining you walking out to see me. I wanted these arms to come and hold me.”

You squeeze at his arms on your sides.

“I wanted your weight on me. I wanted your chest against mine.I needed you so bad.”

You move to sit in his lap, knees on the side of him.

“You do such a great job of being a father. This beautiful change in your body is only proof of your hard work and dedication. It’s proof of love for your family.”

Miguel only melted in your hands, face a cloud of emotion.

“I love you, Miguel. I adore you. I yearn for you. I want you.”

With every declaration, came a kiss to his lips.

“Can I show you how much I love you?”

“Please.”

With that, you took his shirt off and made your way down his chest. You lingered around his chest, holding his pecs as you kissed them all over. You couldn’t stop your moans as your tongue felt across the hairy planes of his chest, sucking and pulling on his nipples. Miguel shudders as you pay special attention to them, sensitive after not being with you for so long.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this,” you breathe into his skin. You slide onto the floor and just press your face into his stomach.

“You like it that much?”

“Love it. You look so yummy walking around. You could be just standing there and I get so,” you cut yourself off, trying not to overwhelm him with just how much you were feeling. “You’re hot, baby.”

You kiss down his happy trail to reach his pants, his stomach twitching. You tugged a bit too hard on his pants, causing him to laugh.

“What’s so funny?” you say with a pout.

“I haven’t seen you like this since we won that couple’s retreat.”

“Not my fault. You were all sexy up there, beating the other husbands with your big brain. It was doing something to me.”

You finished pulling and you could almost cry with joy when Miguel��s cock springs next to your head. The sound you make when you see it also has Miguel wound tight.

Completely taken over by your neediness and desperation, you pull one of his thick legs over your shoulder, kissing and sucking on the skin while your fingertips dance around the entirety of his length.

The display of strength shocks Miguel who drips and whines at your actions.

“I’m gonna make you feel so good, baby. Do you want that?”

“Yes,” he whispers.

You cup him while you take his head in your mouth. It felt like pure bliss to have that familiar taste in your mouth. With the way you were humming, Miguel can tell that you were about to put him to sleep.

You took no time letting your tongue stretch to take more of him in. Your cheeks hollow as you go further, one hand kneading at the thigh you were holding and the other switching from fondling him to wrapping around the base of his length.

“God,” Miguel’s voice filled the room, the loudest it had been for the past few months. “I don’t think I’ll last that long.”

You let go of him and lick down the sides, “That’s because you’re too busy fucking other things instead of me.”

“’M sorry,” he whined as you went back down on him. “I-I was still thinking of you and, ngh, wanting you.”

“Mm hm,” your voice sent shocks down his spine as you didn’t let go. He moved his hips steadily, dick sliding in and out of your mouth and pudge occasionally pressing against your face.

The faster he went, the noisier the sounds got. He moved his hands to your head, thighs eerily close to tightening around your face. You couldn’t have it any better.

You dug your nails into his hips, throat contracting in order to take him in. Even with your jaw slacked, it’s been so long since you took him like this that you gagged more often than not. With every sound of your throat struggling, Miguel shouted your name, hands gripping tighter on your hair.

You could tell he was close by the way his thigh was tensing on your shoulder, so when he said the four words, you took him to the hilt, face completely pressed against him.

“Shit!” he felt like passing out as he released into your throat. You swallowed as much as you could, but you couldn’t take it all, saliva and cum esxaping down your chin to his balls.

He grunts when he pulls you off, chest moving sporadically.

You lick your lips and let out a satisfied sigh, “Finally.”

Miguel could only chuckle as he laid back on the bed. You crawled on top of him, sitting on his thighs with a smile. You rub your hands on the skin of stomach, slowly getting to his chest, “I’m like, really wet right now if you want some more painties to use.”

He growled as he pulled you closer.

“You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

“Nope,” you say, popping the P. “I really want you to do it in front of me. Maybe send me a video for the nights you work overtime.”

He had the nerve to look embarrassed as he wrapped his arms around your back, “I might be able to arrange that.” He kissed your lips to distract you from speaking on it further.

After Miguel returned the favor with his head between your legs, the both of you were enjoying a quiet moment together before having to go pick up the kids.

“I can’t believe you thought I was cheating on you,” Miguel said as you were drawing circles on his chest.

“Miguel,” you say, lifting your head. “I pulled all the stops. I did things that I knew you loved: the t-shirts, going commando, the flirty pictures. I even brought whipped cream to the bedroom and you told me ‘I can’t eat that, it’ll blow up my stomach,’ when you were literally in the kitchen taking shots of it the night before.”

“Ok. So I see how you might have gotten to that ludicrous conclusion, but did you not notice how much I’ve been staring at you?”

You clicked your teeth, “Yeah, but what does that mean when you don’t act on it?”

Miguel twisted his lip, “Will you feel better if I told you that your work pictures turned me on too?”

You pinched him resulting in a yelp, “I’ll feel better right now if you give me a shower round.”

He pulled you in his arms as he got out of the bed, “Let’s go before your mom calls.”

You giggle and swing your feet on the way.

After your afternoon of praising his body, Miguel emerged as his previous confident self. This meant more days with him walking around shirtless, more quickies in the morning, makeouts that ended in pleasure, him smacking your ass, you smacking his ass back, and sex. Lots and lots of sex.

Right now, Raul was down for a nap and Gabriella was enjoying her tablet time.

You, however, were clawing at Miguel’s back like a cat as he pounded you into the mattress.

“Fuck!” you shouted, eyelids fluttering as Miguel’s cock dragged across your walls. “It feels so good.”

“Quiet, mi vida,” he whispered. “The kids are in their rooms.”

You were quick to cover your mouth, moans muffled. It really didn’t matter because the creaks of the bed were just as loud as you. One change in position and the headboard denting the walls could be added to it.

It was all too much.

First, he woke you up with kisses down your body and a promise to lighten your load around the house. Then, he got the kids up and prepared breakfast with the help of Raul. Later while you were out running errands, he sent you a coupon for a spa that just opened up down the street and warm message.

Now, he has you losing your mind with his hips slapping against yours, whispering praises in your ear.

“Miguel!”

“Hm? Talk to me.”

“I-I can’t-” your voice keeps getting louder unintentionally. He was so calm while he was reaching so deep inside. Your mind was hazy, wanting nothing more than him to keep going.

“You’re doing so good, Ma. You’re so good to me and the kids. You’re such a beautiful wife. Such a pretty Mama. Just wanna make you feel good.”

You felt yourself clench around him at his words, tears falling across your temples. He kissed your tears tenderly, strokes getting deeper.

“M-Miguel,” you say with your heart full. “I love you.”

“I love you too, baby. So, so deeply,”

That was all it took for you to suck him in and scream into his shoulder, nails digging into his shoulder blades. His release was soon after, painting your walls with his lips pressed against your ear.

“Papá! You have to be more careful,” Gabriella fussed with her hands on her hips while Miguel was in the kitchen trying to make the family a snack. “You got hurt at work!”

Miguel paused and reached behind his back, fingers roaming over the healing scratches on his shoulder from his last session with you.

You covered your teeth with your lips as Miguel turned to look at you with his eyebrows raised.

“It’s ok, mija. Papá is tough!”

“But you gotta put something on it,” Gabriella said with a huff.

“Thank you for your concern, nena. I’ll get Mamá to take care of it, ok?” he ruffled her hair as he handed her a plate of bunny-shaped apple slices. “Now go sit with your brother and watch some TV.”

Miguel huffed as he walked up to the side of you with his arms crossed.

“What? You should put your shirt on!”

“That’s not what you said when you-”

“Hush and go get the aloe.”

Miguel snickered as he gave your lips a peck, “Yeah, yeah.”

Life was wonderfully sweet.

With that, my first request is done! As always, like, reblog, and COMMENT. Let me know how you guys feel! 🩵

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aesthetic-babyyy · 7 months

Text

Protective~ Dean Winchester imagine

Warnings// angst, fluff and cock blocking

Word count// 1400

(Gif from Pinterest)

You Sam and Dean had just finished a pretty rough ghoul hunt, once you guys had all showered the remnants of the night, dean suggested you guys head out for a few drinks to celebrate, once you got to the bar Dean and you slide into a booth, deans arm wrapping around your shoulders pulling you into his side “you get the first round Sammy” Dean said smirking at his brother, Sam rolled his eyes “fine but you’re next” he said walking to the bar

“So how you feeling after you’re first ghoul sweetheart” you looked up at your boyfriend “well I’ve gotta say I won’t be chasing one for a very long time, much prefer a simple salt and burn” Dean chuckled kissing the side of your head, “alright beers are severed” Sam said sitting down with the drinks “thanks Sammy” you said taking a drink out the bottle

You and the guys were having a great time talking about passed hunts before you’d met them “he just looked at me all upset and said ‘I lost my shoe’ all because he lost the damn rabbits foot” Dean laughed finishing his second beer, “alright my round boys just another beer?”you questioned getting up “yeah thanks Y/N” Sam said “yeah me too thank you sweetheart” you hooded moving to the slightly crowded bar you quickly got the bar tenders attention “hi three beers please” the man nodded “that’ll be 12 bucks gorgeous” he said placing three beers in front of you, you nodded handing him a 20 dollar bill, the bar tender went to get your change leaving you standing for a few minutes

“what’s a beautiful girl like you doing at a place like this” a man grumbled out from one of the bar stools, he looked to be a drunk creep no younger than mid 50s “I’m here with my boyfriend and friend” you said back hoping he’d back off at the boyfriend comment “ah bet your boyfriend doesn’t treat you like I would” the man said moving closer to you “look buddy I’m not interested I’m in a relationship” he didn’t seem too happy with that “you better watch yourself you bitch I’m giving you a choice the only thing you should be saying is yes sir, because that’s the only damn thing you’ll be saying when I’m pounding you in front of your little boyfriend you slut!” he spat out, “is there a problem here miss?” The bartender asked returning with your change “no everything’s fine thanks” you said grabbing the change stuffing it in your pocket before taking the beers back to the winchesters

“Hey sweetheart everything good? You were gone a while” Dean said grabbing his beer and pulling you back to your place at his side “yeah fine just waiting for my change” you answered quietly, you could see the man from the bar staring at you his hand holding his glass tightly in his grasp as he wouldn’t break eye contact “I’m gonna head back to the motel after this one guys I’m pretty tired” you said feeling uncomfortable either the stares the man wa giving you, dean nodded “yeah I think we’ll all head out then, you good with that Sam?” Dean questioned, Sam nodded

Once you guys finished your drinks you made your way to the exit, from the corner of your eye you seen the man get up, following your trail to the exit, starting to feel scared you grabbed deans hand tight, Dean turned to look at you concerned “you okay Y/N? You hands really sweaty” you nodded to answer him too nervous to even speak, you thought the night air would make you feel better but knowing the man was following behind was just making your feel sick, before you could get into baby dean stopping you, both hands on your arms as he looked at you “sweetheart my job is lying for a living, I know somethings bothering you and I can’t fix it if you don’t tell me what it is” Dean asked alerting Sam “what’s going on?”

Sighing you looked behind the brothers to find the man staring at you from behind a car “there was a guy at the bar, he freaked me out a little bit I didn’t care too much until he sat staring at me for the last hour so I wanted to leave but he followed us out here” you said, your heart pounding in your chest, Dean got an angry look on his face as he turned searching the parking lot “where the hell is he!” Dean moved to look around finding him quickly, Dean stormed over “hey! The hell do you want jackass? You think you can harass my girlfriend I wouldn’t find out” Dean grabbed the man by his shirt “not my fault she’s a whore man, just wanted a little taste of her sweet p-”Dean didn’t let him finish his sentence before he was released punching him in the face “my nose!” The man yelped but dean wasn’t done yet, Sam was holding you in a hug blocking the fight from your eyes

Once dean was done teaching the man a lesson in how to respect women he walked back over to you and sam “alright he’s down, let’s get back to the motel” Dean said getting in the drivers seat. Once you guys made it back to the motel you followed the brothers back to the room, Sam went into the bathroom leaving you and Dean alone

sighing dean sat on the bed you two would be sharing, he started to wrap his bloody knuckles you let out a shaky breath before sitting beside him and taking his hand “I got it” you said taking out the rubbing alcohol and rubbing it on his wounds, Dean flinched slightly at the sting “why didn’t you tell me earlier?” He asked softly you looked up giving him a small smile “I just didn’t want to bother you, I just didn’t realise how big a creep the guy was till he followed us out” dean nodded “sweetheart if someone or something is ever bothering you I don’t give a rats ass how by or small, you tell me and I will take care of it” you nodded “yeah I will I’m sorry dean” Dean was shaking his head “you have nothing to be sorry for Y/N you did nothing wrong” you wrapped your arms around deans shoulders pulling him to a hug, we wrapped his own around your waist holding you close to him

You pulled away to give him a small kiss, however a small kiss with Dean was never really just a small kiss, this one being no different as Dean was swiping his to tongue along your bottom lip, you parted your lips allowing dean to explore your mouth, you moaned quietly when dean pushed you slightly to lay back on the bed as he moved to lean on top of you as you continued to make out, deans hand was tugging at the hem of your shirt, and just when you were about to take it off the bathroom door opened, the younger Winchester emerged in his pyjama pants and shirt “seriously!” He yelped turning away

Dean sighed moving to stand up “relax Sammy were decent” you chuckled as you moved to get up and get changed in the bathroom, Dean following close behind “seriously don’t guys I don’t want a repeat of the hunt back in Chicago” you giggled “I promise Sammy we’ll keep it PG” you and Dean changed into your sleepwear, Dean sporting the same as sam, minus the shirt, he found them to be annoying when it got too hot in bed, you in a pair of shorts and deans old led zeppelin shirt

When you both emerged from the bathroom Sam was already tucked in for the night, all lights off minus the one in the bathroom, you and Dean made your way to the bed getting in either side Dean quickly grabbed your waist tugging you close enough so you could rest your head on his bare chest and tangle your legs together “we’re definitely getting our own room next hunt” Dean whispered kissing the top of your head, you chuckled at his remark closing your eyes “whatever you say Winchester”

____________________________________________

Hi there!

just a short little Dean Winchester imagine to fill the void

Thanks for reading!

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anantaru · 11 months

Text

— drunk genshin boys

including heizou, alhaitham, scaramouche, kaveh, pantalone, childe, diluc, cyno x gn! reader

꒰ genre ꒱ — fluff & crack, idk what this is but very cute

drunk! heizou who gets tremendously clingy with you— he doesn‘t have anything but embracing and snuggling up to you in mind. from the beginning, before anything else, you have to help him get to bed, he can barely walk in a straight line and you wonder who he was sharing his drinks with— might be kazuha for all you know. "you‘re so good to me." he slurrs his words, eyes lowered and almost closed but keeping them open, heizou tries to because he can’t keep his eyes off you— even when drunk out of his mind, then the sweet man reaches his arms out for you, "come here come here." it’s a combination of a pitchy whine and a pout displayed before you and archons, how can someone be this adorable without even trying hard? you wonder but ultimately smile at your boyfriend, drawing a fuzzy blanket over his body before leaning into his chest.

drunk! alhaitham who fights with himself, more or less— he can hardly stand. you see, your boyfriend knows he‘s drunk and now he‘s forcing himself to sober up with nothing but pure, strong willpower and a good spirit at hand, but beware, he knows it‘s not possible but he tries to tell himself to sober up regardless, even when aware that that‘s not how it works in the general rule of booze. "i have almost conquered myself." he announces proudly while leaning against your shoulder, his soft hair ruffled and ticking your cheek. "yeah yeah." you playfully roll your eyes, placing your hand on top of his thigh while petting the clothed skin. it‘s when he places his palm on top of your hand to catch you in his embrace before you can notice the faint, soundly snoring sounds of your boyfriend succumbing to a deep slumber against you.

drunk! scaramouche who, much to your own surprise, tends to indicate a few kisses, cuddles and silently thanks you for taking care of him— it‘s especially surprising since this never happens when he‘s not under the influence of alcohol. truthfully, he didn‘t think he was even capable to get drunk and tried a bunch of different beverages around sumeru city. what he didn‘t know was that, alcohol can become a little tricky, especially when it hits you somewhat delayed. you were quick to notice his cheeks changing their color until his entire face was covered in red— the small pants from his parted lips and his larger pupils only proving your point. "nuisance." kuni curses, planting his arm over your shoulder as he makes you stop for a second, keeping your movements to a stand still. "kiss." he leans closer, no words following, ultimately failing to hit your lips and bumping in your nose instead— at this point you’re dying of laughter, you had even attempted to fight your giggles but how could that even be an option when he‘s like that? yet to the best part, you show him how it‘s done and properly melt your lips on his.

drunk! kaveh who— and such fact is known throughout all of sumeru, was a lightweight on the inside, but sometimes had the need to pretend to actually be able to hold his drinks in. you on the other hand knew your boyfriend and his tendencies to drink a little bit too much whenever he‘s meeting up with his friends for a round of tcg or anything really— most of the time it does consist of gossiping. considering this, you always await him late at night, knowing full on well that he‘s going to have a hard time getting out of his shoes or, frankly, find the way to his bedroom. "i‘m not- not drunk!" he proclaims with a pitched, half broken tone, raising his pointer finger in the air, "drunk not i not!" and stammers before dropping into his bed face first. you welcome him with a smile, "you sure aren‘t." and amusingly shake your head but not before placing a bucket next to the bed for— well, who knows what you both will face this entire night.

drunk! pantalone who loves to drink a few glasses of red wine— reveling in the massive flavor of different nuances the beverage had in store after a long day of working himself to frenzied tiredness. believe it or not but he knows the limits of his body quite well, yet even he can overindulge in it from time to time. in which case would he make himself overly noticable the moment he stumbles home. it‘s louder than usual and you wonder if he actually tripped over and fell carelessly or ran against the door. but the man finds you at last as he always did, you long since ready for bed before dropping right next to you, still fully clothed in a perfectly fitted garment and his glasses messily shoved up, "i may have had too many drinks tonight." he admits against his own volition, rubbing his head and the tiny red spot emerging on his forehead— he really did hit the door, "and you may need to help me out of my clothes."

drunk! childe who doesn‘t consider a party being a real event without him in it— surprinsingly was the eleventh harbinger good with keeping his booze in, it‘s rarely for him to get real, drop dead drunk, but when he does— oh boy, you can be sure he won‘t stop talking to you the entire night. "have i told you about that time i dropped a whale on an entire army?" brazen words after arrogant notions, ajax cuddles himself against your back to try to turn you towards him, after all, he thinks you weren‘t listening with your body being turned away like that. after a deep-rooted yawn, you pull yourself to the left to face him, "you did." and cradle his cheek, "you did at last three times this past hour."

drunk! diluc who, much to his own embarrassment, needs to be taken care of. the man loathes alcohol to his very core, but even he needs to occasionally drink a couple glasses with important partners who he had been collaborating and working with. "i can‘t feel my legs." he almost whines at the loss of his senses, numb and tired as you repeatedly dapped a cold washcloth on his forehead while he was continuously pinching his biceps, "that‘s your arm baby." your expression softened slightly as you carried on to clean him up. as it was time to turn in for the night, you felt diluc‘s intense, warm presence closer than on any other day before, "please don‘t leave." his words find your ears with such ease, like a piece of his own soul, a bright, hopeful voice, full of hope but webbed in bristling fear, "i won‘t."

drunk! cyno who— and this really doesn‘t surprise you at this point in time, pompously shows off all his aquired and bundled up jokes, you had, in the beginning of your relationship, thought that what if he would genuinely turn out to be legitimately hilarious when in such wobbly state. "a tighnari and cyno walk into a bar." he pulls his mask off and places it on a drawer that, and don‘t ever tell him that, but there isn‘t a drawer there, he‘s just imagining things, "knock knock, *hiccup* who‘s there?" cyno quickly stops himself as you pick up the mask and put it on a real drawer, sliding into the warm bedsheets beside him afterwards, "wait, that‘s not how the joke goes." the man wrinkles his nose in thought, blinking rapidly while looking at you through puppy eyes, as if you had an actual idea on what he‘s talking about.

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hangmanssunnies · 5 months

Text

The Hangman Special

Summary: On a night out with your friends at a fancy cocktail bar, you are just trying to keep your head down and ignore the girl that your ex cheated on you with. The night only seems like it's going to get worse when you are dared to kiss a stranger at the bar. However, it seems like the odds might finally be in your favor when you notice a familiar set of broad shoulders. If you can be convincing, you think you might just be able to get your brother's friend Jake "Hangman" Seresin to help you out with your little problem.

Pairings: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Word count: 7k

AO3 Link

Warnings: 18+ only, kissing, hot and heavy make-outs, exs, truth or dare, bad friends.

Author's note: Dreaming about kissing Jake in a bar. Thanks to everyone who looked at earlier drafts of this. I hope you enjoy this if you take a chance to read. My inbox is always open if you want to let me know your thoughts. Reblogs with your thoughts, opinions, and tags are gold to me. I love reading through them.

The bar is buzzing with the loud chatter of patrons, the clinking of glasses, and the rhythmic beat of music. You are sitting at a corner table with your friends, a group with an eclectic mix of personalities. You are known for being more on the shy and reserved side, but tonight, you are even more withdrawn than usual. No one had mentioned that Tassie had also been invited to the evening's hang out at the bar. An oversight you felt was probably intentional since everyone knew Tassie had started dating your ex only a week after your breakup. She went so far as to post a picture of them together on her Instagram. It had been a few months since that happened, and until now, you had managed to avoid running into her. However, it seemed like luck had run out.

"Hey, I've got an idea that would spice up the night," Cece says after the first round of drinks. She is one of your bold and outspoken friends, and you aren't sure you like how she is eyeing you with a mischievous glint. "Let's play truth or dare."

The whole group groans at the suggestion, and one of your friends vaguely wonders if you're all still in middle school playing that kind of game. Despite the initial lack of enthusiasm, after another round of drinks, the group is laughing and entrenched in the game.

When Cece sings your name when she finishes her turn, you are nervous by the sly smile she is wearing as she formulates an option for you when you hesitantly concede to doing a dare. "You're the only one of us still single, so I dare you to go over to the bar and give somebody a kiss."

"What?!"

"Just a quick one, nothing too scandalous," Cece says placatingly. "Come on, live a little! It's just a bit of fun. What's the worst that could happen?"

"I bet they won't do it. They're too chicken for this kind of thing, not one to step out of their comfort zone," Tassie says. It makes your blood freeze in your veins because you know those words. You have heard that criticism thrown at you in the past, but not from her, from your ex.

Your eyes narrow at her, and you ask, "Too chicken? Seriously?"

"Yeah. Please, prove us wrong. Show us you can do something spontaneous," Tassie taunts, grinning. You feel a surge of defiance welling up. Even though you're reserved, you are not one to back down from a challenge, especially not when the woman who cheated with your boyfriend is acting like you're the one who should be ashamed. Acting like she is better than you.

"Fine, watch this," You declare, feeling hot with a mixture of embarrassment and determination. As you stand up, your friends exchange amused glances, convinced that you are about to back out of the dare.

With absolutely no intention of backing down, though, you scan the bar. After a moment of examination your heart soars because you realize you have this dare in the bag. You have the advantage even, because there is a familiar tall, broad-shouldered blonde at the bar that you know all too well. Jake Seresin, or Hangman, is one of your brother's best friends, and he is looking just as delectable tonight as he always does. The group would undeniably be impressed with you kissing someone so handsome, and you knew one way or another you could convince Jake to help you out.

"Cece, I'll even let you pick since you made the dare. Point out the hottest man in the bar, and I'll kiss him." You say confidently. There is no doubt that Jake is the most attractive person there, and he is just Cece's type, too. She falls right into what you want, pointing Hangman out for you. The rest of your friend group hoots, making even more comments that you aren't going to follow through with the dare and approach someone who is that drop-dead gorgeous.

Ignoring their taunts, you square your shoulders and walk with as much confidence as you can summon into sashaying across the bar. Putting mental effort into trying to project some form of hotness onto yourself not only for the confidence boost but also the bit of spite burning in you.

Reaching the bartop area, the hesitation starts to set in as you admire Jake's profile. He is sitting on a bar stool leaning against the counter, patiently waiting for the bartender in the crowd that is starting to grow. Taking one last breath to steady yourself, you reach out and delicately set a hand on his bulging bicep.

"Hangman!" You say brightly as if you're surprised to have run into him. Jake turns to face you at your touch, and an easy wide grin spreads across his face.

"Fancy seeing you here, my dear! How are you?" He asks as his eyes trace you slowly from head to toe and back again, the grin on his face not slipping once.

"Oh, I’m fine, and I am so glad I ran into you."

"Most people are," Jake says, winking at you. You are nearly distracted by his handsome face and flirty tone. He looks like he has put on even more muscle since you saw him last. The green button-down he is wearing appears close to bursting at the seams with how it clings to him. "So, what have you been up to these days?"

"Are you still single?" You blurt quickly, ignoring his question, not wanting to lose your steam.

"Yes, Ma'am. Last I checked. Why?"

"Perfect, can you do me a huge favor?" You ask.

"I'm always happy to help out a friend," Jake says, sounding increasingly suspicious. The smile hasn't dropped from his face, but his eyes have narrowed slightly, examining you.

Quickly standing on your tip toes, you loop an arm around Jake's neck, appreciating that he is sitting on a stool, helping level your height difference. Wasting no time, you pull him down to meet you in a quick kiss. Once his lips brush yours, you let go of him, stepping back, not even taking a moment to savor the feeling or enjoy having Jake this close.

With your mission accomplished, you have every intention of making a hasty retreat back to your friends and hoping that you will be able to forget this. You are going to erase knowing you've kissed Jake Seresin from your brain, and then the next time you see him, you're going to pretend this fiasco never happened. It feels like the best and only course of action for you to take.

However, you don't even get to make a full step away from Jake before large hands and thick arms circle around your waist, pulling you back towards him. He tugs until you are standing between his spread thighs, his hands maintaining their position on your waist.

"Woah now, where do you think you're going?" He asks, eyes darting around your face, studying you closely.

Embarrassment at having to explain your actions rushes through you, turning your stomach and overriding or maybe enhancing the butterflies there. You glance away from Jake towards your friends and see them watching with rapt attention. Then his thumb moves in a slow soothing circle, drawing you back towards him.

"I'm sorry! My friends dared me to kiss someone at the bar, and when I saw you, well, I knew it wasn't a lost cause because you're not a complete stranger."

You refuse to believe that the frown that flashes on Jake's face is one of disappointment. However, it's hard to ignore when his eyebrows are scrunched together, and his hands are so warm you feel it bleeding through your clothing.

"You could at least buy someone a drink before stealing a kiss, you know. That's just some common decency."

"I'm so sorry, Jake," you apologize again. "Let me buy you a beer for your troubles."

"Naw, you don't got to."

"Well, now I have to because you made me feel bad," you say, waving your arm to try and flag down a bartender.

"I didn't take you for one to just kiss someone on a dare," he says conversationally. You try not to wriggle uncomfortably in his hold, but without even trying, he seems to have pulled you even closer.

"I normally wouldn't be," you agree. "But the girl who I highly suspect of cheating with my ex while we were still together is here. I'm sure she thinks she's better than me and that I'm a boring prude."

"She clearly has never been around when you drink tequila," Jake laughs. You can't believe he would still remember the camping trip from years ago, where you were drinking tequila. Definitely notable because it was probably the last time you had dared have any of the liquor.

"Can you please forget about that? And tonight, too?" You request. Jake pretends to think it over, humming lightly before shaking his head.

"Sorry, no can do. It's already burned into my eidetic memory." You huff at his response, avoiding eye contact with him to try and catch sight of the bartender again. "You know, if you just asked me first, I would have given you the friends and family discount."

"And what is that?"

"Pretty similar to buy one get one free," he says, his voice dropping a little lower. Your mouth falls open in surprise, but you can't find any words. "Could have given you more than a quick peck, something that would really wow your friends."

Trying very hard not to imagine what kind of kiss Jake would consider wowing, you decide to deflect. Jokingly saying, "Didn't think you were from one of those kinda southern states. Do you make a habit of kissing family members?"

Jake throws his head back and laughs full-bellied at you. "The friends and family of my friends discount then," he amends.

"I already hate being in this situation. I don't want more of a pity handout than I've already taken."

"Darlin," he sighs, shaking his head at you. "I would have even given you the Hangman special. Which is a deal, bargain, and steal. Comes with a kiss that's guaranteed to impress friends, people who cheated with your atrocious ex, everyone in this bar, and has even been known to, on occasion, inspire a standing ovation."

"Ha.Ha. You're so funny," you say dryly, rolling your eyes.

"I am, thank you for noticing," Jake says. "However, I think you deserve that kind of kiss to prove a point to your friends over there."

"They didn't even think I would be able to make it over here to talk to you." You admit to him, glancing over at your friends again, a little displeased that they are still obviously observing your interaction.

"That them over there?" He asks, following the direction you're looking. You hum in acknowledgment. "Which one's the cheater?" He breathes, his lips ghosting the shell of your ear, sending a shudder down your spine.

You describe Tassie a bit to him, finding yourself shifting closer into his embrace, enjoying how he is somehow able to help most of the chaotic bar disappear from your senses. It's hard to think about the noise or the increasing number of people starting to press in when Jake's touching you. When he picks out who she is, Jake grunts a little. He lowers his face and nearly kisses your neck over the pulse point. His hot breath tickles the spot, causing shivers again as he declares, "I don't see the appeal."

"Wish my ex felt that way," you sigh.

"Fuck him," Jake says with conviction. Drawing a bit back from you to make eye contact again. His green eyes are clear, and in the dimmed mood light around you, they seem to shine even brighter than usual.

"You sure you don't mind me having kissed you to prove a point?"

"My dear," he laughs like you told him a funny joke. "I can't imagine a situation where I would mind you kissing me. Let alone one where I get to help you out."

Sliding your hand up his chest to casually rest on his shoulder, you wonder, "Is the Hangman Special still available?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Guaranteed to be wowing?" You check.

"Got a warranty for you and everything," Jake says lowly.

Your hand curls around Jake's neck again, and you attempt to tug him closer to you. He doesn't even budge, though. One of his hands slowly traces up your side from your waist until he is cupping your cheek. Then Jake leans close, his breath ghosting over your lips, where he lingers for a moment. Your eyes flutter closed, and as soon as they do, his lips press to yours. This time, it's not a quick peck.

He is slow and deliberate in how he kisses you. Tilting his head to the side to get a slightly better angle, Jake uses his hand on your face to urge your lips to align better with his. Pliable to his touch, you open your mouth to him, seeking even more, and rewarded when Jake's tongue brushes against your own. You never doubted that Jake would be a good kisser, but knowing firsthand is something you know you won't be able to erase from your memory. When the kiss starts to border on indecent, he pulls away.

You linger in the moment, keeping your eyes closed until your heart doesn't feel like it's going to burst from your chest. While you are in that limbo spot, his thumb slowly strokes your cheekbone. Sea glass green is the first thing you see when opening them again, Jake not making any effort to veil how he is admiring you. His lips are slightly pinker now than they just were, and you can't help but imagine how pink and swollen they would get if you had the opportunity to get this man alone on a couch.

Just as you consider requesting that he kiss you again, just to really really solidify how good you are to your friends, because obviously, three kisses are much better than the one they dared you to get, you are suddenly bumped from behind. The motion roughly shoves you against Jake's solid chest. Both his hands automatically return to your waist, tightening as he steadies you there. Glaring over your shoulder at whoever bumped you, he asks, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm okay," you breathe. Being this close to him, the woodsy scent of his cologne tickles your nose. And you suddenly wonder why exactly he is in this upscale cocktail bar dressed so nicely.

"I'm glad you decided to kiss me and not any of these other assholes," he mutters darkly, still glaring over your shoulder.

"Well, it wasn't really a choice." You reveal, which has his eyes snapping back to you in an instant and a frown pulling at his lips. One of his thumbs that's resumed making circles on your waist stops, and the other falls off your waist entirely now. He doesn't move otherwise, but his presence feels less consuming. Tersely, he responds, "I see."

"I may have skewed the odds. Told my friends to pick the hottest man they could find. What would you know? They picked you." You explain quickly.

"That's some good luck on your part."

"It wasn't luck, not really."

"How do you mean?" He wonders.

"I knew they would pick you."

"What made you so confident?"

"Because, Jake, you are, hands down, the most attractive person here," you reveal to him shyly. Your fingers curling into his silky shirt, where they have found themselves on his chest after being pushed.

"See now, I don't think that's true," he says, his eyebrows pulling together. The frown is gone though, the edges of his lips quirking up again.

"Oh please, Jake. Do not pretend you don't know how handsome you are."

"I'm aware. However, that doesn't change the fact that you're the most attractive person in this bar tonight."

"You're a flirt," you accuse him.

"I am," he agrees with no argument. "But that don't make me dishonest or mean I'm not genuine. I haven't been flirting with you just for the sake of it."

Warmth blooms in your center at his words, and you nearly forget all about trying to escape away from him. Right now, you just want to get closer, as close as he will let you. However, you are pulled out of the fantasy when you look away from Jake's intense gaze to see your friends and how most of the table seems shocked and scandalized. Wryly, you notice Cece giving you two thumbs up. It's like you could almost forget that this was just him being flirty and imagine he was kissing you for more than just helping prove a point. "Well, I appreciate your help with the Hangman Special. I know they will all be impressed and jealous when I head back over there."

"Now, wait a moment. You can't just sneak away. The Hangman Special not only comes with mind-blowing kisses but also a free night out, all expenses paid, and dinner at any restaurant you choose. "

"You just give that away to any random person who asks?"

"No, only the pretty ones I've had my eye on for a long while," Jake says, his eyes intense, the hand still on your waist flexing tighter for a moment.

"You have?" You ask, completely surprised.

"Yes, Ma'am," he replies with no hesitation. Before you can respond, the bartender finally makes his way over to you two, asking for your order. Jake instantly defers to you before ordering, asking, "What do you want, my dear?"

"I thought I already told you I'm taking one of the Hangman specials." You say, after taking a moment to think it over. The grin that lights up Jake's face is sunny and bright, and if you weren't being supported by his strong body, you would have probably fallen over swooning.

Turning back to the bartender, Jake requests two bottles of water and both of your tabs. As you peek over his shoulder while he signs, you see the bill consists of just one beer, the water, and the two drinks you've had tonight.

"So you want the full experience?" He asks you when you've taken a sip of water, and he has downed half of his in the same time.

"From what I know about you, Jake, I don't think you're someone who does things by halves," you answer, fiddling with one of the buttons on his silky green shirt. Then you are pushing a bit on his chest, trying to step away. When you do, Jake's hands find themselves on your hips again pulling you closer to him.

"Where you going?" He pouts.

"I just need to grab my purse."

"Whatcha you need your purse for, sweetheart? Don't you know I ain't going to let you pay for nothing?" Jake drawls.

"I'm sure you want that to come off gentlemanly, but you're close to flirting with misogynistic." You say, playfully poking a finger into his chest.

"No." Grabbing your hand and bringing it up to his lips, Jake brushes a kiss on your pulse point, saying, "I know exactly who I'm flirting with, and that is you, my dear."

The laugh you let out is slightly involuntary, but it makes Jake look like he won a prize, so you can't be too displeased, especially not when he has resumed drawing circles on your skin, and it feels like some sort of hypnosis you never want to end. "I'll be right back, and you can keep flirting with me for as long as you like."

"That a promise?" Jake asks.

"Sure thing," you agree, but Jake still hasn't let go of you.

"Do you want some company?"

"You don't have to."

"Little worried you're going to try and sneak away," he admits.

"But Jake, I am sneaking away," you say in a fake whisper as if sharing a secret. "Sneaking away with you from my friends and this bar." It makes him smile again, just like you were hoping it would. "Just wait here for me. Okay?"

"Okay," he reluctantly agrees. Despite agreeing, the hold he has on your hand actually slightly tightens. "One more kiss?"

"I'm starting to get the feeling that you're always going to want one more kiss."

"You already know me so well," Jake grins. You press your lips against his again in a quick kiss, careful not to get caught up in it, before slipping out of his grasp. When free, you practically skip away from Jake to grab your things.

Arriving back to your friends, you're greeted with loud whooping and even some clapping thrown in. Cece is practically giggling as she says, "I really didn't think you had that in you."

"What were you talking about for so long?" Another one of the group asks.

"Was that kiss as hot as he is?" Someone else wonders, and then questions are coming from every direction before you can answer any of them.

"It was great, he's great." You manage to get in. When they start to flood you with even more questions, you cut them off. "I would love to talk all about it, but I'm sorry y'all, I'm actually just over here to grab my purse."

"There is no way you are leaving with that guy," Tassie says incredulously.

Irritation and anger flares up in you as you turn to glare at her. "Really, there's no way? And why would that be Tassie?"

"Come on," she says, clearly surprised that you've decided to call her out. "You're just not the kind of person to go home with someone from the bar, and he doesn't really seem like your type."

"I don't know how tall, handsome, funny, and phenomenal kisser could not be someone's type," You say harshly, snatching your purse and jacket from where you had been sitting.

"I'm just trying to look out for you," she responds sharply.

"I don't think that's true," you snap back.

"Hey now, why don't we all chill out," your friend Marv cuts in placatingly.

"Sorry to interrupt," a familiar southern drawl says from behind as a warm arm wraps around your shoulder. You nearly sag into Jake. The urge to explode on your friends, more specifically Tassie, instantly absorbed by his presence. "But I was promised I could take this one out on a date tonight."

"We can't let our friend just leave with a stranger," Cece says, and you turn to narrow your eyes at her, frowning that she is butting in when she is the one who set all this into motion in the first place.

"While I respect that, I don't think you get to make that decision," Jake says lightly and a lot nicer than you would have in that moment.

"You could be a crazy serial killer or something," Tassie says.

"While I am a killer, that's normally just how people describe me in bed," he answers in a flirty, exaggerated way. That has you nearly coughing, you suck in air so hard. He gently pats your back and continues on. "If you're really worried though, you can look me up on Instagram. That's at LT.H_ANGM_N. I hope y'all have a good night. I know we will be," Jake punctuates the sentence with a kiss to the side of your head.

Stuck between laughing and balking you glance around at everyone’s surprised faces at Jake’s boldness. You know exactly what Jake's last Instagram post was, having spent several minutes the other day debating whether you should like the shirtless picture of him on the beach.

"Are you ready, sweetheart?" Jake asks you, practically muttering the words in your ear. All he needs is your nod before he confidently starts to turn you and lead you out the door. You manage to throw your friends a small wave goodbye, but it only takes a few steps for them to be out of your mind.

"Did you drive?" Jake asks you as the fresh evening air rushes over you both.

"No.” And you’re glad you didn’t when it means Hangman will be driving you home.

"Good," he grins, "do you mind me driving?"

"I don't," you answer easily, completely content to follow Jake to wherever he is going to lead you.

He stops in front of a Jeep Gladiator, and you aren't overly surprised by his taste in vehicles. He goes to open the passenger side door for you, but you don't immediately take his offered hand to get inside. Instead, you tug it as you lean against the side of the truck. Jake follows the motion easily, not hesitating to bend down and mold his lips to yours.

Jake looms over you, one of his hands balancing his weight against the side of the truck just over your head. The other on your side pulling you a bit closer to him. Looping your arm around his neck for some leverage, you let Jake take over your senses. The softness of his tongue paired with how he nibbles at your lower lip pulls a little whine from you.

When you have to pull away for a ragged breath, Jake groans low in his throat as you press teasing kisses down the column of his neck to the V of skin his shirt shows off. The hand on your waist slides up to cup your cheek and pulls you back to his lips. Kissing Jake is easy, he doesn't leave enough room for you to question if he's enjoying it. Nor do you have the capacity to overthink it as Jake's lips move surely and confidently with your own. All there is is him, his warm strong body, soft lips, and the calluses of his fingers.

Leaning backward, you pull Jake with you wanting to have him pressed flush because even though you're tasting him, caged in, surrounded by him it still isn't close enough. However, the motion presses one of the Jeep’s jutting door hinges sharply into your back. You can't help but gasp a small "ow" as you try to shift. Concern creases Jake's features, and he pulls you away from his truck into his chest, glowering at the vehicle as if it had somehow betrayed him.

"You okay, darlin?" He asks, his hands tracing down your back checking for injury. You lean more into his chest even though you don't really need the support, it's just nice to be in his arms.

"I'm fine," you reassure him.

"Let's get you out of harms way." He says pulling open the passenger side door. As you start to heave yourself into the tall truck Jake is practically picking you up and easily setting you in the seat. You blink at him in surprise at his show of strength. He remains there, standing in the open door, leaning closer and placing his hand just above your knee, his thumb drawing circles there. Then he asks, "So, where would you like to grab some dinner, my dear?"

"I've heard of this really great restaurant I've been dying to go to."

"Yeah? Let's make it happen then."

"Mhmm," you hum in confirmation. "It's called Hangman's House."

Jake's thumb immediately stops moving and the smile on his face seems to shift. The genuine glint there slipping away, to something hard for you to really identify, practiced or guarded. Whatever the change was you don't find yourself liking it and immediately wonder where you misstepped.

"So, Hangman's House, that's a pretty exclusive place. They don't usually do unplanned reservations," Jake says after what's nearly an awkward silence.

"That's too bad. I heard that they have great service." You say a little dejected but glad he told you no in a casual manner that you can play off.

"You're in luck though, my dear, because I know the owner. I think he would be willing to make an exception for us sometime, but they are better known for their breakfast menu." Jake responds upbeat again.

"I like breakfast." You mutter in what you think is a flirty way. However, it's obvious that you've missed the mark when Jake's hand drops off your leg completely now.

"Listen, if this is just a one-night thing, just some making out and fun stuff, where you are going to leave in the morning and pretend it never happened next time we see each other," he says seriously. Pausing, he runs a hand through his hair taking a measured breath, and you watch as the muscle in his jaw flexes. "That's fine, but I need to know it now."

As you study his face intently it occurs to you that maybe even men like Jake Seresin have insecurities. Maybe he was used to interacting with people where more often than not they only saw him as a handsome face with a nice body. People who were ready to leave the next morning. The realization that a one night stand isn’t the series of events he is interested in with regards to you twists a pit of uncertainty in your stomach. You feel a little uneasy not sure exactly where you stand or what he wants with you.

Reaching to catch Jake's lost hand and tangling your fingers, you start playing with the big class ring he is wearing. He allows the movement and relaxes his hand further, giving you additional leeway. The distraction of Jake's fingers gives you the courage to say, "I guess maybe I misunderstood that this was going to just be a nice fun night with you. Is that not what you were looking for?"

"I do want that," Jake says adamantly. " However, I don't just want that."

"What do you mean?"

"I want to bring you flowers, dance with you, write you love letters. I want to explore every inch of your body and heart until I know what makes you tick. I want you to forget that any other man besides me even exists." Jake presses himself close to you again, and he turns his hand to thread your fingers tightly together. "Now I'm good, and I mean really good my dear, but those aren't goals I can make happen in one evening. So I want to start with tonight, taking you out and giving you a good time. And then I want to do the same thing tomorrow or whenever you have free time. I want to do that for as long as you will let me."

"Oh wow," you breathe, taken aback by his declaration. "That's kind of a lot."

"I know, but I don't want my intentions to be unclear. I wasn't lying when I said I've had my eye on you for a while. I'm happy to go at whatever pace you need; I'll do whatever you want. However, if this was all just getting back at your ex and proving a point. If you can't see yourself wanting anything more with me past tonight again, I need to know." Now, Jake takes his turn playing with your fingers as he breaks eye contact to stare at where you're intertwined. "I'll happily let you break my heart, but I don't want to be blindsided by it.

Surging forward, you pull Jake in to kiss you again. It's an awkward angle, and the way the truck makes you taller than him feels odd. However, none of that matters when his lips are so pliable against yours.

"I don't want to break your heart," you tell him between kisses. "I want to go on dates with you, and I want to go home with you. I want to go to bed with you and do it more than once if we find out we are compatible."

"Are you doubting our compatibility?" Jake asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Not really, but you know it's better to make sure with these things. Have to double check, I think."

"That makes sense," he concedes.

"Now let's get some food so you can take me home and then to bed. Show me these killer skills you mentioned earlier."

"We can do a lot tonight, but we can't sleep together," Jake says mournfully.

"Why not?" You ask confused.

"Everyone knows you don't sleep together until the third date," Jake drawls.

"That's a cliche. Plus, why does it really matter?"

"Because I've been dreaming about forever with you, and when you want forever with someone, you don't want to skip any steps." Jake answers, dead serious and earnestly. It makes you wish you weren't in such an awkward position in the truck. If you were still outside pressed against it, or in the bar even, it would be so much easier to show him the appreciation and affection burning inside.

"We've got to be somewhere near the third date by now. We have tonight and that camping trip we went on. Oh, and that one time that everyone went bowling. Plus, there was that bonfire a few months ago!" You say, trying to think of occasions you and Jake had spent a good amount of time together. While considering it, you also realize he has nearly always gravitated to your side during group interactions, and going off tonight, that clearly wasn't as coincidental as you had previously thought.

"You deserve real dates," Jake responds with conviction, and the look in his eye really isn't something you can or even want to argue with. There isn't anything wrong with someone wanting to act like a gentleman with you; it's actually flattering, especially when it's clear Jake isn't going to play any guessing games with you concerning his feelings.

"Well, then we are wasting time when we could be on our first date," you say, pressing another peck to his lips and lightly pushing him away from you.

"One last kiss," Jake whispers as he lurches close again for another peck. Then, he gently closes your door and jogs over to the driver's seat, asking where you want to get a bite to eat.

The two of you end up at a fancy Italian restaurant where you share an appetizer, bottle of wine, and dessert. During dessert, Jake insists you pose for a picture. Despite your initial resistance, he convinces you, and then, nearly as soon as he takes it, your phone lights up with a notification telling you that you’ve tagged you in his story. He tells you before you even ask that he hopes your friends looked him up on Instagram but requests that you repost it on your own just in case they didn't. He claimed it's so they know he's not kidnapped you, but you suspect that it's more likely he wants to prove a point. And it's something you don't mind one bit, especially when he easily lets you post a picture of him on your own story.

After the restaurant, Jake drives you both out of town a bit to where the sky is much clearer and the stars are visible. The evening isn't warm enough to cuddle in the truck bed like he wanted, so instead, you end up in the backseat with the moon roof completely rolled back. You manage to pretend to be looking at the stars for about three whole minutes before crawlingl into Jake's lap to kiss him.

Before the making out can get too heated, Jake grips your chin, urging your face upwards to look through the moonroof. Gruffly, he mutters into your ear, telling you to behave. Words that only make you squirm in your newfound place sitting on his lap. He lets you stay there, though, his hands steady on your hips, and his lips leisurely brushing yours or your neck whenever inspiration strikes.

"What were you doing out tonight looking so nice?" You wonder absentmindedly, unbuttoning the top button of Jake's shirt. It's not with an ulterior motive. Really, it's because Jake's shirt is so soft, and the top of it is hiding his dog tags from you, which you have suddenly decided is unacceptable. The new skin exposed to you is just an added benefit.

"Ah, nothing to worry about darlin'."

"Common, you can tell me," you say, pressing a kiss to the underside of his jaw.

"You know, whinnies?"

It takes you a moment to place the restaurant and remember that it's across the street from the bar where you met up with your friends. "The wine bar?"

"Yeah," Jake confirms. "Well, I was on a date there."

"Oh." When Jake doesn't say anything, you decide you have to push the conversation forward. "So, what happened to your date? Were they not nice?"

"No, she was real sweet," Jake says, and you feel your stomach drop as if you aren't in the back of his truck and sitting in his lap right now.

"So why did you end up at Gem's?"

"I was checking Instagram before she got there, and I saw you post that you were at Gems, right across the street. And no matter how nice she was, I knew it wasn't fair that I was thinking of a different person the whole time. So, we didn't even make it through appetizers before I had to be honest with her about that, and then I swung by Gems, hoping I would bump into you."

"You were at the bar just to see me?"

"Sure was. So imagine my surprise when you found and approached me first."

"How would it have gone if you had approached me first?" You wonder.

"For one, I would have offered to buy you a drink before stealing a kiss," Jake says teasingly.

"You're not going to let that go, are you?"

"Probably not for a while," he tells you. You groan and hide your face in his neck as if that will save you from some of the embarrassment. Feeling his chuckles in his throat and rumble in his chest is soothing, and you pepper more kisses to his neck and collarbone as if you were tracing the sound.

"You wouldn't have left without a kiss, though?"

"I wouldn't have left without seeing you, and I would have done everything to try and convince you to give me one," Jake promises.

"How would you have kissed me for the first time?"

"Are you asking for another demonstration?" he wonders. As soon as you nod in affirmation, he pulls you close, repositioning you on his lap so you're straddling him. The darkness of the truck makes it so you can't quite see how green his eyes are, despite that they are still somehow bright. He holds eye contact with you for a long moment. His hand cups your cheek, and like earlier in the night, he pauses, not closing the gap, observing you close. When you try to lean forward and seal your lips, he backs his head away. Then he chastises you while wearing a smirk, "I'm goin' to kiss you, baby. Now, let me do it how I want."

Anticipation tingles in you as Jake leans close; however, at the last minute, he swerves, pressing a kiss to your cheek, then the other cheek, your forehead, and your nose. Finally, his lips meet yours firmly. Closing your eyes, you sigh into the kiss. The feeling of being intimately connected to Jake again is nearly the same as relief. When your mouth opens, Jake licks into you, searching out your tongue with his own.

There no longer seems to be any will in Jake to tamper down the heat of your kissing. He allows you each time you push the envelope of the moment being just the soft sweet first date kissing he initially claimed to want. As he sucks on the sweet spot, her discovers on your neck, the way you grind downwards is involuntary and completely by accident. A low moan comes from Jake, and you like the way it sounds. So, the next time you grind down on him, it's completely intentional.

The dark slacks he is wearing don't do much to conceal his hardened length. After a few more rolls of your hips, Jake's hands tightly grip your waist helping you grind against him. He urges you into a rhythm that has whimpers, moans, and gasps passing from both your mouths between hot kisses. As you try to speed up, frantic lust beating so loud you can hear it in your ear, he doesn't let you. Though you are on top of him, there is no doubt that Jake is in complete control.

Just from this night, it's not difficult to imagine how he will be in the bedroom. Strong, consuming, and in control. You can picture how he will confidently lead you exactly where you want to go, and you will get there because just a back of the car's make-out shouldn’t cause someone to be as turned on as you are right now. You unbutton his shirt and let your hands roam over his chest. Dragging your nails along his abs causes a full body shudder and Jake to grip your ass so hard you think you might bruise. It doesn't bother you, though, because how can anything that gets you closer to his cock be a bad thing?

“Jake,” you say in a sudden moment of clarity. He hums his acknowledgment but keeps kissing at your neck and squeezing at your ass. A particularly hard thrust upwards from him nearly has your brain going fuzzy as you desperately try to hold yourself together. “Jake,” you repeat more forcefully, “we need to stop.”

“What’s wrong?” He asks concerned, detaching his lips from your skin and losing his hold so he is barely touching you.

“If we keep at this I'm going to beg you to fuck me right here right now,” you answer. He makes a strangled groan. With his swollen lips, lust filled eyes, and hard dick you're sure he wouldn't actually mind. “Which would be amazing but you told me about a three date rule and I agreed.”

“I did say three dates,” he responds and looks like he hates himself for it.

“But if it doesn't actually matter I would like to suck your cock at least once before we fuck.” You boldly tell him, twisting his dog tags in your fingers pulling them taut against Jake’s neck until the release beads give away. The chain falls into your grasp, and you use the warm metal to distract yourself.

“Fuck me,” he breathes throwing an arm over his eyes and leaning back. “You're perfect, you know that?”

“I'm not.”

“You are. So perfect, so hot.” He kisses you like he's about to ignore what you just said. Hot and a little sloppy with tongue and a bit at your lower lip. When he pulls away he rests his forehead against yours saying, “We are going to stop now because I don't want there to ever be a doubt in your mind that I'll keep the promises I make to you.”

Your stomach flips with affection, and you sag, leaning heavily into Jake, just hugging him tightly, waiting for the lust that's sparked to cool. The two of you even manage to get some actual stargazing in where hands roam but in more so in an exploratory way than sexual.

Holding hands driving back into the city you can’t stop staring at Jake’s profile, or admiring his fingers or tracing the veins of his forearms. You are focusing on trying to convince yourself that this isn’t a dream, you're definitely going to wake up with hickies in the morning, and another date with Jake Seresin scheduled tomorrow. It’s something that if you had been told at the start of your evening, you would have laughed at the absurdity of the idea.

"I know it's really soon, but do you think that if you asked me again in a few weeks if I'm still single, we'll be able to change my answer?" Jake asks you after a bit breaking the comfortable silence you two had been in.

"I think that's possible. What do you think about that?" You wonder.

"I would change my answer tonight if you wanted me to."

"Jake..."

"Listen, I really like you, and I don't see that changing anytime soon. So as soon as you give me the okay, I will bring you flowers with a promise ring and ask if you want to go steady with me." Jake's thumb rubs along your pulse affectionately, "I'll change my Facebook relationship status. I'll get a nice little charm with your name on it for my dog tags. I'll take you to meet my friends and brag about how amazing you are." Jake leans over at a red light to press a soft kiss to your lips. "The whole shebang."

"That sounds nice. Does that deal have a special name, too?"

"Yeah, we can call it the Jake special. It is a whole package, long-term, all-inclusive deal."

"Extended warranty?" You check jokingly.

"It actually has a no-return, no-refund policy," Jake answers.

"That's a pretty big commitment," you whisper back, even though the idea of keeping Jake all to yourself sounds nothing but appealing.

"It's not something that expires. So how about tonight, we just worry about getting you home where you're going to let me walk you to your front door and give you a kiss goodnight."

"Just one kiss?" You ask in a pretend pout.

"Let's shoot for two, but don't be surprised if it's three, maybe even four."

"I want five," you declare stubbornly.

"Then I'll give you six," he easily offers.

You try to hide your smile but don't quite manage it. It's a permanent fixture the whole drive home and during all seven of the goodnight kisses you get. They aren't the best kisses in the world because Jake is smiling through them, too. It's okay, though, because you both know there's going to be more in the future, a lot more.

#jake seresin x reader #hangman x reader #jake seresin x you #Hangman x you #hangman fic

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charliemwrites · 4 months

Text

Part 5 of Nikto’s Commandments

Content: Mentions of Past Torture/Injury, Declarations of Love, Codependency, Protective Behavior

Nikto is familiar with torture. So, so intimately familiar with it. When he knew nothing else, he knew pain. He knew flayed skin and cracked bone and burnt flesh. He knew screams tangled up in chipped teeth and pulpy tongue. Agony became a filter through which all the world’s color bled.

He didn’t know how sweet torture could be.

He didn’t know he could crave the blade of a kind word. That he could relish the bone-deep ache of a gentle touch. He longs to be drowned in your soap and burned on your skin, wishes every brush would scar as badly as acid. Somehow, he remains intact.

You are a torture he could languish in for eternity. Would gladly be hung with a braid of your hair.

But you, blessed thing, don’t even realize what you do to him. The exquisite suffering that’s remaking him. Or maybe if you do, you’re too merciful to take it from him.

“Nikto…” you croon. You’re flushed and giggly, all but in his lap. “Is this three or four?”

“Four.” He’s been counting, but he won’t stop you from having more.

You wanted to go out with the rest of the KorTac team you two have been sent with. Ever generous, you asked if he’d rather stay in, but Nikto just nudged you out the door and sunk into your shadow like always.

“One more?” you ask.

He grunts in agreement. If you wanted to stay out till sunrise, he would escort you over sunbeams.

Aksel stands to get the next round and you cuddle in against Nikto’s side again. Don’t seem to mind the Kevlar under his shirt, or the knife pressed against your thigh.

“You sure you don’t want to play another round?” Roze goads, smirking, as she shuffles the deck.

You grin, wide and pretty and so blindingly happy. “You just want to cheat me at cards.”

“I could never with your guard dog on duty,” she purrs.

You scrunch your nose this time. “He’s not.”

“A guard dog or on duty?”

“Either! Both!”

Nikto clicks his tongue and slides your half-finished water closer. You agreeably accept the distraction, dutifully sipping another quarter of it under his watchful gaze.

“I am just teasing,” Roze soothes when you set the glass down again. “Nikto just takes care of you. It is good.”

You hum, apparently pleased with her roundabout apology. “It is good.”

You thank Aksel as he sets another glass in front of you, wiping at the side with an already-soggy napkin.

“Courtesy of a man at the bar,” he adds, winking and pointing.

Nikto whips around instantly, makes cold, deadly eye contact with a normal weak unbroken stupid man at the bar. He shifts when he realizes that it’s not your attention he’s getting and awkwardly turns away.

“It’s not drugged, right?” you ask. When Nikto turns back, there’s a frown on your face. He clenches the hand farthest from you, creak of leather lost in the noisy bar.

“No, I kept a close eye,” Aksel assures. “He just tossed some cash down to ‘pay,’ that’s all.”

You snort, shrug. “Whatever.”

Nikto settles again as you continue watching the card game, seemingly content just to be in the company of others. You sip at your last drink of the night, cheering Aksel on as the underdog of the table. Nikto tucks you close and counts cards.

It’s not long before you make an uncomfortable noise and pat at Nikto’s thigh. “Restroom, please!”

He slides out of the booth and silently helps you after him, a shriveled but mending part of him endeared by the wobbly way you cling.

“Okay I think I’ve got it from here,” you assure him, patting his arm.

“You want company?” Roze asks, frowning.

“Only if you need to go too,” you reply, “but it’s right there. I’ll be okay.”

She hums and pushes another few peanuts into the center of the table with the rest of the “pot”. Nikto hesitates, but you point out the door, clearly within eyesight.

“It’ll only be a minute,” you promise, stretching up on your toes to kiss his cheek over the mask. You toddle off before he can do more than freeze.

The whole team is snickering, grinning, or shooting him knowing looks when he haltingly turns back. If he wouldn’t take their hands for it, he’s sure at least one of them would be patting him on the back. But they know better than to try to make conversation, especially without you present, and return to their game. (He thinks this is what you would call “social interaction” and it’s tolerable, for now.)

Nikto counts exactly sixty seconds before turning to watch the hallway to the bathroom. Just in time to see the man that bought you the drink stand and saunter that way. He doesn’t enter the men’s bathroom, only hovers at the edge of the hallway. Waiting.

Nikto stands and crosses the bar with a speed usually reserved for those who don’t know they’re dead yet.

The man sees him coming, wavers between pride and the smart choice. Survival instinct wins out to make the smart choice and he slinks off before Nikto is even within arm’s reach. Not a word is exchanged.

Thirteen seconds later, you stroll from the restroom and instantly catch sight of him.

“Miss me?” you tease, coming right to him.

He hums because you’ll realize he’s being honest if he says yes. But you’re a little too tipsy to do more than grab his hand as he leads you back to the table. Seem amused as he ushers you back into your safe spot in the interior.

Another blissful half hour passes before you lean into him, big eyes peering up through your lashes.

“Ready to go home?” you ask in slow, imperfect Russian.

He’s hasn’t touched a drop of alcohol and his head swims like he’s drunk. You make a surprised noise as he grabs your cheeks in one massive hand, gives a little squeeze.

“Again.”

You blink, a little cross-eyed from how he leans in. “Ready to go home?” you repeat, only slightly less stuttering this time.

It’s obscene how quickly he fills out his pants.

“Yes,” he responds in kind. Your eyes light up.

He tosses some money on the table to cover your drinks and then maneuvers you out. You happily follow along, fingers curled in the edge of his glove.

He bundles you into the separate car you insisted the two of you take, knowing he’s not one for socializing or public. Only goes to the driver’s side once you’re comfortable and buckled in.

“You have been learning Russian,” he asks. It comes out flat, but you know him well enough to just sense the inflection in his voice.

“A little bit,” you admit, beaming. “I’m not good at it. I haven’t had a lot of time to learn.”

He shakes his head. Where did you find the time? And how did he not notice sooner?

“Say something,” he commands, too fascinated to remember who he’s speaking to.

“Ummmmm oh! I love you, Nikto!”

You squeal as he hits the breaks and jerks the wheel, taking the car to the side of the road. Parks there and twists to look at you.

“Say again.”

“I love you, Nikto.”

He narrows his eyes. Leans in. “Do you know what you are saying?”

You must not. How could you of all blessed creatures say something so—

“Yes.” You tilt your head, brows furrowing. “Unless I’m pronouncing it wrong?”

“You are not.”

You are but not so badly that he doesn’t understand - on a surface level at least. He can’t fathom those words coming from your mouth. Directed at him.

His hands convulse on the steering wheel. Wanting to reach for you but unsure why. What he’ll do. He’d never hurt you, that’s the furthest thing from his mind, but he doesn’t trust himself with you either. Not right now.

And then you say something else.

A handful of sounds. A name he hasn’t heard in years. A name he barely remembers but jerks him like a leash. What he was before Nikto.

“I love you,” you repeat once more in English. “Didn’t you know that?”

On his best day words are difficult. Right now, he can’t fathom what combination of syllables would explain to you the jumbled chaos in his head.

That you can’t love him, because he is a Thing of blood and bone and agony. That even if you could love him, he would be undeserving of it. Your voice rings in his head, church bells for a broken soul.

“No,” is all he rasps out.

You make a sad face. He feels like the lowest scum.

Then you’re scrambling out of your seatbelt, out of your seat. Climbing over the center console and into his lap. He doesn’t even feel it when your knee clips his ribs or the toe of your shoe hits his thigh. It’s nothing compared to the warm lapful of you he’s got peering down at him now.

“You know how I always remind you that you’re a person?” you ask.

He hesitates, then jerks his head in a nod. You mirror him, face so serious.

“Well you’re not just a person, you’re my person,” you explain. As if it’s so simple as spelling it out. “And I love you.”

“I do not…”

You wait for him to finish, but he can’t. He just squeezes his hands into helpless fists, unable to let himself touch you.

“Don’t what?” you murmur softly. “Don’t deserve it? That’s not your choice. Don’t love me back? I don’t care. I don’t love you to get something in return. Don’t understand? You don’t have to. I just do. It wasn’t a choice I made.”

You gently tug the topmost layer of his face coverings aside, drop a kiss to the tiniest sliver of skin visible beneath his eye.

“You’re my person and I’m your person,” you finish.

“Is that… what love is?” his voice is barely more than a scraped whisper. What little he remembers of people who used the word “love” towards him in the past made it seem like the blackest curse.

“That’s what our love is,” you answer easily. “Or can be, I suppose. You’re not required to feel the same way.”

He doesn’t think he does; what he feels for you is beyond that. Beyond, he suspects, what you might even have a word for.

“Again.”

Your face breaks out into a huge smile, lighting up the dark interior of the car.

“I love you, Nikto.” You press your palm to his heart and breathe softly in awe when you feel how his heart trips over itself for you. “Will you teach me to say it right?”

He leans his head back against the seat to take in the whole of you. Warm and comfortable and unafraid. Safe. (His…)

“Da. Repeat after me.”

#cod #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #nikto x reader #cod nikto #Nikto’s commandments #commandments au

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loaksky · 1 year

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— 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒊𝒏𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒔𝒑𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒕𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 & 𝒊 | 𝒆. 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒎𝒔

mean neighbor!ellie x sunshine fem!reader, angst / fluff / hurt + comfort, modern!au warnings: language / 18+ content (mdni!), wc: 5k

you have a hot new neighbor…too bad she doesn’t want a thing to do with you!

tagging those who commented / liked my previous interest post!: @loversreligion , @tahni-04 , @parrotpeggy , @acnologiasgf , @maybe-cece (happy birthday gemini queen ! <3)

an — first time writing for ellie ! content warnings include oral (r!receiving), fingering (r!receiving). not my first time writing 18+ content, but my first time posting eeek. i apologize for the person ellie has turned me into lmaooo. feel free to send me more ideas, blurbs, hcs, etc.

neighbor!ellie who moves in on a hot sticky july day.

ac’s busted in the common areas, elevator hasn’t worked in weeks, and she’s moved into a unit on the fifth floor.

neighbor!ellie who’s admittedly too far gone and incredibly irritated because jesse keeps fucking around and they almost drop her flat screen on the third flight of steps.

neighbor!ellie who finally gets most of the boxes and furniture settled and doesn’t even get to collapse on the couch for .2 seconds before someone’s knocking on the door.

yanks the knob so hard, the door rattles on its hinges.

eyes narrow when she sees you, all neat, not sweaty, dressed in an outfit definitely not indicative of a night in. only makes her even more annoyed because she just wants two seconds of peace.

“yes?” her tone is sharp, gaze bored because your lips part thrice before the words are spilling out.

“i know it’s miserable out, and this building can be a piece of shit, so i made some blackberry tea!”

neighbor!ellie who gives the glass, beaded with condensation, a brief glance before crossing her arms over her chest.

“i’m allergic to blackberries,” ellie says flatly.

your round eyes widen impossibly before tucking the glass behind your back.

“oh fuck, i’m so sorry,” you babble. “i have peach! or maybe mint? i—”

“i’ll pass.”

neighbor!ellie who doesn’t beat around the bush and makes a move to close the door because she hadn’t even checked into the conversation.

“if you ever need anything, i’m right next door!” you chirp. “i’m-”

“yup, yeah, got it. good night.”

and the door is shutting in your face.

neighbor!ellie who’s trying to sleep in because she stayed up all night playing tekken 4 with jesse jolting awake when she hears three soft raps against the front door.

has an inkling of who it could be so she’s only mildly surprised when she sees you standing on the welcome mat that says ‘no weenies allowed’ because jesse thought it was the funniest thing (ellie’d been only slightly amused).

“morning,” you smile.

you have a plate covered in foil in your hands and ellie gives you a brief onceover to find that you’re dressed to the nines again (admittedly it’s just a simple sundress, but the red and white ginham cuts at the meatiest part of your thighs and she has to remind herself to keep her eyes up).

“it’s…” ellie trails off, glances at the clock on the oven to find that it’s not even 9am. “…8:52am on a saturday morning.”

“it is,” you agree, extending the plate to her. “i, uh, hope you’re not allergic to pancakes?”

“…i’m not.”

you beam.

“great!”

you’re shoving the food in her hands before she can decline and ellie finds that the ceramic is still warm.

neighbor!ellie who awkwardly holds the plate up to you as a silent thanks and shuts the door in your hopeful face.

“i gotta give it to you williams, didn’t think you’d pull within 24 hours,” jesse mutters groggily from the couch he’d helped her lug up the stairs yesterday afternoon.

“oh fuck off,” she huffs, tearing the foil from the plate to find a five-stack of fluffy pancakes with two cute little strawberry-shaped containers that has butter and syrup respectively.

“who’s it from?” jesse asks, even though he knows the answer.

“girl in 5a.”

first bite in and ellie’s eyebrows raise because wow, that’s damn good.

jesse swipes a bite despite ellie’s protests and they polish off the matching plate that she puffs a laugh at because there’s a strawberry bandit painted in the center and in shoddy lettering says, “this is a strobbery”

neighbor!ellie who surprises you by washing and returning the plate later that evening, muttering out a quick thanks before ducking back into her apartment without another word.

she leaves you blinking, staring at the space she was previously standing in a moment prior before you smile and shut the door because god ellie is so hot.

neighbor!ellie doesn’t expect it to become a routine, but more often than not, you’re knocking on her door at any given hour with snacks and she’s surprised when, a week and a half in, she’s had to do minimal grocery shopping because you’re always feeding her.

little does she know it’s because you’re looking forward to the brief moments that she’s unintentionally banging on your door to return your plates and dinnerware.

neighbor!ellie who’s a mechanic and brings your goodies to work sometimes and gets teased by the other mechanics because they think she has a girlfriend.

neighbor!ellie who after revealing she works in a garage starts opening up her front door to little reusable bags with cute notes and food puns if your schedule’s don’t line up.

neighbor!ellie whose schedule does end up frequently aligning with yours and you end up taking the same elevator down.

“morning, ellie,” you greet, smiling softly at her despite being up at the asscrack of dawn.

neighbor!ellie who yawns, takes the lunch you made for her gratefully and walks with you to the elevator.

“morning, 5a.”

neighbor!ellie who could get used to only seeing you in the fifth floor halls, however, after a few weeks, you stumble upon her in different circumstances.

you’re usually out on your balcony in the early mornings to water your plants and drink your tea or coffee, but today’s been exceptionally rough at work (you’re, surprise, a café owner) so you step out to take a deep breath late in the evening after your shift.

you definitely don’t expect to find ellie perched on a stool flicking the ash from a blunt over the railing.

“‘sup,” she hums, taking a long pull.

“hey,” you sigh.

“long day?” she humors you.

the two of you don’t really have much conversation because ellie’s always finding ways to cut interactions with you short.

and it’s not particularly because she doesn’t like you, but she’s caught the vibe you’re giving off and she doesn’t want to give you any unnecessary hope, especially after such a messy break up with the last girl.

(it’s definitely not because something about you makes her nervous).

so she doesn’t really expect you to spill, but one moment you’re debating whether or not you should divulge and the next you’re talking a mile a minute about how draining the job can be especially when employees end up being unreliable and the customers are impatient.

ellie’s gone through the entire joint and you still haven’t stopped talking and she doesn’t want to be mean, especially because you’ve been so nice to her since she’s moved in, but the high is wearing off because she’s too focused on finding an out of the one-sided conversation.

“you should come by,” you say, once you’re done babbling. “to the café, i mean. bring your friends, i’ll stay open a little later for you guys.”

that catches ellie’s attention after she’d zoned out.

“i— you don’t have to do that,” she says. “and i mean, we’re all pretty busy and—”

“no, no!” you say sweetly. “i insist! i wanna test out a few new seasonal recipes and i’d love some opinions!”

ellie’s wracking her brain, but you’re looking at her so hopefully and you look too cute with a few strands of hair falling from your updo. she really doesn’t want to give in, so she gives a lukewarm response instead.

“i’ll, uh, get back to you, i guess.”

you’re grinning.

“try to clear saturday night!” you tell her. “sometime around 9:30!”

ellie opens her mouth to give one last protest, but you’re standing from where you’d been leaning against the railing.

“it’ll be fun!” you tell her. “night, ellie!”

neighbor!ellie who really doesn’t want to go because she feels like it’ll only add fuel to the fire.

the beginning of the week rolls around and you decide that this’ll be the week you’ll finally ask ellie out.

you figure that ellie’s just really quiet, isn’t the one to really put herself out there, so you wanna take initiative.

you’re thinking of all the different recipes you could try because you really wanna wow her and her friends.

little does ellie know that you’re lowkey agonizing over saturday and it’s all you can think about: what you’ll wear, what pairings you want to present, how you’ll decorate the cafe.

meanwhile, ellie’s trying to find a way out of it and jesse’s not any help because he keeps teasing her about how she must be broken for not wanting her hot neighbor who has a glaringly obvious crush on her.

everyone on the whole floor, possibly even the whole building knows. hell, even the doorman knows (and it’s definitely not because you stop to chat with him frequently when you walk your little beagle, apple, and ellie becomes a frequent topic of conversation).

neighbor!ellie who starts avoiding you because she fears that her being receptive to your kindness is giving you the wrong idea (definitely not because you’re growing on her and you’re becoming a part of her daily routine).

neighbor!ellie who sees you twice the entire week, doesn’t answer the door when you knock, stuffs your cute little post-its about saturday somewhere in the back of her junk drawer, smokes her blunts on the roof to avoid running into on the balcony.

neighbor!ellie who spends most of her time at the garage with jesse and her coworkers in efforts to get home after you do.

you figure that maybe she is really busy and you shouldn’t have been so pushy about the tasting, but you’ve grown to really like her and you can’t give this up without officially giving it a shot.

neighbor!ellie who ducks out of her apartment when she knows you’re out on saturday and leaves her lights off, so you’ll know she isn’t home.

neighbor!ellie who spends the day with jesse and his girl and gets invited to a kickback on the otherside of town.

neighbor!ellie who’s about two joints in and a couple shots out, so she’s crossed by nine and you completely slip her mind.

you’re on the other side of town, about a block from your apartment, waiting in the cafe for ellie.

you made such a pretty spread of lavender matcha cookies and lemon muffins. used your special espresso roast to brew a delicious batch of coffee to make a few lattes.

you’d even bought flowers from next door, decorated the table and light a few candles.

it’s 9:45 and you think that she’s gonna be late, but time’s passing and the pastries are going stale, the coffee going lukewarm.

it’s 10:30 when you start losing hope.

probably 11:30 when you blow out the candles, box up the treats and throw the espresso in the cooler for some iced coffee tomorrow morning.

you should’ve seen it coming, really. she did say that her and her friends were typically busy. and she hadn’t officially confirmed it with you either so you were being rather presumptuous anyways.

you decide that maybe you’ll just drop them by her place tomorrow and ask her to lunch!

it’s about midnight when you walk up the sidewalk and see that her LEDs are on in her room. it vaguely smells like weed so you figure she’d been smoking a little.

you don’t wanna bother her so late at night so you enter your own apartment, set the box on the kitchen island before padding into your room to get ready for bed.

you should’ve seen it coming, ellie standing you up, but what you don’t see coming, or hear, for that matter, are the muffled moans through the paper thin walls.

you’d been used to hearing ellie cuss at her video games, heard her getting better at playing the guitar, bickering with jesse over who got to be who during smash bros, but this was new.

you’d never heard the voice before, pitched and whiny.

your cheeks warm because whatever ellie’s doing must be good. you can’t even find it in yourself to be relieved that ellie was interested in girls. you’d initially been scared that maybe you were reading into it all wrong.

regardless, obviously you’d read everything way way wrong because ellie’s mouth is filthy and there’s no misconstruing the fact that she’s fucking someone six ways to sunday and you can hear every gory detail.

your stomach is churning because it’s been weeks and you couldn’t even get ellie outside the fifth floor’s hallway.

it’s obvious they’re thoroughly enjoying themselves and the hurt and envy that kindles is an ugly sight to see.

you end up sleeping in the living room that night.

neighbor!ellie who chases the girl out the following morning after a nasty hangover and finally coming to terms with the fact that she’d brought someone home last night.

neighbor!ellie whose stomach drops to her ass when someone knocks on the door a few minutes later and she thinks it’s you, but it ends up being jesse.

“jesus, did 5a do that?” he asks, referring to your apartment number in regards to the fresh hickies blooming up the column of ellie’s throat.

“god no,” ellie says. “how many times do i have to tell you, that’s never happening.”

neighbor!ellie who would never tell a soul that she’d been imagining a certain someone the night prior.

neighbor!ellie who doesn’t want to think of anything more than being your neighbor because she’s locked in this lease for the next two years and she’d prefer to not shit where she sleeps.

(yeah, that’s totally it).

“dude why not? she’s obviously so down bad for you,” jesse chuckles, pushing past ellie.

she huffs a breath, defensive.

“god, i don’t know how she isn’t embarrassed, it’s fuckin’ pathetic.”

oh—

you’d heard jesse’s voice, then ellie’s, and figured you could give her the pastries you worked so hard on last night.

you’d always thought that ellie was just naturally aloof, kept to herself often, but last night was the coffin and this morning was the nail.

in the stillness of your apartment, jesse and ellie’s voice carries through the thin walls.

“i mean, you could just fuck her a couple of times, get it out of your system?”

“god, look at her, there’s not a casual bone in her body.”

“you can’t run away from her forever, yknow?”

neighbor!ellie who thinks to herself that she’ll try anyways.

neighbor!ellie who doesn’t have to try, because you become an enigma after that.

it’s the middle of the week and she hasn’t had to even try avoiding you once.

you haven’t knocked on her door since the week prior and it makes her brows furrow.

neighbor!ellie who starts feeling bad for standing you up, but feels infinitely worse when she goes to dump some of her trash and finds the carton of pastries you’d baked.

they have your café’s name emblazoned on the logo and she vaguely remembers you chattering about trying lavender in one of your recipes.

she sees the purple food coloring and her heart sinks because why are they in the trash? :(

realizes that she’s fucked up and that maybe she should just be completely transparent with you.

neighbor!ellie who hesitantly knocks on your door and waits patiently for you to answer.

hears shuffling on the other side, but you don’t open up.

neighbor!ellie who tries to convince herself that you’re just busy! work is stressful right now and you’re keeping to yourself.

but you two end up bumping into each other on the elevator (she’d been lurking), and you give her a curt greeting because you’re polite and you realize that ellie doesn’t owe you anything.

“apple’s got a haircut,” she observes, leaning down to pet the pup.

“yeah,” you hum.

“she looks cute,” ellie compliments.

“thanks.”

neighbor!ellie who’s not used to you icing her out, so she takes the leap.

“hey, i wanted to apologize…” she trails off. “about saturday. i shouldn’t have flaked.”

“s’okay,” you say simply, watching as the numbers painfully descend. “you were busy.”

a blanket of silence.

“i’m sure the pastries were great,” ellie tries again. “we could always—”

the elevator dings and the doors part.

“have a good day, ellie,” you say softly, tugging apple by the leash to leave the lift.

neighbor!ellie who swears she hears you sniffling on the other side of the wall later that night, but tries to convince herself that you’ve just got allergies.

neighbor!ellie who thinks of every excuse in the book to try and talk to you, but she ends up freezing because fuck, have you always been this pretty?

neighbor!ellie who buys a succulent and puts it on her balcony. she tries to catch you in the mornings when you’re watering your plants, but it seems like your schedules just don’t align anymore.

neighbor!ellie is frustrated as fuck because she’d been avoiding getting attached, but you don’t knock on her door to deliver snacks or talk her ear off anymore and it drives her absolutely nuts.

neighbor!ellie who gets teased infinitely more at work because her coworkers are now convinced that there’s ‘trouble in paradise’.

“jesus christ, you’re actually pathetic,” jesse rolls his eyes over breakfast one weekend.

“dude, she just…” ellie lets out a frustrated sigh. “i just—”

“you miss her,” he fills in.

ellie turns red.

“fuck you, i don’t—”

“it’s okay to admit it, yknow?” he says. “she’s a lot different from your exes. she’s genuinely sweet, in it because she really likes you.”

ellie swallows, lips pursing.

“you’re soft around her,” jesse observes. “you think that if you give in, she’s gonna uncover parts of you you don’t even let me or joel see.”

“fuck you—”

“for someone who likes bitches you—”

ellie groans.

neighbor!ellie who goes home and rolls a joint because this limbo is stressing her out.

and FINALLY! you’re watering your plants on your balcony when she slides the patio door open and slinks outside.

you don’t say anything to her, just continue watering.

she slumps in her folding lawn chair, kicking her feet up on the railing to feign nonchalance, but you haven’t blinked an eye at her and she’s annoyed.

“been doing alright?” she asks finally.

you freeze for the briefest of moments before glancing at her.

you’ve got bags under your eyes and your lips are pursed and ellie’s heart squeezes.

“yeah,” you answer simply. “fine.”

ellie hums.

“how’s work?”

“same old,” you say, turning your back to her to tend to the plants housed on the other side.

neighbor!ellie who doesn’t know what to say. who’s so used to trying to break conversation, not make them.

neighbor!ellie who fidgets because you’re making her nervous. you’re usually so sweet and smiley, but this side of you makes her gut churn.

neighbor!ellie who bites the bullet.

“i’m…i’m off on sunday…” she says, scratching the back of her neck. “if you wanted to— i dunno.”

your back straightens and she thinks you’re gonna bite, but you glance at the sidewalk below and shake your head.

“you don’t have to pretend, you know?” you say softly.

it’s like a punch in the chest and ellie’s scrambling.

“no! it’s—” she realizes she’s shouting. “it’s not like that, i—”

“i’m a big girl, ellie,” you tell her, that stupid little strawberry-shaped spray bottle squeezed tight in your hand. “if i was annoying, you could have just said that.”

and god she feels so fucking awful because this entire time, you’d just been trying to be nice to her. it was a harmless crush and—

“i don’t think you’re annoying,” she argues weakly. “can you…can you look at me, please?”

your head tilts up and ellie realizes that you’re trying to stop yourself from crying.

“god, i really am pathetic,” is your watery whisper.

ellie’s crossing the balcony, fully ready to climb over the railing onto your patio, but you’re quickly dashing away the tears and throwing the sliding door open.

“goodnight,” you tell her, and you’re sealing her out in the humid air.

neighbor!ellie who’s in knots because living next to someone she used to see everyday fucking sucks now that all the two of you are reduced to is straining extra hard to hear your shuffling from the other side of the walls.

neighbor!ellie who stands in front of your door sometimes, wanting to knock, but feeling like she doesn’t deserve closure with you because it’s all her fault.

neighbor!ellie who realizes that the very awkwardness and discomfort she was avoiding to begin with could’ve been avoidable had she just been up front with you.

you were sweet and you were understanding…mature. you would’ve probably taken better to honesty than ellie blowing you off and lowkey being an ass to you.

neighbor!ellie being scolded by jesse after a couple of days pass because he’s beating her ass at smash bros without even trying and it’s hurting his ego.

“are you seriously gonna keep moping over 5a?” he asks after the fourth round won.

“i’m not moping,” ellie grumbles.

“oh c’mon dude,” jesse moans in annoyance. “you and 5a have this dad with four kids who doesn’t want a puppy but ends up loving the shit out of the—”

“i do not love her,” ellie barks.

jesse smirks.

“that’s all you took from that, ellie, seriously?” jesse scoffs.

“i mean, it’s not like there’s much that can be done, anyways,” ellie grunts, tossing the video game controller onto the coffee table’s surface. “she fuckin’ hates me and i don’t blame her.”

“5a does not hate you,” jesse sighs. “her feelings are just hurt, but you can fix it.”

“and how’s that?” ellie crosses her arms over her chest.

“you’re a smart girl, you’ll figure it out.” jesse grabs the discarded controller from the coffee table and shoves it into ellie’s chest. “now put your all into this next round, i’m still gonna beat your ass.”

neighbor!ellie who’s never felt more nervous in her life.

who’s standing a block away from the café you own with a little gift bag and a bouquet of flowers.

neighbor!ellie who’s used to effortless relationships and casual situationships.

neighbor!ellie who’s scared shitless that she’s making the wrong decision giving in like this, but maybe jesse’s right and you’re just what she needs.

neighbor!ellie whose hands shake the entire walk up to the café.

she sees you with your back turned towards the door, probably doing closing inventory or something of the like with the way you scribble quickly against a clipboard.

you look so in your element with your apron tied tight around the narrow of your waist and perhaps now’s not the appropriate time, but your work pants look exceptionally great spread over the—

“i’m sorry, but we’re closed for the evening,” your voice sounds when ellie opens the front door and the chime tinkles against the glass.

“i’ll make it quick,” ellie says quietly, paper wrap around the flowers crinkling as she shifts on her feet.

you whirl around with wide eyes, almost dropping the clipboard when you find your neighbor standing in the middle of your café.

she looks so good in a fitted brown button up rolled to the elbow to reveal the whorls of ink decorating her forearms and skinny jeans that are way too good at highlighting the muscles of her thighs.

“ellie, what are you doing here?” you ask, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“i was, er, in the area?”

one of your eyebrows raise.

“well, is there something i can help you with?” you ask, eyeing the flowers and the giftbag in what ellie can only read as disdain.

it’s like the day you two first met all over again but the roles are reversed. her lips gape once, twice, then three times as she tries to find the words. but ellie’s never been good at talking about how she feels, at being vulnerable.

“i have to close up,” you prod, tone tired. “and whoever you’re visiting after this is probably waiting.”

the words after are a silent insinuation.

god knows i did.

you’re turning on your heel and ellie knows she’s losing you.

“i like you.” she says suddenly.

you freeze, fist tightening mercilessly around your clipboard.

“that’s not funny,” you say stonily. “you don’t have to make an ass out of me for having feelings for you, ellie. i get it, it’s hilarious that your dorky neighbor has a crush on you, but you don’t have to drag it. i’m—”

neighbor!ellie who’s always thought that you talk a tad too much and sets the gifts on the nearest table before crossing the distance between the two of you.

she’s towering over you and you’re looking up at her with furrowed brows as she pries the clipboard from your fingers and kisses you without another word.

“wait, wait,” you whisper, pulling away from her momentarily.

her lips chase yours, one hand splaying over the small of your back as the other cradles your chin.

“i’m sorry,” she says quietly. “i didn’t—”

“i don’t understand,” you admit. “you…you and your friend were—”

ellie shakes her head vehemently.

“i was being stupid,” she says quickly. “it’s—” she sighs. “it’s a long story.”

“but the night of the tasting,” you start. “you brought someone home…i heard you.”

ellie closes her eyes in defeat, rolls her lips as she presses her forehead against yours.

“it was a mistake, you have to believe me,” she pleads softly. “i was drunk out of my mind and high as hell and—”

she stops talking when she sees the expression on your face, notices the way your fingers hover.

“you have every right not to entertain this,” ellie swallows. “and i know i’ve been awful to you, but i…i really like you 5a.”

your head tilts down and ellie’s leaning forward in an effort to keep the eye contact.

“i’m not good at stuff like this,” she confesses. “obviously.”

you breathe out an involuntary laugh.

“but you’re different, really different,” ellie says. “and you make me feel so fuckin’ weird—”

you flinch.

“a good weird!” she assuages. “it’s good. and i really wanna try things with you if you’ll let me.”

you look hesitant, but ellie’s hopeful and you’ve always been a sucker for green eyes.

18+ BONUS

neighbor!ellie really wanted to take things slow with you after officially winning you over, but she can’t really help herself.

she takes you out a week after your heart-to-heart in your café, a nice restaurant you’d chattered about during your elevator rides to the lobby, and she’d been so close to making it through dinner and keeping it appropriate, but the dessert the two of you ordered had strawberries.

needless to say, when you’d taken a bite into the candied fruit and the juice curved down your jaw and slithered between your cleavage, ellie threw a wad of bills onto the table top and dragged you out of the restaurant.

didn’t make it far, ended up at the edge of the parking lot in the back seat of her car with two of her fingers knuckles deep in your heat while she swallowed your moans whole.

neighbor!ellie who takes you to hers after you cum twice and she tastes you for the first time.

“fuck, angel,” she whispers against your clit. “pussy’s too good.”

the sight is a devastating one, your skirt bunched around your waist and your top discarded somewhere on her bedroom floor.

one of your hands bunches her sheets in your fist, the other threaded through her brown hair as she eats you out like she’s absolutely starved.

“that’s it, princess,” she eggs you on, stuffing her fingers and curling against the walls of your spongy cunt. her tongue is sloppy against your little bud and your dulcet moans are buttery soft, absolute music to her ears.

that night seems to be the straw that breaks the camel’s back because she can’t get enough of you.

especially not when you wear that red and white gingham sundress you’d worn the second time the two of you met.

neighbor!ellie who spends so much time in your apartment now, likes to especially when you’re baking because you wear that stupidly tiny dress in your stupidly tiny kitchen and it takes every ounce of self control to keep her kisses on your exposed shoulders appropriate.

you start kneading the dough and she can’t keep her hands to herself, hooking her jaw into the crook of your neck as her fingers dance under the hem of your dress and ghosts the seam of your thighs.

“y’look so pretty,” ellie hums, tongue darting to lave at the juncture of your jaw and your neck.

“wait, ah!” fingertips trace over your mound and a semi-giddy, semi-disbelieving laugh rumbles from ellie’s chest when she finds you aren’t wearing any panties.

“you’re a dirty girl, angel,” she bites, one arm securing around your waist, the other toying with the slick coating your inner thighs. “what happened to getting work done?”

all you manage is a breathy cry when ellie skips the formalities and taps your clit roughly.

“el—ellie!” you whimper, one of your flour dusted hands wrapping around her wrist as your back arches and your ass presses into her hips.

your body stutters when you feel something nestle between the pert cheeks of your ass.

you throw a surprised look over your shoulder and ellie’s already grinning lazily at you as she continues kissing all over you.

“surprise,” she whispers.

neighbor!ellie who’s so gone. who still constantly gets teased by jesse and her coworkers. who wasn’t willing to admit it at first, but wants absolutely everything to do with you.

#ellie williams x reader #ellie williams #ellie williams smut #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams tlou #ellie tlou

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